Today I don’t have one story, I have four. There have been so many special moments over the past two weeks, each one independent of the next. I don’t know how to connect them into one cohesive narrative and I don’t want to. Instead, I want to share them as they were, fleeting emotions, conversations, and experiences that have added so much color to the fellowship. With only one week left in Tanzania, its small moments like these I hope to hold on to. Parallel livesLast Thursday, Amanda and I traveled to Moshi to visit another Solar Sister partner, Global Bike, in the field. When we first pulled up to the bike shop, two Tanzanian Global Bike employees got out of the car in front of us, followed by a young white girl. I was not expecting to see another muzungu and Amanda and I were equally intrigued. We learned that she was an American intern working with Global Bike for the summer. She told us that she went to school in Tennessee but didn’t specify where. After our initial meeting, I whispered to Amanda, “what are the chances she goes to Sewanee?” Amanda and I recently shared our long, complicated, and harrowing college application process stories with each other on one of our long car rides. Long story short, Sewanee was one of the four schools I had gotten into and was deciding between. It was the first school I wrote off however because of its location in rural Tennessee, very small size (less than 2000 students), and conservative history. I had never visited the school (or travelled to any part of the south for that matter) and only applied on a whim. However, I received a substantial scholarship to attend and always felt guilty for turning it down in favor of Santa Clara. This guilt was easy to ignore because I thought I knew with almost complete certainty how different my life would have been had I attended Sewanee and I assumed I would not have liked it in the slightest. As we were wrapping up our observations of Global Bike, the intern and I started talking. She was working to help digitize Global Bike’s data system and interviewing beneficiaries on the impact Global Bike has on their lives. I was intrigued to hear how similar her work was to ours. I also learned she was a senior majoring in International Development and minoring in Women and Gender Studies. I knew it was a shot in the dark but I asked, “where in Tennessee do you go to school?” “It’s called Sewanee, it’s a really small school, you’ve probably never heard of it” she responded. I was shocked. This girl standing in front of me in a rural village in Tanzania who was also working for a social enterprise goes to the school I thought was the complete opposite of Santa Clara. I couldn’t help but start running the “what could have beens” in my mind. In a parallel universe, we would be classmates. Furthermore, in a school with less than 2000 students with similar academic interests, we probably would have been friends. I smiled at her, “I actually do know that school, how do you like it?” I asked. “I love it” she replied, grinning. I couldn’t believe how wrong my negative assumptions about Sewanee had been. I always assumed my life and college experience would have been completely different at that school, but instead I learned that maybe it wouldn’t have been as stifling as I thought. Maybe I could have had similar experiences and opportunities to those at Santa Clara, and found people who shared my interests. And maybe I would have loved it too. Why a Tanzanian Man is Wearing Your Old College T-shirtOn Saturday, we visited the Sisters of the Precious Blood in Arusha. The two Sisters who greeted us, Sister Hendrika and Sister Alouisa, were warm rays of sunshine. They were bubbly, constantly giggling, and wore a smile throughout our entire visit. Their energy was infectious and I found myself giggling with them at the smallest things. After interviewing the Sisters, they gave us a tour of their property. We walked outside and around to the back of the main building. A small but beautiful garden with a statue of Mary lead a path to the convent’s church. I could hear music coming from inside and we opened the doors to find three of the novice sisters playing drums and singing worship music. We continued on past the kitchen and laundry buildings and rounded a corner to another garden. This garden was sprawling and lush. It was beautifully designed with dozens of hedges, trees, and flowers. I was taken aback with how well-maintained and expansive it was that I couldn’t stop flooding the Sisters with compliments to which they, of course, responded with gracious giggles. After our tour the Sisters invited us to take lunch with them and we filled up our plates with rice, sauce, veggies, salad, and chips before touring their secondary all-girls school which reminded me Holy Names and brought fond memories of high school. While we were interviewing the Sisters about their work, we learned how American actions directly affects lives in Tanzania. Over the past six weeks, Amanda and I have noticed many Tanzanians wearing clothes from America ranging from US college sports teams jackets to tee shirts from chain restaurants to hoodies with sorority letters. We knew that no one was buying these items new from the store and have seen many street vendors selling a variety of second-hand clothing. In discussing the phenomenon, Amanda and I assumed that the clothing had somehow been donated internationally and ended up being resold. In further researching the issue, our suspicions were confirmed. According to the Council of Textile Recycling, only 20% of donated clothing actually gets resold in the store. The other 80% either goes to a landfill (which because textiles aren’t biodegradable means they pile up for hundreds of years) or is sold to textile merchants who export them overseas. They then end up second-hand markets like the many we’ve seen and ultimately are purchased by locals for a very cheap price. While this may seem like a good deal, the consequence is that locally made clothing cannot compete with such low prices and textile workers suffer. The Sisters of the Precious Blood have struggled to adapt in the face of this market challenge. We learned from Sister Alouisa that the Sisters run a vocational training center for girls who do not pass form four in school or whose parents cannot afford to send them to secondary school. The vocational center offers two forms of training: cooking and sewing. However, because the second-hand clothing industry has become so prominent, the girls who were trained in sewing have difficulty selling their garments. No one is willing to buy locally made clothing when they can buy second-hand clothing for a fraction of the price. In order to adapt, the sewing students now receive training in making school uniforms, bags, earrings, bracelets, and other handicrafts in order to diversify their skills. However, these skills are not as profitable as sewing was and they have seen a decline in the number of sewing students. I was intrigued and saddened to learn about an unintended consequence of the seemingly altruistic action of donating used clothing that I myself have participated in. However, fast fashion is the real culprit and this new knowledge gave me yet another reason to reject the industry. I encourage you to do so as well. If you buy a new wardrobe every season and feel good about yourself for donating last seasons clothing, think again. Instead of buying into whatever fashion trend is happening right now (and will be over in the blink of an eye) opt to shop at consignment and thrift stores instead or even better, refrain from buying new clothes unless absolutely necessary. Modern Day Masai LifeOn Monday we went into the field with one of the Arusha BDAs, Selengei, to test out a new protocol for recording the locations of SSEs at another sisterhood meeting in a Masai village called Esilalei. We drove past Masai herders and their cattle frequently on our many long drives into the field but had never spent extended time in a Masai village. As we got out of the car, a dozen children ran over to see who we were and gathered around, peering at us curiously. Selengei told us that the women were coming from another meeting in another village so we needed to wait for them. While we waited, we learned that this village was one big family. The village leader had eight wives and 96 children. Apparently, he had so many children that he built a school for them to attend. He was a very rich man (which is why he was able to afford so many wives) and he owned over 4000 cows. For the Masai, wealth is measured by the number of cows you own. Living in a culture where having multiple wives is so completely foreign to me it was difficult to process. A culture in which your worth as a woman is determined by how many children you can churn out to a husband who has other wives to fulfill him if you cannot. I couldn’t help but be shocked, upset, and frustrated with the Masai way of life and how clearly I felt it oppressed women. However, when Selengei asked if we wanted to meet the village leader, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I needed to see the man who every person in this village came from. We were lead over to a large tree under which the village leader sat. In front of him, three other elders sat on a mat and we were instructed to bow to them so they could touch our heads. Next, we approached the village leader. He was 105 years old and sat in a plastic lawn chair, donning a wide brimmed hat and holding a fly swatter made of cow hair. His second wife sat on the ground below him. We bowed to them and they touched our heads. I smiled awkwardly and mumbled “jambo, habari” (hello, how are you), unsure of what else to do. He responded with a toothless grin and some welcome greetings in Swahili. The man was so old that being alive seemed like a feat itself. He seemed so harmless sitting in his chair, swatting flies that it was hard to imagine that this was the man who started it all. He was clearly at the end of his life and soon his prideful reputation and wealth in cows and wives would all be a memory. I wondered what his wives would do after he was gone. Would they be sad or relieved? Would they talk to each other about it or did they despise each other? What was his relationship like with each wife? Did he love them? Did they love him? Did love even exist in this culture? The leader asked us if we had any questions for him. I asked, “Has he met all of his descendants?” The reply: “Yes, he knows each child, grandchild, and great grandchild by name.” Sisters Stand UpBecause our trip to Same two weeks ago went differently than expected (see my last blog post for more details) we went back last week in order to accompany the Sisters on one of their village visits. The visit was successful and we were able to interview Sister Marietta, one of the convent’s social workers, and the two community groups she formed and provides training to. After our interviews, we were invited by the local parish priest into his home for lunch. As we were finishing our meal with some sweet oranges, a debate broke out between the priest and Sister Marietta. I was not paying attention to what sparked the conversation but it became clear that the two were arguing about having specific programs to support women. Sister Marietta was saying that women are oppressed and need extra help and support in order to raise up their quality of life. To my surprise, the priest expressed the opposite opinion. He declared that the oppression of women was a thing of the past, an issue that occurred decades ago but had since been solved. “The graph has flipped” he kept repeating, referring to some graph I personally have never seen, which apparently demonstrates that women now have more power and rights than men. “Now, men are the ones who are suffering,” he insisted. When programs put women first, he asserted, men feel that they are not important or valued and this causes psychological damage to them. I was shocked that these were real words coming out of someone’s mouth, especially a Catholic priest! I knew that people held such views but had never been confronted with them so directly and by someone I normally have so much trust and faith in. To my further surprise, Sister Marietta shook her head in disagreement and Sister Agatha and Lumba joined the fight. “Women have been oppressed since the beginning of time,” Sister Agatha shot back, “We have started to get a little more power in the last few decades and you are afraid. Why are you men so scared?” “Men are not responsible, that is the problem” Lumba added. The debate continued and soon our male driver joined in, taking the priests side. There was so much I wanted to say but for the most part, I just sat back and observed. I wanted to watch how it all would play out and what positions would be taken. I couldn’t believe that I was witnessing a priest vs. nun showdown on the issue of gender. I was especially impressed by how unrelenting the Sisters were, despite the priest’s position of power over them. The debate raged for several minutes and grew in intensity. Suddenly, the priest cut the conversation short and suggested that we say a closing prayer before heading down the mountain. When he said this, all of the tension in the room seemed to melt away as every bowed their heads in prayer despite practically shouting at each other just seconds ago. The humility in the room was impressive to say the least and even though I too was riled up from listening to the debate, I took a few deep breaths and let the man who had just challenged all of my fundamental beliefs, say a prayer over us. I thought about how much self-restraint it much take for both sides to put their disagreements aside to come together, united in a commitment to faith and the church. The polarized politicians in the US could take a lesson from this group. We all left the priest’s house and piled into the van. The priest asked for a ride down the mountain as well and, with all the same players, the debate picked up again. This time I got to witness one of the most iconic moments of my life. The priest was sitting shotgun and Lumba, Sister Agatha, and I were sitting in far back. The priest started rambling on again about the ridiculous graph and Sister Agatha shouted up to him “Men are selfish!” I laughed, impressed again by her boldness and as the priest started responding with more of the same excuses, Sister Agatha rolled her eyes dramatically. A nun rolling her eyes at a priest was a sight I never thought I’d see and it was incredible. The driver came to the priests defense by asserting that women are disqualified to lead arguing “at a funeral, the women cry and the men are strong. Women are emotional and men are rational, that is why men are in charge.” Ohhh great, I thought, toxic masculinity at its finest. “What is wrong with showing your emotions?” Lumba retorted, “both women and men have emotions and it is not bad to show them.” The debate continued on along the entire drive down and Sister Marietta even pulled out her sociology knowledge and shared facts about gendered land ownership laws in Tanzania that restrict women’s rights and make it difficult for them to be financially independent of men. Amanda started throwing in her two cents as well and the car was full of voices.
There were many things I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Even though women’s rights are one of my biggest passions, I knew nothing I could say would change these two men’s minds. Not only did they think women were unfit to lead but they thought that women had more power than men and were oppressing them. All of it was complete nonsense to me and it felt like a pointless argument, just like how it is pointless to convince climate change deniers who reject science and facts that climate change is happening. I also recently listened to a TED Radio Hour podcast on dialogue and debate in which I learned about how difficult it is to convince someone else to agree with you based on your set of morals. Instead, it is more effective to approach the issue from their moral position and appeal to their beliefs which requires you to advocate for your side in a completely different way. The podcast gave me a lot to think about and I planned to test out the tips soon but I wasn’t sure a debate on gender with Tanzanian priests and nuns was the best opportunity to start. Instead, I continued to observe, only adding a few finger snaps and affirmative “mmhmms” to points I agreed with. Soon we reached the main road again and the priest left the van. He grinned largely at us and waved goodbye, thanking us for visiting and wishing us a safe trip home. I smiled and waved back. Once he was gone I squeezed Sister Agatha’s hand and whispered to her, “Thank you so much for saying what you did, I agreed with everything you said.” She squeezed me back and smiled, knowingly. The Sister’s tenacity reminded me of the I Stand With the Sisters march that occurred in Seattle in 2012. I didn’t attend the march (I don’t remember why, I think I was busy that weekend) but my aunt and mom did and were very active in the movement. The march was protesting the fact that the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) was being reprimanded by the Holy See and US Catholic Bishops for being too out of line with “the teachings and disciplines of the Catholic church.” Essentially, the Sisters were being disciplined for using their judgement to serve those most in need, and got in trouble for being open and accepting to women using birth control or who had abortions and members of the LGBTQ community because this was not aligned with Vatican requirements. In addition, the church was trying to quiet their speech calling for changes in the Catholic Church, including the ordination of women. I remember how passionate my family was about going to the march and supporting the Sisters and was proud that my mom was standing up for what she believed in, despite restrictive church oversight. Looking back, I wish I went to the march and demonstrated my support as well. As I have gotten older I have increasingly struggled to accept the limitations placed on women in the Catholic Church. In my opinion, there is no valid argument defending why women are disqualified to serve as priests. However, the Church is my home and I cannot imagine leaving it because of this issue. Instead, I am committed to following other strong women in the Church like my family members who marched and the Franciscan Sisters of Same who stood up to a sexist priest, and fight the patriarchy from within.
8 Comments
MARY CATEY
8/12/2019 06:31:42 pm
GREAT happy to talk soon in personHugs, GrandmaI. It must have been very hard to keep your mouth shut. I commend you for that ..I LIKED all of your chose of words.
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Kathy Formella
8/13/2019 08:07:01 am
What a heartfelt and thoughtful journal, you have come into your own finding unique and wonderful paths to explore. Thank you for sharing such intimate thoughts and I look forward to hearing and reading about your next steps. Stay safe and true to your heart. With love, Kathy
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AuthorI am a senior Environmental Studies major at Santa Clara University from Seattle, WA. To learn more about me check out the "About Me" page! To contact me you can email me at [email protected] or connect on LinkedIn. Archives
November 2019
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