Don't kiss my boys while you're drunk.

It's nearly bedtime. Our boys are finishing up their Saturday night movie. Another volunteer just came into our house, plastered. I know she was drunk because I, like every adult here, have seen her drunk many times before. I don't mind that she's a drinker and I've compartmentalized the irritation related to her behaviours while she's drunk in such a way that it doesn't dig into me (she's far more tolerable than some of the other idiots here when they get a couple milliliters of alcohol into their systems), but Bill and I both became very, very concerned when she walked into Serengeti.

We could hear her leaving one house and approaching ours from outside. We were in our room so we walked out into the living room, just to be there while she interacted with the boys. She didn't do or say anything inappropriate; I don't know that were I 13 or 10 or 8 years old, I would have been able to identify her behaviour as alcohol-effected. I do know that she was drunk and hanging out with kids. I do know that the older boys were laughing about it, and I do hear some loose questioning going on in the living room with Bill (who is handling this quite tactfully, I must add). I do know that this has been an issue before, but apparently not an important enough one.

You see, this is a problem. This is a problem that will not be dealt with. This individual's drinking behaviour has been a topic of concern across the board. Every staff member here has made mention of it to me. But it's apparently not big enough a problem. I don't know what has to happen before someone gets reprimanded here, but interacting with the kids while inebriated seems like it should be somewhere far beyond the line one has to cross before there's some sort of intervention beyond a polite and ineffective "Soooo, we need to be careful about the drinking and the kids, okay guys?" at every third volunteer meeting. Either the Tanzanian Children's Fund people need to take action against the amount of alcohol available to the people in charge of taking care of the kids (because self-regulation is not a popular trait here), or they need to admit that they don't care about the fact that these people are interfacing with the children, the mamas, and the student teachers while inebriated. It doesn't just happen at the hotels and lodges with strangers who have word we're from RVCV. It doesn't just happen in the vans with the student teachers. It happens in the houses.

And Bill and I have no clue what to do. We've given up on telling folks about the things we see because nothing ever changes after they know. Word gets up the line somehow, sometimes, because either folks can't keep themselves under control even in the presence of staff members, or a TZ staff member or worker sees and hears things and that kind of information travels, or something. I don't know. We were told before to report the stuff that we see as inappropriate, but now, the most I will do is bitch to someone I whose judgment I trust, who may or may not happen to be on the staff. It could be an older volunteer who has made mention of similar concerns, an outside person who is familiar with the environment here, or someone actually on the staff. But I don't "report" because the message is clear that none of the volunteers' inappropriate behaviours matter.

Why didn't I ask her to leave? Because my rapport with this individual is not one that makes room for criticizing her behaviour, and as most might assume, confronting people while they're inebriated, because they're inebriated, doesn't eventuate in a seamless transition into peace. Had I asked her to get out, her pride would have been injured and an inflamed ego would have fueled too much for my kids to have to see. See, this is a setting in which the best possible situation here was to let the drunk stay with the kids. Do you understand how ridiculous that is? This is the environment I live in: where the drunks can roam where they please, drunk as they please, and I don't have the license to tell them to cut that shit out because it would be a "dick move" on my, "the judgmental bitch"'s part. People who do tell these individuals not to act in such a way don't get the back-up necessary to make the point stick, so we are easily viewed as party haters who just moodily bark our complaints out from time to time. It's obvious what the point of this place is not.

Holy shit, she's back.... That must be why Bill's been out there this whole time.

Correction: She did do and say inappropriate things. Apparently, after her return, she sat down between two of the oldest boys. She had one arm around A and was rubbing J's back with her other hand. Her legs and A's legs were sandwiched on top of each other. When I asked Bill how long that went on, he said "it was enough to make me uncomfortable... with Mole sitting on her lap, there wasn't a problem, but with the older boys, she seemed blissfully unaware that there might be a line there". Then, somewhere in there, she passed out with her head on A's shoulder. THIS IS WHY PEOPLE SHOULDN'T BE DRUNK AROUND KIDS. If this were a man in a house full of girls, well, I hope something would be done about it. The misconception that women are innocuous in the inappropriate behaviour with minors category probably exists here.

That not enough? She also said to the entire room at least three or four times, "You boys need a mother." To orphans. Profound. Appropriate. Bill said he replied with "They've got a mother; they've got two mothers!" upon each allegation.

The next time this happens, I will be there with my camcorder.

Bill and I will certainly remember this place.

Ups and Downs, but Still the Same Boring Ride.

So the enjoyment gap here for me (and Bill) is large and noticeable. For me, I notice that every day I am at the school, be it for Cheke Chea, Girls Club, or sitting in and/or speaking at another teacher's class, I am thoroughly steeped in glee. There are difficulties in these areas, of course: the language barrier, the lowered authority status with the kids from being mzungu, my own teaching ineptitude. However, for the most part, when I get a spare moment while up at Gyetighi Primary School, I find myself grateful for the bliss I feel if I've afforded myself any sense of accomplishment at the end of a lesson. Or, when I'm on my walk home--usually with anywhere between 3 and 6 of my Cheke Chea studends clinging to my hands and arms--the view of the green hills and mountains that layer the horizon and my reflection on the previous hours compete for my grins.

When I'm in Play Group, where I start my mornings, I am also cheerfully distracted. Six or eight rambunctious and giggly pre-preschool aged kids will do that to you. Each day is a little different, but mostly the same: books, legos, "Stop throwing!!", colouring, gymnastics, "Usipige!!" tag, "What colour is that?", London Bridge, laughing, "Who's choking me?" fake crying, real crying, looking for bugs, laughing again. The chaotic flow of Play Group is something to behold. Having Bill with me is great. He brings a lot of energy to Play Group and isn't just another pair of hands. A volunteer named Junior joined a few days ago. He's also great with the kids and I appreciate having him around in general. I think together, we have enough eyes, hands, shoulders, and legs to keep the kids under control.

The lowest points of the day are during and after group interactions with the other volunteers, particularly the ones mentioned from a few weekends ago and the catty interactions of others who indulged in all the bruised bitterness floating around in the wake of that bull. Bill wrote of the "hello" test of sorts that came to pass. There was a lot of schoolyard attitude involved in that, which I resent greatly. I feel like no one here knows how to address a situation even semidirectly.

In the past couple of days, the folks at the epicenter of this social ridiculousness have been saying "hello", surprisingly. I don't know how I'm expected to react to that. Their history of using greeting me as some sort of a test of my character doesn't make me feel like cooperating. However, at cocktail parties at India's house, for example, I'll cordially engage whomever talks to me in conversation; there's no reason for me to do anything that could be considered exacerbating in that kind of setting.

In the past week or so, there would be days when they'd all talk to me and days when they'd stay silent in a room with me. How on earth I was supposed to know how to predict and react to these social whims, I don't know. I can predict, though, that when I don't return the warmth on the days conversation is granted me, it's viewed as coldness on my part--nevermind the fact that I may be entitled to a healthy amount of indignation from the previous days of silence, exclusion, and easily readable facial expressions.

Ah, exclusion.

One of the most disappointing things about the group's behaviour is the lack of knowing what "the right thing to do" is. When Maggie was here, she planned a trip to Olduvai Gorge. She had a group of people in mind, but even invited the folks she considered to be awful, because it was the right thing to do. Of course they wouldn't have accepted the invitation--anyone could have predicted that--it was the adult act of extending the invitation which was important. When Maggie left, that kind of tact went with her. The group planned a day safari into Ngorongoro and invited everyone but Bill and myself. Were we invited, we wouldn't ave gone (though Bill says he would have just gone for the awkward presence) but they couldn't man up and even let us know what was going on. The new volunteers were invited in front of us, but after all the planning and preparation had taken place. Everything was quiet until it was clearly no chance of changing plans; something that stands out because, to be honest, the group's essence could never be appropriately described with the Q word. The audacity of even considering that Bill and I would consider spending our free day in a van with these people--no matter the setting--is enourmous. I can't imagine what would make any of them think we would have wanted in. They could have just shown that they were decent folk by inviting us, or making small talk about the trip without actually inviting us. I was disappointed, but not surprised, except for in the case of one individual who was a part of it all, from whom I expected better.

As Bill mentioned, the childishness and "he said/she said" eb and flow of social logic seeped into the staff realm, leaving us with diminished ability to actually approach the Volunteer Coordinator with our concerns. She never even asked Bill (the only person who could have backed up my perspective on things) for his take on things, where all other other volunteers involved had their say. I don't know if it was a decision informed by our being in a relationship, as if one opinion is the carbon copy of the other's, or if if she had just felt that an adequate amount of people had told her the same story that enough had been heard. Regardless, Bill and I both took offense at the display of a lack of interest in attending to our concerns. Further, it was difficult to even get her ear when we would approach her. Once the group got back from their trip, she started disappearing from meals far more quickly and we cross paths far less now than before this whole conflict. On top of that, we see her talking and joking with them quite fluidly. It's disappointing. It's irritating. It's a lot like what I imagine high school would have been like had I not the types of friends I had. What I don't understand is why the simple task of talking to me a little more (and Bill at all) to make sure that all of the facts, opinions, and feelings are known, scruitinized, and noted wasn't part of this social equation; why things had to go in the direction of teeny, schoolchildlike behaviour. This isn't a social club; it's an organizaiton. Organization is in the bloody root of the word.

But as Bill and I have both said, we do have our allies on the Staff (god... how pathetic does this whole situation sound...) and it's refreshing to talk to them about our aspirations, focus, and frustrations here. So we're not crazy. There are plenty of people who are empathetic to the situation and are able to offer wisdom from their insight and knowledge as to why certain things are the way they are, how things have been, and what we may and may not expect to come of our setup.

Anyway... more to spew later I'm sure. Time for other things. We are looking forward to a trip to Arusha tomorrow.

Dude, let's like be super fake nice to her and see what she writes on her blog.

Dear You (specifically),

Thank you for reading. It's nice to know that you care so much you'd visit. Karibu! :)

I know we have our, let's say, personality incongruences. I know that we're not friends, per se (that's Latin), and I'm fine with that. I also know that you can't help but talk shit on Bill and I behind our backs. Believe it or not, I'm fine with that, too (well... I don't quiet understand your problem with him beyond some sort of childish, eww-he-has-Maria-cooties perspective, but from this group, that's not out of the question). I'm fine with all of this.

What I'm not fine with is your ignorance to the fact that not everyone has chosen some sort of side in your passive-aggressive little game. It's totally cool with me if you have to vent to and amongst each other about Bill and I. Please, do. Say anything and everything you wish to. Hell, call us pederastic terrorists if it makes you sleep easier at night. Maybe this is just some manifestation of something you need to get out of your system when confronted with folks like us. Just don't be so pigheaded as to believe we don't have friends here, too; that it doesn't come back to us to form what, for you, becomes quite the awkward backdrop while you try to feed us your sugary-sweet "hello"s and jaunty waves. It's one thing to know that you're putting on this juvenile production--a big enough clue was the night-and-day sea change in your behaviours all at once (subtle)--but to force me to have to pay you the eye-contact I grant everyone who speaks to me and watch every painful second of your sophomoric little "teehee this is like, soooo clever" gears spinning, while we both know what's going on, that's embarrassing.

What I'm getting at is this: Knowing what kind of sewage pours from your mouth when I'm not around only serves to put me in the awkward position of having to take part in the sad, forced duet you for whatever reason choose create when you pretend to be friendly towards me throughout the day. Of course, well-intentioned, whole-hearted friendliness isn't what I'm criticizing, and I've painted a pretty clear picture by now of the fact that I'm more than willing to be cordial with those who have wrecked any semblance of my respect for them. This is about the adolescent, let's-pretend song and dance I have to put up with for the past long, several days.

I graduated high school nine years ago; the juvenile whinings of sophomoric social tourists isn't something to which I wish to return. If you have a problem with some integral part of my personality, grow up and talk to me about it like and adult and be prepared for a two-way conversation. I can handle it, but if you can't, that's not my problem. Better people have disliked me, and I must say, with far more class.

I pride myself on my grasp on passive-aggression, so much so that I don't feel this situation deserves it. So here, I hope you enjoyed my passive-passive attempt to let anyone [with itchy enough interest to make her/his way to my blog on the regular] know my feelings (See kids, it's passive-passive because I'm not approaching the situation aggressively, and I'm not addressing any person directly or indirectly, and I'm not polluting communal air). This is self-serve.

There you have it. Your invitation to either grow up or stop fueling your tirade from the words on my blog.

Salama!

A. Maria Marcelin, Adult.