On the journey

Photo: a present to yourself. Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share.

This photo was taken in August by Pastor Randy. Our group was walking back from the village of Mahove to our bus for a return trip to Tungamalenga. We were walking because Mahove is very remote, up a mountain, several kilometers off the dirt road. Every other time I've been there, I'd taken a Land Rover and had to replace a tire that was punctured along the way.

We had been to Mahove to talk about bringing water to this sprawling village. The women and children walk about 3 miles one way to get water for their village. Men don't fetch water. There is a wonderful, inspiring Bibi (grandmother) in the village who has persevered in her quest to bring water to this village. She visits the parish office (miles away) and continues to ask for help in bringing water to the village. We have heard this request for several years, and finally the parish placed this need as the number one priority on their list of partnership projects.

So in the village, we had met this time with local government officials. It's important to talk through the details with all the stakeholders in a project like this. Sometimes we'd like to just go in and make the project happen, but we've learned to listen first and follow the pace of our African partners.

I like a couple things about this photo. I have a newly framed enlargement of it on my wall at home, and every time I look at it I'm compelled to walk toward it. Is it because of the path? or to get a closer look? It draws me in, every time.

I like it because it puts me in perspective. Yes, it's a picture of me walking alongside Pastor Naftal, on the path from Mahove toward Makifu. I like that we are holding hands and are deep in conversation. But we are so small on this path in the vast landscape. What we're doing is important, but it's just part of something so much larger than we ourselves.

As I go from 2010 into 2011, I want to remember to enjoy the journey and all that it brings--the sweat, the effort, the long walks, the conversation, the purpose, the holding hands, the vast landscape, and being a small piece of something much larger than myself.

The Drum and the Spider

In October 2010, I brought a drum back from Tanzania. On our last day in Tungamalenga, Mama Neema, an evangelist who leads worship with exuberant singing and a powerful faith, handed me a plastic bag of groundnuts, and this drum. It was beautifully and simply carved, and the goat skin was nailed in by acacia tree needles. I love the patterns burnt in around the drum, and how it stands crooked, tilting its head.

Mama Neema doesn't speak English, and even through interpreters we hadn't said anything to each other besides hello, because we didn't have time to see her as often as other trips. I was very surprised and touched that she gave me a gift like that--and since I'm a musician it was very fitting.

Airport security doesn't like stories like these. We had to eat as many groundnuts as we could and then give them away to another friend while in Iringa, the city on the way to the airport. Riding on the bus I was very protective of my drum; it sat in a bag on the overhead shelf, and I glanced at it every few minutes.

When we got to the airport in Dar es Salaam, I looked inside it and found a spider.
Not an icky-furry-foreign spider--I don't think. It looked just like a daddy-long-legs. But my mom and I got a little nervous, wondering if this would slow us down getting past customs. We tried shaking the spider out, but it didn't work.
So, we get on the plane with no problem--the flight attendant actually wanted to play the drum--and I'm sitting there for 8 hours wondering if the altitude changes will split the skin of the drum, whether that spider is dangerous...and when can I get a shower? Things like that. Then we got to Amsterdam.

Waiting for our plane I thought about playing the drum and setting out a hat, but this crowd didn't look like they wanted to hear music, let alone throw money in a hat for it. We were all tired. Then when we started walking to get on the plane, an African woman asked, "Where did you get that drum?" We started chatting. Then an old man gave the drum a beat as we walked, smiling.

Leaving Amsterdam, I put my backpack and the drum through the security scanner, this young Dutch security officer says quite cheerfully, "Is this your drum?" "Yes." "Play something," he said. Airport security just scares me in general. Rapidly I thought, "If I don't play will they still let me on the plane? Is this a test?" I gave it a couple nervous beats. "Very nice," the officer said, still smiling. "You will drive everyone on the plane crazy!"

And I was free to go.

I never thought this gift from Mama Neema would lead me to have so many little interactions with people, literally from all over the globe, people who usually are just going through the grind of travel, trying to get to the next plane, screening the next passenger. It was a welcome sign of friendliness in this stressful place.
We landed in Detroit, and did security again, lugging all our baggage in this big cart. This security guy looked like we shouldn't mess with him, and he ordered us to go see another officer on the opposite end of the room, so that's what we did. "Oh this is cool!" He said, then he saw the spider. We asked what we could do about it. He shrugged. "Take it outside, shake it, when it comes out stomp on it."
And we were free to go.

We took the drum home and sprayed some deet in it. I played it, displayed it, and my drummer friends were jealous. Months later we assumed since nothing was crawling out of it that the spiders had died from the deet ambush. Then just this fall--a whole year later!--I see this funny stuff around the drum that looks like saw dust, about two inches of it. And little black larvae underneath it. Yuck yuck yuck. Out comes the vacuum, and out goes the drum, into the garage in a garbage bag. It's been sitting there all this winter, and we hope that the bugs have frozen to death. Has anybody else had something like this happen? You bring back the coolest conch shell and it's filled with sea urchins? Or a hat from Russia that gave you head lice?
I'm lucky that I have a biologist friend who loves this type of stuff and will take a look at it for me--I just want my drum back without having to worry about termites!

Community

Day 7: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

[Yes, Day 7. I've obviously skipped a few. Who knows, I might come back to some of them but for now I'm happy responding to the prompts that speak to me.]

My patchwork life has several communities--the family, my closest friends, my studio families, my church music community, my Tanzania connected communities (here with people who support the Tanzanian mission, and there, the people in Tanzania), and then my music colleague community.

One of my most profound experiences of community in 2010 happened this fall during the visit of our guests from Tanzania. Last January, as a way to raise funds for the travel expenses, we had auctioned off the chance to share a meal with our guests. Members of our partnership committee offered to host a dinner in their homes with our guests and with four to eight other guests. The auction was really successful.

Two of our guests stayed in my home for ten days in October, and on eight of those ten evenings, we hosted dinner guests. Some nights as many as twelve or fourteen people gathered, some nights it was just eight or ten. There were families with children, couples, teens, people who had been to Tanzania and others who had not. Pastors, lay people, church members and people from outside the faith community.

Those dinners were one of my favorite things we did with the guests. My own children asked why we don't do this more often, wasn't it fun to have all these different people and all this interesting conversation. [Why don't we do this more often? Maybe because I teach during dinner time?]

It was fascinating to watch the interactions. It was like watching something holy as people made connections, asked questions, shared perspectives, reached across cultures to try to understand what we have in common and where we differ.

One night each guest took turns entertaining a baby and toddler, another night we discussed dating, engagement and marriage customs, another night one guest grabbed a guitar while my daughter played the accordion and we all sang.

Every guest told me how much they appreciated the opportunity to connect on a personal level with our Tanzanian friends.

The second place I've been exploring community this year is in my music organization. As part of my preparation for taking on the presidency of the group next summer, I've visited many of the local associations of music teachers around the state.

Local associations like the ones I've been visiting are the grassroots of this organization, the places where isolated, independent music teachers like me can connect with other professionals, create programs for their students, share information, continue their professional growth, and use their skills to give back to other colleagues.

When I was a brand new piano teacher years ago, the internet wasn't around and I couldn't just google all my questions. How do I write a studio policy? How much can I charge? How do I teach a kid to read music when they've got such a good ear that they pick up all the easy songs the first time they hear them? When do you push and when do you let an overcommitted student coast for awhile?

I lived in New Ulm when I started teaching and I was blessed to have an active group of about 15 teachers who met monthly; I could ask them anything. They shared their experiences, referred students to me, helped me in countless ways.

When I moved away from New Ulm to the metro area, I didn't join a local group. I had babies, I told myself they were my priority and that I could get along without the professional support. A couple years ago I finally joined a local group again and have realized how much I missed that comraderie.

So now I've been visiting other groups, getting to know people, giving them a chance to get to know me a little, and oh, how interesting it has been. Each group has its own flavor. Some have been around a long time, others are relatively new. Some wear name tags, in others, the members all seem to know each other already. Some have recitals and many programs for their students, others are primarily organized for the fellowship of the members.

One thing that's weird is how often I am among the youngest people in the room.

I think of how important that group was to me when I was starting out -- where are the young teachers today finding their support and their community? Are they all online?

I would like to explore ways to bridge the gaps in 2011.

In the community that supports our church's partnership with the people in Tanzania, how can we make connections that extend and continue the conversations we had with our guests?

In my music teachers association, what do we need to create so that people who don't come to meetings can find the same support, information, connections, development opportunities and community that I remember being so vital to me at that stage of my life? My gut feeling is that it will be an online community that could bridge the gaps between old and young, metro and rural, college faculty and independent teachers. I'd love to see a blog with excellent writers taking turns, creating compelling content that would in turn elicit reader response that would eventually create community.

Awaiting the return

My mom's coming back from Tanzania tomorrow!

After going there seven times, all of us at home have the While-Mom's-Away routine down. We still have a bit of cleaning to do, but otherwise we survived, just as she expected us to do. She will come home tired, in need of a shower, maybe a bit hungry, and oveflowing with stories to tell. I'll be listening and thinking about when I can make it back to TZ again...

*Cough* Ahem. Daydreaming a bit. Anyways.

These last couple of trips, all she's asked of us upon her return is to stand at the gate with her Grande Chai Latte with No Water from Starbucks.

My mom's only vice, or the main source of her boundless energy?

This year we'll be just as happy to oblige. We can't wait until she gets home!

Tanzania #7

Tomorrow I leave for my seventh trip to Tanzania. I'm excited. I'm traveling with a great group of guys--two my age and two teenagers--who will be my travel buddies. They're new to the Tanzanian experience, but they're all game and ready to take on the challenge of travel to a third world country.



For some reason, I've been thinking about travel companions of the past six trips. Companions really make or break the journey, you know. I'm so grateful to have had wonderful companions for many of my journeys.



There have been wonderful medical professionals who kept the members of the group healthy. First trip, a wonderful doctor who met us every morning for breakfast with the questions, "did you sleep well? do you have any diarrhea?"

There have been those whose expertise was in biology, who would spot wild animals, name trees, pick up tortoises and help the group appreciate and understand the environment of the savannah.

There have been teachers who provided encouragement and teaching tools to our partners, there have been business people who mentored our partners who are involved with microfinance, and there have been pastors who shared their experiences serving, nurturing and leading congregations.

There have been people with years of wisdom who become "bibi" and "babu" to our partners [grandmother and grandfather] and there have been youth who give our partners hope that this partnership will continue into another generation.

I have been blessed to share three of those seven trips with my two daughters.

For all these traveling companions, I am grateful.