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.