Our last two weeks in Nairobi were insanely busy and maybe not the most fun I’ve had all summer. It was another series of goodbyes, and we all know how well I like those. We saw our boys and Turry again and they took us out for a night out…my first time out after dark voluntarily in Nairobi. We had fun, but I missed the easiness of Kericho nights out. Nairobi is too fancy for me.
One of the professors from Atlanta came to help us with data analysis and such. She was super excited about the data we collected and the rough draft of the report we had done so far. It was nice to know all that hard work that we had done wasn’t a waste.
ILRI took us out to dinner at a really fancy brewery and restaurant to say thank you to us. It was amazing- fresh brewed beer, crab, good win and chocolate cake. I was in heaven. Then next day was our very first, honest to goodness, nothing to do but what we felt like, day off. We got up and lounged around (well, we worked a little bit, but I’ll chose to ignore that part) and had brunch with Tom and Delia from ILRI. We then realized we didn’t have anywhere to be for 24 hours. So, we wandered. We decided to go souvenir shopping and headed to a mall with a cute store, but it was closed, so we ended up in this market Tina, Health and I demolished three years earlier. I didn’t buy much, but we had so much fun just wandering and talking and goofing off with the salespeople. I made some friends, learned a few things, relaxed and bargained for the rest of the group. Shreyas wanted to see Inception, which he told us was about a computer game. None of the girls were super excited, but we decided to go anyway, since we had nothing else to do and it would be fun to do something different. Turns out, the movie has nothing to do with computers and stressed me out. I needed a Pepcid. It was part Matrix, part What Dreams May Come, but it was good. And as an added bonus, I got a cup of “Hot n’ Corny”- the movie theatre snack of choice in Nairobi- a cup of corn. Yup. Corn. Novel and tasty. Anna left the next morning and we went back to work, getting ready for our presentation (that eventually was scheduled 4 more times, but yet never happened). I got ready for my trip back to Tanzania, which was easy to get excited about because everyone from my village called me every night.
I suppose it is your classic love story- Mama Edina and I, although not that eewey-gooey, make you want to vomit kind. The first time I saw her, I knew she would be my best friend in Tanzania. I arrived in Kifumbe with a mattress, two months of pitiful Swahili and some kerosene. I got dropped off at my new house to a flurry of activity- hanging curtains, mopping, sweeping the dirt courtyard. Our eyes met and I just knew . The next morning, she showed up at my door with this little three year old girl and a bucket of water. The morning after that, she showed me where to go to get the water. I didn’t know her name (well, I’m sure I did but I couldn‘t remember after meeting so many people those first few days). I didn’t know where she lived. The first time I took a walk by myself, I set off north with my dictionary, a notebook and a pencil in my little basket. I decided I would stop wherever I had the opportunity to and talk to whoever I found. I was so terrified. I could list off crops and ask about ages of children, but I was far from conversational in Swahili. Besides that, almost everyone spoke Kibena. I had so much to learn. I stopped at a house past the market where an old lady invited me into her yard to sit on her only chair while she filled my basket with peanuts. We could hardly communicate but I felt so loved. I left, probably sooner than custom should allow, but I decided one visit was enough for my first day. I was exhausted. On my way home, Mama Edina was sitting by the road, waiting for me and had been doing so since I walked past an hour or more before. She took me to her wooden kitchen and we sat and pointed at things, asking “Hii ni nini?”—what is this? I wrote down in my little notebook the translation in Kiswahili and in Kibena and she pulled out her little notebook and wrote it down in English. That was just the beginning of a friendship that was different for both of us. Since neither of us knew what rules applied to our friendship, we followed none. She is 8 years older than me with two children and has never been married. The father of her children is her true love that was destined to marry her older sister. She was offered the position of second wife, but she told me she is no man’s second wife. She’ll never marry- she has enough children, she says, and she has no trouble feeding her household, so what use would she have with a husband?
She is the nicest person I know and helps me navigate Tanzanian social norms. We braid and unbraid each other’s hair. We talk about love, politics and recipes. I trust her when she says that something is okay. And she will correct me when I’m wrong. She fights harder for me than I ever could.
The first day back in Tanzania, I was surprised at how different life is there, even from Kenya. And I was more surprised at all the things that came back to me so quickly, even though I have been gone for three years. I thought I had forgotten all these things, but they were stored away in a little corner of my brain, and when I needed them, they just showed up without me being conscious of it all.
Like the way I know how to leave my hand out to be slapped by the friendly guy next to me on the bus. If you’ve lived in Tanzania, you know this move. Funny statement. Slap.
The way my fingers know how to quickly sort and clean beans for lunch, picking out the rocks.
The way I involuntarily make that “chicken shoo-ing” noise when they try to come in the kitchen when I’m cooking.
The way my arms remember the way to make ugali the right way.
The way I remember how to start a fire.
The way my legs remember to sit on tiny 4 inch stools.
The way I put “bea” at the end of every statement like the Wabena do.
It’s comforting to know that after so much has changed in my life since I’ve come back from Kifumbe, so much of me is still the same. And the way I haven’t seen Mama Edina for three years, but it only seems like a couple of weeks. For the first day or so we were back together, we would look at each other and laugh, as if we couldn’t believe we were together again. I got in on Wednesday night after more than 25 hours on a bus. Mama Love waited for me at the bus stand and we returned to Kifumbe together, catching up on who died, who had moved away and who had had babies. Mama Sandro and Mama Edina were cooking and waiting for us at home. We immediately had to go into the village and greet the new mwenyekiti (village chairman)- a man that used to be my only enemy in town, but after one good fight and the death of his wife, we slowly became friends. We ate dinner- chicken and rice and vegetables- the dinner of guests. And it might be psychological, but the taste of food from Mama Edina’s kitchen is so distinct I almost cried tears of joy. Her house if full of things left over from my house- my old curtains, the frying pan, the silly Santa Claus that hangs up in her living room year round. It was comforting to see these things.
The village is different. There are two lorries now, not just the one I rode for two years. There is a pool table in the middle of the market and a whole lot of motorcycles. There wasn’t even a single car when I left but now there is a taxi and a bus to carry people back and forth to Makambako. I have been attacked by several children I could have sworn would have forgotten me, but they hug me and refuse to leave me. Edita, Mama Edina’s youngest daughter slept with me every night because she was afraid I would leave . She’s 8 now, far from the little girl at my door 5 years ago. She’s a bed hog and she kicks, but she is warm and she loves me. And I love her. Mama Edina and I stayed up late that first night, catching up on life. We put a little charcoal stove in the living room to keep us warm while we chatted and laughed. Before we went to sleep, we prayed a prayer of thanks to God for bringing us back together again.
The next morning, I sat in the kitchen I first sat in 5 years before and made tea with my best friend. We went to look for sugar and bread in the market and stopped by Mama Sandro’s mgahawa (little restaurant). I helped to make mandaazi- fried bread and then we wandered back to the house and Mama Edina insisted on washing my dirty travel clothes. I told her not to, but she said there are three sisters in the family now and she knows I help Sarah at her house and it was her job to help me I came to hers.
While Mama Edina was washing, two old women came to visit her. Mama Edina started bossing me around, which made me really happy. I cut vegetables and peeled tomatoes, all with the approval of the two older women. It’s hard to please women here, especially when it comes to cooking, so I was pretty proud. Mama Edina produced my old cutting board when she remembered I would slice my fingers off if I cut the vegetables the way they do. I cooked the food while Mama Edina called out directions from the yard. We carried the food over to some men working on a house up the street and she made me present it to the men…it was funny to see her proud of me. She then spent a while convincing me I should get married and move back to Tanzania.
Later on, Mama Love, Mama Edina, Mama Markus and I sat in a circle on our tiny stools with our knees touching, gossiping about the lady that died the other day, the kids that have run off from school, and the sisters that were sick. The sun was fading and it was starting to get chilly again, but it was nice. I feel more a part of life here than I ever have before. My feet are as dirty as ever and my muscles ache the way they should after a full day’s work. I cooked three meals, fed the pigs, washed dishes and spent time in town. It was such a great day.
I woke up early the next day (so, not that early- 8am) and starting making the tea and walked to town for the maandazi. We welcomed guests to the house- the village chairman came to tell me he made me an appointment at the primary school (10 minutes before the appointment) and then stayed for an hour. We showed up at the school to meet the new headmaster and the other new teachers- most of the teachers I know have left or died or been run off from the village. There are now only 6 teachers for only 700+ students. They made all the older kids leave their classrooms and talk to me. It was all the kids I used to know when they were little. It was sweet to see these guys a little more grown up. I had to meet in the office of the headmaster and I saw my beloved bureau in the office. The bureau I almost paid a whole lot of money to bring back with me. I was excited to see it, as silly as it sounds, but also embarrassed because I know I didn’t paint behind that beast. It was huge and beautiful and heavy and I couldn’t paint behind it and now I know there is a giant white patch in the bright yellow room.
Soon, I was accompanied by Mama Edina and Mama Markus, visiting every single house that had a goat from the magical goat project that happened just a just weeks before I left the village the first time. I sort of didn’t have high hopes, because I left so quickly after they arrived, but it turns out they have done quite well. There were 15 lady goats and 2 males- Roger and Joshua. I apparently named them all and they introduced me, by name, to each and every one of the 32 goats they now have. Poor Roger passed away…they said because 15 ladies was too much for him. Plus, he was older and the only purebred and therefore, a little bit of a wuss. The members of the group are able to milk the goats and get 1-2 liters per day and they can sell it for 50 cents per liter, which is pretty good money. As a special thanks to me from the group, they slaughtered a milk goat for me. I was essentially horrified and baffled, but I decided to accept it. It was a nice thought.
On the way home from the goat escapades, I ran into my former neighbor’s mom. Mariam lived next to me for 2 years and was a wonderful friend. She was in secondary school and a smart, hardworking girl. She became pregnant against her will by an older boy and was 7 months pregnant when I left Kifumbe. She now lives in Njombe town, but her daughter lives with her mom in the village. Her daughter is the spitting image of Mariam and instantly fell in love. After Mariam’s house, we passed by to talk to the priest, Father Mwamengele. He was so excited to see me and give me the gossip. He is a nice guy, even if he is a little nutty. He loved seeing the picture of Brock since he knew Sarah and Dave when they came to visit me. He tried to keep the picture and rudely wouldn’t let him. We had some sodas and talked about who died. He tried explaining about a disease that enters through the penis…hearing the priest say “penis” is weird, no matter the language, which he said in two, to make sure I understood. Creepy. We left and made our way home, going the long way to avoid the drunks in the marketplace and ended up in front of my old counterpart. He used to be the headmaster but retired when I left- now he owns a lorry and caries trees and things around. He’s so funny and I love him like a crazy grandpa. He gave me a huge hug and we chatted while he continued to work on his truck with the ward chairman. Mama Edina and I finally made it home and guests arrived and watched me make ugali. We ate, then realized Mama Love was holding dinner for us at her house and was expecting us for a sleepover. We bathed and took the long walk back to Mama Love’s house in the dark. We ate another huge dinner and chatted until late. Mama Love read a bible passage and we prayed, then she tucked Mama Edina and I into her bed. Literally. We were covered up and tucked in and we slept like babies. Mama Love and Edita slept on a mattress on the floor next to us. It was a sweet night.
The next morning, everyone woke up really early, as usual, and the radio started at full blast. I got up and cooked breakfast for everyone…turns out the party I didn’t know about was at Mama Love’s house. An entire kitchen appeared out of thin air. Someone brought three rocks, someone else brought firewood and another brought a gigantic sufria (cooking pot) with a skinned goat’s head in it, looking at me. I excused myself and sat on the front porch with a three month old baby while a woman braided Mama Edina’s hair. We made our way home later to change clothes, leaving an entire team of women to cook. On the way back to Mama Edina’s, we stopped to have a second breakfast. Apparently, illikua lazima- it was a must. We got home and Mama Edina made me giver her my clothes- it was day 3 on the same outfit and she wouldn’t let me take my nasty clothes home. She then helped me roast the peanuts Mama Mariam gave me so I could have something to eat on the road home.
I tried to avoid going to Mama Sandro’s house. I was tired and she lived further than I felt like walking, but she was persistent. We walked and talked about the Grace Group, the group that she is the chair of. We started the Grace Group before I left to help those that are poor, orphaned, widowed and sick. We bought baskets from local artisans and sold them to people in America and used the money to pay for orphanage fees for baby Bette, bought shoes for a few school children and paid for transport fees for some people that needed to get to the hospital in Makambako. I wanted to make sure that the money was really being used for the group and not paying for the new table and chairs in Mama Sandro’s mgahawa. She showed me her bank book and loan book and then took me by the home of all the people they brought soap, salt and sugar to at Easter last year. I was slightly embarrassed that I had doubted her and completely humbled. Two women we visited were in their 90s, so crippled with age they couldn’t walk and completely relied on the generosity of the villagers for help. They wept with gratitude. The other boy we visited was badly burned just before I arrived in Kifumbe the first time and stayed sick most of the time. It was an amazing feeling to see all this work they were doing- a good motivation to carry on selling these baskets that still line my closet at home.
I ended up being late to the party for which I was the guest of honor yet no one told me the time to begin. I was two hours late, which isn’t bad by Tanzanian standards, but it was just late enough to let everyone get drunk. Oh well- it made for a more interesting meeting.
I had forgotten all the awkward formalities that go with parties- head tables, organization of people by importance, gigantic plates of rice and a kilo of goat meat that no one could finish but Tanzanians. I got another dozen eggs, a dollar and a soda. Even though the groups Is all women and they had paid for everything, I am the only female at the head table. The village chairman, the secretary and some other random village officials all got served first and the women at what was left. So much for women’s empowerment. I then spent a really long time saying goodbyes and talking to people that had waited for me outside. We wandered home, ate a second dinner, the fifth full meal of the day. I got to talk to Mom, Sarah and Brick- it was his second birthday. Mama Edina wanted to make sure Mom knew she was welcome. Mom promised her she would come and Mama Edina promised she would build a bigger house so Mom could come and stay. Edita had to go to bed, but before she did, she got down on her knees and begged to come to America with me. I would put that little girl in my bags in a heartbeat. We boiled 10 eggs to take on my long bus trip back to Nairobi. I took my bath in the kitchen, the same kitchen I cooked in, but because it was so cold in Kifumbe and the fire was still going, it was warmer to bathe in there. The wooden walls have cracks between the slats, so it isn’t impossible to see thru and since I already glow in the dark, I bathed in the dark. On more than one occasion, I reached for my soap and grabbed a roosting chicken. It never occurred to me until I came back to the states that this was weird.
It was my last night in Kifumbe. It was an amazing visit. There was a lot of complaining over who I visited and who I didn’t and more politics were involved than I wanted, but it was so nice to go home. That tiny village in the middle of nowhere Tanzania is my home in so many ways. I don’t know that I am capable of doing another two years in the Peace Corps, but I was able to go at the perfect time in my life and I am so thankful. Going back there was the perfect retreat.
to be continued...you know I have a lot to say
