Wangaloka from Mbola

November 18, 2007

Yesterday, Lia and I emerged from the bush of Africa. A.k.a Mbola, Tanzania. Our stay lasted 5 nights 6 days. With no one speaking English, we basically had to sink or swim in the language pool, and ended up floating. We can now complete the call-and-response greeting series in Swahili and the tribal language. The rolling hill landscape of Mbola is painted with brown dry crops; tall golden grasses glow in the sunshine, accented with a speckling of large bubbly green mango trees, all emphasized by a cobalt blue sky.

Right now is their short winter season which only includes the months of June and July. At day break we emerge from our tent after a ‘good’ night’s sleep on the hard mud floor. The mornings start cool, crisp, and refreshing. As time progresses, the sun intensifies the arid day. You find yourself seeking the shade of a mango tree. From there you can feel the soft breeze as it gently sweeps across the dry grasses of the terrain. The evening finally finds the balance between the chill of the morning and the warmth of the afternoon. The radiating sunset is the grand finale of the day, transforming the blue sky into a collage of reds, yellow, oranges, and purples. The best phrase I have heard thus far is “yep, another shitty sunset in Africa.”

The night sky, however, can rival even the greatest sunset. Countless stars and the Milky Way coat the black velvet night. The virgin stars have never once been touched light pollution; their only competition is low burning cooking fires that you can barely see across the hillside.

In Mbola, life is based on peace, simplicity, and community. It’s a place where time stands still. In fact, time as we know it ceases to exist. I never knew how connected to the clock I was until I entered a society where it barely exists and never has had priority. In Mbola, the word ‘rush’ is more foreign then the two white girls staying there. You do not travel from point A to point B. At least not when you can pop in to say hi to point F, check in on point T, and share a chai with point O. People are always around to talk to and welcome you into their home. Which coming from America is as foreign as the word ‘rush’ is to the people of Mbola. Here, if it doesn’t get done today there is always tomorrow.

Our living situation on paper seemed meager. We lived with a family in a mud hut compound with thatched roofs. There was no running water or electricity. No toilet except the hole in the ground. No furniture except for a mat to sit on, one table, and one bed for the family of 6 to share. Food was cooked over an open fire. Their wardrobe was limited to 1 to 2 outfits per person. With all that being said, those luxuries were the last thing you noticed as you were awestruck by the ins and outs of daily life. (Except maybe for sleeping on the ground with no padding- the bruises on your hips are kinda hard to ignore) But still, I felt privileged to be taught the knowledge on how to survive that has been handed down for generations.

The phrase ‘living off of the land’ has a totally new meaning now that I have actually seen it in action. The people were excited to take us under their wings and teach us how to live. The children were quick to laugh at our awkwardness, and how we struggled with such commonplace chores. We learned how to clean the mud huts, milk the cows, and slow down enough to enjoy life. In addition to all of this, the women also showed us how to make a tasty meal of vegetables and ugali (thick grits) from start to finish. And when I say ’start’, I mean going to the field and collecting pumpkin leaves to boil. The meal served about 20 people, the men eating in a circle and the women and children eating in another circle. The only trash produced was scraps from the leaves that weren’t used.

The most exciting event of the week for me and the villagers were the nightly soccer matches. If being white was strange enough for them, being a white woman who wanted to play soccer was just out of this world. All of a sudden I went from a has-been high school soccer player to bigger than Pele!

My soccer debut in Mbola started with a drum circle and dance pep rally attended by most of the village followed by a parade to the soccer field. I strutted down the path to the field with sea of small children bouncing all around me, feeling like best soccer player in the world. Until I stepped on the field, and 22 fit men ages 20-25 stopped and stared at me. I could feel the eyes of every villager on me every time the ball came near me, and heard the gasps and giggles each time I touched the ball. In the end though, it was a great game and I was able to hold my own. (Not that they had much to compare me to) And at the end of the night we paraded back to the compound, bathed under the stars, crawled into our tent, and snuggled up with the mud floor for the night. This parade-game-parade series continued each night that we were there without the slightest diminishment in enthusiasm, curiosity, and/or attendance.

And so that’s how life went in the last place in the world I thought I would be.

About the Author : Lia and Arica Haro are two sisters now living in North Carolina and Washington, respectively. This past summer they set out to Africa to roam, in order to see more than their American home. They wandered for 3 months in pure amazement, writing home to shed a little light on the Dark Continent. They did not set out for fame or glory, only for the chance to tell a story. Lia is a student and Arica survives as a waitress, knowing each tip saved, paves the way for more adventures another day.

The TSM Fall Travel Writing Contest has been organized in association with On The Beach Holidays

Written by A.Haro · Filed Under Editor