Part of this study abroad program is a three week homestay with a family living in a village on the slopes of Mount Meru. Another part of the program involved writing a letter to your homestay family (pre-arrival) introducing yourself. I probably wrote the exact kind of boring letter that was expected of me, but I made one big mistake. I wrote it in Swahili. You wouldn't think this would be a problem as my family speaks Swahili, not english, but it was. Because with the arrival of the letter, began the fateful expectations of my Swahili skills. I think my simple little letter gave them the idea that I would be fluent-- so when we reached the extent of my swahili knowledge within the first 15 minutes it didn't really sink in. Now, when they speak at a million miles a minute, and i look blankly at them, they wonder why I don't understand. They try again. No luck. My most common phrase- sema tena (say it again), and next most common- sema tena polepole (say it again slowly). After those first fifteen minutes of skill, I quickly experienced the awkward sitting in silence situation that has become a part of my daily routine. It is at the same time so comfortable for them as it is uncomfortable for me that I am caught with indecision between sitting it out for the sake of cultural experience and running to the haven of my room. These are moments when I have to remind myself to be open to experiences, and perhaps reread the entry on “why am I here?”
But homestay life goes beyond just the conversational struggle, or lack thereof. Even when no one is talking, we always have the warring noises of the radio, the cows, the chickens, the kids- and again, I repeat, the radio.
Someone (unclear who) turns on the radio at 5am. The walls of our house may not be the most soundproof of structures, but the noise of this radio would make it through even the most padded of soundproof walls, so regardless, we all hear it. Depending on what day of the week it is, I could wake up to Usher’s Love in the Club, Ace of Base’s I saw the sign, Swahili Bongo Fleva, or on Sunday, a spirited sermon followed by a few hours of some healthy gospel. All from the same station, bringing you the latest hits—TripleA FM. I’m pretty sure someone turns the radio off, but it happens hours after I’ve gone to sleep.
My family is definitely one of those open-arms kind of households that is accustomed to having guests. In addition to the mzungu (me), we typically have 2-3 regulars join us for dinner at night. My Baba (father) works in the city as a night time guard, so I don’t actually seem him very often. But my Mama is almost always around, and though she doesn’t speak any English, she is my most loyal translator-- going from someone else’s fastfast Swahili to Swahili in a speed at which I can comprehend.
Bahati, my homestay sister is 19. This week she got malaria, got medicine and got better.
Thomas/Tomasi is 18. He lives in the house, but it is unclear how he is related. Sometimes Tomasi runs with me around the soccer field, and when we do there is usually a gaggle of little kids following us. I’m sure it would be a pretty funny thing to see but unfortunately no one has captured the image on film yet.
Next is Baraka. He is 15, friendly, and likes to sing and dance to Bongo Fleva. He wrote down all the words to “Hapo Vipi” for me.
Then there is Stefano. Stef is 11 and shy. He took a fancy to my bandana and I haven’t seen him without it since he tried it on the other day.
Lastly there is Rosie- the one in the purple sweatshirt. She is 4. Also unclear how she is related because I think her parents live in Kenya. She falls asleep on my lap every night when we are cooking dinner. She has her share of breakdown and cry moments, but is quick to get over them, and definitely a tough cookie.
So that is the fam. Today we left for a week in Tarangire National Park, and we won’t return to our families for 8 or 9 days. My Mama told me she had grown accustomed to having me around and then I missed the next part of what she said- but the general idea sounded nice. She hardboiled me an egg for the journey—and what was really cool was that she boiled it in the pot of tea that had sugar, milk and chai leaves. The tea egg was surprisingly normal tasting. Her other cooking gift to me was a cup of maziwa (milk) straight from the cow and steaming into my cup.
We had a lot of cool adventures during our first two weeks of homestay. We visited a waterfall, watched Stephanie get a hair cut by Aly’s homestay brother, and had an epic soccer match: Tanzania –v- team USA. We lost by a lot to a little. Something like 8-1. But it was a ton of fun. It was the first time some of us felt a little pride in our country and wanted to represent.
Song of the moment: Love in the lies by Amos Lee
South African Product of the week: Jungle Oats
But homestay life goes beyond just the conversational struggle, or lack thereof. Even when no one is talking, we always have the warring noises of the radio, the cows, the chickens, the kids- and again, I repeat, the radio.
Someone (unclear who) turns on the radio at 5am. The walls of our house may not be the most soundproof of structures, but the noise of this radio would make it through even the most padded of soundproof walls, so regardless, we all hear it. Depending on what day of the week it is, I could wake up to Usher’s Love in the Club, Ace of Base’s I saw the sign, Swahili Bongo Fleva, or on Sunday, a spirited sermon followed by a few hours of some healthy gospel. All from the same station, bringing you the latest hits—TripleA FM. I’m pretty sure someone turns the radio off, but it happens hours after I’ve gone to sleep.
My family is definitely one of those open-arms kind of households that is accustomed to having guests. In addition to the mzungu (me), we typically have 2-3 regulars join us for dinner at night. My Baba (father) works in the city as a night time guard, so I don’t actually seem him very often. But my Mama is almost always around, and though she doesn’t speak any English, she is my most loyal translator-- going from someone else’s fastfast Swahili to Swahili in a speed at which I can comprehend.
Bahati, my homestay sister is 19. This week she got malaria, got medicine and got better.
Thomas/Tomasi is 18. He lives in the house, but it is unclear how he is related. Sometimes Tomasi runs with me around the soccer field, and when we do there is usually a gaggle of little kids following us. I’m sure it would be a pretty funny thing to see but unfortunately no one has captured the image on film yet.
Next is Baraka. He is 15, friendly, and likes to sing and dance to Bongo Fleva. He wrote down all the words to “Hapo Vipi” for me.
Then there is Stefano. Stef is 11 and shy. He took a fancy to my bandana and I haven’t seen him without it since he tried it on the other day.
Lastly there is Rosie- the one in the purple sweatshirt. She is 4. Also unclear how she is related because I think her parents live in Kenya. She falls asleep on my lap every night when we are cooking dinner. She has her share of breakdown and cry moments, but is quick to get over them, and definitely a tough cookie.
So that is the fam. Today we left for a week in Tarangire National Park, and we won’t return to our families for 8 or 9 days. My Mama told me she had grown accustomed to having me around and then I missed the next part of what she said- but the general idea sounded nice. She hardboiled me an egg for the journey—and what was really cool was that she boiled it in the pot of tea that had sugar, milk and chai leaves. The tea egg was surprisingly normal tasting. Her other cooking gift to me was a cup of maziwa (milk) straight from the cow and steaming into my cup.
We had a lot of cool adventures during our first two weeks of homestay. We visited a waterfall, watched Stephanie get a hair cut by Aly’s homestay brother, and had an epic soccer match: Tanzania –v- team USA. We lost by a lot to a little. Something like 8-1. But it was a ton of fun. It was the first time some of us felt a little pride in our country and wanted to represent.
Song of the moment: Love in the lies by Amos Lee
South African Product of the week: Jungle Oats
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