June 27, 2013
Today was another tiring day. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why I
am so tired here all the time. I think
my body hasn’t quite gotten used to rising so early in the morning. After a breakfast of white bread (the
combination of PB&J reminds me of home), a bowl of papaya (or “paw paw”)
and orange slices, and a cup of rooibus and vanilla tea, I waited for Rogath to
pick me up so that we could go to the village.
On our way, we took a side trip to an NGO called CEDESOTA (Community
Economic Development and Social Transformation). To be honest, it sounded like just another
nondescript organization possibly irrelevant to my project, however, after
hearing about their projects, I was so glad we stopped. Rogath explained that it is the “little
brother,” so to speak, of his NGO CESuDe-T (Tanzanians sure are fond of their
acronyms). He introduced me to the
managing director, a jovial and humble man named Jackson, who informed me that
they are currently working with pastoralists on issues related to agriculture,
climate change, and land rights. My jaw
may have dropped as this is very much interrelated to what I want to
study. To make matters more exciting,
CEDESOTA works locally with Maasai and other tribes and will be holding a
training sometime in July. I really hope
I’ll be around to attend, however, my “calendar” for July seems to be filling
up faster than I would have thought possible.
I hope to visit Mwanza (on Lake Victoria), Tanga (a coastal region to
the East), and either a safari or a hike up Mt. Meru (Tanzania’s second largest
mountain after Kilimanjaro). I just want
to see and do everything, and I am working hard to treat the Watson as a lesson
in saying “yes.” There were too many
times at Hamilton that I said “no.” No
because I had too much work or some other weak excuse. I want to say yes. I want to open my heart to people and jump in
fully with two feet.
Today ended up being interesting after our
serendipitous side visit with Jackson.
We arrived at the village (after an extremely nauseating half hour drive
into the mountains) and Rogath encouraged me to mingle with the women by the
pile of bricks, because they “surely remembered me.” At first, it seemed to be going quite
well. I maintained about as much small
talk as my extremely limited Swahili permitted, and we laughed over the fact
that we couldn’t really understand each other.
Then something odd happened. I
asked if I could help (“Nisaidie namna gani?”), which the first word of this
phrase is extremely difficult for me to pronounce…so many syllables and
vowels. I must have butchered it
horribly. I knew that I couldn’t
possibly carry a concrete brick on my head like the other women (who I
conjecture have been doing it since they could walk), but I thought maybe I
could help some other way. Then I
thought they asked me if I wanted to take some tea (“chai”). They pointed to a bucket on the ground, which
I hoped I could carry to assist them. It
was filled with mugs and a thermos, so naturally, I thought they were offering
me a morning cuppa. Again, wrong. One woman started asking me for money and
then things got kind of uncomfortable – “200 shillings,” one farmer
exclaimed. I was confused, but should
have expected that nothing is free in such an impoverished community. I awkwardly bumbled through my money belt
(which was of course, under my shirt, so I probably flashed them my stomach)
and dug out some change. “That is not
enough for everyone,” another woman expressed in broken English. Were they asking me to give them all
money? I was sort of annoyed and
perplexed, explaining that I couldn’t possibly give money to everyone. After recounting the story to Rogath, he
swooped in with his wonderful bilingual-ness and apparently it was all a big
misunderstanding…
Today’s mission was to see the intake of the
irrigation system. We walked the length
of the canal/trench (~2.2 km) up to the “mouth.” Of course, he stopped periodically to speak
to people, but I didn’t mind. The walk
was beautiful. This village is
incredibly peaceful and the surrounding environment is breath-taking. He allowed me to freely take photographs and
also encouraged me to record video footage during our walk, which he
occasionally narrated.
Intake
On our return trek, he permitted me to interview a
female farmer, while his generously translated.
It was fascinating but also depressing (like many things I have encountered
in Africa thus far). I learned that she
is a single mother because her husband died, and as a woman farmer, she feels a
much heavier burden compared to her male counterparts. She has the responsibility of taking care of
the family, tending to the livestock, growing the vegetables, and generating
any income possible.
Although I still haven’t managed to figure out how to
pronounce the name of the village, after interrogating Rogath, I learned heaps
of information about it: they began this irrigation project last October, and
farmers cultivate individually on small plots of land for both home consumption
and some sales at the market. Land is
very scarce though and as a result, they have to use zero-grazing with their
cattle: the cows cannot range free but a rope is tied around their snouts,
hitching them to a fencepost with a pile of grass and palm leaves are presented
to them (it looks kind of depressing, really).
it is good you are willing to put yourself out there and allow yourself to feel uncomfortable. you can use that feeling to help welcome foreigners who enter your life going forward. "crossing borders" i call it. becoming the minority, becoming impoverished, if only culturally, for the moment. these are wonderful experiences, though are quite uncomfortable at the time.
ReplyDelete