Annie Shoberg: Our trip to the ville

Bus Station

We hadn’t anticipated staying in Mbeya, so we didn’t know much about the town when we arrived. We headed up the street from the Millennial Hotel and saw two white girls across the street. They waved and asked incredulously, “Are you guys Americans?” We started laughing. That was our introduction to Anna, a Peace Corp Volunteer (PCV) in Tanzania. We didn’t know then, but meeting Anna was just the beginning of the synchronicity we would experience over the next several days.

Anna was escorting a fellow PCV to the bus station. She gave us scattered directions to the ATM, and promised to catch up with us in town. When we ran into her again in town, she recommended a restaurant and sat down with us for breakfast. As Anna ordered and conversed with the locals in Swahili, her friends Maren and Megan (more PCVs) joined our table. Maren offered us her Tanzania travel book, and that’s how we ended up at Maren’s house where we met Rebecca who invited us to her village. It was fast-acting synchronicity. We were in town for less than 24 hours and already God provided a way to meet my heart’s desire, to visit a local village.

Cows grazing near corn in village

Rebecca, who is also known as Embozio (Medicine), Bonge (Stockily Built), and Boss-Lady (that one speaks for itself), is a Peace Corp Volunteer stationed in the village of Simambwe, about an hour south of Mbeya. Coincidentally, this is the area I was enjoying so much when we first entered into Tanzania. I could hardly believe our good fortune. We agreed to leave with her the following afternoon.

When we met back up with Rebecca the following day, she suggested that we stop at Hotel Mbeya before leaving town. Hotel Mbeya is known for their highly expensive and extensive menu. I was already hooked on Africafe instant coffee with hot milk and raw sugar, so I didn’t mind the expense. I was feeling meat insecurity, so I also ordered the beef chips and kept the leftovers for the next morning (I even ate them without refrigeration and didn’t get sick- whoo hoo!). From Hotel Mbeya, we walked a short ways to the dalla-dallas (packed mini-vans) bound for the village. At the village, the sun was beginning to set. The village elevation was high, which made me glad I had packed closed-toed shoes, pants, long sleeves, and a fleece. My preconceived notions of an African summer were shattered.

Corn grinder (makes powder to make ugali)

It was like a meet and greet all the way to Rebecca’s house. Villagers said hello in 100 ways, but Mark’s and my Swahili vocab was limited, so we just shook hands and responded “Mwagona,” which is a catch-all greeting which means what’s the news of the day, hello, and nice to meet you. With an ear to ear grin, Mama Deborah, a local woman of influence and Rebecca’s mentor, invited us into her home. “Kar-EEE-boo,” she welcomed us as the kids ran off to the market to buy us guests a Pepsi. It’s custom in the village to offer this luxury, which is very kind, but none of us wanted the caffeine or the sugar. Even so, we plopped down on her couch and drank as much as we could. Meanwhile, Rebecca explained the local customs and traditions, like the fact that women in the village take on the name of their most recent child.

Supper at Mama Deborah’s was our first in home traditional Tanzanian supper. Mama Deborah washed our hands with a pitcher of water and a bar of soap. Rebecca explained that the soap was a new addition, something the family added after her germ demonstration (she used glitter to show how germs come off better with soap). In an outside kitchen room, the kids cooked and played over a wood and brick stove. When the cooking was complete, warm dishes of ugali (ground corn mush like hearty mashed potatos) were served. The family showed us how to roll the ugali into balls and use our fingers to dip the balls into the tomato sauce and meat hunks (expensive goat, chicken, pig, or cow from the butcher). Most protein for villagers comes from beans, not meat, and the best portions were reserved for us, their guests. A side of cassava (hot leaves, like spinach) accompanied the ugali. A steady diet of these carbs could leave a person heavy, but it sure tasted good.

We walked in the dark back at Rebecca’s, where we heard “Hodi (anyone home?).” Michael, the VEO (Village Executive Officer), was bringing a mattress over for his neighbor’s guests. “Karibou (you’re welcome to come in),” Rebecca replied. Rebecca’s house was endeared to me by the fact that it reminded me of my grandparent’s farm. Inside, there were exactly 11 pieces of furniture which Rebecca had made and delivered for $175 USD. In old-school fashion, the three room home was lit by a kerosene lantern (no electricity), and rain water was collected from the roof for drinking and washing (there is no running water). Rebecca didn’t have a computer, although nearly everyone has cell phone (which can be charged in village store; in fact, an entire shelf is dedicated to this purpose- it’s filled with blinking power bars, covered in cell phone cords). Without television, PCVs swap a lot of books and spend a lot of time reading. The PCVs are isolated and rely on text messages, letters, and care packages from home. Snacks, hard candy, granola bars, and gum are imported from Stateside family and friends. Aside from care packages, salt and sugar are the main cooking spices, along with curry powder which can be obtained in larger cities. Emotionally, support comes mainly from other PCV’s; the 39 Tanzanian volunteers who arrived last summer are very close. In addition to the food displacement and emotional separation, bathroom displacement may be felt. Akin to an outhouse, the cho, or bathroom squatty potty is employed. Laundry and dishes are done by hand in the outdoor courtyard. It was in this environment that Mark and I spent the night on Rebecca’s bedroom bed while she slept on the borrowed mattress on the living room floor.

Wednesday's Market at the Village

In the morning, Mama Deborah treated us to dense breakfast rolls and deliciously fresh steaming cow milk with sugar. We followed it up with French press coffee back at Rebecca’s. We took a walk to the primary school where kids rushed in to have their pictures taken. At the school, we observed the solitary operational water well pump in the village, and were briefed on Rebecca’s planned project to rebuild the existing school, per the community’s request. One of her other goals was to build a cho for the newly constructed market building that looks like an open-air expo.

Happy and I, drawing on our hands

At the Wednesday market, we heard kids shouting “Muzungu (white person), take my picture!” We met the Village Chief and the Money Kitty, an elected commissioner whose daughter, Ester, lives with Mama Deborah. Meeting the Village Chief was a highlight on Mark’s African checklist, so we felt fortunate all over again for the synchronicity playing out. We took pictures of the items for sale: dried fish, shoes, clothes, pots, knives, and fruit. We loaded up on cheap beans, mangos, bananas, and the fixings for a Mexican feast (complete with guacamole). I was impressed by the PCV cookbook which had an easy recipe for unbelievably good tortillas. The three of us spent the afternoon listening to Rebecca’s ipod shuffle while preparing a Mexican feast. Afterwards, Modesto, Michael’s son, stopped by to let us know that Mama Happy (Michael’s wife) had returned to town and wanted us to eat supper with them. On a full stomach, I had to choke down another ear of corn. I tried feeding as much of that corn as I could to 2-year old Happy (who was happy to eat the kernels I gathered in my hand). We laughed as Rebecca made shadow puppets on the wall, and Happy drew with a pen on our hands. Happy’s denim skirt was wet- from sitting in something or peeing her pants, I’m not sure, but she loved sitting on my lap, and I hadn’t showered or changed clothes in three days, so I didn’t mind at all. Rebecca informed me that Happy liked my “white lady torch” (headlamp). When we left the house, Happy reached up to take my hand. I tried to explain that I wanted to take her home with me, but that she had to stay with her family. She refused, so she ended up walking back with us to Rebecca’s and her brother walked her back home with a bag of fruit.

We took a 3 mile hike to the waterfalls in Shibolya, a nearby village. Oscar and Michael, two VEO’s, Village Executive Officers (essentially the mayors) accompanied us. I thought about the hospitality we were receiving… if someone from Tanzania came unannounced to the US, would the local mayor stop his work to bring a mattress over, feed them, and take them on a hike to see the local waterfalls? These were generous people. Along the way, we met the village chief who happened to be outside washing his feet J Rebecca explained the building process and the difference in quality between mud bricks and fire-baked bricks. The dirt path was slick, and as villagers passed with bundles of wood and crops on their heads, it was customary to express, “Pole,” sorry for your tiring journey. We weaved through 10ft tall cornfields, alongside flower-topped potatoes, past goats and cows, and around huts. I don’t have the words to describe how beautiful the mountain-scapes appeared with the dark grey clouds sweeping in over the mossy hillsides. When it rained, the VEOs broke off banana leaves which we used as a natural umbrella (I loved this). On the way back, we stopped in to the village office to sign the guestbook and wait out the rain.

We returned to town after 3 nights in the village. It was everything we could have imagined and then some. It made us very thankful to be traveling in Africa, and for God’s synchronicity along the way.