If It's There, It's There

I can’t help but think of a story my family was laughing about over Christmas this year. It’s a fully acknowledged fact that my oldest brother Cory had it much harder than the other two kids in the family. I think it’s probably the case for most families: As parents learn to be parents they ease up a bit on the strictness. Cory was recalling the time he got kicked off the bus for a week and my parents refused to give him a ride. Each day that week he had to wake up an hour early to walk almost three miles to school and then do it again on the way home. As an added bonus, my parents made him stop into their restaurant, which was on the way, just to prove he hadn’t gotten a ride from someone else. Cory remembers this as one of the most arduous and humiliating punishments of his childhood. 

Walking an hour each way to school over here is just a rite of passage. I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to the sight of dozens and dozens of children, sometimes as young as four or five, walking alone along the highway in their primary school uniforms. The area from which Mungere School pulls our students is wide enough that some of the students walk an hour and a half each way every day. When the rains come, schlepping through mud can sometimes double the journey time. During the second day of student selection this year, a few of the kids forgot to bring back their registration numbers from day one. When they arrived empty handed and were questioned about it, none of them blinked twice. They turned around, headed home swiftly and returned an hour later with their numbers. These kids spent two full days that week waiting in the hot sun for their turn to take the exam, interview with the staff and be given a chance.

More than sixty prospective students wait for their turn to be interviewed. 

They want to go to school. They’ll do whatever it takes, including tell white lies, to try to earn a place in the student roster. The Mungere students come with clean uniforms and clean hands, yet somehow I can’t seem to keep the dirt out of my grimy fingernails for more than ten minutes. Every morning they tidy up the school: rearranging desks, mopping floors and even sometimes landscaping the shrubs and grass. They help in the school garden to grow food for their own lunches. In fact, the newest class of students spent the entire first week of the year gardening. They took down rows of overgrown bougainvillea, hand-tilled dozens of beds of soil, pruned banana trees and watered for hours. They did this to show us their work ethic; to learn the importance of contributing back to the school; to see that the food they would eat comes from their hands and those of their classmates. Simply put: They work hard. And they do all of this with a smile.

Mungere students work in the garden during their activity period. 

There's an expression in Tanzania: "If it's there, it's there" or "Kama ipo ipo tu" in Swahili. I think this can most closely be compared to our expression: "It is what it is." My mom used to say this to me when I was a kid and I despised it. It always felt like such a mom way to say "deal with it." Now, I really love it and say it often myself. It helps me accept things that I can't explain or cannot change. Oh mom, turns out you're pretty smart.

I think this is a big part of the Tanzanian reality. If this is the way it is, then that's the way it's going to be. Doing physical labor at school is not only accepted but expected. Working hard for your education and for your family. Waking up at dawn to walk to school or a neighboring town for market day. Never knowing if you will have electricity (it went out across the whole town for 48 hours this weekend) and not complaining when you don't.

Tanzanian rapper Chemical sings lyrics I don't understand, presumably about this idea of "if it's there, it's there." Mostly I thought you might like to hear some Tanzanian Bongo Flava.

It's a really important perspective for me to consider right now as I'm watching my own country both fall apart and come together. For what feels like the first time in my life, I'm seeing huge masses of people back home standing up for what they believe in. It's so easy for us to complain about our lives, to disagree with what's happening, to wish things could be different. But it's rare that any of us actually try to change things, whether it's a job we dislike or a politician we oppose. I'm proud to see that instead of saying "I don't like this but, meh, what can I do?" Americans are starting to say "I don't like this and this is what I can do!" I guess maybe it isn't always what it is.

But over here... it might be. The big difference I see is that instead of complaining, they just live it. I don't exactly mean to glorify the people here. Trust me, Tanzanians have their own infuriating cultural norms. For example, they'd rather lie to you than tell you something you don't want to hear; I think this goes back to the same idea - it is what it is, so instead of just being honest, they try to explain it away. We went camping this weekend and the wonderfully sweet woman who ran the campsite ultimately told us lie after lie when things didn't work out as planned: Why didn't the kayak I rented ever show up at the lake? Because the guide wasn't here to bring it. Why are the menu items listed not available? Because the car broke down and the chef is stuck in town. Why did you say you would cook us meat if we brought it but now you say you can't? Because we don't have the charcoal. I've heard this called the "Tanzanian Truth." Perhaps this is their version of "Alternative Facts?"

Form I students take a break from gardening. They love yelling"pitcha, pitcha" whenever I have my camera.

These are the things that take some getting used to over here. While I'm impressed every day by the work ethic and tenacity of most people I meet, I'm also frustrated by the total unpredictability of outcomes. It's one thing to expect things to go awry; it's another entirely to never know who is telling the truth. I'm both put at ease by the simplicity of life and disillusioned to know that things are unlikely to change for the people here.

Every culture is so different. I'm currently floating between two very different ideologies - my homeland is fighting against that with which they don't agree, while my new neighbors are simply living the life they were given. It's probably a good thing for me to cultivate a little of both philosophies inside of me. There are plenty of things you cannot change and accepting them is important, but for those you can, fight back!

Special shout out to all those of you back home fighting the good fight right now. I'd join you if I could.