Names

My name in Swahili is KIMU.  This is the result of 1. many Swahili words end with a vowel; 2. my host mother/former Headmistress could not pronounce Tommy; and 3. nobody can pronounce Jungyul without being uncomfortable.  I didn't realize that my name was spelled so until I checked the attendance, and I saw that the students thought of me as Kimu.

There are three large branches of Swahili names.  Christian (Joshua, Catherine), Muslim (Ramadani, Fatuma), and Tribal (Mwilenga).  And then there are just awesome names.  Here are some of my favorite:

• Prosper
• Perpetua
• Mambo (equivalent to "what's up" colloquially)
• Happy
• Msafiri (traveler)
• Jumanne (Tuesday)
• Mbaraka (man of blessing, or just the first name of OBAMA)
• Goodluck George

El Fin

Finally water has returned.  Last time I thought I was dying after 10 days.  Well, this time it was six weeks (maybe more, I don't know I lost count).  It has been a dark time.  I've coped, using a variety of measures, and even managed to do my own laundry.  The thought of doing laundry during a water shortage may be counter-common-sense but it actually lifted up my moods.  Life goes on without water, and laundry is part of it.

During these weeks I've also wrote an editorial bitching about this, and sent it to the Daily News.  Obviously it wasn't published, as I have not bragged about it on the tomzanian.

This had me thinking, most, if not all, problems facing developing nations are very similar to those facing developed nations.  Termite infestation, building roads and bridges, supplying water, saving the economy, inner-city schools, etc. are common problems with surprisingly large number of similarities.  The fact that I didn't have water for six weeks is not something that is so cool and hard core volunteeresque.  It shows that the politicans here suck.

Well enough of complaining!  Party with water!

Mpapai Nyuma ya Kwangu Umeanguka

All right kids, I admit it.  I live in a crazy corner of the world that nothing like where I have lived before.  Once a friend remarked that my life reminds her of the movie the Gods Must be Crazy.  I was in complete denial, and tried to write a blog post how it's not that different at all.

It turns out, she's right after all.  There are sandstorms in my house (this does not make sense does it?), I have seen more species of insects on my bedroom floor than my entire previous life combined, my infrequent tap water is translucent (using my Korean exaggeration skills), and my students suck at math.


I digress.  I just wanted a pensive way to introduce my big event of the day.  The papai tree that once stood behind my house has fallen.  Damn, it doesn't sound as dramatic on writing.  THE PAPAI TREE FELL.  I guess it's just one of those things that isn't so cool unless you've experienced it yourself.

BAM!

BAM!

And yeah, the papai tree is full of sap.  It's moist and fleshy, so the insects will have a party tonight, tomorrow, and so on. 

One and a half papai fell with the tree, but they were far from ripe, so I let them be.

Death

Previously I have remarked that it is rather sad to know that I will live longer than most of my students.  Statistics clearly shows that the life expectancy of a South Korean is much higher than that of a Tanzanian.  Although, as any statistical measurement is, it is a generalization, the distinction in the availability of health care makes this harrowing difference believable. 

I have also noticed that this statistical difference (oh I'm sure a very small p-value) is reflected on the daily Tanzanian life.  That is, I observe a high rate of death around me.  Over the past month, a student's mother, another's sister, and another's friend passed away.  Mr. Prosper, a fellow teacher, went to his grandfather's funeral over the weekend.  One particular death I will never forget happened a couple of months ago.  In the middle of the night, I heard a loud wailing.  It turns out there was a death in a neighbor's family.  People gathered for condolences, but I didn't go because one, I was not acquainted with anyone in the family, and two, I didn't know how to react.

In fact, thinking about the past deaths, the list goes on and on.  Azizi, a young teenager who lives across from me, lost his mother after she had a surgery on her uterus.  And now, my other neighbor has a growth in her uterus too.

A lower life expectancy and a high birth rate in developing societies indicates that death looms.  And the decrepit medical system also indicates that if you're sick, be ready for death.  When my students ask for permission to attend a funeral, or to console a friend who's experienced a death in the family, I see grief.  But being so frequent, the grief seems to be anticipated and routine.

Ramadan

I wrote an email to my friends and my brother about Ramadan, and I feel that the content from the email is better than a the usual blogologue.

Life has been rather cyclical lately.  I've been getting the feeling that today is like yesterday, and tomorrow will be like today, and likewise in the unit of weeks.  I connected this rhythmic conception of my life as a sign that I am now completely used to my new environment.  New things do appear, but they mostly have become something as insignificant as a new shop on Grand Avenue.  It moves my blog (yeah this one) closer to retirement, but this steady undramatic tempo is what I am experiencing at the moment.

Except for one thing: Ramadan.  Thursday was the beginning of Ramadan, and to many of my neighbors and students I said "pole," which roughly means "poor you," or "sorry" as the Americans overuse it.  But my neighbor Mr. Ninje said that I should be congratulating him, because it is a significant religious moment.  So from then on, I said "congratulations" to my Muslim friends.

And today, I went to Dubai for dinner.  Dubai during Ramadan does not open until 6. When I arrived at 6:10, I was the only customer, so I ordered my usual fish and rice.  Ten minutes later, the restaurant suddenly woke up from its fasting/slumber.  People started to come in non-stop, ordering food and taking them out as well.  They ordered food that I've never seen before, such as potato, white bean, and noodle dishes.  And to make the atmosphere more festive, it handed out free uji, a sweet Tanzanian breakfast porridge.  Customer service, of course, was compromised.  When a customer requested an additional spoon to stir his uji, Jabili quickly grabbed one from the kitchen and just stabbed it in the his plate of beans.  With Tanzanian food, architecture, and arts being dry and drab, this was a refreshing experience of culture.

Congrats to all those who are fasting.

Democracy in Africa

 

July edition of the Economist

Thus is Life

My previous Headmistress, Mama Machinga, moved to Chuno Secondary School, which is a twenty minute bike ride away.  With her invitation, I paid a visit.

Chuno is a new school, and so it feels like the skeletal version of Saba Saba.  Its facilities are bare, classrooms and offices are still under construction, teachers are few, and finances are dire.  Chuno also does not have any faculty housing.

Mama told me that she was looking for houses in the area, but the rent of 150,000 TSH ($100), was a bit too high for her.  I asked whether she would get any stipend from the government, as she had free housing prior to her move.  She said no.  I chuckled, and so did she.  Through the small laughter, I think we telepathically said the following:

"Wow, your new job sucks."

"Tell me about it."

And then I learned a bit more about the students.  The students come from all over town, as designated by the government.  There are Saba Saba students who live near Chuno, and vice versa.  This random allocation may be life changing.  There are no science and math teachers in Chuno, so it's easier for its students to fail their national exam, while it's not so bad for Saba Saba students.

The level of arbitrariness is abundant in all aspects of Tanzanian life, and to my surprise, there is little resistance.  These sub-standard elements, often stemming from the government, are treated as normal courses of life.  Toward things that I may say "that's not fair," people here react "oh thus is life."

What a strange life.