8.22.2005
The Best and Worst of Tanzania
Originally sent March 29, 2005. This is the fifth of 8 mass emails I sent while living in Tanzania.
Greetings to long-time and first-time readers of the Emily Monthly Illustrated. It seems like a long time ago, but I promised to share all the detailsof my former roommate, Genya's, wedding. It was a hectic week for us. Starting on the Saturday before the big day, two women moved in with us to help her get ready--one of whose primary job was to cook four meals a day so that Genya could be fat for her wedding. The Sunday before the big day was the kitchen party, for women friends and family on the bride's side of the family. This was very cool--it was held in the bride's mother's backyard and the women came dressed in their brightest, biggest outfits. They sang and danced to songs about childbirth, climaxing in the bride-to-be's mother collapsing on the ground in feigned labor pain. The bride and her maid of honor came dressed in special matching outfits and observed all of the proceedings with intent looks of supreme boredom. The best part, though, was the gifts, when all of the women lined up and danced and gave Genya brooms and bars of soap and kitchen utensils, each presented with an explanation of how to use it at home.
The Thursday before the big day was Genya's Send Off, held in a formal space with sort of high school prom-level glamor. Genya and her maid of honor came wearing identical lavender silk dresses and big bouffant hairdos, but the bride was easily distinguished by the look of sheer terror on her face. There was a church choir and a chuckling MC and a long series of formal gestures to bid the bride farewell. Like at many events in Tanzania, everything was relayed through an enormous and painful sound system. The send off cake, which the bride had to feed to her reluctant parents, looked just like a typical tiered wedding cake, except on top there was only a bride, with a jaunty hand on her hip.
And Sunday was the wedding itself. I arrived with three other white people 15 minutes after the time on the invitation; the church was completely empty. An hour later the church began to fill up and the wedding took place. It was a great mix of our tradition and theirs--the bride came in, hidden by a white veil and escorted by her father and a chorus of ululating aunts. The vows were quite standard, but were followed by more ululations, and in recognition of both traditions, everyone got teary. The service was followed by picture taking at the local fountain and then a long party with more huge speakers and more lines of dancing people presenting gifts. It was loud and joyful and just an overall great wedding.
And since then life has been preceding apace. Genya cleared out all of her (and some of my) things including the fridge, all of the cupboards, and most of the kitchenware. After a few weeks on my own, I got a new roommate, a Tanzanian named Glory. She has a sweet disposition and an absurd sense of humor and it is nice to be sharing the house, even if it now only has one bed. At work, we got electricity for the first time at our school and we opened a new site--a day preschool in the slum where our kids are from. So it's been busy.
For the Easter holiday, my friend Kate from home, who is teaching in the southern part of the country came up, and after a few days in Arusha we traveled to the coast. This turned out to be a longer, hotter, sweatier journey than we had imagined, and as the bus rolled past fields of sisal plants then orange groves then palm trees, we were both craving the moment when we reached the water. So when we arrived at our planned resort, away from any town at all and with few public transport connections, our hearts sank when we heard that the place was full. "But," the proprietor said, "the place next door might be able to make you a deal..." and so it was, by pure blind luck, that Kate and I ended up paying a very reasonable price for a luxurious and breezy cottage right on the Indian Ocean.
That night, as we slept under a mosquito net big enough to accomodate our king-sized bed, in Arusha, Glory was woken by the sound of 20 men breaking into our compound. They ripped through everything we owned and took what looked most valuable, including my laptop, our radio, jewelry, cash, and a long list of other things--some that are funny (macaroni) and some that it breaks my heart to think of (my CDs). They left a huge mess of trampled clothes and our neighbors were all very shaken, but, thankfully, unhurt. The next evening, still sticky and sandy from lounging on the beach, I turned on my phone and got the news. We cut our vacation short, and Easter day I spent on the bus again, worrying as I wondered what I would find in Arusha.
When I arrived at home the mess had, mercifully, already been cleaned up. Initially I had been told that they had taken "everything" but fortunately that was not true. My clothes and shoes and books were all left behind; I lost most hope of getting my other things back whenI noticed that the room in the police station where I reported them missing was piled seven feet high with stacks of yellowing lost items reports. But they only took things, and I, and my neighbors are fine. Yet when I walk down the street now I wonder if the strangers I see did it or know who did. When people tell me how lucky I was not to have been there I wonder if what they say is true. Of course I want my laptop and my camera back, but I want the serenity that I used to feel back more.
Happy Easter.
Emily
Greetings to long-time and first-time readers of the Emily Monthly Illustrated. It seems like a long time ago, but I promised to share all the detailsof my former roommate, Genya's, wedding. It was a hectic week for us. Starting on the Saturday before the big day, two women moved in with us to help her get ready--one of whose primary job was to cook four meals a day so that Genya could be fat for her wedding. The Sunday before the big day was the kitchen party, for women friends and family on the bride's side of the family. This was very cool--it was held in the bride's mother's backyard and the women came dressed in their brightest, biggest outfits. They sang and danced to songs about childbirth, climaxing in the bride-to-be's mother collapsing on the ground in feigned labor pain. The bride and her maid of honor came dressed in special matching outfits and observed all of the proceedings with intent looks of supreme boredom. The best part, though, was the gifts, when all of the women lined up and danced and gave Genya brooms and bars of soap and kitchen utensils, each presented with an explanation of how to use it at home.
The Thursday before the big day was Genya's Send Off, held in a formal space with sort of high school prom-level glamor. Genya and her maid of honor came wearing identical lavender silk dresses and big bouffant hairdos, but the bride was easily distinguished by the look of sheer terror on her face. There was a church choir and a chuckling MC and a long series of formal gestures to bid the bride farewell. Like at many events in Tanzania, everything was relayed through an enormous and painful sound system. The send off cake, which the bride had to feed to her reluctant parents, looked just like a typical tiered wedding cake, except on top there was only a bride, with a jaunty hand on her hip.
And Sunday was the wedding itself. I arrived with three other white people 15 minutes after the time on the invitation; the church was completely empty. An hour later the church began to fill up and the wedding took place. It was a great mix of our tradition and theirs--the bride came in, hidden by a white veil and escorted by her father and a chorus of ululating aunts. The vows were quite standard, but were followed by more ululations, and in recognition of both traditions, everyone got teary. The service was followed by picture taking at the local fountain and then a long party with more huge speakers and more lines of dancing people presenting gifts. It was loud and joyful and just an overall great wedding.
And since then life has been preceding apace. Genya cleared out all of her (and some of my) things including the fridge, all of the cupboards, and most of the kitchenware. After a few weeks on my own, I got a new roommate, a Tanzanian named Glory. She has a sweet disposition and an absurd sense of humor and it is nice to be sharing the house, even if it now only has one bed. At work, we got electricity for the first time at our school and we opened a new site--a day preschool in the slum where our kids are from. So it's been busy.
For the Easter holiday, my friend Kate from home, who is teaching in the southern part of the country came up, and after a few days in Arusha we traveled to the coast. This turned out to be a longer, hotter, sweatier journey than we had imagined, and as the bus rolled past fields of sisal plants then orange groves then palm trees, we were both craving the moment when we reached the water. So when we arrived at our planned resort, away from any town at all and with few public transport connections, our hearts sank when we heard that the place was full. "But," the proprietor said, "the place next door might be able to make you a deal..." and so it was, by pure blind luck, that Kate and I ended up paying a very reasonable price for a luxurious and breezy cottage right on the Indian Ocean.
That night, as we slept under a mosquito net big enough to accomodate our king-sized bed, in Arusha, Glory was woken by the sound of 20 men breaking into our compound. They ripped through everything we owned and took what looked most valuable, including my laptop, our radio, jewelry, cash, and a long list of other things--some that are funny (macaroni) and some that it breaks my heart to think of (my CDs). They left a huge mess of trampled clothes and our neighbors were all very shaken, but, thankfully, unhurt. The next evening, still sticky and sandy from lounging on the beach, I turned on my phone and got the news. We cut our vacation short, and Easter day I spent on the bus again, worrying as I wondered what I would find in Arusha.
When I arrived at home the mess had, mercifully, already been cleaned up. Initially I had been told that they had taken "everything" but fortunately that was not true. My clothes and shoes and books were all left behind; I lost most hope of getting my other things back whenI noticed that the room in the police station where I reported them missing was piled seven feet high with stacks of yellowing lost items reports. But they only took things, and I, and my neighbors are fine. Yet when I walk down the street now I wonder if the strangers I see did it or know who did. When people tell me how lucky I was not to have been there I wonder if what they say is true. Of course I want my laptop and my camera back, but I want the serenity that I used to feel back more.
Happy Easter.
Emily
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