Day Eighty Eight: Tome of Zanzibar

"At every moment he beholdeth a wondrous world, a new creation, and goeth from astonishment to astonishment, and is lost in awe at the works of the Lord of Oneness."

- Baha'u'llah

Because it's day eighty eight of my stay here, I'll tell a funny story that happened to me during the Institutional Conference last weekend. Because there were roughly 80 delegates, I asked one of the National Centre employees to make "eighty" copies of a document. Swahili speakers have a habit of attaching an "i" on the end of many English words, and the Swahili "i" is always pronounced as "ee." So when she heard me say "eighty," she thought I was saying "eighti." She came back later and handed me eight copies of the document. I was so stressed out at the time that I didn't immediately understand what was going on. Finally, I clarified that I wanted "eight zero" copies of the document, and then we could have a good laugh about "eighty" and "eighti."

Last week, I went to Zanzibar to visit Sally, a member of the National Spiritual Assembly and a homefront pioneer. To get to Zanzibar, you either have to take a ferry or a plane (duh). I opted for the ferry because the plane is just too expensive. So I was going to have to take the dalla dalla to the ferry terminal at the city centre, but a taxi comes pulling up and offers to take the people standing at the dalla dalla stop (three of us) for TSh 500 each, roughly $0.50. On the way into the city, I talked to a Masaai fellow named Emmanuel, who happened to know one of the local Baha'is. Having determined that we were "good people," he went out of his way to take me to the ferry terminal. He advised me that I should only buy a ticket from the ticket window and then went on his way.

At the ticket area I was immediately harassed by four or five men, each offering me a "good" price on a ferry conveniently leaving earlier than the one I was going to. One man in particular was extremely obnoxious. He kept nagging me on and on until I forcefully told him I had already chosen the ferry I wanted to take and that he was wasting his time continuing to talk to me. For some reason, he thought a more effective strategy might be to belittle me. Suddenly, he begins rambling on about how the white man thinks the black man is stupid and how we're always trying to keep them down and for that reason I wasn't accepting his assistance. Setting aside the immediate desire to just flat out punch him in the face, I told him that insulting me wasn't going to be a more effective tactic to sell me a fake ticket and that he'd do well to move on and try to dupe some other mzungu. He finally got the picture after a few other bystanders, mostly ticket hagglers themselves, intervened on my behalf because earlier I'd told them I was from Arkansas, the home of Bill Clinton. It's the oddest thing, but because I'm from the same place that he is, I'm automatically transformed into an ally of the African people or something (even though a lot of people in Arkansas would be lucky to even find the continent on a map).

There were three hours before the ferry left, so I decided to walk to the government map office. I've been asked to create maps which show the physical boundaries of all the clusters in Tanzania. When I walked into the map office, I immediately noticed a sign on the wall that said, "Please do not shout in the map office." I thought that was a little unusual, but I forgot about it as I tried to explain to the woman that I needed a map of each region which showed the districts and towns. After explaining the same thing three different times, only to find out that they didn't have what I needed, I understood why the sign was on the wall.

On the way back to the ferry, I met an odd assortment of people. One lady was obviously insane. She had Christmas tree lights woven into her hair, and she was talking into a case for her reading glasses as if it were a mobile phone. Another guy was a tour operator from Arusha who, from the look in his eyes, seemed to have a conscience as he tried desperately to get some money out of me for taking me to the fish market. I don't like fish, I don't like the smell of fish, and I've already been to the fish market so he was just out of luck. Arriving back at the ferry terminal, I found the same horde of people waiting to sell me cashews, biscuits, tea, water, sodas, newspapers, and everything else under the sun. I opted out of waiting around for the ferry with them and chose instead to cross the street and duck into one of the large cathedrals on the waterfront. It'd been a while since I'd been in a church, but I enjoyed the quiet sanctity and the prayer that I was allowed.

Before boarding the ferry, an extremely thorough check of my carry-on baggage was done. That should be read dripping with sarcasm. The lady only asked me if I had a knife, which made me wonder if explosives and firearms were permitted. The trip to Zanzibar was mostly smooth and pleasant, except for the smell of petrol from the engine room. I think I may have lost a few brain cells. C'est la vie. On the boat, I actually met another Baha'i. I was reading "Call to the Nations" by Shoghi Effendi, which has the word "Baha'i" on the front of it. I noticed the man next to me was looking at my book alot, which led me to believe he was just nosy as hell, but he got up and came back with an American college student. She asked if I was a Baha'i, and then told me that she was too and that she'd been in the country for 2 months. She was here doing some service project with her university, and they were travelling to Zanzibar for a bit of fun before returning to the United States.

At the port on Zanzibar, I was greeted by Sally's niece, Agrippina, and one of her friends. They had a sign they were holding up for me and everything. It was much better than the welcome I received when I first arrived in Tanzania, which was nothing. Literally. No one to meet me at the airport or anything. Thank God the National Centre was listed in the phone book. Anyway, back to the point, we took a taxi from Zanzibar Town to Mila Sita in the Mwera area outside of town. "Mila Sita" is because it's six miles from Zanzibar Town. I greeted the village children and women, all of which were intensely curious about my arrival, and then greeted Sally and the rest of her household. At dinner, we walked to the main road, and it had been transformed into a bit of a night market. The road was lined with many different vendors selling all sorts of food. I tried some local thing that consisted of potatoes, onions, fish, and spices mashed together into a patty and then fried. It was pretty good!

We returned back to the house for our real dinner, which was large and elaborate in honor of my visit. Following dinner, the house was suddenly filled with children and junior youth. Apparently the village children come to Sally's home every night to watch a movie. They pushed and shoved until they were all seated in front of the TV and then started watching the old American movie they'd brought. It was all in English, which none of them understood, but they watched it with rapt interest nonetheless. They adore Sally, and they're very enthusiastic about the junior youth group that she's planning to start.

That night, I slept on a rope bed, which is basically a wooden frame with a bunch of rope stretched between the sticks to give support to the mattress. I was convinced that I would break the thing, but I slept well throughout the night. It seems that when I left Dar, I brought the rains with me. It started raining hard during the first night and continued to rain off and on throughout my entire trip. The weather even turned a bit cold, so much so that it wasn't really feasible to go to the beach! In the morning, I woke up to the sound of roosters and screaming children (of course).

In the morning, we had chapatis, eggs, oranges, and cardamom tea that was so good. As I recall, cardamom is a bit expensive at home so you can't just go throwing it into tea, but because Zanzibar is a "spice island" most of the world's more exotic spices are plentiful and affordable. Because it was still raining, we each did a little work and then took a taxi into town for a bit of touring.

Our first stop was one of the larger markets where we shopped for different vegetables and spices, half of which I'd never even seen before. Among the more memorable was lychee, which is an unusual but tasty fruit. After the market, we wandered into the highly famous Stone Town section of Zanzibar Town. Stone Town is noted for its extremely narrow streets, so narrow, in fact, that a car can't even pass through them. They're lined with shops, houses, and mosques and filled with all sorts of sights, sounds, and smells (not all of which were good, mind you). Zanzibar is noted for its extremely elaborate doors, which feature master woodworking and carving skills. Each place seemed to have a larger and more magnificent door. My favorite was the Indian style doors, which had spikes on them.

In Stone Town, I purchased a kufi hat and made a spectacle while doing it. I was actually buying it for a friend, but the man insisted that I try it on. Unfortunately, my head isn't shaped very well for hats. My head was too big for the hat, but the man kept trying to jam it down more and more. Soon a crowd started to gather around as the shopkeeper tried to screw this hat typically worn by African Muslims down on top of the mzungu's head. After that ordeal, we stopped to eat some mangoes with salt and pele pele (chilis), which was surprisingly good.

When we returned home, the village children took our bags and things from us and carried them to the house, freeing us up for a more leisurely walk home. Some of them wanted me to teach them a few English words, and I happily complied. Unfortunately, they never could quite work out the difference between morning, afternoon, and evening, so they'd frequently run up to you and say "Good morning!" at 4:00 in the afternoon.

Dinner consisted of fish; cassava ugali; a mixed vegetable dish of eggplant, carrots, onions, and tomatoes; sweet pumpkin with coconut; and mango juice. Following dinner, I spent most of the evening doing my actual job: consulting with Sally about her situation and the future of the Faith in Zanzibar. The primary obstacle to her work as a homefront pioneer seems to be that the Faith isn't officially registered in Zanzibar. Because of the unusual form of government that unites the mainland (Tanganyika) with the Isles (Zanzibar & Pemba), Zanzibar has retained its own government, which asserts its authority at every available opportunity. External Affairs is working on getting that taken care of, and I think once it's handled she'll be able to freely teach the Faith and meet with a great deal of success.

The next day it rained until 1:30 in the afternoon, so after breakfast I lounged around the house and played with the resident baby. After the rain managed to stop, I went to a spice farm for a spice tour. I was able to see lemongrass, cloves, pepper, ginger, banana trees, cocoa trees, vanilla, lychee, cardamom, and cinnamon. I learned a number of interesting things. For instance, the Zanzibari government gave a set amount of land to every person after the revolution, but if your land has clove trees on it then you're required to sell the cloves to the government. I assume this means that all the cloves on the island go to the government. Another thing I learned is that the price for vanilla is so high because humans have to assist in the pollination of the vanilla plant. The flowers don't open by themselves, so someone has to come along and pry them open. Because of that, they don't really propagate themselves very well. When we came to the cocoa tree (I didn't know it grew on a tree!) our guide, Emmanuel, gave me a hint as to what it was by asking, "What makes women really happy?". My answer of "money" was wrong. =(

After leaving the spice farm, we headed for Jozani Forest, which is famous for its Zanzibar red colobus monkeys. On the way, we ran into some senseless and random police roadblock. They stopped our car and demanded to see all of my documentation. Good thing I brought it with me, sheesh. I produced my residence permit and passport, and they began talking to my friends in Swahili. My friends wouldn't allow me to speak with the police and instead assured me that they would handle it. Well, the way they handled it was probably not the best way. Looking for a bribe, the police said I didn't have the right documentation to be "allowed" on Zanzibar. They demanded that I pay money for a visa, even though I already have two different types of visas. My friends started off by explaining to them that I was family. The police promptly pointed out that a white person could hardly be the family of two black people, so they took the license of our driver, told us to go on the tour, and then told us to come back to retrieve the license. When we returned, they made us pay a TSh 3,000 fee to get it back. All this trouble for less than $3.00.

Because of the delay, it was late by the time we reached Jozani Forest. They were closing and at first they were a bit stubborn about letting us in, but we managed to convince them. It was too late to walk one of the nature trails, but we were able to go see the red colobus monkeys. It was really nice that we were able to get so close to them, but then again it was a bit worrying to see how we had disturbed their environment so much that they were totally unafraid of humans. After spending some time with the monkeys, we went for a walk in a mangrove forest. The water was pretty high, but we nonetheless ventured onto a not so stable looking network of wooden bridges that wandered through the forest. Because it was moving salt water from the ocean, there were no mosquitoes or animals. Only the wind and the water, which made it the most peaceful place I've been since I arrived here. I think I could have stayed there and relaxed forever!

Thanks to the hard work of Sally's niece, Agrippina, I was able to enjoy two of the big attractions on the island for just TSh 43,000, which is a bargain price considering we were being escorted everywhere by a taxi. He even took us back to the village, six miles outside of the city. When we arrived home, we had a dinner of sticky rice and beans with the crushed cassava leaves we'd picked up in the market the day before and watermelon for dessert.

The next day, we saw the Anglican church that now sits over one of the old slave markets (the whipping post is incorporated into the altar), the seafront, the Old Fort, the House of Wonders, and Fordhani Gardens. We stayed around Fordhani Gardens until it became dark and then the place transformed into another world. Food vendors materialized along the waterfront, breaking out cooking gear and gas lanterns to illumine their wares. We had fresh prawns, oily chapati, chips (French fries), bread fruit, mishkaki, and Zanzibar pizza. Zanzibar pizza is really sort of interesting. It's a very thin pastry that's filled with minced meat, spices, onions, and a few other things then rolled up and fried. Nothing at all like a real pizza, but very tasty. I have to mention here that I was really concerned about eating "off the street." But I've eaten off the street many times here and I've only gotten sick maybe once. It's really been very surprising. I got sick from food more in the U.S. than I have here! Of course I don't even want to think about the conditions they cook food in and the places they buy it from, but as long as I don't get sick and I don't starve then I don't have a whole lot to complain about.

There was a lot on Zanzibar that I didn't get to see, which definitely warrants a return trip, but there was a lot that I was fortunate enough to see and I'm very thankful for that. The island was beautiful and lovely, and the people were very friendly and considerate. I appreciated the care and hospitality that were afforded to me in the village and because Sally is so well known on the island I was able to meet very many wonderful people. The architecture and atmosphere are, of course, distinctly different from Dar. Then again, I relish any chance I have to get out of this city!

Leia Mais…

Day Seventy Five: The Ultimate Sacrifice

"Humanity, torn with dissension and burning with hate, is crying at this hour for a fuller measure of that love which is born of God, that love which in the last resort will prove the one solvent of its incalculable difficulties and problems."

- Shoghi Effendi

There was a young girl was Down Syndrome on the dalla dalla a few days ago. She was in her school uniform on her way to school. A lot of the people on the bus were teasing her and laughing at her, making fun of her condition. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've seen this kind of thing happen. There's only one mental hospital in the whole country and if people have mental difficulties then they are teased and laughed at rather than consoled and helped. It made me so angry to see how they were treating this poor girl, but there was little I could do. I could have started shouting at them to stop it, but they wouldn't have understood me. I could have sheltered the girl, but she might have freaked out. I felt frustrated at myself later for just sitting there and doing nothing, so hopefully it will serve as an incentive for me to stand up and say something next time.

Last week, I nearly lost my temper. More than a month ago, the NTC wrote to two homefront pioneers and sent them some money. The letter instructed them to use the money to settle themselves in their new home and then report back to us when they arrived. Yesterday, Dr. Sabet asked me to check on them because we haven't heard from them yet. I asked about them at the Centre, and they informed me that the money and letters went to a post office box which was locked because no one had paid for it. God only knows how long they've known this. So these homefront pioneers are sitting around waiting on money and instructions from the NTC. In a second's time I went from completely calm to near exploding back to completely calm. I started to ask why they hadn't told me sooner, but I just let it go. It wouldn't do any good. I have no idea why people do the things they do and even if I knew why it wouldn't keep them from doing it. So I just resolved to deal with the situation I've been presented with. I do what I can with what I'm given, and what more can anyone ask?

Last week and this week have been spent preparing for the Institutional Conference, which begins on Thursday and ends Saturday. I've had little instruction as to what to do for it. I guess they thought I did a good job with the National Convention, so of course I'll be fine with the Institutional Conference. The problem is that I've never even been to an Institutional Conference so I have no idea what it's supposed to look like, and the program has changed at least half a dozen times since the end of the National Convention. I've been blundering along as best I can, essentially making it up as I go. I think it will turn out well enough. As usual, Victorina has been a big help to me. Thank God for small favours.

We have gone to Kariakoo twice trying to make arrangements for the guests to stay in a hotel, and we have to return once again in the morning to make a payment to reserve the rooms. The National Office has advised us to rent dallas dallas to take the delegates from the Centre to the hotel at night because Kariakoo is a dangerous place, apparently even to a group of 60. We were originally asked to make the accommodations on the edge of Kariakoo where it's safer to walk, but the prices were high so we went deeper into the area and found something more reasonable. After going a little over budget on the National Convention, I've been trying to be more conscious of the Fund this time around. I hope I'm not being careless with the safety of the friends for the sake of saving some shillings. Frankly, I never imagined myself in a situation where anyone's safety would be in my hands, and yet here I am.

After the Declaration of the Bab, I'm going back to Zanzibar with one of the Baha'i friends. I'll stay there five or six days and then return home for a day before leaving for Arusha for probably two months. I'm not sure if I'll actually be gone that long (the NTC seems nervous about me being away so long), but nothing shorter than a month. The good thing is that Victorina is coming with me to help me tutor the study circles, so at least I'll have a friend and Swahili speaker with me. While we're there, I plan to go to Kampala, Uganda via Nairobi, Kenya to visit the Mother Temple of Africa and spend a little time in Nairobi and Kampala. Depending on time and funds, I may try to visit the friends in Bukoba and Mwanza, too.

Because I'm going to Arusha for "so long" soon, May has been asking me to put her to bed, which involves all of laying beside her to read her a story, putting up the mosquito net, and turning out the light. One of these stories involved a duck thinking about seeking work at the "Peking Duck Factory," which he'd heard involved "the ultimate sacrifice" (being turned into a Peking duck dish). To me, putting a child to bed seems very much like my own personal "ultimate" sacrifice. However, over the past week and a half, I've found out that it isn't so bad. In fact, I've come to see that dealing with children in general doesn't seem to be so bad. Maybe I've been wrong about them all these years. =P

Leia Mais…

Day Sixty Six: The Funeral

O SON OF THE SUPREME! I have made death a messenger of joy to thee. Wherefore dost thou grieve? I made the light to shed on thee its splendor. Why dost thou veil thyself therefrom?

- Baha'u'llah, Arabic Hidden Words #32

I went to my first Baha'i funeral today. A one year old child died from complications with his heart. We'd been raising money for him to fly to India for the necessary life-saving surgery. He was supposed to leave this coming Friday, but he died last Friday. We had a memorial service at the Baha'i Centre, and then everyone went to the Baha'i cemetary to bury him. After they finished digging the hole, saying the prayer, and put the coffin into the hole it began to rain very hard. By the time we left, everyone was drenched. All of the women were wearing their khangas in a way that indicated mourning, and we sang "Allah'u'abha" while they put the coffin in the ground and covered it.

The cemetary itself is a great state of disrepair. It's actually a small section of a large cemetary cordoned off for use by the Baha'is. The grass is overgrown throughout the whole place, but as Baha'is we should really be committed to making improvements in our area. We could at least cut the grass once a month or something. It doesn't have to be a garden paradise or anything, just look somewhat presentable! I'm hoping to meet with the LSA and come up with some kind of solution. Unfortunately, if we try to add any ornamentation or landscaping at all, people will probably come and steal whatever they can get their hands on.

I've been enrolled in an invitation-only group for becoming a junior youth animator. We're going through a pre-publication of the new Ruhi Book 5 and then moving through the three books developed by the Ruhi Institute for use with junior youth. I have to admit that I've really been struggling with it. The material itself isn't difficult, it's the pace at which we're working. The work is in English, but there are a number of other friends in the group who know English as a second language. Sometimes it will take upwards of half an hour discussing a quote because we have to reach a concensus on the meaning of a word and then sometimes explain the whole thing even when the people know the words.

I know, I know. How awful of a person can I be to be so impatient with people who don't speak English well enough to understand the Guardian, who I sometimes can't even understand? I'm afraid I'm not really an extraordinarily patient person. I think I have been dispatched to Africa to learn this very important virtue. We have 10 days to go through four books of material working roughly 9:00 AM - 4:00 PM and in addition to all of this I have to work on NTC things and other things from the national office. I have literally fallen asleep in the middle of the class while they're carrying on a discussion of "benign" or something. This isn't to say that I don't get anything out of the (seemingly endless) discussion but for some reason the pace of our work is really driving me crazy.

I realize that I do a lot of complaining here, but I hope people see it more as an internal struggle rather than me just being a jerk. I'm learning important life lessons but the road sometimes gets a little rough.

Leia Mais…

Day Sixty One: "Hello!"

First and foremost, there are some new pictures of Dodoma and the National Convention on my Flickr account. I know people have been asking for more pictures and pictures of certain things, but it's not always safe or advisable to just whip out my camera and start taking pictures, not to mention sometimes I'm too busy. I do what I can, when I can!

Since the last post, my time has been consumed by the National Convention. At the last minute (my fault), I had to rush downtown to buy supplies with one of the National Centre employees. After we finished our shopping in the madhouse that is downtown Dar es Salaam, she went to get a cab while I waited in the shop. When I came out and got in the cab, the man was rambling on and on, "Blah blah blah mzungu blah blah blah mzungu." I knew he was saying something about me, but I wasn't sure what. It turns out he was complaining, and continued to complain the whole way to the Centre, because he felt my colleague had tricked him because she's an African and I'm a mzungu. He was mad because he'd already agreed to give her the African price, rather than the mzungu price, which meant he lost out on a few dollars.

Unfortunately, the inflated prices (especially for taxis) are taking a toll on my bank account, not to mention my mind. According to my calculations, I'm typically quoted a price that's anywhere from four to six times as much as a local person could get. I can usually negotiate it down to three times, but not much less because I don't speak Kiswahili. Where's the equity? Why am I discriminated against because of the color of my skin? Why do people assume that because I'm white I'm able to afford their inflated price, which in the long term only serves to destabilize the economy with real inflation? Is this payback for decades of imperialism and slavery or just plain predatory greed?

Okay, okay. I know there are plenty of good answers to those questions, but no matter how you slice it you just can't justify discrimination. Racism is not just an American problem or a European problem. It's an African problem, too. Or perhaps I should say it's a global problem, a global problem that should desperately be addressed. How can people expect there to be peace and unity in the world when people are building an entire economy around the exploitation of a people because of their color? And yes, I fully realize the irony in that statement. But just because Europeans and Americans have done it in the past and multinational corporations continue to do it now doesn't make it right. Two wrongs have never, nor will they ever, make a right. Racism as a whole must be addressed, not just racism of whites against blacks or blacks against whites. They're both wrong, they're both destructive, and they're both a serious impediment to the forward movement of development and civilization. I'm happy I'm a member of a Faith that can proudly stand up and say, backed by Writings which specifically outline the problem and its solution, "This is not the Will of God." But there is a long and troublesome road ahead before racism will be solved.

The evening before leaving for Dodoma, I took a taxi home from the Centre with the Counsellor. She decided to buy some flowers from the people on the street to give to the Sabets, so when we stopped they all came running. About 10 guys with flowers started shoving bouquets into the vehicle. We were laughing so hard that we couldn't even decide which ones to get. The taxi driver was yelling that he couldn't see and the flowers were in his eyes, but we couldn't stop laughing at the spectacle. She bought a dozen multi-colored roses for around $1.50 (imagine how much they'd be in the U.S.!), and we went home. In the morning, I had to get up early to catch the bus. We were the only ones awake so we shared breakfast and stories about the Faith. She also invited me to accompany her to the refugee camps in the western part of the country sometime in the future, so hopefully I'm able to arrange that.

After arriving in Dodoma, I checked into my hotel for the night. The staff seemed to remember me from my last visit, so they were especially nice and helpful. I spent the afternoon reviewing plans with Mr. Kazige, one of the local Baha'is, when I found out the train for the delegates arriving early would come to the station at 7:00 AM. I don't know why, but Mr. Kazige, a native of Tanzania, insisted that I be at the station on time. We both knew full well the train wasn't going to arrive on time (this is Tanzania, after all). Sure enough when I arrived at half past 7:00 in the morning I found out the train wasn't going to arrive until 9:00 AM. I messaged my colleagues who were staying in a local guesthouse and told them not to come until 9, and then I settled down for a nice wait at the train station.

The weather was actually kind of cold, so that made the stay a little more pleasant than if I were at the Dar train station. I was probably the only mzungu in a ten mile radius! Apparently the train station is where all the flies in Dodoma congregate in the morning. I've never seen so many of them! There were so many that I began to wonder exactly how they all managed to survive. In fact, the conditions were really quite filthy. Ordinarily I might balk at being tossed into such an environment, but it seems I'm adjusting because it didn't bother me too much. Besides, what can I do? Fly home? It helps to stop trying to draw comparisons between home and here. It won't ever do anything but leave me feeling disgruntled or depressed. Just living life as it presently is seems to be a good life lesson.

The train station was actually a pretty interesting place to observe things. As the morning progressed there were several traders that came along to set up their things. They all watched me the whole morning, as if at any moment I'd leap from my bench and rush over with my big fat mzungu wallet and demand to buy everything they had. Several times I struggled to stay awake. I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd wake up with nothing but the shirt on my back, and maybe not even that. I think in reality it's unlikely that would happen to me in Dodoma, but Dar es Salaam is a different situation. I'm ashamed to admit that I've finally been robbed. I wouldn't say robbed, exactly, more like pick-pocketed. I don't even know where it happened. Somewhere between the bus station and home after I arrived back in Dar es Salaam from Dodoma. They took TSh 100,000 which is something like $82. I normally don't keep money in my pocket, but it was some money that I'd been reimbursed with at the National Convention. I didn't think much of carrying it just from the bus station to the house. I guess I've learned my lesson: always be cautious everywhere in Dar.

Quite a lot happened at National Convention. I could probably write a small book about it, but I'll try to be brief for the sake of people actually reading this. There were a number of problems, but I (surprisingly) wasn't bothered too much by them. For the first time in a long time, I had two people helping me that I felt like I could actually rely on, Godwin and Victorina. Victorina, as NTC Treasurer, helped keep track of the expenditures and financial needs, and Godwin handled many of the food arrangements. They were both invaluable in helping me deal with Swahili. Victorina and I probably walked from the Convention site and the bus station and train station a dozen times. The first night of the Convention, she led the delegates to the guesthouse they were supposed to be staying in while I went to the hotel I was staying in that night. As I was settling into bed, she called and told me the man had sold the rooms to other people despite the fact that we had spoken to him on two separate occassions to reserve the rooms. I told her I couldn't come help because it wasn't safe for me to walk around alone at night, but I'd find some people to come help. By 1:00 AM, they had all the delegates settled in their beds.

I have to say I had a really good time with Godwin and Victorina. We had many discussions about Africa and the United States. I've found that people are really intensely curious about America. They want to know what America is really like, not just what they see in the movies or on television. Some of the questions they asked were humorous, like "Do you have pork in America?". I jokingly replied, "Of course, we invented pork." Victorina said, "Why do you all think you invent and discover everything? Like Mt. Kilimanjaro! This Livingstone man comes and says he discovers it, like the Chaga weren't living there already." From then on, we had a running joke of wherever I went, I was "discovering" it.

Some of the questions they asked were thought provoking, like "Why do Westerners think they're better than us?". Those sorts of questions I didn't always have an answer to. While we were eating "kiti moto" (a pork dish) in one of the restaurants, Godwin looked around and asked me, "What do you think of the economic situation here?". I told him I thought it was probably pretty poor and that people didn't have a lot of money. But then I looked around as well and said, "But they look pretty happy." He said he was thinking the same thing, and that made me start thinking of the relationship between so called "development" and happiness. Because we all have cars and modern plumbing does that make us happier than Africans? Does that make us better than them? What is better? I still don't have answers to those questions. I could write a book trying to answer them and in the end only raise more questions thans answers. Even though at times I have down right hated it here, I think everyone should make an effort to come to Africa if only because it makes you view the world in a different context.

Back to the Convention.

For two evenings, I stayed with Mr. Kazige and his family. They live on the outskirts of the city in what I would call the real Africa. The toilet is in an outhouse. It's a hole in the ground. You also bathe in that little outhouse. The first thing that popped into my head was a favorite phrase of Ms. Kamara: "HELLO!" It was a little bit of a shock for me, but I adjusted fairly well. After all, it's just a different style of living. If millions of people across Africa can do it, then I can do it, too. Unfortunately, Kazige's wife passed away a few years ago and left him with three children: Oloro (named after a famous Ugandan Baha'i); Ruhiyyih (named after the wife of the Guardian); and Amelia (named after Hand of the Cause of God Amelia Collins). They all speak English (although Millie to a lesser degree because she's young), which eased my transition into the house. Kazige's mother and cousin were also staying there. When Mr. Kazige explained to his cousin, a fairly old guy from the local Gogo tribe, that I was from America, his eyes bugged out, like, "Wow! A real American!" He said through Mr. Kazige's translation, "These Americans are a strong people," referring to my size.

After a wonderful night's rest in the room graciously surrendered by Oloro, I went out back to take my bath. So basically you've got a stool to sit on in the outhouse, on the other side from the toilet, and the maid brings out a big tub of hot water. Using a jug, soap, and shampoo, you wash yourself. It's not the most comfortable thing and I have to admit that I had a lot of problems figuring out the proper thing to do (i.e. where to put my shoes, how to get my clothes back on) but 40 minutes later I emerged clean. In one important way I think it's a lot better than a Western-style shower and that's in water conservation. You have a finite amount of water in this tub, rather than gallons of it pouring out of a showerhead. You have to maximize the use of the water that you're given, and in that way, compared to a Western-style shower, you reduce the amount of water used an untold amount. It's better for you and better for the environment.

When I came back from my bath, it seems the neighborhood children had caught on to my presence because they were all gathered in the front of the house - maybe 10 or 15 of them - waiting on me. As soon as they saw me there was a bunch of whispered "mzungu"s and a lot of giggling. I waved at them and said, "Jambo!", which seemed to delight them to no end. I went inside to change my clothes and share breakfast with the family. Millie went outside to play with the other children while we finished up. Every few minutes, she'd come back with a group of children who would peer around the door to watch me eating. One them exclaimed (in Kiswahili), "Look! He has a white hand!" Millie taught them to say "Good morning" and "Allah'u'abha" to me, so they'd peek around the corner and quickly say, "Goodee morning, Allah'u'abha" and then run away giggling. Until we left, I sat out on the porch and watched them play jumprope with a rope they'd made out of a bunch of vines.

While Victorina and I were on one of our excursions to the bus station, we had to pass the new Parliament Building that's under construction. As we passed by the workers began to shout things to us in Kiswahili. I asked Victorina what they were saying, and she smirked and said she didn't want to tell me. After some persistence, she finally told me that they were upset with her because we were walking together and they were making assumptions about our level of involvement. I guess they felt I shouldn't be taking "their" women and that she was uppity because she didn't find them good enough. We both had a good laugh about that.

The election of the National Spiritual Assembly saw two changes in its membership, which is really quite an ordeal (I thought). I was able to meet a lot of the friends from all across the country, and I have invitations to just about every city and town. I've worked out a tentative plan with the homefront pioneer from Zanzibar to visit her after the Inter-Institutional Conference at the end of the month so that we can both take the Junior Youth Animators training starting tomorrow and lasting ten days. She's also a member of the National Spiritual Assembly. I feel slightly ridiculous going to visit a member of the NSA to raise her spirits and level of awareness on the importance of homefront pioneering and the new Five Year Plan. Among the other homefront pioneers to be visited is an Auxiliary Board Member and a Continental Counsellor. It's very likely that I'm going to end up coming back from my visits with more knowledge imparted to me rather than the other way around!

Everyone seemed to be very pleased with the way Convention went, and I've received nothing but praise for planning "the whole National Convention." No matter how much I try to convince people that I didn't plan the whole thing, they seem to become all the more adamant about my central role. I did do a lot, but there were others there helping me along the way. I wasn't really satisfied with the way things went but everyone else seems to be thrilled with it so I guess I have no choice but to be thrilled, too!

I've returned from Dodoma feeling a lot better about myself and my situation here. I feel like I've really actually done something instead of sticking some paper in a file. I also feel like my presence here is doing a lot more than what I think it is. What is a measley amount of work to me seems to other people like I'm moving mountains. I think the National Convention and Dodoma have done a lot to change my outlook on things here and the things that I'm capable of doing while here. This evening at the 12th Day of Ridvan celebration one of the friends commented that I looked a lot better than I'd been looking and that I must be adjusting very well. People know me and my personality well enough to always greet me, call upon me, and laugh with me. I'm beginning to feel like I'm a member of the community. When I came back to the house from Dodoma, May gave me a big hug and everyone said they'd missed me. I was a little surprised to find myself saying that I'd missed them, too, and that it was good to be back "home."

I think I've finally been integrated.

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