Painting the Tailoring Room- Oct 4

There are some things about the cultural differences that will never be understood. Their experiences have proved to teach them in a different way than what I learned as an American. In painting the sewing room for the women I couldn’t seem to understand why we were spackling the cracks and holes, when the rest of the place is covered with spiderwebs, dirt, and mold. It seemed bizarre to me the order of getting things done, and the manner that it was done in. They are insistent on painting the trim brown, when I know that this will only make the small room look smaller. I bought sky blue and white paint to expand the room and brighten it up, but now we must paint the trim brown?! They persisted on using thinner with the paint. I put my foot down, didn’t give the money, and finally they gave in and bought paint thinner. Why? I don’t really know, but like all cultures, there is a certain reason that we do things, and sometimes the reason is unknown it is merely passed down from generation to generation. Locked in that room all day painting with no windows, my work partner walked in and was overwhelmed with the smell, and pushed me outside to get fresh air. Then they kept telling me I must drink milk to help me feel better from the fumes. Well, as some of you may know, milk does bad things to my body, so I didn’t really think that (African)milk and paint fumes were a good combo for me in this heat. Somewhere along the line, they have learned that my drink of choice around here is Kilimajaro lager. Sure enough, I turned around and had Catherine and Oliva giving me a cold kili at 11:30AM! I tried to refuse, but like the damn paint thinner they insisted, so I gave in, and between the beer and the fumes, we were singing Tanzanian songs, and trying to teach eachother our respective languages, because nothing seems to be getting communicated at that place! Nonetheless, I may have left KIWODEA today with less brain cells than I went in with this morning, but it is compensated with the wonderful memories of smiles and warm gestures that I took home with me this afternoon. Well, my roommates are keeping a close eye on me right now, insisting in their own way that I sit outside and get lots of fresh air. When I got back to the homebase Mama Judith, the head cleaning lady here, took me to the kitchen to request cold milk for me, once again, everyone in their own culture has specific ideas. While I sat there struggling almost in tears with difficulties of trying to communicate with the women today, I have come away with the realization that like myself, they are only trying to help. Sometimes the way they go about doing it makes it much more difficult for me to get anything done, but in the big picture here, the women at KIWODEA, my roommates, mama Judith, and myself are all just trying to help in our own way, and keeping an open mind is the key here.