Research of some kind is a given when you are a writer. Whether it simply be figuring out who was President in 1911 ( William Taft) or if there was color television in 1959 ( yes), I find myself always looking up something. But sometimes I discover that the research has already been done, without me realizing that's what I was doing at the time.
In 1989, my husband and I joined the Peace Corps and went to Tanzania. While there, I spent some time living with a Tanzanian family. The one pictured above. And yes, that is their house behind them. Made of mud and sticks, the house was surprisingly sturdy. There was no electricity, so as soon as it got dark, everyone went to bed. There was no plumbing, so the bathroom was a hole in the ground out behind the house, surrounded on three sides by a ramshackle fence made of cornstalks and sticks. The gaps in said fence allowed me a great view of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Alas, the gaps allowed anyone on the nearby road to also have a great view. Not just of Kilimanjaro.
My stay there was hard. There was a language barrier, with them speaking no English, and me speaking some fairly lousy Swahili. The smallest child was terrified of me. The poverty was overwhelming, as was my helplessness to do anything about it. The rats under my bed didn't help either, and I wasn't that sorry to see my time there end.
About five years after my stay in this Tanzanian home, I decided to start writing stories. And this little house came to mind. And I wrote Elizabeti's Doll, which is about a Tanzanian girl with a rock for a doll. There are details in there about Tanzanian life, the kind of details I usually have to research for a story. But I didn't need to. That part had already been done. And now, I look back on my stay in that Tanzanian home as a blessing, an experience I'm very happy to have had.
6 comments:
Stephanie,
What an amazing experience to share with us (your fellow writers) and your readers! You're right that many times we're researching and don't even know it.
Steph, I love this recollection. It really is a re-collecting of your memory of the Tanzia experience, translated by time and you. How cool is that.
I had a friend who lived in Tanzania homeschooling her four daughters and managing to pasteurize milk and boil water and take care of a compound household while her doctor husband fulfilled a dream of giving medical help in place that desperately needs it. For her, in retrospect, it was the worst year of her life. I think I will buy her your book and tell her your story-- sometimes seeing our experiences in a new light needs a little nudge. Thanks Stephanie.
Yeah, it is all about seeing our experiences in a new light:)
As you might guess, I feel a bit connected to this Tanzanian experience of yours!
Sounds like the kind of experience that enhances more than just your writing!!
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