6.24.2013

Winter?

6-19-13

Blog update... Well I'm sitting here, on my mosquito-net covered bed, sipping a cup of lemon water and snuffling with a winter cold. I was told now is 'winter' in Tanzania, but didn't rightly believe it. Until the other day when I was freezing cold with goose-bumps from swimming and the other morning when I had to put a jacket on. For the first, Mr. Gale simply told me I'd acclimatized and really it wasn't that cold. For the other I figured that -well maybe it was just a little windy -er, so something. But this snuffly, 'winter' cold has tipped the scales for me... It really is winter in June.
                                         It doesn't look that cold but ... ya know looks can be deceiving



Now I know places like Alaska and the Iceland have winter with snow and such clear until July. Honestly I did not believe that Africa countries ever had proper 'winter'. Folks the truth is out and confirmed – Africa does have winter in the months between June – August! 



Some signs of winter in Tanzania:

1. Mothers will wrap their babies in blankets and place warm, winter hats on their heads. It may be sweating hot for a normal person... but never mind that babies must keep warm for the winter months.

2. You may see a random young man wearing shorts, an old T-shirt and a baby blue, knit hat which not only warms the head but has flaps to keep the ears extra warm as well. (Saw this earlier today).

3. The pikipiki drivers (taxi motor-bikers) will wear large coats and jackets of all variations.

4. The dirt roads get even dirtier, rather dustier.

5. Nasty winter colds start making their rounds.

6. Someone might ask you, “How is your winter going?”.



Now that you'll are a bit more educated about Tanzanian seasons, expect a quiz from me in a couple months! The Lord is good and sustaining the Dunlaps here in Tanzania. I am continually grateful for each day and all that is being learned. 

I can't post pictures of the students online

I have been keeping busy with spending days in the school. The international school I have been volunteering at is the best primary and secondary school in Mwanza. It follows the British curriculum and as a result most of the teachers are from England. The students come from all over the world. The Year 5 class, I've been in the past month the students are from Tanzania, Yemen, Oman, South Korea, Italy, America, Iran, India, Pakistan and maybe a couple other African countries.

This school is not only the best in Mwanza but is also better than most schools in the USA that I have followed for my collegiate studies. The method of pedagogy which this school follows is in alignment with the methods that I have learned at Berea. The school focuses on hands-on learning with an emphasis on real-life application, projects, creativity, critical thinking and differentiating for the variety of levels within the class. Unfortunately, although we have many resources in the United States our public system of education has turned into teaching to a test and making sure 'no child is left behind' (which actually means that no child is allowed to go ahead). I should say that is my experience in public schools in Kentucky. Many projects it is hard to get the students to stop because they are so engaged in their learning. For example, in my Year 5 class the children in groups wrote a story, acted out six scenes and made a music video of the story. They were so creative with one girl using her arm with a blanket wrapped around it as a baby.

Also, this school allows children time to be children. They are given three long breaks in the day along with an hour lunch break. Often children will either run to play football (soccer) or make-up games with their friends. Also, they encourage the arts with football, rugby, swimming, music, art, dance and so forth. The school took a whole day off for cross-country last week. All the children from the kindergartners to the secondary students raced according to age. I actually got to join the secondary boys on a wicked 5K race that wound up and down Mwanza's hilly roads in the hottest part of the day. The best part was beating a secondary boy at the end who did not want to be beat by a girl, with 40 children chanting, “Miss Dunlap, Miss Dunlap”.

I realize that being able to spend time to learn from this school is a blessing and very formative in my understanding of teaching. As I could have easily ended up at a rubbish school because the education system in Tanzania is struggling. To try to describe schools in Tanzania in a nutshell I would say that the government basically provides buildings and requires all children to attend school. Most schools, both in the village and city, easily have classes of 60-100 children. Until recently, the government only provided about one book per subject per grade per school. Sheila has seen school children that did not know how to use a book, as in which side to open from or how to turn from one page to another. These are called pre-reading skills.

There is also a shortage of teachers at most government schools. For example, one school we have visited several times has 9 teachers for a school of 750ish students. Basically if any learning happens it is from rote learning from verbal instruction. Many teachers are trying their best and do care about the students but have many obstacles to face with large classes, no resources and being underpaid. I know a teacher who gets paid under a dollar a day.

Also many schools I have seen have no running water or kitchen... People, young and old, still value education. Many people will sacrifice much to attend school. We had one such 13 year-old boy, Moses, stay with us, at my host family's house, for a couple days. Moses turned up at the boys home on the hill after being kicked out by a family he had been living with. He had run away from home 2 years before when he was just 11 years old. His family was too poor to afford sending him to school. He thought that living on the streets with the chance of being able to attend school was better than not being educated. He was from a rural village and my host family decided sending him to his home would be the best thing for him. Fortunately his family greeted him with tears of joy and many hugs saying they gone to the city many times over the past couple years looking for him. This is not a purely 'unique' story or unusual.

On Mondays, I often get to join a lady by the name of Sheila to visit village schools. She has been working with village schools for six years trying to help provide books and teacher training. It is very interesting and I have learned that it seems those with the least are the most grateful and hospitable. I do not think the children wearing thread-barren uniforms I see bask in self-pity. They are like children all around the world living the life they know full of curiosity, energy and wide smiles. I rightly enjoy the village and Lord willing will get to spend a week in a village later this summer. 
                                          Sheila with village children

In the evenings, I have been kept busy with volunteering at an orphanage for babies which is in my neighborhood, lesson planning, Bible study and such activities. However my favorite, favorite part of the week is going home (to my parents home) on the weekends. There is nothing more beautiful than being able to spend time with them. We play music together, cook together, talk, write, laugh...and get to wonder at this strange culture together (For example, earlier today when shopping at the market, a mouse popped up at me after I took a coconut from a basket). Today we had the blessing of all going to a Sukuma museum together with Capt. Nestor, Baraka, Mama Nestor and baby Abigail. Here we learned all about the Sukuma people and their history. (Mwanza is historically a Sukuma kingdom. Many people here are from these people. Tanzania has 129 different tribes.) The most interesting part being getting to hold a rock python... 

This is my favorite picture! with Kat, Baraka and myself


Till Next time - Chow
                                          Such a blessing to be here with Mama!


6.12.2013

On loan?


“The art of being poor in spirit is to distinguish between use and ownership. A person who owns something – or regards himself as owner – believes he has the sole right to determine how that thing is used. He may use it himself or authorize another person to use it. But this sense of ownership is a terrible snare, because it prevents a person's soul from marching onward to God. The person who wishes to move toward God must free himself from all sense of ownership. He must regard all things as loans from God, even the things which he himself owns. A loan is to be used for a period, and then paid back. This is precisely how we should regard our houses and fields, clothes and furniture, they are loans which God grants us for our short span on earth, to be repaid at the moment of death. To be poor in spirit does not mean to be destitute, lacking in even the basic comforts and necessities. It means to regard nothing as your own, and everything you have as a temporary loan.” On Living Simple – John Chrysostom


6.06.2013

I'm the one who speaks a funny language...

"He offered His body,
He poured out His soul,
Jesus was broken 
That we might be whole
Broken for me, broken for you
The body of Jesus broken for you.
Come to My table and with Me dine,
eat of My bread and drink of My wine." 
- Janet Lunt

Wednesday night at Connect group (the Bible study of my host family's church), John lifted a piece of bread and said, "Let us remember that no matter which country or people we are from that we are indeed brothers and sister in Christ." As we all pinched a piece of bread, I was awed, " Here I stand in a circle with a group of folks from England, Scotland, Kenya and Tanzania ... all of whom are seeking to serve the Lord. Furthermore they are my family... Suddenly I have been surrounded by people that I've just meet and yet understand the strong brotherhood found in Christ." Let me interject here that my host family had a mission group from England visit that week. 

From that experience and many faced here in Tanzania, I am realizing the beauty found in realizing the smallness of ones own 'world'. In America, I feel rather confident. My life is very comfortable and I can be quiet independent. I have my group of friends and connections to people from all over the nation. I have a car and know how to get around.... I know where to find shampoo and what the monetary value of things are... I understand the political, educational  and even religious systems work, at least partly. I basically know where food comes from and the cultural rules for relating to others. I am proud. I am proud of my 'independence' and my 'knowledge' system of the world I live. I don't like to ask others for help.

However with a simple plane flight everything changes... except the pride. Here I find myself realizing that what I defined as "normal" isn't really so... I realize that my "world" is really rather small. In all actuality, I am a baby. I am a baby speaking a funny language and dependent on the generosity and care of others. Although my pride does not like to ask for help, there is a beauty in discovering the "smallness" of ones world. For example, it is fascinating riding around in a dala-dala squished between a mother with her four children; a big, bulky sack of charcoal and a couple guys standing overhead then realizing that in fact that it is myself who looks, speaks and acts funny. All these people, I find so interesting, are going about living rather ordinary lives.
Receiving papaya from our new friend

I am privileged to have this time to live and learn from the lives of my brothers and sisters here in Tanzania. These first couple weeks have really slipped away. Each day I learn something new about my surroundings that I didn't know when I woke up that morning. Each day is a surprise... I really don't know what will happen or whom I will meet. For example, I have been given the opportunity to visit the Serengeti. For foreigners coming in a trip to the park can be expensive. Tuesday evening I went to visit my Orthodox friends... they were taking some relatives to the Serengeti and said, "We have an extra seat, would you like to go with us on Thursday?"
                                               Hippos in the Grumeti River

So two days later, I found myself munching on a sandwich overlooking a group of hippos in the Grumeti River. Again today after school, I joined my host family on a visit to the boy's home they are starting. On the hill we took a walk and found ourselves on top of rocks with a panoramic view of Lake Victoria. Not to mention being accompanied by about 10/15 local children. Then leaving my host family to catch a dala-dala to my parents home, I was accompanied by two boys who tried to teach me Kiswahili. Then after an interesting 30ish minute ride home (those rides are always interesting... I was basically proposed to on one just the other day), I was welcomed home with Mama clothed in an African khanga and wearing a wide smile. What a joy it was to be home to a home, I'ld never been too... What a joy it is to experience Africa with those I love the very most... The family is really settling in well... cooking on an African charcoal stove and already have neighbor kids running in and out.... that's a little example of just one day....

                                           Fresh from the tree
                                          Above a wonderful sound to wake up too... and a girl showing off her finding..

My heart is grateful and content. At this point, I think I could live here the rest of my life... I do realize that life here is not all surprises, adventure and roses... there are many thorns, hardship and big questions to be wrestled with... as anywhere.... There is much suffering here, of which I really have no concept of... Despite the song of my heart is "How can I keep from singing your praises? How can I ever say enough? How amazing is your love, O My Lord."