Building global connections starts simply: with a name

My ten-minute walk from the fringes of Hanga Abbey to the front gate of St. Benedict Secondary School is a daily reminder of both my favorite and most challenging parts of life here in Tanzania.

Upon leaving the Abbey hostel, my name is Yakobo or Jacob for those who can pronounce my name, and I’m greeted with a familiar “Mambo vipi!” or “Tumsifu Yesu Kristo” from any early-morning monastic meanderers. As I near the boundaries of the school grounds, my name changes to Teacher or Sir Yakobo (still getting used to that one), and the greetings shift to “Good morning, sir” and “Shikamoo” — a term of respect for elders or those in authority — from the members of my classes of all-girls secondary school students.

In between, though, I often get two responses to my presence: a shouted, spoken or whispered “Mzungu” or a blank, unabashed and unwavering stare as people rotate their heads like owls with eyes latched onto me as I pass by.

“Mzungu” is a Swahili word that literally means “European” but is typically used to describe a non- African person, and the stares come from the fact that only five white people currently live in the entire town of Hanga.

Because of the scarcity of people who look like me, I understand the stares and shouts.

I understand it even more knowing that in the northern, tourist-laden parts of the country, visitors from around the world snap pictures of Tanzanians just trying to go about their lives.

However, understanding an action versus being comfortable with it are two different things.

Eight and a half months into my year here in Tanzania, the shouts and stares don’t bother me as much as when I first arrived.

I make a point to try to greet the people I walk by, and they almost always cheerfully greet me back. Still, it is really nice to be in places like the monastery and the school where people consistently call me by my name.

Because of this, I made a point soon after beginning to teach to learn the names of every one of my students. Back then, I had 57 students in my Form One mathematics class, which meant quite a few names to remember given that they’re typically different from those found in the United States.

We had quite the time going back and forth as I tried to figure out everyone’s name. Back then, my ability to understand unanticipated words in a Tanzanian accent was poor at best, so the name-learning eventually devolved into me calling students up one by one to write their name on the board.

I then made a chart of where every student sat in the class (which was really helpful until they all changed seats) and spent time committing their names to memory. After two weeks, when I finally had each and every name memorized, the whole class stood up and cheered.

This was a powerful moment for me, as it was one of the first times I felt really connected with my students. Just like me, they want their names to be known, and they want to be called by them. Just like I don’t like being called “Mzungu” or getting stared at, they don’t like being called simply “student” or “kijana” (“teenager” in English) or “wewe” (“you” in English).

Since that moment, the similarities I’ve noticed between them and me have only increased. They’re just as curious about the United States as I am about the variety of Tanzanian regions they come from.

They love the chapter review games I create as much as I loved them as a student.

They get bored in the lessons I get bored in while I’m teaching them (still haven’t figured out how to make business studies, a recent addition to my responsibilities, interesting).

From this development, I’ve learned that we all want parts of ourselves to be known. In exchanging information about ourselves, ranging from simply our names to more complex differences in culture, we can grow closer and more compatible with one another.

It’s a process of trust, one that only grows as long as information about the other person is respected and remembered.I’m a much better teacher within this Swahili-speaking, all-girls boarding school environment than when I first arrived.

However, that’s only thanks to students and people around me who eagerly share pieces of their lives with me as I try to share who I am with them.