We have entered the month of Ramadhan,
which means food during the day is scarce in the predominantly Muslim
areas, but dinner invitations have sky rocketed! I am interested to
see society decay as people starve themselves everyday for a month-
my bet is that chaos will run rampant as the month nears its end and
people have had enough of being hungry. Well, you know, more hungry
than normal, in my undernourished village.
Personally, what Ramadhan means to me
is a battle trying to educate pregnant women that they really
shouldn't be starving themselves for a month- they are already
undernourished and they should be increasing the amount of food they
consume, not obliterating it! Its a rough argument, though, because
its me, who they know is not Muslim, a white stranger, telling them
to go against their religion and not make this sacrifice to the god
they believe in. I may have science on my side, plus my very verbose
mama, telling them their babies will come out underdeveloped or
mentally deficient, but these women's lives are much more influenced
by the religion they interact with daily than some science the white
girl brought with her from America. I'm surprised at how frustrating
I find it when women refuse to stop their fasts. Not that anyone
would blatantly refuse, that isn't Tanzanian, but I hear a lot of
“I'll eat tomorrow,” “I'll stop fasting tomorrow.” In
Tanzanian culture, that means no. It shouldn't concern me so much-
these women are used to not eating a whole lot, hopefully the effect
on their babies will minimal, and I don't have to take care of
whatever problems that baby comes out with it if there are
considerable effects- but I find it so disturbing when women refuse
to make a concession to their religion for the health of their
babies. Maybe if I were more ardently religious, I would feel
differently. I've tried using the argument that don't you think God
would want you and your baby to be healthy rather than you make this
sacrifice, but I doubt that hit home with anyone. Its not my place to
interfere with another's religious choices, but it is my place to be
educating people on making healthier choices, and when it comes to
Ramadhan and pregnant and nursing mothers, this conflicts.
Other than my current struggles with
Ramadhan, I want to share some little anecdotes and thoughts, that
haven't really merited their own posts, but I really want to share.
Scarcity is the mother of invention I have found in Tanzania. My mama
was making nyama choma for me one night, which is basically BBQ minus
the sauce, and I told her about shish kebabs. She wanted to try it,
so she goes over to the roof of her chicken coop, where she stores
random things, which is also hidden in the dark so I can't see what
she's doing, and comes back with skewers which she proceeds to use to
skewer and cook the meat. I am amazed that she has skewers, and my
first thought is that she must have purchased them somewhere, in a
nice set of 6 in a pretty plastic wrapper... Yeah, forgot I was
Tanzania for a minute. I ask her where she procured her skewers, and
she replies, “Umbrella.” She was using the spokes of an umbrella
to roast her meat.
Another occasion of scarcity inspiring
brilliant creativity took place before the rainy season ended. I had
already realized that my water catchment system acted just like a
faucet of running water, making it perfect for washing dishes. I had
a few dishes collected that I had been putting off washing because
washing dishes is the most evil house chore in existence, but really
the thing that was bothering me was how nasty my hair was. Its not
uncommon for me to feel like I need to wash my hands after touching
my hair, but this time it had gotten to the point where I never wore
my hair down, not even while sleeping, because it was so gross. My
hair was so nasty, it made my skin itchy and uncomfortable. I stopped
touching it because it was not just oily, but there was definitely
dirt mixed in. Why had I allowed my hair to get so gross, one might
ask. Washing hair in a bucket bath sucks is the answer. It doesn't
actually make your hair any cleaner, and you have to hang over, bent
in half, in order to get your head into the bucket, which causes all
the blood to rush to your head, and if you have a cold, all the snot
in your sinuses to readjust in an uncomfortable manner. So, one
afternoon, it begins raining, and I rush out with my dish soap and
dishes, but half way through rinsing off the one bowl I own, I
realize that I could wash my hair. At first I hesitate- how weird
would that look if someone walked by and saw me washing my hair in my
water catchment system- but probably no one would walk by- nothing is
worse to a Tanzanian than walking in the rain. So I run for my
shampoo and proceed to wash my hair, standing outside of my house, in
sweatpants, my head under a concentrated downpour of rain water. I
have never felt cleaner while in my village.
Dancing is often considered a large
part of African culture. It certainly is in Tanzania. Little girls
come out of the womb being able to shake their asses. There is a
teacher at my secondary school, Amina, who, although she may be a
very conservative Muslim woman, shrouded in head covering and black
gown, she can move! Its surprising, though, how diverse the styles of
dance can be sometime. There is a club in Dodoma of which I have
frequented many a time, where women come in surprisingly culturally
inappropriate apparel- knees, shoulders, oh my!- and exhibit their
skills on the dance floor. The favorite move by far, you may ask? The
Electric Slide. Tanzanians will, no exaggeration, line dance for
hours. It never seems to get old for them. Any music becomes line
dancing music, once one person starts with the side step-ball-chain.
If the dance floor wasn't full before, it will be when its line
dancing time. So, my question is, is this a case of southern revival,
or the Out of Africa Theory?
No comments:
Post a Comment