THE SECOND TERM I

ANOTHER RETIREMENT

The first term of 1993 at Ilboru was scheduled to begin with a staff meeting on Friday, January 15, but I had long since lost interest in those bilingual, mostly non-English, monologues, so my plans for a vacation had always included that weekend. And, since my fifth formers, for whom this was actually the second term, as careful readers of these chronicles will understand, had stayed on an extra week or two to provide an audience for the most recently arrived batch of PC trainees, I did not anticipate a fast start in their resumption of serious studies. Thus, when a change in flight schedules threatened to shorten my return visit to the Serengeti, I didn't hesitate to prolong my absence from Arusha until Monday of the week classes were to resume.

It has been my plan for several years to retire the second time by initiating Social Security benefit payments on reaching 62, and since that birthday was to occur seven months after my departure from home, I phoned the agency’s nearest office last May to determine if I could make an early application. “Certainly not,” I was told, “but, no matter, all you need do is make an application at an embassy three or four months before your birthday.” Although I suggested to them that such a visit might be quite difficult for me in East Africa, they remained adamant in their refusal to help; little did I realize then how involved this task would become.

I first went up the hill with Peter on the Tuesday morning of opening week and found about what I'd expected: a few teachers lined up in front of the staff room half heartedly awaiting the still unavailable timetable for the term, and several dozen students disconsolately hacking at the luxuriant vacation growth of weeds, their reward for a timely return to campus. There was some mail in my box and more in the house, where I spent several hours packing household items and teaching materials in preparation for my return to town; I had decided definitely during vacation to rent space in town rather than share the school's house with another PCV. All of my important belongings were already stored with the Jacksons, so there was actually not much to do. Most of my mail, however, including an important letter from our embassy in Dar, was inexplicably locked away in the inexplicably absent Mr. Chagga's desk.

The weekend before Labor Day I had spent in Dar relaxing after the Peace Corps–the “p” and “s” are invariably pronounced by the Tanzanians, making its name sound like what I fear it's becoming–swearing-in ceremony, and on the following Tuesday, I had taken advantage of a free day to visit the embassy. Gaining admission was not easy, even with a US passport labeled “Peace Corps,” but when I did ultimately reach the consulate, I found the room crowded with Tanzanians apparently applying for US visas or maybe to marry one of the handsome Marines stationed there.

On Wednesday of the new term's first week Peter took me up the hill again to pick up my belongings and to look once more for the timetable. It was indeed available now, and yet, at the same time unavailable. Mr. Kiringo, head of the math department, pencils in the schedule on a form he has pasted to a large sheet of cardboard, nearly a meter on each edge. This in turn is attached to a wall in the TOD room. This room is nearly filled by a single large table, on the far side of which is a bench for use by the week's two TODs and the recently appointed resident disciplinarian, a man more sinister even than the second master. He looks, acts, and dresses like an American high school football coach, the principal difference being that he applies the switch carried in his hand. I particularly resent his red sweat suit with the word “Värmland” emblazoned on the chest; this is the Swedish province in which my father's family has lived for centuries.

There is only one timetable for the entire campus, and to read it, one must squeeze between the TOD table and the wall, a space less than one meter wide. It was clear that I had not been expected to return, for my name and schedule occupied the very bottom line, which was not even a full space wide. With 850 students and nearly 50 staff members all trying to read the chart at once, well maybe not quite simultaneously, I was barely able to get into the squatting position necessary to put my schedule at eye level, and from that depth, with many bodies between the room's single light bulb and me, I could not make out the faint pencil markings on the bottom line. Even when empty that room is dark; the bulb evidently absorbs photons rather than emitting them. So, I decided to wait until Monday of the second week to resume teaching

In mid-November I sent some sort of required correspondence to the PC office in Dar and added to it a request for reimbursement of some routine expenses and a comment on the inaction regarding my Social Security retirement application; both requests had been initiated on September 8. I concluded, facetiously, that if I did choose early termination, it would be to find other employment that provided real income. I was surprised and pleased a very short time later to receive my money and the following note:

THE UNITED STATES PEACE CORPS / TANZANIA November 23, 1992 Vance: 1. Your reimbursement for 8,240/- is enclosed. 2. I called the Consular section of the Embassy about your Social Security question. They informed me that they didn't have the proper forms in stock and that they were ordered from Athens (why Athens?) o/a September 11th. I've asked them to cable Athens and follow-up on the request. They've promised to keep me posted. I'll let you know when I hear something. I hope all is well. Happy Holidays. Sincerely, Kurt A. Pope Acting Director (by default)

About two weeks later a formal reply was received from the Embassy:

EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA P.O. Box 9123 • Dar es Salaam December 4, 1992 Dear Mr. Johnson: This letter is in regard to your inquiry concerning Social Security retirement benefits. We are expecting to receive soon Forms SSA 1 and SSA 21 from our Embassy in Athens, which you will be required to complete for the retirement application. In case the forms are delayed in the mail, we suggest that you send us a written statement (including your Social Security number) expressing your intent to claim Social Security benefits as soon as possible, which will protect you against possible loss of benefits. We will send the forms to you as soon as they are received. Sincerely, Joni E. Baker Consul of the United States of America

And then all was quiet again.

On the Saturday morning before I resumed teaching, we again drove to Ilboru to retrieve the last of the books and papers left in the house. A couple of days earlier I had vacated the Impala Motel to take up lodging in the Victoria House, a sort of semi-resident, semi-tourist hotel that opened only a few months ago. The latter provided me a much more spacious bedroom plus use of the adjacent conference room with its ten-chair table for writing. Thus, I had decided not to leave any possessions on campus.

The Impala is privately owned, well run, and very popular with tour groups; the latter come and go, talking in loud voices and running up and down the concrete stairs at most hours of day and night. The only assured quiet time is from 2:30 to 5:30 a.m. My current residence, also privately owned, is much quieter, probably because it's still unknown and is located somewhat off the highway, and the preparation and service of food are generally very nice. Its infrastructure was stillborn, however, and hot water and electricity, despite Peter's threatening and cajoling in at least two recognizable languages, remain infrequent visitors to my room. On the 17th morning, when I had already packed for departure elsewhere, hot water returned to the shower stall, but it departed again on the 24th; by then the new manager had learned the wisdom of meeting the needs of the Jacksons' client, so a bucket of hot water is quickly provided when requested. Hot water re-returned to the shower stall on the 27th, and by the 31st, even my poached eggs were perfectly soft again.

The headmaster was patrolling the unoccupied parade ground that Saturday morning, and while I went to the TOD room to copy my timetable in solitary, shadowy silence, he expressed to Peter his sadness at the term's slow start to serious study by students and teachers alike. Meanwhile, I continued upstairs to the staff room in search of more mail, where my eye was caught by a number of official postings on the bulletin board. I ordinarily don't even glance at them–many are in Kiswahili–because I would just as soon be unaware of the assignments that I have no intention of undertaking. This day I was very interested in the listing of the results of the national examinations taken this past November by Ilboru students at the conclusion of their form-two work; they came to the campus two years ago, in January, 1991, to begin their O-level–ordinary level–studies.

In order to put the results in proper perspective, it may be helpful to realize that about 300,000 pupils complete their elementary studies, standards one through seven, each year. Of these fewer than 10,000 are selected, based on national examinations, for admission to government schools like Ilboru. Many more, perhaps up to 50,000, enter private secondary schools annually. At O-level, unlike A-level, there is a regional quota system in use, so that Ilboru has a large percentage of O-level students from the comparatively rich, well-developed region surrounding Arusha. Thus its O-level students are generally very good although not nearly so highly accomplished as my form fivers.

Of the 127 Ilboru students who registered for these examinations, only four failed to appear to take them. No A's (81-100 %) were awarded, and only eight students earned B's (61-80 %). I didn't complete the count, but it's my impression that a majority of the remaining 115 students received D's, and the rest C's. The students who failed were honored by having their names highlighted in red. Now any experienced teacher can design a test to produce any desired grade distribution. The Tanzanian system is clearly intended to emphasize discipline, subservience, and low achievement. I have yet to see even a slight hint of official interest in encouraging accomplishment or rewarding success.

While passing through Nairobi at the beginning of my vacation travels, I asked Jonathan Jackson, Peter's son and Paul's brother, to contact the US Embassy there regarding Form SSA 1 and Form SSA 21. He did so, and ten days later when I stopped over again en route to Cape Town, he handed me the following handwritten note:

A letter to the under noted address will enable you to get all necessary documents, and benefits: Social Security Association International Programme Service Centre P.O. Box 1756 Baltimore, MD 21203

I was much too busy enjoying vacation travel to act on it then, so it went into my folder for later action; it was now only a few days before Christmas.

On January 10 I returned to Arusha, not to stay, but to move on to Gibb's Farm for an overnight stop en route to the Serengeti. I lunched with my two closest PCV colleagues, in terms both of friendship and physical distance from Arusha, and was told forthrightly by each that I would find it very difficult to share my house with the new PCV already living there. A letter from a third colleague implied the same; all three had spent some time in the house with him during the holidays. I am pleased that my decision was made without knowing who was coming and that it made possible the addition of two recent secondary-school graduates from England to the rapidly burgeoning household.

The Jacksons were sufficiently upset with the arrangement that they had already found a suitable flat for me. It had only two problems: it was not yet finished, and it's a considerable distance from Ilboru. The first is solved by temporarily residing in a hotel, but to resolve the second requires finding a suitable driver and car, which may be difficult. I was easily able to rearrange my timetable into four days, so my Tuesdays are now completely free. “Grandfather,” the headmaster said to me on learning the new circumstances, “you can do anything you want.” I fully intend to apply that pronouncement from now on to all aspects of my life here.

The first week of classes, the second week of the term, went smoothly enough, and most of my students had reported back to school. Letters from the students of a physics teacher acquaintance in California had arrived during the break, so the first practical periods were used to read and reply to them. My guys seemed both excited and serious about this activity, so I hope that at least a few pen-pal relationships develop. Mr. Chagga also showed up during this week, and among the letters locked in his desk was the following:

EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA P.O. Box 9123 • Dar es Salaam January 14, 1993 Dear Mr. Johnson: Enclosed please find Social Security retirement benefits forms which we received on January 13, 1993, from our Embassy in Athens with the following instructions: Forms SSA-1 and SSA-21 must be completed by all applicants for retirement benefits. Form SSA-150 should be completed if questions #23 on Form SSA-1 is answered yes. Complete form SSA-2512 only if question #6 of SSA-1 is answered yes. Please send/bring your original birth or baptismal certificate. We will return your original certificate after certifying the copy according to the requirements of the Social Security Administration. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you have any questions. Sincerely, Joni E. Baker Consul of the United States of America

I returned the completed forms and my birth certificate by Expedited Mail Service the very next day.

I had taken two other, probably unnecessary, actions during the week that Consul Baker's letter to me lay unread in the security of Mr. Chagga's desk. First, I had finally gotten around to acting on the instructions from our embassy in Kenya and had sent a letter to Baltimore, which summarized the situation and concluded with the following paragraph:

“Since succumbing to old age or malaria before receiving application forms, to say nothing of actual benefits, seems a very real possibility, I am seriously thinking of resigning from the Peace Corps and coming home early in order to apply for some compensation for a lifetime of work and premium payments. I will be grateful, however, to receive information–and perhaps even forms–on how to apply from Africa, if that is indeed possible.”

The other action was to ask Dow, during the first of our recently re-established weekly telephone conversations, to request that one of my brothers contact the office of his Representative, who is also his personal friend, to see if a Congressional inquiry might produce results. It did, and one week later Dow gave me the Baltimore address to which I had already written.

On Sunday afternoon I rode to Nairobi with Peter, Jennifer, and Jyoti, the last two being his daughter and daughter-in-law, respectively, ostensibly to get some more dollars. Even at Tanzanian resident rates, a weekly hotel bill in Arusha is not trivial, and the only method I've found for getting dollars here is to visit an American Express office, the nearest one being in Nairobi, which coincidentally is home to the Norfolk Hotel, which can usually be persuaded to give “our last room” to me. On this visit to the Ibis Grill the asparagus pasta appetizer was exquisite to the eye and exciting to the palate, and the Moet-Chandon brut, though neither vintage nor modestly priced, was sublime. The subsequent two courses were good, but less appealing, and due to the lateness of our arrival the after-dinner cigar was smoked in my room. One learns to endure such privations in the Third World, but it was nice to be recognized by my waiter from the previous visit.

Before that enjoyable repast was possible, however, we had to live through some unpleasant moments at the Kenya border and then the time-consuming repair of not one, but two slow leaks in yet another unreliable Kenya-made inner tube. A month earlier at Gibb's Farm six patches were required to cover four leaks in a different tube. (I do a lot of unscheduled bird watching while traveling here.) The senior Kenyan official at the border yelled loud and long at us for some real or imagined infraction. I think it had to do with the women's passports. Not long ago some 10,000 blank passports were “stolen” from the Tanzanian government, necessitating replacement of those already issued. Evidently the women were still using their old ones. But, no matter. We arrived at 8:00, I was in the bathtub by 8:30, and I was only a little late for my 9:00 reservation at the Grill.

On Monday I took care of my business and then spent several pleasant hours relaxing at the hotel. This morning's breakfast was my first in the Lord Delamere restaurant, whose redecoration had just been completed. It is still done in traditional colonial style, and yet it appears quite elegant; the only significant change is a new buffet table in the room's center. The service is gracious, and the staff is hospitable and polite. Service on the Lord Delamere Terrace, just outside, where I had a late lunch at the corner table, is more perfunctory, but it should be; nonresidents also eat there. Its view may not quite rival those from the sidewalk cafes of Paris or Buenos Aires, but it nonetheless affords quite fascinating people watching.

We left late in the afternoon, and it was dark long before we reached the border. The stars were bright, but from the moving Range Rover, I couldn't make any sense of the eastern sky. Thinking about the next day, I doubted there was any sense in going to Ilboru to teach at most for one hour; there is no way to get my fruit, coffee, and poached eggs much before 7:30 at the Victoria House, and I had only the one class originally scheduled on Tuesdays. But I generally do what I think I should.

And so it was on the way up the hill that morning that Peter asked me if I thought my students would be in class. I replied that I'd had the feeling for twenty-four hours that they would be working in the garden. And so they were, planting onions in the quadrangle in front of the administration wing. Friday was a holiday, so I managed to teach only seven days of the first fifteen. And yet, with the possible exception of my friend, the American-educated math teacher Mr. Mnjokava, I likely did more than any other teacher. And of course there was no Social Security check on February 3. There was some good news, however, in that a letter had been sent to Baltimore from the embassy in Dar on January 29. My copy was postmarked February 2 in Dar, on the fifth in Arusha, and reached me at Ilboru on the tenth; its contents were encouraging:

EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA P.O. Box 9123 • Dar es Salaam January 29, 1993 Dear SSA Official: Enclosed please find SSA-1-F6, Application for Retirement Insurance Benefits; SSA-21, Supplement to Claim Person Outside the United States, and a statement dated December 8, 1992, on behalf of Mr. Wilbur Vance Johnson. The statement is enclosed as per 7 FAM 534.3, since we were waiting for the necessary forms from the Regional Federal Benefits Unit in Athens. Mr. Johnson is a United States Peace Corps Volunteer in Tanzania. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Sincerely, Joni E. Baker Consul of the United States of America

But I won't go up the hill on Tuesdays anymore.

W. Vance Johnson

15 Feb 93