Today marks the 51st anniversary of Ms. Rosa Parks refusing to give up her place on a bus for a white American solely on account of her being a black American. When I think about her story of rejecting an unfair system, I take little solace in the fact that the world has improved since 51 years ago. My uneasy heart is informed especially by a similar experience of discrimination I witnessed just four years ago on a day that was supposed to be only happy. During that experience, I learned from my host sister’s actions that sometimes when the system unfairly rejects you your only choice is to reject that system. Both Rosa Parks and my beloved host sister who I will call by her nickname, Mamu, have since passed. It is difficult for those of us who knew my host sister to talk about her without pain. But, I feel I must tell her story little by little. Here is one little part of my time with Mamu.
Story
Like Laughter
StoryThis time last year, I moved in with a family in quiet Okahenge, Namibia. I arrived comically; dragging a set of rolling luggage meant for airports through half a foot of shifting sand. Snowshoes would have been more effective than my brown sandals which slid around and gave me the appearance of a newborn calf with unsure legs. I could only laugh at myself and trudge onward.
Most of my host family was inauspiciously absent at my arrival. But, Tatekulu–Grandfather–was found in the center of the homestead. In that structure, there were two plastic lawn chairs and a daybed. Tatekulu sat in one of the chairs and his radio sat in the other. I lowered to one knee as my language trainer had told me to do ahead of time. We clasped hands and I placed my left hand under my right elbow, bowing my head. He thanked me for nothing and everything, and he called me “my son.”
My Neighbors
StoryUntil now, most of the stories I’ve shared belong to people I’ve met in places like Vermont, Chicago, and Southern Africa. I recognize that I have neglected stories which belong to the place I called home for the longest time, and to the people I called neighbors then. There are many worth sharing, especially now that political pundits reduce swathes of the United States into ‘voting blocs.’ Those who were once people are now percentage points in a preference poll. Moreover, one of the major candidates this year is a man who claims to have all the answers for those people I called neighbors for 18 years. Liberals worry that my neighbors will ‘turn Pennsylvania red’ if they vote for that man. They are called rednecks, hicks, and stupid. Let me tell you about one of these people reduced to .01%, hick, and stupid. Let me tell you about my neighbors.
Unusual Sounds
StoryNormally, sounds atop the roof of Chavda Hotel include squawking crows, rumbling motorbikes, and jangling church bells from Minara Miwili nextdoor. The wind also rattles silverware and rustles tablecloths on especially blustery days. Sitting at a rooftop table, we earned wi-fi with purchase of chipsi and chai. Waitstaff tolerated our lengthy visits because we made them laugh, and we said not Hello but Hamjambo. Proper greetings matter.
Proper goodbyes also matter. This is part of why hundreds of Muslim Zanzibaris gathered at a mosque near the market that day. They wished to pray together and feel a sense of community after a deadly disaster. They wished to say goodbye. Just two days before the beginning of Ramadhan, a massive ferry sank near Chumbe island. The international media reported “at least 68” dead. However, Mnazi Mmoja soccer field and Maisara became an impromptu morgue for suspiciously more than 68 bodies. Families nervously entered tents to look for missing loved ones. Anyone unable to make it to Mnazi Mmoja watched the local news, on which–quite shocking to view–video panned over drowned faces hourly. Wailing pierced the darkness that night.
What do you think?
StoryFor this lesson, I was prepared for misunderstanding. I made a list of questions the students would likely pose. I had clear and simple answers ready for those questions. And, I highlighted vocabulary which I knew would be unfamiliar. I laid out these unfamiliar terms like a roadmap of traffic patterns. We established the known before broaching the unknown. The itinerary was a good one, and the route was manageable.
Until Donald Trump hijacked the car.
Bart
StoryJust as the Kaskazi rains started to fall, my classmate’s longing to create peaked. As an artist, she missed having studio space back at Indiana University. Thus, our resident director made good on a promise to introduce her to Stonetown’s art community. Another classmate and I tagged along, and we were the ones who clicked with Philbart Banzie, a.k.a. Bart Michoro, a.k.a. Bart.
My first impression of Bart was that his mind was in eight different places at the same time. He spoke rapidly, and moved unpredictably. His eyes were youthful, but his hands were worn. Not unusual for a Zanzibari, he owned at least two mobile phones. And, he switched between them as seamlessly as his words switched between Swahili and English mid-sentence. Often, it is apparent that he is laughing at your expense, but somehow it is never insulting.
Proof of Alikeness
StoryA good friend of mine just returned stateside from South Sudan. There, she was working with the Carter Center to track and treat guinea worm. Guinea worm, if you haven’t heard of it, is a nasty parasite that tears up insides and forces its way out through skin when it has finished. The Carter Center has done unprecedented work to nearly eliminate it throughout northern Africa.
My friend lived atop a plateau in rural South Sudan, and she walked daily half-marathons to visit the communities she served. These communities were typically nomadic groups of Toposa people. My friend shared with me some interesting interactions she had with the Toposa.
Paying Attention
StoryI didn’t ask Lucas for his story. But, he told me.
Walking through the city, I have a habit of making eye contact with strangers. Sometimes it’s people watching, but most times it’s for safety. It’s a trick that an embassy security officer taught me. Most people considering robbing someone on the street target individuals who aren’t paying attention. Thus, passively and unthreateningly making eye contact shows someone that I see them; and I see that they see me–pick on someone less prepared, pal.
“Entrepreneur”
Story
In Namibia, there aren’t many people and there are even fewer cars. Thus, when I needed to go anywhere I relied on fate. I donned long sleeves and a hat, and I set my feet to walking on the sandy road. Without fail, some other traveler eventually crossed my path. Sometimes the driver was headed in a different direction, so we smiled sadly and parted ways. Other times, our itineraries matched up–at least in part–and I hopped into a truck bed or a backseat. Surprisingly often, my automobile-owning saviors transported me for free, especially if my desired destination was on their way, anyway.
They Just Don’t Understand!
StoryJust over a year ago, I was asked to visit a kindergarten classroom on the Northwest side of Chicago. The purpose of my visit was to join the class and to pay extra attention to two twin sisters from Burundi. The girls were a source of constant stress for their compassionate teacher, Miss Chavez, who suspected that they were utterly lost during instruction. She reached out to the community center where I worked, who sent out a call for anyone who could talk to the twins in Swahili or Rundi–the languages spoken by their family at home–and assess how much they understood.
Tim the Nomad 