Therein Lies the Shida

Buckle up for this one folks...I had too much time on my hands to scribe an email with :) Sorry. Not supposed to end sentences with prepositions, or smiley faces. Properly chastened, I endelea (continue).

For starters, shida means problem. We have all become big big fans of mixing Kiswahili and English to create Swenglish. Such sayings include: pumzika time (nap time or rest time), fua the nguo (wash the clothes), and Houston, we have a shida (the aforementioned problem word).

Writing this post from a mountain village called Malindi, near the city of Lushoto. The drive up these incredible mountains was undertaken by myself and Rebecca Steele (real name) on a vehicle called a Kosta. It’s about a 10:30pm on the Doomsday Clock of Tanzanian Transportation (midnight being the daladalas). Vehicle is actually quite sound, and the driver should go pro. We are going over one and a half-lane roads with 500 foot drops to our left, which, by the way, is the side we're driving on! Twice, when passing other speeding buses on hairpin turns, feeling like we were about to do our best Buddy Holly impersonation, she and I were cackling. For real, positively giggling. Why? Because when there’s nothing you can do to determine if you live or die...might as well laugh.

Was worth it though. Always is. I've never seen views like this in my entire life. I'm surrounded by steep mountain peaks, all covered in steppe farms. It's like being in an Incan paradise. Quite a place. Staying with Dave and Wendy Banks, an incredible couple one week away from leaving Tanzania after two years here. They’ve been married 48 years, and in the last two they've brought a library to the secondary school and electricity to the dispensary. They've also served Rebeccah and I hot dogs, beef stew, and chocolate cake. You can live the good life in TZ, and they are doing it. Amazing people.

Today I went with them to my first Tanzanian church service. Lasted a cool two hours and forty-five minutes. I'm told the record was a five hour plus confirmation ceremony. All joking aside, it was a wonderful ceremony, punctuated by Wendy and Dave saying goodbye to the congregation. I couldn't help thinking, “one day, sooner than I realize, that'll be me.” Its moments like that where I wish I'd just gone ahead and had the Serenity Prayer tattooed on both hands. The service was mostly made so long by the rockin’ choir, who combined gospel-style music with African drumming and who have one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. The service was exactly the same as an American Roman Catholic service, and when I shook hands with the neighboring parishioners during the “peace be with you” part, I had another one of those “we're not so different” moments.

Another one of those: went to a wedding a week or so back. Walked over carrying a sleepy two-year old on my shoulder, Mama had the baby. Spent a lot of the wedding dancing casually and off-rhythm, but in my defense, that was how to fit in. They have longer attention spans here; most songs at the wedding ran in the 25-minute range! I had a lot of fun getting low with old bibis (grandmothers), but it got a bit awkward when the 14-year olds were getting frisky. Had to shield myself with one of my child entourage (I think of them as my unholy army and pay them in candy. No joke), and make a quick getaway. Of course, I ran straight into a lovely man who smelled like a barrel of mangoes that was starting to turn. He was extremely happy to shake my hand, so happy, in fact, that he didn't let go for five minutes. Turns out he's the uncle of the bride, and he'd been hittin the still for a few hours. He was lovingly escorted elsewhere by some friends, long after the point where I had gotten a contact buzz. At this point Mama and I retrieved the little ones from her mother’s house, and called it a night. That's right folks: at Tanzanian weddings you drop the little ones off at your mom's and meet crazy drunk uncles. Say it with me now: "we're not so different".

Got my site assignment this week. My village is called Idetelo, it is in the Iringa Region, close to the town of Mafinga. I'm told it's pretty darn cold for Tanzania, that they have great timber, huge tea plantations, and that apparently there's really amazing horse riding (that's right lady love. I said horses). As odd as it may seem, since I moved out of Paupack to go to NYU in August of ’03, I have not lived anywhere for more than 11 months (I blame the bedbugs). This will be my longest stay in one residence since high school. So I should decorate, is what I'm saying.

Lacking a transition here, so this is the shout-out part of the email! Stacey, the couple I'm staying with is going to Spain before they return to America. Steered them towards Attic and La Sagrada Familia. Am jonesin for sangria now too. Connor and Samantha, I hope you’re staying up unreasonably late on summer vacay. Do me a favor, shoot some illegal fireworks off on someone else’s property. I’m feeling old lately. Vick, I’m getting really excited by the prospect of coming home and meeting Miss (better not get married without me!) Waldron’s class. Dad, it turns out that lots of Tanzanian vijiji (villages) are beginning to submit 10-year land-use plans. Thought of you the whole time during that session. Also, my village’s 3 main listed needs were: better animal husbandry (I may be starting bee-keeping!), poor nutrition (gotta learn how to cook something other than chicken parm), and deforestation! Might start a little zungumzo (conversation) with Peter Pinchot one of these days via email. Mama, I am missing your cooking like the deserts miss the rain (I'm also missing the art of dramatic overstatement and the joys of sarcastic understatement. All I can do in Kiswahili is state). Kels, the hat has become a full nusu (half) of my personality here. It may never come off. Ever.

.....Ever.

Speaking of seamless transitions (note the seamless transition): I am directing our swearing-in ceremony. I wanted the official swearing-in to be each of us jumping off the roof of a small domicile into a swimming pool (though any standing water would do), when the Peace Corps Director calls our names. I've got backup plans though. One of the volunteers has bagpipes. Re-read. Bagpipes.


I've never appreciated music this much in my entire life . Since my last email I've really gotten my mp3 player up and rolling, and it's amazing. I always listened to music at home, doing anything and everything: vacuuming, driving, doing the dishes, reading, you name it. But here...the gift of music is so much by itself. It's such a grin-inducing thrill to pick an old friend off the rack, wipe the dust off the cover, set the needle to the groove (metaphorically), and lie down to listen. Music takes me farther now than it ever took me before Tanzania. Though that might be because I've never had to go so far to get back home.

Couple o’ the big hits of my own private Tanzania: “Shine a Light”, “Shelter from the Storm”, anything off of Incubus’ Morning View, “Blackbird”, and Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah”. Those are the ones that take me the full 7,000 miles. Please, please, please, keep track of any new bitchin’ tunes. I want to hear everything great I've missed. That goes for movies, books, and amusing anecdotes.

Goin off music, there's this Ian Hunter tune called “When the World was Round”. It basically sings the virtues of the older, analog world. Reminds me of Thomas Friedman's book, “The World is Flat” (which for the record, I have not read, I'm just familiar with his op-eds and his general viewpoints, so take this with a grain of salt). And I wonder a little bit about what our two different societies have to offer. In America, we have this wonderful notion about leaving our children a better world than the one we inherited. Which I think is the right idea, if applied to everything (consumption, the environment, health) worldwide. But if we actually mean just leaving our personal children a better life...than it just means that this generation there’s a new group of immigrants washing the dishes. A society that is trying to scrape the sky still needs a foundation of labor, right?

Love, Lots of Love,

Dan

P.S. Since writing my last post I hiked a steep freaking mountain, followed by 5 screaming children. Great hike. Also cooked beef fajitas and guacamole, learned gin rummy, and saw an agricultural canal system that produces some of the best growing conditions I've ever seen. Greg, if you're reading, you would love this place. Rode back down the mountain in the daladala, praying for a sweet deliverance that never came in a 12-seat van holding 26 people. Off to Dar tomorrow to open a bank account, then back to training to wrap up. It's getting real.