A Ride to Remember

The best way I know how to describe the experience of riding a dala dala, the public bus, is the well-known phrase “packed in like a can of sardines.” I’ve heard that phrase a number of times and can now safely say I really know what it feels like to be crammed into a space too small for even a few tiny fish. My first few times on a dala dala I felt like Bambi still trying to find her legs but I like to think that now I am pretty skilled at it; I can distinguish the various stops the konda (conductor) calls every few minutes which used to sound more like ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ than anything during my first months in country, I can look out the window and identify the various stops before the konda even calls them, I know that when he jingles a fistful of gold coins in my direction he is asking for the 400 shilling fare, I can determine with one quick glance which dalas are truly packed to the gills and which ones I may be able to squeeze myself onto without risk of falling out as it races over bumps and around cars, and most importantly, I know how to arrange myself in such a way that allows at least five more people to squeeze onto the already over packed dala. After all of the twisting and turning and holding myself up in less than comfortable positions I have done in the last six months, I think  I may have a promising career as a contortionist one day. 

Some days it is easy to get on a dala and be comfortable, maybe even find a seat in the first ten minutes of the ride but today that was not the case. Today I truly felt like I was a part of a school of fish crowded into a metal box without any room to breathe. Most days I am not carrying anything, except for maybe a shoulder bag which really isn’t a burden. But today, I happened to be coming back from doing a bit of food shopping for my community. So now, not only was I on the most crowded bus ever but I was also down a hand usually used for bracing myself. I was carrying a grocery bag that must have weighed at least 4 pounds. Maybe that doesn’t seem like a lot but when you are being jostled to and fro on a fast moving vehicle inches from the open door, I might as well have been carrying a 50 pound anvil. For the first few minutes of the journey, I was about five inches away from the edge of the step off the dala, the only thing separating me from the fast moving concrete under us….one swerve too many and I would be rolling in the street as the dala dala continued to zoom away. Luckily, as I was beginning to think I couldn’t hold on any longer, we reached the most popular stop along our route, Ubungo, where the coach bus station is located. Many of my fellow riders got off here and I was able to move into the aisle, a more stable spot to stand and much further away from the open door. With each stop we made, more people got off and I slowly got pushed back even further in the aisle. I breathed a sigh of relief, telling myself I was going to make it home in one piece after all. Then, as it happens at least once a day, I got my dose of Tanzanian generosity.  As I tried to keep holding on with only one hand, a trick I am still trying to master, a Tanzanian woman not much older than myself tapped me on the arm. When I looked down at her, she simply offered her lap as a safe haven for the bag I was desperately clinging to as the circulation drained from my fingers. Breathing an even deeper sigh of relief, I handed my bag to the kind woman, and grabbed the bar above my head with both hands this time; from that point forward, the ride was a piece of cake until we reached my stop. I took my bag, thanked the generous woman for her help, and pushed and shoved my way off the dala in the same fashion as when I boarded it.

As I reflect on today’s journey, I realize what an appropriate metaphor it is for this experience. In the beginning, I was unsure I could do it; I feared not being able to hold on, that I would never truly be comfortable in the situation, and was sure I would fall within the first few minutes. But as time passed and I become accustomed to my new surroundings, I began to breathe more easily. By the end, I was confident and knew that it was all going to work out just fine, with a little bit of help from a few nice people along the way. So, as I dive deeper into this adventure (and practice riding dala dalas one handedly), I will remember today’s dala dala ride fondly, reminding myself that if I just hold on the best I can, I will make it out on the other side in one piece, a stronger version of myself.

Joy for the Journey. Love for the Lasting

How does one express all of the heart-filling and heartbreaking, joyous and somber, exciting and mundane, faith-filled and Godless moments into one blog, let alone, into words at all? I don’t know if it is possible. There have been numerous moments of bliss, sadness, frustration, wonder, homesickness, actual sickness, love, dislike, justice, and injustice during my first six months in Tanzania. It’s difficult, nay impossible, to remember every single person and experience I have been blessed enough to encounter thus far. But I am certain there is one day that will stick in my mind forever, a day filled with immense joy and unconditional love that is hard to describe simply using words, but I will try my best.

On June 8^th, we celebrated the end of the first term of school before our winter holiday (yes, winter is in June!) with a celebration called Gonzaga Day. The central purpose of the day was to remember the patron saint of our school, Saint Aloysius Gonzaga. I arrived at school bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the excitement and laughter I knew the day would bring, but also slightly nervous as my Standard 3 classes and English Club had not practiced quite as much as I was hoping we would. We began the day with a thoughtful mass said by the Jesuit chaplain at the high school, Father Joe. Being the enthusiastic and relatable speaker that he is, he was easily able to encourage the students to continue to stretch their minds and their hearts, because if they do so, they will go far in life (It was a good reminder for myself, too).

Upon returning to school after a short walk from the local parish church, we had milk tea and bread, which is a treat compared to the porridge the students drink every day (personally, I prefer the porridge but some students don’t really care for it). After a very relaxed tea time complete with students running and playing all over the school grounds, we began the performances. It started with the parade from our scouts and some performances by the lower classes (Pre-Standard 1 to Standard 2), including a fashion show and some wonderful songs. During this time, I was running around like crazy trying to round up my Standard 3 students for their first performance as members of the Upper Classes. I managed, with the help of one of another teacher, to round up (almost) all of our students and line them up just in time for the MC to announce our entrance. My students marched right out into the performance area and sang “This Little Light of Mine” with more gusto and confidence than I could hope for. The hand motions and dancing were subpar through no fault of their own, however, because I was the one who choreographed them. Regardless, I am incredibly proud of them and realize more and more everyday how heartbreaking it will be to leave them at the end of next year…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves!

After a few more wonderful performances including dance club performing to the likes of Lady Gaga and Beyonce’s Telephone, Standard 4B’s skit about the life of Saint Gonzaga, a retelling of St. Gonzaga’s life given in impeccable Kiswahili by Standard 6, and a few more songs and dances, it was time for English club…the last student performance of the day. Let’s just say I was anxious. I spent the whole morning running around getting the other performances ready and simultaneously trying to enjoy this fun day with students, all the while knowing in the back of my mind that I wasn’t sure how well English Club would do after the little practice we had time for in the weeks leading up to this big day (which, by the way, was absolutely my own fault). But then, there they were, in the performance area after dancing out to the tune of a Tanzanian favorite, “Under the Coconut Tree.” I stood back and watched, praying they would remember their lines and remember to face the audience. They quickly situated themselves and Jackline of Standard 5 grabbed the microphone with a world of confidence and began: “Once upon a time…”

Before I knew what was happening, I was whisked away into their magical world, watching as my students transformed before my eyes….was that Theresia flawlessly delivering her line and 7 of my other favorite students singing “High-ho, high-ho, it’s off to work we go” in perfect unison? No, that was Snow White and the 7 dwarfs I was watching. By the time Prince Charming came to save Snow White so they could live happily ever after, I had the most enormous smile on my face; to say that I was beaming is an understatement. They did it; my students cooperated so wonderfully and gave the best performance of Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs I could have asked for. I knew in my heart that they did incredibly well, but to have other teachers congratulate me and tell me how much they liked it, only added to my joy.

After a delectable lunch of pilau and chicken, it was time for the teacher’s dance. We practiced every day after lunch for about 2 weeks learning the moves Beth, the 2^nd year JV, put together for us. All I can say was that it was a huge hit! The students went wild after we finished our performance.

Then it happened, the moment when I realized that all the hard work, time, and sacrifice that went into becoming a JV was more than worth it… Gonzaga Day ended with a big dance party. Students, teachers, staff, guests, and anyone else that was there started dancing together. So there I was, all of the stress and nerves of the day washed away, surrounded by hundreds of tiny students mimicking my horrendous dance moves, smiling from ear-to-ear, when I realized that this moment is exactly why I came to Tanzania. There was absolutely nowhere else in the world I would have rather been in that moment. I love being a teacher, I love children, I love learning about new cultures…and all of these things certainly make my life much more fruitful but the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced is being surrounded by boundless, unconditional love. Nothing else is the world was as important as the sense of community and belonging we all felt in that moment. I was literally in a sea of uninhibited joy. There are no words to describe how full my heart feels just thinking about it. This experience is no longer long-term service but my life…and these children are no longer students that I must teach noun/verb agreement to but uniquely special individuals that I have genuine connections with. The entire Gonzaga Day, and more specifically, that moment of clarity, has made this entire journey worth it. And though it will be hard to top last Saturday, I still have a year and a half and another Gonzaga Day to try...but I just don’t know how it gets better than that.

Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs