A week in Maasai land

As a child growing up in New Zealand I never gave much thought to how children on the other side of the world lived their lives. I never really appreciated all I had, all I was given and every opportunity I had and still have. But as I spent time out in Maasai land this week I couldn’t help but reflect on how different my childhood was to the children who live out in that village.

In striking contrast to the lives of many Maasai children my childhood was one where schooling was a given not a privilege, regardless of whether I wanted to be there or not. Many children don’t have that privilege because if they go to school there will be no one to take care of the many, laborious, time consuming chores, that need to be done in order to survive. My childhood was filled with toys. I had dolls, barbie’s and bikes, yet I still wanted more every birthday and Christmas, and I complained a lot if I didn’t get the toy I wanted. These kids entertain themselves by chasing cows, climbing trees, playing with sticks and stones, or in this week’s case by staring at the strange wazungu (white people) who entered their village. I grew up with many career paths in mind, my future was always one of possibilities and as a child the sky was my limit. As I grew older my choices were a little more limited and strengths based. I recall wanting to be a singer for many years until I realised that to be a singer you actually need some kind of musical ability, that dream was then replaced with wanting to be an actor (I clearly liked being the centre of attention) and eventually I chose teaching. I never had to worry about water. I just turned on the tap and it was there in abundance. I didn’t have to walk miles to get it, and not only did I drink it but I showered in, swam in it and played in it.  While I don’t blame my childhood self for being selfish, ungrateful and ignorant I no longer have any excuse to live this way as I am now aware.

This week I saw little boys covered in dust and dirt, with sandals made from old tyres and a stick caring for his families’ cattle, not just their cattle but their livelihood. This was in the middle of the day, at a time when many other children would be in school getting an education, dreaming of their future as teachers, builders, doctors etc. For this little boy his future is one of survival he will most likely grow up, marry several wives, have several children who will then take over his job of caring for the cattle.

We also had the privilege of being welcomed in to a Maasai Mama’s boma (mud hut). This lady’s name was Rose, she is one of two wives and has her own boma for her and her children. Rose is a special friend of Wendy’s and is a born again Christian. She had so much joy and held Wendy’s hand as they walked quickly up the hill to her boma together. I had never been inside one of these huts before and I was very humbled by its simplicity. It was a dark small home, made with mud walls, a stick frame and thatched straw roof, which probably would not keep the rain out in rainy season. In the corner where Lynda sat there were two small child sized beds made from Cow’s Hide and sticks separated by a few sticks. I sat on a bucket as Rose lit a fire to make chai (tea). The little house filled with smoke which stung my eyes and made it hard to see and talk, I tried my hardest not to let my discomfort show as I felt so blessed to be there sharing in a little piece of Rose’s world. Rose’s beautiful daughter of maybe 9 years old sat seemingly unaffected by the smoke and she watched me with curiosity. I remembered I had a small packet of jelly beans in my bag which I offered to her. She took them gratefully and ate them but was still too shy to talk to me, she continued to watch me intensely, returning my smiles then looking down to hide her face, by the time we left this little girl was brave enough to hold my hand as they walked us back down the hill and responded to my simple Swahili questions.

I was less effected by the simplicity of Rose’s house but was more effected by Roses joy and contentment, one that I have not seen so much in people in New Zealand. It seems the more we have the more we want, and the less satisfied we are. I guess we also grow up with so many expectations and dreams that when unrealised they can leave us feeling depressed. Rose laughed and chatted away to Wendy as one of the Maasai teachers translated for them both. It was easy to forget how little this family had and so many other families in that village have when they have so much joy and childlike faith.

This area does not yet even have running water and they have to walk miles to get water or wait until the local truck (that is literally falling apart) brings water in. There is now a well but they don’t yet have a pump. We brought all our own water in for the week and for probably one of the first time in my life I thought about how much water I used and made sure to use only as much as I needed knowing that it had to the last the week. How much more would they have to think about water?

One of the key leaders in this area has a vision of seeing this area developed through education and leadership. He wants to see locals trained as doctors, teachers, etc. so that they can come back and serve and empower their community. Already the process has begun with a small preschool and year one group of children being educated in the local church building. This is where we spent our time. The vision is for a Christian school to be built there with plans already being underway.

While we were there we worked with 6 local teachers. Wendy and Lynda taught them how to bring bible stories to life and involve children in the process through storytelling, acting, retelling charades etc. I also taught a few simple learning games that require no resources that the teachers can use with the children. The next day I had the privilege of then teaching and playing one of these games with the children. The church classroom was very basic with the only resources being a few chalkboards, lesson books and pencils. But despite not having much the teachers were full of joy, enthusiasm and love. 3 of the teachers will hopefully be training through Joshua teacher’s colleges this year, they will then be able to use their training to mentor and empower other teachers in their community.

It’s exciting to see this taking place. While it’s only early days I know that great things will come out of this community and that children will have opportunities and lives that they never would have had otherwise if it wasn’t for education and knowing God.

It is clear that life in this village is very simple and the people live with the bare minimum including only having one meal a day, it is also clear that God has a plan and a purpose for the village. You can see the joy and love in the locals they have literally been transformed by the love of Christ and because of it their children now have a brighter future. Girls are being educated rather than married off and circumcised.  No one could ever convince me that there is no God I look into the eyes of people whose lives have been transformed and see light, joy and love and I know without any doubt that it is the work of God in them.

   

 

Perception vs Reality

Do you ever wonder why we act the way we do and how our cultural upbringing influences our perceptions, thinking and choices? Or why certain things annoy us or matter to us so much?   I find it so fascinating especially living in a culture that is so different to my own. I am daily faced with my cultural prejudices and biases. So much of my thinking lately revolves around how I should respond, dress, speak and act in culturally appropriate ways.

There are certain situations that offend, discourage or annoy me about being a minority in Tanzania. But today while talking to my friend Lulu about these things I realised that my annoyance comes down to perceptions of events rather than reality.

An example is being greeted in a high pitched voice by males and youth. To me this feels like being mocked. Lulu offered a different perspective on why this happens. She said that the reason

they do this is out of shyness and not wanting to be shamed. Because if they say "hi" and then we do not answer then they can make out that it was just a joke. Lulu said she often will hear the youth daring each other in swahili to say hi to the wazungu.

Another situation where I felt I was being mocked was in the daladala (public transport), some high school girls were sitting behind me and touching my hair then laughing. It made me feel like some kind of freak show. I shared this with Lulu and she said that they are just amazed by me, because my hair is so different to their own. She explained that it’s not that they think i’m weird but more that they think of me as some kind of mystical creature.  Hearing this made me feel different about it, it’s kind of cool to be a mystical creature... I always wanted to be a mermaid as a kid :P.

My third example is being laughed at when I attempt to speak Swahili. Again I think I am being laughed at because I am saying it wrong. But Lulu explained that they are laughing because they are happy. It means so much when we speak their language. One thing I do love is the smile it puts on people’s faces when I do speak Swahili. It also makes me smile when an old bebe shakes my hand after I shikamo her (shikamo is a term of respect given to older people, it translates to “I kiss your feet”).

One day I’ll be back in NZ and no one will stare at me because I am different, no one will yell out to me “Mzungu,” or say "Hi" in a high pitched voice (unless that is actually how they talk). No kids will greet me with "good morning" when its actually the afternoon, in fact I probably won’t get greeted by kids at all! Unless they know me, and you know what I’ll probably really miss it!

It’s a weird paradox of wanting to blend in here but also kind of enjoying the fact that I am different and that everyone wants to talk to me. I am extroverted at heart so I love meeting and getting to know new people, some days more than others though.

While reflecting on all this, I realised that our western culture is one of mocking each other and that is not really the case here, so much so that sarcasm is often taken literally because it’s not a form of humor the locals use. And if you think about it the root of sarcasm is mocking.

Lulu surrounded by her fan club ;)

I truly love living in a different culture and feel so blessed and privileged to be spending a whole year in Tanzania. It is so easy to get caught up in our own little worlds and think that our own worldview is complete and accurate, but in reality there is so much to learn. I have also been thinking a lot about the way so many of us live life in New Zealand. Just because we have always done something a certain way doesn’t mean it’s the only way or even the best way. Why do we feel the need to mock each other? Why do we spend more time working and trying to get rich then we do with the people we love and care about? Why are we always so busy? Is this really the best way to live this life? And why if we are doing everything right, getting a career, having a family achieving goals keeping busy, why are so many of us still so unhappy? Why is the suicide rate so high in New Zealand? Why are there so many cases of domestic violence? We are so privileged yet it’s all not enough.

I’ve been reflecting on these things a lot lately as domestic violence stories full my homepage. I think a lot of it comes down to our perceptions and expectations.

For example, what is our perception of God? Is he only good when life is good, is he only worth living for when it suits our lives or is he good regardless of our circumstances? This year my conviction of God, as a good father has increased so much, it genuinely grieves me when I realise so many people don’t fully believe in the goodness of God. Believing God is good doesn’t mean I don’t get mad at God or have doubts at times it just means that I have an assurance that no matter what comes my way that my God is a good Dad and he is worth living for. He is all

 knowing, all powerful, all loving and even though I don’t always understand what he’s doing I’ll choose to trust in his goodness.

 At the same time though a good Father doesn’t get mad at his children when they are struggling, or doubting, a good father loves us anyway, and that’s what makes doing life with God a truly beautiful thing.