Blue Eggs n' Ham

A village Easter. It wasnt' like usual. No hiding eggs or babies in bonnetts. However, there were girls in brightly colored dresses and mothers in bold prints, from headwrap to toe.
I walked for an hour and a half, struggling to keep up with the mamas who were leading me to the closest Catholic parish. We have a small catholic church in the village, but no priests or nuns reside there. Hence, our trip out east. It was early in the morning, we left about 7 am. Bleary-eyed, I put on my brightest Kitenge cloth skirt and matching wrap I had sewn by a village seamstress. It's black with bold, bright pink concentric circles. Not normally something I would wear at home, but my loveliest piece of clothing in the village.
I wore my Teva sandals, as I knew we would be walking quite a distance, and I wanted my feet to be comfy. This walk, however, did not deter the village mamas to wear their best and shiniest plastic sandals or heels, or thin cloth slipper-like shoes. I don't know how their feet didn't end up blistered and sore . .. but then again, I wonder why only my hands blister after using a garden hoe for more than one hour. It's a difference in tolerance. Mine is not so built-up. My skin is sensitive, and theirs, resiliant.
The walk took us out past the eastern border of our village, on a path that I had yet to discover. We walked out through amazing views of the out-croppings of our rocky hillsides bordering the dusty center of Itimbo. The hillsides were green, and the sky, grey and cloudy with bits of sunshine peering through, from the nearing end of the rainy season, and I felt as if I wasn't in Africa at all . . . but on the coast of the Irish sea.
A parade of girls in their Easter clothes crested one of the hillsides, and they looked like a line of brightly-colored easter eggs.
The mass itself reminded me much of mass back home . .. only the hymns were embellished with african drums, claps and rhythms. The choir from my village, brought instruments made of old soda bottlecaps and wire, shaking to the rhythm.

After the long walk home, I purchased some eggs from a local shopowner and found the blue food dye I had purchased a week earlier in town. I had promised the neighbor kids that we would "color eggs" like kids do in America. they had never heard of such a thing . .. but were exciting to see what it would be like.

We dyed the eggs blue. A crowd of women and children, hovering around me, wondering what this blue stuff would do to the eggs. I explained they wouldn't taste any different, nor would it hurt to eat them. After the eggs took to the color, we soon ate them. Afterall, the exciting part to the children, was not to see the eggs in a different color, but the opportunity to actually eat them. It's not very often a child gets to eat an entire egg. It put a few things into perspective for me. Even I, myself, had forgotten how delicious and simple boiled egg can be.

That evening, I had dinner with my neighbors. We had pork on our plates, as it was a holiday, and cause for meat! therefore, my day was filled with blue eggs and ham ;)

The next day, we celebrate "Easter Monday" at the village Catholic church. I dont' believe any of the other denominations of Christianity in my village celebrated, but within our church, it was a big day. I had regretted getting up and going to church a second day in a row .. . until I saw the large gathering of people. Many children and older wazee who were unable to make the trek to the parish the day before. My favorite bibi, or old woman, being the one who always wears giant pink shaded sunglasses to church. It's a rarity to see anyone in the village with glasses or sunglasses . .. especially an old woman with such style ;) Two priests and three nuns from Iringa came to give and attend the service. After the service, we were invited to a communal gathering where I was served three bowls of rice and beans, tea, soda, and two cups of Ulanzi, or bamboo wine. The ulanzi tasted more sweet than strong, but it's effects were soon felt . .. and I had a great time drinking with the old ladies inside a dark but comforting hut/house of women. They loved to celebrate . .. and sang and danced until the priests and nuns had to board their landcruiser and head back . .. and they sang them songs of thanks until they could no longer see the car in the distance.

I had hoped that when I left the village, I would feel that same sense of gratitude. Unfortunately, I have been required to leave my village by authorization of Peace Corps, and also, from my own agreement. I didn't want to leave, but had no choice due to a series of thefts from my home and an attempted break-in. We agreed that the incedents will prevent any volunteers from replacing my position . .. and as much as I feel it is necessary . .. it still breaks my heart to think of my favorite bibis and babus . .. my orphan girls, my village friends, who may have been sad to see me go, but I didn't even have a chance to say a proper goodbye.

As of now, Peace Corps is trying to find a new site where I can be placed, one without any incedence of crime, and one which is in need of a health education volunteer. Unfortunately, it's not been an easy process. I'm floating in the ether, waiting around in sweltering Dar es Salaam, for an opportunity to arise. In the mean time, I'm staying at a ymca, and meeting people from across the globe in various states of travel and volunteerism. It's been a great way to find out how many young people love to travel and seek the excitement one can only receive by learning about new cultures. It's not without stress, disappointment, bureaucracy, and . .. monetary problems . .. but all in all, it is worth the experience, no matter what.

Please keep your fingers crossed for me, I hope to continue my service, or some type of service here in Tanzania. . .. besides . .. I need to get my puppy back and safely home!

Wish for Bahati Njema, or good luck.

love,
cristina