DRY

                                                                  

Last month marked the peak of the dry season out here in Singida and the surrounding landscape could not be more desolate. Any vegetation we may have enjoyed during the short rainy season has long since turned to brown sticks and the seasonal winds have picked up again and envelop Ihanja in a constant whirl of dust. The conditions haven’t left me in a sour mood, however. In fact, I’ve come to appreciate the grasslands and stop often, as I bike to school, to enjoy the wide-open space. It’s true that there is a certain beauty in a desert and sometimes I find the sand, thorns and occasional animal skull, bleaching in the sun, reminiscent of one of Georgia O’Keefe’s studies of New Mexico.

It’s also about the time of year when “palmas” come into season. This village fruit looks similar to a coconut but its insides are a fibrous, bright orange nut. Kids will climb the palm-like trees to get to them or throw stones until one drops. They’re everywhere and are one fruit that cannot be sold or traded as they are too plentiful. It’s just unfortunately that…they are one of the most disgusting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Jayce and I, after careful consideration, determined the taste to be “cheesy-mold-foot-fruit.” They are that gross. I get them as gifts often and refuse to keep them in the house because they smell like a cheap tropical car air freshener that’s been kept in an old gym bag for a year. But to the kids, it’s candy. They throw them at walls and trees until the hardy husks crack and then suck on the fibrous nut center. You know it’s palma season when 8 out of 10 kids will have highlighter orange faces around the clock. It’s too bad I can’t enjoy the fruit with them.

August also signified the one-year mark since my arrival in Ihanja and the return of the chilly nights and intense dryness only heightens my awareness of the time that has passed. Looking back and reflecting on each significant event of the past year, I’ve realized how broad the spectrum of my experiences has been. Highs and lows, challenges and triumphs. In some ways it flew by and in others, each day I was so far away from family and friends at home was felt acutely. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by some of the successes I’ve enjoyed and I’ve been knocked off my feet with disappointment when things haven’t gone according to my plan.

The struggles I’ve experienced in the village are typical of any PCV here in Tanzania. Having to constantly remind people that I didn’t come to TZ to hand out wads of cash, having to adjust (or scrap altogether) prospective work plan timelines to accommodate those of the locals, who operate on a very different system of schedules, feeling detached from the rest of the world, trying to reconcile inevitable cultural differences while maintaining a foundation of respect. But while all of those things left me occasionally discouraged and frustrated, I was able to view each as a mountain to climb, one step at a time, one day at a time. Other things I wasn’t able to tackle quite as systematically. Over the past year, the times that were the hardest had little to do with my life in Ihanja. They were always in relation to momentous occasions back home. My roommate, Anna’s wedding, my grandmother’s funeral, my brother’s engagement, Erin’s wedding, a friend’s surgery, even last year’s National Championship. Missing out on those events definitely tested me and at times, made my heart ache more than a little. But then, I suppose all that’s normal and if Peace Corps were a cakewalk, more people would sign up. I’m just banking on all these challenges eventually contributing to the somewhat vague “personal growth and fulfillment” promised in every Peace Corps recruitment brochure. They better. Lord knows I’ve missed out on enough.

Despite the hard times, I can honestly say that it’s been worth it and I’m still happy to be living my life like I am. More than that, I’m most thankful that I’ve never had to convince myself to stay, because I’ve really never wanted to leave. Of course, I wanted to be home for significant events but at no point in my service so far, have I wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits- I’ve never had to “stick it out”. Too many good things have happened. It’s been exciting, adventurous and eye-opening and I can’t imagine my life without certain individuals like Joe, Mama Mikah, Mama Daudi and her family, Beatrice, my students, etc. Also, when things have worked according to plan, the feeling of accomplishment that ensued is something I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world and the lessons I’ve learned have and will continue to shape who I am.

After a year of trial and error, discovering things that work and don’t, I have a better idea of how to approach the second half of my service. I look forward to the upcoming year and am excited to see how things will turn out!