Family Safari

I thought a new blog might be in order as my malaria story might be making some of you queasy by now! I promise this one will be upbeat and positive, no gross details.

I had one day’s notice that we’d be visiting my host mum’s family in a small town called Nyarero, about two hours drive from here. We tried to get an early start but didn’t hit the road until 10am. The small 4x4 was loaded with groceries my host parents had purchased the day before for their family. My host father managed to secure his company’s vehicle for the day and because he hasn’t driven a vehicle in quite some time we had the company driver chauffeur us. What a welcome change to be in our own vehicle with air conditioning instead of a stuffy overloaded dalla dalla! I certainly appreciated it. After a brief stop in the “big city” of Tarime, we hit the red dirt road at full speed. I have no idea how we stayed on the road. There were huge potholes and exposed rocks all along the road. We blew past men riding bicycles loaded with three or four whole banana branches. We were in the middle of banana country, banana trees everywhere. We arrived at Nyarero around noon.

I was introduced to my Tanzanian grandmother, Mama Deborah, a few of her 9 children, and several of her grandchildren. We were seated inside her house and munched on some of the smallest sweetest bananas you’ve ever tasted, straight from the backyard! Mama Deborah and one of her grandchildren occupy this mud house consisting of a large bedroom/ storage, one small bedroom, an even smaller storage room, and the living area. The whole house couldn’t be more than a couple hundred square feet. My host parents helped pay to construct her home after the other one collapsed during a storm, a fairly common occurrence with the mud structures most people here live in. Tanzanians are ingenious when it comes to making the most of what’s at hand.

My host father took me on a tour of the area. For all you (Mennonite) history buffs, Nyarero used to be the location of a fairly large and thriving Mennonite mission compound. The grounds must have been several hundred kilometers in size with various buildings scattered throughout. The building directly across from Mama Deborah’s property used to be a school compound for the missionary kids. My host father remembers how the place used to look like and all he could do was shake his hand. For whatever reason, most of the buildings have fallen into serious disrepair and disuse since the Mennonite missionaries handed over everything to the local Mennonite church. We walked the length of the grounds to the top of a hill and found a classic Western-looking church standing there. My host father explained that the buildings nearby used to be a hospital with a maternity ward, the only one of its kind in the area, allowing women from the surrounding villages to receive excellent care. Now, they either have to brave a bumpy journey into the city or have their baby at home.

Upon our return, even more of my host mum’s relatives had shown up and when I sat down on the grass, I was surrounded by a group of curious children whispering “mzungu” under their breath. Mama Deborah quickly came to my rescue and reprimanded them. “Say ‘Shikamoo, mwalimu’!” (“Greetings, teacher”). They instantly obeyed and chimed in unison “Shikamoo, mwalimu”. Over the next hour, we said goodbye to everyone, took some family pictures (everyone crowded around, fascinated by the camera’s ability to instantly show them the picture), and headed home. But not before my host father showed Mama Deborah how to use her new cell phone. It was an amusing sight: Mama Deborah trying to follow my host father’s instructions on how to make a phone call and send a text message. Even at 60, she was quite quick to pick it up!

What a day…