Desemba: A Recap

      Sorry for the lack of updating. We had some visitors who helped use the internet for the month, and while my hosts were gone to South Africa I had no way to reach all of you back home. I appreciate the emails and messages I got from Thanksgiving through Christmas, but I'm just beginning to catch up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
      Old business: I left you with the task of creating some hand turkeys. Though only one person turned in her handiwork (pun intended, Scott + Mary), I trust you all completed the exercise in thankfulness.

     New business: A bit has happened since I last updated everyone. We Thanksgivinged, I Swahili classed once again, Neema House hosted visitors, I was caretakered for three real, live human children I did not give birth to alive for two weeks, and we Christmas partied (round 1). I’ll fill you in on Christmas another time though because including it made this post eight years long. It’ll give you something to read while you hide from your relatives in town for Christmas or wait for dessert another night instead of providing all your reading material in one sitting.

     I know there were other important things that happened in the last month like visiting villages, my declining a few proposals here and there, and the day I saw grown men jam out to Cyndi Lauper, but since I failed to keep a good record of my daily escapades in December, I'm a little bit at a loss. I'm just going to try to cover a few of the main events anyway because studies show 83% of you will fall asleep before finishing this post anyway.

Here we go:

     Thanksgiving was certainly different than back home, but really fantastic. I'd been concerned about the holidays since I even began toying the the idea of moving here, but I really had a wonderful day. Anyway, contrary to the rules of the universe, I taught a bit Thanksgiving morning. Thankfully the day was cut short by the combination of a small deluge's violent kerpinging on the tin roof and my needing to help prepare food for the team's Thanksgiving meal. I scurried over to the McFaddins to supervise Cheryl's making of green bean casserole and rolls as I charged ahead and fried the onions for the green beans. Ancient societies often reserve that role for the most skilled chef, so naturally the great burden fell to me.

     (Or it played out exactly like that episode of Friends where Chandler wanted to help with the Thanksgiving meal and Monica let him work on the cranberries because no one cared about those. It wouldn't be the first my life mirrored Chandler's.)

     When our food was done the McFaddins, Harrisons, and I joined the Groens at their house for a delicious Thanksgiving meal. Our food took a lot of time to prepare since everything is made completely from scratch, but we probably had the same kinds of things as you--stuffing, rolls, green bean casseroles, mashed potatoes, other vegetables, and pecan pie. The only big difference was that we enjoyed good ol' fashioned fried chicken instead of trying to hunt down a turkey somewhere. That and the fact not a single onion was left in Geita because whoever the siren was who fried them up did so so perfectly.

An internet casserole, not the Geita casserole. Ours was even prettier.

     After Thanksgiving I celebrated another all-important regional holiday--the Iron Bowl. Since Brett's sister was in Tanzania for Thanksgiving, the Harrisons invited me over one night for meat and cheese, board games, and an Iron Bowl viewing party. We power napped for a while before waking up at 3:40 to watch the game. I still a little bit blame the Harrisons' kids for Auburn's loss since we were winning until they showed up, but I still don't getting up that early for a silly game.


     The second week of December the McFaddins and I began Swahili classes again. We deeply missed our first teacher, Andrew, because Mudy allowed us to speak English the majority of the time and just didn't mesh with our learning styles as well. Still, because Mudy is actually my age, I could ask questions in English, and I was more used to the whole concept of class, I did learn a lot about Tanzanian culture that I just never felt comfortable asking Andrew. We're currently on a break for the holidays, but we're praying our friend Kaka Andrew returns in a few weeks to teach us again. 

     After celebrating our late November holidays, a group of ladies from North Boulevard Church of Christ and Borodash visited Neema House to fall in love in person with the little ones they've prayed for for so long. They were a fun group to have around, and I surprised myself with my Swahili skills during their stay. At times I had to translate for them to be able to communicate with the mamas and kids at Neema House, and until then I didn't have the confidence to practice my language. Hearing a few ladies with a Southern drawl baby talk in English or occasionally say "santi sauna" instead of "asante sana" gave me just a little bit of pep in my step. I've since lost the confidence, but for the four or five days they were around I spent a lot of time at Neema House playing, snuggling, and chatting a bit.

Mama Rosie playing with (L to R) Elia, Neema, Zepha, Iporu, and Jerry

Trying to wrangle everyone for a group photo in front of Neema House

     After a busy week, the North Boulevard ladies AND the mother whose house I am staying in headed to the Serengeti. And the father whose house I am staying in went to South Africa. And the children whose house I am staying in did not. And the me did not.

     The 9, 12, 14, and me year old girls had many an adventure during our 12 days together in Geita. They are really good girls, but whoa. We all survived (thanks in large part to the McFaddins and Harrisons feeding us dinner each night). Long story short, I have concluded the only thing I should ever be responsible for keeping alive is an ant farm.

Are her hives an allergic reaction or stress-induced? Um, I washed the sheets, she showered 12 times, and she's on medicine--why is she still itchy? How come telling her to rub some dirt in it not only didn't help, it actually made her cry? How do you get them to not cry? What time should I get up to start breakfast? Wait, what do I cook for breakfast? How long has it been since I thanked my parents for putting up with me? You mean they need to eat...again? Have teeth been brushed? Did I really manage to buy mango with worms in them? Who did their homework? Why did my parents have four children? Who left the scissors out? Why do these children only eat a big gulp of air for lunch? How in the world is there this much laundry if I just washed clothes two days ago? Did I leave the clothes out on the line during the rain? Why are there suddenly red footprints on the walls ascending up to the ceiling? How in the world do I ever repay my parents for my existence? Are they actually allowed to watch that movie? Who needs to shower tonight? How many more da--WHY IN THE WORLD IS THERE A TRAPEZE IN THE LIVING ROOM!?

 

     Yes. The morning after I found the footprints on the wall leading up to children waiting to pounce on my head from the 12 foot ceiling--the very same morning I woke up at 3 am--I walked out to begin breakfast only to discover a circus had broken in, tied a trapeze from the rafters, and decided to try out various acrobatics in the living room.

     After the girls lost their life privileges, my babysitter license was revoked.

     Epilogue: Two days later, Mama and Baba Groen returned, my life became much less stressful, and we began to prepare for Christmas festivities. Tune in next time for more on those.