Apr 21, 2017

School

I recently got the hint that it's difficult to understand what I really do when I am at school and how my work looks like. I collected some pictures which I want to share with you. I hope you'll like it.

Ich habe neulich den Hinweis erhalten, dass ihr nicht wisst wie meine Arbeit in der Schule genau aussieht. Ich habe ein paar Bilder gesammelt, die ich mit euch teilen möchte. Ich hoffe, es gefällt euch.


This is how the board looked like after a double lesson (P6) in which I tried to show the differences between the tenses.
So sah die Tafel nach einer Doppelstunde in der 6. aus, in der ich versucht hatte die Unterschiede zwischen den Zeiten deutlich zu machen.

After each lesson I have to write into the "Lesson Planer" where I have to say what I taught and how, showing that I used the time effectively.
Nach jeder Stunde muss ich in den "Unterrichts-Planer" schreiben, wo ich sagen muss, was ich wie unterrichtet habe. Die Zeit muss effektiv genutzt werden.


Teachers are required to check the exercise books after the lesson to make sure the students copied the notes from the board. This is how it looks like when another teacher checked the books.
Von den Lehrern wird erwartet, dass sie die Hefte der Schüler nach dem Unterricht kontrollieren, um sicherzustellen, dass die Schüler alles von der Tafel abschreiben. So sah es aus als ein anderer Lehrer die Hefte überprüft hat.

This is how I do it.
So mache ich das.

Sometimes I have to get creative.
Manchmal muss ich kreativ werden.

When I have to fill in the "Lesson Planer" and check the books, my table gets quite full.
Wenn ich den "Unterrichts-Planer" ausfüllen muss und die Hefte korrigieren muss, ist mein Tisch ziemlich voll.


In exams we hope for the best - and prepare for the worst (funniest).
In Klausuren hoffen wir auf das beste - und bereiten uns auf das schlimmste (lustigste) vor.

After each exam-period class-teachers are required to fill a "cumulative mark record sheet" where each grade is written and the position the student gets with his/her result. (Getting an A doesn't mean you get to the first position because you can get an A with 94% but also with 81%. The higher your mark the higher your position. This sometimes leads to competition between the students.)

Nach jeder Klausurenphase wird erwartet, dass der Klasssenlehrer ein Formular ausfüllt in der steht, welche Noten der/die Schüler/in in welchem Fach bekommen hat und mit diesem Ergebnis welche Position bezieht. (Eine 1 zu bekommen, heißt nicht automatisch, den ersten Platz zu bekommen. Man kann eine 1 mit 94% bekommen, aber auch mit 81%. Je höher der Prozentsatz, je höher die Position in der Klasse. Das führt manchmal zu kleinen Wettkämpfen zwischen den Schülern.) 


No matter what happens in school: I love my students and enjoy every day. (These pictures were made in the school bus on our way home.)
Egal was in der Schule passiert: Ich habe meine Schüler sehr lieb und genieße jeden Tag. (Diese Bilder stammen aus dem Schulbus auf dem Heimweg.)

Apr 20, 2017

2 hours, 4 men, 1 car

❗️A German translation can be found below the English version.⬇️

Hello dear readers, I am sorry I didn't update my page. My mother came for a visit and before that I had to make sure I prepare everything. Then we traveled a bit but I promise you I will try to write more often now.
So here is the story of what big happened shortly before New Year's Eve.

I got the dates of my midterm-seminar 03.01.17 – 07.01.17 and decided with two other volunteers from Arusha to spend the New Year’s Eve celebration on Sansibar (in Swahili Zanzibar) where the seminar would take place. I organized our bus-tickets to Dar Es Salaam from where we would take the ferry and travel to Sansibar. I got help organizing the bus-tickets from a tourist student who worked with former volunteers. She explained to me how to organize bus-tickets and organized a taxi-driver who will pick us up from the bus stop in Dar Es Salaam and bring us to a hotel which is working together with the bus company and close by.
So we started our journey on the 29.12. My two friends from Arusha came a few days earlier to Moshi where we entered the bus together. Our plan was to spend one night in Dar Es Salaam and we would take the ferry the next day. During our bus trip a neighbor asked me where we were going. She was an Indian woman and it looked like she and nearly the rest of the bus was one big family. I told her we would be going to Sansibar the next day and wanted to overnight in a hotel. She was surprised because it was the same with her and her family and she invited us to stay at their house for the night. I asked the others what they would think about it and we all didn't feel really safe by taking this offer so we thanked her for the offer and explained that we would prefer the hotel.
When we got out of the bus after 12h ride – which was actually just supposed to take 8h - a taxi driver came to me and said he would be the one I asked to come and pick us up. He led us on foot to a nearby hotel and promised to bring us the next day to the ferry with his taxi. While we checked in I asked him whether he would know how much money we would have to spend for the ferry to Sansibar. He said he didn't know himself but he would have a friend who could tell us and called him. Then he gave me his phone and I started bargaining as his friend told me to pay 40,000TSH per person. I bargained and he told me we could only get a discount if we would take the first ferry at 06:00 or the last at 18:00. We discussed this and then said that we would go with the first ferry. We arranged everything with the taxi driver and made sure the receptionist translated for us in Swahili again. We got into our room and started making a plan to go for dinner. Our mentor send us a message saying that he would like to meet so that he could give us our original working permits (our residents permit was still in process) and he suggested to meet at 09:00 at the ferry gate. We said thanks because now we wouldn't have to get up that early. I went down to the reception together with my friend and talked to the receptionist so that he could tell our taxi driver to come later to pick us up. As we were done organizing that the receptionist and his friend started flirting with us. We enjoyed the ridiculous and funny conversation and asked them also where we could go for dinner. They advised us to take the hotels own restaurant (great surprise). We went upstairs and enjoyed the time on our beds until it was time to go for dinner. We went downstairs and checked their prices and surprisingly it was ok. As we were waiting for our food my friend wanted to buy another voucher for her phone - it's working here like a prepaid card. I offered to go with her because it was already dark outside and I thought it wasn't the best idea to go outside alone at this time in a city which is quite new. But she insisted to go alone and I didn't want to argue so I stayed inside. After two minutes she came back and said there was nothing to worry about because the security men were all watching where she went and seemed caring. We had a great dinner and then went upstairs.
The next day our taxi-driver showed up with his friend who introduced himself as the conductor for the ferry I talked to yesterday. We checked out of the hotel and then followed them to their car. It didn't look like an official taxi but I was used to those since in Moshi nearly every taxi looks private although the majority is white. This one was silver. We had to go through one back door because the other was was broken and sat down on the back row. I was sitting next to the broken door and had to grin and thought: Typicall Tansanian if there is no problem with your car, you have never used it. The two men were sitting in the front.
The driver’s friend was very talkative and asked us all sorts of questions like: Do you speak Swahili? Where do you want to go on Sansibar? Where do you come from? He had a phone call and told us that his sister just gave birth and we congratulated him. After 20min however we started wondering how much longer we have to drive because we knew we are supposed to only take 15min to the ferry. My friends was just pointing out that she can't see water at all when we turned into a side-street.
We stopped and two men entered through the front passenger door. The front seat passenger and one of the new arrivals climbed across the backs of the front-seats – butts nearly in our faces. Our talkative companion sitting down on my friends lap and the other one on mine. Their backs covering the windows. We took off again and we were like: I am not paying this taxi. And we made a joke about this being a typically full taxi now.
Then we stopped in another side street for good and the guy sitting on my friends lap changed from friendly to cruel. He said: "This is mafia." Then he slapped me.
They took our bags in the front promising they only want money and they would not take our phones or cameras. While the two people in the front were searching our bags the men on our laps were raising our shirts to check whether we would have money belts, checking our jackets whether there was more money inside the pockets. “Tansania is poor this has to happen. Sorry.” I saw the front seat passenger opening my wallet and taking out my credit card. The same happened with the other wallets. While they were still searching I turned slightly to my friend who was sitting in the middle and whispered: How are we going to get out of this? She just stared straight ahead. I couldn't do the same because otherwise I would have stared at the guy sitting on me. Instead I was watching around. I could feel my fear but I could not think anything else then: How are we going to get out of this? Over and over.
In the front seat my power bank was confiscated as well as the ebook reader of my friend. Then they asked her what it is. It would have been funny in any other situation. But they confiscated every single thing that seemed to work with electricity. Even a tiny flashlight was fascinating one guy.
I saw the man who slapped me getting interested in the watch of my friend on whose lap he was sitting. She also couldn't stare straight ahead. He then took off her watch and pocketed it. The guy sitting on me then became interested in my watch and before he could touch me too much I took it of for him. Our friend in the middle also had a watch but it was a old one held together with a rubber band and so the guys just looked at it but did not show any interest of getting it. We got our bags back, we could see our phones lying in the front of the car together with our credit cards.
They took one trunk from the back of the car to the front (it was a very small trunk, like a very big school bag) and opened it. The trunk belonged to my friend who was sitting in the middle and she had to bend forward to not get hit by her trunk. They took her camera and her second phone. As the guy who was investigating her trunk found her passport he explained to us that they won't take our passports and showed us that he put it back. I said: “Thank you.” Then they asked us how much money we have in our trunks and it will end badly for us if we lie. I lied saying there was nothing inside. “Tell us the truth or you will be in fucking trouble.” I answered: “I am telling you the truth. Please, we were about to get to the ATM at the next opportunity.” I felt tears rising in me as well as my adrenaline. I knew exactly that I had 300,000TSH in my trunk and my iPad. I was scared what would happen if they actually investigate and find the rest of my money which I hid in the inner cover of my trunk. They double and triple checked our bags and wallets while my legs started hurting from the weight of the man.
They took our credit cards and asked us for the PIN. “Give us the fucking numbers!” We gave them our numbers wishing that if we just give them what they want everything will end without any physical harm done. “If you give us what we want, we will drop you safely.” We put our PIN numbers into one of their phones and drove to another street where we stopped and the front seat passenger took off. The guy who was sitting on me went to the front passenger seat. I was scared to hyperventilate and asked carefully whether I am allowed to drink something. The facial expression of the man sitting on my friends lap who had slapped me earlier softened and he said yes. I thanked him and opened my bag to take out my water bottle. I was shaking and he asked me whether I was scared. “I am terrified.”
“Sorry.” When I was about to take a final sip he told me to stop and I did as I was told. My friend started crying and immediately was told to stop it. I asked carefully whether we would be allowed to talk to calm ourselves down. “Yeah, but only in English.” I nodded and said: “Ok, take a deep inhale and exhale, we gave them everything they wanted, right? Nothing will happen.” That of course sounded completely stupid so he told me to shut up again but I felt calmer. I was only concentrating on my breath.
The man came back and so the weight on my legs. “There was no power we have to try another ATM. We just want 50,000TSH.” I believed him and thought: 50,000TSH that's ok. (I was naive and believed them. My brain saved me from freaking out and fainting.)
We drove to another bank. One guy getting out taking all our cards including my Sparkassen card which only works in Germany. When he came back he accused me of having lied and that I didn't give him the right PIN. All men stared at me and I told them repeatedly that it did not work here in Tansania. My friend trying to explain the same and I got scared if they wouldn't believe me what would happen. The next guy went out with our cards and when he came back without saying anything to us they continued to drive to another one. At the end we visited four banks where  they withdrew the maximum of our cards. Always two people went out and the other two kept us quite in the car. The windows were covered with a foil against the sun which is very common here. But in this situation very unfortunate because no one could see inside. I tried to make some conversation and told them we are just volunteers to get sympathy.
My Sparkassen card got confiscated from the last ATM and when they reached all limits they dropped us in a side street together with our luggage. They gave me my phone back, our cards, the memory cards from their cameras and 100.000TSH (40€) telling us we should share because we are "poor now".
Our two hour trip was over.
We ran to the first person we saw asking for help in Swahili and the police. We drove to the police and accompanied them for the next 7h where they tried to see all the video footage from these people: in the reception area of our hotel, the 4 ATMs.
Telling over and over what had happened.

We stayed one day longer in Dar Es Salaam. We overslept in the YMCA and in the evening we made morbid jokes. Thanks to my iPhone and iPad we enjoyed some YouTube videos to take our mind off of things.

Now I am not scared to enter a car or anything but I am scared that an adult will sit on my lap again.

My card was deactivated and the money I hid in my trunk saved our asses. I was able to pay for our transport and food.
We had to inform everyone and since only my iPhone and my iPad remained and we were three people using these two devices, we had to be careful with the battery.
Informing my parents was quite difficult. I couldn't just call from Tansania to Germany so I have to text them: Hey, I want to talk. To make out a time for Skype. Luckily it was easier than I thought it would be. I guess the shock I felt was also what they felt when they heard it and that makes a person first unable to think probably. So during our talk everything was calm. But later the messages showed that everyone was pretty worried.
Our company and the emergency hotline we called told us we did everything right and we should try to distract ourselves now and tell them if we would need psychological assistance.

The worst thing: We were annoyed from all people who tried to give us advice for the next time which was literally every person who knew what happened. The two stupidest advices were: “Make noise and they'll run away.” Actually I was thinking about that. I had a bag alert in my bag and thought about using it. But my door couldn't open and the other door was protected by one of the guys and actually they would have just drove off with us. The other advice was: “Don't do anything unless you see a weapon. They didn't threaten you did they?” Thanks, I am very glad we didn't see a weapon. That would have traumatized us probably.

After our bank accounts were updated online we could see how much they got from us. If we count also the amount of money together they got from us in material things we end up with a sum around 9,700,000TSH. I was the luckiest of us three because I only had 40,000TSH in cash with me and my credit card has a limit per day and my watch and power bank weren't really valuable.

After the seminar when I was safely back in Moshi my mentor called me one day and told me that the police was not going to investigate. “Excuse me?” And the respond was the worst I have ever heard: “That happens here from time to time welcome to Africa.” I told her everything that happened in detail again because it turned out she did not really know what happened. When she heard that I got slapped she changed her mind and said that she will work on it on our behalf.
I also called the German embassy who said that they can't press the police because we are just visitors in this country. I also got told that this happens quite often in Dar Es Salaam and they try to advise everyone to only get into official taxis. I asked whether any of the other cases ever get investigated and the answer was “No.” I said: “Wouldn't it be a good idea to investigate in this one in the hope that these are the same people who are responsible for a lot of other cases as well?”
My company called them as well to ask for help and it worked.

We had to go back to Dar Es Salaam and identify the taxi driver. But I will tell you about that experience another time.

Last but not least: I know that in Germany and other countries are prejudice that “black” people are bad and unfortunately this incident confirmed that somehow. But I wrote this not only to make this blog truly my diary no matter what but also to say that there are always bad people. Those unfortunately exist in every country! Please, we should be careful to say anything in general. We can't say that all African people are poor. We can't say that all Muslims are terrorist. (Remember #notinmyname) We can't say that all “white“ people are rich. And that's why we shouldn't say or think that all “black” people are bad.
There are always exceptions and there are always good people. We can only say that all people have a heart. No matter whether it's kind or cold but all people have a heart and that should give us one thing we can hang on to: Blood is red! No matter which gender it belongs to, no matter which skin color covers the veins, no matter which religion it belongs to. Blood is red and that should unit us against evil.



Hallo liebe Leser/innen, es tut mir leid, dass ich hier nicht auf dem neusten Stand bin. Meine Mutter ist gekommen, um mich zu besuchen und bevor sie gekommen ist, musste ich noch einiges organisieren. Wir sind zusammen ein bisschen rumgereist, was ich hoffentlich bald mit euch teilen kann. Ich verspreche euch, dass ich jetzt versuchen werde wieder häufiger zu schreiben.
Also, hier ist die Geschichte, die erzählt, was kurz vor Silvester geschehen ist.

Ich habe die Daten von meinem Zwischenseminar erhalten (03.01.17 – 07.01.17) und mit zwei anderen Freiwilligen aus Arusha beschlossen, Silvester auf Sansibar zu verbringen, wo auch unser Seminar stattfinden sollte. Ich habe unsere Bustickets nach Dar es Salaam organisiert, von wo wir dann die Fähre nach Sansibar nehmen werden. Ich hatte Hilfe von einer Tourismus-Studentin, die bereits ehemaligen Freiwilligen geholfen hat. Sie hat mir gezeigt, wie ich Bustickets organisiere und hat für uns einen Taxi-Fahrer organisiert, der uns von der Bushaltestelle in Dar es Salaam abholen und zum Hotel bringen würde. Das Hotel arbeitet ebenfalls mit der Busfirma zusammen und wäre zu Fuß erreichbar.
Und so haben wir unsere Reise am 29.12. gestartet. Meine zwei Freundinnen aus Arusha sind ein paar Tage vorher aus Arusha nach Moshi gekommen, wo wir zusammen in den Bus gestiegen sind. Unser Plan war es eine Nacht in Dar es Salaam zu übernachten und am nächsten Tag die Fähre nach Sansibar zu nehmen. Während unserer Busfahrt hat eine Nachbarin mich gefragt, wo wir hin wollen. Es war eine indische Frau und es sah so aus als ob fast alle anderen Passagiere eine große Familie bildeten. Ich habe ihr erzählt, dass wir am nächsten Tag nach Sansibar aufbrechen wollten und dass wir eine Nacht in einem Hotel verbringen wollten. Sie war überrascht, weil das ebenso ihr Plan mit ihrer Familie war. Sie hat uns eingeladen bei ihrer Familie zu übernachten, um dann am nächsten Morgen gemeinsam zur Fähre zu gehen. Ich habe die anderen gefragt, was sie darüber denken und wir fühlten uns nicht ganz wohl dabei. Also haben wir uns bei ihr für das Angebot bedankt, aber angeschlagen und erklärt, dass wir ein Hotel bevorzugen würden.
Als wir nach 12std – eigentlich sollen es nur 8std sein – aus dem Bus ausgestiegen sind, kam ein Taxi-Fahrer auf mich zu und hat gesagt, dass er derjenige sei, den ich gebeten hatte uns abzuholen. Er hat uns zu Fuß zu einem nahegelegenen Hotel geführt und versprochen uns am nächsten Morgen zur Fähre zu bringen. Während dem Einchecken habe ich ihn gefragt, ob er weiß wie viel das Fährenticket kostet. Er hat gesagt, er würde es nicht wissen aber er hätte einen Freund, der uns das sagen könnte und hat ihn angerufen. Dann hat r mir das Telefon gegeben und ich habe angefangen zu verhandeln, als sein Freund mir gesagt hat, dass es 40,000TSH pro Person wären. Ich habe versucht zu verhandeln und er hat gesagt, dass ich einen Rabatt nur erhalte, wenn wir die erste Fähre gegen 06:00 nehmen oder die gegen 18:00. Wir haben das diskutiert und dann gesagt, dass wir dann die erste Fähre nehmen würden. Wir haben alles arrangiert, wobei wir sichergestellt haben, dass einer der Hotelangestellten für uns übersetzt. Wir sind in unser Zimmer gegangen und haben angefangen Pläne fürs Abendessen zu machen. Unser Mentor hat uns eine Nachricht geschickt, da er sich gerne mit uns treffen würde, um uns unsere originale Arbeitserlaubnis geben könnte. Er hat vorgeschlagen, dass wir uns um 09:00 an der Fähre treffen. Wir haben uns bedankt, da wir nun nicht mehr so früh aufstehen mussten. Zusammen mit meiner Freundin bin ich zur Rezeption gegangen, um den Empfangsangestellten, zu bitten unserem Taxi-Fahrer die Planänderung mitzuteilen. Als wir alles besprochen hatten, haben die beiden Männer angefangen mit uns zu flirten. Wir haben die lächerliche und lustige Konversation genossen und gefragt, wo wir was essen gehen könnten. Sie haben uns empfohlen im Hotel eigenen Restaurant zu essen (große Überraschung). Wir sind wieder nach oben in unser Zimmer und haben gequatscht, bis es Zeit fürs Abendessen war. Wir sind hinunter ins Restaurant und haben uns die Preise angeguckt. Erstaunlicherweise, waren die sehr vertretbar. Als wir auf unser Essen gewartet haben, wollte meine Freundin einen Gutschein für ihr Telefon kaufen – das funktioniert hier wie ein prepaid-Handy. Ich hab ihr angeboten mitzukommen, da es draußen schon dunkel war und ich der Meinung war, dass es nicht die beste Idee sei, um die Zeit alleine hinaus zu gehen. Aber sie bestand darauf alleine zu gehen, und da ich keinen große Diskussion draus machen wollte, bin ich drinnen geblieben. Nach zwei Minuten kam sie wieder herein und sagte, dass es nichts gäbe worüber man sich sorgen müsste, da die Wachmänner auch geguckt haben, wo sie hingeht und aufgepasst haben.
Wir hatten ein leckeres Essen und sind dann wieder nach oben gegangen.
Am nächsten Tag ist unser Taxi-Fahrer mit einem Freund gekommen, der sich als der Schaffner von der Fähre vorgestellt hat, mit welchem ich gestern verhandelt hatte. Wir haben aus dem Hotel ausgecheckt und sind den beiden Männern zum Taxi gefolgt. Dads Auto sah nicht wie ein offizielles Taxi aus, aber daran war ich gewöhnt, da in Moshi fast alle Taxis inoffizielle aussehen. Nur dass die in Moshi fast alle weiß sind, was sie verbindet, und dieses hier war Silber. Wir mussten durch eine der hinteren Türen hinein, da die andere Tür kaputt war. Und so saßen wir zu dritt auf der Rückbank, ich neben der kaputten Tür, wo ich grinsen musste. Ich dachte: Typisch tansanisch, wenn dein Auto einwandfrei ist, hast du es hier niemals benutzt. Die beiden Männer saßen vorne.
Der Freund des Fahrers war sehr rede-aktiv und hat uns alles mögliche gefragt. „Sprecht ihr Swahili? Wo auf Sansibar wollt ihr hin? Woher kommt ihr? Dann hatte er ein Telefongespräch und hat uns erzählt, dass seine Schwester gerade ihr Kind zur Welt gebracht hat und wir haben ihm gratuliert. Nach 20min jedoch haben wir angefangen uns zu wundern, wie lange wir noch fahren müssten, da wir wussten, dass wir nicht länger als 15min brauchen sollten. Meine Freundin hatte gerade festgestellt, dass wir noch nicht einmal Wasser sehen konnte, als wir in eine Seitenstraße gebogen sind. Wir haben angehalten und zwei weitere Männer sind durch die Beifahrertür eingestiegen. Der Beifahrer und ein Neuankömmling sind über die Rückenlehne, nach hinten gestiegen – Pobacken sehr nah an unseren Gesichtern. Unser gesprächige Mitfahrer hat sich auf dem Schoß meiner Freundin niedergelassen, die am Fenster saß und der andere hat sich auf meinem Schoß niedergelassen. Ihre Rücken haben die Fenster verdeckt. Wir sind wieder weiter gefahren und hatten die Einstellung: Ich werde nicht für dieses Taxi bezahlen. Dann haben wir einen Scherz gemacht, dass es nun ein typisch volles Taxi ist.
Wir haben in einer anderen Seitenstraße geparkt und der gesprächige Kerl, der auf dem Schoß meiner Freundin saß, hat gewechselt von freundlich zu gruselig. Er hat gesagt: „Dies ist Mafia.“ Dann hat er mir eine Ohrfeige verpasst.
Sie haben unsere Rucksäcke nach vorne genommen und versprochen, dass sie nur Geld wollen und sie weder Telefone noch Kameras nehmen werden. Während die zwei Männer vorne unsere Rucksäcke durchkämmt haben, haben die Männer auf unseren Schößen unsere Oberteile hochgezogen, um sicherzustellen, dass wir keine Geldgürtel hatten. Auch haben sie unsere Jacken durchsucht, falls dort noch mehr Geld wäre. „Tansani ist arm, das hier muss sein. Sorry.“ Ich habe den Beifahrer gesehen, wie er meinen Geldbeutel aufgemacht und meine Kreditkarte herausgenommen hat. Dasselbe ist ebenso mit den anderen Geldbösen passiert. Während sie alle nach Geld gesucht haben, habe ich mich leicht zu meiner Freundin in der Mitte gedreht und geflüstert: Wie kommen wir hier wieder raus? Sie hat einfach geradeaus gestarrt. Ich konnte nicht dasselbe tun, da ich sonst den Kerl auf meinem Schoß angestarrt hätte. Stattdessen habe ich mich umgeguckt. Ich konnte meine Angst spüren, aber ich konnte an nichts anderes denken als: Wie kommen wir hier wieder raus? Immer und immer wieder.
Auf dem Vordersitz wurde meine Powerbank (tragbarer auflade Akku fürs Handy oder ähnliches) und der eBook-Reader (eine Art Festplatte, auf der man Bücher lesen kann; Papier sparend) meiner Freundin konfisziert. Dann haben sie gefragt, was das ist. Das wäre in jeder anderen Situation lustig gewesen. Aber sie haben einfach alles konfisziert, was so aussah, als ob es mit Elektrizität arbeitet. Sogar eine mini Taschenlampe hat einen der Männer fasziniert.
Ich hab den Mann, der mich geschlagen hatte, dabei beobachtet, wie er an der Uhr meiner Freundin, auf deren Schoß er saß, Gefallen fand. Sie konnte ebenfalls nicht geradeaus starren. Er hat dann ihre Uhr abgemacht und sie eingesteckt. Der Kerl, der auf meinem Schoß saß, ist dann an meiner Uhr interessiert gewesen und bevor er mich mehr als berühren konnte, habe ich sie für ihn abgemacht. Es war ein relativ bedrängendes Gefühl ihn auf meinem Schoß zu haben. Das Gewicht zum einen und zum anderen gibt es in so einem Auto nicht genügend Platz, der erlaubt eine erwachsene Person könnte auf mir sitzen. Das Fenster war verdeckt durch seinen Rücken und wegen der Rückenlehne des Beifahrersitzes konnte er nicht gerade sitzen und so musste er sich mit seinem rechten Arm um meine Kopfstütze haken.
Unsere Freundin in der Mitte hatte zwar auch eine Uhr, aber es war eine sehr alte, die notbedürftig mit verschiedenen Bändern – teils Gummibändern – zusammengehalten wurde. Die Uhr wurde nur kurz beäugt, aber es bestand kein Interesse auch diese Uhr zu konfiszieren. Wir haben unsere Rucksäcke zurück bekommen und haben unsere Telefone und Kredikarten auf dem Armaturenbrett liegen gesehen.
Sie haben einen Koffer aus dem Kofferraum nach vorne gezogen (es war ein sehr kleiner Koffer, fast wie ein viel zu großer Schulranzen) und haben ihn geöffnet. Der Koffer gehörte zu meiner Freundin, die in der Mitte saß und sie musste sich vorbeugen, um nicht von ihrem Koffer getroffen zu werden. Sie haben ihre Kamera und ihr zweites Telefon genommen. Als der Kerl, der den Koffern durchwühlt hat, ihren Pass gefunden hat, hat er uns erklärt, dass sie nicht an unseren Pässen interessiert sind. Dann hat er uns gezeigt, wie er den Pass wieder zurücklegt. Ich habe daraufhin gesagt: „Danke.“
Sie haben uns gefragt wie viel Geld wir in unseren Koffern hätten und dass es schlecht für uns enden würde, wenn wir lügen würden. Ich habe gelogen und gesagt, dass kein Geld in meinem Koffer wäre. „Sagt uns die Wahrheit oder ihr seid am Arsch.“ (freie Übersetzung; Original steht im Englischen Text s.o.) Ich habe geantwortet: „Ich sage die Wahrheit. Bitte, wir wollten heute zum Bankautomaten.“ Ich habe gespürt, wie Tränen und mein Adrenalinspiegel hochgestiegen sind. Ich wusste genau, dass ich noch 300,000TSH (~125€) in meinem Koffer versteckt hatte und mein iPad. Ich hatte Angst, was passieren würden, wenn sie wirklich meinen Koffer aufmachen würden und das Geld finden würden, welches ich im Innenfutter versteckt hatte. Sie haben doppelt und dreifach nochmals unsere Rucksäcke durchgeguckt, während meine Beine angefangen haben zu schmerzen, weil zu viel Mann auf ihnen saß.
Sie haben unsere Kreditkarten genommen und uns nach den PIN Nummer gefragt. „Gebt uns die scheiß Nummern!“ Wir haben Ihnen unsere Nummern gegeben und haben gehofft, dass wenn wir ihnen einfach alles geben, was sie wollen ohne physischen Schaden wieder heraus kommen. „Wenn ihr uns gebt, was wir wollen, lassen wir euch sicher raus.“ Wir haben unsere PIN Nummern in eines von ihren Telefonen eingegeben und sind einige Straßen weitergefahren. Der Beifahrer ist dann ausgestiegen. Der Kerl, der auf mir saß ist auf den Beifahrersitz gestiegen. (An alle die jetzt denken, ich hätte dir Tür aufmachen können und rennen: Ich saß neben der „kaputten“/abgeschlossenen Tür.) Ich hatte Angst zu hyper-ventilieren und habe vorsichtig gefragt, ob ich etwas trinken dürfte. Der Kerl, der noch auf dem Schoß meiner Freundin saß und mir zu Anfang die Ohrfeige verpasst hat, hat eine weichere Miene aufgesetzt und ja gesagt. Ich habe ihm gedankt und meine Flasche aus meinem Rucksack genommen. Ich habe gezittert und er hat mich gefragt, ob ich Angst hätte. „Ich habe Panik.“ Die Antwort war: „Sorry.“ Als ich dabei war einen letzten Schluck zu nehmen, hat er mir gesagt, ich solle aufhören. Meine Freundin hat angefangen zu weinen und ihr wurde sofort gesagt, dass sie damit aufhören soll. Ich habe vorsichtig gefragt, ob wir miteinander reden dürfen, um uns zu beruhigen. „Ja, aber nur auf Englisch.“ Ich habe genickt und gesagt: „Ok, tief einatmen und ausatmen, wir haben ihnen alles gegeben, was sie wollen, richtig? Uns wird nichts passieren.“ Natürlich klang das total bescheuert und so wurde mir der Mund verboten. Aber ich habe mich beruhigt gefühlt. Ich habe mich nur auf meinen Atem konzentriert.
Der Mann, der ausgestiegen war, kam zurück und so auch das Gewicht auf meinen Beinen. „Es gab keinen Strom, wir müssen zu einer anderen Bank. Wir wollen nur 50,000TSH (~20€).“ Ich habe ihm geglaubt und dachte: 50,000TSH das ist ok. (Ich war naiv. Ich habe ihnen alles geglaubt. Mein Gehirn hat mich vorm ausflippen und ohnmächtig werden bewahrt.)
Wir sind zur nächsten Bank gefahren. Ein Mann ist mit unseren Karten raus gegangen inklusive meiner Sparkassen Karte, die nur in Deutschland funktioniert. Als er zurück kam, hat er mich beschuldigt ihm die falsche PIN Nummer gegeben zu haben. Alle Männer haben mich angestarrt und ich habe Ihnen mehrmals versucht zu erklären, dass sie hier in Tansania nicht funktionieren würde. Meine Freundin hat mir versucht zu helfen und dasselbe erklärt. Ich habe Angst gehabt, was passieren würde, wenn sie uns das nicht glauben würden. Dann ist der nächste Kerl ist mit unseren Karten losgegangen und als er zurück kam, sind wir ohne ein Wort zur nächsten Bank gefahren.
Letztendlich haben wir vier Banken besucht, wo sie immer das Maximum von unseren Karten abgebucht haben. Es sind immer zwei Männer ausgestiegen und die anderen beiden haben uns im Auto still gehalten. Die Fenster waren mit einer UV-Schutzfolie überzogen, was hier sehr häufig vorkommt, aber in unserer Situation sehr unglücklich war, da niemand hineingucken konnte. Ich habe versucht Konversation zu machen und ihnen erzählt, dass wir nur Freiwillige sind, um Sympathie zu bekommen.
Meine Sparkassen Karte wurde von dem letzten Automaten eingezogen und als sie bei all unseren Karten, das Limit erreicht hatten, haben sie uns in einer Seitenstraße zusammen mit unserem Gepäck rausgelassen. Sie haben mir mein Telefon wiedergegeben und unsere Kreditkarten. Den anderen haben sie ihre Speicherkarten aus den Kameras gegeben und 100,000TSH (~40€) und gesagt, wir sollten das teilen, da wir jetzt „arm“ wären.
Unsere zwei Stunden Taxi-Fahrt war vorbei.
Wir sind zu der ersten Person, die wir gesehen haben gerannt und haben auf Swahili um Hilfe und die Nummer der Polizei gegebeten. Wir sind zur Polizei gefahren und haben sie die nächsten 7std begleiten, in denen sie versucht haben, all das Video-Material der Männer einzusehen: an der Rezeption in unserem Hotel, den vier Bankautomaten. In den 7std haben wir immer und immer wieder berichten müssen, was genau passiert war.

Wir sind einen Tag läner in Dar es Salaam geblieben und haben im YMCA übernachtet. Am Abend haben wir morbide Witze gerissen. Glücklicherweise hatten wir mein iPhone und mein iPad und wir haben YouTube Videos geguckt, um uns abzulenken.

Ich habe jetzt keine Panik davor in ein Auto zu steigen oder ähnliches. Aber ich habe Angst, dass sich ein Erwachsener auf meinen Schoß setzt.

Meine Karte wurde deaktiviert und das Geld, dass ich in meinem Koffer hatte, hat uns gerettet. Ich war in der Lage für unseren Transport und unser Essen zu zahlen.
Wir mussten alle möglichen Leute informieren und da nur mein iPhone und mein iPad übrig geblieben sind und wir drei Leute an diesen zwei Geräten saßen, mussten wir vorsichtig mit der Batterie umgehen.
Meine Eltern zu informieren war einigermaßen schwierig. Ich konnte von Tansania aus nicht einfach nach Deutschland telefonieren und so musste ich zunächst schreiben: Hey, ich würde gern reden. Um eine Zeit für Skype zu verabreden. Glücklicherweise war es dann einfacher, als ich dachte. Ich glaube der Schock, den ich hatte, war derselbe den sie dann auch hatten, als sie davon gehört haben. Dieser Schock macht es der Person erstmal unmöglich klar und logisch zu denken. Und so haben sie während des Gesprächs sehr beruhigt gewirkt, aber Nachrichten später – um zu gucken, wie ich mit dem ganzen umgehe – haben dann doch gezeigt, dass sie sich Sorgen gemacht haben.
Unsere Organisation (der Internationale Bund VAP Kassel) und die Notfall 24std-Betreuung, die wir angerufen haben, haben uns erzählt, dass wir alles richtig gemacht haben und wir sollten versuchen uns abzulenken und ihnen berichten, falls wir psychologische Betreuung benötigen sollten.

Das Schlimmste: Wir waren soooooooo genervt von all den Leuten, die uns Tips für’s nächste Mal geben wollten, was buchstäblich alle waren, die davon gehört hatten. Die zwei schlimmsten Ratschläge, die wir bekommen haben, waren: „Einfach Lärm machen, dann laufen die weg.“ Um ehrlich zu sein, hatte ich genau daran gedacht. Ich hab einen Taschenalarm in meinem Rucksack und dachte daran ihn losgehen zu lassen. Aber meine Tür war verschlossen und die andere Tür war von einem der Kerle blockiert und eigentlich, wären die dann einfach nur mit uns losgefahren.
Der andere Ratschlag war: „Tu nichts bis du eine Waffe siehst. Die haben euch doch nicht bedroht, oder?“ Danke, ich bin froh, dass wir keine Waffen gesehen haben. Das hätte uns vermutlich traumatisiert.

Nach dem unsere Konten online aktualisiert wurden, haben wir gesehen wie viel Geld sie von uns bekomme haben. Wenn wir alles zusammenrechnen von dem Geld und dem Wert unserer Wertsachen, bekommen wir eine Summe von ca. 9,700,000TSH. Ich hatte am meisten Glück, da ich nur 40,000TSh in meinem Geldbeutel hatte und meine Kreditkarte eine automatische Sperre hat und meine Powerbank und Uhr nicht gerade einen Wert hatten.

Nach dem Zwischenseminar als ich wieder sicher zurück in Moshi war, hat mich meine Mentorin angerufen und erzählt, dass die Polizei den Fall nicht weiter verfolgen würde. „Wie bitte?“ Und die Antwort, war die dämlichste Antwort, die ich je gehört habe: „Sowas passiert hier nun mal von Zeit zu Zeit. Willkommen in Afrika.“ Ich habe ihr erzählt, was genau passiert war, da sie anscheinend nicht wirklich wusste was geschehen war. Als sie gehört hat, dass ich eine Ohrfeige bekommen habe, hat sie gesagt, dass sie sich in unserem Namen darum kümmern würde.
Ich habe ebenfalls die deutsche Botschaft angerufen, die gesagt haben, dass sie die Polizei nicht zum Untersuchen zwingen könnten, da sie auch nur Gäste in diesem Land sind. Mir wurde ebenfalls erzählt, dass das hier in Dar es Salaam ziemlich häufig passiert und sie versuchen Leuten zu sagen, dass sie nur in offizielle Taxis steigen sollten. Ich habe gefragt, ob in einem der anderen Fälle polizeiliche Untersuchungen stattgefunden haben und die Antwort war „Nein“. Ich habe gesagt: „Wäre es nicht eine gute Idee in diesem Fall zu untersuchen, in der Hoffnung, dass diese Bande auch für andere Fälle verantwortlich ist?“
Der Internationale Bund hat ebenfalls bei der Botschaft angerufen, um um Hilfe zu bitten und es hat geklappt.

Wir mussten zurück nach Dar es Salaam und den Taxi-Fahrer identifizieren. Aber darüber berichte ich ein anderes Mal.

Und zu guter letzt: Ich weiß, dass in Deutschland und anderen Ländern Vorurteile herrschen, dass „schwarze“ Menschen böse sind. Unglücklicherweise wird das irgendwie durch diesen Vorfall bestätigt. Aber ich habe diese Geschichte nicht nur aufgeschrieben, um diesen Blog wahrhaftig zu meinem Tagebuch zu machen, egal was passiert, sondern auch um zu sagen, dass es immer böse Menschen gibt. Diese Menschen existieren leider in allen Ländern!
Bitte, wir sollten vorsichtig sein etwas zu verallgemeinern. Wir können nicht sagen, dass alle Afrikaner arm sind. Wir können nicht sagen, dass alle Muslime Terroristen sind. (Erinnert euch an: #notinmyname) Wir können nicht sagen, dass alle „weißen“ Menschen reich sind. Und das ist ein Grund warum wir nicht sagen oder denken sollten, dass alle „schwarzen“ Menschen böse sind.
Es gibt immer Ausnahmen und es gibt immer gute Menschen. Wir können nur sagen, dass alle Menschen ein Herz haben. Egal, ob es ein gutes oder ein kaltes ist, aber alle Menschen haben ein Herz und das sollte uns eines geben auf, das wir uns verlassen können: Blut ist rot! Egal zu welchem Geschlecht es gehört, egal welche Hautfarbe die Venen überdeckt, egal welcher Religion es angehört. Blut ist rot und das sollte uns gegen das Böse in der Welt vereinigen.

Feb 19, 2017

No title yet

❗️Eine Deutsche Übersetzung findest du weiter unten. Einfach herunter Scrollen.⬇️

Hello dear readers,
As you can see I haven't been able to translate the last entries into German and I am not really up to date with my blog since I am in my week no. 26 right now. So I will change it a bit and not write about everything to make it easier for me to keep you up to date with things which are really important to me or  had a great effect. But I still write plenty of notes so whenever I will find time I am going to write what happened in the past.
Something happened shortly before New Year's Eve and I will tell you what happened when I finished my report because it is really something big and influenced the start of my new year. But today and with this I want to write about something which happened and the way it happened and the way I was able to put it into words really struck me and my friend. I don't have a title yet and I hope you will help me find one.


In the staff room I see GM and JM talking about a book which lies between them. As I enter they look up, I ask what is happening and JM tells me that BM, who is the new mathematics teacher in P5, only wrote two pages during the last three weeks after opening the school. JM is furious because he is the class teacher of P5 (although he calls himself the father of that class and because I'm supposed to assist him he calls us the parents of that class) and so responsible if parents ask about their mathematics teacher (although I do not understand that responsibility). I understand JM and agree with him but I point out that BM wasn't supposed to be a mathematics teacher nor an English teacher for P3 (which is freaking me out). The managers of the school gave him that position although he is not qualified to teach mathematics nor English and so he is not really to be blamed. "We can't expect him to teach children a subject he himself does not understand."
"It's true what you say." JM nods and walks back to the open book, bending over it and turning the two pages as though he is waiting that suddenly more pages would appear. He complains to GM again and they continue to talk in Swahili. I understand parts of it and when JM speaks English again, saying that he is very disappointed I tell him that he has to talk to BM who is responsible before someone can make him taking responsibility. BM comes a few seconds later inside and JM starts talking to him. I'm writing my lessons for today into the lesson planer but I glance up to see BMs reaction. He seems like he is about to cry. I can only guess that he is embarrassed that his work is criticized. When JM is finished, BM looks like he would love to just disappear into the ground. JM looks to angry to stay here and leaves. He talks to GM and against my expectation to hear his voice shake he sounds as confident as ever - maybe a bit too confident.
GM tries to tell him: “Look what's done is, is done but you have to do more from now on.” I imagine to see BMs jawline tense and then he takes the mathematic books he wanted to mark and goes to P5. When he comes back, seven students look too scared to get into the staffroom. GM had to go to another lessons so it's just me, BM and the seven students now.

He asks them why they didn't do his work. They say they did, then they forgot. BM canes the boys on their butt and the girls on the hand. I can see his frustration and I have the feeling he is angry at himself but he doesn't know how to get rid of his anger. So he canes his students. I try to see reason and ask myself whether I should interfere but I think it's wrong here. If I interfere I am scared to make it worse for me, him and the students. He will ask me why I think this is wrong and I will just repeat that this is his fault and he will be angrier than before and cane more students for tiny mistakes. So I just sit there watching how he canes students, who I also teach in English.
First the boys on their butt. They whimper every time the cane hits their backside and BM doesn't only hit their butt he also their calf muscles. When the boys try to cover their butt with their hands, he hits against their calf muscles which are not covered by their trousers. Even when I look away, I hear whether he hit the butt or the bare flesh. The boys all act the same: trying to cover their butt and when BM draws the cane back they try to push their butt as far away from BM as possible standing nearly on tiptoes. When the boys are punished, they leave the staffroom rubbing their backside.
I try to continue to write the lesson planer but I can't concentrate. I don't want to know what it would feel like to be a student here. To be exposed to so much frustration and anger and not being able to fight back or just defend myself.
One girl gets caned on her hand as I look up. She looks like she is deeply angry at BM. She holds her right hand in the air – holding it steady which will make it easy for BM to target – and turns her head so she doesn't need to see it. I hear the sound of a stick hitting her palm but she doesn't even flinch. Then she presents  her left hand still looking away. I couldn't have done that, I would have cried and maybe had a breakdown. But she holds her head up high as she passes my desk. I admire her confidence and tell her to get cold water on her hand. Just because she doesn't cry and didn't flinch does not mean she is not hurt.
The next girl gets caned and she can't stand still. She jerks her hand away every time the stick comes closer to her hand. I see her face, horrified and yet knowing the pain is about to come. When the stick is nearly hitting her she looks away and as a reflex pulls her hand back into the safety of her other hand. BM takes her wrist and now that she can't pull her hand back any longer she stamps with her feet trying to get away but knowing that if she'd actually try that, she would regret that in an instinct. I see my 10-year old self reflected in her. I would have reacted this way. Being horrified of what is coming but still knowing it has to come. Being scared of how the reality will feel like after already listening to others whimper in pain and imagining how I will be in pain myself.
When BM is "finished" with her, she passes my table. I go after her and before she can go back to class I hug her and send her to to get cold water on her hand. I'm so sorry I didn't stand up for them.

JM comes out of his class because it's nearly lunchtime. I walk across the yard towards him and tell him what just happened. "JM I really think this isn't right. He is letting his frustration out on his students although it was his fault and not theirs."
"You know Loreen, you're just a visitor you don't understand our culture-"
"I do understand your caning." Cutting him off because I  remember the mentor during my mid-term-seminar who said that we didn't found less violent punishments in Germany. Telling us that we Germans diagnose naughty  children with ADHS and make them willing to shut up with pills we say "are helping".
"But I think it's wrong to let out your frustration on a child in a physical way."
"You don't understand, we teachers are very frustrated. Just the other day the head teacher called us into his office telling us that we are not serious enough."
I can imagine that that is quite uncomfortable and puts you under a lot of pressure but it's also true for some teachers. I still think caning students for your own fault is a bad attitude. I somehow get frustrated now that JM is actually defending BM and telling me I wouldn't understand. Telling me I'm "just" a visitor.
I say: "Then take a boxing class! But hurting another human being to get "relief" is - in my opinion - the wrong way."
"Ok, I'll talk to him."



Hallo liebe/r Leser/in,
Wie Du sehen kannst, habe ich es nicht geschafft die letzten Einträge zu übersetzen. Zudem bin ich nicht gerade auf dem neusten Stand mit meinem Blog, immerhin bin ich mittlerweile in meiner 26. Woche. Also werde ich von nun an nicht mehr über alles schreiben, um es für mich einfacher zu machen, Dich auf dem neusten Stand zu halten. Stattdessen will ich eher über Geschehnisse berichten, die mir wichtig sind oder die einen großen Effekt hatten. Ich schreibe trotzdem jede Menge Notizen, damit ich (wenn ich Zeit finde) schreiben kann, was in der Vergangenheit passiert ist.
Kurz vor Silvester ist etwas passiert und ich werde Dir davon berichten sobald ich meinen Bericht fertigstellen konnte, da dieses Ereignis einen wirklich sehr großen Einfluss auf mein neues Jahr hatte. Aber heute und mit diesem Bericht möchte ich über etwas berichten was kürzlich passiert ist. Es hat in der Art und Weise wie es passiert ist und ebenfalls, wie ich in der Lage war Worte dafür zu finden, mich und meine/n Freund/in sprachlos gelassen. Ich habe bisher keinen Titel und ich hoffe, Du hilfst mir einen zu finden.

Im Lehrerzimmer sehe ich GM und JM über ein Buch reden, das zwischen ihnen liegt. Als ich herein komme, gucken sie hoch und ich frage was los ist. JM erzählt mir, dass BM, der nun der neue Mathematiklehrer in P5 ist, seit der Öffnung der Schule vor drei Wochen nur zwei Seiten geschrieben hat. JM ist sauer, da er Klassenlehrer von P5 ist (auch wenn er sich als Vater dieser Klasse bezeichnet und weil ich ihm assistieren soll, nennt er uns auch gerne die Eltern dieser Klasse) und somit verantwortlich ist, wenn Eltern nach dem Mathematiklehrer fragen (auch wenn ich diese Verantwortung nicht verstehe). Ich verstehe JM und stimme ihm zu, aber ich weise ihn auch darauf hin, dass BM weder Mathematik noch Englisch in der P3 (was mich ja aufregt) unterrichten sollte. Die Schulmanager haben ihm diese Position gegeben, obwohl er weder für Mathematik noch Englisch qualifiziert ist und daher nicht wirklich schuldig gemacht werden kann. „Wir können nicht erwarten, dass er Kinder ein Fach beibringt, dass er selbst nicht versteht.“
„Was du sagst, ist wahr.“ JM nickt und geht zurück zu dem aufgeschlagenem Buch, beugt sich darüber und schlägt die beiden Seiten um, als ob er darauf wartet, dass plötzlich mehr Seiten auftauchen würden. Er beschwert sich erneut bei GM und sie reden in Swahili weiter. Ich verstehe Teile davon und als JM wieder Englisch spricht, sagt er, dass er sehr enttäuscht ist. Ich sage ihm, dass er mit BM darüber sprechen sollte, bevor jemand ihn (JM) dafür verantwortlich machen kann, immerhin ist BM dafür verantwortlich, was seine Schüler während seines Unterrichts ins Heft schreiben. BM kommt ein paar Sekunden später ins Lehrerzimmer und JM fängt an ihm alles zu sagen. Ich schreibe meine Stunden von heute in den Stundenplaner (eine Art Klassenbuch), aber ich linse hoch, um BMs Reaktion sehen zu können. Er sieht so aus, als ob er gleich anfängt zu weinen. Ich kann nur vermuten, dass es ihm peinlich ist, dass seine Arbeit kritisiert wird. Wenn JM fertig ist, sieht BM aus als ob er am liebsten im Boden versinken würde. JM sieht zu wütend aus, um länger hier zu bleiben und geht. BM spricht mit GM und gegen meine Erwartung seine Stimme zittern zu hören, hört er sich sehr selbstbewusst an – vielleicht etwas zu selbstbewusst.
GM versucht ihm zu sagen: „Guck mal, was geschehen ist, ist geschehen, aber du musst von jetzt an mehr machen.“ Ich bilde mir ein BMs Kiefer anspannen zu sehen und dann nimmt er die Mathematik Hefte, die er korrigieren wollte und geht zu P5. Als er zurückkommt, sehen sieben Schüler zu ängstlich aus, um herein zu kommen. GM musste los zu seiner nächsten Stunde und so sind es nur noch BM, ich und die sieben Schüler.

Er fragt die Schüler warum sie seine Arbeit nicht gemacht haben. Sie antworten, sie haben es gemacht, dann dass sie es vergessen haben. BM nimmt einen Stock und  fängt an die Jungs auf ihren Hintern zu schlagen und die Mädchen auf ihre Hände. Ich kann seine Frustration sehen und habe das Gefühl, dass er sauer auf sich selbst ist, aber nicht weiß wie er seine Wut los wird. Und so schlägt er seine Schüler. Ich versuche einen Sinn zu sehen und frage mich selbst, ob ich eingreifen sollte. Aber ich glaube, das wäre falsch hier. Wenn ich eingreife, habe ich Angst es schlimmer zu machen: für mich, für ihn und für die Schüler. Er wird mich fragen, warum ich denke, dass es falsch ist und ich werde nur wiederholen, dass es sein Fehler war und er wird wütender sein als davor und mehr Schüler für kleine Fehler bestrafen. Und so sitze ich einfach nur da, beobachte wie er Schüler schlägt, die ich selbst in Englisch unterrichte.
Zu erst die Jungs auf ihren Hintern. Sie wimmern jedes Mal, wenn der Stock ihre Kehrseite trifft und BM schlägt nicht nur auf den Hintern, sondern auch auf die Wade. Wenn die Jungs versuchen ihren Po mit ihren Händen zu bedecken, schlägt er gegen ihre Waden, die nicht von ihren Hosen bedeckt werden. Selbst wenn ich weggucke, kann ich hören, ob er die Kehrseite oder ungeschütztes Fleisch getroffen hat. Die Jungs reagieren alle gleich: Sie versuchen ihre Kehrseite zu bedecken und wenn BM mit dem Stock ausholt, versuchen sie diese möglichst weit weg von BM zu schieben und stehen fast auf Zehenspitzen. Als die Jungs alle bestraft sind, verlassen sie das Lehrerzimmer und reiben ihre Kehrseite.

Ich versuche mit dem Schreiben des Stundenplaner weiter zu machen, aber ich kann mich nicht konzentrieren. Ich will nicht wissen wie es ist, hier eine Schülerin zu sein. Auf dem Präsentierteller zu liegen für so viel Frustration und Wut und nicht in der Lage zu sein zurück zu schlagen oder sich einfach nur zu rechtfertigen.
Einem Mädchen wird auf die Hand geschlagen, als ich hochgucke. Sie sieht aus, als ob sie sehr wütend auf BM ist. Sie hält ihre rechte Hand hoch in die Luft – sehr starr, was es einfach für BM machen wird, darauf zu zielen – und dreht ihren Kopf weg, damit sie nicht zusehen muss. Ich höre das Geräusch von einem Stock, wie er auf der Handfläche auftrifft, aber sie zuckt nicht einmal zusammen. Dann präsentiert sie ihre linke Hand und guckt fast demonstrativ weg. Ich hätte das nicht gekonnt. Ich hätte geweint und vermutlich einen Nervenzusammenbruch gehabt. Aber sie hält ihren Kopf hoch als sie an meinem Tisch vorbei kommt. Ich finde ihr Selbstbewusstsein bewundernswert und sage ihr, dass sie sich kaltes Wasser auf die Handfläche spülen soll. Nur weil sie nicht weint und nicht gezuckt hat, heißt es nicht, dass sie keine Schmerzen hat.
Das nächste Mädchen wird geschlagen und sie kann nicht still stehen. Sie zieht ihre Hand weg jedes Mal, wenn sich der Stock ihrer Hand nähert. Ich sehe ihr Gesicht, geschockt und doch wissend, dass der Schmerz kommt. Als der Stock sie beinahe schlägt, guckt sie weg und als Reflex zieht sie ihre Hand zurück in den Schutz ihrer anderen Hand. BM nimmt ihr Handgelenk und nun, da sie ihre Hand nicht mehr wegziehen kann, stampft sie mit ihren Füßen auf. Es sieht so aus als ob sie gegen den Reflex ankämpft, der ihr sagt zu laufen, aber sie weiß, dass wenn sie es wirklich probieren würde, sie es sofort bereuen wird. Ich sehe mein eigenes 10-jähriges Selbst in ihr gespiegelt. Ich hätte so reagiert. Schockiert sein darüber was kommen wird und doch wissen, dass es kommen muss. Ängstlich sein darüber wie sich die Realität wohl anfühlen wird, nachdem man andere wimmern gehört hat und sich ausmalen, wie man selbst Schmerzen haben wird.
Als BM mit ihr „fertig“ ist, geht sie an meinem Tisch vorbei. Ich gehe ihr schleunigst hinterher und bevor sie in ihre Klasse gehen kann, umarme ich sie und schicke sie, sich kaltes Wasser zu holen. Es tut mir so schrecklich leid, dass ich nicht für sie eingesprungen bin.

JM kommt aus seiner Klasse raus, da es beinahe Mittagspause ist. Ich gehe über den Hof zu ihm und berichte, was gerade passiert ist. „JM ich glaube wirklich, dass es nicht richtig ist. Er lässt seine Frustration an den Schülern aus, obwohl es sein Fehler war und nicht ihrer.“
„Loreen, du bist nur ein Besucher du verstehst nicht, unsere Kultur –“
„Ich verstehe euer Schlagen.“ Ich unterbreche ihn, da ich mich an einen Mentoren aus meinem Zwischenseminar erinnere, der uns gesagt hat, dass wir selbst in Deutschland keine weniger gewalttätigeren Bestrafungen gefunden haben. Der uns gesagt hat, dass wir Deutschen ungezogene Kinder mit ADHS diagnostizieren und sie mit Pillen, von denen wir behaupten sie „helfen“, willig machen, den Mund zu halten.
„Aber ich glaube es ist falsch seine eigene Frustration physisch an einem Kind auszulassen.“
„Du verstehst nicht, wir Lehrer sind sehr frustriert. Erst neulich hat uns der Schuldirektor in sein Büro gebeten und uns gesagt, dass wir nicht ernst genug mit unserer Arbeit sind.“
Ich kann mir gut vorstellen, dass das unangenehm sein muss und einen ziemlich unter Druck setzt, aber es ist auch wahr für einige der Lehrer. Ich bin immer noch der Meinung, dass das Schlagen der Schüler für seine eigenen Fehler die falsche Einstellung ist. Es ist jetzt auch langsam frustrierend für mich, da JM BM verteidigt und mir sagt, dass ich nicht verstehe. Mir sagt, dass ich „nur“ ein Besucher bin.
Ich sage: „Dann nimm eine Boxstunde! Aber einem anderen Menschen physische Schmerzen zuzubereiten, um Erleichterung von seinem eigenen Ärger zu bekommen ist – meiner Meinung nach – der falsche Weg.“
„Ok, ich werde mit ihm reden.“

Nov 5, 2016

Week 10 part 2: "Tell me your name!"

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 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.

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.