Argh, Maty! Let us Take to the Skies!

Well, school is in full swing! The students finally arrived at Gonzaga last Monday, giving the school a much needed boost of energy. By the end of the week, we had begun following the daily timetable, almost all the students were adorned with Gonzaga blue and white uniforms, and any student who had dared to return to school with long hair was clean cut. Almost everyone! There is still one child with dangling braids who is sticking it to the Man, coming to school with a new 'do every morning. Although I am sad to report that I think tomorrow Mona Lisa will meet her match. Sister Georgine has promised to don the barber's hat if Mona's flowing locks remain in tact. As someone who has enjoyed having long hair, I have found myself struggling with this aspect of private education, but I recognize that it is a reality, in some form or another, at most private schools throughout the world.

This picture of Gonzaga was taken back in December. This picture appears to show a building nearly completed. Well, somehow, this is indeed the case, although there remains much work to be done. The construction has continued through the opening of the school. Last week the workers finished the ground floor where classes are being held and this week the work has shifted to the upper level and to finishing the cafeteria so we can begin making our own food. Our sister school, Loyola High School, has been kind enough to aid us in tea and lunch preparations for these opening weeks, however, I am sure the wonderful women working in their canteen will be more than happy to shed the responsibility of having to sort through an additional sixty cups of rice each morning!

I am teaching English to Standard Three and Five and mathematics to Standard Five. I also have managed to finagle my way into acting as Gym teacher for these two grades and as a religion teacher on Friday mornings. Let me take this opportunity, though, to explain how religion classes are taught. I was hesitant when coming to Tanzania to teach any sort of religion class because of my own perceptions of evangelizing; however, the Jesuits with whom I work have made it very clear that the purpose of our school is not to proselytize, but rather it is to educate. Therefore, each student is offered the opportunity to study his or her own religion. Every Friday morning all students have religion class and instead of being broken up by grade level, students are divided by religion and they attend the appropriate class. This is a practice that must be adhered to not only because we are a Jesuit school, but also because religion is part of the national curriculum. While I am always trying to understand Tanzanian culture and appreciating my role, as one Jesuit has put it, "as a leaf, floating down the river," this system seems to work well and it definitely provides food for thought. And so I welcome any reflections and questions you wish to share.

Here is a picture of the house in which we are living. We are preparing to move to a new house, but this has been our home during these first two months, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. It is nice living in a community and to return home to two people at the end of the day. My community mates, or sisters as I have grown accustomed to calling them, are both teaching first-year students at Loyola High School. It is entertaining, if nothing else, to compare our teaching stories at the end of the day given the two very different environments. Yesterday, Caroline was doing an exercise asking students to name what they would like to be when they grew up. One student promptly raised his hand and expressed that he wanted to be a pirate. Caroline made a hook with her finger and "Argh'ed" to confirm his declaration, to which the boy responded with a confused look and said louder, "No, a PIRATE!" Finally, after several moments of chaos, another student raised her hand and kindly explained to Miss Caroline that Tito wanted to be a pilot, not a pirot.

We are beginning to catch on to certain "L" an "R" mispronunciations, but every now and again, we are caught dumbfounded. Leafs floating in a river!

Finally, we remain safe here in Dar, but we ask for your thoughts and prayers to be with our brothers and sisters to the north in Kenya. It is a difficult time for East Africa and we pray for a speedy and peaceful resolution to the current conflict.

The Schnozzberries Taste Like Schnozzberries...

Zanzibar was wonderful. Kate was proposed to twice on the beach. The first proposal came from a Masai named Cheap-o-price, the second time, from a young Muslim man who, in an effort to woo her, calmly explained that all she would need to do in order to convert to Islam was change the way she dresses. Kate was almost convinced, however, the conversation was interrupted by the call to prayer from the neighborhood mosque. Finally, we returned home to Mabibo where Club D' (a.k.a. The bar directly across the street from our house, which plays extremely loud Shaggy and Sean Kingston songs on repeat from 6am until 1am) was waiting for us.

Preparations for the holidays do not take long here. In fact, Christmas may have passed by entirely unnoticed, with the exception of Christmas Eve mass, but for the one skinny Santa dancing in front of the supermarket and post office who reminded us of the holiday that was about to arrive. Despite being in church from 8PM until 11:30 PM, mass was wonderfully celebrated. Enough incense was burned to give the impression we were celebrating an Eastern Orthodox ritual, children were dancing at the front of the church for the entire length of the mass, and the choir sung beautifully, leading the entire congregation throughout the celebration. The following day we enjoyed a delightful feast with the Jesuits and we spent the afternoon chatting and snacking on cheese - a rarity in our diet.

In between Christmas and the New Year we were invited to dinner at our neighbors house. We were excited to find out he was serving pork, although this excitement quickly diminished as plates loaded with cubes of pork fat and the occasional piece of meat were passed around. My fellow community mates were wise enough to politely pass on the majority of the fat, explaining to our gracious host that they were simply too full to enjoy the local delicacy. I, on the other hand, felt somewhat obliged and, just like Jack Sprat's wife, I licked the platter clean. So clean that I was offered more, and when I tried to politely refuse another helping, Kate was kind enough to urge me on. Down went another serving. Later that night, my body, overloaded with pork fat, explained to me that I should never, ever to do that again.

New Year's Eve was celebrated in a mass. This time mass went from 9PM December 31st until 1Am January 1st. We rang in the New Year before giving the sign of peace, which means that communion and final prayers took an hour all unto themselves. I am beginning to sense that Tanzanians like long celebrations.

In my short time in Dar, the thing that stands out the most is the pollution. Streets are littered with trash - empty bottles, used batteries, plastic bags. What ever is not strewn about the streets is burned, and so it is not unusual to walk through clouds of black smoke billowing from piles of burning plastic, paper, and other waste. As I walk to Gonzaga Primary School everyday I cross a river. Every day, and occasionally at different times during the same day, the water flowing beneath my feet is a different colour. I am reminded of rainbows and can only think that such a river belongs in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, where the green water tastes like lime, red tastes like cherries, black tastes like licorice, and schnozzberry taste like schnozzberries. Indeed, this is no exagerration and each day I am amazed and perplexed that such environmental tragedies can and do occur. It is evidence of the sad reality that environmental concerns in developing nations like Tanzania are simply too far down on the list of humanitarian priorities to be recognized with any real sense of urgency.

We are in our final week of preparations for Gonzaga Primary School. I think we are very far behind where a school preparing to open for the first time should be at this point of time, but I hope to be happily surprised upon our opening next week.

Well, I am grateful to two new Jesuit noviates who have just arrived from Sudan and Ethiopia and who have given me a way to end this entry because I need to welcome them since there are no Jesuits around.