Just a quick note...

So in the past week since the alleged attack from the last post, parts of the girl's story have been called into question. She is returning home now, but some people believe that she may have fabricated the incident. If the story isn't true then I'm sorry for alarming anyone, but irregardless we all spent a large part of last week in a panic.

School Timeline

I’ve gotten a lot of questions about classes so here’s a timeline:

• July-August: I studied Kiswahili for 7 weeks at the university
• Early September: Classes were supposed to start. They were postponed.
• September 29: Classes officially started, except that no professors or students came to classes. Most students hadn’t actually moved in because they knew that classes never start on time. We tried for a few days to attend classes based on the confusing timetable posted online. Please note that there are no course descriptions anywhere. Only names, times, and locations. I give up and go Nairobi.
  
• October 6-10: Some professors and students came to classes. More and more came by the end of the week. We ran around collecting syllabuses trying to piece together a schedule of classes where the professors speak decent English. Some people walked into classes taught completely in Swahili because the professors wanted the students to understand the lesson.
• October 10: Official end of class registration. Deadline was postponed because most of us couldn’t log into the system. I still can’t. My registration number was switched with another American.
• October 13-17: Pretty much all professors are showing up to classes. I’ve decided not to take an extra academic class because I’m probably not going to learn much anyways. I’ve been to 3^rd year history classes where they spend 2 classes defining history. Students don’t how to speak in class and have no access to reading materials. I keep searching the library to no avail. I just want to be a good student and do my homework, but can't.
  
• October 27: Date of national student strike. It will probably last a few days to a week. I might travel again.
  
• October 31: New registration deadline.
• Mid-December: Foreign students take finals early to go home.

It will be the shortest semester ever. The real lesson I’m learning here is how poor the education system is here. Primary school is taught in Swahili, but the secondary school and university are taught in English. People don’t learn English well and there are no national resources going into education. This is the best university in country and its taught at high school level in America.

And for some sobering news:

Almost every week something happens to remind us that we aren’t completely safe here. A wallet gets grabbed on a Dhala Dhala, a laptop is stolen from a room. On Sunday afternoon, a strange Tanzanian man came by a girl’s room saying he was looking for a room for a friend. He asked her if she had a roommate. She told him she didn’t and he left. Later she went to the shower and he came back, grabbed her, and forced himself into her room. She fought back and he didn’t take anything, but he had a razor and cut her lightly on the face and shoulder. What scares me is that her laptop was next to her. If he wanted to steal something he could have. They think he was trying to rape her. We have guards outside the building, but they didn’t see him come in or leave. I’ve come back late and night seen the guards missing or sleeping. Our most common guard is a kind old grandmother, who couldn’t hurt a fly. Even the Tanzanian students are scared. It's an all girls' dorm. We're all always targets--apparently even in our rooms in broad daylight.

First Week of Classes

My first 5 weeks of Göttingen have gone by in a blur. During the first three weeks, I took an intense language course with other European exchange students who are also going to be in Göttingen for the semester and/or year. The true value of the course was not really learning more German (academically, I got very little out of the course), but rather getting an orientation to the university and meeting other people. The language course felt a bit like freshman orientation all over again.

After the course ended, Jackie, some friends from the language course, and I went to Munich and Oktoberfest, and then Jackie and I went on to Vienna. Probably either Jackie or I will later blog about Munich and/or Vienna, so I won't dwell on that much now. But I will say that it was a wonderful trip.

Now, though, vacation/orientation time is over and the school year has begun. The process of registering for classes has been, quite frankly,  a headache. The Göttingen website isconfusing and the process of finding and registering for classes very complicated. All the German students I have met have been incredibly helpful in attempting to explain the process, but often even they do not completely understand it. To explain: every department organizes their course selection process differently and have different registration deadlines. For instance, I can search for German Department courses in the central course catalog, but I cannot find the descriptions of the courses there. To find the course descriptions, I must go to the German Department website. The History Department includes course descriptions in the course catalog for most but not all courses (there are some courses that seem interesting based on their title, but I cannot find the description or reading list anywhere). Some departments (ex. Spanish) do not include descriptions on their websites or in the course catalog, but rather on the website through which we register for classes. 

After going though the trouble of actually finding classes, the registration website is easy to navigate and I do not have to get the signature of an advisor. However, much to my surprise, the German Department required students to register for classes a month ago. Now that the deadline has passed, I have to send an email to the professor of the German lit class I want to take asking for permission. I wrote him a week ago and am still waiting a reply. Whether or not I get an email, I am still going to the class tomorrow and hopefully I will not be thrown out.

I now know more or less which courses I am taking, but am using this week to shop around a bit. My Spanish class yesterday was very well taught, and I have heard great things about the professor of the history class I am taking at 6 pm today (evening classes seem common). I am excited that the official school year has finally begun and I will let you know how things progress from here. 

Nairobi

Classes were supposed to start last week, but none started, so I took off for Nairobi, Kenya with some Americans from another program. Other Americans warned us against robbery, pickpockets, scam artists, and beggars, but we went anyways.

We left at 6 AM, thinking the bus should arrive by 7 PM. Instead our bus broke down in Moshi. We spent an hour playing cards on the side of the road and waiting. The ride was uneventful from Moshi until the Kenyan border, where we checked out of Tanzania and paid our Kenyan visa fees. Because buying our visas took longer, the bus almost left us alone in the dark. Luckily, we ran and caught up just in time. As we crossed the Kenyan border, the roads surprisingly got worse (they’re pretty awful in Tanzania) and we were soon stopped by police checking that passengers were wearing seatbelts. Spending the last three months in Tanzania, I almost forgot about seatbelts .

We got increasingly nervous driving through the dark, so when we arrived at 9:45, we stepped into a taxi and asked for Backpacker’s Hostel. We decided the hostel chain might be a little more expensive than other guesthouses, but we could stay one night and then move somewhere cheaper. However after one night at the Backpackers, we couldn’t imagine moving. A wonderful Kenyan woman, Patricia, owned the hotel and took great care of us. She cooked for us and gave us directions. We decided we could afford to pay a little extra for a tv, a fireplace in the outdoor dining room, a puppy named Scooby Doo, and warm showers.

We spent the first day wandering around the city, marveling at how urban it felt. We noted immediately that there was no trash on the ground or burning like in Dar-es-Salaam, no squat toilets, and that buildings were taller and better maintained. Although, I didn’t see many Mzungu, Kenyans didn’t stare at us the way Tanzanians do. Nairobi was so well-developed; I could forget I was in Africa. Everyone spoke English clearly and wealthier Kenyans even spoke English to each other. I went to the National Museum and was amazed at how much more organized it was than most Tanzanian museums. Although people pointed out parts of the city that had been disturbed by violence last year, there is currently no visible evidence of last year's upheaval.

The next day, we toured Kibera, the second-largest slum in the world. We slid through rain and across mud paths down into the valley of mud homes and tin roofs, passing signs for small NGOs and private schools. Because the Kenyan government doesn’t officially recognize Kibera’s existence there are no public schools in the area. But we never felt unsafe or even very sad. The people were friendly and they seemed happy despite their poverty. The conditions were cramped and unsanitary—mud dripped through irrigation pipes and there was no room between homes. We visited a shop were men make jewelry from cow bones and a youth center where the kids made beaded jewelry. I couldn't resist buying a few necklaces to support the workers and remember my visit.

I’m not sure why people warned so strongly against Nairobi. It was worth seeing at least once and I’d love to go again someday. The nightlife was more fun than in Dar; Kenyans are better dancers than most Tanzanians and it was exciting to see a city recover (at least on the surface) so quickly from such great turmoil as last year’s election violence.

Since I’ve returned, classes are starting slowly but surely. Not all professors are coming to class, but each day more professors and students show up. I’m supposed to register by Friday, but still go to classes without professors and am not sure what I want to take. We’re all running around trying to find good classes that are actually happening. But on the bright side, I’ve met my roommate, Nehema. She is a very sweet sociology major and we have class together. She has a tv and is currently unpacking a suitcase full of clothes, wondering why she brought so much. I think we could get along well. At least I hope so.

"Guy Love" and other issues

Classes are supposed to start today, but no one I know has attended a class that actually began. I’m not sure when classes are offered, where their offered, or where I can find an updated schedule. While I wait, here is a blog entry about homosexuality and gender issues in Tanzania.

There’s a ten year-old boy at the orphanage who loves to braid my hair. He dresses up younger kids in scarves and I’ve seen him try on high heels. When I wear a new dress, he tells me how pretty it is. The other kids don’t tease him about his love for beauty. The caretakers don’t admonish him for being too feminine.

Similarly, men walk down the street holding hands. No one teases or questions. For the most part, homosexuality is so taboo, so unexpected, that people don’t acknowledge its existence. In this deeply religious country, two men holding hands are just friends. European and American friends of mine with same sex partners don’t talk about their sexuality in public. Luckily, the Kiswahili language makes this easy. Kiswahili pronouns are gender neutral. Yeye means “he” or “she.” Mchumba means “fiancée,” Mpenzi means “lover.” You can have a long conversation about someone with specifying their gender. People just assume it’s the opposite.

Despite its gender neutral language, Tanzania is still a very gender segregated country. I talked to some members of the “Gender Club” last week and picked up their pamphlets. Rather than promoting women’s rights or feminism, they promote “gender mainstreaming”—recruiting female students and making campus more tolerant to women. I’m happy that such a group exists, that the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences is almost half female, and that university outreaches specifically to women. But I wish women didn’t feel vulnerable to sexual advances or attack walking across campus alone and that more families encouraged girls to succeed academically. I’ve found that in most interactions with men, women take a subordinate role. Men make decisions and initiate contact; a woman asking a man on a date is unthinkable. For the most part, Tanzanian men and women cannot be friends. If a man and a woman walk together in public, people assume they’re dating. Although men hold hands frequently, other than shaking hands as greetings men and women don’t touch in public.

My relatively light skin complicates matters for me. Men have told my friends that white skin is blessed; kids have told me my skin is beautiful. People want to date Mzungus both for the potential income and the status of being with a lighter skinned person. Tanzanian men have told me they like being seen with me in public because people will assume we’re dating. There aren’t the same boundaries as in the US. I’ve had strangers call me their “Mchumba,” or “Mrembo” (beautiful), an economics professor give me his business card, and many men ask for my phone number. I smile, say I don’t have a phone or pretend that I don’t understand or that I have a husband. The remnants of traditional gender hierarchy and neo-colonialism reveal themselves constantly in the view of women as commodities and the glorification of light skin in a black country.

As much as I love Tanzania, it’s a difficult place to be queer, questioning, or a woman who wants to be anything other than a housewife.

And maybe it's the time of year

What is there to say about Göttingen right now? I've been here almost three weeks, and I still like it. I'm not sure if that means I'm only at the peak of that adjustment curve I've heard so much about (and getting ready to dislike being here), but I guess I'll have to wait and see.

Lately I've been getting lazy when it comes to cooking meals, but that's started to change this week. Last night I made hamburgers, and tonight, vermicelli. Tomorrow morning, provided I wake up early enough, I'll make pastina, and tomorrow night, I'm planning penne with peppers and olives and maybe sausage. I know I'll miss this when I get back to Amherst: not only the ability to make food, but also the impetus (no Val). Well, that'll only be a year.

I donated money to Obama's campaign about two months ago or so, and they sent me a few Obama buttons. My mother sent them along last week, and they arrived yesterday.

One of them's been pinned to my jacket ever since. I feel strange about wearing it, can't exactly pinpoint why. I think I'd feel completely normal wearing it in the U.S., but here I don't want to feel even a little bit like I'm wearing it to show that I'm a 'good' American, not the crazy religious conservative American that I imagine Europeans think of when they think of the United States. Also, I don't want it to mean that I don't have any doubts about Obama, because I certainly do. In spite of all that, though, he's the best (nominated) presidential candidate we've had in my lifetime, and I think he can win.

One thing I've noticed about talking to foreign students here is that they seem to have a much better grasp about the leanings of American political parties. That is, those that I've talked to about it have all mentioned that the Democrats aren't really too liberal, which is something you don't hear all that often in the U.S., especially when it comes to the news media. I'm very aware that our news media aren't really fond of distinctions. Still, hearing others say that makes me wonder why it has to be that the Democrats are always conveniently the 'liberals' and the Republicans the 'conservatives,' and if you fall outside of that spectrum you're a radical.

Hmmm. This doesn't actually seem to be about Germany anymore, does it? Maybe I should tell about how I wiped out in the parking lot of a grocery store the other day while rollerblading (in my defense, it was a very steep hill). Or I could tell about how after rollerblading back from the grocery store, I realized that rollerblades are for fun and not for shopping. Skating with a heavy backpack full of groceries was tiring, and the fact that it started to rain didn't help. Next time I'll take my bike, once that works again.

Anyway.

Mwizi

I came back from my Friday morning run to worried friends. One of the girls on our program had also been out running and had been mugged. She ran the same route every morning at 5:30 AM, but never ran more than 10 minutes away from campus. Apparently, she had passed two Tanzanian men on a busy main road. They ran beside her for a minute, then grabbed her around the neck, took her ipod, and pushed her into a ditch. She returned, bruised and nervous. For the rest of the day, she worried about every Tanzanian man we passed.

We’ve been on edge for a while now. Last week, a group of European girls were robbed at machete point walking back to the dorm at night. Thieves rob Mzungus because they think we have money, but also because they know many Mzungus fear yelling Mwizi (thief) more than they fear losing their belongings.

We were all warned that crowds of Tanzanians routinely beat accused “Mwizis.” A week after we arrived at the university, a crowd beat a man to death on campus before the police arrived. That week, we had dinner at our program coordinator’s house and her family calmly discussed the matter. They were surprised that beatings like this don’t routinely occur in the US and explained that he was a bad man because he had stolen from a woman on campus. A month later, other students on our program saw a crowd dragging a thief through the street. People beat the man with a plank while a policeman watched. Peaceful, ordinary citizens often take part in this vigilante justice.

Knowing this, even if there were people to help around, I don’t think my friend would have called “Mwizi.” The choice is an ipod or a lifetime of guilt. She was more scared of the physical threat than upset about the loss of property. But dangerous or not, this is our home for the next three months and we have to keep living. I’ve stopped running off-campus, but I won’t give up my on-campus morning runs or teaching English to local craftspeople at night. We’ll still go out some nights in groups. I’m careful and aware, but I still trust most people (except Tanzanian men asking for my number)