Tag: Life in Tanzania Page 3 of 26

We Went to Slovenia

On May 8, 2018

I decided I needed new shoes.

All but one pair of my shoes are sandals. I was going to be traveling to Slovenia, so I figured I definitely needed another pair of closed-toed shoes.

That was a week ago Friday, and Gil and I were scheduled to leave for the ACSI administrator’s conference in Slovenia that night. But I didn’t think about my shoe deficit until a few days earlier, and market day is only on Fridays. Which meant I had to go to the market to find shoes just a few hours before I got on a plane.

The Friday market is just down the road from our house. So after school last Friday, I dropped off Gil and the kids at home and rushed over to the market.

As usual, hundreds of vendors were out. Some had set up tables, but most used large pieces of plastic on the ground. Some were selling vegetables, kitchen supplies, toiletries, or school supplies, but most were selling piles of clothes and shoes, second-hand cast-offs from American thrift stores.

I pushed my way through the crowds, my eye out for black shoes. Luckily, about half of the shoes for sale in the market are black. Not because they originated that color, but because the vendors dye as many shoes black as possible. It’s the color required for school uniforms.

You look beautiful, the vendors would tell me every time I tried on a pair of shoes. I shook my head. These are too small, I would complain. Like Cinderella’s step-sisters, they would insist, No, they’re not! See? They will stretch!

Finally I settled on Aerosole flats (dyed black) that would have to do. I wove my way back through the crowds, finished packing, and left for the airport at midnight.

Fourteen hours later, I was standing on the canal-lined streets of Venice, Italy.

The conference took up a good portion of our time, which meant we had just four afternoons to cram in as much European sight-seeing as possible. So we spent an evening in Venice and visited the famous Postojna caves. We toured the Slovenian town of Piran with its medieval architecture and stepped into the postcard that is Lake Bled, complete with castle and lake island church.

We stuffed ourselves with grapes and pasta and salami, and ate dessert way too many times. We walked along cobblestone streets with flowers poking through wooden fences. We delighted in the glass trinkets in Venice, the gelato shops on every corner, the pristine beauty of the Adriatic Sea.

And it all seemed like a universe away from the market down the street from my house in Tanzania.

I loved this trip. The conference was energizing, the weather was incredible (I could have worn my sandals after all!), and we were with best friends. The beauty filled our souls and we joked repeatedly that maybe God was calling us to be missionaries in Slovenia.

Venice

Piran, Slovenia

Postojna caves, Slovenia

Lake Bled, Slovenia

It was amazing.

But you know what?

I love the market down the street in Dar es Salaam. I love treasure-hunting there; I love the friendliness of the people; I love the unpredictability. I would much rather buy one dollar second-hand shoes at that market than the designer high-heels that are standard for European women.

Europe is extraordinarily beautiful, but so is Tanzania. Dar es Salaam can be dusty and humid, but Venice was covered in graffiti. Beauty and brokenness always live side by side. On any continent.

Venice

Home–Dar es Salaam.

Everything is Moldy

By Amy Medina

On April 21, 2018

In Other

While the northern hemisphere is battling through the end of winter, we down in the south are battling through the end of summer.

And that means we have entered the Season of Mold.

Kindergarten students in America and Europe dutifully cut and paste snowflakes in January, flowers in May, and orange leaves in October. But down here in the tropics, we never see snowflakes or orange leaves, and we get flowers year-round.

But every April, when the rain barrels in to wage war against the heat, we get the Season of Mold. Fortunately, we don’t require kindergarteners to cut and paste little green spores. Unfortunately, the mold decides on its own to paste itself to their pictures.

In April, everything molds. My kitchen table can grow a nice white layer overnight. The wooden arms of the couch. The couch cushions. The floor. Leather shoes. Belts. Vinyl lunchboxes. Pretty much anything that is capable of holding moisture manages to grow mold. Outside, the ground shoots up massive mushrooms.

Of course, that’s because there’s water everywhere these days. Overflowing the gutters, creating swimming pools in every yard, flooding the city. We even had two government-prescribed “rain days” last week when school was closed.

The bugs, which had been happily content in their trees and rocks, come out of nowhere. The flying termites and dragonflies swarm the air, seemingly popping out of the ground. Cockroaches scurry up flooded drainpipes. Giant African snails slime around on the walls. And the ants go marching two by two, hurrah hurrah….into my house….to get out of the rain (boom, boom, boom).

The air temperature plunges down into the high 80’s (with 85% humidity), which means that most HOPAC kids come to school wearing sweaters. And my kids just don’t understand why I won’t let them wear theirs. I am such a mean mom to allow my children to freeze to death in this frigid weather.

The other night, as the kids were getting ready for bed, the smoke detector in the girls’ bedroom went off. Gil had to yank it apart to get it to shut up. The next day, a smoke detector randomly went off in a HOPAC classroom. Coincidence? Nope. Extremely high humidity will do that. There’s no fire, but even the smoke detector is protesting the condition of the air.

But like the snow melting away into spring, the rain eventually melts away the heat. The mold doesn’t stick around, but everything is green and lush and growing–just like spring. It’s beautiful and renewing and soul-refreshing, just like the changing of the seasons should be.

The Story of Nikky (and me, and her mom, and Kajal, and God…oh, and red chicken)

By Amy Medina

On December 18, 2017

In Other

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Nikky.

We met Nikky when we first arrived in Tanzania, way back in 2001. We had joined a church that came out of the Indian population of Dar es Salaam. Nikky, her mom, and her brother were a part of that church.

Nikky and her family were a big part of our lives for those two years. I was her Sunday School teacher.

And every Wednesday evening, we would go to her family’s house, where Gil would lead a Bible study. Her mom, Shital, is a wonderful cook, and each Wednesday we would eat her famous red sekala chicken and chips. It was our favorite meal in Tanzania.

We even had the privilege of being present when Nikky’s mom married her step dad.

When we left Tanzania in 2003, we lost touch with Nikky’s family. When we returned in 2005, we were living in a different part of the city and fully immersed in Haven of Peace Academy.

Meanwhile, Nikky and her family starting attending a different church. The pastor of that church happened to be the husband of HOPAC’s kindergarten teacher. So when the kindergarten class needed a new teacher’s assistant, she told Nikky to apply. So imagine my surprise when one day, a few years ago, I saw Nikky (all grown up) walking across the HOPAC campus.

It was a joyful reunion. We visited their church, where Shital was serving in leadership. Shital had always loved Gil’s teaching and jumped at the chance to join the Reach Tanzania Bible School. That was a year ago.

(Shital is front left)

In August, I began my new position as elementary principal at Haven of Peace Academy, where Nikky has continued to work as a teacher’s assistant. So I became her boss.

Last week, Nikky got married, and we got to be there.

This is Nikky with her HOPAC family.

And this is us with Nikky, her mom and dad, and Kajal, another wonderful friend from our old church days together.

(This was Kajal and me in 2002.)

Fifteen years. I stand in awe of how God has blessed us with such wonderful relationships.

And almost just as exciting, a few months ago, Shital opened a restaurant in our area. Where she is selling her red sekela chicken, of course. Our lives are now complete.

And we all lived happily ever after.

Invasion of the Millipedes

By Amy Medina

On November 26, 2017

In Other

We’re having a millipede invasion. Sometime during our four months in the States, they must have figured that no one else was living in our house, so they might as well move in.

Now it’s a battle to the death for territory: Them or Us.

This is a public warning to the millipedes: This is not the first invasion we’ve conquered.

There was the invasion of the cockroaches, which resided in my kitchen for years (yes, years). They travel in on bananas. I had to shake them out of the toaster and regularly re-wash my dishes in my cupboards. I got really good at smashing cockroaches with my bare hands. Finally Amazon.com found us a poison that worked and they are gone for good.

Medinas: 1

Bugs: 0

There were also the centipedes, which are nasty, nasty creatures with a nasty, nasty sting. I found one once in Josiah’s bed when I was changing the sheets [shiver]. And two guests have been stung by them in bed in our house [we know how to treat our guests well]. But luckily my friend Permethrin, when sprayed on the baseboards, kills the centipedes on contact. So we still see them, but they are always very satisfyingly dead.

Medinas: 2

Bugs: 0

Then there was the invasion of the ticks which also lasted for years (yes, years). We tried everything to get rid of them: Frontline, Advantix, drops, powders, and some sort of very scary pesticide that temporarily killed the ticks but also made the dogs throw up.

Our poor dogs were relegated to staying outside all of the time. I let our Jack Russell in the house only at night, and only in the laundry room, and still had to pick off at least 25 ticks from her small body every. single. night.

Yet still we found ticks everywhere in the house, including in my children’s beds. I cursed the ticks. I threatened to get rid of the dogs. I despaired of life itself. And then a year ago, a friend of a friend (who is a vet) sent us magical doggie pills that killed all the ticks in 24 hours and they’ve never come back since. That vet saved my sanity and if I had another child or another dog, I would name it after him.

Medinas: 3

Bugs: 0

(Well, then of course, there’s the ants. I’ll call that one a draw. I kill them when they are in my way, but mostly, we peacefully co-exist.)

So now we have a millipede invasion.

They turn up in odd places like on a wooden spoon in the kitchen and curled up under the towels. They get squashed in the door jams and hang onto our mosquito nets. Gil and I have found them on several occasions in our bed. Johnny woke up Josiah the other night because one was crawling on his hand. Last week, Lily tried to knock one off her mosquito net and instead knocked the net into the overhead fan, tearing a large hole in the net and making a dreadful noise. Lily is now totally freaked out and insists I check her bed before she goes to sleep (ironically, she wasn’t even this freaked out when she found a snake in her bed).

They seem impervious to permethrin. We plug the bathtub when we’re not using it and Gil has taped up the floor-drains, but still they are coming in from somewhere. They are not dangerous, thankfully, just gross. I can’t bring myself to smash them so I just flush them, alive, down the toilet. Our kids earn allowance money for each one they flush.

We haven’t a clue as to how to get rid of them.

But we will.

Oh, we will. Like I said, this ain’t our first battle.

I Am Not Cut Out For This

By Amy Medina

On July 29, 2017

In Other

I’ve had that thought hundreds of times over these past sixteen years of missions: I am not cut out for this.

I am probably the least adventurous person on earth. I need a plan. I need a schedule. I need things to go according to plan and to schedule.

I hate transitions. I hate change. I think I would be happy if everything in my life could stay exactly the same, always and forever.

Yet here I am in a life that is full of adventure, whether it’s as simple as a chicken on the loose in my house or as scary as a snake in my daughter’s bed. I’m living in a culture that does not value plans or schedules (but thinks people are a lot more important…I guess there’s a point there). And even when I try to live by a plan anyway, then I lose electricity or the store is out of sugar or the rain has closed the roads.

And now here I am, facing another international move, yet again. We leave America on Wednesday to return to Tanzania. The anxiety keeps me up at night and wakes me early in the morning. I despise saying goodbye to the people we love; it rips my heart out every time. But I know that even once I get back and get settled, that I will continue to thrust myself into these transitions over and over again. I have put down roots in Tanzania, but I am a guest. It will never be permanent.

I think to myself, Why on earth did I choose this life? I am not cut out for this.

So why do I keep doing it?

You could call it a calling, but that makes it sound so noble and sacrificial and godly and stuff. When in reality, I want to do this. I want this life. It’s complicated, isn’t it? Because if I say I want it, then that makes it seem like there are no sacrifices and I never get sad or have regrets. But if I say that I am just being obedient to a calling, then that makes me seem like a martyr.

Choosing this life is both of those explanations. Yes, I hate spontaneity and change and transition–but I’ve lived long enough to see the joy that makes it worth it. Yes, I’m not too thrilled about living a life in two worlds and all the packing and the sense of rootlessness. But there’s that joy again. The joy of learning from other cultures. The joy in living a life of purpose. The joy of living a life with less. The joy that comes from anxiety that is cast upon Him.

And really, we’re not cut out for a lot of things, are we? We get into marriage, or motherhood, or the menial job, or the stressful job, and we think, I’m not cut out for this. But we keep doing it anyway, because there’s always joy. Joy in doing hard things. Joy in getting through a day we never thought we would live through. Joy in knowing that no matter how bad it gets, this life is not all there is.

But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.