Happy likizo. Happy back to work. Happy July.

On June 12th, we closed up shop at Peace House and the students returned home kunyonya kwa mama, a Swahili saying for "milking on mama" or "to be spoiled by their mothers"; sadly, for the majority of our students, they did not return home to their biological mothers, but to an extended family member like an aunt or a grandmother or a sibling. I often wonder what that would feel like. Would I ever feel completely at home with an aunt, my grandmother or my brother? I guess I'd grow into it, but there's nothing like coming home to my mama. There's no one else in the world that loves you like that, with 9 months memory of holding you inside their belly.

This week, I returned to the office along with my fellow social workers, gardeners, teachers, and cooks to prepare for the students' imminent arrival Sunday. It's been so quiet around here without them. It's eerie in fact - like something's not quite right. It reminds me of staff training the week before summer camp started at Merriewooode - no cabin doors slamming, no splashing and screaming in the lake, no singing on the swings or arguing on the tetherball court.

I'm ready for the students to return. They always put things into perspective, no matter what drama is bubbling in the office. And there is always drama. I dream of escaping politics at the workplace, but I've come to realize: it comes with every job. I guess I have to deal with it and learn from it!

That's what vacation's for eh?! My two weeks off were so refreshing. The first week, Hunter and I spent camping on the Tanga coast. Hunter's best "why are you taking my picture in front of all these people, this is akward" look :)

We rented a piki piki one day and explored the ancient town of Pangani, where Oman people settled in 975 A.D. (the settlement still standing behind this ship on the other side of the water). I had no idea this was the oldest record of civilization in Tanzania's history until our walking tour with Mzee Edward. He's the best in case you're ever looking for a guide in Pangani. I highly recommend it. We chewed on all kinds of historical tibbits, like the name Pangani came from slave masters yelling Pangeni or "let's arrange ourselves" - as in slaves with their respective masters. It's crazy to think of the abuse and struggle felt in this town where the Pangani river meets the Indian ocean, and also to imagine the sheer ecstasy once freedom was announced in December 1961.

Another highlight was visiting Mkoma Bay, a spectacular tented lodge on the coast's edge, run by an RPCV and her Danish husband. PCV/RPCV friends: look them up for your PC discount! www.mkomabay.com. Can't beat this view...


The second week, we celebrated with the Cranes in Dar, spending 'QT' (That's for you Charlie) and saying our goodbyes before they move to Sudan at the end of the month. Jamani, will they be missed! Their home has served practically as a Peace Corps/RPCV/passerby guesthouse, a land of milk and honey, or in layman's terms: Lucy's homemade bagels, cream cheese and homecooked meals with great conversation...topped with Nancy and Charlie's concern for 'what's really going on' in our lives. I so appreciate that.

Speaking of Lucy, beautiful Lucy, we were also able to visit her new home recently constructed via her savings plan working with the Cranes as their housegirl.
We've really bonded over my visits in and out of Dar and I promised the Cranes I'd check on her when they're out of country. Her house is a palace compared to her neighbors homes. To name a few highlights, hers boasts a composting toilet, a kitchen opening up to her living room (quite a rarity; most TZ homes have the kitchen blocked off for the cook/housegirl not to be seen) and water harvesting.

Proud owner of a new home!
Upon returning to A'town, I was able to squeeze in a girls trip (GO V!!!)to the Maasai land to venture up 11,000 ft Ol Donyo Lengai, meaning the mountain of God in Kimaasai. This active volcano intimidates and demands respect to say the least. In other words, it kicked our butts. Seriously. I'm still a bit sore and it's been a week since I exited its never-ending body of quicksand-like ash.
GO V! This one's for you, Diane, our founding club mother.The view from the crater's rim. Can you hear the lava boiling?
Lengai's shadow on the Rift Valley behind us to the West. Stunning. Ngorogoro Crater is on the other side of this wall.
Hannah driving happily; don't let the smile confuse you. Upon closer inspection, what is it she's sporting? A bikini to drive in? A clever solution to a lack of clean clothes.

Our adventure ended with a flat - or shall we say - dessicated tire. I've never seen anything like it. Thank God, angels of the likes of Jackson and Mwenyekiti Goodluck stopped to save from us from our broken jack situation and get us back on the road to safe returns. Asante mungu. We were on His mountain and He delivered us home.

This one wild and precious life

A new era, a new 'do...

...and sadly, the passing of my sweet Grandaddy

John Dudley King, 88, died Thursday, May 28, 2009 at his Atlanta home. The youngest of six children, he was born December 27, 1920 in Denton, Texas to the late Otis Morrison King and Anne Clare Parks King. Dudley, as he was known to family and friends, graduated from the University of Texas in Austin with pre-medical studies in 1941 and graduated from the Medical School of the University of Texas in Galveston in 1945. He was a member of Phi Rho Sigma Medical Fraternity as well as Alpha Omega Alpha, an honorary fraternity for the top ten members of the class. During his third year of medical school, he married his sweetheart Bea Church to whom he was devoted and happily married for 63 years. After medical school Dudley spent four years at the Cleveland City Hospital in Cleveland, Ohio where he completed his internship and residency. He and Bea then moved to Atlanta, Georgia in 1949 when Dudley was offered a position by Dr. Wadley Glenn at Crawford Long Memorial Hospital where he was the hospital's only radiologist for about three years. During the Korean War Dudley served as a Captain and was sent to Tripler Army Hospital in Honolulu, Hawaii to work in the Radiology Department. Luckily, his growing family was able to accompany him. After his military service, Dudley returned to Crawford Long Hospital, where he spent the remainder of his medical career. In addition, Dudley was a past president of The Atlanta Clinical Society, The Atlanta Radiological Society, The Georgia Radiological Society, The Southern Radiological Society, and a member of The Radiological Society of North America. He was also a founding member and the fourth president of Cherokee Town and Country Club in Atlanta and served on the board of Fulton National Bank. Upon retirement, Dudley and Bea fulfilled Dudley's long-time dream of moving to a farm in North Fulton County where he tended a small herd of Black Angus cattle and a large vegetable garden. They also traveled extensively and included their children and spouses on several special trips. Dudley was predeceased in 2007 by his wife Bea and is survived by their five children: a daughter Christy King Davidson of Atlanta and four sons, J. Dudley King, Jr. and wife Rita of Hilton Head, South Carolina, Thad D. King and wife Suzanne of Atlanta, Marsh B. King and wife Mary Gossett of Atlanta, and Robert C. King and wife Betty of Atlanta. Dudley was also known as 'Granddaddy' and was greatly loved by his seventeen grandchildren, Dudley, III (Tricia), Lindsey (Bob), Michael (Brantley), Stephanie (Aaron), Tait, King, Hunter (Glen), Virginia (Dave), Denton, Chase, Dalton, Brice, Blake, Wilson, Abbie (Ryan), Carter and Parker and his fifteen great-grandchildren, Bennett, Ellie, Katie, Charlie, Cooper, Ryan, Ellis, Grayson, Parks, Will, Carson, Kelsey, James, Brooks and Smith. Dudley loved and appreciated his wonderful caregivers for the past several years: Beverly Danvers, Coraine Bent and Rena Blakeney. A private family service was held on Monday, June 1, 2009. In lieu of flowers the family requests that donations be made in his honor to the Georgia Chapter of the Alzheimer's Association Georgia Chapter, 1925 Century Blvd. NW, Suite 10, Atlanta 30345 or the Shepherd Center, 2020 Peachtree Road, Atlanta 30309.

Mom's visit na kadhalika - favorite pics

Mother and daughter, reunited in A'town
On my 30th, Mom made me my favorite b-day cake, "Better than BEEP"Hunter's 'LM' mom was also in town visiting and the two moms got a little silly togetherAnd we went hiking up to a village on Meru...
as well as to our next door coffee plantation, Burkaa, where Mom saw Kili for the first time in the distance and Jazz was her adorable, princess self. My favorite Jazz line of the evening: "we can't share the cake with Sam 'cuz he's a boy and he'll eat too much."Everyday life back at the Peace House. Announcements.
Drum lessons with Paulus. He's the man. Will I ever be the (wo)man on the drums?Monduli or Bust. Hunter and I with good friends Zac and Hannah. Go V!Visiting Hunter and Peter's students Petro and Mary at their boma.Atop the well. Run water run...Drama at the breakfast table. Well, not really.

"To be with people you love
To be in a place you love
Something to do that you love
To provide good sustenance for the body
To be at peace with life, whatever that means to you."

-Another's prescription for a good life

We’re privileged to be able to think in this way, when you consider what is going on in the world, where some people have no choice...

"I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

-An excerpt from A Summer’s Day, by Mary Oliver

Fun shots from the last few months

My swimming class in all their glory and new snazzy swimsuits from the market:

Hunter's birthday - "Happy" was all the cake said. Full stop. Enough said...

Visiting Orkeeswa Secondary's students singing "Get up, Stand up" Kimaasai style:
The Orkeeswa garden. Grow garden grow..
The same birthday boy playing basketball on Team Arusha:



Life Skills in effect with my class of Form 1s and Form 2s. We just finished the Bridge Model and were acting out missing life skills this day, playing Rita and Lucy (You RPCV's know the one):

A new mode of transport post-Peace Corps. Welcome to piki piki land...
Friends - Peter and Hil - on my hot new drumset. Don't be jealous...Thanks Russells!A shot from our bible study cell group. We meet Wednesdays. And yes, the boys are better singers than the girls. So be it
With friend Helena (daughter of my amazing counterpart in Makambako, Kaduma) celebrating her graduation over lunch. Tres chic kama kawa
Being silly on the way to the Hot SpringsWhat a weirdoA sweet getaway to the Springs with the Bordens. Campout #1 of 2009
She would fall asleep on a book. So typical Lisa:)
Is this what Trevor meant when he sings, "My Dad's a builder and a BREAKER.."?Who would've guessed this guy has back problems?

Mural from a favorite new hangout near Olasiti, a Neeema's of Iringa-like place, where blind,deaf and handicapped Tanzanians are employed making jewelry out of glass. We deposit our bottles there every month. A gorgeous place with gorgeous people. Karibu nawe.

"You may not remember what other people say, but you'll always remember how others make you feel."

On a more positive note...

Guess who signed up for my new swimming class this term?

The same student who tried to kill herself by drowning a month ago!! If that's not redemption, I don't know what is. I was so touched by this step on her part.

Six female students have joined me to learn how to swim - a skill that's all too rare in this landlocked region, known more for its mountains than its shores. My goal: for them all to hold their breath underwater, to float, to doggy paddle a pool's length and above all - to become less fearful and to build their self-esteem. Water is just a metaphor for all that's seemingly scary and challenging in life. They can overcome it. And when they look back at what once seemed scary, they'll laugh...and hold their heads a bit higher.

Next question: Jamani, what will they wear? (Note: TZ girls/women should never show their thighs - a huge no no. Hmm. I may have to go out and buy them swimsuits in a second hand market (no one selling them new in these parts) along with long spandex to the knee to boot. Nice)

Robbery

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. Our office was robbed last weekend of our 3 office computers, printer, copy machine and scanner. Daaaa! It was like a nightmare discovering all these items missing last Sunday. It was so strange and unexpected that I actually texted our Director to ensure the computers weren't checked out for maintenance! Ah, naive Tait. That...or we were robbed. Sadly, it was the latter and clearly an inside job as the door was opened and then closed with a key. This ugly mess was masterminded by someone I've been drinking chai with every day, someone I've sat next to in staff meetings, someone with whom I've shared morning and evening greetings...

It could also explain why my keys went missing a couple weeks back on our Open House celebration day (pics coming soon) - a hectic day which kept me completely occupied and my bag unattended. We (Senior staff and police) assume my keys were stolen off my bag that day so as to facilitate this coup. Ouch, this hurt. It still stings.

The worst part is what an incident like this does to the culture of a workplace, especially within a school, and particularly one in which trust is already a struggle amongst staff. For the last week, everyone seemed to be looking around, asking themselves, could it be _____? Yuck.

What we need desperately is: UNITY. Cooperation. Trust. Humility. Servant hearts. And just when I felt like we were rounding a corner, another blow comes. The Peace House - also known as the nyumba ya amani - when will it live up to its name?

I feel like more than any other year I've spent in TZ, I'm privvy to so much ugliness (as exists everywhere, in all cultures) - almost more than I can swallow. Is it that I'm seeped in deeper than I was before, living and working on a school campus? Is it because I've never been involved with such a well-funded institution and been around so much money, the root of evil? Is it because we're on a precipice in our development as a school - about to experience a major breakthrough?

Lord, let it be the latter!

"Educate - Nurture - Innovate." Sometimes I wonder if I'm meant to nurture the staff or the students? For now, it seems my efforts are being pulled in the direction of the staff so that the students can be better cared for, so that we reflect health and wholeness to them. Afterall, they - the students - are the reason this school is here in the first place. Funny how teachers in this country can forget that. Does a school exist for teachers or for students? It's easy for us Westerners to say. Therein lies the tension I've been feeling since January.

Thank you to Judy for your prayers for authority, for the gift that is words of wisdom and for a garden(s) to grow my own soul's refreshment.

Chase Russell's Prophesy

"Remember this and pursue it: I love deserts because I love to make them beautiful. I love brokenness because I love to make whole what is broken. Don't avoid broken things during your life. That's where I am, making beauty. And when ugliness becomes beauty, it is more beautiful than any other beauty. Don't avoid the broken places. If you seek my beauty, go to where it is ugly; if you seek my fullness, go to where it is empty; if you seek my revival, go to where it is dead; if you seek happiness, go to where there is much suffering. For there I will be, for there will I work my restoration. Remain in me and embrace the broken places."

The toughest day

Yesterday, around 7:45 am, at our morning flag-raising ceremony, our Headmistress announced in front of the whole school, that a student was found trying to kill herself on Sunday. My stomach instantly went into my mouth. What?! In an angry tone, she then demanded that students not concern themselves with "romance issues." Apparently, most staff presume this young girl was led to this desperate attenmpt due to being troubled by a break-up with her boyfriend. Cultural side note: having a boyfriend or girlfriend is strictly prohibited here, especially at boarding schools where "romance" can lead to pregnancy in a blink of an eye...and pregnancy translates into students being expelled.

Following this disturbing tangazo, a male and female member of our Journalism club proceeded to announce school news - about the netball team being "too lazy" and losing their matches the previous week, as well as mentioning the suicide attempt - at which everyone laughed. I was furious. Raging, I asked to enter the flag circle for an announcement of my own. I begged the male journalism club student to please not make inappropriate announcements as he had just done. Calling our netballers (all girls mind you) "lazy" is completely unacceptable and unfair. Not to mention rude. Why aren't we encouraging one another, I asked the 185 students and 43 staff members? The netballers may not be winning, but they are making the school proud in trying. We need a spirit of encouragement on this campus, not discouragement, I said firmly.

I returned to stand with the staff, still enraged, my blood boiling...and remained in this state the rest of the day. Still am, to be honest. How could we make suicide a laughing matter? How do you think the girl felt who tried to kill herself as these announcements were made about her? Perhaps this is cultural, that the sanctity of life is less in a place where death occurs constantly, without explanation. Laughing at it may be the only consolation they have. But it'll never be humorous to me. Never. As someone who's lost friends and family to suicide, I am deeply pained when I hear of young people weighed down to the point that they'd rather not live. That utter sense of hopelessness DESTROYS me. Moreover, as a social worker here, this is why I'm here - to instill hope in our students, to support and love on them. I felt like a failure, personally and on behalf of the school community - that we had all failed this girl somehow.

Meanwhile, my Tanzanian cohorts were/are still blaming this girl for being involved in "romance." It was as if it was her fault having these desperate feelings. I wonder if her feelings have ever been validated...if she's EVER been listened to and had someone say, "I'm so sorry. I feel you. I hear you." My inclination is to think that no - never has she expressed her fears or been felt/truly heard. And this sense of feeling so alone, led her to do what she did.

Needless to say, the cultural differences involved in the response to such an incident frustrate me to no end. Death - particularly suicide - is a totally different entity in this culture. So, how will we respond as a school, as teachers, as staff? Will we reach out more to the students? Will we look internally, each of us, as to how we can be better "mothers" and "fathers", "sisters" and "brothers" to our students? Or will we blame this poor girl for her hopelessness, jamani. I pray it's not the latter.

As one person walking upstream, I'm fighting a very strong cultural current. I can't help but wonder how much difference I can make on this campus. But I'll keep fighting all the same for what is right, for what God stands for - building one another up, love, justice, equality, hope - to name a few. I will not give up. And I will do my best to not allow my students to do so either.

"Dear brothers and sisters, I close my letter with these last words: Rejoice. Change your ways. Encourage each other. Live in harmony and peace. Then the God of love and peace will be with you."
*2 Corinthians 13:11