Tag: Growing up in Africa Page 10 of 11

Fantasyland without Mr. Toad

Gil teaches a photography class.

He sent out a notice to the HOPAC community that his students would like to take advertisement-type pictures for businesses….for free. 

So we got invited to Fantasyland….for free.  In exchange for photos. 

Seriously, almost like Disneyland.  Well, except for the roller coasters and food and Disney characters and shows and fireworks and stores full of overpriced souvenirs.  But they do have some things Disneyland doesn’t have.  Like inflatable jumpers.  And donkey rides.  And sand.  Lots and lots of sand.

It was Princess and Pirate day.  Grace, Josiah, and Gabriel (who we brought with us) were the only little kids there.  So they got the royal treatment. 

That’s Josiah stuck to the velcro wall.  I laugh every time I see this picture.

And this is how Gil treats students who don’t behave. 

Heri ya Krismas, 2010

Church Christmas Program

He didn’t cry; he didn’t throw a fit….he did hold the microphone; he did move his lips, but I really don’t think any sound came out of his mouth. 

This one, however, was born for the stage.

A few days before Christmas, we had a special buffet lunch at the Movenpik Hotel with good friends, complete with clowns and face painting for the kids!

Adventures in Pre-School, Take 2

So we’re trying pre-school again.

Attempt one was here.  We didn’t stick with that.  I wasn’t up to driving 80 minutes a day to give Grace four hours of sitting on a bench.  Even though the teacher was a sweetie.

But I have been nagging myself about Swahili for Grace.  This is her last year before kindergarten.  If she’s going to learn it, it’s got to be this year.  And it’s just not happening.  The neighbor kids come over, but they end up just speaking the few English words they know.  My Swahili friends who also speak English (which is most of the people in our community) speak English to the kids, despite my attempts to get them to do otherwise.  I’ve tried so hard to get our house worker and gardener (who is great with the kids) to be intentional about working on Swahili with them.  But I think they just don’t understand how language develops, so it just isn’t happening.  I even resorted to hiring a Swahili tutor during the summer to work with them.  That was great–just pretty expensive.

Sigh.  I so much want my kids to learn it.  But we live in a bi-lingual city, and are working at a school that’s all in English.  And like I said in my previous pre-school post, any school that has more than a bench and a chalkboard is in English.

But we’re trying again.  A friend told me about a new pre-school that’s less than 2 miles from our house.  It is in English (of course), but it’s not catering to the ex-patriot population.  It’s got all Tanzanian teachers and all Tanzanian kids. 

So I went and observed one day.  Technically it is an English pre-school.  Any upper-class Tanzanian family who could afford this school (about $100 per month) would want their kids to learn English.  But all the kids that go there don’t speak it yet.  So I listened.  All the kids speak to each other in Swahili.  The teachers speak to each other in Swahili.  When they teach, it’s in English.  But other than that, it’s Swahili, or a combination of both. 

We’re trying it.  I signed her up for three days a week, for three months, and we’ll see how it goes. 

I don’t really expect her to learn much in the reading-and-writing category.  They do teach it, but they still resort to the classic bench-and-chalkboard Tanzanian method which just isn’t very effective with four-year-olds.  However, they only do that about 30 minutes a day–and then they sing and play and listen to music.  They also eat ugali and beans and drink uji–all very Tanzanian and not really present in our house.  So I like that part–I want Grace to feel comfortable eating and acting Tanzanian.

And she totally loves it.  It’s been two weeks, and she’s tickled pink (just like those beautiful walls) that she finally gets to go to school. 

Time will tell if it really helps her learn Swahili. The teachers promised me they would work on it with her. But one thing is for sure: She may not learn Swahili, but she will learn to speak English with a Tanzanian accent. This part cracks me up.

So she comes home the other day and says, “Harriet was biting kids today.” But she says Harriet with a Tanzanian accent. “Harriet?” I say, very American-like. “No, Mommy, Harriet,” with that great accent. Love it, love it!

She sings, “Lo, lo, lo your boat,” and “Ren, ren, go away, come agen anoter day, leetle chidren want to play futball and netball….”

Grace with her “teachas”

West Meets East…or Something Like That


Grace asked us recently, “Can we go to the Indian restaurant?”

I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. “Anghiti’s? Copper Pot? Copper Chimney?” There are numerous (scruptious) Indian restaurants in Dar, but I never thought Grace would actually choose to go there.

And then I made the connection: Oh, the Indian restaurant: Spur.

Spur is probably the closest we get here to Applebees or Fridays or Chilis. Fully air conditioned. Slick photo menus. Padded booths. Salad bar. Even a kids’ section in the back with a slide and face painting.

And the food? Well, let me put it this way. If you’ve been in Dar for at least 6 months, the food is fabulous. If you go there only a few weeks after arriving from the States, well….not so much. As long as you stick to the burgers or steaks, you do okay. I remember, years ago, when I first went there (shortly after coming from the States) excitedly ordering “nachos” from the menu. Uh, yeah…that was the last time I ever did that. Imagine cottage cheese instead of cheddar cheese and spaghetti sauce instead of salsa…you get the idea.

Anyway. The most amusing part about Spur? The theme. Just as Grace said, the theme is indeed “Indian.” As in “American Indian,” “Native American,” or “First American”–whatever the new politically correct word is.

Let me describe this in a little more detail. Spur is a South African chain. South African. With an American Indian theme. And not even politically correct American Indian. We’re talking teepees, head dresses, warrior face paint, and feathered spears. The kids even get little paper Indian feather headbands reminicent of Burger King crowns.

I’m not kidding.

MK Narcissism

It’s hard enough convincing your small child that she is not the center of the universe. It’s even harder when she is an MK.

I remember being in fourth grade, right before my parents returned to Liberia for their second term, that I walked into my Sunday School class one day and the entire bulletin board was devoted to me. AND they took up a collection that day, AND used it to by a radio for me. Talk about being the center of attention. At least I was old enough to know I was not the center of the universe.

And now it’s happening to my kids, except they are a lot younger. It’s missions month at our home church, and when Grace walked into her Sunday School class yesterday, the bulletin board was devoted to our family. Grace noticed: “Look, Mommy, that’s us!” As if it’s normal to have your family’s picture on your Sunday School class bulletin board. She told me afterwards that the teacher had her show the class where Tanzania is on the map. I said, “What did you say you can do in Tanzania?” She said, “I told them you can play with toys there.”

Whenever we visit someone’s house (which is often these days), our family picture is on the refrigerator. Whenever we go to a church, our family picture is in the hallway. Whenever she sees gifts, she assumes they are for her. They usually are.

Oh my. You are not the center of the universe, child. But I’m sure you don’t believe me.

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