How To: Learn Tonga (Nakeempa version)

1. Running
Since I've taken to running through the village, some unexpected opportunities to practice my broken Tonga have arose. Though I don't trust myself to foot all of the winding pathways yet, the sandy main road toward town has a lot in store in terms of adventure. Who knew that while giving my body some cardio work, and some psychological rest and renewal, I could also work on language acquisition. I have learned to slow my pace upon seeing my new friends, putting a respectful hand on my chest and asking "mwabuka buti?" (how is the morning?). There's the toothless man travelling solo, only accompanied by the large rodent with it's tail wrapped tightly around his fingers, body limply falling toward his feet. The startled women, just trying to carefully carry their day's water atop their heads, along with the baby wrapped around their back, only to be interrupted by this strange muguwa (white person) running swifly behind. The other women gathering water at the central well who's children's gaze is fixed upon me until I'm out of site. And the other young girls who perched themselves in the branches of the highest tree around, awaiting my arrival, their shouts and giggles giving their spot away as they sat entertained. But I've even been greeted in English by many who stood up from milking their cows to flash a smile, some big waves, and "good morning madame". But as I attempted to respind with my best greetings in Tonga they became even happier that I was at least trying. So I felt at least somewhat accomplished that they could understand me!

2. Singing
I realized how much I have to learn as I entered the one room BIC church in the village. As more and more filled the rough slatted benches (women to the left, men on the right) the noise increased dramatically. But while my fingers flipped through my Tonga hymnal to try and find the correct number, the harmonies had already arose to fill the church (and likely to be heard a few kilometers away). Voices strong burst loudly through the once silent and desolate walls of the tiny church house and the passionate cries blended together in beautiful harmony. As I stood, sang, and swayed along with the woman next to me, she translated bits and pieces so I could follow along, even though I felt perpetually lost. And though I've only been to church a few sundays in a row, the hymns are becoming an bit more familiar as my tiny maroon guide becomes another good handbook for learning.

Church services were just the beginning though, and since I looked at least somewhat interested (rather than just confused) I was asked to join for choir practice in the coming weeks. So even though I was completely intimidated (yup, even of the 5 year olds who were already unbelievably talented) I figured it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. The doors of the church were bolted shut, and the yard outside was still empty, but in (Zambian) time the doors were cracked open and children streamed in. Their warm eyes and smiles were just like jewelry for their tattered sunday best. And as they entered, a few small girls moved toward the drums in the corner and began to pound ferociously, leading in the strong voices that echoed heavily and blended together beautifully. I sat and took pictures on the sidelines for a while, removed and observant, but as the choir director approached they quickly sucked in their noise, and they were gathered together in formation. Over his shoulder he glanced at the mugua flashing pictures with her gaudy camera and signaled that she come. "Madame" he greeted me,"You shall join". So I jumped through my lens and entered into the picturesque scene in front of me. I sat in the back row and stumbled along as they belted out hymns in Tonga, English, Lozi, and Bemba. With no hesitancy in their voices, their voices cried out to their God, and soon enough we were standing and swaying in unison; coordinating our whole bodies into one force. Quick steps then led us to the front of the church and we swiftly formed a semi circle to enclose the two drummers in the middle. We clapped and stepped and stomped and moved. We danced to the harmonious hymns with an energy that brought passers by to the door. I, the lone white girl, tried to stay with the beat, to mimick their words, attending closely to their speedy lip movements, to share in the experience, following the complexity of what what going on. But I messed up a lot, singing at rests, stepping in the opposite way, stumbling to coordinate my hands, arms, and shoulders; feet and heels. Soon enough though, I caught on to a few things, and I was gleefully encouraged by the enormous smiles and bright eyes. So though my contribution will basically be nothing in terms of vocals, I am trying my best to become a part of the choir, a part of the community. So who knows if I'll ever catch all the Tonga words, but it's energizing to keep working at it.

3. Cooking/Eating
There has been a lot of both. In fact, most of our days (as women especially) are spent around the fire, preparing food (cakulya), clearing dishes, and scrubbing the sticky nshima off the pots and plates (as well as our hands). It takes time to boil the vegetables down to mush and to fry the tiny fish (kapenta) with their eyes popping open as they are drenched in cooking oil. But how else could you stuff the corn-based lump of white goo into your mouth in it weren't covered with a good, salty, side "relish"? I'm learning through each meal the proper way of preparing, the correct vocab, and good Zambian manners. Not only that, it provides perfect opportunities to ask a multitude of linguistic and cultural questions. And finally learning how to say "I'm full" has been helpful too, since I'm told I should "become more fat" and am given stern warnings to "eat more!"

I've been trying to contribute to the feasts as well. But after preparing simple pancakes for breakfast one morning I realized that no one in my family knows how to use forks. So while I'm catching on to the habitual hand-washing before meals and subsequent forking over fistfuls of thick nshima to roll in my palm, I am also giving lessons about using utensils. (Though they probably won't ever need to use them unless I prepare more strange American food). I did bake a cake the other day (over the fire) and they were surprised at how much they enjoyed the More with Less rendition sprinkled with colorful M&Ms. They seriously couldn't get over these tiny chocolate treats. Everyone gave me questioning looks at first, but after picking at them nervously, they all wanted seconds.

4. "Hodi?" (I have arrived)
"Wabonwa" (you are welcome) I hear this exchange about 10 times a day and have been on both sides as I get carted around the village to be shown off. It's been fun to take afternoon strolls around town, to venture into the three "stores" that fit about 2 people tops, along with a few bottles of cooking oil, some bags of sugar, soap, and a handful of bubble gum on their shelves. But lingering around these loitering spots finds me in a Tonga learners heaven, where no english is allowed. So as limited and uncomfortable as some interactions have been, it's been a classroom environment in many ways. And as we travel on toward the one-bed medical clinic (maternity cases only), we also reach the central well where women congregate with babies wrapped tightly on their backs, intelligently using their chitenges so that both hands are available. I try desperately to use the few phrases in my repertoire, and am thanked many times for my attempts. We arrive at the clinic and one of the nurses (out of 2) greets us in her impressive english. She's busy today, like every day, but they are closing soon since she has to get back home to take care of the orphaned children she's inherited. People's stories are amazing, and again I'm taken aback by the strength I see in everyone I meet. But as I'm contemplating this woman's life, the sun is setting and I'm escorted back home, stopping breifly at the futbol game going on in front of the school. The away team stares me down wondering what this white girl is doing traipsing around the bush, but I make my way through the line of home players I know customarily slapping hands Zambian style. Soon enough we're back home to pull our tiny stools up around the fire among the chickens, guinea fowls, turkeys and the occasional wandering cow. The braziers are full of hot coals and the pots are bubbling over, so dinner has begun. New visitors often make their way to our home as well. The seem to be in constant succession since the teachers are arriving for the third term of school, and the neighbors are always stopping by. We got a new visitor that evening though, and more lessons came my way. I have been noticing that many people show up at the Siagwalele household since the headmaster has more than most. As I turned around I saw the starving family sitting under the tree requesting a donation to feed their kids. "It's common" I'm told as my mom explains the year's drought and the subsequent excess of rain which caused huge crop failures. Many people in the villages have lost everything, and with no way to get to town for help, they rely on begging for now. We hand her a bag of mealie-meal which will probably be finished in a day, and my mom sends them on her way. She struggles though, and I can see that she too is trying to balance generosity and the maintenance of her mouths to feed, both her children and the orphans they've taken in. I'm humbled, for the millionth time since I've arrived.

5. Foot washing
The churches gather from all around the area, literally walking for days to reach our tiny church in Nakeempa for the Baptism celebration. It's an opening night full of singing and dancing. Preparations begin the evening before as firewood is stacked high, and people gather under the mango tree to count the number of bellies to feed in the next 3 dyas. As the red sun goes down beyond the bush fire the women cook huge pots of nshima, cabbage and samp (boiled corn with a dash of sour milk). The men gather to the other side with the pastor whos gold spectacles glimmer at the tip of his nose. The children are running around wildly as a small radio plays to give them a beat to boogy to. The dust outside the church is swirling through the air as feet tromp on the site of the weekend-long service. There will be a few breaks between sermons and singing for eating, but those will be the only cracks of freedom from the continuous energy around the 5 being baptized. They give their testamonies early the following morning, and their stories are scrutinized as they leave the room. We vote on whether we think they should be allowed in the church, and the elders give their final ok for salvation as they are called back to the congregation. The pastor jokes "no one will be baptized today", and they all know they're in. We walk in a swarm to the dam mid-afternoon, and finally each is fully immersed with the blessings of their communities. It's beautiful in a way that can't be captured in mere words, but an even more emotional experience was when I was allowed to participate in the ceremony of footwashing. As the women brought big pails of water, we belted out hymn after hymn, sliding down the bench one by one. Each put the towel around their waist, and knelt to emulate Christ's servanthood toward their fellow members. As I approached the bucket, a frail woman sat in front of me. She had to be in her 90's, and was probably about 5' tall. Her feet were worn with life in the village, and as I looked up at her, she gave me a big toothless smile. She was beautiful. Without a word, I washed her feet and she reciprocated. And in that moment, I was brought to tears. It was a moment of true love in humanity and she embraced me in her surprisingly strong arms.

6. Lessons
So it's obviously that I'm already learning many big lessons here, which include and go way beyond the small bit of Tonga I'm acquiring slowly. And mostly it's because I'm fortunate to have such a wonderful and welcoming host family. Busiku, my host sister, has helped me a great deal, and while she is a cultural teacher in all instances, she also has the patience to sit down with me every day and go through my grade 2 story book, and guide to Tonga grammer. She's been tremendously helpful with this Bantu language that bears no resemblance (that I can tell) to english. So even though I've had my frustrating moments starting at square 1, I'm getting a working vocabulary that will hopefully serve me well with the coming 3 weddings, parties, and especially in the classroom. School has now started, so I'm working on becoming a teacher :) I'll observe this week, but soon enough the chalk will be in my hands, and my grade 8 Math and Science classes will be trying to figure out what the heck I'm telling them.

There will be much more to come as I begin, so a new update on the Ashley's "How To" manual will be coming soon :)

I hope to write back to some of you individually soon but unfortunatley my only day here in town is the day that my email messages won't come up, so I haven't even read any of them.. ahh that's frustrating! but such is life in Zambia

Love you all very much!!!