Tag: Life in Tanzania Page 8 of 26

California, This is What Real Water Conservation Looks Like

The language learning pictures of the day were about washing dishes.  I learned the Kiswahili words for soak, scrub, scrape, rinse.  Then, as usual, Lucy made me a recording of the days’ lesson.  Her recordings always keep me highly entertained, which is helpful since I listen to each one about a dozen times.

First, she made me laugh when she said (roughly translated):  “Foreigners always scrape their frying plans with only a plastic tool.  Because they are afraid of scratching their special pans.”

Yep.  She’s got that right.

She also said, “Americans rinse their dishes ovyo–carelessly–because water is cheap in America.  And they don’t have to carry it on their heads.”

Ouch.  Unfortunately, she’s right about that one as well.  As I listened to this recording over and over, pushing the new words into my brain, I also thought about my home state.

I’m originally from California, which is facing a water crisis of epic proportions.  In fact, Lucy told me that she heard about the California drought recently on Swahili radio.  That’s pretty crazy!  I know that Californians are upset about letting their lawns die and their cars stay dirty and their toilets stay yellow.  I get that–I would be upset too.

But here’s a little perspective from my friend Lucy.

Lucy lives in a household of 6.  They are probably considered almost middle class for this country, because they own their own house and both she and her husband have dependable jobs.

Their house has no plumbing, along with most of the households in this city of 5 million.  A neighbor, about half a block away, has a outdoor spigot.  This is Lucy’s water source.

Every day, Lucy buys 25 gallons of water from this neighbor.  Every day, she fills buckets and carries them back to her house on her head.  This much water costs about 15% of Lucy’s take home pay.

Twenty-five gallons of water is what this family of six uses every day–for drinking, cooking, washing bodies, washing dishes, washing clothes.  And that’s on the good days.  On the days when money is tight, it’s only fifteen gallons.

And you know what?  Lucy considers herself blessed, because she only has to walk half a block to get water, instead of the miles that many women in Tanzania have to walk.

Just in case you’re starting to feel way too judged, let me assure you that even though I write from the same city as Lucy, I’m much more in the category of Californians.  We do have indoor plumbing, and we probably use 10 times more water a day than Lucy’s family, yet our water bill is only about 1% of our take home pay.

The average American person uses 100 gallons of water a day–400 gallons per family of four.  Every day.  In California, residents are beingasked to cut that by 25%.  I know it won’t be easy–it wouldn’t be for me, either.  As an American, I am used to using water ovyo–carelessly.

Living in Africa has taught me to appreciate things I used to take such advantage of:  paved roads, electricity, libraries, Cheerios…and water.  Maybe this water crisis will do the same for Californians.

Mungu ni Mwema.

Recently I read here that World Bank development indicators have placed Tanzania the fifth most dangerous place in sub-Saharan Africa for a woman to give birth (out of about 50 countries).

So it was a happy day to visit my friend, Esta, and her brand new baby boy, Emmanuel.  Baby and mama are safe and sound, after a few scares and months of prayers and bed rest and a c-section.

(This picture doesn’t accurately reflect her joy!)

He has the best dimples ever, but he slept so much I just couldn’t get a picture of them.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.  

Mungu ni mwema.  God is good.

Comparing Lasagna and Tarantulas

Emily sat in my kitchen last week and watched me make ricotta cheese for lasagna.

“Wow,” she said, “I sure wish I could do that.”

“Well, first of all, it’s ridiculously easy,” I told her.  “But second, you wouldn’t have been able to learn out in the village.  You are too busy living in a house without running water and killing tarantulas.  Besides, out there you don’t even have access to fresh milk or to an oven to make lasagna.  You win the prize for living in Africa.”

“Not compared to Michelle,” she responded, referring to a new friend of ours.  “In Congo, she had to cook over charcoal, and she gave birth to her first child in Africa.  She wins the prize.”

Emily has been my very good friend for 12 years, so this exchange was all light-hearted.  But it led to a deeper conversation.  Why do we always have this tendency to compare?  Why do we always judge our spirituality, or our effectiveness as a mom or wife or housekeeper, by looking around at others?  And why is a harder life necessarily equated with a more spiritual life?

In Africa, we expatriate wives compare each other’s living conditions.  In America, maybe it’s ministry commitments or school choices.  We make unnecessary martyrs of each other and ourselves, when really we need to just get about the business of obeying God with what He has put in front of us.

To choose to suffer means that there is something wrong; to choose God’s will even if it means suffering is a very different thing.  No healthy saint ever chooses suffering; he chooses God’s will, as Jesus did, whether it means suffering or not.  No saint dare interfere with the discipline of suffering in another saint.  (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest)

Can we simply come to the conclusion that God has called us to different lives, and that we are all gifted differently?  That each of us will have our own good things and hard things in the lives He has called us to?  My measure of success, and my measure of spirituality, is between God and me, not me and Every Other Woman.

Even though I’ll always admire Emily’s tarantula-killing skills.

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Emily and her family stayed with us this week, which is always super special because our friendship goes back to our first year in Tanzania.  We adopted our kids at almost exactly the same time, and they are all best friends.

They also are starting an extremely cool new agriculture project, which you can check out here.

Grace and Caleb have been friends since we brought them home, so I had to throw in my most favorite picture of them, when they were two years old.  

Yesterday:  Caleb and Grace, age 9

Tropical Christmas Season….in Pictures

Just in case there’s any question as to what we are dealing with down here under the equator, here is the proof:

Please don’t be jealous of us.  I’m not.   

But here’s our Christmas season, sweat and all.  

We don’t do Santa, but Josiah took it upon himself to put this together.  Yes, there’s a pillow under his shirt and yes, that’s a sock hanging from his mouth.  

This is what happens when you buy a box of Christmas lights, and the writing on the box is all in Portuguese.  It’s not actually a string at all, but more like an octopus of lights.  Eventually, we sort of just draped it on the tree.  

HOPAC’s Annual Christmas Fair

This is Apollo, the incredibly talented and radiant deaf man who made our Christmas cards from banana leaves.

HOPAC’s annual Christmas production.  The kindergarteners always steal the show.

 First graders were Jamaican.  You had to be there to get it.

HOPAC alumni visiting us….always such a joy to our hearts!

As a Christmas present this year, we took our workers and their families to the water park.  Even though it’s just a few miles away and about $4 a person to enter, they had never been.  It was such a joy to see the absolute delirious excitement on the kids’ faces!

This is Clara…my current househelper’s baby.  Clara comes to work sometimes with her mama.  I LOVE HER and I just might be compelled to steal her.

Annual gingerbread house making.  Not from kits!

Aaaand…when you don’t have snowballs, you use water balloons.

Christmas morning.  I miss my Daddy.

Meeting their new cousin for the first time.

“Love is what I got from you guys.  Family is what I got when I came to you.”

Christmas afternoon and evening with wonderful friends. (Lily is giving the dog a piece of her mind.)

Not family, but still wonderful.  We are so blessed.

God with us….How glorious is that?  What a wonderful thing to celebrate!

African Women Make Me Feel Like a Wuss

Lucy (my language helper) and I were discussing the differences between housekeeping responsibilities in our respective cultures.

I told her about washers and dryers, microwaves and vacuums, and dish washers.  She was intrigued by that one.  “Don’t the dishes break in there?” she asked.  I told her about garage door openers and lawn mowers.  I told her how you could buy almost any meal, ready-to-eat and frozen in the grocery store.

Each time her eyes got big.  “Ni rahisi!”  she exclaimed.  So easy!

Each day at dawn, Lucy walks to her neighbor’s house with buckets.  She pays about 25 cents to fill up the buckets from her neighbor’s outdoor spigot.  That’s their water for the day.  She does it again in the evening.

She washes clothes by hand for her family of five, an extremely time-consuming task.  She washes dishes by hand.  Since she has no refrigerator, every day she buys fresh ingredients and cooks from scratch.

She walks a few blocks to the bus stop.  She sits on the bus for an hour and a half to get to work, with 30 other people on a bus meant for 15 (with no air conditioning).

She has a solar panel so that her family has lights in the evening.  But it cannot power fans or anything else.  Temperatures are around 100 degrees these days, with very high humidity.  It doesn’t get much cooler at night.

Her main sources of protein are beans, dried fish, and chickens which she raises in her yard.  (It was pretty funny to hear her talk about these chickens….you would have thought she was a Californian Whole Foods mom:  Those chickens at the store are full of medicine to make them grow faster, she said with disgust.  My chickens are much better.)

By Tanzanian standards, Lucy’s family is actually doing pretty well.  She and her husband own their land and built their house.  She has a solar panel.  Her children are all in school.

But she still makes me feel like a wuss.

It’s been a rough electricity week in our area.  Every day this week, the power has been off from about 9 am until 6 pm.  And when it has been on, it’s been in phases, which means that only some parts of our house have electricity.   Then the air conditioner in our bedroom stopped working.

I have been so uncomfortable.  The house is stuffy; I have sweat running down my back most of the day; I’m not sleeping well.  I baked a few batches of Christmas cookies and afterwards, looked like I had just run a marathon.  I was drenched in sweat, my hair was frizzy, and my face was as shiny as the Christmas star.

And I have been grumpy and impatient and justifying it to myself.

I realized that I am addicted to comfort.  I don’t like being too hot or too cold or too tired or too hungry or too thirsty or have any part of my body be in pain.  And when that does happen, all bets are off.  I am entitled to be a grouch.

I may have spent half my life in Africa, but boy am I American.

I wrote a couple weeks ago about the electricity problems in Tanzania, and how the animistic worldview has given Africans a fatalistic attitude that has kept them from progress.  But on the flip side, they are some of the most content people I know.  They don’t complain.  They accept.

My culture’s worldview has taught me that progress is always possible.  Don’t accept; don’t settle.  We can always be healthier, more beautiful, more comfortable, more entertained.  Except we never actually get there, do we?  We have more than any other people in the world and than any other time in history, yet we are perpetually discontent.

Just as Africa need to be transformed by a biblical worldview of progress and innovation, so my own mindset needs to be transformed.  There is a time for progress, and there is a time for trusting God with what I cannot control.  There is a time for innovation, and there is a time for being deeply content with what I have already been given.

In Christ, I can have both.

This is why I can wish for progress and development for Africa, and yet simultaneously be humbled and convicted by the brave African women who work so hard and are content with so much less than me.

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