I receive "I love you" letters from my P4 students. They are very short but super sweet!
P6 disappointed me. They didn't do the work nor do they know how to form the present tense or the present continuous although we talked about that for the last month. When I leave I tell them that this is the first time I am happy to leave their class. They seems stunned and mumble sorry when I pass their rows on my way out.
In the staff room I receive more "I love you letters" and when I'm sitting with a student for his reading exam I hear P4 screaming "Teacher Loreen" but I don't know why.
John (name’s changed) has problems in spelling and writing he was the one who cried last month and he even cried during the spelling exam. Today, I think I have an idea: I let him spell a word and then ask for the pronunciation if the word is easy like ‘it’ or ‘is’ I expect him to pronounce it perfectly. If not it's a mistake. But words like ‘affordable’ don't need to be perfectly pronounced but they are so long that he can't even spell them properly although he is reading the letters from the paper. If he says ‘they’ instead of ‘the’ I write what he said in on different piece of paper to show him the right spelling to the pronunciation. He seems very happy that I give him all the time he needs and encourage him with even the most simple words. When he finished spelling the word I tell him "Exactly, good job. Do you know how to pronounce this?" Sometimes he says ‘no’ but the longer we read he gets more comfortable and says "May I try?" I'm glad he wants to try. It's mostly wrong but he shows that he is eager to learn. I'm so proud of him. Not a single tear and it's even possible to have eye-contact for once. He smiles broadly when we finish and I clap for him. He did a really good job considering the fact that he usually cries and hides his face in his hands. He reached 50% this is still a failure but he usually gets just 40% from any teacher because they let him read but don't bother to correct him since "he has a problem". And if someone reads "comparative" instead of "cooperation" they don't know how to correct it or mark this since this is not just a mispronunciation but a completely different word.
I look at my watch this took 34min. But it were the best 34min he could have as an exam.
MM comes in and says: “You know how to teach. Your previous volunteer didn't.”
I'm felling very very pleased.
I write answers to the "I love you letters" and within 10min the three girls stand in the staff room with their answers at hand. They kiss me and I take out my phone. I need to keep this forever with pictures!
Back in the staff room I see that BM tries Gs suit jacket on and asks me afterwards why sharing clothes is a bad attitude. I say: “I don't know.” I consider Memorial which is the huge market including a big second hand part and I think second hand is a good idea. He puts the jacket of and says: “It can give you skin cancer, isn't it?”
“No, cancer is not contagious."
Oh someone seriously missed a huge part of common knowledge. This together with him last week telling me that the finger tricks I showed the students are sex signs makes me feeling uncomfortable when I think about him being in charge of children… I get the urge to ask the head teacher to quit him or put him as a student in P3 again. Cancer is contagious… honestly.
When I leave the school a P6 student asks me whether I have forgiven them. I am glad that they care about me being disappointed or not. I tell her they have to deserve my forgiveness before I leave. At the bus stop I wait for a DalaDala and when it stops and the conductor opens the door I see that there is nearly no space inside. He tells the other passengers to squeeze together for the Mzungu. I understand this and when I enter I tell him I'm not Mzungu. Everyone looks amazed that I say this in Swahili and smile broadly at me. When I'm home I have to finish my notes from the last two days and I have to wash a lot of my clothes. I'm so exhausted but the memory of my students hugging me and giving me a kiss on the cheek without me doing anything but being present, is the best drug in the world that keeps me working and smiling at the same time.
When we go for dinner it rains. We go without an umbrella but I don't care. I tell J everything that happened and he tells me funny stories about a 5 year old patient at the hospital. We laugh in the rain and enjoy it. Still it feels pretty weird to wash your hands at the same time as big rain drops fall on you. (There is no roof above the tab.)
The next morning, I enjoy the wet ground because it puts the dust together and the air is clear.
GM tells me I know how to dress and he wishes to get a girl from abroad knowing how to dress. Then he asks me whether I have considered marrying a Tanzanian person. He asks me whether I can make some arrangements for him to get one girl. Funny enough BM sits next to us and I tell GM I have a deja-vu because I had the same conversation with BM.
During the lunch break I'm alone in the staff room. I fill in the lesson planer and listen to my music only with one headphone so that I can hear everything around me in case a student needs me. After 20min or so G comes in and sits down and starts playing GTA. The staff room door is open as usual and I'm annoyed because he is a bad role model for the children who pass by and stay in the doorway to watch what he is doing. When I finish filling in the lesson planer I take out my calendar to write my To-do list down. A female teacher comes in and looks at me. She just takes my headphone out of my ear, put it in hers. I ask: “Can you ask first?” and she places them roughly back in mine. In my opinion rude! And outch her fingernails scratch my cheek.
I don’t wan to stay in the staff room all day so I go to P4 and start playing with them and I hug them. I let them play with my hair. They ask me whether I'm going on the trip with them. I say ‘no’ I will go with P5 and P6 if I go at all. As one they scream: "But P6 doesn't have good manners." Hahaha...
When I'm back in the staff room GM asks me what I was doing. I say I'm playing with P4 he asks: “What do you play?” and I answer: “It's called being nice.” I tell him that I talk to them and hug them. “Can I hug you too?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
“No, I'm afraid.” (Obviously he wants me to come to him and hug him now.)
“Oh are you shy?” then I leave.
The other residents of the White House asked during the last days whether we are going to play Black stories again. When we sit down in the evening in the hallway just like last time no one is there but it doesn't matter we didn't expect anyone. We keep on working and when the girl from last time comes she tells J that she asked other people to guess the solution from last week. But they didn't want to think they just tried once and wanted to have the answer afterwards. I say: “That is because of your education here. You are raised to choose one right answer out of multiple choice but you're expected to use your brain after school. That doesn't fit together. Give your children something to work on and to actually use their brain. In school they are expected to repeat exactly what the teacher has said no matter whether the definition with other words would have the same meaning.” J agrees with me and means I'm going to change a lot and it starts with Black stories.
We play "A woman goes in a pub and orders a glass of water. The man behind the counter grabs a rifle and points it at her. She says thank you and leaves." After a few questions one girl asks if she is a thieve. I say no.
“Is there a thieve behind her?”
“No.”
“Is the man a thieve?”
“No, there is no thieve.”
Two guesses later: Does she look like a thieve?
“No.” But now I can’t hold myself anymore and start laughing hard and so do the others.
When we are on our way for dinner I'm supposed to make the DalaDala stop. I say "Oy, conda." To get his attention. A few weeks this appeared rude to me. To address someone by saying "Oy" I can't do that. But I come to realize that those sounds are a big part of the communication here and it's not rude at all. When I tell J about this realization he makes "ah" and I say: “Yes, that's what I mean.” Then we laugh.
I walk to have a nice breakfast. When I walk back I see a DalaDala which says: It easy to me but harder to love me. I laugh and take a picture. When I continue walking a boy is standing at the edge of the street peeing. I am scared to say hello in case he will turn and pee on my shoes…
When we go for the dancing lesson I ask J whether he thinks we are going to meet the girl from last week again. He says the chances are 6%. When we pass the school and the school busses are about to leave J laughs and says we are about to hear that again. The girl from last week says hi. I say hi back and she seems happy. But J is not satisfied, I say: “Be patient.” We pass another school bus it's the same where the children put out there hands last time. Today they say hi and hi over and over again and I reply over and over again. The students I have eye contact while saying hi act amazed like it's super cool to get eye contact with me. We keep walking and J asks me whether I want to shift sides because the students we just saw are all on the right side of the bus and when the bus passes now they are on the "wrong" side. I say no, they will shift. I'm right. When the bus comes by the students shift and say hi again. As the other bus comes by the girl puts her head out of the window and says: “Tell me your name?” J says ‘thank you’ and I scream: Loreen.
When we reach the dancing place a teakwondo competition is on and we bet who wins the next fight.
Two new girls attend the class and our teacher wants to show them the dance. Afterwards one girl says that I'm good and whetherI'm a dancing teacher. I'm super happy and proud of myself. After the dancing class we talk a bit. She works with deaf people and invites us to a work shop which takes place every Saturday where different people come together and exchange experience and show someone else different life skills. We love that idea but my schedule is already so tight. But I really want to attend so I tell J we can go every second Saturday to this workshop and every other Saturday to the orphanage. J loves the idea and we plan to do that. When I complain about no time for my blog entries he remembers me that those are all important things. He is right and I'm so happy to be a part of those things.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 2, 2016
Week 10 part 1: Body language is international
When we walk back to the White House after our dancing lesson I stop at a shop and say: “Subiri, nataka kununua biskuti.” (=Wait, I want to buy some biscuits.) J is surprised. He didn't know that I knew the vocabulary. When he tries to trick me into being speechless I find another solution. Instead of making me speechless he get’s speechless himself. I grin and I'm super proud of myself! Then I realize that I remember mostly everything perfectly well without having written down anything since he started teaching me. My pride rises.
During dinner I check my messages and see that my mentor posted a WhatsApp message into our group saying that a volunteer in Butiama got seriously sick and will leave for Germany and won't come back. Her roommate doesn't want to stay alone and will leave to another project. Our mentor asks us whether someone would shift. This is a strange question in my opinion since we just finished the settling-down and no one would like to start all over.
I also got a message from volunteer who works in Lesotho telling me that he saw a lot since he arrived there nearly three months ago. He has been on a safari and has been here and there. He sounds like Lars. I don't understand why they live the life of a tourist instead the one of a volunteer. I enjoy my life here, I don’t need to see as much as possible in a short time. I want to enjoy everything and when the time comes I can go to the tourist attractions but first I want to live here and not make a very long vacation. When I complain about these tourists to J he tells me that I'm just different. I was the only person answering: “I want to help.” When he asked me why I am doing this. All the other volunteers he met said: “I don't know, why not?!”
I text my mentor back and tell him about my school work, my Swahili improvements and tell him also what my friend from Lesotho told me and what J told me afterwards. He is proud of me as well. “Honestly, I am impressed. When I saw you the first time I thought: ‘This little girl will have a hard time to connect to life and culture here.’ But it is completely opposite.”
The fact that family and friends from Germany are proud seems natural to me. But I would never have believed that people here, who I just met two months ago, would be proud as well.
On our way home, I surprise the conductors when I tell them to not touch me during their usual competition. It's funny, one month ago I was so new that they didn't even talk to me. But it seems like they know me now a bit and start to talk and touch me. So I have improved my answers for this. J is enjoying it very much.
When I'm sitting in a restaurant to write my blog entries I order my lunch and something to drink in Swahili. The guys at the next table look astonished at me. While I am writing I can see one guy pointing at me and I know they are talking about me. When I look at him a bit annoyed because of his finger he puts it down and a few seconds later he nods in my direction. He must really be stupid. Maybe I don't understand everything in Swahili but body language is international!
A few minutes later he comes and tells me that he is a tourist guide and wants to improve his English. Oh my goodness you are number five or so. I tell him that I don't have time and I am sorry. I think he just wants to meet and show me something so that I will have to pay him later. He asks me when I will have time. I say: “Not at all. I don't have time and I won't have time.”
“But you have time right now.”
“This is my lunch time.”
“So you can teach me during your lunchtime.”
“No, I won't. This is my lunchtime and as you can see I'm still working (my iPad is right in front of me).”
“So… I'm just a tour guide and I want to improve my English.”
“I can perfectly understand you. Everything's fine just keep speaking whenever it's possible.”
“I don't have friends speaking English. I want to really speak it perfectly.”
“Then you should ask native speakers. I'm not a native speaker I'm from Germany.”
“Can you teach me the lifestyle of women then?”
(Now I have to look up from my iPad. Did he just say that? How did the topic change from “teach me English” into “teach me the lifestyle of [German] women”?)
“Did you just say women?” (What a sexist.)
“No, I mean both sexes… a genders.”
“Sorry, I really have no time.” (J comes into the café and sits down next to me.)
“Why don't you have time?”, says the tourist guide.
“I have a tight schedule and I want to finish my work.”
“So right now you have time?”
“No, I'm working and making a short break to get to know you but you make a bad impression.”
(J asks to be excused. I think: Oh no, I asked him to come and now he has to watch this.)
“I can't teach you. Sorry, maybe you can ask someone from Tanzania.”
“But those are not good. I need someone like you.”
“Do you mean white?” (Why is everything about the skin color?)
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They are mother tongues.”
“You mean they are native speakers. Not everyone is a native speakers, just like me, I told you: I'm from Germany.”
“So can you teach me?”
“No, I don't have time.” (J comes back.)
“Can I talk to him then?”
“Feel free.”
(Am I supposed to forbid him talking a friend of mine?) They talk in Swahili. I understand a few parts for example when J points at another white person to tell the guy he should ask someone else who is not busy. I laugh. The guy asks me for my E-mail address so that we can make out a place and a time when I will teach him.
“I won't teach you, I won't give you my number, not my name and to clarify something for the future I won't give you money.” (J starts chuckling.)
“What?” (J laughs even harder.)
I repeat it.
“What?” (Is this a game now to repeat this endlessly?)
“You make a bad impression and I don't want to spend time with a foreigner.” (J bites his lip and watches the guy.)
He finally leaves, I realize that the staff members were watching us. They think this is quite amusing. I look at J and burst into laughter. He joins me. He tells me he only got out to laugh out loud and the guy is super weird and I confused the guy when I laughed as I understood what J said.
I'm marking. JM asks me to fill another cumulative mark record sheet for P5. I say I can do this as soon as I have time. He says: “I really appreciate it. Thank you.” (I have a tight schedule having a lot of work. You're just sitting there: Do this yourself!) But I somehow like this cumulative record sheet they look so smart because of all the numbers. I tell him that I can't promise anything since I have a lot of work myself and he shouldn't say “thank you” just yet. He says again: “Thank you.” Before he can add: I really appreciate it. I say: “JM, I have too much work.”
“Just imagine my work.” Oh goodness is this a competition? And if so, I think I win.
In order to mark your exams you mark one and write all the right answers at the edge and then you give the papers to someone else. I think: ‘Just like you [JM] did on Friday when you gave me your history exam. Right now, you seem pretty relaxed and doing nothing except moving one paper from the left to the right and another one from the bottom to the top of a pile of documents.’ However, I just keep concentrating on myself.
The street-stranger and I are going to meet in Uhuru park. I saved me one hour so that I can mark the rest of my English papers. When I'm halfway through I take a look at my watch. It's 17:12 he was supposed to be here 12min ago. Alright I can wait, I have enough to do. I continue working but my eyes are getting super tired and I get annoyed by reading the same words over and over. I feel sympathy for the teachers in Germany: Marking here in Tanzania is much easier because of the multiple choice. Here I don’t have to check whether they included all the important point in their summary of a newspaper article. I think the government made the marking easier because of the amount of students here. In Germany the students are less and so the teachers are expected to spend more time with single students who need more help. Crazy! I have more respect for (my German) teachers now!
17:33 I call the street-stranger. Last time he came two hours too late but I don't have that much time. I already planed to spare 2,5h for him I can't spare more. I have to mark my exams and I want to write my blog entries. I am in my tenth week now and I only published until week four. He doesn't pick up. I continue working and think that I just use the time to finish this. 17:37 he calls me back and says he will be there in 15min or less. At 18:05 I leave and go to the meeting point with J. I gave the street-stranger time to show up and I have to move my legs again. I'm used to stand in front my class and now that we have examinations and I was only supervising I miss standing! But when I'm marking I can't stand…
When I arrive at the meeting point for J and I, I take out my exams and continue. Oh goodness this looks horrible (horrible!!! not horable, hurribul or harubla)! I receive a text message from the street-stranger saying: You're gone. I think: Yes, I know. And funnily a message from him from yesterday reaches me now saying: I like that. This fits perfectly together. I chuckle. He sends me another message saying: I'm late because I'm from Africa. I don’t think that this is the reason for being late. Otherwise every teacher would come late and J as well. But again I don't respond. A few exams later he sends: Do you get any of my messages? I'm like: Yes, but I don't want to respond... I continue marking. He calls me but I don't pick up. Why is he suddenly all over the phone? Then he sends me a message saying: I think I'm annoying enjoy your evening. Wow finally he stops. I continue marking. Can you believe this I'm still not finished. They had 33 words and 17 sentences. I get tired of reading and trying to read the handwriting. Just as I am about to give up for today I see it. One student voted for Hilary Clinton. I laugh hard and take a picture.
The street-stranger comes in. He acts like nothing happens. Oh shit, I wanted to send him a text message saying: Why do you have an excuse to come 1,5h too late but I don't have an excuse of not answering my phone for 20min? Well, I continue marking. He pats me weirdly on the back and says: “You're busy as usual.” Then he sits on the couch. When I'm finished with marking I take out my iPad so that I can put the marks into my own record sheet. He thinks I'm done and comes and starts talking. I tell him what I wanted to text him in person and he says he is late to everyone. I say this is still not an explanation for him being impatient as long as I don't answer my phone. J arrives and the street-stranger feels obviously uncomfortable and before J starts laughing again he pretends to get a call. The street-stranger invites me to a day trip to a lake tomorrow because he is going there with six other German women. He thought… (He stopped speaking there.) I tell him I'm in school and afterwards not fit enough. Then the food for me and J arrives and the street-stranger says enjoy and that our talk was really nice. I will never understand those people.
J sits down and asks me about my day. “Too much unsatisfactory things.” I tell him about the reading exam and the spelling results and JM expecting me to fill a new cumulative mark record sheet although I told him I had too much work and that his response was simply that I should imagine having his work. Then I tell J what happened with the street-stranger and he says he really doesn't get that guy. "You have such a tight schedule and so much work and then you spare time and they do not understand that you stop your work just for them." I look at him with a slight smile as he says this. "You get up at 06:30 you work between 08:00 and 15:00 where you have a lot of students to teach, a lot of papers to mark and then you have the other teachers who do not help but make it even more difficult for you to do your work properly. In your lunchtime you are supposed to regain power but that doesn't work with your school food so you need your own. Then you get back pretty exhausted buy the food for the coming day, eat just a bit and then you wash your clothes, prepare your next lesson or you mark something. Then you make your notes of the day and when your finished I'm coming and we go for dinner. When we're back it has already been a long day and still I ask for your shoulder blade." I have to laugh. The fact that he puts his daily request whether I will show him my shoulder blades again into his numeration of my daily activities really pushes my mood. (Showing my shoulder blades doesn’t stand for something offensive but my shoulder blades are extendable. One day after our dancing lesson I stretched myself and J saw my shoulder blades standing out and since then he’s surprised how that works.)
Then I show J the exam from my P6 student who voted for Hilary Clinton. He laughs hard and says I have to give him an extra point for that.
During dinner I check my messages and see that my mentor posted a WhatsApp message into our group saying that a volunteer in Butiama got seriously sick and will leave for Germany and won't come back. Her roommate doesn't want to stay alone and will leave to another project. Our mentor asks us whether someone would shift. This is a strange question in my opinion since we just finished the settling-down and no one would like to start all over.
I also got a message from volunteer who works in Lesotho telling me that he saw a lot since he arrived there nearly three months ago. He has been on a safari and has been here and there. He sounds like Lars. I don't understand why they live the life of a tourist instead the one of a volunteer. I enjoy my life here, I don’t need to see as much as possible in a short time. I want to enjoy everything and when the time comes I can go to the tourist attractions but first I want to live here and not make a very long vacation. When I complain about these tourists to J he tells me that I'm just different. I was the only person answering: “I want to help.” When he asked me why I am doing this. All the other volunteers he met said: “I don't know, why not?!”
I text my mentor back and tell him about my school work, my Swahili improvements and tell him also what my friend from Lesotho told me and what J told me afterwards. He is proud of me as well. “Honestly, I am impressed. When I saw you the first time I thought: ‘This little girl will have a hard time to connect to life and culture here.’ But it is completely opposite.”
The fact that family and friends from Germany are proud seems natural to me. But I would never have believed that people here, who I just met two months ago, would be proud as well.
On our way home, I surprise the conductors when I tell them to not touch me during their usual competition. It's funny, one month ago I was so new that they didn't even talk to me. But it seems like they know me now a bit and start to talk and touch me. So I have improved my answers for this. J is enjoying it very much.
When I'm sitting in a restaurant to write my blog entries I order my lunch and something to drink in Swahili. The guys at the next table look astonished at me. While I am writing I can see one guy pointing at me and I know they are talking about me. When I look at him a bit annoyed because of his finger he puts it down and a few seconds later he nods in my direction. He must really be stupid. Maybe I don't understand everything in Swahili but body language is international!
A few minutes later he comes and tells me that he is a tourist guide and wants to improve his English. Oh my goodness you are number five or so. I tell him that I don't have time and I am sorry. I think he just wants to meet and show me something so that I will have to pay him later. He asks me when I will have time. I say: “Not at all. I don't have time and I won't have time.”
“But you have time right now.”
“This is my lunch time.”
“So you can teach me during your lunchtime.”
“No, I won't. This is my lunchtime and as you can see I'm still working (my iPad is right in front of me).”
“So… I'm just a tour guide and I want to improve my English.”
“I can perfectly understand you. Everything's fine just keep speaking whenever it's possible.”
“I don't have friends speaking English. I want to really speak it perfectly.”
“Then you should ask native speakers. I'm not a native speaker I'm from Germany.”
“Can you teach me the lifestyle of women then?”
(Now I have to look up from my iPad. Did he just say that? How did the topic change from “teach me English” into “teach me the lifestyle of [German] women”?)
“Did you just say women?” (What a sexist.)
“No, I mean both sexes… a genders.”
“Sorry, I really have no time.” (J comes into the café and sits down next to me.)
“Why don't you have time?”, says the tourist guide.
“I have a tight schedule and I want to finish my work.”
“So right now you have time?”
“No, I'm working and making a short break to get to know you but you make a bad impression.”
(J asks to be excused. I think: Oh no, I asked him to come and now he has to watch this.)
“I can't teach you. Sorry, maybe you can ask someone from Tanzania.”
“But those are not good. I need someone like you.”
“Do you mean white?” (Why is everything about the skin color?)
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They are mother tongues.”
“You mean they are native speakers. Not everyone is a native speakers, just like me, I told you: I'm from Germany.”
“So can you teach me?”
“No, I don't have time.” (J comes back.)
“Can I talk to him then?”
“Feel free.”
(Am I supposed to forbid him talking a friend of mine?) They talk in Swahili. I understand a few parts for example when J points at another white person to tell the guy he should ask someone else who is not busy. I laugh. The guy asks me for my E-mail address so that we can make out a place and a time when I will teach him.
“I won't teach you, I won't give you my number, not my name and to clarify something for the future I won't give you money.” (J starts chuckling.)
“What?” (J laughs even harder.)
I repeat it.
“What?” (Is this a game now to repeat this endlessly?)
“You make a bad impression and I don't want to spend time with a foreigner.” (J bites his lip and watches the guy.)
He finally leaves, I realize that the staff members were watching us. They think this is quite amusing. I look at J and burst into laughter. He joins me. He tells me he only got out to laugh out loud and the guy is super weird and I confused the guy when I laughed as I understood what J said.
I'm marking. JM asks me to fill another cumulative mark record sheet for P5. I say I can do this as soon as I have time. He says: “I really appreciate it. Thank you.” (I have a tight schedule having a lot of work. You're just sitting there: Do this yourself!) But I somehow like this cumulative record sheet they look so smart because of all the numbers. I tell him that I can't promise anything since I have a lot of work myself and he shouldn't say “thank you” just yet. He says again: “Thank you.” Before he can add: I really appreciate it. I say: “JM, I have too much work.”
“Just imagine my work.” Oh goodness is this a competition? And if so, I think I win.
In order to mark your exams you mark one and write all the right answers at the edge and then you give the papers to someone else. I think: ‘Just like you [JM] did on Friday when you gave me your history exam. Right now, you seem pretty relaxed and doing nothing except moving one paper from the left to the right and another one from the bottom to the top of a pile of documents.’ However, I just keep concentrating on myself.
The street-stranger and I are going to meet in Uhuru park. I saved me one hour so that I can mark the rest of my English papers. When I'm halfway through I take a look at my watch. It's 17:12 he was supposed to be here 12min ago. Alright I can wait, I have enough to do. I continue working but my eyes are getting super tired and I get annoyed by reading the same words over and over. I feel sympathy for the teachers in Germany: Marking here in Tanzania is much easier because of the multiple choice. Here I don’t have to check whether they included all the important point in their summary of a newspaper article. I think the government made the marking easier because of the amount of students here. In Germany the students are less and so the teachers are expected to spend more time with single students who need more help. Crazy! I have more respect for (my German) teachers now!
17:33 I call the street-stranger. Last time he came two hours too late but I don't have that much time. I already planed to spare 2,5h for him I can't spare more. I have to mark my exams and I want to write my blog entries. I am in my tenth week now and I only published until week four. He doesn't pick up. I continue working and think that I just use the time to finish this. 17:37 he calls me back and says he will be there in 15min or less. At 18:05 I leave and go to the meeting point with J. I gave the street-stranger time to show up and I have to move my legs again. I'm used to stand in front my class and now that we have examinations and I was only supervising I miss standing! But when I'm marking I can't stand…
When I arrive at the meeting point for J and I, I take out my exams and continue. Oh goodness this looks horrible (horrible!!! not horable, hurribul or harubla)! I receive a text message from the street-stranger saying: You're gone. I think: Yes, I know. And funnily a message from him from yesterday reaches me now saying: I like that. This fits perfectly together. I chuckle. He sends me another message saying: I'm late because I'm from Africa. I don’t think that this is the reason for being late. Otherwise every teacher would come late and J as well. But again I don't respond. A few exams later he sends: Do you get any of my messages? I'm like: Yes, but I don't want to respond... I continue marking. He calls me but I don't pick up. Why is he suddenly all over the phone? Then he sends me a message saying: I think I'm annoying enjoy your evening. Wow finally he stops. I continue marking. Can you believe this I'm still not finished. They had 33 words and 17 sentences. I get tired of reading and trying to read the handwriting. Just as I am about to give up for today I see it. One student voted for Hilary Clinton. I laugh hard and take a picture.
The street-stranger comes in. He acts like nothing happens. Oh shit, I wanted to send him a text message saying: Why do you have an excuse to come 1,5h too late but I don't have an excuse of not answering my phone for 20min? Well, I continue marking. He pats me weirdly on the back and says: “You're busy as usual.” Then he sits on the couch. When I'm finished with marking I take out my iPad so that I can put the marks into my own record sheet. He thinks I'm done and comes and starts talking. I tell him what I wanted to text him in person and he says he is late to everyone. I say this is still not an explanation for him being impatient as long as I don't answer my phone. J arrives and the street-stranger feels obviously uncomfortable and before J starts laughing again he pretends to get a call. The street-stranger invites me to a day trip to a lake tomorrow because he is going there with six other German women. He thought… (He stopped speaking there.) I tell him I'm in school and afterwards not fit enough. Then the food for me and J arrives and the street-stranger says enjoy and that our talk was really nice. I will never understand those people.
J sits down and asks me about my day. “Too much unsatisfactory things.” I tell him about the reading exam and the spelling results and JM expecting me to fill a new cumulative mark record sheet although I told him I had too much work and that his response was simply that I should imagine having his work. Then I tell J what happened with the street-stranger and he says he really doesn't get that guy. "You have such a tight schedule and so much work and then you spare time and they do not understand that you stop your work just for them." I look at him with a slight smile as he says this. "You get up at 06:30 you work between 08:00 and 15:00 where you have a lot of students to teach, a lot of papers to mark and then you have the other teachers who do not help but make it even more difficult for you to do your work properly. In your lunchtime you are supposed to regain power but that doesn't work with your school food so you need your own. Then you get back pretty exhausted buy the food for the coming day, eat just a bit and then you wash your clothes, prepare your next lesson or you mark something. Then you make your notes of the day and when your finished I'm coming and we go for dinner. When we're back it has already been a long day and still I ask for your shoulder blade." I have to laugh. The fact that he puts his daily request whether I will show him my shoulder blades again into his numeration of my daily activities really pushes my mood. (Showing my shoulder blades doesn’t stand for something offensive but my shoulder blades are extendable. One day after our dancing lesson I stretched myself and J saw my shoulder blades standing out and since then he’s surprised how that works.)
Then I show J the exam from my P6 student who voted for Hilary Clinton. He laughs hard and says I have to give him an extra point for that.
Oct 29, 2016
Week 9: Vomit or vumbi?
👷🛠Eine deutsche Übersetzung ist in Arbeit...💪
Week 9 23.10.-29.10.
Vomit or Vumbi?
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to our rooms. I am super sweaty, my grey shirt is no longer light grey but dark grey and sticky. I am in a desperate need of a shower. When I turn the faucet I hear a gargling noise and nothing comes out. I swear loudly. I can't believe that we don't have water now. When I sit down, I also realize that there is also no electricity. My phone got luckily charged before the power went off. I listen to an Harry Potter audiobook, text with my friends and write answers to those WhatsApp messages I got during the last few days where I didn't check my phone. I complain to my mother that there is no water but I need to take a shower and I also wanted to wash my clothes. Four hours later we finally have water. I take a shower and wash a few of my clothes before J knocks at my door and we go for dinner. On our way we smell eight different smells. When I complain to J he answers with a chuckle: “Typical Sunday.” We wait for a DalaDala when one stops in front of us J says it's too full. “You're complaining about a luxury need. But we don't need luxury. Two more people will fit in so let's go.” When we are standing inside he looks at me and says: “You really are the local one.” I'm proud of myself!
In the restaurant J complains about being the only black guy except for the staff members. I laugh and answer: “The funny thing is: I am the local one.” Over the last week I started to correct him not only in English but also in Swahili.
Before we enter the bus, which will bring us back, the conductors fight and for the first time I'm in the middle. I say “Shut up”, “Stop this” and “Don’t touch me” (in Swahili) as they touch me. The guys inside the bus are surprised and start talking about me and calling me Mzungu. I say I'm not Mzungu in Swahili and they are totally confused. J talks to them and tries to teach them not to call me Mzungu and one guy says: “Sorry, Mzungu”. OMG how often do I have to say this: I'm not Mzungu. Mzungu is a name for a white person from a western country. But I always have the feeling it separates me from everyone here. I don't want to be called Mzungu. I am just like you and nothing really separates us. Not even the language since I'm studying Swahili.
When I'm on my way to school a car comes in my direction and stops. I think the driver wants to ask for direction but instead he says: “What is your name?” I'm rolling my eyes and tell him he doesn't need to know.
G asks me about an Internet bundle. I answer that I don't have one and ask why he keeps asking me that (this is the third time). He says because he doesn't have one. I respond that he should get one then. He says that I'm selfish for not sharing mine. I answer: “I'm not selfish! First I don't have one right now and second you should pay for your own bundle.”
I check where I have to be tomorrow when the monthly examination starts and take a look at the official timetable for supervision. My jaw drops. Are they kidding me? My name is spelled: Lorne. What the hell?! I've been here for two months and all they now is to call me Lorne?! I go to the office and ask politely who typed that and then ask them to save the correct spelling for the next time.
When I go to the office to get my books and my ball for my next class I realize that someone scribbled KD on my ball. During the next lesson one girl asks me wether I already saw that and then I ask wether they know who did that. As one the whole class screams the name of one P6 student.
The monthly exam starts and I don't have a first exam to supervise. I take out my iPad and start to write new blog entries. JM starts to talk to me. I don't know why he can't ask for interrupting me but he doesn't. He shows me pictures of the last night. He and the other teachers (only male) went to a party of his family member. He tells me about the others being drunk at that time. I think he was too, because not a single picture is sharp. Later BM tells me he is tired and he falls asleep while supervising. He complains about being tired and I say it was his own fault when he gets drunk during the week. He says he wasn't drunk. (Says the guy with the blood shot eyes.) And when we enter the staff room JM sleeps on my desk! Why there? He lifts his head and complains about being tired. With blood shot eyes. Either they were all pretty drunk or they took a drug.
When I'm supervising and the students are finished I show them finger tricks. They are surprised and they keep silent to get everything. Also during the next day I do that and our headmaster comes in and smiles a smile saying: She really knows how to make everyone feel happy.
One guy in P3 has to burp a lot and the other students start laughing. I continue examining the exam to know what the students have in front of them. One task is to write the past tense of "do" and "walk". One student is super smart and turns to the wall on which a poster is attached which says the past tense of different verbs.
In the staff room BM asks me about the finger tricks I have been doing. I show him at two of them he starts laughing hard and says: “Don't do that.” I ask why and he tells me that those are sex signs. That is new to me and I don't get why but ok I'll be careful not to do this anymore.
Now that I'm back from school and I've prepared every lesson and we have water. I wash all my clothes and the new blanket I bought. As I'm putting them on the line to dry J tells me that he can't wait to see the reaction of the woman who washes the clothes for some of the students. Apparently last time she was already absolutely surprised to see my clothes washed. J reckons that she will have an amazing reaction this time seeing: five trousers, a huge towel and and my blanket cover. I laugh and imagine J sitting on the staircase and waiting for the woman. Then I ask J about the finger tricks being sex signs and he starts laughing quite hard. He says that this is just a believe of a few Tanzanian people. I don't need to bother.
Soon I will meet the other students of our house because their holidays are over now. J warns me that they will ask me a bunch of questions because of my clothes on the line.
When we come back from dinner we find ourselves surrounded by a dust cloud. “Too much dust. Oh by the way… What is the Swahili word for dust?” “Vumbi.” We shield our faces from the dust and I have to ask: “Did you say vumbi or vomit?” I found a memory hook and make us both laugh.
Last day of examination P6 is noisy so G goes there, I follow him to prevent the worst. He pinches the students at random but he won't allow me to say a single word. I don't care I tell him and the children seem amazed that someone dares to open the mouth. Their next exam is ICT I know I only told them about half of the keyboard but it's more than this so I tell them to study with their textbook if possible.
JM asks me wether I could mark his history exams over the weekend. I say sure. This is going to be funny. When I bring JMs exams to my bag I pass a student from P6 who grins at me. My jaw drops. His teeth are blue. I ask what happened and he presses his lips together. I repeat me question slightly angry and he says he tried to fix his pen. “With your teeth?” I am both shocked and amused. How often did I tell them not to put the pen in their mouth? How stupid can you be to not notice this amount of ink? I tell him to go to the staff room. He refuses. Now I'm getting angry he obeys teachers who cane him and disobeys me who will protect him from this kind of punishment? I tell him he should stop negotiating and start walking. I push him and finally he moves. I present him to his class teacher who is seriously surprised and angry. He asks me wether we should cane him but I say I'd prefer humiliation. He gives me freedom. I laugh and we start saying “Hey” to every teacher at first he laughs but that is soon over. A secondary student just came in with her pen in her mouth and I tell her to stop. She doesn't understand me and he opens his mouth and she finally gets it and looks a bit shocked. We go to see the head master. He refuses again but I remind him that no one is going to hurt him. We go inside but only the school manager is there. She is seriously angry and reminds him of all the times he had to write an apology letter and me telling them every lesson not to put the pen in their mouth. He starts feeling ashamed. We go and look for JM he starts feeling afraid of getting hurt. When we come to the class where JM is supervising, however, I see AM canning students very hard. I ask him to stop. I ask what happened and I try to distract him with the blue teeth but he doesn't stop. He has finished (I saw three students getting canned and 12 are crying). He tells me they failed. I think: “Great surprise you are their teacher and I saw your exams. They are the funniest I've ever seen.” But I'm to shocked that this could cheer me up. We show him and JM the blue teeth and their jaws drop too. He starts crying when we make him show this to every student in this class. I'm sorry that he is crying but this will change his attitude. I want to go to the other teachers and the next class so that every single student will know not to do this again. But he is crying seriously and I see I've reached his understanding. He goes and washes his mouth. I want to go to P4 and when I see them G is there caning them. I asked what happened he doesn't answer nor stops. I ask the other students but they are too afraid to answer. I go between him and the student to force him to tell me the reason first. He pulls the student around me and finishes his number of eight. I take her into a hug and try to share my sympathy with her. He caned them on the hand so I know it must have been something they've written. Yes, they failed.
I tell the students to cool their hands with water and I check wether they are hurt somewhere else. How can they cane students? They should ask themselves why those students have failed and not think students are just stupid. They might be the problem not the students!
I go to P6 when I see that there are guys making fun of the blue teeth of their classmate. When I arrive I see another girl chewing her pen. I'm getting seriously angry. I tell him to show her his blue teeth and he starts laughing. I see that after washing his mouth is not much better looking. He laughs and doesn't seem to have learned his lesson. I tell him to go to P4 right away. They are always loving it when I'm there and this time they will see what happens when you get too used to putting the pen into the mouth. He refuses again and grins. I tell him that I won't allow him to disrespect me like this. He starts crying again. I tell him that He respects teachers who hurt him and are rude and he can do me a favor and start respecting me. I'm polite and I'm not hurting anyone physically, he is only crying because he feels the humiliation in front of his classmates and he knows I'm right. I tell him again he can go to P4 now a few minutes ago he was laughing and now he cries without anyone doing something.
He says: “I won't go to P4.” I ask him for a reason. “If you can give me a reason, you can stay hear.” He keeps crying and says he can't give me one. I give him time then he says: “They are stubborn.” I tell him this is not a reason not to go there. He keeps crying and I say I won't hurt him nor anyone else. He doesn't move. I tell him to do what he's told next time and then leave. I am angry.
After another exam I go to the staff room and he comes by grinning broadly at me. Nothing seems to have changed but I do hope that he is just acting to be tough.
G takes a toy from a student. It's a broken rubber band on which the lid of a soda bottle is fixed. The lid has teeth and if you pull and release the band quickly the lid turns and it makes a sound. I don't know why but when I am marking he comes with that toy far too close. I am super annoyed and when I tell him that it disturbs me, he looks so arrogant I get angry and the wish to slap him. He is still that close. I somehow get why the teachers are in a bad mood and release their frustration on children... But I won't hurt someone physically just because I'm in a bad mood! I will keep an extra distance and tell them to be careful.
I would like to meet all the other students but after one hour only two people showed up. I bought a game called “black stories” in English. It’s about soling a mysterious death or crime by just asking yes-or-no-questions. Just one sentence is read out and the other people have to “Guess why?” To spread the knowledge of our meeting J asked our hous-keeper to tell everyone because of my tight schedule and he said it was Tanzanian style.
The students who came are very nice so we start playing black stories. The sentence is: Because the woman was too long on her phone she died. A long break follows a short discussion in which they figured out the woman was sitting in a car. When I give them a hint that they have to figure who called, one guy says traffic. I have to laugh and I imagine a traffic calling someone sitting in a car: "Hello, thank you for your presence. We really appreciate you." When I say so everyone laughs.
After two hours in which they got the whole mystery J and I go for dinner and talk about our experience and when we come back to that particular moment where the student said: “Traffic called.” I realize how crazy (this is exaggerated these people sometimes are:
JM kept calling me his daughter.
Everyone asks: Do you go to church?
BM asking me for a girlfriend.
The street-stranger keeps saying that he's happy to see me and to talk to me. “I'm going to see you. See you tomorrow. Bye. See you. Have a nice evening. See you. We see each other.”
M saying stuff like: “I know a lot of white people. They have been in my room.”
Everyone calls me Mzungu. The reaction that follows is: “She speaks Swahili?”
And now: “Traffic called.”
Honestly, you Tanzanian people are funny.
On our way to the dancing lesson we cross a school that obviously has lessons on Saturdays. The children are waiting in the school bus for the take off and as we pass one girls sticks her head out of the window and says: “Hello.” I say: “Hello” back. Then she says: "Tell me your name." I have to laugh and say: “No, sorry.” We pass another school bus and the children are younger than in the other bus. They stick their hands out and try to reach for me. I give them a high five but some of them want more and try to get a grip on me. Luckily my hands are still creamy because of my sun blocker and so no one can really hold on. We continue walking and a few students scream Mzungu behind me. I turn around and say in Swahili that I'm not Mzungu. My reaction, however, was so quickly like a native one that even I was surprised and grin proudly whereby J starts laughing and turns around to see how the students react. They are awestruck.
We walk down the street (it’s a hill) and one school bus comes by the girl sticks her head out again and says: “Tell me your name.” J and me are laughing. When we pass a few minutes later a shop where we sometimes buy bites we see the school bus holding there. J says: “Wait she will ask you again.” I say: “If she does this is definitely going to be in my blog.” She says again: “Please, tell me your name.” I say: “No, sorry.” We continue walking and add this to the list of crazy things someone said.
Week 9 23.10.-29.10.
Vomit or Vumbi?
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to our rooms. I am super sweaty, my grey shirt is no longer light grey but dark grey and sticky. I am in a desperate need of a shower. When I turn the faucet I hear a gargling noise and nothing comes out. I swear loudly. I can't believe that we don't have water now. When I sit down, I also realize that there is also no electricity. My phone got luckily charged before the power went off. I listen to an Harry Potter audiobook, text with my friends and write answers to those WhatsApp messages I got during the last few days where I didn't check my phone. I complain to my mother that there is no water but I need to take a shower and I also wanted to wash my clothes. Four hours later we finally have water. I take a shower and wash a few of my clothes before J knocks at my door and we go for dinner. On our way we smell eight different smells. When I complain to J he answers with a chuckle: “Typical Sunday.” We wait for a DalaDala when one stops in front of us J says it's too full. “You're complaining about a luxury need. But we don't need luxury. Two more people will fit in so let's go.” When we are standing inside he looks at me and says: “You really are the local one.” I'm proud of myself!
In the restaurant J complains about being the only black guy except for the staff members. I laugh and answer: “The funny thing is: I am the local one.” Over the last week I started to correct him not only in English but also in Swahili.
Before we enter the bus, which will bring us back, the conductors fight and for the first time I'm in the middle. I say “Shut up”, “Stop this” and “Don’t touch me” (in Swahili) as they touch me. The guys inside the bus are surprised and start talking about me and calling me Mzungu. I say I'm not Mzungu in Swahili and they are totally confused. J talks to them and tries to teach them not to call me Mzungu and one guy says: “Sorry, Mzungu”. OMG how often do I have to say this: I'm not Mzungu. Mzungu is a name for a white person from a western country. But I always have the feeling it separates me from everyone here. I don't want to be called Mzungu. I am just like you and nothing really separates us. Not even the language since I'm studying Swahili.
When I'm on my way to school a car comes in my direction and stops. I think the driver wants to ask for direction but instead he says: “What is your name?” I'm rolling my eyes and tell him he doesn't need to know.
G asks me about an Internet bundle. I answer that I don't have one and ask why he keeps asking me that (this is the third time). He says because he doesn't have one. I respond that he should get one then. He says that I'm selfish for not sharing mine. I answer: “I'm not selfish! First I don't have one right now and second you should pay for your own bundle.”
I check where I have to be tomorrow when the monthly examination starts and take a look at the official timetable for supervision. My jaw drops. Are they kidding me? My name is spelled: Lorne. What the hell?! I've been here for two months and all they now is to call me Lorne?! I go to the office and ask politely who typed that and then ask them to save the correct spelling for the next time.
When I go to the office to get my books and my ball for my next class I realize that someone scribbled KD on my ball. During the next lesson one girl asks me wether I already saw that and then I ask wether they know who did that. As one the whole class screams the name of one P6 student.
The monthly exam starts and I don't have a first exam to supervise. I take out my iPad and start to write new blog entries. JM starts to talk to me. I don't know why he can't ask for interrupting me but he doesn't. He shows me pictures of the last night. He and the other teachers (only male) went to a party of his family member. He tells me about the others being drunk at that time. I think he was too, because not a single picture is sharp. Later BM tells me he is tired and he falls asleep while supervising. He complains about being tired and I say it was his own fault when he gets drunk during the week. He says he wasn't drunk. (Says the guy with the blood shot eyes.) And when we enter the staff room JM sleeps on my desk! Why there? He lifts his head and complains about being tired. With blood shot eyes. Either they were all pretty drunk or they took a drug.
When I'm supervising and the students are finished I show them finger tricks. They are surprised and they keep silent to get everything. Also during the next day I do that and our headmaster comes in and smiles a smile saying: She really knows how to make everyone feel happy.
One guy in P3 has to burp a lot and the other students start laughing. I continue examining the exam to know what the students have in front of them. One task is to write the past tense of "do" and "walk". One student is super smart and turns to the wall on which a poster is attached which says the past tense of different verbs.
In the staff room BM asks me about the finger tricks I have been doing. I show him at two of them he starts laughing hard and says: “Don't do that.” I ask why and he tells me that those are sex signs. That is new to me and I don't get why but ok I'll be careful not to do this anymore.
Now that I'm back from school and I've prepared every lesson and we have water. I wash all my clothes and the new blanket I bought. As I'm putting them on the line to dry J tells me that he can't wait to see the reaction of the woman who washes the clothes for some of the students. Apparently last time she was already absolutely surprised to see my clothes washed. J reckons that she will have an amazing reaction this time seeing: five trousers, a huge towel and and my blanket cover. I laugh and imagine J sitting on the staircase and waiting for the woman. Then I ask J about the finger tricks being sex signs and he starts laughing quite hard. He says that this is just a believe of a few Tanzanian people. I don't need to bother.
Soon I will meet the other students of our house because their holidays are over now. J warns me that they will ask me a bunch of questions because of my clothes on the line.
When we come back from dinner we find ourselves surrounded by a dust cloud. “Too much dust. Oh by the way… What is the Swahili word for dust?” “Vumbi.” We shield our faces from the dust and I have to ask: “Did you say vumbi or vomit?” I found a memory hook and make us both laugh.
Last day of examination P6 is noisy so G goes there, I follow him to prevent the worst. He pinches the students at random but he won't allow me to say a single word. I don't care I tell him and the children seem amazed that someone dares to open the mouth. Their next exam is ICT I know I only told them about half of the keyboard but it's more than this so I tell them to study with their textbook if possible.
JM asks me wether I could mark his history exams over the weekend. I say sure. This is going to be funny. When I bring JMs exams to my bag I pass a student from P6 who grins at me. My jaw drops. His teeth are blue. I ask what happened and he presses his lips together. I repeat me question slightly angry and he says he tried to fix his pen. “With your teeth?” I am both shocked and amused. How often did I tell them not to put the pen in their mouth? How stupid can you be to not notice this amount of ink? I tell him to go to the staff room. He refuses. Now I'm getting angry he obeys teachers who cane him and disobeys me who will protect him from this kind of punishment? I tell him he should stop negotiating and start walking. I push him and finally he moves. I present him to his class teacher who is seriously surprised and angry. He asks me wether we should cane him but I say I'd prefer humiliation. He gives me freedom. I laugh and we start saying “Hey” to every teacher at first he laughs but that is soon over. A secondary student just came in with her pen in her mouth and I tell her to stop. She doesn't understand me and he opens his mouth and she finally gets it and looks a bit shocked. We go to see the head master. He refuses again but I remind him that no one is going to hurt him. We go inside but only the school manager is there. She is seriously angry and reminds him of all the times he had to write an apology letter and me telling them every lesson not to put the pen in their mouth. He starts feeling ashamed. We go and look for JM he starts feeling afraid of getting hurt. When we come to the class where JM is supervising, however, I see AM canning students very hard. I ask him to stop. I ask what happened and I try to distract him with the blue teeth but he doesn't stop. He has finished (I saw three students getting canned and 12 are crying). He tells me they failed. I think: “Great surprise you are their teacher and I saw your exams. They are the funniest I've ever seen.” But I'm to shocked that this could cheer me up. We show him and JM the blue teeth and their jaws drop too. He starts crying when we make him show this to every student in this class. I'm sorry that he is crying but this will change his attitude. I want to go to the other teachers and the next class so that every single student will know not to do this again. But he is crying seriously and I see I've reached his understanding. He goes and washes his mouth. I want to go to P4 and when I see them G is there caning them. I asked what happened he doesn't answer nor stops. I ask the other students but they are too afraid to answer. I go between him and the student to force him to tell me the reason first. He pulls the student around me and finishes his number of eight. I take her into a hug and try to share my sympathy with her. He caned them on the hand so I know it must have been something they've written. Yes, they failed.
I tell the students to cool their hands with water and I check wether they are hurt somewhere else. How can they cane students? They should ask themselves why those students have failed and not think students are just stupid. They might be the problem not the students!
I go to P6 when I see that there are guys making fun of the blue teeth of their classmate. When I arrive I see another girl chewing her pen. I'm getting seriously angry. I tell him to show her his blue teeth and he starts laughing. I see that after washing his mouth is not much better looking. He laughs and doesn't seem to have learned his lesson. I tell him to go to P4 right away. They are always loving it when I'm there and this time they will see what happens when you get too used to putting the pen into the mouth. He refuses again and grins. I tell him that I won't allow him to disrespect me like this. He starts crying again. I tell him that He respects teachers who hurt him and are rude and he can do me a favor and start respecting me. I'm polite and I'm not hurting anyone physically, he is only crying because he feels the humiliation in front of his classmates and he knows I'm right. I tell him again he can go to P4 now a few minutes ago he was laughing and now he cries without anyone doing something.
He says: “I won't go to P4.” I ask him for a reason. “If you can give me a reason, you can stay hear.” He keeps crying and says he can't give me one. I give him time then he says: “They are stubborn.” I tell him this is not a reason not to go there. He keeps crying and I say I won't hurt him nor anyone else. He doesn't move. I tell him to do what he's told next time and then leave. I am angry.
After another exam I go to the staff room and he comes by grinning broadly at me. Nothing seems to have changed but I do hope that he is just acting to be tough.
G takes a toy from a student. It's a broken rubber band on which the lid of a soda bottle is fixed. The lid has teeth and if you pull and release the band quickly the lid turns and it makes a sound. I don't know why but when I am marking he comes with that toy far too close. I am super annoyed and when I tell him that it disturbs me, he looks so arrogant I get angry and the wish to slap him. He is still that close. I somehow get why the teachers are in a bad mood and release their frustration on children... But I won't hurt someone physically just because I'm in a bad mood! I will keep an extra distance and tell them to be careful.
I would like to meet all the other students but after one hour only two people showed up. I bought a game called “black stories” in English. It’s about soling a mysterious death or crime by just asking yes-or-no-questions. Just one sentence is read out and the other people have to “Guess why?” To spread the knowledge of our meeting J asked our hous-keeper to tell everyone because of my tight schedule and he said it was Tanzanian style.
The students who came are very nice so we start playing black stories. The sentence is: Because the woman was too long on her phone she died. A long break follows a short discussion in which they figured out the woman was sitting in a car. When I give them a hint that they have to figure who called, one guy says traffic. I have to laugh and I imagine a traffic calling someone sitting in a car: "Hello, thank you for your presence. We really appreciate you." When I say so everyone laughs.
After two hours in which they got the whole mystery J and I go for dinner and talk about our experience and when we come back to that particular moment where the student said: “Traffic called.” I realize how crazy (this is exaggerated these people sometimes are:
JM kept calling me his daughter.
Everyone asks: Do you go to church?
BM asking me for a girlfriend.
The street-stranger keeps saying that he's happy to see me and to talk to me. “I'm going to see you. See you tomorrow. Bye. See you. Have a nice evening. See you. We see each other.”
M saying stuff like: “I know a lot of white people. They have been in my room.”
Everyone calls me Mzungu. The reaction that follows is: “She speaks Swahili?”
And now: “Traffic called.”
Honestly, you Tanzanian people are funny.
On our way to the dancing lesson we cross a school that obviously has lessons on Saturdays. The children are waiting in the school bus for the take off and as we pass one girls sticks her head out of the window and says: “Hello.” I say: “Hello” back. Then she says: "Tell me your name." I have to laugh and say: “No, sorry.” We pass another school bus and the children are younger than in the other bus. They stick their hands out and try to reach for me. I give them a high five but some of them want more and try to get a grip on me. Luckily my hands are still creamy because of my sun blocker and so no one can really hold on. We continue walking and a few students scream Mzungu behind me. I turn around and say in Swahili that I'm not Mzungu. My reaction, however, was so quickly like a native one that even I was surprised and grin proudly whereby J starts laughing and turns around to see how the students react. They are awestruck.
We walk down the street (it’s a hill) and one school bus comes by the girl sticks her head out again and says: “Tell me your name.” J and me are laughing. When we pass a few minutes later a shop where we sometimes buy bites we see the school bus holding there. J says: “Wait she will ask you again.” I say: “If she does this is definitely going to be in my blog.” She says again: “Please, tell me your name.” I say: “No, sorry.” We continue walking and add this to the list of crazy things someone said.
Oct 22, 2016
Week 8 part 2: Don't dare and pee there!
👷🛠Eine deutsche Übersetzung ist in Arbeit... 💪
I want to buy some drinks for the boarding students in school so J offers me to help organizing them. We go and he tells me how to say “huge” in Swahili so that I can buy huge bottles. I ask the guy for huge bottles of soda. He shakes his head and turns his ear to me and makes a face of deep concentration. I'm afraid that I've made a mistake and repeat it again. He looks at J and asks him. He starts chuckling and tells me to repeat it again (in Swahili) I ask him wether I made a mistake and how to improve it but he says just repeat it (in Swahili). I repeat it and the guy looks completely lost. He starts talking to J and he laughs harder than ever. Then he repeats exactly what I've said and finally the guy says he doesn't have those bottles. We leave, J still chuckling and me too because I obviously didn't do anything wrong but the guy didn't understand me. Everyone around us starts watching the white girl as she starts to laugh so hard that she needs to bend a bit. J tells me that the guy said he doesn't understand me because I would speak English. Since when is “Una soda bonge?” English? J suggests that next time I should try to ask in German.
J suggests that we need to find a place where we can eat pizza from time to time. When I go to look for a toilet I follow the signs into a kind of a dead end. I can't see the doors. Then I hear someone peeing. I look at the wall and realize that the toilet doors look exactly like the wall. I open the door for women and find myself in a small room with a second door and a place for a washbasin although there is not washbasin. I push the door which is a bit open and face a woman standing behind the door. (“I am so sorry, but shouldn't you have closed the door?” Are my thoughts!) We change places and I push the door close. Oh shit. The door doesn't open again. I put my finger in the hole where there should have been a look and push my shoe below the door and pull with my foot and my finger and the door opens again. Afterwards I tell J what happened and he enjoys my story. This is so weird.
When go to the White House I see a guy standing half way on the street rather swaying on the spot and say with a giggle to J: “Don't dare and pee there!” He pees... It is not at all the edge of the street. J swears upon his people and says: “We need to change.”
I packed an extra bag for my sleepover at the hostel and take of to school. In the staff room BM asks me what I am going to do with them. I tell him and he says: “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I guess on a bed?!”
I do not understand is question I just told him I will have a sleep over a the schools hostel.
“Loreen, that is not good.” What? “You will have to sleep on a mattress just like the others.”
“Yes, I know and I do not see the problem.”
“The mattresses there are very thin and narrow. It's not good for you.”
“If the students can sleep on them I can sleep on them as well.”
“But you are a teacher…”
“Which means I am a human just like them.”
BM shakes his head and looks sad. I don't understand why someone should pride themselves so highly for being a teacher.
After school my students see my second bag and ask wether I am already going back to Germany. When I say: “No, but I am having a sleepover at the hostel tonight.” The faces first get happy and then confused. One of the nicest P6 girls says: “Stop joking.” It sounds like she doesn't want to get her hopes up. “I am not joki…” I can't finish my sentence because the girls who surrounded me are hugging me now, which knocked the breath out of me. P4 students see this and ask what happened. I tell them and I get another huge group hug. We go to the dinning hall (a rectangle space under a metal roof top) where the students have to wait until the so called “sisters” come and pick them up. While we are waiting we have porridge. The students have to stay in a straight line in order to get their porridge. I line myself in and tell my P6 students who try to get in front of some P3 students to go back to the end. They try to stay there which they would not have dared if it would have been for JM standing there with a stick but I am glad I do not frighten them to death. I am just a human just like them I don't want to be treated special. But I want them to be “good boys” so I tell them when they are doing something rude. I tell them again to go to the back of the line and they go with a slight smile as though they appreciate my way of teaching them. A secondary student tells me that I don't have to stand in line. (Apparently her sister in P6 told her I am going to sleep in the hostel tonight as she grins as I have never seen her grinning before.) “Teacher, just go and take porridge.” I shake my head with a smile and say: “You don't have to call me teacher. I am just like you! I will wait just like you.” She seems even happier than a second before and goes to the end of the line. When it's my turn to get porridge the cook is surprised that I have waited in the line. One P6 student was helping her and hands her now the cup they kept for me. (Why do you give me so much extra treatments?) I know it would be rude if I don't take it so I thank her not only for the porridge but also for giving me a special cup. While everyone eats or drinks I watch a secondary student and two P6 students standing next to the dining hall in the sun. The secondary student takes the glass from a shattered watch and the lower arm of one of the P6 students, then she holds the slightly magnifying glass over the arm and directs the sunshine through the glass onto the skin and after two seconds the girl jumps back obviously burned. The next P6 student stretches out her arm out disbelievingly. As the secondary student takes her arm I say: “Stop that.” I tell them that this is not good for their skin and decide that I will show them later what happens with paper so they can understand it’s bad for skin as well. The students seem to be disappointed but a few minutes later they show me paper and ask wether they can burn it. I tell them that would be ok but only if they promise me to only burn paper and no skin. I wonder why they try their skin when they seem to know what happens with paper. Well I guess the secondary student just had a lesson in physics this week where she learned this and wants to show off. My attention is then directed to five P3,P2,P1 students. They introduce a girl to me and say: “This is Loreen as well.” I have to laugh. I finally meet someone with the same name. Here in Tanzania I came to know that there are a lot of Doreen's and Maureen's so my name never got mispronounced here which is really nice. Loreen sits next to me and smiles. I ask in which grade she is and she tells me that she is in P1. I am impressed. For a P1 student her English is extremely good she can keep up with a P5 student and I can tell she seems very confident. When everyone is finished with their porridge the sisters come to pick us up. When I greet them I surprise everyone. My students: because I usually don't show that I know some Swahili and the sisters: probably because they did not expect me to greet them. The students have to stay in line and even the sisters seem to use a stick (they are holding sticks). I hurry to help them and students and sisters enjoy my help. I tickle those who are not in line and let two P2 students grab my hands. Then we go through the gate and after not even two minutes we are at the hostel. I am lead to a room for ten people. Here are mainly the older students. I see that they put their shoes in front of the room so they don't carry dirt inside. When I want to take off my shoes as well everyone shouts: NO. “Teacher, you can leave them on.” I try to clean my shoes a bit and then I get in carefully not to leave dirt. There are five double beds inside (some wooden and some made out of metal), above them are mosquito nets for the upper person, the lower person has her mosquito net hanging from the barrels which support the mattress of the upper person. I can sleep on the lower mattress since this double bed has no second mattress because the upper barrels are broken. I put my bags down and then I want to check how the other rooms look like and students who don't belong to this room scream invitations to me that I should come and see their room. I take out my house shoes which I brought with me and go to the room of my P6 and P5 students. My jaw drops. There are nine double beds inside. On one wall are the tiny trunks of students. Every student has a metal box with their name written on it. Apparently they use these as a replacement for a shelf. I ask whether they have chairs and tables to make their homework. “No, sometime GM comes and leads us to the school where we do our homework.” Oh goodness. I am invited to take a seat and sit down on the lower mattress of one double bed. I am so tall that when I make my back straight I hit my head at the upper barrels. One girl from P6 shows what she can do: splits, somersault, handstand. Her audience applauses. The students start clapping a melody and singing and one by one shows how she can move her hips. I am impressed and smile and laugh with them while I can't stop making compliments. When everyone is finished (after what feels like one hour) I go to the toilet only to realize that the cubicles don't have a door but a curtain. The gap between curtain end and floor is so big that you can see the whole person when she squats over the traditional toilet which is on grounds level. I feel slightly uncomfortable but remind myself that we are all human. When I want to use the sink afterwards to wash my hands I do not get water. I go back into a cubicle and use the tab instead. When I am on my way to the room again I see that all its residents went outside on the yard. Playing a game where you stand in a circle and sing while two girls are running around the circle until one catches the other. I ask wether I can join in and who can explain me the rules. The students seem surprised but delighted. After 10min we change the game a new song and one girl walks once around the circle and then steps inside where she has to dance to the melody of the song. When she's finished she points at the next girl. After a few minutes we change the game again. Everyone chooses a partner and then stand in line. The students sing a new song and we clap the melody then one girl goes throw the two lines and the arms go up as she comes closer. A few boys saw me now playing and ask wether I would mind playing with them. I say: “Of course I won't.” “Catch me if you can.” One very cheeky boy from P6 starts running and I am right at his heels. He is really good and runs sharp turns. The youngest boarding student falls down when he passes her and starts crying. I stop and take her into a hug and carry her. She cries and the girls and the boy say sorry. It's so sweet to see that everyone cares about the one who's hurt.
It's time to get in line so that we can go for dinner. I carry her the way to the dinning hall and while I am walking she stopped crying. Again I queue and get like everyone else a plate with rice and beans. I have to say I am not a fan of this diet. When we get back it’s time for praying. I join in because I want to know how they do it. But after 30min I am really overstrained this is too much for me. (I stay though.) They sing and the small students dance and afterwards they read a part of the bible. A student hands me an English bible so that I know what they are talking about. After 45min the religious time is over and the students have to stay in two lines. One line for girls and one line for boys. Then they are counted by the sisters.
J told me I should sing for my P6 students and I promised one girl in P6 to sing “Let it go” from the movie “Frozen”. I go to the room where I am going to sleep tonight and the students are rushing out calling to students who want to come in: “Teacher wants to take off her clothes.” I say: “Stay, it's alright I am going to take a shower and dress there.” I go to the toilets and investigate where to take a shower. Yeah new experience. I sit low below the tab and then take a shower. I change my clothes and then I take my phone with the music and enter the bedroom of the P6 and P5 students. I start singing and show the eager students the lyrics video on my phone. “Again.” “No, another one.” “Again, again, again.” “Another one.” The students get louder and I choose another song promising to come back to this song later. After a few songs I sing “Let it go” again and suddenly someone enters the room. I do not check who it is but after a few seconds I realize the person is really tall for a student and look around not stop singing though. My heart sinks, it's the head teacher. I grin to myself and tell me not to stop. The headteacher goes outside again. I finish the song and then I go to talk to the headteacher and see that also GM is there. They tell me that the students are extremely happy to have me here and I say I am just as happy as they are. The headteacher tells me about a girl in P4 who is sponsored from an NGO which rescued her from a marriage when she was 5 years old. I am surprised and can't believe how many different and horrible fates these students have. After a few minutes they leave again. I go to brush my teeth together with some other girls. A bedroom for boys is close to the place and tease the girls by saying they would only act like this because I am around. I go with them back to the room and sing again. A girl starts crying and when we ask what's wrong she tells me that her parents are dead and the songs reminded her. I hug her and try to spend her comfort. I ask wether she wants to start sleeping or rather listen more. She nods her head and says listen. At 22:30 we go to bed. At the next day we go for breakfast. They offer me instead of porridge tea and I accept it. I prefer tea. But I share it with my students. When we go back we play UNO until J picks me up for our dancing lesson.
In the Bajaji I tell him everything that happened. He says: “I am proud of you.” After our exhausting dancing lesson he tells me to show KM how I sing and afterwards KM says: “You have a beautiful voice.” I am glad I am already red from our lesson.
I want to buy some drinks for the boarding students in school so J offers me to help organizing them. We go and he tells me how to say “huge” in Swahili so that I can buy huge bottles. I ask the guy for huge bottles of soda. He shakes his head and turns his ear to me and makes a face of deep concentration. I'm afraid that I've made a mistake and repeat it again. He looks at J and asks him. He starts chuckling and tells me to repeat it again (in Swahili) I ask him wether I made a mistake and how to improve it but he says just repeat it (in Swahili). I repeat it and the guy looks completely lost. He starts talking to J and he laughs harder than ever. Then he repeats exactly what I've said and finally the guy says he doesn't have those bottles. We leave, J still chuckling and me too because I obviously didn't do anything wrong but the guy didn't understand me. Everyone around us starts watching the white girl as she starts to laugh so hard that she needs to bend a bit. J tells me that the guy said he doesn't understand me because I would speak English. Since when is “Una soda bonge?” English? J suggests that next time I should try to ask in German.
J suggests that we need to find a place where we can eat pizza from time to time. When I go to look for a toilet I follow the signs into a kind of a dead end. I can't see the doors. Then I hear someone peeing. I look at the wall and realize that the toilet doors look exactly like the wall. I open the door for women and find myself in a small room with a second door and a place for a washbasin although there is not washbasin. I push the door which is a bit open and face a woman standing behind the door. (“I am so sorry, but shouldn't you have closed the door?” Are my thoughts!) We change places and I push the door close. Oh shit. The door doesn't open again. I put my finger in the hole where there should have been a look and push my shoe below the door and pull with my foot and my finger and the door opens again. Afterwards I tell J what happened and he enjoys my story. This is so weird.
When go to the White House I see a guy standing half way on the street rather swaying on the spot and say with a giggle to J: “Don't dare and pee there!” He pees... It is not at all the edge of the street. J swears upon his people and says: “We need to change.”
I packed an extra bag for my sleepover at the hostel and take of to school. In the staff room BM asks me what I am going to do with them. I tell him and he says: “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I guess on a bed?!”
I do not understand is question I just told him I will have a sleep over a the schools hostel.
“Loreen, that is not good.” What? “You will have to sleep on a mattress just like the others.”
“Yes, I know and I do not see the problem.”
“The mattresses there are very thin and narrow. It's not good for you.”
“If the students can sleep on them I can sleep on them as well.”
“But you are a teacher…”
“Which means I am a human just like them.”
BM shakes his head and looks sad. I don't understand why someone should pride themselves so highly for being a teacher.
After school my students see my second bag and ask wether I am already going back to Germany. When I say: “No, but I am having a sleepover at the hostel tonight.” The faces first get happy and then confused. One of the nicest P6 girls says: “Stop joking.” It sounds like she doesn't want to get her hopes up. “I am not joki…” I can't finish my sentence because the girls who surrounded me are hugging me now, which knocked the breath out of me. P4 students see this and ask what happened. I tell them and I get another huge group hug. We go to the dinning hall (a rectangle space under a metal roof top) where the students have to wait until the so called “sisters” come and pick them up. While we are waiting we have porridge. The students have to stay in a straight line in order to get their porridge. I line myself in and tell my P6 students who try to get in front of some P3 students to go back to the end. They try to stay there which they would not have dared if it would have been for JM standing there with a stick but I am glad I do not frighten them to death. I am just a human just like them I don't want to be treated special. But I want them to be “good boys” so I tell them when they are doing something rude. I tell them again to go to the back of the line and they go with a slight smile as though they appreciate my way of teaching them. A secondary student tells me that I don't have to stand in line. (Apparently her sister in P6 told her I am going to sleep in the hostel tonight as she grins as I have never seen her grinning before.) “Teacher, just go and take porridge.” I shake my head with a smile and say: “You don't have to call me teacher. I am just like you! I will wait just like you.” She seems even happier than a second before and goes to the end of the line. When it's my turn to get porridge the cook is surprised that I have waited in the line. One P6 student was helping her and hands her now the cup they kept for me. (Why do you give me so much extra treatments?) I know it would be rude if I don't take it so I thank her not only for the porridge but also for giving me a special cup. While everyone eats or drinks I watch a secondary student and two P6 students standing next to the dining hall in the sun. The secondary student takes the glass from a shattered watch and the lower arm of one of the P6 students, then she holds the slightly magnifying glass over the arm and directs the sunshine through the glass onto the skin and after two seconds the girl jumps back obviously burned. The next P6 student stretches out her arm out disbelievingly. As the secondary student takes her arm I say: “Stop that.” I tell them that this is not good for their skin and decide that I will show them later what happens with paper so they can understand it’s bad for skin as well. The students seem to be disappointed but a few minutes later they show me paper and ask wether they can burn it. I tell them that would be ok but only if they promise me to only burn paper and no skin. I wonder why they try their skin when they seem to know what happens with paper. Well I guess the secondary student just had a lesson in physics this week where she learned this and wants to show off. My attention is then directed to five P3,P2,P1 students. They introduce a girl to me and say: “This is Loreen as well.” I have to laugh. I finally meet someone with the same name. Here in Tanzania I came to know that there are a lot of Doreen's and Maureen's so my name never got mispronounced here which is really nice. Loreen sits next to me and smiles. I ask in which grade she is and she tells me that she is in P1. I am impressed. For a P1 student her English is extremely good she can keep up with a P5 student and I can tell she seems very confident. When everyone is finished with their porridge the sisters come to pick us up. When I greet them I surprise everyone. My students: because I usually don't show that I know some Swahili and the sisters: probably because they did not expect me to greet them. The students have to stay in line and even the sisters seem to use a stick (they are holding sticks). I hurry to help them and students and sisters enjoy my help. I tickle those who are not in line and let two P2 students grab my hands. Then we go through the gate and after not even two minutes we are at the hostel. I am lead to a room for ten people. Here are mainly the older students. I see that they put their shoes in front of the room so they don't carry dirt inside. When I want to take off my shoes as well everyone shouts: NO. “Teacher, you can leave them on.” I try to clean my shoes a bit and then I get in carefully not to leave dirt. There are five double beds inside (some wooden and some made out of metal), above them are mosquito nets for the upper person, the lower person has her mosquito net hanging from the barrels which support the mattress of the upper person. I can sleep on the lower mattress since this double bed has no second mattress because the upper barrels are broken. I put my bags down and then I want to check how the other rooms look like and students who don't belong to this room scream invitations to me that I should come and see their room. I take out my house shoes which I brought with me and go to the room of my P6 and P5 students. My jaw drops. There are nine double beds inside. On one wall are the tiny trunks of students. Every student has a metal box with their name written on it. Apparently they use these as a replacement for a shelf. I ask whether they have chairs and tables to make their homework. “No, sometime GM comes and leads us to the school where we do our homework.” Oh goodness. I am invited to take a seat and sit down on the lower mattress of one double bed. I am so tall that when I make my back straight I hit my head at the upper barrels. One girl from P6 shows what she can do: splits, somersault, handstand. Her audience applauses. The students start clapping a melody and singing and one by one shows how she can move her hips. I am impressed and smile and laugh with them while I can't stop making compliments. When everyone is finished (after what feels like one hour) I go to the toilet only to realize that the cubicles don't have a door but a curtain. The gap between curtain end and floor is so big that you can see the whole person when she squats over the traditional toilet which is on grounds level. I feel slightly uncomfortable but remind myself that we are all human. When I want to use the sink afterwards to wash my hands I do not get water. I go back into a cubicle and use the tab instead. When I am on my way to the room again I see that all its residents went outside on the yard. Playing a game where you stand in a circle and sing while two girls are running around the circle until one catches the other. I ask wether I can join in and who can explain me the rules. The students seem surprised but delighted. After 10min we change the game a new song and one girl walks once around the circle and then steps inside where she has to dance to the melody of the song. When she's finished she points at the next girl. After a few minutes we change the game again. Everyone chooses a partner and then stand in line. The students sing a new song and we clap the melody then one girl goes throw the two lines and the arms go up as she comes closer. A few boys saw me now playing and ask wether I would mind playing with them. I say: “Of course I won't.” “Catch me if you can.” One very cheeky boy from P6 starts running and I am right at his heels. He is really good and runs sharp turns. The youngest boarding student falls down when he passes her and starts crying. I stop and take her into a hug and carry her. She cries and the girls and the boy say sorry. It's so sweet to see that everyone cares about the one who's hurt.
It's time to get in line so that we can go for dinner. I carry her the way to the dinning hall and while I am walking she stopped crying. Again I queue and get like everyone else a plate with rice and beans. I have to say I am not a fan of this diet. When we get back it’s time for praying. I join in because I want to know how they do it. But after 30min I am really overstrained this is too much for me. (I stay though.) They sing and the small students dance and afterwards they read a part of the bible. A student hands me an English bible so that I know what they are talking about. After 45min the religious time is over and the students have to stay in two lines. One line for girls and one line for boys. Then they are counted by the sisters.
J told me I should sing for my P6 students and I promised one girl in P6 to sing “Let it go” from the movie “Frozen”. I go to the room where I am going to sleep tonight and the students are rushing out calling to students who want to come in: “Teacher wants to take off her clothes.” I say: “Stay, it's alright I am going to take a shower and dress there.” I go to the toilets and investigate where to take a shower. Yeah new experience. I sit low below the tab and then take a shower. I change my clothes and then I take my phone with the music and enter the bedroom of the P6 and P5 students. I start singing and show the eager students the lyrics video on my phone. “Again.” “No, another one.” “Again, again, again.” “Another one.” The students get louder and I choose another song promising to come back to this song later. After a few songs I sing “Let it go” again and suddenly someone enters the room. I do not check who it is but after a few seconds I realize the person is really tall for a student and look around not stop singing though. My heart sinks, it's the head teacher. I grin to myself and tell me not to stop. The headteacher goes outside again. I finish the song and then I go to talk to the headteacher and see that also GM is there. They tell me that the students are extremely happy to have me here and I say I am just as happy as they are. The headteacher tells me about a girl in P4 who is sponsored from an NGO which rescued her from a marriage when she was 5 years old. I am surprised and can't believe how many different and horrible fates these students have. After a few minutes they leave again. I go to brush my teeth together with some other girls. A bedroom for boys is close to the place and tease the girls by saying they would only act like this because I am around. I go with them back to the room and sing again. A girl starts crying and when we ask what's wrong she tells me that her parents are dead and the songs reminded her. I hug her and try to spend her comfort. I ask wether she wants to start sleeping or rather listen more. She nods her head and says listen. At 22:30 we go to bed. At the next day we go for breakfast. They offer me instead of porridge tea and I accept it. I prefer tea. But I share it with my students. When we go back we play UNO until J picks me up for our dancing lesson.
In the Bajaji I tell him everything that happened. He says: “I am proud of you.” After our exhausting dancing lesson he tells me to show KM how I sing and afterwards KM says: “You have a beautiful voice.” I am glad I am already red from our lesson.
Oct 19, 2016
Week 8 part 1: Childish Adults
👷🛠Eine deutsche Übersetzung ist in Arbeit... 💪
As usual, our dancing lesson is extremely exhausting. On our way back we want to try a new place. In case we like it this would be an easy way to save money because we could walk here and wouldn't need to pay for a DalaDala. We order chips and chicken, we see a waiter running to a house. After 30min we wonder where they are preparing the food anyway because we see someone, who seems like the cook, coming out of the house and then directing his footsteps to a grill. Then we hear a cock crow and J says: “Do they have to chase the chicken first?” I laugh and say that we are not going to pay for the drinks in that case. After 20min J walks to the grill and asks about our food. When he comes back he seems confused and I ask why. The cook apparently complained about being awake. He has a hangover and wants to go to bed again. When our food finally arrives, we are not too happy. In my chicken are still two feathers. As we get the bill we are surprised how this place pays for its existence. The food was neither enjoyable nor was the service and still they expect quite a lot of money. We start bargaining and the waiter gets the cook. He says: “He is the cook and when you're not satisfied talk to him.” We complain again that even the cook complained. In the end we get a discount and J says on our way out: “We eat there once and we leave a mark.”
A new day in school, the pupils saw my painted finger nails and try to have the same so they start painting their own nails during a lesson. But school rules do not allow painted nails. When GM tells me I apologize. I didn't know the rule and thereby I didn’t present a good role mode. He denys that and says: “Teachers are allowed to have painted nails. It's only for students to learn discipline.” “But that is a bad way to teach a child. I am allowed but not you.” I am nearly a student myself. I just got out of school a few months ago. I decide not to paint my fingernails for the next weeks so that the students don't get the desire to do the same.
G comes to me and says: “You need a boyfriend.”
"I agree."
"No, I mean one from TZ."
"Yes, I agree."
"So why don't you have one?"
"I didn't fall in love yet."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
He sees my finger nail design: a heart together with the initials of my sister.
"Oh you lie. You love someone."
"Yeah my sister."
"Who?"
"My sister?! These are her initials."
"Ah, you love M."
"M? No, you're mistaken."
"Oh at least he is a teacher."
"I'm not in love with M. On the contrary."
"Why not?"
"I am not loving him."
"Fall in love with me then."
"But I don't love you."
"Why not?"
"I don't know..." (I can't tell a person in the face that I don't like him/her entirely.)
"I have everything, my body shape… my muscles…" He stretches and tenses a bit and I'm not too impressed so he says: "So how do you expect your boyfriend to be like?"
"I want someone I can talk to the whole day without worrying about time."
"We do that the whole day! Next!"
"I want someone who can make me laugh."
He makes some crazy faces… they don't make me laugh but wrinkle my forehead.
"What else?"
I check the watch and say: "Someone punctual."
He runs of the staff room to his class… he's already 12min late.
The school has got two new students which have to do some exams first so that the school manager knows wether they are in the right grade according to their knowledge. The academic teacher asks me to correct their English tests. When GM comes into the staff room I hand him the papers over. They performed quite good and GM asks me what I think about them. I tell him that they are pretty good in English and ask about the results in the other subjects. He tells me they are in general a bit above the average. “One of them will join P6.” says GM. Shoot, the class counts already 42 students… Poor GM, he is the class teacher of P6. After the last lesson I walk to P6 and ask my students how they are and introduce myself to the new pupil. She even looks very smart. Not only that her clothes stick to the school rules as though the head teacher himself dressed her but also her bag seems not only clean but also well cared for and as she bends over to close it, I see that she has all text books (which is quite unusual). And to stick perfect to an American cliché about teachers favorites: She wears glasses.
I get a note from one girl in P4. “Can you be my friend and protect me?” During the break I go to her and say “You will have to help me but I'll do my best.” After that I get a hug not only from her but from nearly every student in P4.
The youngest boarding student is three years old and feels homesick today. The teachers take her into the staff room an hour later she is asleep. As I watch her sleep our headmaster gives me his monthly exams and asks me wether I would mind correcting them for him. I feel honored that he asks me for help. I also ask him wether it's possible for me to have a sleepover at the schools hostel. I want to know how boarding students live and get into a close relationship with them as well. He seems delighted and says he will inform the matron and it's no problem. I tell him also that I am planing on organizing drinks and therefore I'd like to know how many students there are. “I think there are 133 now.” My jaw drops. Drinks for 133 students I somehow regret my suggestion.
When I enter my room I decide to wash my clothes and find myself facing a kind of schedule. School, getting chapati on my way to my room, washing clothes/work for school, have fun with J and then go to a different dinner place. I am rather enjoying this way of life. I teach children and grow up, not to be an adult but being an independent person without luxury needs.
When I finished washing I start correcting the exam as J comes in. And again we enjoy the stupid mistakes and strange questions:
29 One of the following is not a natural resource of Tanzania:
A) Minerals B) Land C) Plastic bags D) Water
30 A political party is a group of people with common ideology aimed at .
A) conducting business C) criticizing the government
B) forming a government D) fighting for money
After an hour we decide to go for dinner. But I'm not finished with marking so I take my papers with me to finish my work while we are waiting. Today we try a new place and have the feeling of sitting in a disco. It's pretty dark with flickering neon lights and loud music surrounding us.
I'm a bit late but in the bus I meet an old teacher from the secondary school. I take his bag and wear it to his office. We did that during the last three weeks now every time I saw him I took his bag. The first time he wanted to take it himself but I insisted of taking it because it looked very heavy and in Tanzania everything is done with a lot of respect no matter how uncomfortable it is. When I come to the staff room I notice that they have changed the timetable. I am confused why and try to figure out where I have to be now and what is changed concerning my English lessons. G stands between me and the timetable. I ask: “Can I help you?” He doesn't respond. I shift a bit so that I can see today's lessons and I focus again. G stares and me, then he takes a piece of chalk and points on a point between my eyes. I don't react and pretend to be still in deep concentration. He says: “Look at this.” I look him in the eyes and ask: “Why?” He says: “Look at this and tell me what you see.” Without looking at the chalk I say: “White.” G says: “No, don't look at me look.” Then he points at the round chalk. I say: “A circle.” (not glancing away). He still holds the chalk at eyes' height and points between my eyes. I have the feeling he wants me to squint. I don't play by his rules and keep the eye contact. He says: “Don't look at me, look at the chalk.” I ask: “Why?” And without an answer he leaves. JM calls for me and I cross the room and sit down next to him. He tells me G disappointed him very early in the morning. I ask how and he tells me because of his behavior towards me. I say: “Yeah, that was childish. But there is no need for you to be troubled with that.” A female teacher comes in and asks why JM looks so moody he tells her about G and she laughs. Then they tell me “nobody likes his presence” and the management tries to fire him. The problem is that they don't know how to cope with the work then.
Today I only assist JM in his work so I stay mainly in the staff room. GM sits during his free period in front of me. After 15min he walks to me and strikes my hair. I ask why, he says he wanted to call me because he thought I wouldn't be there. I'm confused either it's his English or me… I ask again why he strikes my hair and he tells me he wanted to align my hair. I tell him he has to ask for permission and then wait for an answer. He asks: “Why?” I answer: “It's my hair and I want to decide which fingers land in it and that this behavior is childish.” He is not at all happy to hear this. But I don't care. I already had to many crazy situations in this staff room and G already made me bad tempered. I am not anyone's marionette and I won't act like one either. I am a human!
During the next break GM tries to “align” again. I've had enough of this and turn the tables. I say: “Ok, do you like this?” I lay my hand on his head and move it a bit. He tries to flee out of the staff room. But I keep up my hand still laying on his hair. The students surrounding us look questioningly at us. GM tries to make an amused face. I think he learned his lesson now (and I don't like the feeling of his hair against my skin). I go and wash my hand.
I am alone in the staff room marking some work when G comes in. He sneaks behind me and tries to tickle me. Bad luck for him, I'm not ticklish there. But I am surprised by his sudden appearance. He raises his hand in order to strike my hair. I hold his hand back I have enough of childish adults now. He asks me why I'm doing that. I tell him the same as GM and he answers he just wants to have some fun. I say: “But I don't want to.” He says: “But you can have fun with my hair as well.” I say: “No, thanks I had enough fun with GMs.” He seems insulted and leaves.
After school I want to take a DalaDala up to town. J wants to show me a place where I can buy another blanket cover. As a DalaDala stops I want to get in but there is no space. I say: “No, thanks.” but the conductor tries to pull me towards the bus. I say: “Stop that.” (in Swahili) and that I'm fine waiting. The front door opens, a guy stands up but where is he going to end up if I take his place?! The conductor looks offended and the passengers laugh. Then the bus takes off.
Memorial: A big market I make fun of the name since I see living people. A guy passes and makes strange sounds while wiping the air. He's obviously drunk – I think. We look around a bit and J explains to me that things on a hanger are more expensive than those on the table and those on the table are more expensive than those on the floor. We continue looking around and as we pass a place where the stands are empty and the roof fabric is coming down, I say: “This looks like a memorial. Now it makes sense.” But J tells me that those shops are just already closed because it's 5pm and they want to go home. I ask why we didn't wait for the weekend to get here earlier and see everything. "Because the later it gets, the cheaper it is." That makes sense.
We search for a place where I can buy another blanket cover. We pass the drunk guy again. Now he makes different sounds. We found a place and J tells me how to ask in Swahili. I ask but I'm already overstrained with the answer. J takes over. But those covers are not for blankets but mattresses. We go and look for another stand. The drunken guy passes again now making sounds like trying to send a message by Morse. J makes me bargain in Swahili again but I'm not really assured after my first try. I try but I only understand parts of what the woman is saying and after three minutes I look at J and wait for him to translate now since I've lost track after three offers of hers and three of mine. He seems daydreaming. He starts in Swahili again and then asks me for my last offer. I say it in Swahili and the woman asks me to repeat it. Did I make a mistake? I repeat it a bit questioningly but J assures me with a wink that I am right. Another woman came over and starts talking now, a bit harsh in Swahili to the woman. When she is finished I say again: My last offer is 13.000TSH (in Swahili). The other woman says something in Swahili and J chuckles hard. The saleswoman agrees, I take out my money and realize that I don't have a one thousand note and so I give her 14.000. She says in Swahili that she could keep it like this. I say no and she asks why. I say "because" (in Swahili) and she has to laugh very hard. Then I get a high five. When we leave J takes me into a hug and says I did a great job and he is jealous of my high five. He also tells me what the other woman said to the saleswoman: “Oh shit, she speaks Swahili. You’re fucked up.” And that's why he was chuckling. I'm feeling awkward because I only said numbers and “last offer” and “I said”. But J assures me I was perfect and he didn't interfere because he enjoyed watching me. We pass the drunk guy again and ask ourselves how long he's going to make those sounds. We stop and make fun of a huge mess of different shoes. The drunken guy comes back again. Okay, how often did we see him yet? We look for a place where J can buy new sports trousers. Since he ripped his old ones during the last dancing lesson. It's 6pm and most of the shops are closed by now. We keep talking about how I've bargained and he wants me to bargain for his trousers again. I hope we won't find them. On our way to the bus stand we see two guys packing up their sports clothes. Everything is packed except for the trousers. J grins. I know what's coming. We look for a light trouser. I don't know why but all the sport trousers seem to be made for cold weather and are pretty heavy. We find a light one in green and a light one in blue. J picks the blue one and asks for the price. The merchant says 8,000TSH J tells me to go for it. I ask how much he wants to pay. He says he doesn't know and I should pick a price. I consider the fact that it's already pretty late so it's cheaper. I think it might has been 12,000 in the afternoon so I can get it for 6,000-7,000 I say 5,000 the merchant says no, 8,000. I say 6,500 and he accepts. J grins happily. We fit the trouser in my bag as well as my blanket cover and J says he loves my bag because everything fits in. I say: “This is the reason for me to buy it.”
We leave for dinner and I start translating one of my English blog entries into German so that I have two languages and everyone is pleased. I finish one and am again proud of me.
As usual, our dancing lesson is extremely exhausting. On our way back we want to try a new place. In case we like it this would be an easy way to save money because we could walk here and wouldn't need to pay for a DalaDala. We order chips and chicken, we see a waiter running to a house. After 30min we wonder where they are preparing the food anyway because we see someone, who seems like the cook, coming out of the house and then directing his footsteps to a grill. Then we hear a cock crow and J says: “Do they have to chase the chicken first?” I laugh and say that we are not going to pay for the drinks in that case. After 20min J walks to the grill and asks about our food. When he comes back he seems confused and I ask why. The cook apparently complained about being awake. He has a hangover and wants to go to bed again. When our food finally arrives, we are not too happy. In my chicken are still two feathers. As we get the bill we are surprised how this place pays for its existence. The food was neither enjoyable nor was the service and still they expect quite a lot of money. We start bargaining and the waiter gets the cook. He says: “He is the cook and when you're not satisfied talk to him.” We complain again that even the cook complained. In the end we get a discount and J says on our way out: “We eat there once and we leave a mark.”
A new day in school, the pupils saw my painted finger nails and try to have the same so they start painting their own nails during a lesson. But school rules do not allow painted nails. When GM tells me I apologize. I didn't know the rule and thereby I didn’t present a good role mode. He denys that and says: “Teachers are allowed to have painted nails. It's only for students to learn discipline.” “But that is a bad way to teach a child. I am allowed but not you.” I am nearly a student myself. I just got out of school a few months ago. I decide not to paint my fingernails for the next weeks so that the students don't get the desire to do the same.
G comes to me and says: “You need a boyfriend.”
"I agree."
"No, I mean one from TZ."
"Yes, I agree."
"So why don't you have one?"
"I didn't fall in love yet."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
He sees my finger nail design: a heart together with the initials of my sister.
"Oh you lie. You love someone."
"Yeah my sister."
"Who?"
"My sister?! These are her initials."
"Ah, you love M."
"M? No, you're mistaken."
"Oh at least he is a teacher."
"I'm not in love with M. On the contrary."
"Why not?"
"I am not loving him."
"Fall in love with me then."
"But I don't love you."
"Why not?"
"I don't know..." (I can't tell a person in the face that I don't like him/her entirely.)
"I have everything, my body shape… my muscles…" He stretches and tenses a bit and I'm not too impressed so he says: "So how do you expect your boyfriend to be like?"
"I want someone I can talk to the whole day without worrying about time."
"We do that the whole day! Next!"
"I want someone who can make me laugh."
He makes some crazy faces… they don't make me laugh but wrinkle my forehead.
"What else?"
I check the watch and say: "Someone punctual."
He runs of the staff room to his class… he's already 12min late.
The school has got two new students which have to do some exams first so that the school manager knows wether they are in the right grade according to their knowledge. The academic teacher asks me to correct their English tests. When GM comes into the staff room I hand him the papers over. They performed quite good and GM asks me what I think about them. I tell him that they are pretty good in English and ask about the results in the other subjects. He tells me they are in general a bit above the average. “One of them will join P6.” says GM. Shoot, the class counts already 42 students… Poor GM, he is the class teacher of P6. After the last lesson I walk to P6 and ask my students how they are and introduce myself to the new pupil. She even looks very smart. Not only that her clothes stick to the school rules as though the head teacher himself dressed her but also her bag seems not only clean but also well cared for and as she bends over to close it, I see that she has all text books (which is quite unusual). And to stick perfect to an American cliché about teachers favorites: She wears glasses.
I get a note from one girl in P4. “Can you be my friend and protect me?” During the break I go to her and say “You will have to help me but I'll do my best.” After that I get a hug not only from her but from nearly every student in P4.
The youngest boarding student is three years old and feels homesick today. The teachers take her into the staff room an hour later she is asleep. As I watch her sleep our headmaster gives me his monthly exams and asks me wether I would mind correcting them for him. I feel honored that he asks me for help. I also ask him wether it's possible for me to have a sleepover at the schools hostel. I want to know how boarding students live and get into a close relationship with them as well. He seems delighted and says he will inform the matron and it's no problem. I tell him also that I am planing on organizing drinks and therefore I'd like to know how many students there are. “I think there are 133 now.” My jaw drops. Drinks for 133 students I somehow regret my suggestion.
When I enter my room I decide to wash my clothes and find myself facing a kind of schedule. School, getting chapati on my way to my room, washing clothes/work for school, have fun with J and then go to a different dinner place. I am rather enjoying this way of life. I teach children and grow up, not to be an adult but being an independent person without luxury needs.
When I finished washing I start correcting the exam as J comes in. And again we enjoy the stupid mistakes and strange questions:
29 One of the following is not a natural resource of Tanzania:
A) Minerals B) Land C) Plastic bags D) Water
30 A political party is a group of people with common ideology aimed at .
A) conducting business C) criticizing the government
B) forming a government D) fighting for money
After an hour we decide to go for dinner. But I'm not finished with marking so I take my papers with me to finish my work while we are waiting. Today we try a new place and have the feeling of sitting in a disco. It's pretty dark with flickering neon lights and loud music surrounding us.
I'm a bit late but in the bus I meet an old teacher from the secondary school. I take his bag and wear it to his office. We did that during the last three weeks now every time I saw him I took his bag. The first time he wanted to take it himself but I insisted of taking it because it looked very heavy and in Tanzania everything is done with a lot of respect no matter how uncomfortable it is. When I come to the staff room I notice that they have changed the timetable. I am confused why and try to figure out where I have to be now and what is changed concerning my English lessons. G stands between me and the timetable. I ask: “Can I help you?” He doesn't respond. I shift a bit so that I can see today's lessons and I focus again. G stares and me, then he takes a piece of chalk and points on a point between my eyes. I don't react and pretend to be still in deep concentration. He says: “Look at this.” I look him in the eyes and ask: “Why?” He says: “Look at this and tell me what you see.” Without looking at the chalk I say: “White.” G says: “No, don't look at me look.” Then he points at the round chalk. I say: “A circle.” (not glancing away). He still holds the chalk at eyes' height and points between my eyes. I have the feeling he wants me to squint. I don't play by his rules and keep the eye contact. He says: “Don't look at me, look at the chalk.” I ask: “Why?” And without an answer he leaves. JM calls for me and I cross the room and sit down next to him. He tells me G disappointed him very early in the morning. I ask how and he tells me because of his behavior towards me. I say: “Yeah, that was childish. But there is no need for you to be troubled with that.” A female teacher comes in and asks why JM looks so moody he tells her about G and she laughs. Then they tell me “nobody likes his presence” and the management tries to fire him. The problem is that they don't know how to cope with the work then.
Today I only assist JM in his work so I stay mainly in the staff room. GM sits during his free period in front of me. After 15min he walks to me and strikes my hair. I ask why, he says he wanted to call me because he thought I wouldn't be there. I'm confused either it's his English or me… I ask again why he strikes my hair and he tells me he wanted to align my hair. I tell him he has to ask for permission and then wait for an answer. He asks: “Why?” I answer: “It's my hair and I want to decide which fingers land in it and that this behavior is childish.” He is not at all happy to hear this. But I don't care. I already had to many crazy situations in this staff room and G already made me bad tempered. I am not anyone's marionette and I won't act like one either. I am a human!
During the next break GM tries to “align” again. I've had enough of this and turn the tables. I say: “Ok, do you like this?” I lay my hand on his head and move it a bit. He tries to flee out of the staff room. But I keep up my hand still laying on his hair. The students surrounding us look questioningly at us. GM tries to make an amused face. I think he learned his lesson now (and I don't like the feeling of his hair against my skin). I go and wash my hand.
I am alone in the staff room marking some work when G comes in. He sneaks behind me and tries to tickle me. Bad luck for him, I'm not ticklish there. But I am surprised by his sudden appearance. He raises his hand in order to strike my hair. I hold his hand back I have enough of childish adults now. He asks me why I'm doing that. I tell him the same as GM and he answers he just wants to have some fun. I say: “But I don't want to.” He says: “But you can have fun with my hair as well.” I say: “No, thanks I had enough fun with GMs.” He seems insulted and leaves.
After school I want to take a DalaDala up to town. J wants to show me a place where I can buy another blanket cover. As a DalaDala stops I want to get in but there is no space. I say: “No, thanks.” but the conductor tries to pull me towards the bus. I say: “Stop that.” (in Swahili) and that I'm fine waiting. The front door opens, a guy stands up but where is he going to end up if I take his place?! The conductor looks offended and the passengers laugh. Then the bus takes off.
Memorial: A big market I make fun of the name since I see living people. A guy passes and makes strange sounds while wiping the air. He's obviously drunk – I think. We look around a bit and J explains to me that things on a hanger are more expensive than those on the table and those on the table are more expensive than those on the floor. We continue looking around and as we pass a place where the stands are empty and the roof fabric is coming down, I say: “This looks like a memorial. Now it makes sense.” But J tells me that those shops are just already closed because it's 5pm and they want to go home. I ask why we didn't wait for the weekend to get here earlier and see everything. "Because the later it gets, the cheaper it is." That makes sense.
We search for a place where I can buy another blanket cover. We pass the drunk guy again. Now he makes different sounds. We found a place and J tells me how to ask in Swahili. I ask but I'm already overstrained with the answer. J takes over. But those covers are not for blankets but mattresses. We go and look for another stand. The drunken guy passes again now making sounds like trying to send a message by Morse. J makes me bargain in Swahili again but I'm not really assured after my first try. I try but I only understand parts of what the woman is saying and after three minutes I look at J and wait for him to translate now since I've lost track after three offers of hers and three of mine. He seems daydreaming. He starts in Swahili again and then asks me for my last offer. I say it in Swahili and the woman asks me to repeat it. Did I make a mistake? I repeat it a bit questioningly but J assures me with a wink that I am right. Another woman came over and starts talking now, a bit harsh in Swahili to the woman. When she is finished I say again: My last offer is 13.000TSH (in Swahili). The other woman says something in Swahili and J chuckles hard. The saleswoman agrees, I take out my money and realize that I don't have a one thousand note and so I give her 14.000. She says in Swahili that she could keep it like this. I say no and she asks why. I say "because" (in Swahili) and she has to laugh very hard. Then I get a high five. When we leave J takes me into a hug and says I did a great job and he is jealous of my high five. He also tells me what the other woman said to the saleswoman: “Oh shit, she speaks Swahili. You’re fucked up.” And that's why he was chuckling. I'm feeling awkward because I only said numbers and “last offer” and “I said”. But J assures me I was perfect and he didn't interfere because he enjoyed watching me. We pass the drunk guy again and ask ourselves how long he's going to make those sounds. We stop and make fun of a huge mess of different shoes. The drunken guy comes back again. Okay, how often did we see him yet? We look for a place where J can buy new sports trousers. Since he ripped his old ones during the last dancing lesson. It's 6pm and most of the shops are closed by now. We keep talking about how I've bargained and he wants me to bargain for his trousers again. I hope we won't find them. On our way to the bus stand we see two guys packing up their sports clothes. Everything is packed except for the trousers. J grins. I know what's coming. We look for a light trouser. I don't know why but all the sport trousers seem to be made for cold weather and are pretty heavy. We find a light one in green and a light one in blue. J picks the blue one and asks for the price. The merchant says 8,000TSH J tells me to go for it. I ask how much he wants to pay. He says he doesn't know and I should pick a price. I consider the fact that it's already pretty late so it's cheaper. I think it might has been 12,000 in the afternoon so I can get it for 6,000-7,000 I say 5,000 the merchant says no, 8,000. I say 6,500 and he accepts. J grins happily. We fit the trouser in my bag as well as my blanket cover and J says he loves my bag because everything fits in. I say: “This is the reason for me to buy it.”
We leave for dinner and I start translating one of my English blog entries into German so that I have two languages and everyone is pleased. I finish one and am again proud of me.
Oct 15, 2016
Week 7 part 2: "Mr. GM can't stand me."
👷🛠Eine deutsche {bersetyung ist in Arbeit...💪
This day feels bad. JM wanted to punish a student from P6. He hit him very hard once with a stick and I said stop. I went between him and the student but JM tried to push me away. I said no and that I first want to know what happened. JM pushed me away and said wait and reached out. I said no again. He told me to ask the student. The student said he was about to take his exercise book. JM hit again and I stepped in again. I told him that taking his exercise book is not a reason for this. He said: “Yes, it is because he went through the window.” He tried to hit again but I'm an obstacle, he tried to push me away again but when I came closer instead of moving back he got angry. The other teachers also said “STOP” but he stayed stubborn. The student left (wether with or without permission I don't know) and JM 5min later very angry too. I sat down a bit shaken and angry.
JM turns out to be a huge (*please fill in your favorite swearword*). When I was in class he came suddenly in pulled a student towards him with his shirt and asked him a question. No one can answer when he/she is threatened with pain!
When I sit down in the staff room after my lesson, I think: I just want to go home and sleep and when I wake up this day didn't happen.
When I walk to my next period I am still angry at JM how is it possible that he violates human rights at the same time as he teaches their inviolability. The left over lesson makes me smile again. Noise makers from P5 are punished by P4 and afterwards P4 is stronger as a class and P5 knows it's lesson.
The next day: GM is tucking in his shirt in front of my, he takes very long so I ask him sarcastically wether he would need help. His eyes brighten and he says, “Yes, can you help me?” I answer, “No, go and ask MM for help.” He asks, “Why not you?” I answer that I won't put my hand into his pants. He starts laughing and begins a conversation with MM in Swahili. Then the break is over – but not the weird situation.
When the children have their religion class, I teach JM how to use the computer. MM sits on my chair and strikes gently my turquoise rain jacket. “I like that color. Please, I like that color.” I don't know what exactly he wants me to respond, so I just say, “Me too.” MM says, “Please, Loreen.” I ask, “Please what?”
“Can I beg this?”
“MM, that doesn't make any sense. You want to beg my jacket?”
“Yes, I like that color.”
“Yeah, me too. That's why I bought it.”
“Please, can I wear it.” Without waiting for an answer he slips in one sleeve.
“No, MM!”
What the hell is happening here? This is crazy.
GM makes some sexist comment and starts talking about marriage. In his opinion a woman should stay home and wash, cook for her husband and shouldn't be allowed to have any other male friend. “How can you say that?”
“When a woman marries a man she agrees to live under his conditions which means to abandon all those habits like going to the club.”
“No woman is supposed to abandon her social life just because she's married now.”
“A wife is supposed to go home and raise the family.”
“No! This is not what marriage is about. It's about respecting the other person for how she&he is and who he&she is. Marriage is not an agreement that the man says go that way and the woman follows.”
“What will happen if you don't agree with one another?”
“Then they have to find a compromise!”
“And who is going to find these compromises?”
“There are two adults in a marriage.”
“What?”
“In a marriage are two adults. And adults should be mature enough to sit down and talk about it.”
“Oh…elders.”
“No, adults.”
“Elders.”
*sigh* “Or elders. They should be wise enough.”
“Yeah I agree with you.”
Finally, but our conversation continues. GM is convinced that a girl who got pregnant has to marry the man. I try to tell him that this wouldn’t be necessary but the parents have to take responsibility for their actions. GM asks wether this wouldn’t be awkward since in that case they would need to spend a lot of time together and other people would think this is a marriage. I tell him that it’s not important what other people think. After this comment he asks me wether it would be right to just be yourself.
“Yeah.”
“Loreen, it seems you’re somehow tough.”
“I hope so.”
“Whoever will marry you has to be very strong like Mr. GM.”
*laughing* “Mr. GM cant stand me.” I sit upright as I say it with an air of confidence and strict disbelieve in his statement.
“Of course, he is a very strong man.”
“No.”
“He is a man of few words.”
“No.”
“But full of function.”
“No.”
“Why do you say no?”
“Because I disagree!”
“Why do you disagree?”
“Because as far as I am concerned Mr. GM has strong sides but also very, very weak ones.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m very strong. It’s only that I've never got that chance to show how strong I am. I am very strong man, very gently. And if you allow me to repeat the words: I am African just by bad luck.”
“What do you expect me to say now?”
“Just a word of addition.”
“Just a word of addition? … You may be as strong as you want to be but that is not a reason for me to marry you.”
“I didn't say you marry me but you were disagreeing with me that I'm not a strong man.”
“The person who says from himself ‘I am a very strong and very intelligent one.’ is aware about his weaknesses. He is aware about the values he misses.”
“According to your point of view but according to me: There is no person who can bear me. Because I have never been married or in a strong relationship. That's why I have to stay by myself but I am a very strong man. I just don't have somebody to talk on my behalf. So I have to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Because I am very strong. I know myself. I know I do like this and this and this. So before I can sign the marriage I have to stay with that woman for at least two years, learning each other and to find out wether there are anomalies and I have to accept it.”
“No… I mean I like your idea of staying two years together until your marriage but if you find something that disturbs you you don't have to accept it. You can try to talk about it first.”
“But what if we talk about it but the person keeps on repeating the same mistake?”
“Then you should ask yourself wether this is a mistake or your perception.”
“Loreen, you’re giving me a hard time.”
“I like that.”
“You like that?”
“Oh yes.”
I have to admit that I enjoyed this conversation somehow but on the other hand it seems sad to me that he thinks a man has to be strong and a woman has to follow.
(I did not make this up. I started to record this conversation so that I didn't even change the words.)
I collect the homework from P6 and sit down in the staff room again, where JM tells GM if he would know his story he would have committed suicide. After a short conversation in Swahili, during which time I correct the homework from my P6 students, he says: “You know I am older than you…” I could puke whenever I hear that. “You can't just go to a woman and say ‘I want to fuck you.’” WOW I have no idea what they talked about but this seems strange to me. Then JM turns to me and says: “What would you say if I'd tell you ‘Loreen, I want to fuck you.’?” I am surprised but I can hear in his tone this is neither a serious question nor does he expect me to answer now. However, my stunned face apparently was what he wanted to show GM because now they changed to Swahili again.
After school I go to an wifi café and put my first English blog entries online. I take screen shots and then J and I go to the bus stand. We are going to Arusha in order to watch Pets in the cinema. When we found us seats in the bus, street sellers try to sell me stuff through the window right next to me. I am a bit overstrained with two people behind the window and three people who try to sell through the open door. We buy something to drink because the ride will take approximately two hours. While we wait for the bus to get full (so that we can take off) the motor is heating up the seats. I complain about this as an environment pollution. J has to agree that this is bad. But after these weeks I have already realized that every bus is leaving the motor on no matter how long it has to wait. I take my iPad out of my bag and show J my screen shots of my blog so that he can read it properly and not on a small smartphone display. We take off and I watch the landscape when J is reading. He was there during some funny occasions but his laughter shows me that even my story telling makes fun. I am proud of myself. I continue watching the landscape and enjoying it. At one bus stop we hear a siren. We turn around to look where it comes from. It is a guy standing between the two lanes and imitates it perfectly. Drunk! We laugh and with us the whole bus.
J has finished reading and helps me now to extend my vocabulary in Swahili.
We are driving on a street which is pretty new. One lane is finished but the other one is still in progress. I see a truck driving backwards in order to spread the water it contains. I have to laugh. Why backwards instead of forwards? Wouldn’t that be easier to steer?
A few minutes later I see a guy with his brand new sofa standing in the middle of the construction work. I wonder wether he is aware about the dust cloud.
Arusha first impression: more crowded and the streets are narrower than in Moshi. J wants to show me the typical dress code but he can't find it. We ask a Bajaji driver for the price to the cinema. He says 5,000TSH but I say 2,000TSH J tries to bargain 3,000 but nothing works. His friend is laughing and when the driver gives up his colleague offers us 4,000TSH. Stupid, didn't you listen?!
We finally find a DalaDala and when we arrive to the cinema, we assert that our movie is not played anymore. We pick “Inferno” instead and are not disappointed. A nice movie. We want to get dinner but the place is too expensive in our opinion. We take a taxi back. The guy is surprised when I tell him the price we are willing to pay in Swahili. I like this face of surprise!
We drive to the bust stand and wait. A drunk guy comes and talks to J. When he's finished I get a translation. The guy told us he could drive us with his car to Moshi and when we are tired we should drink coffee. When the bus arrives we enter together with a lot of market women and their luggage. A woman puts her bag in the storage above our heads. I say it doesn't fit but like usual these people press. The brand sign of the bag though brakes.
After 1,5h waiting for the take off I am very tired and fall asleep. When I wake up its 1:13 and to know this I looked at my phone. Bad idea: the street-stranger! “U real nice and friendly tht i never seen before I miss seeing you”
As to underline my astonishment a bag drops out of the storage into the corridor.
When we arrive in Moshi, we are super hungry and look for a place which is open at this time at night. We eat fried bananas and shish kebab in a club and watch a woman who tries to fight her entrance through the security men. I watch the wife of the security man actually taking off her jewelry so that she can step in.
This day feels bad. JM wanted to punish a student from P6. He hit him very hard once with a stick and I said stop. I went between him and the student but JM tried to push me away. I said no and that I first want to know what happened. JM pushed me away and said wait and reached out. I said no again. He told me to ask the student. The student said he was about to take his exercise book. JM hit again and I stepped in again. I told him that taking his exercise book is not a reason for this. He said: “Yes, it is because he went through the window.” He tried to hit again but I'm an obstacle, he tried to push me away again but when I came closer instead of moving back he got angry. The other teachers also said “STOP” but he stayed stubborn. The student left (wether with or without permission I don't know) and JM 5min later very angry too. I sat down a bit shaken and angry.
JM turns out to be a huge (*please fill in your favorite swearword*). When I was in class he came suddenly in pulled a student towards him with his shirt and asked him a question. No one can answer when he/she is threatened with pain!
When I sit down in the staff room after my lesson, I think: I just want to go home and sleep and when I wake up this day didn't happen.
When I walk to my next period I am still angry at JM how is it possible that he violates human rights at the same time as he teaches their inviolability. The left over lesson makes me smile again. Noise makers from P5 are punished by P4 and afterwards P4 is stronger as a class and P5 knows it's lesson.
The next day: GM is tucking in his shirt in front of my, he takes very long so I ask him sarcastically wether he would need help. His eyes brighten and he says, “Yes, can you help me?” I answer, “No, go and ask MM for help.” He asks, “Why not you?” I answer that I won't put my hand into his pants. He starts laughing and begins a conversation with MM in Swahili. Then the break is over – but not the weird situation.
When the children have their religion class, I teach JM how to use the computer. MM sits on my chair and strikes gently my turquoise rain jacket. “I like that color. Please, I like that color.” I don't know what exactly he wants me to respond, so I just say, “Me too.” MM says, “Please, Loreen.” I ask, “Please what?”
“Can I beg this?”
“MM, that doesn't make any sense. You want to beg my jacket?”
“Yes, I like that color.”
“Yeah, me too. That's why I bought it.”
“Please, can I wear it.” Without waiting for an answer he slips in one sleeve.
“No, MM!”
What the hell is happening here? This is crazy.
GM makes some sexist comment and starts talking about marriage. In his opinion a woman should stay home and wash, cook for her husband and shouldn't be allowed to have any other male friend. “How can you say that?”
“When a woman marries a man she agrees to live under his conditions which means to abandon all those habits like going to the club.”
“No woman is supposed to abandon her social life just because she's married now.”
“A wife is supposed to go home and raise the family.”
“No! This is not what marriage is about. It's about respecting the other person for how she&he is and who he&she is. Marriage is not an agreement that the man says go that way and the woman follows.”
“What will happen if you don't agree with one another?”
“Then they have to find a compromise!”
“And who is going to find these compromises?”
“There are two adults in a marriage.”
“What?”
“In a marriage are two adults. And adults should be mature enough to sit down and talk about it.”
“Oh…elders.”
“No, adults.”
“Elders.”
*sigh* “Or elders. They should be wise enough.”
“Yeah I agree with you.”
Finally, but our conversation continues. GM is convinced that a girl who got pregnant has to marry the man. I try to tell him that this wouldn’t be necessary but the parents have to take responsibility for their actions. GM asks wether this wouldn’t be awkward since in that case they would need to spend a lot of time together and other people would think this is a marriage. I tell him that it’s not important what other people think. After this comment he asks me wether it would be right to just be yourself.
“Yeah.”
“Loreen, it seems you’re somehow tough.”
“I hope so.”
“Whoever will marry you has to be very strong like Mr. GM.”
*laughing* “Mr. GM cant stand me.” I sit upright as I say it with an air of confidence and strict disbelieve in his statement.
“Of course, he is a very strong man.”
“No.”
“He is a man of few words.”
“No.”
“But full of function.”
“No.”
“Why do you say no?”
“Because I disagree!”
“Why do you disagree?”
“Because as far as I am concerned Mr. GM has strong sides but also very, very weak ones.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m very strong. It’s only that I've never got that chance to show how strong I am. I am very strong man, very gently. And if you allow me to repeat the words: I am African just by bad luck.”
“What do you expect me to say now?”
“Just a word of addition.”
“Just a word of addition? … You may be as strong as you want to be but that is not a reason for me to marry you.”
“I didn't say you marry me but you were disagreeing with me that I'm not a strong man.”
“The person who says from himself ‘I am a very strong and very intelligent one.’ is aware about his weaknesses. He is aware about the values he misses.”
“According to your point of view but according to me: There is no person who can bear me. Because I have never been married or in a strong relationship. That's why I have to stay by myself but I am a very strong man. I just don't have somebody to talk on my behalf. So I have to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Because I am very strong. I know myself. I know I do like this and this and this. So before I can sign the marriage I have to stay with that woman for at least two years, learning each other and to find out wether there are anomalies and I have to accept it.”
“No… I mean I like your idea of staying two years together until your marriage but if you find something that disturbs you you don't have to accept it. You can try to talk about it first.”
“But what if we talk about it but the person keeps on repeating the same mistake?”
“Then you should ask yourself wether this is a mistake or your perception.”
“Loreen, you’re giving me a hard time.”
“I like that.”
“You like that?”
“Oh yes.”
I have to admit that I enjoyed this conversation somehow but on the other hand it seems sad to me that he thinks a man has to be strong and a woman has to follow.
(I did not make this up. I started to record this conversation so that I didn't even change the words.)
I collect the homework from P6 and sit down in the staff room again, where JM tells GM if he would know his story he would have committed suicide. After a short conversation in Swahili, during which time I correct the homework from my P6 students, he says: “You know I am older than you…” I could puke whenever I hear that. “You can't just go to a woman and say ‘I want to fuck you.’” WOW I have no idea what they talked about but this seems strange to me. Then JM turns to me and says: “What would you say if I'd tell you ‘Loreen, I want to fuck you.’?” I am surprised but I can hear in his tone this is neither a serious question nor does he expect me to answer now. However, my stunned face apparently was what he wanted to show GM because now they changed to Swahili again.
After school I go to an wifi café and put my first English blog entries online. I take screen shots and then J and I go to the bus stand. We are going to Arusha in order to watch Pets in the cinema. When we found us seats in the bus, street sellers try to sell me stuff through the window right next to me. I am a bit overstrained with two people behind the window and three people who try to sell through the open door. We buy something to drink because the ride will take approximately two hours. While we wait for the bus to get full (so that we can take off) the motor is heating up the seats. I complain about this as an environment pollution. J has to agree that this is bad. But after these weeks I have already realized that every bus is leaving the motor on no matter how long it has to wait. I take my iPad out of my bag and show J my screen shots of my blog so that he can read it properly and not on a small smartphone display. We take off and I watch the landscape when J is reading. He was there during some funny occasions but his laughter shows me that even my story telling makes fun. I am proud of myself. I continue watching the landscape and enjoying it. At one bus stop we hear a siren. We turn around to look where it comes from. It is a guy standing between the two lanes and imitates it perfectly. Drunk! We laugh and with us the whole bus.
J has finished reading and helps me now to extend my vocabulary in Swahili.
We are driving on a street which is pretty new. One lane is finished but the other one is still in progress. I see a truck driving backwards in order to spread the water it contains. I have to laugh. Why backwards instead of forwards? Wouldn’t that be easier to steer?
A few minutes later I see a guy with his brand new sofa standing in the middle of the construction work. I wonder wether he is aware about the dust cloud.
Arusha first impression: more crowded and the streets are narrower than in Moshi. J wants to show me the typical dress code but he can't find it. We ask a Bajaji driver for the price to the cinema. He says 5,000TSH but I say 2,000TSH J tries to bargain 3,000 but nothing works. His friend is laughing and when the driver gives up his colleague offers us 4,000TSH. Stupid, didn't you listen?!
We finally find a DalaDala and when we arrive to the cinema, we assert that our movie is not played anymore. We pick “Inferno” instead and are not disappointed. A nice movie. We want to get dinner but the place is too expensive in our opinion. We take a taxi back. The guy is surprised when I tell him the price we are willing to pay in Swahili. I like this face of surprise!
We drive to the bust stand and wait. A drunk guy comes and talks to J. When he's finished I get a translation. The guy told us he could drive us with his car to Moshi and when we are tired we should drink coffee. When the bus arrives we enter together with a lot of market women and their luggage. A woman puts her bag in the storage above our heads. I say it doesn't fit but like usual these people press. The brand sign of the bag though brakes.
After 1,5h waiting for the take off I am very tired and fall asleep. When I wake up its 1:13 and to know this I looked at my phone. Bad idea: the street-stranger! “U real nice and friendly tht i never seen before I miss seeing you”
As to underline my astonishment a bag drops out of the storage into the corridor.
When we arrive in Moshi, we are super hungry and look for a place which is open at this time at night. We eat fried bananas and shish kebab in a club and watch a woman who tries to fight her entrance through the security men. I watch the wife of the security man actually taking off her jewelry so that she can step in.
Oct 12, 2016
Week 7 part 1: "Watch his butt."
👷🛠Eine deutsche Übersetzung ist in Arbeit...💪
Time for our first dancing lesson – inside. When we arrive we see that I am not the only white person. I thought if we join a dancing class I would be the only person having white skin. But now it's the opposite: J is the only black person apart from our teacher. To my surprise I also have to realize that those people are also from Germany. I try to keep the conversation in English to not exclude J from our conversation but they don't seem willing to speak more English than necessary. They are three girls and one guy who made his volunteer work here a few years ago and now wants to show off with his Swahili knowledge. I am not that good yet but I understand words like “eat and go”. He tells the teacher that they will go and eat something after the dancing lesson. He waits for one girl to ask what's going on and gives her a translation of what happened with an air of proud and control. I ask another girl what she's doing and she says she's also a volunteer working in a school between Arusha and Moshi. I ask what she's doing there. She twitches with her shoulders and I ask her again in German and she answers that she doesn't know what she's doing there. I have the feeling that my jaw drops but it doesn't. You don't know what you’re doing? I make suggestions – in German because I have the feeling her English is not that good. Then she says: “I am the girl for everything.” Ok, thanks for the clarification.
Our dancing lesson starts. Our teacher keeps saying its easy but it's not. He is the professional so it's easy for him. But still he sweats the most – it seems like he has his own rainfall over him. When he shows us a part of the choreography where you have to move your hips we all struggle. He tells us to watch him carefully and afterwards we can try. J and the German guy don't seem happy with this part of the choreography. The girls seem to have forgotten that they are not the only Germans in the room and one girl says: “This is a good excuse to watch his butt.”
After the dancing lesson J and me go to a nearby place for lunch and then we go home and take a shower. Afterwards I take my bag and head to “Zumbaland”. I have a meeting with BM. He asked me wether I'd like to swim and I had to say: Yes, I do. The swimming pool is really nice and for 5,000TSH not too expensive. I put my bag down and having my bikini already under my normal clothes I don't mind stripping my streets clothes off in front of everybody else. Then I jump into the water. I swim towards the end where BM is sitting on the edge. He asks why I didn't go into a cabinet to change. “Because I already had my swim clothes on.” He shakes his head with a grin and makes an “ey”-sound. I have to laugh. I let myself float on the back and then I realize that the other guys (there are only guys) are watching me. They start asking me wether I could teach them how to swim. I try to show them but I have the feeling they just ask me to watch me and in the hope I would “rescue” them if something goes wrong. Boys!
When we are finished and changed back into street clothes I see the other guys taking Selfies. Too many of them! I don't know about the pictures but according to the poses they take they look ridiculous. BM and I take a seat at the bar and talk about the horns hanging above us. I get confused when he tries to tell me that a cow has bigger horns than a buffalo. He also tells me that he believes in witchcraft and tries to convince me that there is something like witchcraft. I take my phone, and pretending I just check the time, I text J. I tell him what's happening and he could call me and pretend he'd needed my help in order to rescue me. When J shows up 15min later BM kind of flees. I tell J exactly what happened and J can't hold himself and we have to stop walking so that he can laugh properly. Then we go to the town center and buy some stuff for the orphanage.
After this long day and the crazy week that lays behind us we want to treat ourselves with our favorite place. We want to try something new. After 30min a waiter comes with the cutlery. We are getting excited and pretty hungry. After 20min we ask where our food is and the answer is: It's coming. We wait another ten minutes before the waiter comes with our food. We order new drinks (after this time waiting the drinks you ordered when you came in are bound to be finished). I take one bite and freeze. It's cold. We call the waiter back and ask why this is cold. (By the way: we ordered chips with chicken pieces and bread. But this seems like a sandwich.) She looks annoyed and says she's going to heat it up for us. “Why did we wait that long for cold food?” J asks. I answer: “Because you have to wait this time until is cold.” He's angry but has to grin. “We are not going to pay for the drinks!” “Definitely not!” She comes back and says we should be careful because the plate is hot now. She doesn't apologize or seem concerned that we wait this long. “We are not going to pay for the drinks.” She nearly nods and seems like someone who already had enough for this day. When we are finished and ask for the bill, I complain that we are not paying for the drinks we had when we were waiting. She looks at J and he translates. (Usually she understands my English.) He tells me that she says that she is sorry but there have been too many orders and you’re not able to know wether the food is cold or not. I look at her and she rubs absentmindedly her neckline and looks anywhere but at us. I ask her wether she is sorry because she doesn't look like it and she didn't say sorry at any point. She seems even more annoyed by this “investigation”. I say I won't pay for the drink I had while I was waiting because I was waiting for my food and not for it to cool down. The guy on the next table, who had watched a movie on his phone over the last hour, takes his headphones out of his ears. She seems annoyed and rolls her eyes. J gets angry and says she should go and ask the manager to come. Suddenly she says we don't have to pay for one drink. But J insists and she leaves quickly. I direct Js attention towards the guy who took his headphones out of his ears and we both chuckle. Then I get a feeling of guilt for the woman. It might be true that there are too many orders and that you can't know whether the food is cold now or not. I am angry at her but my feeling of guilt is rising. I tell J and he says I was right from the start. She could have said “sorry” or “You have to wait a bit longer than usual.” I am not completely convinced but when I check my watch and wonder where she and the manager have gone I see that we are waiting for her and the manager now for 30min. I complain and J calls another waiter to get the manager. Instead of leaving and calling the manager she tells him to have mercy with her colleague. When she finally goes to call the manager J complains that our waiter probably asked her to smoothen us. When the manager comes we tell her what happened. Her features harden and without further questions or comments she turns around and says in a deadly voice: “I am going to take care of this.” The guy on the next table, who was apparently listening the whole time, puts his thumbs up in the air. When we pay (without paying for the drinks) and are about to leave the guy next to our table grins broadly and winks to us. The guy stays topic all the way up to the White House. He really made our day.
After school I start my way to the meeting place. I have another meeting with the street-stranger. When I am about to leave the bus I have to be careful: chicken. One of the women who go to the market has stored her chicken under a seat next to the entrance. First I thought it must be dead but it's alive. I have to grin. You would never see something like this in a German public transport bus/train.
We arranged to meet in front of a café. When I wait for him I realize how many men are staring at me. One guy is balancing countless roles and two unrolled maps of the world and the other one of Tanzania. “Buying map?” he asks. I have to chuckle and shake my head. I am still surprised by this unnatural way of selling. But instead of continue to walk the guy stops I front of me. He unrolls another role and shows me a poster of the human body used in biology lessons in school. I say “No, thank you.” And the guy leaves. I write the street-stranger that I am already there and waiting for him when another man approaches me. He asks me where I come from and points at a shop on the other side of the street which belongs to him and inviting me to visit him there. When I tell him can't come now because I am already having an appointment he invites me to dance with him. I am confused how he got that idea and thank him for the offer and tell him that I don’t have time. Then he asks me for my name and when I am not willing to give it to him he says that it would not be bad. Did he meet the guy from my DalaDala ride? He asks whom I am waiting for and suggests it's my boyfriend. When I chuckle and deny this he advices me to try a black guy. I have to chuckle even harder and he tells me the great advantage of a black boyfriend: chocolate. WOW Do all Tanzanians think skin color is able to be mixed? I say I will certainly try to get a boyfriend from Tanzania and he kisses my hand and goes.
Before another creepy guy can come I send the street-stranger that I'm going into the café now. When I found myself a place, I take out my work and order myself a soda. After one-and-a-half-hour I send J a message telling him where I am and that the guy didn't show up and suggesting to have dinner in this café. J is quite furious about that guy and likes the idea of having dinner here. After another hour the street-stranger comes into the café and seems quite relaxed. He asks how I am and explains his lateness with work. I ask what he was been working and get complex explanation about the transport system. Then he asks wether we could shift from the chair and the table to a close by sofa. I am confused how he can be this confident and stupid without apologizing for three hours being late. We shift but luckily after just 20min weird non-sense talk J shows up and the street-stranger somehow flees.
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to the White House and take a shower. When we are finished we take the sweets and drinks we bought for the orphanage and also the clothes and bags J organized for the children. We call a Bajaji to help us transport all our stuff and take off. We say hello and play UNO and a game whereby we play music and the children run around a group of chairs which is missing one chair. When the music stops they have to sit down and the one who doesn't get a place on a chair lost. One girl is extremely stubborn and insists that she was on the chair first. We have to persuade her to play a repetition. She loses again and is extremely bad tempered afterwards. The others try to cheer her up and continue to play. After two hours we go for dinner and before we can leave the children hug us as a goodbye.
When we walk to the White House a taxi comes by and the driver asks us wether we would like to go town for 2,000TSH. This is weird because we are heading exactly in the opposite direction of the towns center.
Time for our first dancing lesson – inside. When we arrive we see that I am not the only white person. I thought if we join a dancing class I would be the only person having white skin. But now it's the opposite: J is the only black person apart from our teacher. To my surprise I also have to realize that those people are also from Germany. I try to keep the conversation in English to not exclude J from our conversation but they don't seem willing to speak more English than necessary. They are three girls and one guy who made his volunteer work here a few years ago and now wants to show off with his Swahili knowledge. I am not that good yet but I understand words like “eat and go”. He tells the teacher that they will go and eat something after the dancing lesson. He waits for one girl to ask what's going on and gives her a translation of what happened with an air of proud and control. I ask another girl what she's doing and she says she's also a volunteer working in a school between Arusha and Moshi. I ask what she's doing there. She twitches with her shoulders and I ask her again in German and she answers that she doesn't know what she's doing there. I have the feeling that my jaw drops but it doesn't. You don't know what you’re doing? I make suggestions – in German because I have the feeling her English is not that good. Then she says: “I am the girl for everything.” Ok, thanks for the clarification.
Our dancing lesson starts. Our teacher keeps saying its easy but it's not. He is the professional so it's easy for him. But still he sweats the most – it seems like he has his own rainfall over him. When he shows us a part of the choreography where you have to move your hips we all struggle. He tells us to watch him carefully and afterwards we can try. J and the German guy don't seem happy with this part of the choreography. The girls seem to have forgotten that they are not the only Germans in the room and one girl says: “This is a good excuse to watch his butt.”
After the dancing lesson J and me go to a nearby place for lunch and then we go home and take a shower. Afterwards I take my bag and head to “Zumbaland”. I have a meeting with BM. He asked me wether I'd like to swim and I had to say: Yes, I do. The swimming pool is really nice and for 5,000TSH not too expensive. I put my bag down and having my bikini already under my normal clothes I don't mind stripping my streets clothes off in front of everybody else. Then I jump into the water. I swim towards the end where BM is sitting on the edge. He asks why I didn't go into a cabinet to change. “Because I already had my swim clothes on.” He shakes his head with a grin and makes an “ey”-sound. I have to laugh. I let myself float on the back and then I realize that the other guys (there are only guys) are watching me. They start asking me wether I could teach them how to swim. I try to show them but I have the feeling they just ask me to watch me and in the hope I would “rescue” them if something goes wrong. Boys!
When we are finished and changed back into street clothes I see the other guys taking Selfies. Too many of them! I don't know about the pictures but according to the poses they take they look ridiculous. BM and I take a seat at the bar and talk about the horns hanging above us. I get confused when he tries to tell me that a cow has bigger horns than a buffalo. He also tells me that he believes in witchcraft and tries to convince me that there is something like witchcraft. I take my phone, and pretending I just check the time, I text J. I tell him what's happening and he could call me and pretend he'd needed my help in order to rescue me. When J shows up 15min later BM kind of flees. I tell J exactly what happened and J can't hold himself and we have to stop walking so that he can laugh properly. Then we go to the town center and buy some stuff for the orphanage.
After this long day and the crazy week that lays behind us we want to treat ourselves with our favorite place. We want to try something new. After 30min a waiter comes with the cutlery. We are getting excited and pretty hungry. After 20min we ask where our food is and the answer is: It's coming. We wait another ten minutes before the waiter comes with our food. We order new drinks (after this time waiting the drinks you ordered when you came in are bound to be finished). I take one bite and freeze. It's cold. We call the waiter back and ask why this is cold. (By the way: we ordered chips with chicken pieces and bread. But this seems like a sandwich.) She looks annoyed and says she's going to heat it up for us. “Why did we wait that long for cold food?” J asks. I answer: “Because you have to wait this time until is cold.” He's angry but has to grin. “We are not going to pay for the drinks!” “Definitely not!” She comes back and says we should be careful because the plate is hot now. She doesn't apologize or seem concerned that we wait this long. “We are not going to pay for the drinks.” She nearly nods and seems like someone who already had enough for this day. When we are finished and ask for the bill, I complain that we are not paying for the drinks we had when we were waiting. She looks at J and he translates. (Usually she understands my English.) He tells me that she says that she is sorry but there have been too many orders and you’re not able to know wether the food is cold or not. I look at her and she rubs absentmindedly her neckline and looks anywhere but at us. I ask her wether she is sorry because she doesn't look like it and she didn't say sorry at any point. She seems even more annoyed by this “investigation”. I say I won't pay for the drink I had while I was waiting because I was waiting for my food and not for it to cool down. The guy on the next table, who had watched a movie on his phone over the last hour, takes his headphones out of his ears. She seems annoyed and rolls her eyes. J gets angry and says she should go and ask the manager to come. Suddenly she says we don't have to pay for one drink. But J insists and she leaves quickly. I direct Js attention towards the guy who took his headphones out of his ears and we both chuckle. Then I get a feeling of guilt for the woman. It might be true that there are too many orders and that you can't know whether the food is cold now or not. I am angry at her but my feeling of guilt is rising. I tell J and he says I was right from the start. She could have said “sorry” or “You have to wait a bit longer than usual.” I am not completely convinced but when I check my watch and wonder where she and the manager have gone I see that we are waiting for her and the manager now for 30min. I complain and J calls another waiter to get the manager. Instead of leaving and calling the manager she tells him to have mercy with her colleague. When she finally goes to call the manager J complains that our waiter probably asked her to smoothen us. When the manager comes we tell her what happened. Her features harden and without further questions or comments she turns around and says in a deadly voice: “I am going to take care of this.” The guy on the next table, who was apparently listening the whole time, puts his thumbs up in the air. When we pay (without paying for the drinks) and are about to leave the guy next to our table grins broadly and winks to us. The guy stays topic all the way up to the White House. He really made our day.
After school I start my way to the meeting place. I have another meeting with the street-stranger. When I am about to leave the bus I have to be careful: chicken. One of the women who go to the market has stored her chicken under a seat next to the entrance. First I thought it must be dead but it's alive. I have to grin. You would never see something like this in a German public transport bus/train.
We arranged to meet in front of a café. When I wait for him I realize how many men are staring at me. One guy is balancing countless roles and two unrolled maps of the world and the other one of Tanzania. “Buying map?” he asks. I have to chuckle and shake my head. I am still surprised by this unnatural way of selling. But instead of continue to walk the guy stops I front of me. He unrolls another role and shows me a poster of the human body used in biology lessons in school. I say “No, thank you.” And the guy leaves. I write the street-stranger that I am already there and waiting for him when another man approaches me. He asks me where I come from and points at a shop on the other side of the street which belongs to him and inviting me to visit him there. When I tell him can't come now because I am already having an appointment he invites me to dance with him. I am confused how he got that idea and thank him for the offer and tell him that I don’t have time. Then he asks me for my name and when I am not willing to give it to him he says that it would not be bad. Did he meet the guy from my DalaDala ride? He asks whom I am waiting for and suggests it's my boyfriend. When I chuckle and deny this he advices me to try a black guy. I have to chuckle even harder and he tells me the great advantage of a black boyfriend: chocolate. WOW Do all Tanzanians think skin color is able to be mixed? I say I will certainly try to get a boyfriend from Tanzania and he kisses my hand and goes.
Before another creepy guy can come I send the street-stranger that I'm going into the café now. When I found myself a place, I take out my work and order myself a soda. After one-and-a-half-hour I send J a message telling him where I am and that the guy didn't show up and suggesting to have dinner in this café. J is quite furious about that guy and likes the idea of having dinner here. After another hour the street-stranger comes into the café and seems quite relaxed. He asks how I am and explains his lateness with work. I ask what he was been working and get complex explanation about the transport system. Then he asks wether we could shift from the chair and the table to a close by sofa. I am confused how he can be this confident and stupid without apologizing for three hours being late. We shift but luckily after just 20min weird non-sense talk J shows up and the street-stranger somehow flees.
After an exhausting dancing lesson we walk back to the White House and take a shower. When we are finished we take the sweets and drinks we bought for the orphanage and also the clothes and bags J organized for the children. We call a Bajaji to help us transport all our stuff and take off. We say hello and play UNO and a game whereby we play music and the children run around a group of chairs which is missing one chair. When the music stops they have to sit down and the one who doesn't get a place on a chair lost. One girl is extremely stubborn and insists that she was on the chair first. We have to persuade her to play a repetition. She loses again and is extremely bad tempered afterwards. The others try to cheer her up and continue to play. After two hours we go for dinner and before we can leave the children hug us as a goodbye.
When we walk to the White House a taxi comes by and the driver asks us wether we would like to go town for 2,000TSH. This is weird because we are heading exactly in the opposite direction of the towns center.
Oct 8, 2016
Week 6: Great surprise...
⬇️ Deutsche Übersetzung? Einfach herunter scrollen.⬇️
On my way to school the next morning, a guy in the bus comes pretty close and tells me he “wish[es] to know my name”. I tell him I'm not going to tell him since he is a foreigner. He answers that it would not be bad if I tell him and I should tell him then. But I am stubborn. Then he tells me that he wishes to get my number. “I don't wish to give it to you.” He repeats that it is not bad and that he wishes to get to know me. I say I don't and luckily he has to get off. Why was he so determined to get my name or my number? I don't get this.
The exams are mainly over except for the practical English exam. They have to read out a text. Every word they mispronounce I underline in red and then count the mistakes. I tell JM he has to mark that since my pronunciation is quite different and I don't know wether they have been told to pronounce it that way. He says he's busy (I wonder with what since he nearly gave me all his work). I start and of course they have lower grades than they are used to but I try to be fair. I somehow know now how they pronounce and what they are used to say instead of the right word so I try to take that into consideration as well. One guy from the 5th grade, however, is not able to pronounce any of the words in front of him. Instead of “a” he reads “age”, and instead of “dangers” he reads “adjective” when I ask again, because I think I misunderstood him, he shakes his head and then says: “comparative”. The bell rings and I say we will continue at the same point next time. I am confused and don't know what to do. I plan on giving JM the paper and the students name so that he can talk to him in Swahili in case he didn't understand me in English.
At the next day I tell JM about that P5 student. He calls a student into the staff room who was just passing. He tells him to call that boy from P5. I don't get why he doesn't do that on his own. He could get up and walk the 1min to the class room himself. But I've seen this before, students are just used as servants and toys for teachers. I don't get how they can respect these people. When the student from P5 gets in, he looks scared. JM says in a very loud voice (which in my opinion makes the student feel worse) that he doesn't need to worry and everything is fine. The student takes his seat and JM hands him the paper. “Read out!” Nothing happens. The student has bend his head over the paper and after a minute of silence he starts crying. I wonder what happened. “Read out!” I look reproachfully at JM. The student is crying stop ordering him to do something and try to understand why he is crying. I ask him what's wrong but I don't get an answer. The head teacher enters the staff room and asks what's going on. While JM explains him why we are here the head teacher takes a seat himself. “Oh yeah he has a psychological problem.” What? He says something in Swahili to the student and I hope it's something comforting. A quick and harsh conversation in Swahili starts. I wonder how the student must feel. Two male teachers speaking that loud and at the same time to him trying to make him read out a text he has obviously problems with. I ask what's happening and the head teacher explains that the student always had problems. “Every time he was supposed to read something out loud or to spell something he started crying.” I am speechless. How is it possible he still has those problems when you know about this? I ask wether the teachers have tried to help him. The head teacher seems prepared for that question and says (a bit too convincing): “Yes, we did but he won't change.” When you say “helping him“ do you mean this way: Two teachers talking at the same time to one small student? I ask how they tried to help. “We told the other students to encourage him when he reads.” WOW that will help, especially when you tell the students in front of him. The head teacher leaves again and JM thanks him for his “help”. JM takes a piece of paper and writes eight words on it: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. He asks the student to read these words out. He tries his best and nearly manages it. I take over now. When he says a different word I write that one down and show him the differences in spelling so that he can understand why it's differently pronounced. I point at the syllables and pronounce them for him and them ask him to repeat. He stopped crying now and seems calm again. When we’re through I ask wether he would like to keep the paper to practice. He seems very thankful and folds that paper carefully and stores it into his pocket. I'm glad to see him smiling again. JM says that I'm wasting my time with that student he just has a psychological problem. I disagree. I think the student has a reading and spelling disorder and gets sad when he sees words and his head is mixing the letters. I could also imagine that he gets frustrated by this. But I have come to realize that here the teachers distinguish between “good student”, “lazy student” and “psychological problem”.
After my school day, I drive to the town center and sit down in a park. I am going to meet the stranger from the street from last week. He is actually quite weird. He asks me a lot of questions and seems to listen but when I ask him the same he tries to answer as short as possible and asks me another question. When I insist that he answers me what he does, he tells me that he is a tourist guid. I have somehow the feeling that sooner or later he is going to ask me for money. After two hours he says that he really likes me and likes spending time with me. Great surprise: The young, male, black tourist guide likes the young, female, white girl.
When J and I wait for our food we see a birthday party on the next table. The candle is even bigger than the cake and they seem unaware about the fact that it is not a candle but a sparkler. We laugh. During dinner he tells me about the orphanage. He used to go there for a while but he stopped for university. Now he invites me to go there with him. I love that idea. He tells me that children who come of age have to leave. They receive a certain amount of money and no one cares where they end up during the night. I start to wish to spend half of my day in school and the other half in that orphanage. He will call the responsible woman for the orphanage to ask when we could visit and we make plans to organize some drinks and sweets for the children.
On our way back to the White House we hear a slap sound and sure, straight ahead a man lies flat on his back. I can still see a cloud of dust around his feet. He is drunk and fell due to the uneven ground. He blocks the street. Luckily, there is no BodaBoda around. When we pass he sits straight and asks: “Who is there?” We get a burst of laughter and continue walking. When we are about to turn around the corner we can hear him complaining as people pull him upwards. It takes him quite a while to stand straight and no sooner than his supporters had helped him up, he falls down again. But this time parallel to the street. We can't get a grip on ourselves and start laughing even harder.
Auf meinem Weg zur Schule am nächsten Morgen kommt mir ein Kerl im Bus ziemlich nahe and sagt, dass er gerne meinen Namen wüsste. I sage ihm, dass ich ihm meinen Namen nicht nennen werde, da er ein Fremder ist. Er antwortet, dass es nicht schlimm wäre, wenn ich ihm meinen Namen nenne und daher sollte ich ihm einfach meinen Namen nennen. Aber ich bleibe stur. Dann sagt er, dass er gerne meine Nummer hätte. „Ich will sie dir nicht geben.“ Er wiederholt, dass es nicht schlimm wäre und dass er mich einfach nur kennenlernen möchte. Ich sage, dass ich ihn aber nicht kennenlernen möchte und dann muss er glücklicherweise auch aussteigen. Warum war er so stur, um an meine Nummer zu kommen? Oder meinen Namen? Ich verstehe das nicht.
Die monatlichen Tests sind fast komplett vorbei, außer die praktischen Englisch Tests. Die Schüler müssen einen Text vorlesen. Jedes Wort, das sie falsch aussprechen, soll ich mit rot unterstreichen und dann die Fehler zählen. Ich sage JM, dass er die Tests abnehmen muss, da meine Betonung definitiv anders ist und ich nicht weiß, ob den Schülern vielleicht gesagt wurde, es so auszusprechen. Er sagt bloß, dass er beschäftigt ist (ich frage mich womit, da er mir fast all seine Arbeit gegeben hat). Ich fange an und natürlich haben die Schüler schlechtere Noten, als sie es gewohnt sind. Aber ich versuche, fair zu sein. Ich weiß mittlerweile, wie die Leute hier die Wörter aussprechen und woran sie gewöhnt sind, daher versuche ich das in meine Berechnung mit einzukalkulieren. Ein Schüler aus der 5. Klasse ist nicht in der Lage ein einziges Wort richtig auszusprechen. Anstatt „a“ sagt er „age“ und anstatt „dangers“ sagt er „adjective“. Als ich ihn darum bitte das zu wiederholen, weil ich glaube, ihn falsch verstanden zu haben, schüttelt er den Kopf und sagt: „comperative“. Die Schulglocke läutet und ich sage, dass wir hier nächstes mal weitermachen. Ich bin verwirrt und weiß nicht, was ich tun soll. Ich plane JM den Test zu geben und den Namen von dem Schüler, damit er mit ihm in Swahili reden kann, falls er mich in Englisch nicht verstanden hat.
Am nächsten Tag berichte ich JM von dem Schüler aus der 5. Klasse. Er ruft einen Schüler zu sich, der gerade das Lehrerzimmer passiert hat. Er sagt ihm, dass er den Schüler aus der 5. Klasse zu ihm bringen soll. Ich verstehe nicht, wieso er das nicht selbst macht. Er könnte aufstehen und die eine Minute zum Klassenraum der 5. gehen. Aber ich habe sowas schon häufiger gesehen, Schüler werden wie Bedienstete und Spielzeuge für Lehrer behandelt. Ich verstehe nicht, wie jemand solche Lehrer respektieren kann. Als der Fünftklässler ins Lehrerzimmer kommt, sieht er ziemlich ängstlich aus. JM sagt mit einer sehr lauten Stimme (welche meiner Meinung nach es nur noch schlimmer macht), dass er sich keine Sorgen machen muss, da alles in Ordnung ist. Der Schüler nimmt Platz und JM reicht ihm den Zettel. „Lies vor!“ Nichts passiert. Der Schüler hat seinen Kopf über das Stück Papier gebeugt und nach einer Minute der Stille, fängt er an zu weinen. Ich wundere mich was passiert ist. „Lies vor!“ Ich gucke JM vorwurfsvoll an. Der Schüler weint, hör auf ihm zu befehlen etwas zu tun und versuch zu verstehen, warum er weint. Ich frage den Schüler was los ist, aber ich bekomme keine Antwort. Der Schulleichter kommt hinein und fragt was los ist. Während JM ihm erklärt, warum wir hier sind, nimmt auch er Platz. „Oh ja, er hat ein psychologisches Problem.“ Was? Er sagt etwas in Swahili zum Schüler und ich hoffe, dass es etwas Bestätigendes ist. Eine schnelle und harsche Konversation in Swahili beginnt. Ich frage mich, wie sich der Schüler gerade fühlen muss. Zwei Lehrer sprechen so laut und zur selben Zeit auf ihn ein. Sie versuchen ihn dazu zubringen einen Text vorzulesen, mit dem er offensichtlich Schwierigkeiten hat. Ich frage was los ist und der Schuldirektor erklärt, dass der Schüler schon immer solche Probleme hatte. „Jedes Mal wenn wir ihn gebeten haben, etwas vorzulesen oder zu buchstabieren, hat er angefangen zu weinen.“ Ich bin sprachlos. Wie ist es möglich, dass er diese Probleme noch immer hat, obwohl ihr ganz genau darüber Bescheid wisst? Ich frage, ob die Lehrer versucht haben, ihm zu helfen. Der Schuldirektor scheint auf diese Frage vorbereitet zu sein und antwortet (etwas zu überzeugend): „Ja, das haben wir, aber er hat sich nicht verändert.“ Wenn du „helfen“ sagst, meinst du dann so: Zwei Lehrer reden zur selben Zeit auf einen kleinen Schüler ein? Ich frage, wie sie versucht haben ihm zu helfen. „Wir haben den anderen Schülern gesagt, sie sollen ihn bestärken, wenn er vorliest.“ WOW das hilft bestimmt, besonders wenn er mitbekommen, dass ihr das den Schülern sagt. Der Schuldirektor geht wieder und JM dankt ihm für seine „Hilfe“. JM nimmt ein Blatt Papier und schreibt acht Wörter darauf: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. Er bittet den Schüler diese vorzulesen. Er gibt sein Bestes und schafft es beinahe. Ich übernehme jetzt. Wenn er ein anderes Wort vorliest als es da steht, schreibe ich es auf und zeige ihm die Unterschiede beim Buchstabieren, damit er versteht, warum es unterschiedlich betont wird. Ich zeige auf einzelne Silben und spreche sie für ihn aus, dann frage ich ihn, ob er es so wiederholen kann. Er hat jetzt aufgehört zu weinen und sieht beruhigt aus. Wenn wir fertig sind, frage ich ihn ob er den Zettel behalten möchte, um zu üben. Er wirkt dankbar und steckt den Zettel behutsam in seine Hosentasche. Ich bin froh, ihn wieder lächeln zu sehen. JM sagt, dass ich meine Zeit mit dem Schüler verschwende und er einfach nur ein psychologischen Problem habe. Ich denke anders. Ich glaube, der Schüler hat eine Lese-Rechtschreib-Schwäche, und er wird traurig, wenn er Wörter sieht und sein Kopf die Buchstaben für ihn durchmischt. Ich kann mir auch vorstellen, dass das sehr frustrierend für ihn ist. Aber ich habe bereits bemerkt, dass die Lehrer hier zwischen „guten Schülern“, „faulen Schülern“ und „psychologischen Problemen“ unterscheiden.
Nach meinem Schultag fahre ich ins Stadtzentrum und setze mich in den Park. Ich werde den Fremden von letzter Woche treffen, den ich auf der Straße getroffen habe. Er ist ziemlich schräg. Er stellt mir viele Fragen und scheint zu zuhören, aber wenn ich ihm dieselben Fragen stelle, antwortet er mir so knapp wie möglich. Als ich darauf bestehe, dass er mir sagt, was er beruflich macht, antwortet er mir, dass er ein Touristenführer ist. Ich habe irgendwie das Gefühl, dass er mich früher oder später um Geld bitten wird. Nach zwei Stunden sagt er mir, dass er mich wirklich mag und es genießt Zeit mit mir zu verbringen. Große Überraschung: Der junge, schwarze Touristenführer mag das junge, weiße Mädchen.
Als J und ich auf unser Essen warten, beobachten wir eine Geburtstagsparty am Nachbartisch. Die Kerze ist größer als der Kuchen und die Leute drum herum scheinen nicht zu wissen, dass es sich nicht um eine Kerze, sondern um eine Wunderkerze handelt. Wir amüsieren uns. Während des Essens berichtet er mir vom Waisenhaus. Das hat er für gewöhnlich besucht, musste aber für die Uni aufhören. Jetzt hat er mich eingeladen ihn dorthin zu begleiten. Ich liebe die Idee. Er erzählt mir, dass Kinder, die volljährig werden, das Waisenhaus verlassen müsse. Dafür bekommen sie einen bestimmten Geldbetrag und dann kümmert sich keiner darum, wo sie die Nacht über schlafen. Ich fange an mir zu wünschen, dass ich die eine Hälfte meines Tages in der Schule verbringe und die andere in dem Waisenhaus. J wird die verantwortliche Frau anrufen und fragen, wann es passt, dass wir vorbei kommen. Auch machen wir Pläne, Süßigkeiten zu kaufen.
Auf unserem Weg nach Hause hören wir ein Klappgeräusch und tatsächlich, gerade aus vor uns liegt ein Kerl flach auf seinem Rücken. Ich kann noch immer eine Staubwolke an seinen Füßen sehen. Er ist betrunken und aufgrund des unebenen Bodens hingefallen. Er blockiert die Straße. Zum Glück ist kein BodaBoda da. Als wir an ihm vorbeigehen, setzt er sich kerzengerade auf und lallt: „Wer ist da?“ Wir bekommen einen Lachanfall und gehen weiter. Als wir abbiegen wollen, hören wir ihn sich beschweren, als andere ihn hochziehen. Er braucht einige Zeit um gerade zu stehen und kaum steht er, fällt er auch schon wieder hin. Aber dieses Mal liegt er parallel zur Straße. Wir können es kaum fassen und lachen stärker als zu vor.
On my way to school the next morning, a guy in the bus comes pretty close and tells me he “wish[es] to know my name”. I tell him I'm not going to tell him since he is a foreigner. He answers that it would not be bad if I tell him and I should tell him then. But I am stubborn. Then he tells me that he wishes to get my number. “I don't wish to give it to you.” He repeats that it is not bad and that he wishes to get to know me. I say I don't and luckily he has to get off. Why was he so determined to get my name or my number? I don't get this.
The exams are mainly over except for the practical English exam. They have to read out a text. Every word they mispronounce I underline in red and then count the mistakes. I tell JM he has to mark that since my pronunciation is quite different and I don't know wether they have been told to pronounce it that way. He says he's busy (I wonder with what since he nearly gave me all his work). I start and of course they have lower grades than they are used to but I try to be fair. I somehow know now how they pronounce and what they are used to say instead of the right word so I try to take that into consideration as well. One guy from the 5th grade, however, is not able to pronounce any of the words in front of him. Instead of “a” he reads “age”, and instead of “dangers” he reads “adjective” when I ask again, because I think I misunderstood him, he shakes his head and then says: “comparative”. The bell rings and I say we will continue at the same point next time. I am confused and don't know what to do. I plan on giving JM the paper and the students name so that he can talk to him in Swahili in case he didn't understand me in English.
At the next day I tell JM about that P5 student. He calls a student into the staff room who was just passing. He tells him to call that boy from P5. I don't get why he doesn't do that on his own. He could get up and walk the 1min to the class room himself. But I've seen this before, students are just used as servants and toys for teachers. I don't get how they can respect these people. When the student from P5 gets in, he looks scared. JM says in a very loud voice (which in my opinion makes the student feel worse) that he doesn't need to worry and everything is fine. The student takes his seat and JM hands him the paper. “Read out!” Nothing happens. The student has bend his head over the paper and after a minute of silence he starts crying. I wonder what happened. “Read out!” I look reproachfully at JM. The student is crying stop ordering him to do something and try to understand why he is crying. I ask him what's wrong but I don't get an answer. The head teacher enters the staff room and asks what's going on. While JM explains him why we are here the head teacher takes a seat himself. “Oh yeah he has a psychological problem.” What? He says something in Swahili to the student and I hope it's something comforting. A quick and harsh conversation in Swahili starts. I wonder how the student must feel. Two male teachers speaking that loud and at the same time to him trying to make him read out a text he has obviously problems with. I ask what's happening and the head teacher explains that the student always had problems. “Every time he was supposed to read something out loud or to spell something he started crying.” I am speechless. How is it possible he still has those problems when you know about this? I ask wether the teachers have tried to help him. The head teacher seems prepared for that question and says (a bit too convincing): “Yes, we did but he won't change.” When you say “helping him“ do you mean this way: Two teachers talking at the same time to one small student? I ask how they tried to help. “We told the other students to encourage him when he reads.” WOW that will help, especially when you tell the students in front of him. The head teacher leaves again and JM thanks him for his “help”. JM takes a piece of paper and writes eight words on it: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. He asks the student to read these words out. He tries his best and nearly manages it. I take over now. When he says a different word I write that one down and show him the differences in spelling so that he can understand why it's differently pronounced. I point at the syllables and pronounce them for him and them ask him to repeat. He stopped crying now and seems calm again. When we’re through I ask wether he would like to keep the paper to practice. He seems very thankful and folds that paper carefully and stores it into his pocket. I'm glad to see him smiling again. JM says that I'm wasting my time with that student he just has a psychological problem. I disagree. I think the student has a reading and spelling disorder and gets sad when he sees words and his head is mixing the letters. I could also imagine that he gets frustrated by this. But I have come to realize that here the teachers distinguish between “good student”, “lazy student” and “psychological problem”.
After my school day, I drive to the town center and sit down in a park. I am going to meet the stranger from the street from last week. He is actually quite weird. He asks me a lot of questions and seems to listen but when I ask him the same he tries to answer as short as possible and asks me another question. When I insist that he answers me what he does, he tells me that he is a tourist guid. I have somehow the feeling that sooner or later he is going to ask me for money. After two hours he says that he really likes me and likes spending time with me. Great surprise: The young, male, black tourist guide likes the young, female, white girl.
When J and I wait for our food we see a birthday party on the next table. The candle is even bigger than the cake and they seem unaware about the fact that it is not a candle but a sparkler. We laugh. During dinner he tells me about the orphanage. He used to go there for a while but he stopped for university. Now he invites me to go there with him. I love that idea. He tells me that children who come of age have to leave. They receive a certain amount of money and no one cares where they end up during the night. I start to wish to spend half of my day in school and the other half in that orphanage. He will call the responsible woman for the orphanage to ask when we could visit and we make plans to organize some drinks and sweets for the children.
On our way back to the White House we hear a slap sound and sure, straight ahead a man lies flat on his back. I can still see a cloud of dust around his feet. He is drunk and fell due to the uneven ground. He blocks the street. Luckily, there is no BodaBoda around. When we pass he sits straight and asks: “Who is there?” We get a burst of laughter and continue walking. When we are about to turn around the corner we can hear him complaining as people pull him upwards. It takes him quite a while to stand straight and no sooner than his supporters had helped him up, he falls down again. But this time parallel to the street. We can't get a grip on ourselves and start laughing even harder.
Auf meinem Weg zur Schule am nächsten Morgen kommt mir ein Kerl im Bus ziemlich nahe and sagt, dass er gerne meinen Namen wüsste. I sage ihm, dass ich ihm meinen Namen nicht nennen werde, da er ein Fremder ist. Er antwortet, dass es nicht schlimm wäre, wenn ich ihm meinen Namen nenne und daher sollte ich ihm einfach meinen Namen nennen. Aber ich bleibe stur. Dann sagt er, dass er gerne meine Nummer hätte. „Ich will sie dir nicht geben.“ Er wiederholt, dass es nicht schlimm wäre und dass er mich einfach nur kennenlernen möchte. Ich sage, dass ich ihn aber nicht kennenlernen möchte und dann muss er glücklicherweise auch aussteigen. Warum war er so stur, um an meine Nummer zu kommen? Oder meinen Namen? Ich verstehe das nicht.
Die monatlichen Tests sind fast komplett vorbei, außer die praktischen Englisch Tests. Die Schüler müssen einen Text vorlesen. Jedes Wort, das sie falsch aussprechen, soll ich mit rot unterstreichen und dann die Fehler zählen. Ich sage JM, dass er die Tests abnehmen muss, da meine Betonung definitiv anders ist und ich nicht weiß, ob den Schülern vielleicht gesagt wurde, es so auszusprechen. Er sagt bloß, dass er beschäftigt ist (ich frage mich womit, da er mir fast all seine Arbeit gegeben hat). Ich fange an und natürlich haben die Schüler schlechtere Noten, als sie es gewohnt sind. Aber ich versuche, fair zu sein. Ich weiß mittlerweile, wie die Leute hier die Wörter aussprechen und woran sie gewöhnt sind, daher versuche ich das in meine Berechnung mit einzukalkulieren. Ein Schüler aus der 5. Klasse ist nicht in der Lage ein einziges Wort richtig auszusprechen. Anstatt „a“ sagt er „age“ und anstatt „dangers“ sagt er „adjective“. Als ich ihn darum bitte das zu wiederholen, weil ich glaube, ihn falsch verstanden zu haben, schüttelt er den Kopf und sagt: „comperative“. Die Schulglocke läutet und ich sage, dass wir hier nächstes mal weitermachen. Ich bin verwirrt und weiß nicht, was ich tun soll. Ich plane JM den Test zu geben und den Namen von dem Schüler, damit er mit ihm in Swahili reden kann, falls er mich in Englisch nicht verstanden hat.
Am nächsten Tag berichte ich JM von dem Schüler aus der 5. Klasse. Er ruft einen Schüler zu sich, der gerade das Lehrerzimmer passiert hat. Er sagt ihm, dass er den Schüler aus der 5. Klasse zu ihm bringen soll. Ich verstehe nicht, wieso er das nicht selbst macht. Er könnte aufstehen und die eine Minute zum Klassenraum der 5. gehen. Aber ich habe sowas schon häufiger gesehen, Schüler werden wie Bedienstete und Spielzeuge für Lehrer behandelt. Ich verstehe nicht, wie jemand solche Lehrer respektieren kann. Als der Fünftklässler ins Lehrerzimmer kommt, sieht er ziemlich ängstlich aus. JM sagt mit einer sehr lauten Stimme (welche meiner Meinung nach es nur noch schlimmer macht), dass er sich keine Sorgen machen muss, da alles in Ordnung ist. Der Schüler nimmt Platz und JM reicht ihm den Zettel. „Lies vor!“ Nichts passiert. Der Schüler hat seinen Kopf über das Stück Papier gebeugt und nach einer Minute der Stille, fängt er an zu weinen. Ich wundere mich was passiert ist. „Lies vor!“ Ich gucke JM vorwurfsvoll an. Der Schüler weint, hör auf ihm zu befehlen etwas zu tun und versuch zu verstehen, warum er weint. Ich frage den Schüler was los ist, aber ich bekomme keine Antwort. Der Schulleichter kommt hinein und fragt was los ist. Während JM ihm erklärt, warum wir hier sind, nimmt auch er Platz. „Oh ja, er hat ein psychologisches Problem.“ Was? Er sagt etwas in Swahili zum Schüler und ich hoffe, dass es etwas Bestätigendes ist. Eine schnelle und harsche Konversation in Swahili beginnt. Ich frage mich, wie sich der Schüler gerade fühlen muss. Zwei Lehrer sprechen so laut und zur selben Zeit auf ihn ein. Sie versuchen ihn dazu zubringen einen Text vorzulesen, mit dem er offensichtlich Schwierigkeiten hat. Ich frage was los ist und der Schuldirektor erklärt, dass der Schüler schon immer solche Probleme hatte. „Jedes Mal wenn wir ihn gebeten haben, etwas vorzulesen oder zu buchstabieren, hat er angefangen zu weinen.“ Ich bin sprachlos. Wie ist es möglich, dass er diese Probleme noch immer hat, obwohl ihr ganz genau darüber Bescheid wisst? Ich frage, ob die Lehrer versucht haben, ihm zu helfen. Der Schuldirektor scheint auf diese Frage vorbereitet zu sein und antwortet (etwas zu überzeugend): „Ja, das haben wir, aber er hat sich nicht verändert.“ Wenn du „helfen“ sagst, meinst du dann so: Zwei Lehrer reden zur selben Zeit auf einen kleinen Schüler ein? Ich frage, wie sie versucht haben ihm zu helfen. „Wir haben den anderen Schülern gesagt, sie sollen ihn bestärken, wenn er vorliest.“ WOW das hilft bestimmt, besonders wenn er mitbekommen, dass ihr das den Schülern sagt. Der Schuldirektor geht wieder und JM dankt ihm für seine „Hilfe“. JM nimmt ein Blatt Papier und schreibt acht Wörter darauf: it, the, what, the, and, before, I, now. Er bittet den Schüler diese vorzulesen. Er gibt sein Bestes und schafft es beinahe. Ich übernehme jetzt. Wenn er ein anderes Wort vorliest als es da steht, schreibe ich es auf und zeige ihm die Unterschiede beim Buchstabieren, damit er versteht, warum es unterschiedlich betont wird. Ich zeige auf einzelne Silben und spreche sie für ihn aus, dann frage ich ihn, ob er es so wiederholen kann. Er hat jetzt aufgehört zu weinen und sieht beruhigt aus. Wenn wir fertig sind, frage ich ihn ob er den Zettel behalten möchte, um zu üben. Er wirkt dankbar und steckt den Zettel behutsam in seine Hosentasche. Ich bin froh, ihn wieder lächeln zu sehen. JM sagt, dass ich meine Zeit mit dem Schüler verschwende und er einfach nur ein psychologischen Problem habe. Ich denke anders. Ich glaube, der Schüler hat eine Lese-Rechtschreib-Schwäche, und er wird traurig, wenn er Wörter sieht und sein Kopf die Buchstaben für ihn durchmischt. Ich kann mir auch vorstellen, dass das sehr frustrierend für ihn ist. Aber ich habe bereits bemerkt, dass die Lehrer hier zwischen „guten Schülern“, „faulen Schülern“ und „psychologischen Problemen“ unterscheiden.
Nach meinem Schultag fahre ich ins Stadtzentrum und setze mich in den Park. Ich werde den Fremden von letzter Woche treffen, den ich auf der Straße getroffen habe. Er ist ziemlich schräg. Er stellt mir viele Fragen und scheint zu zuhören, aber wenn ich ihm dieselben Fragen stelle, antwortet er mir so knapp wie möglich. Als ich darauf bestehe, dass er mir sagt, was er beruflich macht, antwortet er mir, dass er ein Touristenführer ist. Ich habe irgendwie das Gefühl, dass er mich früher oder später um Geld bitten wird. Nach zwei Stunden sagt er mir, dass er mich wirklich mag und es genießt Zeit mit mir zu verbringen. Große Überraschung: Der junge, schwarze Touristenführer mag das junge, weiße Mädchen.
Als J und ich auf unser Essen warten, beobachten wir eine Geburtstagsparty am Nachbartisch. Die Kerze ist größer als der Kuchen und die Leute drum herum scheinen nicht zu wissen, dass es sich nicht um eine Kerze, sondern um eine Wunderkerze handelt. Wir amüsieren uns. Während des Essens berichtet er mir vom Waisenhaus. Das hat er für gewöhnlich besucht, musste aber für die Uni aufhören. Jetzt hat er mich eingeladen ihn dorthin zu begleiten. Ich liebe die Idee. Er erzählt mir, dass Kinder, die volljährig werden, das Waisenhaus verlassen müsse. Dafür bekommen sie einen bestimmten Geldbetrag und dann kümmert sich keiner darum, wo sie die Nacht über schlafen. Ich fange an mir zu wünschen, dass ich die eine Hälfte meines Tages in der Schule verbringe und die andere in dem Waisenhaus. J wird die verantwortliche Frau anrufen und fragen, wann es passt, dass wir vorbei kommen. Auch machen wir Pläne, Süßigkeiten zu kaufen.
Auf unserem Weg nach Hause hören wir ein Klappgeräusch und tatsächlich, gerade aus vor uns liegt ein Kerl flach auf seinem Rücken. Ich kann noch immer eine Staubwolke an seinen Füßen sehen. Er ist betrunken und aufgrund des unebenen Bodens hingefallen. Er blockiert die Straße. Zum Glück ist kein BodaBoda da. Als wir an ihm vorbeigehen, setzt er sich kerzengerade auf und lallt: „Wer ist da?“ Wir bekommen einen Lachanfall und gehen weiter. Als wir abbiegen wollen, hören wir ihn sich beschweren, als andere ihn hochziehen. Er braucht einige Zeit um gerade zu stehen und kaum steht er, fällt er auch schon wieder hin. Aber dieses Mal liegt er parallel zur Straße. Wir können es kaum fassen und lachen stärker als zu vor.
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