Easter Break in Ndanda

School re-opened last week and second quarter is running much smoother. First session ended on the 14th and after hanging around Mabibo that Saturday as Kate and Caroline finished up parent-teacher meetings, we, along with Father Don, left for Ndanda on Sunday, headed for a four-day retreat.

We awoke earlier than normal and groggily walked to the Jesuit residence where Fr. Don was waiting with Fr. Mchopa, who had graciously offered to drive us to the bus terminal, were waiting. Mchopa served as our connection to Ndanda, a native of the South and knowing the priests with whom we were going to stay. We arrived at the bus terminal at 6:40 a.m. A little later than we had hoped, but still with plenty of time to spare in order to catch our 7:00 a.m. bus, especially when you factored in the usual 15 minute Tanzanian delay. The bus terminal was bustling already as passengers-to-be hurried to find the appropriate bus slip (North, East, Northeast, West, etc., etc.). Each slip held five buses, all lettered with different fonts, most of which looked as though they belonged to a circus company and all either praising Jesus or Allah, depending on the driver's religion. Through crowds of people some of whom were balancing suitcases on their heads, Mchopa carefully guided our car through the morning's obstacle course and eventually found a parking spot off the side of the entrance way. We parked, carried our backpacks out, and followed our leader out back. How he knew where to find the bus to Ndanda amazed us all, since we seemingly walked into a back parking lot where it appeared as though no one else was walking. Well, it turned out no one was walking back there because, as Mchopa learned, at 6:50a.m., the 7:00a.m. bus had already left the station. Puzzled by the new Tanzania we had just encountered, we hurried back to the jeep and Mchopa sped us along the empty streets to the next station about 15 minutes away.

We arrived at the next station, the sun a little farther along on its morning ascent. We watched from the car as Mchopa tried to learn the whereabouts of the missing bus. We hadn't passed the bus on our way to the station and it wasn't there. Thinking that the bus had left already and that we were out of luck, we soon learned that in fact it had not yet left the station in Ubungo, our original point of origin. We would wait for it and finally board. We waited and when it arrived, we boarded, hesitantly as we examined the exterior of our coach. Painted in lemon yellow lettering was the company name, Akida. The lettering wove about on the jungle green backdrop in a style that looked more fitted to the Ringling Bros. than Greyhound. As we climbed aboard, we launched ourselves up to the first step, which found itself 3 feet off the ground, all the while gazing at a massive crack, running from the top of the bus to the bottom of the window - a crack that had once been welded back together, but now remained agape. Nevertheless, we boarded, but found people in our seats. No fault of their own, however, as the bus had double booked our row! Mchopa's morning courtesy ride was still not over. As our bus began pulling away, Mchopa was still on board trying to settle the seat issue. He managed to get off the bus, although this would not be the last we saw of him.

At the next station, Mchopa again emerged. This time we arranged to have our seats back and the previous patrons took seats a little farther forward. Alas, we were on our way. Somehow. Rounding each corner at speeds that seemed unsafe for such a large vehicle, the bus, on its weak suspension, swayed to and fro. I quickly plunged my nose into a book trying to avoid recognizing the fact that we were careening down a two-lane road in a tour bus at speeds upwards of 90km/h.

About three hours after we left Mchopa, who had by this time hurried quickly back to say the 9:00a.m. mass, we entered into a stretch of about 70 km of pot hole-filled dirt roads. Praying for it not to rain so that we may actually cross this stretch that would become impassable if the sky was to open up, I found a moment of relaxation in realizing that dirt roads meant slower speeds. Or so I thought. 70 km covered in an hour and a half, minus ten minutes for a bathroom stop along the side of the road. Essentially, the bus driver thought he was driving a new Land Rover and not an aging tour bus. We would pay, in time, for our quick passage of the bush road. Aside from having an upper window fall out onto my lap during the course of the bumpy road, we apparently did damage to our engine. Not a complete shock as we had passed along a nearly impossible stretch of road at nearly 50km/h. After initially being told we were stopping for a quick snack break of about ten minutes, it soon became apparent after re-boarding the bus that we would be stuck for a while.

Three and a half (nearing four) hours later, we took to the road again. We arrived in Ndanda at about 7:30p.m. Slightly later than anticipated, but there in one piece. We were greeted by Fr. Severin, who kindly offered us a warm meal after the day's travel.

The next morning we awoke to the beauty of the southern country. Severin welcomed us to breakfast and briefly shared a little bit about the retreat center. The Benedictines had founded the current mission in Ndanda in 1906. Severin had been in Ndanda since 1966, so long ago in fact that he had initially arrived by boat. The Benedictines ran a hospital and trained the locals in different trades, most of which we would see to some extent during the course of our visit.

A German, Severin ran like clock-work. At ten o'clock, he said he would meet us and, sure as the sun rises, he appeared at 10:00a.m. and 10 seconds, BBC time, as my father would have me note. He welcomed us to the Ndanda Mission Press. A print factory that provided all of the printing for the south of the country. An impressive factory and Br. Markus who gave us the tour ensured that it ran smoothly. The factory was one of the first indications of the tremendous source of employment the mission offered the local community. It also demonstrated the extent to which the mission complex had become self-sufficient. Almost everything, down to the passion fruit preserves served at breakfast, was made in the village. They trained craftsmen in woodworking, stone masonry, and cattle raising. They helped run a hospital, two schools, a bakery, and a butchery. Up until last year, they had run the largest leper colony in East Africa. They generated their own electricity with the help of a water turbine and provided the community with clean running water. So clean you could drink it straight from the shower tap. Each day we stayed, I grew more and more fond of the wonderful work being done in Ndanda and the awareness that eventually all would be operated by Tanzanians. Walking around town gave the feeling that I was walking in what I imagined might feel like an old medieval village.

On our final day Severin drove us up to the top of the mesa and we gazed out into a valley that was lush given the tremendous rain the region had received during our brief stay. As we drove down the mountain, our eyes keenly taking in the new environment, we encountered several inhabitants of the mesa, donning a mix of traditional garb and second-hand t-shirts and shorts. These people remained mostly unaffected by the large mission below them and sustained themselves growing maize and potatoes, while trading mangoes and other fruit with the townspeople below.

The next day we awoke before dawn and boarded our bus - this time we chose to ride with Tito. Although it took us two hours to pass along the stretch of dirt road, we did not break down and so we returned to Dar es Salaam in time for the Holy Thursday mass, kicking off the Easter Triduum. We spent the Easter weekend celebrating with neighbors and the Jesuit community and catching a last bit of rest before school began again on Tuesday morning.

Doctor, Sometimes I Feel Like A Bulldozer

Two weeks ago, as I made my way into the city centre I was amazed by the number of men working at the side of the road digging a ditch. What was amazing was neither the fact that the new ditch would finally allow for the dirt road to be paved nor that these men were laboring in the midday sun. I was amazed because Tanzanians were, admirably, still relying on their own work force to build and maintain infrastructure. There is no shortage of labor in Tanzania or in other developing nations as a result of soaring unemployment rates. Yet so often it has been my experience, either through direct contact or through reading, that the governments of these countries begin to rely too heavily on the donations - sometimes machinery, other times an entire labor force - of larger donor countries in an effort to speed development. The results often find the developing country remaining idle or worse - moving in the opposite direction.

I am specifically thinking about a book I read recently where the author describes a like situation in Malawi. The locals are complaining about the condition of a national highway. The road wasn't always in such a mess, they confess, actually going so far as to say that the road was well maintained for several decades. But then an international donor jumped in and the Malawian government bit the bait. In an effort to help clear landslides from the road in a more timely fashion, a dozen bulldozers were donated to help maintain the highway. However, post-donation, the road is crumbling. The bulldozers' initial impact caused hundreds of laborers to lose their jobs because they were no longer needed to clear the rubble from the road. Then after several landslides, the bulldozers successfully clogged the roadside ditches that had been kept clean by the roadside laborers for years. This led to the roads being washed out by future rains and helped cause the mess they are today.

If you are still with me (I am waaayyyy up here, balancing on my three wobbly soap boxes typing this message) then I can say that I am including these two stories as a way of reflecting on what role I am playing here in Tanzania. Am I laboring with the ditch diggers or am I donating unneeded and unwanted bulldozers?

This remains the question that continues to riddle my stay here in Tanzania. I came to Tanzania with the hope of doing the former and yet as I continue to explore my position at Gonzaga Primary School I realize that such aspirations require more work than initially anticipated. I wrote in my last entry about trying to accept my role as a leaf floating down the river; however, my current position at Gonzaga makes it hard to simply drift with the Tanzanian current when teachers are asking me when and how they should submit tests and lesson plans. I am juggling how I am supposed to accompany the people with whom I live and work while also providing them with the leadership they expect from the position I hold at Gonzaga. More than anything, I recognize how important communication is in working with my colleagues. Essentially, when they ask me a question, I sit on it, return it back to them, wait for their answer, and then give them my reply, which closely resembles theirs. This works to a certain extent, but occasionnally I find myself frustrated by the roundabout way they may want to use and I suggest a way I think we could do things "more efficiently". This is when the question really emerges: ditchdigger or bulldozer? Am I working with the people in a way that will help them improve their own country's development or am I simply imposing my North American tribe's point of view in a way that may impede their progress?

Thank you all for your support in what has proven to be a challenging month away from home. Your warmth has been felt here and for this I am grateful.

**An aside: The roadside ditch in Mabibo was dug the length of at least two kilometres in about a week and a half. It is now being laid with stone.**

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.

Greetings from Mabibo

As the plane touched down in Dar es Salaam a little more than two weeks, the thermometer on the airplane read 28˚C, and it was only 7 am. Needless to say, Tanzania has welcomed me with a blast of heat, courtesy of the equatorial sun and the warmth of Tanzanian courtesy (please pardon the play on words!). I came via Toronto, where I was able to enjoy a last meal with my friends Tom and Laura, via London, where I barely made my flight after spending the afternoon with a friend, Olivier, who is studying at Oxford. After discovering that my backpack full of clothes was lost somewhere between Moncton and Dar, I was greeted, along with my community mate and fellow first year JV, Caroline, by the two volunteers who have been living here - Kate, with whom I will also be living during the next year, and Susie, who has finished her two-year commitment and will be heading home on December 18.

These first two weeks have been busy attending to newcomer shenanigans, while also juggling around the chaos that accompanies the last week of school. Through it all though, Kate and Susie have been patient with Caroline and me, taking time to show us around our neighborhood community, Mabibo, and teaching us Swahili. We have also met the only other American living in the local community, Father Don Ward, who is our point person in country.

This week I began my work at Gonzaga Primary School, where for the past two days we have been holding admission examinations to help select the students for the upcoming year. I received my teaching description as well! I will be teaching math to Standard III and math, general science, and English to Standard V. Standards are the equivalent of grades, and go up to Standard VII, where students then begin with Forms I-IV, followed by A-Form, which has levels V and VI. Gonzaga is still under construction, although there will be enough classrooms finished to begin the school year in January.

We are heading out to Zanzibar on Thursday for a four-day retreat. I look forward to this time as a chance to look back on the past two and a half weeks, and also to look more closely at what I hope to learn and gain through this experience. And, of course, I look forward to relaxing and swimming in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean!

Stay well, my friends, and thank you for the email updates! It is wonderful hearing from you!

A Final Send-Off from the Great White North!

Well, the day has finally arrived! On November 23, 2007 I am leaving for Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, where I will serve for the next two years with the Jesuit Volunteers International. While in Dar I am living with two other volunteers, Kate and Caroline, and together we have committed to live in intentional community, practice simple living, and learn about faith and social justice.

This autumn farewell was capped off with a snowy camping trip up to Fundy. After spending a night huddled around a campfire, we awoke to find the ground covered with the freshly fallen snow. It made for a beautiful hike and I will carry those images with me throughout the next two years.

My mailing address in Dar is:

Nicholas Ford

c/o Jesuit Volunteers International

Loyola High School

P.O. Box 1140

Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

If you do send something, please let me know since the intercontinental postal system is less than reliable!! Finally, I would just like to thank you all for your support and spirit throughout this process. It has been wonderful talking to you all about this upcoming adventure.

You will be in my thoughts and prayers. Keep in touch!