Newfoundland and Hopkins

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.

United in Suffering and Honour

May began on a sad note for the Gonzaga community. In my last entry, I wrote about the explosions that were set off accidentally at a local miliary base. One of our boys in standard one lost his father, a member of the military, in the blast. The following week, a boy in standard two's father passed away due to a heart condition. In both cases, the school sent a delegation of students from each of the boys' classes along with my standard sixes and a group of teachers to visit the boys' families in mourning.

I accompanied both groups and was each time deeply moved by the compassion showed by the students at such a young age. We were not alone as we joined the families to mourn their losses. At each house, women from the neighbourhood and the family gathered inside the home, while the men stayed outside beneath a tarp hung from the house's roof. The students, as we gathered, would lead a small prayer ceremony with the family. The students showed such maturity around death at such an early age, a result that comes from being exposed to it with such frequency. As I sat uncomfortable, my students took their place around the grieving mothers, greeting them and expressing their condolences. The mothers would, as is customary I learnt, serve us some food, either a late lunch or some juice, depending on the time of the visit. I would reluctantly take my plate, following my students' cue, and found myself once again pondering how I had come to be served when we had visited to offer our support to the family.

Tanzanian generosity continues to leave me in awe and teaches me how to love my brothers and sisters. When Isaya's family, whose front door opens onto a road across which lies a municipal dump, is able to find the strength to serve lunch to a group of 30 students and teachers, most of whom are strangers, united only in mourning the loss of their father, I am left with my heart broken open and with having bore witness to the realization of the Kingdom.

Fr. Gary Smith, S.J. recently reflected on the question: Where is God amidst all this suffering? He writes, "If there is suffering then all of us suffer. And if a suffering brother or sister is honoured with our skills, then we are all honoured. They learn through our hands, hearts, and heads of God's heart and that the world has not forgotten them." As I reflect on these experiences, Fr. Smith's words resonate within me as I rediscover the importance in accompanying those with whom I live and work in all of their life's struggles, for as they do, I do, and so our joys and troubles are forever united in our effort to build toward God.

No News? No News.

"Hujambo?" a neighbour asks as I return from work. I reply, "Sijambo." Translation: No news? No news. Indeed, such was April. Not much to report on this end. We went to Tanga for a retreat at the beginning of the month where we met up with the two volunteers from Moshi. They then came down to celebrate the Easter holiday with us in Dar where we got our fix of fishbowl and other fun-for-the-whole-family games. At midnight on the 26th we witnessed for the first time any type of outward celebration for a national holiday as we believe we heard fireworks exploding somewhere in the distance to celebrate Union Day - the day when Tanganyika and Zanzibar became one. A quiet month.

Some of you may have heard via NPR or the CBC of some explosions that went off the other day in Dar. A poorly disposed bomb at a local military armoury detonated and set off a chain reaction of several other bombs. While many people were injured and a few people died in the blasts, out here in Mabibo we were safe, as we are about 20 km from the military complex. Please keep those affected by the explosions in your thoughts and prayers.

We continue on well here. We are in the midst of the big rains, which has brought smiles to the faces of farmers and herders and those friendly folks who work down at TANESCO, the national power company, who have gotten in the habit of cutting our power.

Stay well, my friends.

A Family Reunion in Dar

Just finished up a wonderful two weeks with the Family Ford. School had a midterm recess and so during our week off we travelled north to Arusha where we went on safari to see the wildebeests and other wild beasts of this fine land. Despite the draught the country is experiencing due to the late arrival of the BIG rains, the wildlife was magnificient.

After four days in the north we headed back south into the heat of Dar es Salaam. In Dar, I was able to share with my family both the work I have been doing over the last year and my life outside of school - my friends, the neighbours, the boys who run the dukas. Watching my family interact and meet these wonderful people who have so warmly welcomed me into their lives and who extended the welcome to my mother and brothers and sisters provided a gentle reminder of what a grace this experience has offered. I was overwhelmed by the generosity we witnessed, whether from my sixth grade boys who performed a wonderful skit poking fun at my classroom demeanour, or the sixth grade girls who together gifted my mother a khanga, or our friends, the Mtengas, who kindly opened up their little home to share an afternoon meal with us.

In meeting my friends and their families we had everything from family sit-down meals to singing and dancing at Gonzaga to late-night chips followed by a photo bonanza with our host, a mama who late arriving after coming from a town hall "meeting" at a local watering hole. And through it all, as my family bravely trooped through sunrise wake-up calls and squeezed into dala dalas, always with room for one more, each gathering in its uniqueness helped shed light on the time between family reunions.

Sometimes, I was able to appreciate areas in which I have grown as I shared eating lessons with Anthony or washing lessons with Gina or language lessons with Lucie. Other times, and perhaps more importantly, the light exposed areas where I still have much room to expand my horizons and ask question and explore the roots of my Canadian tendencies as when I found myself waiting impatiently for food with Michael, wondering how the operation might run more efficiently or when pondering some of the social injustices with my mother.

After having said goodbye this past Saturday and through a brief reflection of the last 13 days spent in close company, I look back and feel genuinely blessed and rejuvenated by their visit and the time shared together and look forward to having this as a backdrop for further conversations upon returning northward.

A Leaf on a Stream

Writing about the second month of school during the second year here in Tanzania is far less captivating than it was last year. As I have sat here today setting the school’s midterm examinations, I have been mulling over what I could write about. The month did pass quickly, but I think if I was to look back through past entries I would find that I begin more than half of those with a sentence along the same lines. Yes, it is indeed true; time continues to pass ever more quickly and will undoubtedly continue to do so until I leave. This is to be my last reference to the fleeting nature of Time.

As eminent as February’s fugitiveness was its lack of extraordinary events. And so the news of February is perhaps its lack of news and what that implies. Surely if I were to look through the lens with which I viewed last year I could find something to report, but our lens is ever-changing. Fr. Don, our in-country coordinator when we first arrived, always reminded us when we found ourselves frustrated with circumstances or in awe at the differences between home and here that we are leaves on a stream. This was difficult to appreciate at the beginning, but as the year progressed it came to make more sense. What then became difficult was not maintaining a lifestyle of the leaf (it can be easy floating downstream), but rather continually being aware that as a Canadian living in Tanzania I am to be practicing leave-no-trace volunteering while watching what I consider to be injustices sprout around me; that is to say, actively participating in everyday activities while trying to ensure that my presence will not be felt when I depart.

Enter the second year JV. I think that one can grow tired of the constant realization of being a Canadian leaf on a Tanzanian rainbow-tinted stream, especially with the restraints that it can place on one’s actions. And so, to some extent, I feel that as I have commenced this second year at Gonzaga I have grown weary of the realization and have allowed myself to grow too comfortable with the surroundings. I haven’t stopped asking why?; instead I have stopped seeing situations about which to ask why? The rainbow river has tie-dyed my leaf. I have been travelling along here for such a length that new scenes no longer appear strange and I do not feel as out of place. This comes with advantages and disadvantages. I am growing in my enculturation with the people and this country, but at the same time I have stopped noticing the more subtle differences between the two cultures; differences that may stem from injustices here or that may promote equity here where it is absent at home.

Along with being a leaf on the stream, Don also warned that when we grow too comfortable we stop learning. I suppose it is time to slip some peas under the metaphorical mattress to rouse the sleep that is life in a different land.

Gonzaga Turns 1 or We Enter Our Second Year!

We marked the completion of our first year at Gonzaga this past Monday, January 26. With one year of growing pains under our belt, we have opened for the second time on much smoother waters. Three weeks deep into the new school year and we are now fully staffed, although I say this with fingers crossed as our final hire's first day is to be Monday. But I feel confident. Nevertheless, we are still ahead of last year's schedule when our last hire did not begin teaching until the middle of February.

In my second year here I am teaching a majority of the same students, having moved up from Standard (read grade) Five to Standard Six with my students from last year. The school currently has 236 students in eight classes spread out through six grades (kindergarten and Standards 1, 2, 3, 4, and 6). To the fifteen students I teach, I am their homeroom teacher along with teaching them mathematics, English, Catholic religion (to the Catholics) and phys. ed. I am no longer teaching the students of last year's Standard Three. When I am not teaching I have continued working in the school's administration in my role as the school's dean of studies - a position I will hold in full for only a shortwhile longer before beginning a period of transition with a Tanzanian who will fill the office permanently.

The new year has been busy with school's opening, but also with welcoming a couple of visitors from the Great White. Prior to the first day of classes, my two eldest sisters visited. We rung in the New Year together before spending two weeks catching up on the news from home and my life here in Dar. It was wonderful to see these two familiar faces from home and I feel refreshed and energized after their visit and our adventures. Plus, it was an added bonus that I got to taste a little bit of Mom's cooking. Jessie and Christina bravely transported in their carry-on a homecooked meal including a frozen pasta casserole along with frozen meatballs and moulignan. A real treat to get a homecooked Italian dinner an ocean and a continent away from home!

Since their departure, it has been school and everything that goes with those opening weeks and so there is little else to report at this time. I hope all is well with you in the New Year and that it has greeted you with many warm tidings. Stay warm.

A Lesson in Community

It has been a busy month. A friend working in Uganda visited at the beginning of the month, four new Jesuit volunteers arrived on the 5th, and then on the 17th we said goodbye to our communitymate of the last year, Kate. After Kate's departure, Caroline, I, and the four fresh arrivals escaped the heat of Dar and travelled north to the town of Lushoto for retreat. Lushoto is a town built into the Usambara mountain range. At 1,200 metres above sea level it was significantly cooler than Dar es Salaam, which at this time of year is hot and muggy. We were able to hike in Lushoto to a couple different vantage points outlooking a Maasai steppe.


We continued north to Moshi after spending four days in Lushoto. The bus ride north was uneventful, although for the second time in my Tanzanian experience a window from the bus managed to unseat itself and fall onto my arm. When we arrived in Moshi we introduced two of the volunteers, Talia and Mary Beth, to their home for the next two years. JVI, our organization, decided last year to introduce another community in Tanzania and so these two pioneers will be rooting a community in Moshi while working at Maria Goretti Secondary School run by the Sisters of Our Lady of Kilimanjaro. We spent the next few days up in Moshi being taken out by our Jesuit hosts to two villages to see Mt. Kilimanjaro up close. Alas, on the 27th we, Caroline, Emily, Christen, and I, made the trek back to Dar to settle into our new four person community. In the year to come Emily will begin teaching with me at Gonzaga as it enters its second year. Christen will work beside Caroline at Loyola High School, taking the place of Kate.


At the beginning of the month our neighbour's house caught fire. I was once again given the opportunity to learn a lesson in community living. As smoke billowed out from this house, the neighbourhood gathered around, although not in a style to which I was familiar. In my own setting, a similar situation would have also produced a crowd, but the crowd, for the large part, would have been watching the fire department put out the blaze as they pondered the fire's cause. Here, however, the crowd was involved; carrying buckets of water from their own homes, older men rushing in to salvage furniture and the fridge and clothes (forget about the old rule, "once you're out, stay out"), young men on top of the, dare I say, hot tin roof pouring in the many buckets of water, women organizing all of the exiting furniture and incoming buckets. A tremendous ordeal, though amidst the devastation it was oddly wonderful to watch the community spirit come alive so quickly, both from friends and strangers alike. I recognize that at home, if a similar situation were to arise, our response would hopefully be similar; however, for better or for worse, we don't often get to witness such camaraderie. I suppose it simply acts as a reminder to care for our brothers and sisters.


All for now. I wish you all a happy new year, that it may be filled with good things.