To the faithful readers of this web log, apologies for its hiatus. We are back in the midst of the second semester at Gonzaga and I have returned to my monthly updates. The latest happening in Luhanga involves the installation of a new flag pole in our courtyard at school. The Tanzanian flag now flies Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's, beneath the cloudy skies of Dar es Salaam in July. The students are back studying, and after three weeks, the last remnants of June's freedom – long hair grown out – have been sheared away, though not before our headmistress tattooed the boys with her version of racing stripes.
First semester ended with a flourish of excitement. The Dar community learned that pizza can travel, as I mother bravely sent a box of Charlie's Pizza over the ocean and across the continent, and it arrived in fine condition, still edible; God bless the timeliness of the Canadian and Tanzanian postal systems. At Gonzaga, the conclusion of exams was followed by the celebration of the school's feast day, Gonzaga Day, and a surprise visit from my friend, Erica, and her two sisters, who were travelling on their way home to Montana. They joined us as we celebrated our patron’s feast day and watched the students sing and dance and entertain. In the afternoon, as the last traces of the morning’s rain disappeared from the centre courtyard and the students had performed all in their extensive repertoire, a feast was served of pilau, vegetables, chicken, and soda. The students, and the teachers, enjoyed the day that sent us into our midyear break.
We spent the last week of June up north in Mwanza with the Moshi community for the spring retreat. Getting to Mwanza was an adventure that rivalled our travels to Ndanda last March. We arrived at the bus terminal at 5:30 a.m. for our 6 a.m. bus. At 8 a.m., we began wondering where it was, if we had missed it, and were reassured that it would depart within the hour. The hour passed. I befriended a boy named Khusulat and we sat and exchanged stories for the rest of the morning. Lunch passed and there we waited. Alas, at 3 p.m., after much debate between the other passengers and the driver over the bus's safety, we boarded, bound for Lake Victoria. We travelled into the night, the last two hours of which found us hurtling over dirt roads. After running into a barricade, the bus called it a day and we slept roadside for a couple of hours, during which time some passengers were able to track down baggies of Konyagi and brandy. At 5:30 a.m., we continued northward, and our fellow passengers, with no Konyagi left to sustain them, quickly fell away to golden slumbers. The following afternoon, after reading an entire book on the benefits of iodine supplementation, convincing my community mates of the benefits of iodine supplementation, and 33 hours of travel, we arrived in Mwanza, travel worn and ready to give thanks to God for our safe arrival.
Mwanza is a beautiful city. The surrounding landscape is dotted with massive boulders that I incorrectly hypothesized were remnants of glacier run off; they are debris from the formation of the Great Rift Valley. The city itself relies heavily on its fishing industry and so much of the city centres on the waterfront. Unsurprisingly, Mwanza comes across as more orderly than Dar and does not sprawl out. We were able to track down Castle Milk Stout during our stay, which was a major accomplishment since Caroline and I had been searching the country for over a year for this beer. After some reflections and Milk Stouts, we proceeded southbound with a different bus line and without incident, and were greeted by my father upon returning to Dar.
My father spent almost three weeks here and, again, the hospitality and generosity of my neighbours and friends remains peerless. In fact, according to my father, Newfoundlanders have officially lost their title as "World's Most Hospitable People" to the Tanzanians who graciously hosted him during his visit.
We bussed to Arusha and then climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro together while I was still on break, summiting at sunrise on our fifth day on the mountain. The summit at dawn is something beyond words. Someone once wrote how frustrating it is to describe a truly unique experience. So I find myself without words to describe the mountain’s majestic beauty. I might compare the task of doing so to illustrating the colours of the rainbow with charcoal. It can be done, though it is better left to our imaginations.
That morning I witnessed God’s grandeur, to borrow from Gerard Manley Hopkins; it was a moment where I simply needed to look skyward and laugh at our Creator’s absurdity.
We spent the last week of his stay in Mabibo, visiting families of friends and the sisters and priests with whom I work. I am not sure I can reflect on the hospitality of this community often enough to convey how unique it is. The people of Tanzania are models for how we might host our brothers and sisters: how to welcome them into our homes and lives and how we can show our love to them through simplicity and genuineness. For a few weeks at least, I walked alongside a fellow iodine advocate, and was again blessed to share this experience with a family member.
Dad spent the first two days of the new semester at Gonzaga, teaching Standard Six about the importance of math, calculating ages with birthdays and reviewing integer use discussing latitudinal ranges. It worked, as we then spent a few classes that week learning how a sun dial can be used to tell time. Now, it is onwards and upwards for these students. We are learning geometry in math; in English we are reading bits of Shakespeare and Hopkins, mixed in with learning the correct use of “used to,” as in “I used to live in Boston.” In between my words, the students continue to teach me and their insights into God’s Grandeur provide much food for reflection.
