Chai steam and jewel tones

Once again, I am reporting that I still have not started living in my house because the choo (latrine) has not been finished being built. So I have spent approximately three weeks living in a guesti, which for the first week or so was fine, but my main complaints are that I can't cook or start to make a garden while living in a guesti so I'm looking forward to being able to live in my own house. 

One morning when I was feeling particularly frustrated about the situation, my dada summoned me to go get chai with her, and I stepped out of our courtyard to see her chatting with the first person I met in my village during site visit two months ago. I had not seen him since moving to my village, and was beginning to wonder if something had happened to him. But there he was, and just seeing him, though he is for all practical proposes a complete stranger, was like a sign, putting my mind at ease and allowing me to slip into the comfort of constance and continuity. 

My Bibi Afya (health clinic nurse) had several pieces of kitenge and "wax", or really high-quality kitenge, that she was selling, and she asked if I was interested to buy some. I had forgotten about the situation until the next day or so when I was studying Swahili in my dada's front sitting room, with the door open to the road and the white door curtain drifting in the breeze. I hear my dada greet someone who has biked up to her drugstore entrance, and all of a sudden a man pushes back the curtain and holds a piece of wax kitenge imploringly towards me. Which would not have been very significant at all if it wasn't for the pattern of the fabric. 

I love looking at kitenge here because you hardly ever see the same pattern twice. I went to my village's twice-monthly market a week or two ago, and went from fabric vendor to fabric vendor, admiring all the fabrics. There was one that stood out in particular: golden orange scallop shells on a navy blue-black background. I thought seriously about buying it, then decided not to, because I already have several other fabrics I want to get made into clothing. 

I liked that fabric because it reminded me of the Camino, as the scallop shell is the ubiquitous symbol found along the pilgrim routes. So you could imagine my surprise when that man seeked me out, pushed back the curtain, and held that fabric towards me. 

I am often reminded of the Camino, and sometimes I feel like I am still on it. And sometimes it seeks me out. That day, it found me. In a dusty village in Africa. 

Rain season

This morning my guesti dada told me we were going to the health clinic. "Why?" I asked, wondering why our usual routine of heading up to the chai house was thrown off this morning. She said something about going to see a woman who had given birth, and off I was led, along with our neighbor and her two small daughters. 

Swahili side note: in this language, only animals "give birth". Women "open themselves", which is supposed to be a euphemism but to me seems kind of graphic. Going along with human/ animal differences: only people are "killed". Animals are "slaughtered".

We filed into a small dim room that was filled with two beds, a bench, and a chair or two. A young woman languished on one of the beds, wrapped in blankets. It took me a moment to figure out that the birth was over (thankfully) and that the newborn was there next to her, swaddled in kangas and sleeping. The room was filled with other women, many of whom had their own small children. One woman was feeding her toddler porridge out of a stainless steel cup. 

As we left I asked my dada when the mother would name her child, and she said it would be tomorrow. Here in Tanzania they do not give babies names right away. 

The rains are persistent today. Our water drum in the courtyard is full again. 

One week in

I've been in my village a week. That's pretty crazy to be able to say. 

Well, what can I tell you? My house isn't finished yet, so I'm still living out of my various bags and buckets in the guesti. My dada and I spend a lot of time together, I try to understand her Kiswahili and laugh when she chases the huge male duck when it tries to enter her drugstore. 

I've met more people than I ever thought would be possible, was introduced to ~180 secondary school students, class by class, by a hilarious and enthusiastic teacher named Jumanne ("Tuesday"), and was taken to see rock paintings similar to some well-known ones not too far away. 

I was flipping through a history book of east Africa when the topic came up. "Oh yeah," Jumanne said, "we have paintings like that too. They're just down the hill," he said, in so many Kiswahili words. So I said I wanted to see them, and off three of us went. Through parched creek beds, past bewildered children herding donkeys, through brush, past basking lizards. Partway down a steep forested hill, a large rock can be found, on the underside of which there is a small place to take shelter, and ancient paintings in red, of hunters, weather, and elephants. 

On top of the rock, you can see for miles.