Culture Shock

Luckily, because I’m living in a house with the other volunteers and I haven’t been completely forced to use a new language my culture shock hasn’t been that overwhelming.  But here are some of the things that have really shocked me.

Corporal punishment...the teacher in my school walks around with a stick to wail on kids when they fight when they don’t pay attention, and the one that’s hardest to stomach, when they get a question wrong.  All of it is hard to watch, but definitely when the teacher starts hitting them for just genuinely not knowing an answer.  In my eyes there is no justification for that but I don’t really know what to do or say when it happens. 

Mzungu...which means white person and is said to us multiple times a day whenever we walk anywhere.  Children, young adults, and older men love to call it out at us as we’re walking.  We’ve been told that it’s not a deregortoy term but when enough people have said it at you and then giggle afterward it starts to take on the feeling that it isn’t all in good fun.  We’ve learn to ignore it, but it so strange to hear and think about what would happen if someone went around in the states yelling out “white person white person” and then giggled as people walk by.

Time...there is no concept of being on time.  Our program manager even says how things run on Bagamoyo time which just means people are allowed to be a half hour to an hour late for everything.  This is very strange growing up in a house where my dad thinks I’m late when I’m five minutes early.  This concept of time also seems to lead to a lot of sitting around.  It will be the middle of the day when most people should be at work or doing something and you’ll see people taking naps on their front porches for the breeze.  Or people will be at their jobs and just randomly put their head down to rest for 15 minutes while everyone else just keeps working around them.

Personal Space boundaries...or rather the lack of any boundaries, especially with men.  Not only when meeting a man will he offer up a very wet noodle style handshake which just kinda freaks me out they also insist on holding onto your hand for the duration of their conversation with you, whether it be a minute or 10.  We’ve also found that when talking people insist on getting extremely close to you which has been difficult to get use to as well.

The food...is really good but full of carbs to make you feel fake full.  And I’ve found that I’ve had lot’s of talks with the other volunteers about all the foods we miss.  For example I would be ecstatic to eat some cheese (my favorite comfort food) or drink some milk.  Other volunteers are really missing meat in their diet (to which I can’t really sympathize).  I also really miss dippy eggs in the morning...but only the kind my dad makes.  We’ve all talked about the first few meals we’ll want once we get home...mine are macaroni and cheese and sushi.  But all in all I really can’t complain...I’m being very well fed, maybe too well in fact.

Children...everything about them is surprising.  Women will hand over their babies for complete strangers to hold.  They’ll be left alone all day so random children will show up at schools, or orphanages just to play for the day.  Unlike in the states, children are the most generous people here.  Most that we work with only get one meal a day but they offer it to us anyway.  Anything they own they try and give to us while we’re at placement.  But most surprising is how they are just all so incredibly attention starved but an be entertained with the simplest things (like a tire and a stick).  Children as young as 7 have cell phones in the states and can’t make it through the day without the newest and most exciting electronic toy, and more often then not they get bored with it quite quickly.  The children we’ve met could play for hours with a ball and ask day after day just to keep playing with the ball.  There total happiness in this life that is so simple and uncomplicated from my own is amazing to witness and makes me want to strive to live by their example.

Ilham

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” -Leo F Buscaglia

My favorite student at AMAP is a little girl named Ilham, she’s the only one who can say the entire alphabet, count to 100 and has mastered the conventional greetings in English.  I know I shouldn’t have favorites and I pay attention to them all but she is by far the one I enjoy working with the most.  She has the longest eyelashes with big brown eyes and this very shy smile that is only reserved for moments when she doesn’t think anyone else is looking.  She is an absolute perfectionist, I watched her copying lines on her chalkboard and unless her letters were absolutely perfect she erases them and starts all over again.  Not only is she smart, but she’s a sweetheart who likes to help the other children when they struggle, but she has just enough attitude to hold her own when the boy who sits next to her has elbowed her one too many times.  

I wish there was a way to make sure she get’s everything she wants out of life.  Earlier in the weeks a man in the education system came to tell us about how the whole system worked.  Little boys get preferential treatment.  The administrator who came to talk to us explained how he and his older sister (only a year older) went to school together...both were smart but everyday when they arrived home his sister had to wash the clothes, make dinner, 

                      sweep up the house, as well as a variety of other chores before she could even sit down to do her homework.  Then in the morning she would have to get up earlier then the rest of her family to start breakfast.  So not only did she work harder at home and go to bed later than her brother but she got up earlier and was still expected to get her homework finished.  He said that by the time they hit secondary school he had greatly surpassed her in school and then when faced with the choice to go to University the family only had enough money to send one and she had a marriage proposal so the family sent the boy.  I’d be livid.  And with every fiber of my being I don’t want that to happen to Ilham...I want her to be able to go to University and then settle down with the man of her dreams.  I want her to be able to be anything she wants to (and if I spoke more Kiswahili I would ask what she wants to be when she grows up).

At the end of the day I want them all to succeed.  That’s why at the end of every lesson I go around and give each of them a high five.  I make sure I look each one in the eye and gives them a thumbs up when they’ve done something good...and they all know how to “pound it” but I’ve been teaching them all how to pound it and then “blow it up” and it is one of the most satisfying feelings in the world to watch their faces light up at this little bit of attention they are paid.  Even Ilham who is by far the smartest one in the class is never praised by the teacher...no one is.  This kids definitely don’t need to be coddle because life here is hard enough without false expectations but they need to know when they’ve done something really good...we all do. 

Star Gazing

Whether you are into astrology, an avid star gazer, or just someone who appreciates the view on a warm summer night there is something magical about the stars.  The mere idea of them blows me away and when I am lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a shooting star I truly believe that anything is possible.  Up until now I have always thought that my little piece of Pennsyl-tucky, as so many friends at college like to call it,. had the best view of the stars.  Living in the middle of nowhere, with little light pollution really lets the night sky shine in all it’s glory...but never would I have guessed that the view could get better. ..

This past weekend, on Saturday night, after eating a delicious dinner with key lime pie for dessert (which was quite the treat because just the other day we were all talking about how much we missed real dessert...or as our friends from Scotland call it pudding) Lauren, Deirdre, Kit and I laid out on the beach at 10 o’clock and were blown away by the beauty of the night sky.  I have never seen so many stars in my entire life.  It was like being in the best planetarium on the planet, only with more stars that were brighter and they looked like they went on forever.

We stayed there for an hour...contemplating life, or whatever it is we’re all living right now, because it definitely doesn’t feel like real life.  And just taking in the beautiful view.  With absolutely no light and very little regular pollution to cloud out the sky there was so much to oh and awe at.  And we were all lucky enough to see a shooting star...magic!

My support team...who made fun of me the whole time.

 The Hospital

I don’t like check-ups or needles, I’m very picky about my doctors, and hospitals are for really sick people...I really don’t want to go to the hospital, especially one where the doctors and I do not share the same first language.  But I’ve had a fever of over 100 degrees for three days...I keep breaking them and they keep coming back, they miss me too much to stay away.  Momma Kate and Zik insist that I go and with Kit by my side (my other sick roommate who also thinks she’s caught something from the kids we teach) we embark on what will turn into a grand adventure...

On the way I try to create realistic expectations, giving myself a crash course in culture shock 101...Luckily when we arrive I am in such a state of delusion from fever and not really eating for days (because this is one of those illness where eating exhausts you...the kind where your esophagus and windpipe stage an epic battle with each bite and after a few you’re too tired to finish) that the place doesn’t faze me.  All the waiting areas are open air, similar to a pavilion, with closed in rooms that have barred windows on either side of he open space with benches everywhere.  Everything’s concrete except for the benches which are wooden.  Dust is everywhere.   The particular doctor we are here to see, the one that works closely with CCS, is working in the pediatric unit today so we head there, not once stepping inside four walls as we go.  Colors flood my vision...kangas (a traditional garment that can be used as a skirt, a shirt, a baby carrier, a head wrap, a bag, a diaper....) of every color I could ever imagine are worn by the women plus their babies in this small open air waiting area.  We sit down on a cement step in the middle of the place.  Babies crawling, walking, playing, laughing, crying.  Some are sick, some are here to be weighed and measured...it is organized chaos.

We finally see the doctor after about an hour of waiting, in a little cement room that he shares with two other people with one barred window and no moving air.  I tell him my symptoms, fever, runny nose, slight sore throat, fatigue.  While taking my temperature, under my arm...haven’t had it taken that way in years (99.7 or something, down for a change) he asks me about three times if I’ve been nauseous in the last three days...in my head I’m thinking carsick and seasick don’t count he’s trying to diagnose me with malaria, which I don’t have because I haven’t been vomiting...I say no.  As I sit there watching him scribble something onto a piece of paper I wait for the standard procedure, stick out your tongue, let me listen to your heart, let’s take your blood pressure, I’m going to look in your ears, in your nose and so on... none of that happens.  He hands me the scribbled on paper with my prescription... paracetamol and some type of cold and flu medicine I’ve never heard of.  I am to take 2 paracetamol 3 times a day and 1 cold and flu pill three times a day.  I’m too dazed to comprehend at first that this is 9 pills a day. I don’t even take advil for headaches...9 pills?  But without question I stand up and tell him asante sana (thank you very much) and we head to the pharmacy to.

By the time we get back to the house it has registered that this doctor man has prescribed me a heck of a lot of medicine without knowing any of my history, I start to worry.  I voice my concerns to Zik explaining that I am not sure if taking this high of a dosage is really all that good for me given my lack of history with medicine taking. He got a little feisty and told me that what the doctor prescribes is what you should take. Rather than get defensive toward his snappiness I just started crying and walked away and told anyone that would listen that I just wanted to talk to my mom or at the very least I wanted Momma Kate to come home so that she could tell me what to take.  Mom’s should really be the only one’s qualified to deliver basic first aide and healing advice, they know best, you can see the proof in their healthy children...plus they always know what to say to make you feel better, and bring you tea...they’re just great!

Seeing my distress, Kit starts investigating my medications.  Both contain paracetamol, 500mg each, which means if I took the prescribed doses of both medications I would overdose on paracetamol by the end of the day.  Overdosing on paracetamol can cause liver failure, granted I don’t think that would have happened to me, my liver is quite healthy despite the damage I’ve done to it at college, but this doctor man doesn’t know my history...what if my liver weren’t so great... I shouldn’t be so harsh, he was fitting us in to his already overpacked day, he was doing us a favor and I was grateful...I’m just stubborn and I hate medicine.

Momma Kate comes home and I immediately ask her what I should do, she can’t understand why he would prescribe me two things with paracetamol in it and advises me to take one or the other but not both. Since my nose and throat are my biggest problems right now I decide to alter my medications and take two cold flu medicine things with the paracetamol stuff in it and hope for the best.

The best, unfortunately, is not what befalls me.  I wake up the next morning covered in a red splotchy flat to my skin rash all over my arms, legs and chest.  I panic...Kate informs me that I am having an allergic reaction...hmmm.  Back to the hospital for me again today.  CCS’s typical doctor is not in today, so I have to see another one.  The wait is even longer this time, there might be closer to 100 mothers with babies here today.  When I finally see the doctor and explain my symptoms, the first thing he does is scold me for not being able to tell him about my symptoms in Swahili.  No one will ever be allowed to say “Learn the language” or “Speak American” in my presence again.  All I want it to feel better and this guy is making an ass out of me...Super.

My weird weird rash.

He ends up telling me that I am in fact having an allergic to the paracetamol and will need two injections of hydrocortisone (didn’t know that came in anything other than cream form) and that I have a sinus infection so I’ll need to take a round of amoxycilan.

Amoxycilan I’ve heard thanks to Ursinus College, where the Wellness Center hands it out regardless of what symptoms you walk in with, but needles, here, now...YIKES!

As it turns out, there’s no need to worry.  The syringes they use are individually packaged and there’s a biohazard bin.  First the nurse checks out the veins in the crooks of my arms, my veins are never easy to find even under the healthiest of circumstances and after five minutes of coaxing she gives up and decides to use the back of my left hand.  Thankfully she gets out an IV line because the needle is smaller than the syringe and sets to work.  I get lightheaded of course, I always do, but it’s over relatively quickly.  The doctor smiles at me and says now all I have to do is come back in 12 hours to get another. Great exactly what I wanted to do tonight at midnight...

It ends up being a group affair, three of my roommates decide to come along for my second injection.  Two haven’t seen the hospital yet and the other has been there for the other two visits so why not make it three for three.  We all wear pants for the first time because it is surprisingly cold, or maybe we’ve all just adjusted to the blazing heat of the day.  The hospital is a bit unsettling this late at night, with no one around and no flashes of color to distract me.  We find the right nurse and she sets to work setting up my shot.  She misses twice in the crook of my arm and then shoves the huge syringe needle into the back of my right hand.  This time I get seriously lightheaded....but it’s over....and with any kind of luck I will not be seeing this particular place for the rest of my trip.

Sticking the huge syringe needle into the back of my hand.

 Carsick, Seasick, Sick Sick

Carsick: Oh man...Tanzanian drivers are chizi cama ndizi (crazy like bananas)!  Every time I get in a car my stomach feels like its on the roughest part of a roller coaster...it’s like riding the wildcat at Hershey Park with less safety features and for a minimum of an hour at a time... it’s absolute craziness!  So far I’ve managed not to throw up, which I am extremely proud of and attribute to the conditioning I’ve received going to and from the cave the last two summers...Camp is great for so many things!

Seasick: We went to Zanzibar this past weekend by way of ferry and I didn’t get seasick at all...twice now that I have been out on a boat in open water and felt fine.  But these two experiences lulled me into a false sense of security...On Saturday we went snorkeling on this tiny little boat and the Indian Ocean was doing it’s best to see how vertical out little boat could go without dumping any of us into the ocean.  Great fun.  I turned a lovely shared of green but similar to my crazy car rides I was able to hold down the breakfast and the minute the ocean calmed down I felt fine.

Sick Sick:  If asked I don’t think I’d be able to tell you the last time I had a fever but did I ever have one both nights we were in Zanzibar... you could feel the heat radiating off my skin from inches away.  Not good.  When we finally got home on Sunday, Momma Kate (this is what we call the mom from Scotland because she always reminds us to put on our sunscreen and has been teaching us all highly proper table manners and we call her Husband John is daddy John.  They’ve raised three children of their own and are expecting their first grandchild in June!) took one look at me and asked what was wrong, I told her about my aliments and she felt my head confirming that I did in fact still have a fever and insisted that if I woke up with one that I went to the hospital to get checked out.  I hate being sick when I have all the comforts of home...being sick here is downright miserable...   

 Zanzibar

Friday (Jan 21) was non-stop woke up to pack, went to placement, rushed home to grab some lunch, jumped on the dala-dala (a kinda van taxi that you will frequently see people hanging off the back of) to take us to Dar, bought two way tickets for the ferry, ran to catch the ferry, checked into our hotel, took a minute to breath, got ready while simultaneously looking for a place to eat dinner.  By the time we finally made it to the restaurant it was 8:15 almost two hours later than we’ve all been use to eating dinner.  The five of us (Lauren, Deirdre, Kit, Heather, and I) polished off three pizzas a sandwich, a bowl of pasta and a loaf of bread...and then all had gelati for dessert! Our meal was soooooo good!

Saturday was amazing, I went to bed not feeling the greatest but I just kept telling myself “You get to go snorkeling tomorrow...absolutely nothing can ruin your day!”  And it was so true, my first time in the Indian Ocean and I went snorkeling!!  Checked off one of things on my life list “Go Snorkeling” and got one step closer to another “Put my toes in all the oceans.” Even before we even made it to the coral reef we came up on a of dolphins and we got in and swam with them!!  So cool!  And honestly nothing can compare to real live snorkeling...Not Finding Nemo, not The Little Mermaid, not even the three different aquariums I’ve been to in my life.  It was gorgeous!!  The colors are unreal, if you swan too close to an anemone a clown fish would come out and attack your mask to keep you away.  There were four different colored star fish, we saw a sting ray and a scorpion fish, these crazy black tentacle looking things so many different types of coral and tons of fish that I could never learn all the names of...BEST DAY EVER!!

Clown fish protecting it's home!

Lauren and I with our snorkel masks on :)

                                                                                                       We kept it very low key on Sunday because we were all exhausted and finished out trip with a spice tour.  We walked through the jungle like forest while a guide pointed out the different kinds of trees and plants that certain spices and fruits come from...On our tour we saw a cinnamon tree and got to smell it’s barked which smelled exactly like big red, smelled the nut that contain nutmeg, saw a cardamom plant, looked at the pods on the plants that vanilla come from, saw star fruit and jackfruit trees, and saw this really cool fruit that had a soft but porcupine looking exterior but the fruit inside tasted exactly like a grape.

The grape like fruit.

 Imagine If...

-You only had one pair of shoes, that you had to wear rain or shine, hot or cold

-You only got one meal a day

-Elementary school and high school cost your parents 75% of their weekly salary to send you and you have at least 3 other siblings

-when you got a cold not only did you not have money for medicine but didn’t have money for tissues (and you couldn’t substitute with toilet paper because when your going to the bathroom in a hole in the ground you don’t really bother with the stuff)

-You had to wash all your clothes by hand (the Reimert Laundry room looks nicer and nicer in my memories as the days go by)

-You’re most prized possession was 200 shilling coin (about 17cents converted to US dollars.

-You didn’t have running water or electricity 

-Every March there was the potential for huge rainstorms to come and wash away everything you own

I keep trying to imagine my everyday life at home with just one of these things missing from it...and I can’t...There are some days where this world doesn’t seem so different than the one I left but the moments in between when I’m faced to recognize that I should be way more grateful for the life I have has been quite humbling.

The other reality check I’ve received since arriving has been the actualization of the concepts I learned in my Anthropology of Photography course.  Just because we believe someone to be the “other” doesn’t give me the right to photograph them to provide evidence that I’ve experienced the other.  Since this realization I’ve been trying to be better about when I take pictures...because again I can’t imagine someone coming to my home or driving down my street and taking a picture of me just because they wanted documentation that they saw what they saw there...it’s insane.