Well well wells

August 28th 2007

The 18 Americans have gone. They were here in Dodoma for just over a week. The Carpenter’s Kids Program hosted the 18 “pilgrims” from various Episcopal parishes in New York that give money to parishes here in DCT. We divided the group into three and each visited three different parishes, in villages close to Dodoma, or nearly 90 minutes drive away. It is only after being with these “tourists” that I realize how much living here has changed me. I have become so accustomed to the life here in Dodoma, and in what to expect to see and feel when going to the villages. The first Saturday visit I went with seven of the pilgrims to Ntyuka, just 20 minutes outside of Dodoma.

A large group of colorfully dressed women and children met our car at the road and with singing, dancing and cheering escorted us nearly a mile to the priest’s home. Once inside everyone made themselves comfortable on the foam cushion seats and sofas, observing all sorts of political and religious decorations on the whitewashed concrete walls: a calendar from 1998, a clock with the Virgin Mary, a crucifix, and no doubt a photo of the late Julius Nyrere. There was no electricity so the door was left open to allow the sun in. Welcome, welcome, karibu, karibu Tanzania. It wasn’t two minutes before a young woman began passing out plates, each with one chapati, (like a tortilla), a boiled egg, 2 small pieces of unidentifiable, yet precious meat, (most likely beef or goat), a piece of white bread spread with Tanzanian margarine, (no thanks!) and some salt for the egg. Store-bought white bread is a luxury here. This nicely arranged plate of food, with a presweetened cup of hot tea (chai in Swahili) served as our breakfast. Most had already eaten prior to leaving the hotel, but people tried to at least attempt their second meal of the day, just 2 hours into it.

Some were distracted by the many children outside the door. They wanted to give their food to them instead of eating it themselves. Understandable. But no longer the way I instinctually think. First off, there is no way you would have enough on your plate to share with the kids outside—and the 15 more that would come running once they saw their friends eating. Secondly, as guests in the priest’s home, in Ntyuka, and in Tanzania, we are treated with such great hospitality, such generosity and genuine kindness, that even the hungry kids outside don’t resent us for eating so much good food. It is custom to give guests the best you have.

Later on, after hearing numerous choirs and introductions of the leaders of the parish inside the concrete church building, we went on a tour of the wells in Ntyuka. The first well we saw had been dug out of a hill sideways so you could walk down a gentle slope to collect water. There were numerous frogs hopping around in the mud, and the small puddle of water was the color of sandy milk. The next well we came to had been dug straight down over 12 feet into the ground and it seemed a life hazard to attempt the steep vertical climb to gather water from a similarly small puddle, (about 1.5 feet in diameter) with creamy water at the bottom.

Later a visitor from New York was discussing the cost of connecting the church up to the electricity grid. Just 2,000 dollars? Wow, a church in Manhattan could raise that in just 2 Sundays. But my thought was: who needs electricity? Or rather, who can afford electricity? And also, how is electricity a priority when 4 months out of the year it is unreliable? What Ntyuka needs (and most other villages in the dry, dry Dodoma region), are improved wells. Wells with covers to reduce evaporation and contamination, wells with concrete to reduce erosion and leaks, wells with manual pumps perhaps. The site of the wells made my stomach hurt---just thinking of all the bacteria and the salts that lay there in the dirty puddle...And then thinking of having to hover over a hole in the ground; as bathrooms in the villages are small, deep holes surrounded by mud walls.

Anyways, moving on...

During lunch, as we guests sat there and drank crisp, clear, bottled “Africa” water, (bottled in Iringa, Tanzania), the 50 Carpenter’s Kids children took turns drinking from 2-3 cups dipped into a large yellow bucket of the same sandy colored water we had seen earlier in the wells. It is the water they have consumed their whole life, and it is normal to them. And so now, somehow, it is normal to me.

I don’t yet know how we can help with the water situation in the villages. There is never enough to go around. And access to clean water is definitely more necessary than electricity.