December 2nd marked the 5th annual ISM Sports Weekend, in which 3 schools apiece from Arusha (1.5 hours drive) and Dar-es-Salaam (7 hours drive) descended onto the campus in order to play for bragging rights of all Tanzanian secondary schools. 6 of the 7 (ISM, ISM-Arusha, St. Constantine’s, Aga Khan, Haven of Peace Academy and International School Tanzania) are private schools, while Orkeeswa is in only its 3rd year, and is a village school for sons and daughters of local Maasai tribes (the traditional folk who herd cows).
(Sorry for the parentheses attack up there.)
The 300 students and staff that came along slept in tents on campus, in classrooms that were re-arranged for mattresses, and if they were lucky, in empty rooms in student housing. In the past, the massive arrival of these students has led to many weekend hi-jinks, but apparently there were very few infractions this go-round. I kept very busy during the weekend.
After lunch in Moshi with some colleagues on Friday afternoon, I decided I would run some errands and catch the bus back with the boarders, who are given the opportunity to go into the city center every Friday from 2:00-4:30. The bus was parked outside of the post office at 4:00 and the last errand I had to run was to register my phone #. Apparently, once you are assigned a phone number via this thing called a sim-card, you have about two weeks to register your number with the company. The main cell carrier in Tanzania is called Vodacom, and they have shops all over the place for you to purchase credit for your phone and go through the registration ‘’process’’. I went and talked to a couple of the students on the bus, who guided me through the routine: Make a copy of yourdriver’s license or passport, go to a Vodacom booth or store and have them get you set up.
When I got to the booth, they took down my number and took my passport copy and then started, from what I could tell, calling each other’s phones and then pressing in a bunch of codes and eventually calling Vodacom. I just kind of watched, bemused. Then the guy said ‘’okay, all set. Now you have to pay.’’
Hold up. I knew from what everyone had told me previously that it is either free or next to nothing to register a phone here in Tanzania. Friends, I was in the process of being Mzungu’d. I was too exhausted to try and fight with him in my very limited Swahili, so I paid the 5,000 shillings—in the grand scheme of things, it’s only $3.
When I got back on the bus and told a few of the junior and senior boys what had happened, they lost their mind. They were furious. I told them its fine; I can deal with it. Before I could say anything, they were off the bus, led by my buddy Olias, who plays in the steel drum band with me. At the booth they started yelling Swahili at one another and pointing fingers. As it turned out, the gentleman who had my 5,000 shillings had ducked out the back of the tent during the argument, so when the guys asked which one it was, I said “He’s not here anymore.” I took it as a lost cause (again, not a lot of money). Olias and Samwell told me later on that the fellows in the tent were saying “We don’t know him; he doesn’t work here,”to which they replied “How in the hell can you not know who works here?”Whatever. It was pretty cool to say the fellows jump to my defenses, and especially hilarious to see Erick lean out of the window and shout Swahili at the guys while pointing his finger like DeNiro in Raging Bull.
Sports weekend started Friday night with the boys’ basketball tournament. Ste and I were tasked with the scoring table. ISM was favored to win, as they had never lost a tourney before. They ended up dropping the contest to the far more superior, far more agile Aga Khan out of Dar-es-Salaam. Three of the teams including ISM finished 3-1 in the tournament, but Aga Khan, having smoked us, won out on point differential. During the dar rivalry between Aga Khan and HOPAC, there was a bench-clearing brawl that ended up basically right on the scorer’s table, so we had to jump up and play heroes. Saturday featured the swim gala, complete with 60+ races, along with volleyball, cricket, field hockey, ultimate Frisbee, and the girls’basketball tournament, in which I reprised my role as scorekeeper. The girls from the Orkeeswa Maasai school were just unstoppable, and they dismantled opponents with the discipline and efficiency that only cow-herders in training would possess.
The main event for me, however, was the girls’ softball tournament late Sunday morning. My squad had become 17 girls, and I was told rather than split the team in two, I’d have to find a way to sub people in and out. One of my better accomplishments at the school to this point had to have been coaching the girls softball team; I’d like to think I was responsible for something akin to a Mighty Ducks-like turnaround for them. By the practice leading up to the game, everyone was hitting lights out and had even turned a couple of double plays. I was confident—perhaps a little too confident.
People had said Ste would be the most animated coach on the sidelines with his senior football (soccer) team, but I put him to shame. I was given warnings for my behavior on at least two occasions. I just got so damn excited. The first game, we played Orkeeswa, and it looked dicey as we went down quick 4-2. A couple of innings later, Naya (my Prince Fielder) slugged a two-run home run and all of the sudden we were tied. We took it to extra innings, strung a few hits together, got a key double play on a girl who forgot to tag up and took home the win. We all went bonkers. It really was ESPN classic material.
The next game against the inferior St. Constantine’s did not go as planned. I fell victim to having 17 players, so I ended up having to start the B-team. I foolishly put Pooja (unfortunately yes, that’s really her name) at 3rd base and she bobbled line drive after line drive. To her credit, she was blocking the ball considerably for a petit, skinny Indian girl, but she just got overworked, y’know? The big killer was that I had a usually consistent fielder named Neema let a fly ball go over her head in left field. After we got through the atrocious 9 run 1st inning, we clawed our way back, but were penalized with three outs over two innings for girls letting go of the bat. as they swung. We ended up losing the easily winnable game 12-6 and not taking home the sweet, sweet trophy. There’s always next year, I suppose. We’ll work out a way for me to coach them via skype.
One of the funnier sports stories of the weekend involves Matt , a teacher, and Yujang, an chunky 10th grader. Yujang, at age16, has already had a stomach staple procedure done. Now, I tend not to poke fun at big fellows, but Yujang is a little bit of an exception because he is outrageously spoiled. He broke his iPod and received an iPad in its place. He is getting an $8,000 laptop upon his return home for the holidays. During sports weekend, he bought a box of 20 apples from the parent volunteers in an attempt to help his diet (commendable) but was then seen with a plate of 4 hot dogs and fries later that evening (less commendable).
Matt, himself an experienced marathon runner, has taken on the hapless task of training Yujang. This usually involves a 4:00 PM after-school jog of a couple of kilometers and some light weight training. They're honestly like the odd couple. On the afternoon in which the two new director candidates were visiting campus, Matt and Yujang got into a bit of a spat. Matt had asked everyone “have you seen Yuyang? He’s meant to be at training.” No one had, until Yujang showed up on the main concourse, soda in one hand, personal pizza in the other. As you can guess, Matt lost it.
“Yujang!” he shouted from the parking lot. “What in the 'ell are you doing? We were supposed to run at 4 PM!''
Yujang, absolutely dumbfounded, looked at his pizza and soda. ''Sorry Mr. Aris...I uh...forgot.''
''What do you mean, you forgot? You well didn't forget about the pizza, did you, Yujang? I have invested time in you! Do you want to die from consumption, Yujang? Is that it, because you bloody well...''
At this point, the majority of the staff that were doing a Q & A session with the new candidates for the director of school position were now watching a 45-year old marathon runner breaking up with his training partner. Once Matt saw that 15-20 people were looking at him from out the window, he nodded, said ''Well then, carry on, Yujang,'' and jogged away in the opposite direction. Yujang shrugged and walked towards the dining hall with his pizza.
Next time I'll tell you about my safari and show you a bunch of close up pictures of African animals. It will be awesome.
-Ben
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