From the mind of a blundering idiot...

Sunday in Africa.  The bright blue sky of Saturday has become overcast and the temperature lower, a relief.  The pace of life slows as it does in the states.  Walking through the streets, I see people on the way to church, or gathering water, or burning trash.  I'm continually amazed at the strength of women's necks.  A girl, no older than thirteen or fourteen, strains over the weight of buckets of water, one in hand and one on her head.  The basic way of life is both beautiful and complicated to my western eyes.

After breakfast and an unexpected rain shower, a few of us meander through town.  I stop in at AMAP.  Pili has my dress almost done, I try it on and am amazed at how a few suggestions of style and length were interpreted so beautifully.  We continue down the cobblestone street near the beach and see two teachers from Mwasama before saying hello to Rasti at his art shop. 

On down the beach to Millenium (a hotel), we grab a drink and relax to chat about social or cultural faux pas we've all committed since arriving.  I've never adequately understood how difficult it is to integrate into a new society.  The inevitable lag time between a greeting given, my comprehension and retrieval of an appropriate response, and delivery of said response, is maddening.  I often respond with an inappropriate phrase...

"Hello!"
"Very good, thank you."

Or...

"You are welcome here."
"Hello. You are welcome."

We're all pretty certain that most locals think of us as blundering idiots at this point.  Many of the people who greet me along the route from the summer house to the main house are accustomed to following their greeting with the appropriate response, which I then repeat with a grateful nod and resigned smile before continuing on. 

This morning, I entered the gates of Mwasama to begin my second week.  All students were gathered in the center courtyard for a morning chant of some sort, followed by the beautiful sounds of the Tanzanian national anthem.  I greeted each of the teachers and began to teach my class.  As I strained to understand the english of the students and attempted to keep my skirt dry (the concrete floor had been overtaken by a large puddle), I realized how exhausting it can be to be constantly comprehending and making sense of a world and a language unfamiliar.  I know that I will never again be imaptient when I encounter someone who is learning the english language.  I know how they feel.

During tea time, Mzee, a teacher and self-proclaimed Tanzanian patriot, stood and spoke to other teachers with force and conviction.  Others replied, all in words unknown to me.  It's lonely, in a world where the familiar is so very far away.  I never thought that this process would be easy, but I didn't anticipate the shear exhaustion and frustration - with myself, with the way of communications, with the complexity of simple tasks. 

Needles to say, I'm looking forward to our trip to Zanzibar this weekend.  There's word of hot showers.  Say it ain't so...