When I set out on this
journey, my mission was to immerse myself in Tanzanian culture and learn how my
skills can be used to serve others. Over a fourth of the way in, I am finally
finding the courage to start living out the first part of this mission.
Learning a new language is easy. Read language guides; take notes; memorize
vocabulary; done. Using a new language is not as simple. I like to believe that
learning the foundation for Kiswhaili during my last stint here gave me a
leg-up on the process of re-immersion, however it is only now, more than
seven-months in country, that I have gained the confidence to fully participate
in conversations. Finally I can ask about people's lives beyond the necessary
greetings and I can understand (for the most part) what they tell me in reply.
This confidence has given me the courage to further immerse myself in the local
community. At school I help in the kitchen, making bread for the students with
the kitchen crew; I learned to make juice with the St. Gemma sisters who run
the nearby Jesuit primary school; and I am increasing my visits to the village,
meeting people and learning ways we can incorporate an entrepreneurial program
for the village women into the community service program at school.
The most important part of
these experiences is hearing the stories people have to share: the head cook's
commitment to fasting as a form of prayer; the Sister who serves as
Headmistress to a school of over 500 young ones and manages to squeeze just
fifteen minutes of personal time for exercise into her busy routine of prayer,
work, and service; the Mama who is conflicted over how to encourage her teenage
daughter to return to school after several incidents when the daughter became
deranged and unresponsive in class, presumably possessed by evil
spirits...these are stories of the lives of people who are braver than me in
uncountable ways.
Many people flattered me
with encouragement and praise as I prepared for this commitment to be a Jesuit
Volunteer. I am filled with gratitude to have so many people supporting me and
encouraging me as I follow what I think is my calling. However it is the lives
of these people... the people that I am seeing everyday (and the lives of the
people that each of us see everyday) that are truly deserving of celebration.
Today, a Form I girl came to
me seeking advice: her parents had separated just before her birth, her mom
having been badly beaten by her father. Since then her father found another
women who refuses to work and who insults her mother. The father's mother dislikes
my student's mother and so went to a witch doctor to influence the father to
kill the mother. The grandmother passed last year and my student is holding on
to faith that with the grandmother gone, and with the help of religion, her
father and mother can be together again.
The student came to me asking for counseling: should she talk to her
father and try to persuade him to get back together with her mother at the risk
of him ending his assistance with her education, or should she remain quiet and
watch in despair as her mother struggles? This girl is just 13 years old. After
sharing her thoughts with me she decided it would be better to wait a few more
years before confronting her father; her education, afterall, is more important
to her. She is a brave girl. Her life needs to be celebrated.
Another person- actually a
couple- a pastor and his wife, are neighbors to us. They have traveled all around the region
building churches. I was invited to
attend a service at their newest project. The three-hour service was complete
with an hour of unhibited singing led by their youngest 18-year old daughter
and nine tear-jerking exorcisms performed by the pastor himself. After this I
was welcomed in their home for sodas and lunch. Following lunch the conversation
led to us exchanging languages: the pastor's wife teaching her tribal language,
myself teaching the remaining Spanish that Kiswahili hasn't yet pushed out of
my brain, and my fellow volunteer teaching bits of French she remembers from
her college studies. It is the lives of the Pastor's wife, and the Pastor -they
who are living out their vocation with utter dedication and joy- their lives
who need to be celebrated.
It is the life of the
shopkeeper who, at 25, diligently works in his shop, keeping inventory and
managing his customers' needs- especially the needs of us volunteers, who buy
nine rolls of toilet paper bi-weekly, one loaf of bread twice per week, jars of
peanut butter and jam every third week, and eggs almost daily. Our good-natured
shopkeeper prays at the same church as we do every Sunday and returns to his
shop promptly after the 7:15am Mass; he watched the World Cup on the tv inside
his shop and rejoiced when Germany won it all; he gifted me with mango juice
when I had malaria; he patiently listens and teaches us as we all have stumbled
through our grocery list in Kiswahili. His life needs to be celebrated.
I am too easily consumed by
the day-to-day demands of teaching, being a choir member, and understanding my
role as a volunteer and I forget to celebrate the lives of these inspiring
people around me. It is from them that I begin to understand the meanings of
courage and faith. It is their example that inspires me to find joy in each day
and every experience that I have during this time as a volunteer.
