ABIR

conversing over chai and maandazi with a village elder this morning, we talk about pursuit of happiness. how many people believe if they could be elsewhere, their lives would be much better. like, if i go to america i will become wealthy, or if i lived in an african village i will find peace of mind. he tells me, everyone is fighting a war inside. struggling is inevitable. a change of place will not change that. if we want to change our situation, we change them no matter where we are destine to be. old man spitting some serious wisdom. i am forever humbled.

White American volunteers at a coffee shop sipping expresso, iPhones in hand, venting about how "Africans" are lazy. Every morning, I watch Tanzanian women early and alert. Taking care of house big enough for five families. Cooking food smell of country, carrying child on back, bucket of water on head, world's sorrows on shoulders. Born straight into tired, tense and burdened with responsibilities. Raised to be good women, good daughters, good wives, never selfish. How men return home at sunset, traveled distance working any job to provide simple living. How children take care of parents at ten. How my host sister clean entire house, purchase groceries, wash clothes by hand, cook three meals every day, at fifteen. How my seven-year-old neighbor is capable of herding cattle. How respect is always present. No iPhones. No iPads. No iWashing Machines. No iRobots. No experiencing life in theory. And I truly wonder why "Africans" are lazy!

Waking up to the sound of heavy rainfall on metal roof and morning fire. I neatly fold mosquito net. Make full-sized bed. Brush off dead insects that crawled their way into a sleepover the night before. Sun slowly peaks through the clouds, roasters alert, and neighbors with an early start. I grab bathroom slippers, solar light and Kanga in the right hand, water bucket and Target bought shampoo, toothpaste and shower gel on the left. Every morning, I fill bucket with water to bathe in a bathroom consist of nothing but a hole. Four weeks ago, this was all strange and uncomfortable. To live a lifestyle that seems almost unbearable. Now here is me, starting my own fire and fetching water from a well in the early mornings. Cooking dinner under the moonlight, conversing in a language that taste sweeter than my mother tongue to strangers who become family. Every day I am sinking into routine, into a peaceful numbness of emotion.