June 27, 2014
I woke up today with a plan. I was going to go to the secondary school’s graduation then head to the boma, use some wifi, go to the post office, meet friends for lunch, and crash at Andy’s house because we were all going to do a test-run of the porters race tomorrow morning.
Well, that all changed when the graduation began three and half hours late. When I received my invitation, the deliverer said to arrive at 8:30AM and that the ceremony would begin at 9:30. I left my house at 8:15AM, expecting to be home in about 2-3 hours. I should never ever think this way while I’m here in Africa. I arrived at the school, and there was no one there except the group of students still setting up the “tent” for guests (throwing tarps over a basic skeleton of bamboo pieces). I settled myself onto one of the giant boulders in the open space by the school. A student ran over with a white, plastic lawn chair. I refused, but he sat and chatted with me while I waited. The sun was warm on my back and felt nice. I pulled out my travel sketchbook and drew some kids sitting on a nearby rock. The headmaster of the school came over to inform me that the chiefs wanted me to come sit and chat with them in the shade. Not wanting to seem rude, I agreed to. We sat in silence mostly. I observed their battered dress shoes and oversized pant suits. Someone came with speakers, and soon after music was blasting from the courtyard of the school. A group of young boys gathered around and enthusiastically danced to the beat. The headmaster walked over to chat and made some crude joke about how I should imagine if this one chief—a man who later said he was 57 years old—was my husband and that I should marry him. I was not amused.
We were eventually led over to the tent to sit around maybe 10:30. We sat on petite wooden school desks which kept my gangly legs all cramped up underneath me. Just thinking about it again makes my knees hurt. We waited and we waited and we waited. The music was blaring right beside us, and the “DJ” walked around repeating “1, 2, eyah….1, 2, eyah…” I swear he just wanted to hear his own voice. I got grumpy hungry. I pulled out the book that I had stashed in my bag in case something like this happened in a desperate attempt to distract myself. I felt anxious. My friends were meeting up for lunch soon.
People filed in slowly. They had brought plastic baskets and plastic bags full of gifts which they stashed at the front of the tent in front of everyone. The headmaster shouted into the microphone, encouraging people to hurry. The ceremony finally began around noon. The form four students danced their way over to the tent. They were in two lines,—boys and girls—and the dance involved some tapping of the feet, some hopping around on one foot, and a “come here” motion by both partners after which they would awkwardly hug.The majority of the girls wore white, collared shirts and black, shin-length skirts. The boys wore suits that swallowed their small frames. There were many speeches from many people including teachers, students, and honored guests all of which began with welcoming all of the chiefs, committees, me (specifically), parents, and students. Kids crowded in on the ceremony. Eventually, graduation certificates were given out. This part lasted over an hour. The announcer was getting extra excited and singing along to the music in between calling out names. He got rowdier as time went on until I think he thought this graduation ceremony had turned into a concert. I was so hungry that I felt like I was going to pass out. When my stomach would growl in utter emptiness, I’d get all hot and start sweating like I was having mini anxiety attacks. I reminded myself to breathe slowly and thought about the first things I would shove in my mouth the second I got home—if I could make it home. I don’t handle hunger very well.
Suddenly I heard my name and realized the announcer was calling me up to the front. I was confused. They had me stand up with the head teacher and another teacher at the school and shake the hands of the graduating students and take pictures with all of them. I legitimately understand what it’s like to be a celebrity now. Eager people rushing up to you and shaking your hand or pulling you close like they’re your best buddy while posing for the camera. As the “celebrity,” you feel self-conscious (or maybe it’s just me) and your cheeks start hurting from smiling for pictures. Hundreds of people watch your every move. Villagers were pressing in on the ceremony and when I looked past the group of men taking pictures with their film and cheap digital cameras, all I could see was a sea of staring faces. After the paparazzi experience, the headmaster led me and two others through the crowd to his office. On his desk sat four bowls overflowing with mountains of rice topped with sautéed cabbage and tomatoes and goat meat. It was like heaven—exactly what I needed. I piled spoonful after spoonful of the delicious food into my mouth, feeling better every second. We even had pineapple fantas. I felt much better now that my stomach was full, but then I realized that it was past 3:30 PM. I probably wouldn’t make it to Mbewa today. I chatted with the other “honored guests.” One was from an organization that helps pay school/examination fees for impoverished students. The other was a wanna-be videographer who currently works at the Mimosa radio station. The head teacher kept saying how wonderful and beautiful the ceremony had been and how it had been so much better than last year. They felt so honored that I had attended. I hadn’t done a thing to help these kids during school, but attending the ceremony was special to them? Maybe they put me on the same pedestal on which we put presidents and celebrities. It’s flattering, but I’d rather just be part of the crowd sometimes. I don’t like all the attention on me. It’s something I’ve had to get used to here though.
I eventually escaped the school, debating whether I’d have time to get to Mbewa if I hurried. I jogged home with some young girls. When I returned to my house, the usual gathering of women were outside in their yard chatting. I mentioned that I wanted to go to Mbewa today. They discouraged me, saying nthawi, nthawi…mawa mamawa (time, time, tomorrow morning). I conceded. They asked me to come sit with them and chat. First, I plugged my phone in and told my friends I would not be coming today, expressing my extreme irritation with changing plans, before I went back up. I sat with about 5-6 women and a few kids. I could barely understand anything they were saying, but it was nice to be with a group of women with whom I’m beginning to feel some companionship and to slightly feel like I belong. They tried to talk to me sometimes..about my need to hem my zitenge, people I’d met, or other random topics where I could understand the majority of the words they were saying but couldn’t piece them together to form a meaningful question or thought. Since words often fail, I tend to communicate mostly in gestures or just with the kids. The little ones were thoroughly entertained by me blowing bubbles with my gum. They begged me to do it over and over again, trying to imitate the sound with their mouths and prompting me saying “pops pops.” Then, as they inched closer and closer, they gushed over my bracelets, rings, tattoos, and hair (again). The kids stroked my head, amazed at the difference in our hair. I pulled out my braid and let them play with my loose hair. The kids—and the amayis—put it in ponytails and pigtails and flattening it down to my scalp. When darkness crept in and I mentioned that I should go, the amayi who owns the produce stand in front of my house told me she was cooking nsima for me. Still full from my colossal meal at the school, I refused, but she brought me two oranges and pushed them into my hands before I left. It’s the little acts of kindness that get me through tough days here. Although I had been frustrated and somewhat angry in my lack of control over the day, the company and amity of my neighbors had healed my mood.
This evening, I got an itch for cleaning (since I was so full that I wasn’t planning on cooking dinner) and ended up sweeping and tidying up every room in my house and outside in my courtyard. As I brushed my teeth, I gazed up at the sky and felt comforted by the presence of the milky way. Using my star chart, I successfully located four constellations. A star shot across the middle of the sky. I wished that I would be able to serve a meaningful presence here and actually help people.
