Backstory to the Funeral

While writing my last blog entry, I found myself wanting to explain how I actually ended up going to the funeral and share some other details of the day, but I could not find a sufficient way to include my logistical reflections reverently and gracefully. So, here is my non-emotional, analytical recount of the day.  Please be warned that within you will find my first of many to come, I am sure jab at American culture.  It’s nothing personal. 

Yesterday, I asked Mama Shayo if any teachers were accompanying the children to the funeral.  Live in Another Country Rule #1: Always ask the obvious.  When I asked Mama Shayo this question, I never thought in my wildest (American) dreams the answer would be no.  The answer?  No, of course.  Thankfully I started with this question instead of the actual question I wanted to ask: could I be one of the teachers going?  It took me a minute to recover from her response, and I felt sad that I would miss out on this experience.  Have no fear, though; Teddy to the rescue.  Teddy is amazing just because she is, but she also is majorly clutch and seems to find a way to hurdle over little obstacles at just the right time.   I had to stop back to the lodge for a moment and ran into Teddy.  As I regularly do, I explained to her that I was shocked that no adult would accompany 30+ children to a funeral, to which she agreed, so it wasn’t just me being mzungu, and that I was disappointed that I would not be able to pay my respects.  Teddy shared she thought it would be a good idea to have the Mailisita Foundation represented at such a community event . Sooo, together we planned for Teddy to stop by school in little while so that she could to suggest to Mama Shayo that I accompany the children on behalf of the foundation.  A win, win situation, to which Mama Shayo agreed thanks to Teddy’s grace and persuasion. 

So I went, as you already know.  As did another teacher, it turns out.  I don’t know if the other madam came as my chaperone or because Teddy planted the seed about adult supervision, but I guess it does not really matter.  Inno drove the other madam and me, as the kids ran to the church, racing the car, kicking up dirt into their freshly cleaned "other" uniform, an I love DC white shirts and the brightest, yellow shorts/skirts I have ever seen.  It is remarkable to me that children here repeatedly show such high self-control and such great work ethic.  For example, one minute, 30 kids are running, laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs because hey, they’re kids, and the next minute, as soon as they step onto church grounds, they instinctively stop all foolishness. 

I was already having a heart attack because I couldn’t see all of the kids from the car. I was already having a heart attack because I was in the car, instead of escorting the kids to the church. I was already having a heart attack because they weren’t walking in a straight, silent line behind me.  There goes my American brain again. As kids were running into the church, stopping on a dime and calming walking as soon as they stepped inside, the car approached the church.  What happens next, you ask?  Madam directed me to come with her to the back of the church.  I coolly followed, mind racing, and we sat down in one of the last pews.  We sat.  I waited about one minute.  Surely we cannot be sitting here.  I could not see any of our kids.  As it turns out, they were all sitting in the side pews, which are completely impossible to see from the back of main portion of the church.  I couldn’t help myself and asked her if this is where we were going to sit.  Ndio (yes).  So I said, as casually as I could muster: should we sit with the children to make sure they are behaving?  Madam kindly smiled, clearly thinking mzungu kichaa (crazy white person), and told me no. 

As I think back to the beginning of this day and how Mama Shayo was completely comfortable sending all of these children to the funeral on their own, it makes more sense to me now.  Why do we need to be here to ‘chaperone’ if we aren’t going to sit with them, let alone sit in a place where we can see them? I thought I was going to break out in hives during mass because I couldn’t see the kids.  But, I didn’t want to be rude and leave madam sitting by herself, which is what would happen if I followed my instincts to take myself over to the children's section of the church.  I lasted until Communion.  I told madam as I got up that after I received Communion, I was going to check on the kids, to which she gave me a nod of approval.  Phew.  As I turned the corner and the children finally came back into view, I was not at all surprised at what I saw:  all the children sitting nicely and properly in the pews, not a single one of them speaking or horse playing.  Remarkable, I tell you.  I proudly continued walking over to them and as I approached the first pew, all of the girls slid down to make room for me before I gave any indication that they should do so. 

Do I always agree with how everything is done here in Tanzania? Ah, absolutely not.  But who am I to judge?  Especially since I continue to be in awe of the self-sufficiency, self-monitoring and self-motivation of the Tanzanian children I grow to love more and more each day.  Where has America gone wrong in raising our youth that children greatly struggle to monitor themselves? What lessons can I learn and take back to teach my scholars so that they too can learn the valuable life skill of making the right choice simply because it is the right choice? Steps off soapbox.