Here in Tanzania, greetings are essential. There are on average about 20 different ways to say “hey, how are you?” in Kiswahili; you never know which one they’re gonna throw at you next. Now, in America you’re allowed to let the person (depending on how well you know them, or care to tell them) know if you’ve had the shittiest day of your life. Here, all of the possible answers are a variation of “I’m good.” There’s even a “I’m peaceful” answer. Apparently in Tanzania, you’re not allowed to experience a semi-bad day. Which is a blessing and a curse. The other day I biked to and from town. Now mind you it’s the rainy season and none of the roads in my Region are paved, so as I was going up those hills and getting greeted left and right, my answer was always “I’m good!” Which, after a while, I had to laugh to myself because I actually thought about what I was saying, and as much as I didn’t feel good, I started to make myself believe that I was, in fact, “good”. So much of the time I feel like I’m giving a robotic answer, but I actually had to stop and think about what I was saying and it made me laugh, which in turn made the hills seem somehow less steep and less muddy J
Also, here in Tanzania, giving respect to your elders is a must. There’s a word, “Shikamoo”, response “Marahaba.” I say it to anyone I think who looks older than me, and children say it to me. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but when you’ve got a baby strapped to your back and one on your hip, I don’t care if you’re 16, I’m going to Shikamoo you. They laugh if I’m wrong. Anyway, it’s an amazing feeling when you’re walking by an elder and you Shikamoo them. Maybe they’re not expecting you to know Kiswahili; they’re especially not expecting you to know the need to Shikamoo. I love it when their eyes light up, they smile with a grin full of teeth (sometimes not, ha), and give a polite “Marahaba.”
Today I went to the Zahanati (Health Dispensary). A Clinical Officer works there, equivalent to our RN’s in the states. She gave me a tour, which consists of a waiting room, an examination room, a delivery table (!), a recovery bed, and a fridge running on solar power which holds vaccines of all sorts. I also found out the villagers are able to get tested for HIV, which is valuable knowledge for my future work. My level of excitement sky-rocketed when I saw that rustic, semi-stained delivery table. I thought back to my time in NY, when I was shadowing a CNM and had the pleasure of assisting with a delivery. I believe this is the exact right place for me to make a difference. Thing is, everything here takes time. Patience really is a virtue.
Let me tell you, cooking in Africa is no small feat. First of all, it’s a gamble as to what’s available in the village. It’s another gamble as to what’s available if you make the trek into town. Luckily it’s mango season, so those are plentiful. However, it turns out if you don’t own a farm and harvest all the food you eat, finding nutritious food is difficult! I’m afraid I’m in the wrong profession. Nonetheless, once you do find food to cook, preparation and cooking takes about on average 2-3 hours depending on how intricate you desire to be. You know the saying (now forgive me if this is somewhat off, because every time I think of it in my head it doesn’t sound quite right), but… “A watched teapot never boils”, well, take it from me, it might take 40 minutes, but it WILL boil damn it!
And anther thing, I will never again complain about turning the knob on an electric stove, or washing each dirty dish separately in a sink under running water ever again. And you can quote me on that.
Random tid-bit from today. Snakes are nothing to be shrugged off. I got water for the first time from my well today (one reason to welcome the rainy season), and saw a snake swimming around. Call me naïve, bit I really didn’t think anything of it at the time, just made sure it didn’t swim into my bucket without my knowing. One of the teachers happened to be walking by and I mentioned it to him. About 20 minutes later he, an army of teachers, and what seemed like half the villagers came by to fish the snake out of my well. I’d come by for the show too, wouldn’t you? Don’t ask me how, but they managed to get it into the bucket with nothing more than a flashlight and long stick. Once inside, everyone stepped back save the guinea pig who got the lucky job of taking the bucket into the road, tipping it over and killing it. I repeat, Snakes are (I guess) nothing to be shrugged off. And here I was just going to watch him swim around for a while.
No comments:
Post a Comment