Jambo Right Back at You, Rafiki

My husband’s name is Jean-Claude, Ringo, or Sven depending on my mood. We met while hiking the Shikoku trail sophomore year of college. We’ve got three kids, two boys and one little girl. Where is Ringo now? Back in the village, home-schooling the children. He cooks and gardens; has a big piki piki and knows kung-fu. He’s your everyday bad-ass turned homemaker, very sexy. Or at least that’s what I tell people; more specifically the forward town boys looking for an mchumba. Sometimes I get it from the women too, yesterday a Tanzanian mama walked up to me in the bus stand, took my side ponytail and gave it a good yank—“It’s real?! Do you have a husband? My son would love a wife with this hair.” I told her I’d marry her son if he’d be willing to cook and clean my house, she laughed and walked away. The mental stability of volunteers in Tanzania largely depends on how they handle uncomfortable situations. I’ve met this challenge with varying degrees of success.

Due to an active imagination and sense of humor the wedding proposals are no problem for me. In fact sometimes I enjoy telling eager taxi drivers about how Jean-Claude proposed, under a full moon on top of Machu Picchu. The incessant mzungu calls are a bigger problem for me. Mzungu literally means Europeaner. Just as you wouldn’t yell “hey African” at strangers walking down the street in Boston; it’s not polite to yell mzungu. Traveling in TZ can feel like a game of dodge ball where I’m in the middle, mzungu being thrown at me from every angle until someone hits me with a kidney shot mzungu and I take a swing back (metaphorically speaking, thankfully I’ve never lost it enough to hit anyone except that perv on the Q train in Brooklyn). There are a few ways to deal with this situation:

1-Stay in village, don’t travel. The only person who calls me mzungu in Ujindile is a man whose name is officeCHAIRdoor, and who thinks he’s a motorcycle. I don’t mind being called mzungu if it’s followed by a dazzling motorcycle mime-show. Unfortunately, we all have to leave the village at some point, mostly to check email.
2-Get really pissed off, seethe, don’t talk to anyone, then wait for it all to boil over and explode at someone with third grade Swahili insults that come out like fraggle-rock. This is for amateurs; it’s embarrassing to be a second year PCV who flips off little old ladies in the market place.
3-Take the time to explain why being called mzungu bothers you, boring.
4-Embrace the mzungu. A year into service I realized the jig is up, I am Mzungu; Mzungu and proud! Jambo right back at you rafiki. This approach often leads into having to tell stories about my Ringo and his views on education.

The most uncomfortable situation I have gotten myself into in-country was a very public stance I took against our village executive officer (VEO) when he had impregnated and denied my house girl. Before the incident the VEO and I had been good friends with a teasing, brother-sister relationship (which is how I received my village name- Semblinyi, sister of VEO). During our fight VEO took the teasing to the next level at inappropriate public moments. At town meetings he would add snide little comments, such as “Peace Corps missed the last town meeting and doesn’t know what’s going on.” Which was true, but before the scandal he would have had my back, and would have called me by name. I’d smile back and shoot off a “Bwana, you know Sue Bora* hasn’t been here for years, of course she missed the meeting.” The town would laugh and VEO would snicker. In this way VEO and I formed a sort of two-man show at public forums. The town warmed up to my sense of humor, and now I joke around with everyone. VEO owned up to being the father of my house girl’s child, and now we’re back to teasing each other, though I’m usually the one who takes it to the next level:

VEO: Greta, why don’t you marry an Mbena?
Greta: Because I need a man who’s taller than me.
VEO: Why?
Greta: Because in America we have electricity and the light bulbs are really high, I need a man to change light bulbs.
VEO: Is that all?
Greta: No. Also, with short men everything is short, and tall men…
VEO: WEH! Greta! You’re a troublemaker.
Greta: Why are you surprised?

These days I share more laughter with people than anything else.

At times situations are completely overwhelming, and in those cases it’s best to call in reinforcements. There is nothing that the fab five (my five closest girlfriends who live in Njombe) and I can’t handle; quite literally. We’ve fought crime, corruption, and the battle of the bulge, no sweat.

With my network of close friends, the support of my husbands, and a healthy sense of humor I deal with the uncomfortable parts of Tz so that I can enjoy the wonderful, weird, and wild adventure that is Peace Corps Tanzania. It’s taken me two years to get to this point, but it’s worth it, if only for two straight months of village laughter.

*Sue Borah was a Peace Corp volunteer in Ujindile several years ago.