These are my Summer 2010 final thoughts.
I know this much is true - (dedicated to Sara Bridge)
I’m writing on a netbook computer in Dar es Salaam and as I look around, I see only varying shades of brown skin and hear only the occasional word or phrase that I understand. I have a thin film of sweat all over my body and my shirt is damp under the arms and I stink. Coins are jingled deliberately in the hands of young boys walking the city, selling peanuts from baskets. Motorcycles and loud banging on metal are wracking my brain. Taxi drivers hover for the hopeful sighting of someone in need of a ride with big cash in his pocket. Some women walk by with kangas tied around their waists, but more are dressed for the city; most of the men are wearing the distinctive small Muslim hats and every handful of hours, the Mosque reminds all of us what some should be doing. The smiles - when they come to life – light up my day. I’ve never seen more perfect, straight, white teeth on more beautiful faces. Work is done inefficiently – with brooms made from small sticks, trash is thrown in the street so someone can pick it up every morning at 5am and coffee seems to take 30 minutes to brew. I am in the city and it’s loud and impersonal.
I long for the villages and smaller towns. I long to be recognized and called by name rather than dismissed as another tourist en route to Zanzibar. I crave wali na samaki at Sun City - my favorite café to sit and eat with Lucas, watching life happen slowly. I see in my mind the faces of those in need in Kigoma – those I saw daily, such as the tiny little woman whose body creates a right angle when she stands and who seems to consist of little more than a head when she sits under her scarf on the street in front of her small change dish day after day after day, year after year. I think back fondly on the arrival of all the unfortunate ones who seemed to come out of the woodworks when I would sit with my meal at Sun City – the 14 year old girl with no fingers, the man who walks on his hands while swinging his tiny bent legs forward, the young boy who spends his days leading his even younger blind sister (maybe age 6) from shop to shop to ask for money. Sometimes I would give change, sometimes only a smile and a gentle apology and in the case of Musa and his blind little sister, once I sat them down and bought them a fish dinner.
Life is hard in the towns and villages – such a contrast from the city where most have nice clothes, shoes, purses and even cars. The women and children living and begging in the streets here in Dar es Salaam have supposedly come primarily from the villages and Kigoma for a chance – an opportunity yet undiscovered. Life is hard and education is no guarantee of happiness and prosperity. I met so many young people who completed secondary school, only to wander the streets unemployed or create a living by making bricks or fishing, thinking back to the dreams they had of going to high school or college – dreams shattered when they passed their exams but couldn’t afford the next step. I know this because they tell me when I’m walking into town. I met so many young men who could speak at length in English about their situation – after which they would inevitably ask me for support.
But, there is hope. Information is power! I have met some important people with big ideas – locals with the aim of opening all girls schools in which bright young women will flourish, locals who conduct satellite courses with the universities in Dar es Salaam so students can get a Bachelors degree and not have to brave the big city or come up with big city funds, locals who have initiated nongovernmental organizations to advocate for those in need – women, elderly, vulnerable children, mentally impaired and marginalized – like the Albinos who for decades have been hunted and maimed by other locals who were told by witch doctors to return with fingers, toes, arms or legs of an albino so a potion can be created to cure their illness or take away a curse (true story! I saw the facility created to house them – a sanctuary for albinos in Kabanga).
The key word above – critical for hope is ‘locals’. They have the power within the country to struggle up and out of the current situation – to fight poverty, violations of human rights, limited access to education, black magic, environmental degradation, unnecessary killing of wildlife, abuse of ‘domestic’ animals and corruption. I believe that permanent change will (and must) come from within – that wazungu like me won’t be the reason why a new school is built, why a more efficient stove is created, why water systems function and disease ceases to spread like wildfire. But, at the base of this growth – at the heart of this hope – is education. So, for now I’m happy to invest in the youngsters. I’m happy to contribute my little spark and see what light will shine in the future. And I hope that light will be the blaze of a torch that will be passed from generation to generation, growing every year.
Each time I come to Tanzania, I learn so much. I learn the language, I learn about the culture, I gain insights into development work and I meet critical players in the hope for change. This year, on the way out of Kigoma, I met a man; he was standing in front of me in the security line at the small airport. After a perfunctory ‘hello’ in English followed by basic information sharing we came to learn that we are integral to one another. I am building the schools and he is training the teachers. He works for the Open University of Tanzania. I thought I was dreaming when he started telling me that his program seeks bright young people from rural areas to become teachers for the schools in the villages. He told me about the on-line distance learning, the satellite office in Kigoma and the format of their program. Young people not only take the on-line courses, but begin teaching from the beginning! They are placed in schools and teach as they learn.
Most of you don’t know that I recently wrote a 50 page paper on the Theory-Practice Gap in teacher education, which ultimately celebrates this exact model of teacher education! How can a teacher really digest theoretical content about lesson planning, error correction, learning styles, and so much more without experiencing it? The common trend is a deluge of theory followed by a short practicum wherein student teachers realize – OMG, this is not what I expected … followed by the real world placement where they may come to believe that very little they learned matches the reality of their teaching situation. Long story short – this gentleman and I are in contact. Next week, he is on his way to the US to do a tour of universities and establish exchange programs with teacher education programs. Utah isn’t on the agenda, but that doesn’t mean he and I won’t be able to make something happen!
In the future, my hope is that Project Wezesha will not only target the children – supporting them with schools and school fees – but will additionally support the teachers, investing in their development, their goal setting, their growth, their promise as leaders of the young people - because, a school with absent, unqualified or disheartened teachers is just a building where dreams die.
Long live the dream!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
When I Leave, I Will Miss ...
When I go, I will miss …
I will miss the children - their smiles, their shy greetings, their big eyes and bare feet, their toys made of palm leaves, plastic bottles and spare tires, their school uniforms in varying degrees of deterioration, their unyielding desire to go to school. .. even their shouts of mzungu and naomba hela or the English version of the same phrase – give me money! I will absolutely miss the children – they keep me going from visit to visit, they keep me energized to pump donors for more money, they keep me coming back for another hot summer, another crammed dala dala ride, another trial of my patience and determination. One afternoon in their humble homes or on a rock by the river, chatting away about simple matters or sharing information about our respective cultures and I feel that they are all that matters in the whole world.
I will miss the food – I will miss knowing that everything I eat or drink was grown within meters or a few miles of where I sit. Even though some of it is not native to the area (mangos), it still grows right here. The fish I ate daily was caught in Lake Tanganyika. Every night I would sit high above the lake, watching the moon rise and the fishing boats light up along the horizon like a city in its own right. I thought about the men on those little boats, staying out there through the night to catch the food I would eat tomorrow. I will miss fresh juice that only contains the fruit it came from – no extra flavors or sugars. I will miss avocados the size of Chihuahuas that cost $0.20 each and spoon out like soft butter. I will miss eating with my hands and wiping my lips with water from the communal sink after eating, not caring that I have a wet face as I return to the table. And related to the food, I will miss the big beautiful mango trees that provide the only shade in a region devastated by deforestation.
I will miss Kiswahili – I should speak it much better by now, but I do speak it much better today than four weeks ago. I can’t wait to run home to Salt Lake City and visit my Burundi and Somali friends who speak Kiswahili so that they can see that I can do it! I learned yet again and hope to retain more throughout this year than I did last year – when I got lazy or caught up in my life of dissertation, dating, dogs, facebook and fundraising. I can’t wait to have more in-depth conversations with Spes (from Burundi) in a language she understands instead of having her daughters interpret for us as we try to catch up and share stories about recent adventures in life and learning.
I will miss the dala dala rides - I love observing the way people pack in with very little to say to the people they’re crammed up against, unless the silence is broken … from which point, random conversations between three individuals can turn into a discussion involving everyone on the dala dala – perhaps about something as simple as the latest cost of onions at the market or the behavior of a passenger who just ‘dropped down’. I love how unfazed people are by the closeness of their bodies to one another. There is no embarrassment in having an elderly woman bend over in front of you to move her basket – leaving your nose an inch from her rear end. The looks and laughs that moment would invite back home have no place here, where living in close quarters is just a way of life. When it happened to me, my American ego was blushing, avoiding eye contact, imagining the snickers and smiles about the big butt in muzungu’s face … until I realized, they don’t give a shit – it’s just the way it is on the dala dala.
I’ll miss the colorful kangas – The women are always wrapped in one or two kangas and then often have another to hold a child on their backs. They are so colorful and rarely match whatever else the woman is wearing. Even if a woman is wearing a dress or skirt, she ties a kanga around her waist. I tried to figure out the ‘why’ of these kangas. I thought maybe it was to protect the rest of their clothes from dust – and that’s possible, but dust isn’t as prevalent now with the paved roads. I thought maybe it was to have something handy in case they needed to carry something unexpectedly – and that’s possible, but they would sooner carry something on their head in a plastic bag or basket. At the end of the day and after prodding Lucas for insight, we figure it’s just ‘the way it is’ here – probably what they say about ‘the way it is there’ – in America and beyond, when they see all the wazungu walking around with water bottles, backpacks and sunglasses. The women have been decorating themselves in kangas for years – why stop now! And I won’t complain – I adore the colors and love to give kangas as gifts to my friends in the village – $4.50 to brighten a woman’s day … hamna shida!
When I go, I won’t miss … (yes, there are contradictions!)
Maybe I won’t miss the dala dala rides - Bottoms, boobs, bad breath and B.O. in my face. As much as I marvel over the whole experience, there are times when I really want to be behind the wheel of my own pick-up or just be walking. In fact, once upon a late afternoon I chose to make a 50-minute walk home rather than try to pile into the 5pm slammed-full dala dala because I had just had enough that day – heat, dust, mzungu attention. If I do end up on an overcrowded dala dala, then I want to be the one standing in the isle, hovering above everyone else – even if it means having my neck bent or bumping my head on the roof. My least favorite experiences are when opportunists on the bus start to explore me – with their eyes, fingers and other body parts. Curiosity gets the best of them. Sometimes, it’s not such a big deal – like when children start stroking my hairy arms, but I’m not as delighted when men press their legs (or other bits) against me when there is room to do otherwise, women stare at me as if I were a car accident, and the dala dala conda (guy who shouts for riders and takes the money) keeps my change and tells me I’m paying for his friend … Ok, that only happened once and the Conda was a guy I had come to know – but still, the cheek!
I won’t miss the fires – wiping out grasses, trees, animals, insects; filling the air with smoke; filling small kitchens with air that shouldn’t even be used as a form of torture – yet it’s breathed daily by women and children who spend much of their time in the kitchen. Flying over Dar recently on my way back from Kigoma, I looked out from the small plane at the land below. It was amazing how much forest there was, and yet you could visibly see it deteriorating – being cut away at the edges for inhabitation. Of course, it did occur to me – they’re just a little behind us and once upon a time, someone flying over the US would have seen the exact same – we’ve just left little evidence of that for observation today. What forest that is left in the USA is hopefully protected. Mountains on the other hand, well – they seem to be the prey of the day for developers – at least where I live. Still, it’s hard to see the forests of Tanzania fade away, into the dirt that surrounds small huts or into a veil of smoke that burns the elders of the forest that have already been chopped down.
Side-note: One marvelous little view I had from the plane was a tiny dot in the center of an enormous forest – a tiny tan colored dot that in reality was probably 50 meters in diameter. No roads accessed the tiny dot and given that there were miles of forest surrounding it on all sides, it was even that much more remarkable that inside the tiny tan dot were 7 small huts! Imagine – they live, literally, in the middle of the forest (some might say in the middle of nowhere), far from water, roads, other people. How did they come to find themselves clearing a spot there! What do they eat? Drink? Hunt? Farm? Incredible!
I won’t miss “Shikamoo” – This is the greeting for ‘elder’ individuals – i.e. anyone older than you. It literally means 'I touch your feet.' It’s great when I’m sending it from me to one of the oldest people on earth, but when it comes my way – it’s just a reminder that I’m older than a lot of people.
I won’t miss being seen as a cash cow – If only they knew! I would have them call my mom to get the sad truth about my financials, but none of us can afford the call! So, I haggle as best I can – but I’m a bad haggler. I really don’t like to do it at all, but I really hate to be overcharged because of … I’ll say it – my skin color. I remember Tamrika trying to explain to Lucas two years ago about their diner – how prices are fixed and you can’t just charge someone more for their meal because they have accented English or a different colored skin. Lucas responded in his common expression of surprise( regardless of the subject): “Is it?!” So, sometimes I find myself haggling for 500Shs. That’s a lot right? Nope, that’s about $0.33. Still, it’s the principle.
Of course, I’m only human. So – at times I just want to throw money at a problem… After talking the price of rice down from 1000Shs to 730Shs per kilo (so I could buy 70kg for a wedding present) Lucas and I found ourselves being denied access to every dala dala that passed on our attempt to reach the village… they were all full and we were more like 4 people with the 2 big bags of rice. After sitting in the blazing sun on a sack of rice for too long, I wanted to just pay for a stinking taxi to the village – price difference: dala dala -$0.33, taxi $33.00! I didn’t do it! But I was so close at one point! Finally, God passed by in the opposite direction (Yes, like the ‘big guy’ only pronounced by the locals as ‘Goadie’ … and a name belonging to the conda who made me buy his friend’s fare). Lucas ran across the street and told him about our situation – God promised to save us a seat by not filling the dala dala at the station… Sure enough, he was scooping us up 15 minutes later on his return trip to the village. Gotta love God – saved me a heap! haha
As I leave, I have greater appreciation for …
I appreciate the elderly – As I mentioned in a previous entry, I never considered myself to be ‘good’ with the elderly. All of my family lives in Ireland – I saw my grandparents rarely and they all died when I was fairly young. Beyond my interactions with them, I didn’t have many old folks to kick it with. I’ve even had thoughts about how poorly I would serve my parents in their very old age – when that time comes ... next year. Haha! Just kidding mom and dad!!
After seeing several of what I believe to be the oldest people on earth, I have come to adore the elderly. These very old souls in Tanzania don’t get to retire to a home or be taken care of in quite the same way as they might in the US. Here, they continue to walk until they can barely hold themselves up on their tall walking staffs. They continue to carry food and firewood ‘to the head’ until they can no longer stand up straight enough to support anything that way – and then, they still carry what they can in a small plastic bag hanging limply from their old wrinkled hands. They continue to walk in flip flops or bare feet on tarmac or dirt roads, through the village and in the city. Everyone greets them with special words to show respect and most are given a seat on the dala dala by the younger generations – “Shikamoo, bibi. Shikamoo, babu”. They are surely not as old as they often look and I know their life expectancy must be far shorter than ours – for obvious reasons. Life is hard and to become old in Tanzania is an accomplishment. When, where and how they ultimately die is a mystery to me. I wonder when they stop and sit and decide – I’ve done enough. I’ll rest now and wait for my end.
I appreciate the fuel crisis – I can become (quietly) infuriated by the sight of the fires on the hillsides in the villages. Sometimes, they are random and unnecessary, perhaps a fire that rages out of control from a previously controlled burn. But more often, they are deliberate. They burn to cleanse the land of old grasses so that new grass can grow – new, fresh green grass that they will later cut to repair the roofs on their houses. In the never-ending quest for new grasses, however – the insects, trees and small animals suffer, not to mention the environment at large as the atmosphere comes under attack by the plumes of smoke. What isn’t destroyed by fire is chopped down for firewood – the primary (read only) source of fuel outside the city or big towns. But what is the solution?
I can appreciate that in the absence of an innovative solution and often in the absence of education and information about what these every day practices are doing to the planet, fires rage on and forests disappear – and really who cares what happens to the planet when your children fight for their lives against hunger and malaria, your wives die in childbirth and HIV positive individuals keep their illness a secret. (Those are worst-case scenarios, of course – but very prevalent where I’ve spent my time.)
Attempts have been made with more efficient stoves and alternative fuel sources, but as development workers will tell you – the problems there are endless as well. When left with no way to repair a new stove, people return to their old ways. When the new stove is so expensive that only one or two villagers can receive one, the positive impact is minimal. Until large scale, government-initiated and supported infrastructure improvements are made – such as installing gas lines or investing in wind and solar energy for electric stoves – the fires in western Tanzania will continue to rage on the hillsides, trees will be cut for firewood and water will take ages to boil in a pot balanced on three stones – just like the good old, old, old days. I’ll have to turn my head and focus on education for now and hope for change to come with it.
I appreciate the body odor – There is something very distinct about the body odor here. I wish I could really describe it. It’s like a combination of fruity, sour, acidic, sweet and just plain wrong. I would catch whiffs of it from time to time at random – on the street, in a shop, on the dala dala. And honestly, it wasn’t an odor I could really appreciate – until it happened to me. To this moment, my B.O. smells just like everyone else’s here – a testament to the link between B.O. and diet, I suppose. Truth be told, I’m not using antiperspirant, just deodorant – and we all know that’s not as effective, but it won’t give me breast cancer, so whatever. And so, I sit with myself long enough on a bus, plane or dala dala in Tanzania and I turn my nose up and away, furrow my brow and think back to the days when I smelled like lavender, rose, jasmine, Be Delicous by DKNY…. But it’s ok. I eat mgebuka, wali na mchicha (fish, rice and spinach) and drink it down with jusi nanasi au passion (pineapple or passion fruit juice) and I smell just the way I should – sweet, sour and downright putrid.
Napenda sana Tanzania! Truly - I do love Tanzania!
I will miss the children - their smiles, their shy greetings, their big eyes and bare feet, their toys made of palm leaves, plastic bottles and spare tires, their school uniforms in varying degrees of deterioration, their unyielding desire to go to school. .. even their shouts of mzungu and naomba hela or the English version of the same phrase – give me money! I will absolutely miss the children – they keep me going from visit to visit, they keep me energized to pump donors for more money, they keep me coming back for another hot summer, another crammed dala dala ride, another trial of my patience and determination. One afternoon in their humble homes or on a rock by the river, chatting away about simple matters or sharing information about our respective cultures and I feel that they are all that matters in the whole world.
I will miss the food – I will miss knowing that everything I eat or drink was grown within meters or a few miles of where I sit. Even though some of it is not native to the area (mangos), it still grows right here. The fish I ate daily was caught in Lake Tanganyika. Every night I would sit high above the lake, watching the moon rise and the fishing boats light up along the horizon like a city in its own right. I thought about the men on those little boats, staying out there through the night to catch the food I would eat tomorrow. I will miss fresh juice that only contains the fruit it came from – no extra flavors or sugars. I will miss avocados the size of Chihuahuas that cost $0.20 each and spoon out like soft butter. I will miss eating with my hands and wiping my lips with water from the communal sink after eating, not caring that I have a wet face as I return to the table. And related to the food, I will miss the big beautiful mango trees that provide the only shade in a region devastated by deforestation.
I will miss Kiswahili – I should speak it much better by now, but I do speak it much better today than four weeks ago. I can’t wait to run home to Salt Lake City and visit my Burundi and Somali friends who speak Kiswahili so that they can see that I can do it! I learned yet again and hope to retain more throughout this year than I did last year – when I got lazy or caught up in my life of dissertation, dating, dogs, facebook and fundraising. I can’t wait to have more in-depth conversations with Spes (from Burundi) in a language she understands instead of having her daughters interpret for us as we try to catch up and share stories about recent adventures in life and learning.
I will miss the dala dala rides - I love observing the way people pack in with very little to say to the people they’re crammed up against, unless the silence is broken … from which point, random conversations between three individuals can turn into a discussion involving everyone on the dala dala – perhaps about something as simple as the latest cost of onions at the market or the behavior of a passenger who just ‘dropped down’. I love how unfazed people are by the closeness of their bodies to one another. There is no embarrassment in having an elderly woman bend over in front of you to move her basket – leaving your nose an inch from her rear end. The looks and laughs that moment would invite back home have no place here, where living in close quarters is just a way of life. When it happened to me, my American ego was blushing, avoiding eye contact, imagining the snickers and smiles about the big butt in muzungu’s face … until I realized, they don’t give a shit – it’s just the way it is on the dala dala.
I’ll miss the colorful kangas – The women are always wrapped in one or two kangas and then often have another to hold a child on their backs. They are so colorful and rarely match whatever else the woman is wearing. Even if a woman is wearing a dress or skirt, she ties a kanga around her waist. I tried to figure out the ‘why’ of these kangas. I thought maybe it was to protect the rest of their clothes from dust – and that’s possible, but dust isn’t as prevalent now with the paved roads. I thought maybe it was to have something handy in case they needed to carry something unexpectedly – and that’s possible, but they would sooner carry something on their head in a plastic bag or basket. At the end of the day and after prodding Lucas for insight, we figure it’s just ‘the way it is’ here – probably what they say about ‘the way it is there’ – in America and beyond, when they see all the wazungu walking around with water bottles, backpacks and sunglasses. The women have been decorating themselves in kangas for years – why stop now! And I won’t complain – I adore the colors and love to give kangas as gifts to my friends in the village – $4.50 to brighten a woman’s day … hamna shida!
When I go, I won’t miss … (yes, there are contradictions!)
Maybe I won’t miss the dala dala rides - Bottoms, boobs, bad breath and B.O. in my face. As much as I marvel over the whole experience, there are times when I really want to be behind the wheel of my own pick-up or just be walking. In fact, once upon a late afternoon I chose to make a 50-minute walk home rather than try to pile into the 5pm slammed-full dala dala because I had just had enough that day – heat, dust, mzungu attention. If I do end up on an overcrowded dala dala, then I want to be the one standing in the isle, hovering above everyone else – even if it means having my neck bent or bumping my head on the roof. My least favorite experiences are when opportunists on the bus start to explore me – with their eyes, fingers and other body parts. Curiosity gets the best of them. Sometimes, it’s not such a big deal – like when children start stroking my hairy arms, but I’m not as delighted when men press their legs (or other bits) against me when there is room to do otherwise, women stare at me as if I were a car accident, and the dala dala conda (guy who shouts for riders and takes the money) keeps my change and tells me I’m paying for his friend … Ok, that only happened once and the Conda was a guy I had come to know – but still, the cheek!
I won’t miss the fires – wiping out grasses, trees, animals, insects; filling the air with smoke; filling small kitchens with air that shouldn’t even be used as a form of torture – yet it’s breathed daily by women and children who spend much of their time in the kitchen. Flying over Dar recently on my way back from Kigoma, I looked out from the small plane at the land below. It was amazing how much forest there was, and yet you could visibly see it deteriorating – being cut away at the edges for inhabitation. Of course, it did occur to me – they’re just a little behind us and once upon a time, someone flying over the US would have seen the exact same – we’ve just left little evidence of that for observation today. What forest that is left in the USA is hopefully protected. Mountains on the other hand, well – they seem to be the prey of the day for developers – at least where I live. Still, it’s hard to see the forests of Tanzania fade away, into the dirt that surrounds small huts or into a veil of smoke that burns the elders of the forest that have already been chopped down.
Side-note: One marvelous little view I had from the plane was a tiny dot in the center of an enormous forest – a tiny tan colored dot that in reality was probably 50 meters in diameter. No roads accessed the tiny dot and given that there were miles of forest surrounding it on all sides, it was even that much more remarkable that inside the tiny tan dot were 7 small huts! Imagine – they live, literally, in the middle of the forest (some might say in the middle of nowhere), far from water, roads, other people. How did they come to find themselves clearing a spot there! What do they eat? Drink? Hunt? Farm? Incredible!
I won’t miss “Shikamoo” – This is the greeting for ‘elder’ individuals – i.e. anyone older than you. It literally means 'I touch your feet.' It’s great when I’m sending it from me to one of the oldest people on earth, but when it comes my way – it’s just a reminder that I’m older than a lot of people.
I won’t miss being seen as a cash cow – If only they knew! I would have them call my mom to get the sad truth about my financials, but none of us can afford the call! So, I haggle as best I can – but I’m a bad haggler. I really don’t like to do it at all, but I really hate to be overcharged because of … I’ll say it – my skin color. I remember Tamrika trying to explain to Lucas two years ago about their diner – how prices are fixed and you can’t just charge someone more for their meal because they have accented English or a different colored skin. Lucas responded in his common expression of surprise( regardless of the subject): “Is it?!” So, sometimes I find myself haggling for 500Shs. That’s a lot right? Nope, that’s about $0.33. Still, it’s the principle.
Of course, I’m only human. So – at times I just want to throw money at a problem… After talking the price of rice down from 1000Shs to 730Shs per kilo (so I could buy 70kg for a wedding present) Lucas and I found ourselves being denied access to every dala dala that passed on our attempt to reach the village… they were all full and we were more like 4 people with the 2 big bags of rice. After sitting in the blazing sun on a sack of rice for too long, I wanted to just pay for a stinking taxi to the village – price difference: dala dala -$0.33, taxi $33.00! I didn’t do it! But I was so close at one point! Finally, God passed by in the opposite direction (Yes, like the ‘big guy’ only pronounced by the locals as ‘Goadie’ … and a name belonging to the conda who made me buy his friend’s fare). Lucas ran across the street and told him about our situation – God promised to save us a seat by not filling the dala dala at the station… Sure enough, he was scooping us up 15 minutes later on his return trip to the village. Gotta love God – saved me a heap! haha
As I leave, I have greater appreciation for …
I appreciate the elderly – As I mentioned in a previous entry, I never considered myself to be ‘good’ with the elderly. All of my family lives in Ireland – I saw my grandparents rarely and they all died when I was fairly young. Beyond my interactions with them, I didn’t have many old folks to kick it with. I’ve even had thoughts about how poorly I would serve my parents in their very old age – when that time comes ... next year. Haha! Just kidding mom and dad!!
After seeing several of what I believe to be the oldest people on earth, I have come to adore the elderly. These very old souls in Tanzania don’t get to retire to a home or be taken care of in quite the same way as they might in the US. Here, they continue to walk until they can barely hold themselves up on their tall walking staffs. They continue to carry food and firewood ‘to the head’ until they can no longer stand up straight enough to support anything that way – and then, they still carry what they can in a small plastic bag hanging limply from their old wrinkled hands. They continue to walk in flip flops or bare feet on tarmac or dirt roads, through the village and in the city. Everyone greets them with special words to show respect and most are given a seat on the dala dala by the younger generations – “Shikamoo, bibi. Shikamoo, babu”. They are surely not as old as they often look and I know their life expectancy must be far shorter than ours – for obvious reasons. Life is hard and to become old in Tanzania is an accomplishment. When, where and how they ultimately die is a mystery to me. I wonder when they stop and sit and decide – I’ve done enough. I’ll rest now and wait for my end.
I appreciate the fuel crisis – I can become (quietly) infuriated by the sight of the fires on the hillsides in the villages. Sometimes, they are random and unnecessary, perhaps a fire that rages out of control from a previously controlled burn. But more often, they are deliberate. They burn to cleanse the land of old grasses so that new grass can grow – new, fresh green grass that they will later cut to repair the roofs on their houses. In the never-ending quest for new grasses, however – the insects, trees and small animals suffer, not to mention the environment at large as the atmosphere comes under attack by the plumes of smoke. What isn’t destroyed by fire is chopped down for firewood – the primary (read only) source of fuel outside the city or big towns. But what is the solution?
I can appreciate that in the absence of an innovative solution and often in the absence of education and information about what these every day practices are doing to the planet, fires rage on and forests disappear – and really who cares what happens to the planet when your children fight for their lives against hunger and malaria, your wives die in childbirth and HIV positive individuals keep their illness a secret. (Those are worst-case scenarios, of course – but very prevalent where I’ve spent my time.)
Attempts have been made with more efficient stoves and alternative fuel sources, but as development workers will tell you – the problems there are endless as well. When left with no way to repair a new stove, people return to their old ways. When the new stove is so expensive that only one or two villagers can receive one, the positive impact is minimal. Until large scale, government-initiated and supported infrastructure improvements are made – such as installing gas lines or investing in wind and solar energy for electric stoves – the fires in western Tanzania will continue to rage on the hillsides, trees will be cut for firewood and water will take ages to boil in a pot balanced on three stones – just like the good old, old, old days. I’ll have to turn my head and focus on education for now and hope for change to come with it.
I appreciate the body odor – There is something very distinct about the body odor here. I wish I could really describe it. It’s like a combination of fruity, sour, acidic, sweet and just plain wrong. I would catch whiffs of it from time to time at random – on the street, in a shop, on the dala dala. And honestly, it wasn’t an odor I could really appreciate – until it happened to me. To this moment, my B.O. smells just like everyone else’s here – a testament to the link between B.O. and diet, I suppose. Truth be told, I’m not using antiperspirant, just deodorant – and we all know that’s not as effective, but it won’t give me breast cancer, so whatever. And so, I sit with myself long enough on a bus, plane or dala dala in Tanzania and I turn my nose up and away, furrow my brow and think back to the days when I smelled like lavender, rose, jasmine, Be Delicous by DKNY…. But it’s ok. I eat mgebuka, wali na mchicha (fish, rice and spinach) and drink it down with jusi nanasi au passion (pineapple or passion fruit juice) and I smell just the way I should – sweet, sour and downright putrid.
Napenda sana Tanzania! Truly - I do love Tanzania!
Amahoro - Building Update
Well - as I suppose you may have surmised, progress was a little slower than I was hoping it would be, but not by much. In fact, in the 3 weeks that I was there, I never imagined that as much would be done.
First, Isaya (the builder) had architectural plans drawn up in about one day. With the plans we also got the building permit. Having that out of the way, we met with the land office and the ministry of education and confirmed with the village government that the land was ready for building and it had been approved by the villagers.
Next on the agenda was the big materials shopping day. I gladly handed over almost 3 million shillings so that Isaya could take care of this on his own. He bought aluminum, wood, tools, 100 bags each of lyme and cement, nails and other odds and ends for the initial phase - four classrooms and two offices. The transport of this material alone - in car part of the way and on the backs of the men up the final stretch of steep rocky path - was quite a feat!
Then, I paid Isaya his advance - his fee and money to pay his four laborers. Much of the work is donated by the villagers, such as schlepping sand, stones and water to the building site, but obviously - the building itself has to be done by professionals. So, Isaya recruited able workers from Mgaraganza village who work alongside Isaya and his partner, Ahamadi.
The first stage of actual building was to construct the store room which would not only hold all the materials and be guarded around the clock, but would also be Isaya's home during the project. He bought a simple grass mat to serve as his bed and there he plans to sleep until the project is done or the money runs out. Isaya lives in Mwanga - next to Kigoma town. Transport time including 30 minutes on the dala dala and a decent walk from Kiganza village adds up to about 1.5 hours, so it makes much more sense to stay on site (his choice), not to mention there is no worry about corruption (sale) or theft of materials. When Isaya goes home, his partner Ahamadi stays on site.
The next big step was to clear the land. They used pangas (machetes) and fire to clear the grass and trees that stood in line with the classrooms. The majority of trees will remain - which is unlike most secondary schools which are surrounded by little more than stones and dirt. Our shared vision is a school with shade and indigenous trees for future instruction on the local environment. Jane Goodall Institute is happy to have our school implemet its own Roots and Shoots club when the students are ready.
After clearing the land, they set to work quickly on the foundation and a water tank. The foundation is constructed of cement and lyme, mixed with sand and the big stones that the villagers collected. The tank is a work of art. The smooth finish on the inside and rim of the tank blew my mind. This tank will be filled and tapped for water on site for the students.
Of course, my personal hope/goal for the school building this summer was to see at least one classroom fully finished before I left - but I should have set a more realistic goal. I only had about three weeks in the area. There was a lot that could have and should have been done before I arrived, but again 'go to know' - and now I know.
Lucas has the camera and had a training session on how to upload and email pictures to me. We've agreed that he'll go to the site often and check/send emails once a week - a big change from last year when contact was sporadic because there wasn't much going on at his end.
Of course, I'll keep everyone informed as the school comes together. I know that Isaya will have a lot done in no time. He is equally committed to doing quick, efficient work because he knows - Form 1 built well means commission for Form 2, 3, and 4. I can't wait to see our finished product!! And - I don't even think it will take the projected 4 years! Wahoo!
First, Isaya (the builder) had architectural plans drawn up in about one day. With the plans we also got the building permit. Having that out of the way, we met with the land office and the ministry of education and confirmed with the village government that the land was ready for building and it had been approved by the villagers.
Next on the agenda was the big materials shopping day. I gladly handed over almost 3 million shillings so that Isaya could take care of this on his own. He bought aluminum, wood, tools, 100 bags each of lyme and cement, nails and other odds and ends for the initial phase - four classrooms and two offices. The transport of this material alone - in car part of the way and on the backs of the men up the final stretch of steep rocky path - was quite a feat!
Then, I paid Isaya his advance - his fee and money to pay his four laborers. Much of the work is donated by the villagers, such as schlepping sand, stones and water to the building site, but obviously - the building itself has to be done by professionals. So, Isaya recruited able workers from Mgaraganza village who work alongside Isaya and his partner, Ahamadi.
The first stage of actual building was to construct the store room which would not only hold all the materials and be guarded around the clock, but would also be Isaya's home during the project. He bought a simple grass mat to serve as his bed and there he plans to sleep until the project is done or the money runs out. Isaya lives in Mwanga - next to Kigoma town. Transport time including 30 minutes on the dala dala and a decent walk from Kiganza village adds up to about 1.5 hours, so it makes much more sense to stay on site (his choice), not to mention there is no worry about corruption (sale) or theft of materials. When Isaya goes home, his partner Ahamadi stays on site.
The next big step was to clear the land. They used pangas (machetes) and fire to clear the grass and trees that stood in line with the classrooms. The majority of trees will remain - which is unlike most secondary schools which are surrounded by little more than stones and dirt. Our shared vision is a school with shade and indigenous trees for future instruction on the local environment. Jane Goodall Institute is happy to have our school implemet its own Roots and Shoots club when the students are ready.
After clearing the land, they set to work quickly on the foundation and a water tank. The foundation is constructed of cement and lyme, mixed with sand and the big stones that the villagers collected. The tank is a work of art. The smooth finish on the inside and rim of the tank blew my mind. This tank will be filled and tapped for water on site for the students.
Of course, my personal hope/goal for the school building this summer was to see at least one classroom fully finished before I left - but I should have set a more realistic goal. I only had about three weeks in the area. There was a lot that could have and should have been done before I arrived, but again 'go to know' - and now I know.
Lucas has the camera and had a training session on how to upload and email pictures to me. We've agreed that he'll go to the site often and check/send emails once a week - a big change from last year when contact was sporadic because there wasn't much going on at his end.
Of course, I'll keep everyone informed as the school comes together. I know that Isaya will have a lot done in no time. He is equally committed to doing quick, efficient work because he knows - Form 1 built well means commission for Form 2, 3, and 4. I can't wait to see our finished product!! And - I don't even think it will take the projected 4 years! Wahoo!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Give a Kid a Camera and ...
When I see the kids, they like to commandeer my camera and shoot away... I always love going back through what they captured.... Here's a montage!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Dusty Road to Kabanga
When you're doing anything in Tanzania as mzungu, you're bound to get some attention - some wanted, some unwanted. Mostly - the attention I get is wanted, even (most of the time) when it comes to the repeated requests for saidiya (help) ... most of the time, I must repeat. Sometimes, it's annoying and exhausting at best.
In this one case, I didn't need to be asked. The babu or grandfather for one of my young friends, Saidi Sadiki, is named Saidi Mkete. He's such a cool old man - and I say that based on my observations of his behavior and others' reactions to his words. I barely understand him but I adore him as if he were my own grandfather and again, I barely know him. I think this is because there is something vulnerable and wise about him.
The vulnerability comes from his near blindness. His eyes have been bothering him a lot recently and he is progressively losing his sight. As the sight goes, it leaves him in great pain. I thought he was fully blind when I first met him because he's always sitting with his head in his hands - or his eyes resting on his knuckles. He's never without a cloth to wipe his eyes.
Some days, I'd be sitting with the family - chatting with the youngsters or conversing with bibi (grandmother) through Lucas - and Babu would be sitting there silent or lying on the grass mat ... sleeping, I thought - until, without fail, at the right moment in the conversation he would pipe up and interject his opinion or make a comment that brought the others to laughter.
I asked about Babu one day - about his eyes - and I learned that he is in great pain. He explained that it feels like he has needles stabbing his eyes regularly and he cannot see out of one eye at all and only partially out of the other. The next time I visited was when Carter was here. I wanted to find out more about the eyes and see if there would be something we could do. Babu's son, Sadicki, explained more about previous trips to the hospital and medications that they had tried to no avail.
Finally, this week, I loaded Lucas, Saidi (my young friend's baba mdogo or uncle) and Babu into a dala dala and we headed to Kabanga to visit a doctor that was supposed to be brilliant with the eyes. Kabanga is past the dusty bustling town of Kasulu, which is about 2 hours from the village. It brought back yucky memories of my first trips to and from Kasulu on the dusty unpaved road - a road rutted by rain - cramped among several travelers that never complain about crappy seats, heat, dust or unnecessary stops. I have never smoked in my life, but in one trip to Kasulu on that dusty road, I believe I do as much damage to my lungs as I would if I smoked for a year straight.
We arrived to the hospital only to find that the doctor had gone to Mwanza for a couple of days. I was so disappointed as I had called the week before and told him I was coming. C'est la vie en Africa! So, Babu still saw the opthamologist's assistant who diagnosed him with something called Uvulitis - an infection in the eyes. She said it was very advanced and there was nothing that could be done.... She prescribed some medications and told us that the doctor would be coming to the hospital in Kigoma the following Monday - Sweet! Babu could make a much shorter trip the following week (without me) and be seen to by Dr. Kabadi - plus he already had a diagnosis and could just make sure there is nothing to be done ... Sometimes, you just have to go to know ... even if nothing can be done - at least you show you care and make the effort.
Before heading back to Kiganza, we went back to Kasulu for lunch and sat in silence together as we downed some beans, rice and warm milk followed by a desert of one banana each. After lunch, Babu lit up like a child. He was smiling and chatting away to his son, who was holding the old man's hand as he shuffled along - Babu was telling his son to tell me "Thank you so much. I feel so wonderful now. I was so hungry before, but now I am so full and happy. Thank you very much. Thank you for everything." Asante kushukuru. Nimefuraha sana. I wish I had video of Babu walking along, so happy, so delicate, so reliant on his son, so young at heart, so adorable!
I never thought of myself as an elderly person person, but after these weeks with Babu, I have felt a shift ... maybe it was inevitable and it comes with age. Either way, my parents can rest assured: 1) They will be adorable when they are in their 80s and 2) I will happily hold their hands as they shuffle alongside me.
In this one case, I didn't need to be asked. The babu or grandfather for one of my young friends, Saidi Sadiki, is named Saidi Mkete. He's such a cool old man - and I say that based on my observations of his behavior and others' reactions to his words. I barely understand him but I adore him as if he were my own grandfather and again, I barely know him. I think this is because there is something vulnerable and wise about him.
The vulnerability comes from his near blindness. His eyes have been bothering him a lot recently and he is progressively losing his sight. As the sight goes, it leaves him in great pain. I thought he was fully blind when I first met him because he's always sitting with his head in his hands - or his eyes resting on his knuckles. He's never without a cloth to wipe his eyes.
Some days, I'd be sitting with the family - chatting with the youngsters or conversing with bibi (grandmother) through Lucas - and Babu would be sitting there silent or lying on the grass mat ... sleeping, I thought - until, without fail, at the right moment in the conversation he would pipe up and interject his opinion or make a comment that brought the others to laughter.
I asked about Babu one day - about his eyes - and I learned that he is in great pain. He explained that it feels like he has needles stabbing his eyes regularly and he cannot see out of one eye at all and only partially out of the other. The next time I visited was when Carter was here. I wanted to find out more about the eyes and see if there would be something we could do. Babu's son, Sadicki, explained more about previous trips to the hospital and medications that they had tried to no avail.
Finally, this week, I loaded Lucas, Saidi (my young friend's baba mdogo or uncle) and Babu into a dala dala and we headed to Kabanga to visit a doctor that was supposed to be brilliant with the eyes. Kabanga is past the dusty bustling town of Kasulu, which is about 2 hours from the village. It brought back yucky memories of my first trips to and from Kasulu on the dusty unpaved road - a road rutted by rain - cramped among several travelers that never complain about crappy seats, heat, dust or unnecessary stops. I have never smoked in my life, but in one trip to Kasulu on that dusty road, I believe I do as much damage to my lungs as I would if I smoked for a year straight.
We arrived to the hospital only to find that the doctor had gone to Mwanza for a couple of days. I was so disappointed as I had called the week before and told him I was coming. C'est la vie en Africa! So, Babu still saw the opthamologist's assistant who diagnosed him with something called Uvulitis - an infection in the eyes. She said it was very advanced and there was nothing that could be done.... She prescribed some medications and told us that the doctor would be coming to the hospital in Kigoma the following Monday - Sweet! Babu could make a much shorter trip the following week (without me) and be seen to by Dr. Kabadi - plus he already had a diagnosis and could just make sure there is nothing to be done ... Sometimes, you just have to go to know ... even if nothing can be done - at least you show you care and make the effort.
Before heading back to Kiganza, we went back to Kasulu for lunch and sat in silence together as we downed some beans, rice and warm milk followed by a desert of one banana each. After lunch, Babu lit up like a child. He was smiling and chatting away to his son, who was holding the old man's hand as he shuffled along - Babu was telling his son to tell me "Thank you so much. I feel so wonderful now. I was so hungry before, but now I am so full and happy. Thank you very much. Thank you for everything." Asante kushukuru. Nimefuraha sana. I wish I had video of Babu walking along, so happy, so delicate, so reliant on his son, so young at heart, so adorable!
I never thought of myself as an elderly person person, but after these weeks with Babu, I have felt a shift ... maybe it was inevitable and it comes with age. Either way, my parents can rest assured: 1) They will be adorable when they are in their 80s and 2) I will happily hold their hands as they shuffle alongside me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Give a Girl a Smile, Watch Her Glow
The other day was a day of serendipitous moments. Serendipity is really only interesting to the ones experiencing it, really - although I quite get a kick out of sharing and hearing about others' experiences. So, in case you're like me - here are two that happened the other day.
I had planned to go to GOSESO to talk with the class about proper treatment of the baboon orphans that live there. Those little guys are my buds and I heard that the students are teasing them, making them fight each other and scaring them a little bit. So, I thought I would show them how nice the baboons can be and what some proper people-animal behavior might look like - especially on a campus that is supposed to be promoting wildlife conservation.
But, alas - we were deterred from our plan mid-route. We got the message via text right as our dala dala was passing Mwandiga Secondary School. I had planned to visit the school at some point before going, so no time like the present! We dropped down from the dala dala.
When we got to the school, I wanted to investigate a small fee required for desk, chair and teacher support. I heard it was required of all students, so I figured we ought to pay up for our students. I thought we would be interrupting classes or that I would never find our students. Of course, the mzungu sighting resulted in a buzz among the young adults and before long, three of the the six that we support there were coming up to greet Lucas and I. And, serendipitously, this was the day that the school had designated for collecting these fees, so our timing was perfect. We went to the secretary, lined up with the rest of the students and paid 'our' dues.
Afterward, I got a picture with three of the girls - Zainabu, Hadija and Edina, all of whom are studying in Form 3 this year. Well, let me correct - I got two pictures! First, Lucas took a picture of us under the Karibu/Welcome sign.
Then I looked at the picture ... "Girls, please! You look like I'm torturing you!"
They made jokes about how none of them were smiling except me. So then, I teased them a bit and said I wanted another. While we were laughing about the first picture, Lucas took a sneaky picture and caught us in this moment - laughter flowing freely!! That's more like it!
The second serendipitous moment came when Lucas and I were walking along a back path in Kiganza village. We were talking about how the women in Tanzania are so beautiful. Lucas reminded me of a UNHCR security officer that I met on a bus from Mwanza the previous year. She was so sweet and indeed beautiful. Lucas and I had sodas with her by the lake last year. Anyway - he brought her up in the conversation about beautiful women and we couldn't remember her name. It was killing both of us that we had forgotten. I was jogging my memory ... Nema, Naomi, Beatrice ... Just then, a little girl came out of her home to greet us and I said to her (which I just about never say to little ones unless we're hanging out for a while) Unaetwa nani? (What's your name?) You guessed it!! Her name, Monica, was the name of our UNHCR friend! Incredible.
That's the day Lucas learned what serendipity meant.
I had planned to go to GOSESO to talk with the class about proper treatment of the baboon orphans that live there. Those little guys are my buds and I heard that the students are teasing them, making them fight each other and scaring them a little bit. So, I thought I would show them how nice the baboons can be and what some proper people-animal behavior might look like - especially on a campus that is supposed to be promoting wildlife conservation.
But, alas - we were deterred from our plan mid-route. We got the message via text right as our dala dala was passing Mwandiga Secondary School. I had planned to visit the school at some point before going, so no time like the present! We dropped down from the dala dala.
When we got to the school, I wanted to investigate a small fee required for desk, chair and teacher support. I heard it was required of all students, so I figured we ought to pay up for our students. I thought we would be interrupting classes or that I would never find our students. Of course, the mzungu sighting resulted in a buzz among the young adults and before long, three of the the six that we support there were coming up to greet Lucas and I. And, serendipitously, this was the day that the school had designated for collecting these fees, so our timing was perfect. We went to the secretary, lined up with the rest of the students and paid 'our' dues.
Afterward, I got a picture with three of the girls - Zainabu, Hadija and Edina, all of whom are studying in Form 3 this year. Well, let me correct - I got two pictures! First, Lucas took a picture of us under the Karibu/Welcome sign.
Then I looked at the picture ... "Girls, please! You look like I'm torturing you!"
They made jokes about how none of them were smiling except me. So then, I teased them a bit and said I wanted another. While we were laughing about the first picture, Lucas took a sneaky picture and caught us in this moment - laughter flowing freely!! That's more like it!
The second serendipitous moment came when Lucas and I were walking along a back path in Kiganza village. We were talking about how the women in Tanzania are so beautiful. Lucas reminded me of a UNHCR security officer that I met on a bus from Mwanza the previous year. She was so sweet and indeed beautiful. Lucas and I had sodas with her by the lake last year. Anyway - he brought her up in the conversation about beautiful women and we couldn't remember her name. It was killing both of us that we had forgotten. I was jogging my memory ... Nema, Naomi, Beatrice ... Just then, a little girl came out of her home to greet us and I said to her (which I just about never say to little ones unless we're hanging out for a while) Unaetwa nani? (What's your name?) You guessed it!! Her name, Monica, was the name of our UNHCR friend! Incredible.
That's the day Lucas learned what serendipity meant.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Finger Lickin' Good
I love eating with my hands. I love sitting down to a meal of whole fish, beans, spinach and rice with freshly washed hands because I know what comes next. I get to squish some rice around in my palm, making a nice tight little ball that I use to collect spinach before stabbing some fish that I just peeled off the bone and then wading through the beans. Then I take the whole messy stack, scooped onto my middle, ring and pinky fingertips and with a little help from behind, my thumb pushes the whole delicious helping into my mouth. I look around and enjoy seeing a room full of adults eating with their hands. Naughty naughty ... or normal.
I vaguely remember growing up and hearing (from various grown-ups) things like 'Don't be a pig' or 'Use your fork' or 'You're eating like a savage' - just because I was eating with my hands. Just because I was eating like millions of other people around the world. I know, I know - there's a time and a place for such behavior and at a nice reception following a big Catholic mass wedding, it's probably not prudent. But, sometimes it's necessary and so - when I have a little family, we're gonna have global grubbin' nights where we eat with our hands, or chopsticks, or only a spoon or we pick up the food with the chipati. We'll talk about the cultures, the foods, the tools for eating, the reasons why some cultures only eat with their right hand even though our culture wipes with the right ... shhh... don't tell!
Today, just before this blog I had fish from Lake Victoria - Sato. It tasted just like chicken ... or at least my memory of chicken, which I haven't eaten since I was 16 years old ... you do the math. ;) I'm sure it was just the fried skin, but it was yummy and indeed, finger lickin' good ... a luxury lost on those who use forks and knives. haha!
I vaguely remember growing up and hearing (from various grown-ups) things like 'Don't be a pig' or 'Use your fork' or 'You're eating like a savage' - just because I was eating with my hands. Just because I was eating like millions of other people around the world. I know, I know - there's a time and a place for such behavior and at a nice reception following a big Catholic mass wedding, it's probably not prudent. But, sometimes it's necessary and so - when I have a little family, we're gonna have global grubbin' nights where we eat with our hands, or chopsticks, or only a spoon or we pick up the food with the chipati. We'll talk about the cultures, the foods, the tools for eating, the reasons why some cultures only eat with their right hand even though our culture wipes with the right ... shhh... don't tell!
Today, just before this blog I had fish from Lake Victoria - Sato. It tasted just like chicken ... or at least my memory of chicken, which I haven't eaten since I was 16 years old ... you do the math. ;) I'm sure it was just the fried skin, but it was yummy and indeed, finger lickin' good ... a luxury lost on those who use forks and knives. haha!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Amahoro Construction Progress
Here are some pics of the building project! The whole point is this project, right? I get so caught up in the distractions of people and culture - bad girl. HaHa! I know you don't think so ... building is the boring part (in terms of writing), but it's moving right along!
So, the way it works in a nutshell - the villagers donate their time to carry sand, stones and bricks to the site. The piles are growing! That's Lucas standing atop the big pile. The builder and three laborers (who are paid) work to do the construction that requires actual building skills. This week, Isaya (from Mwanga) and his workers (from Mgaraganza) measured out the space for the football field (requisite with all schools) and the actual classroom and office buildings. The foundation will be put in first, followed by the walls for the headmaster office and one of the classrooms. At that point, we'll reevaluate where our finances are and see how much more we have to fundraise to continue. In addition, I'm meeting again with the Ministry of Education again this week to push them a little on their offer to provide support in the form of additional classrooms. Project Wezesha funds some, the Ministry of Education funds others - collaboration for a school that otherwise would have reached the 'to do' list for the MOE ... who knows when.
The odd structure pictured below is the storage room - a quickly thrown together space to store building materials during the course of the project. This was necessary because without it, the materials could be destroyed or stolen as the site is quite isolated - sitting atop a hill in an undeveloped area of the village. Isaya will actually also sleep in this make-shift storage shed while the project is under way. He lives in Mwanga - next to Kigoma town - and couldn't do the work effectively at all if he had to commute in every day. So, he'll sleep and work here until the project is done or funds run out for materials.
This school is mondo! It will have 16 classrooms (4 for each of the four levels of secondary school) plus offices for the teachers, the headmaster, storage for exams and paperwork and an additional space that is currently designated for the second master - but which I am lobbying to have designated as a much needed library. The head and second master can share a space - a small sacrifice in exchange for a greater chance of success for these students.
After seeing how inhibited the students' goal of attending secondary school is as a result of their low English language proficiency levels, I think a reading space is necessary - in primary and secondary schools. Many (most) schools here don't have libraries. And not only for English language reading materials of course, but for additional reading materials in Kiswahili on academic topics, such as math, history, science, etc. They often don't have texts at all and can't genuinely be expected to excel when they only have the information they copy from the board into their notebooks - having no resources with which to seek additional knowledge, additional reading opportunities ... additional KNOWLEDGE - Bottom line! Reading is essential and books are awesome - Ask any parent or teacher!
I wonder if I can make a partnership with John Wood and the Room to Read campaign. Hmmmm ... Anyone have connections?
So, the way it works in a nutshell - the villagers donate their time to carry sand, stones and bricks to the site. The piles are growing! That's Lucas standing atop the big pile. The builder and three laborers (who are paid) work to do the construction that requires actual building skills. This week, Isaya (from Mwanga) and his workers (from Mgaraganza) measured out the space for the football field (requisite with all schools) and the actual classroom and office buildings. The foundation will be put in first, followed by the walls for the headmaster office and one of the classrooms. At that point, we'll reevaluate where our finances are and see how much more we have to fundraise to continue. In addition, I'm meeting again with the Ministry of Education again this week to push them a little on their offer to provide support in the form of additional classrooms. Project Wezesha funds some, the Ministry of Education funds others - collaboration for a school that otherwise would have reached the 'to do' list for the MOE ... who knows when.
The odd structure pictured below is the storage room - a quickly thrown together space to store building materials during the course of the project. This was necessary because without it, the materials could be destroyed or stolen as the site is quite isolated - sitting atop a hill in an undeveloped area of the village. Isaya will actually also sleep in this make-shift storage shed while the project is under way. He lives in Mwanga - next to Kigoma town - and couldn't do the work effectively at all if he had to commute in every day. So, he'll sleep and work here until the project is done or funds run out for materials.
This school is mondo! It will have 16 classrooms (4 for each of the four levels of secondary school) plus offices for the teachers, the headmaster, storage for exams and paperwork and an additional space that is currently designated for the second master - but which I am lobbying to have designated as a much needed library. The head and second master can share a space - a small sacrifice in exchange for a greater chance of success for these students.
After seeing how inhibited the students' goal of attending secondary school is as a result of their low English language proficiency levels, I think a reading space is necessary - in primary and secondary schools. Many (most) schools here don't have libraries. And not only for English language reading materials of course, but for additional reading materials in Kiswahili on academic topics, such as math, history, science, etc. They often don't have texts at all and can't genuinely be expected to excel when they only have the information they copy from the board into their notebooks - having no resources with which to seek additional knowledge, additional reading opportunities ... additional KNOWLEDGE - Bottom line! Reading is essential and books are awesome - Ask any parent or teacher!
I wonder if I can make a partnership with John Wood and the Room to Read campaign. Hmmmm ... Anyone have connections?
Rafiki Zangu - My Friends
Although my work now is primarily in the village of Mgaraganza, I still have some important lasting relationships with the first village I lived in during the summer of 2008 - Kiganza. It's been wild to stay in touch with people from so far away - see their faces light up when I return year after year, watch their families grow and shrink with births and deaths, share in their children's delight over going to school and just sit in the comfortable silence of their small, humble homes with no need to say too much.
Recently, I visited mama Juma and her boys ... and her brand new daughter, Hawa! After four lovely boys, Juma, Saidi, Musa and Abdul, she has finally had a little girl. When I first met her, she was two weeks old. When I took the picture below, she was three weeks old. In this hilarious little moment, Hawa smiled for me. From what I've heard of newborns, this was probably just gas - but we all chose to believe she was actually smiling for the camera!
The two boys in the next pictures are her sons Abdul and Musa. The chicken behind Abdul is working on some eggs and I'm sure when I visit this week, there will be new chicks running around.
The homes are so simple, as you can see in these pictures - woven grass mats to cover the dirt floor, unfired bricks stacked up to a thatch roof (sometimes aluminum), two rooms in most homes with a separate small space for cooking and yet another space for animals. They sometimes have a small wooden table as in this picture with Musa, but they usually eat together on the floor. In most houses, they offer Lucas and I a chair or small stool to sit on.
In some nicer homes, of which I've only visited three, there are concrete floors and walls with couches and tables, beds, sometimes televisions, radios and other luxuries - but again, this is only in the case of three families I've visited - and one was in town, not the village. The smaller, simpler home is by far the more common dwelling in the village.
When I sit and enjoy these simpler moments, it makes me want to go home and purge, downsize, simplify. We have so much - so many attachments. Ah, but don't get me wrong. I like having a bed, a couch, a computer, a table, plates, silverware, etc. I like having clothes that make me feel good when I walk out the door and plenty of books to read. I wouldn't give up my cell phone at this point and have to confess to loving watching DVDs regularly! But there are things that I own that I could stand to part with - just stuff that gets in the way of life ... because it collects dust, which I hate to take care of - so it gives me stress! haha Who needs that?!
On a recent trip to the market in Kiganza, a young man tapped me on the arm and asked if I remembered him ... jogging memory, jogging memory... I made a best guess and got it wrong. He was Hindu's brother - one of the two I met last year, the only brother remaining after the sad accident that killed her other brother this past May. It was great to see him, smiling with the famous gap between his front teeth - just like his sisters Hindu and Amina. We chatted a bit about the pics and video I brought back this year from the wedding last year. He's sitting here on my left and a new friend, William, sits on my right.
This last picture is of my friend Mack Jonas. I met her the first year I came over. I adore her. We seriously have such a limited depth of conversation because she doesn't speak a word of English and every time I visit her, Lucas wanders off into the market to greet others ... leaving Mack and I to hold hands, shake hands, laugh, smile and fail to communicate about much beyond the day, her home, her family, her work ... and I mean at the "How's your ____?" level only! But, I adore her. She's made a few skirts for me - using this great sewing machine you see here - from China. Check out that fancy footwork!
Dokumenti - Some Humorous Finds
There are lots of writings here - on t-shirts, dala dalas, walls, signs and in various other random spots - that just make you chuckle a bit. I saw a dala dala (minibus public transport) drive by with the following on the back window:
Don't tease me, if you can't please me
There was a cute little girl standing in the market in her black skirt and a pink t-shirt that said: Tough guys wear pink. That was funny in the moment and became even funnier when we saw a piki piki (motorcycle taxi) driver wearing a pink woman's jacket and then another young man walking with a pink woman's purse a few days later. Tough guys use pink purses.
Then, there was a quick flip through a couple of primary school English language texts before delivering them to friends in the village. What I love most about these texts is that they are created here in Tanzania by a big publisher in Dar es Salaam. For this reason, they are culturally appropriate in context, illustration and overall content.
One little sample dialogue was between a fat headmaster who was gobbling down his chicken and a very hungry school boy who had forgotten his lunch at home. The headmaster shooed the boy away with a toss of his chicken juicy hand. The boy walked away with drips of saliva falling from his lips, his shoulders slumped and a hand on his belly. The follow-up exercises focused on reading comprehension and grammar. The content was never addressed - in terms of 'right or wrong' or how the headmaster could have shown sympathy - no, that was clearly not the point.
Below are two images that are specific to Tanzania (and probably several other African countries). I remember being traumatized by the films Watership Down and Bambi as a child because I anthropomorphize everything! So, I'm sure the Zebra and Croc cartoon would have been hard for me to swallow. I wonder how the kids here view it ... as funny as the Coyote taking a boulder to the head by Roadrunner, I suppose ... I never did care much for those violent cartoons.
This mural is from the office building in Mgaraganza - newly built by Lucas' brother Isaya in the past year. It shows their dedication to preserving the local forests. For this village in particular, this mission is important. The Chief and his son are both very invested in the goal of fighting deforestation, limiting burning and chopping in the area and replanting indigenous seeds. They are both trained on Roots and Shoots programming through the Jane Goodall Institute. Happy to have them so committed as we get ready to initiate this program at Amahoro Secondary School in the coming year!
I thought it was 'funny' - not 'haha', but 'bummer' - when I paid money for a text and found these stamps inside ... Donated by Allianz and Jane Goodall Institute. This is the same partnership that added two classrooms to the primary school in the village. I had to wonder if they were meant for that school. The next time I went to buy another text, I asked the shopkeeper about the stamps. He explained that more books had been stamped than were intended for the school, so now they are selling some of those... and he put his shop's stamp over the top of the NGO stamp. The headmaster of the primary school corroborated the story when I showed him the text that was intended for his school. Hamna shida (no problem) - I hope!
There are lots more images like these that I would like to share, but sometimes you just can't point and shoot. Here's one final pic from a menu in Mercury's Bar in Zanzibar - Freddy Mercury was born there apparently. Can you guess which drink I like? Don't miss the description!
Don't tease me, if you can't please me
There was a cute little girl standing in the market in her black skirt and a pink t-shirt that said: Tough guys wear pink. That was funny in the moment and became even funnier when we saw a piki piki (motorcycle taxi) driver wearing a pink woman's jacket and then another young man walking with a pink woman's purse a few days later. Tough guys use pink purses.
Then, there was a quick flip through a couple of primary school English language texts before delivering them to friends in the village. What I love most about these texts is that they are created here in Tanzania by a big publisher in Dar es Salaam. For this reason, they are culturally appropriate in context, illustration and overall content.
One little sample dialogue was between a fat headmaster who was gobbling down his chicken and a very hungry school boy who had forgotten his lunch at home. The headmaster shooed the boy away with a toss of his chicken juicy hand. The boy walked away with drips of saliva falling from his lips, his shoulders slumped and a hand on his belly. The follow-up exercises focused on reading comprehension and grammar. The content was never addressed - in terms of 'right or wrong' or how the headmaster could have shown sympathy - no, that was clearly not the point.
Below are two images that are specific to Tanzania (and probably several other African countries). I remember being traumatized by the films Watership Down and Bambi as a child because I anthropomorphize everything! So, I'm sure the Zebra and Croc cartoon would have been hard for me to swallow. I wonder how the kids here view it ... as funny as the Coyote taking a boulder to the head by Roadrunner, I suppose ... I never did care much for those violent cartoons.
This mural is from the office building in Mgaraganza - newly built by Lucas' brother Isaya in the past year. It shows their dedication to preserving the local forests. For this village in particular, this mission is important. The Chief and his son are both very invested in the goal of fighting deforestation, limiting burning and chopping in the area and replanting indigenous seeds. They are both trained on Roots and Shoots programming through the Jane Goodall Institute. Happy to have them so committed as we get ready to initiate this program at Amahoro Secondary School in the coming year!
I thought it was 'funny' - not 'haha', but 'bummer' - when I paid money for a text and found these stamps inside ... Donated by Allianz and Jane Goodall Institute. This is the same partnership that added two classrooms to the primary school in the village. I had to wonder if they were meant for that school. The next time I went to buy another text, I asked the shopkeeper about the stamps. He explained that more books had been stamped than were intended for the school, so now they are selling some of those... and he put his shop's stamp over the top of the NGO stamp. The headmaster of the primary school corroborated the story when I showed him the text that was intended for his school. Hamna shida (no problem) - I hope!
There are lots more images like these that I would like to share, but sometimes you just can't point and shoot. Here's one final pic from a menu in Mercury's Bar in Zanzibar - Freddy Mercury was born there apparently. Can you guess which drink I like? Don't miss the description!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Salt Lake City's McGillis School Greets Mgaraganza Primary
A few days ago, I wandered through Mgaraganza village with Lucas and a couple of friends. Those of you who know her will laugh to hear that Rebecca (Becky) Burton is here in Kiganza, TZ living at GOSESO as I did three years ago! She worked with the Salt Lake Film Center and we collaborated on a Burundi film project a while back. I gave my business card to Shujie, another girl staying at GOSESO and when Becky saw it, she was in disbelief – just as I was when I got her subsequent email saying she was here.
Anyway, Shujie, Becky, Lucas and I were walking to see the building site for Amahoro Secondary School and we passed Mgaraganza Primary School. I remembered that I needed to set up a meeting with a standard 6 teacher to discuss visiting with letters I brought from Cassi Lanie’s second grade class at McGillis School in Salt Lake City, UT. I had visited Cassi’s class back in February when they were studying Africa. Hadley Rampton and I visited with slides about animals, homes, language, school and family in Tanzania plus some information about our upcoming summer project in Mgaraganza. After our chat with the students, they wrote letters for students in Mgaraganza.
The headmaster was very happy to see us and vaguely remembered me from my visit in 2008. It was cool to flip back in the visitor registry and see my name alongside Heather, Tamrika and Dagny – from a time we visited with Yared. We signed the book again and talked about Amahoro Secondary School and the penpal letters. I met the S6 teacher and he welcomed me to return.
The next day, Lucas and I returned with 12 letters from Salt Lake City. The students were uber eager to hear me speak English, although Lucas had to interpret the majority of what I said. Even though these students are only two years from entering secondary school (which is taught primarily in English), their English was quite poor. Primary School is taught through the medium of Kiswahili with one period devoted to English class.
Unfortunately, my eyes are always opened to the plight of children here as a result of a weak educational system. Among many problems are the following: students rarely have text books for their subjects; many don’t have pencils/pens/notebooks; many can’t afford uniforms and are thereby sent home; most of them come to school hungry; many teachers just up and leave midday for various reasons; some teachers drink on their breaks (insider information); many teachers are so poorly trained that their teaching is abysmal; many teachers don’t speak enough English to have a basic conversation with me, let alone teach it to their students. I hate to report the ugly truth, but I should be honest about the situation here.
Fortunately (or not), the examination process is (mostly) well-regulated and students who don’t pass the exams, don’t go to secondary school. A big component of those exams is English proficiency as much of the exam is in English. Imagine never really being taught English in primary school and then having to take an exam in English. So, those who do pass and can go to secondary school will hopefully fare well given that they understand English enough to learn in their classes. Unfortunately, many of those who pass won’t be able to go because unlike primary school, secondary school is not free – so no money, no education. That’s why Project Wezesha also has a small scholarship program. We only help about a dozen students, but it’s a start and it’s 12 more youngsters given a sliver of a chance.
But enough of the dark side. I invited students to come up and read each letter. Some of them read quite well and loudly enough for the class of 64 students (yes, 64 students to one teacher – a teacher, incidentally, who left before I arrived to ‘take care of some problem to the home’). Others didn’t read so well and I repeated the letters aloud for the class. As we read each letter, I wrote details on the board – the names of the students who wrote the letters, things they liked (football, pizza, skiing), sports teams they mentioned (Utes, Jazz) and other cute information, like the name of a student’s dog – Ziggy. So from Sam, Caroline, Andrew, Reuben, Jake, Ella, Izabella, Elisabeth and more, greetings and wishes were shared with this huge class. The young Salt Lake students expressed their desire to meet these students, their requests for replies, their hopes and dreams – to become Olympic skiers, play soccer with the Tanzanian kids, travel to Africa, etc.
After we read all the letters, the students wrote back. I had mentioned on a quick visit the day before that I would return and I suggested they think of something to write. To my surprise, many of them finished their letters the day before and only wished to transfer the writing to a new, neat page. I was happy to read the first few letters – saying ‘Thank you’, introducing themselves, discussing their family and their animals. I saw some students were struggling, so I wrote a sample letter on the board with basic information they might include. I realized after collecting the 6th or 7th finished letter that there was a strange pattern in the content…. Each student had two brothers and three sisters, a father who was a peasant farmer and a good goat (or dog) or combination with a slash between each … very much resembling the ‘options’ in an exercise book. As I wandered around, I saw that they were pretty much all writing the same letter. I started to ask a few of them directed questions about their family and helped them make some changes – such as correcting the number of siblings they have. I should have known when I saw that first letter saying they have a good dog at home. No one has dogs at home here! Haha! The letter pictured here is one of the few original letters.
Well, aside from the fact that most of the letters weren’t really representative of their true lives, they all wrote one and signed their real names, making sure to include Mgaraganza Primary’s address for a reply message. Hopefully, the kids at McGillis School will continue to correspond. After the letters were written, the students sang a couple of songs for the students which I recorded to share with the former 2nd graders and others who may wish to see the students. Lucas stepped in and led them in a Kihaa song (Kihaa is the local tribal language). It was so great to see Lucas step up and make that suggestion and then walk up and down the isles clapping and singing the lines so that they could repeat after him. Then, after singing he went over the meaning of the song with them – which basically reinforced the importance of education and studying to avoid poverty and welcome a better life. Make sure to watch the video and see Lucas’ big smile at the end! (oops, video upload problem ... coming soon)
Finally, I delivered one pencil to each student as the McGillis School kids had wished. The video below shows them priding on their pencils, and while they seem as amped about these pencils as an American child would be with an iPad, they were really just psyched to be in the video. They were thrilled about the pencils – whooped and clapped when I said I had one for each, but I don’t want their enthusiasm in this video to mislead and imply that they have so little that a pencil made their year – but I bet it made their day! (video coming soon)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Musings
I have time left on my internet session but no connector for my camera and the computer - so really no desire to tell any of my stories at present ... but, I made one discovery today.
One day last week, I started to feel exhausted and shaky. It hit me around midday and I returned to the hotel to eat, pound some water and hope with all my might that it wasn't the malaria that I was expecting. After long hours of sleeping and lying around - moping really - I recovered with bright eyes and all my energy the next day.
Then, one day this week, I started the day with massive exhaustion. I had already planned some business in town and a trip to the village so I went about my day with Lucas only something was very very off. I sat quietly next to Lucas on the dala dala, I walked quietly through the village painting on a smile with every greeting - trying my best to not show how wiped out I was feeling.
On the way back from the village, Lucas asked if I was ok. I told him I didn't know what happened - I was not feeling like myself. As I looked out the window, watching cows, goats, kids, women, cars, trees, red sand, tarmac and chickens fly by - the common denominator hit me... The first time I was wiped out was the day Laura and Hadley left. The second day I felt wiped out was the day after Carter left. Somewhere deep deep down beyond even my conscious recognition of my sadness about my friends leaving me was a depression that manifested itself physically and left me grieving a little bit to see them go.
Today, the day after the second bout of 'depression' I awoke sprightly at 7am with energy for an 8am morning meeting, a trip to the market in Kiganza to have a skirt made and a long journey on foot into Mgaraganza village to visit the building site. Now I'm back early enough to blog a bit, grab some grub, and head home for an early evening with a glass of wine and a new book.
A good friend and mother figure in SLC, MaryJane Simmons, recently shared an email - a toast to girlfriends - that recounted the physical benefit of girlfriends and girlfriend time. According to some studies, time with your girlfriends actually contributes to the creation of the happy brain juice - seratonin. Now - while Carter isn't exactly a girlfriend, he's a great proxy! He would even say so himself ... he's great at diving into those girly topics of love, longing, relationships, emotions, etc. etc. (Carter, I hope you don't mind me calling you out!) Anyway - I've pasted the little blurb that MJ shared in her email. I get it and I miss my girlfriends. But tomorrow I'll share pics of the work, updates and a great video of kids singing on the school site!
A woman just finished taking an evening class at Stanford. The last lecture was on the mind-body connection--the relationship between
stress and disease. The speaker (head of psychiatry at Stanford) said, among other things, that one of the best things that a man could do for his health is to be married to a woman whereas for a woman, one of the best things she could do for her health was to nurture her relationships with her girlfriends. At first everyone laughed, but he was serious.
Women connect with each other differently and provide support systems that help each other to deal with stress and difficult life
experiences. Physically this quality "girlfriend time" helps us to create more seratonin--a neurotransmitter that helps combat depression and can create a general feeling of well being. Women share feelings whereas men often form relationships around activities. They rarely sit down with a buddy and talk about how they feel about certain things or how their personal lives are going. Jobs? Yes. Sports? Yes. Cars? Yes. Fishing, hunting, golf? Yes. But their feelings?--rarely. Women do it all of the time. We share from our souls with our sisters, and evidently that is very good for our health. He said that spending time with a friend is just as important to our general health as jogging or working out at a gym.
One day last week, I started to feel exhausted and shaky. It hit me around midday and I returned to the hotel to eat, pound some water and hope with all my might that it wasn't the malaria that I was expecting. After long hours of sleeping and lying around - moping really - I recovered with bright eyes and all my energy the next day.
Then, one day this week, I started the day with massive exhaustion. I had already planned some business in town and a trip to the village so I went about my day with Lucas only something was very very off. I sat quietly next to Lucas on the dala dala, I walked quietly through the village painting on a smile with every greeting - trying my best to not show how wiped out I was feeling.
On the way back from the village, Lucas asked if I was ok. I told him I didn't know what happened - I was not feeling like myself. As I looked out the window, watching cows, goats, kids, women, cars, trees, red sand, tarmac and chickens fly by - the common denominator hit me... The first time I was wiped out was the day Laura and Hadley left. The second day I felt wiped out was the day after Carter left. Somewhere deep deep down beyond even my conscious recognition of my sadness about my friends leaving me was a depression that manifested itself physically and left me grieving a little bit to see them go.
Today, the day after the second bout of 'depression' I awoke sprightly at 7am with energy for an 8am morning meeting, a trip to the market in Kiganza to have a skirt made and a long journey on foot into Mgaraganza village to visit the building site. Now I'm back early enough to blog a bit, grab some grub, and head home for an early evening with a glass of wine and a new book.
A good friend and mother figure in SLC, MaryJane Simmons, recently shared an email - a toast to girlfriends - that recounted the physical benefit of girlfriends and girlfriend time. According to some studies, time with your girlfriends actually contributes to the creation of the happy brain juice - seratonin. Now - while Carter isn't exactly a girlfriend, he's a great proxy! He would even say so himself ... he's great at diving into those girly topics of love, longing, relationships, emotions, etc. etc. (Carter, I hope you don't mind me calling you out!) Anyway - I've pasted the little blurb that MJ shared in her email. I get it and I miss my girlfriends. But tomorrow I'll share pics of the work, updates and a great video of kids singing on the school site!
A woman just finished taking an evening class at Stanford. The last lecture was on the mind-body connection--the relationship between
stress and disease. The speaker (head of psychiatry at Stanford) said, among other things, that one of the best things that a man could do for his health is to be married to a woman whereas for a woman, one of the best things she could do for her health was to nurture her relationships with her girlfriends. At first everyone laughed, but he was serious.
Women connect with each other differently and provide support systems that help each other to deal with stress and difficult life
experiences. Physically this quality "girlfriend time" helps us to create more seratonin--a neurotransmitter that helps combat depression and can create a general feeling of well being. Women share feelings whereas men often form relationships around activities. They rarely sit down with a buddy and talk about how they feel about certain things or how their personal lives are going. Jobs? Yes. Sports? Yes. Cars? Yes. Fishing, hunting, golf? Yes. But their feelings?--rarely. Women do it all of the time. We share from our souls with our sisters, and evidently that is very good for our health. He said that spending time with a friend is just as important to our general health as jogging or working out at a gym.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Nime Choka Sana! Lakini, sasa naweza kubeba mawe!
Which means: I’m so tired, but now I can carry stones ('to the head', as they say). If I had typed up this blog yesterday after working with the villagers in Mgaraganza at the school site, the title might have read ‘Eff That!’ And ‘That’ would have been a reference to the work that we did – which was ridiculously difficult and in my opinion just plain ridiculous. But let me back up a bit…
The day before I worked side by side with the villagers, we had a meeting in the town with the council. As I mentioned, there were about 15 in attendance – 4 women, 11 men, one infant, one toddler and one pre-schooler (moms always come with kids in tow which is why I think they are often discouraged from participation in leadership positions; I was happy to see them this year. Last year there was one woman, this year, seeing these four – including Ashahadu’s wife – was inspiring).
In our meeting, Lucas simply recounted our trip to Kigoma the day before and the need for this council to step in and get to business with the official matters that I can’t (nor should I) be responsible for, such as acquiring the building permit, meeting with the land engineer to approve the building site, etc. I know full well that this is business that should have been taken care of prior to my arrival with the funding; however, as the request fell into my lap days before I left last year, I had no time to investigate and prod Lucas throughout the year to get x, y, and z done before my arrival. The village council probably could have done so – but again, without knowing what nudges to send Lucas into the village with – there was no way to get the ball rolling…. One more lesson learned - I'm merely a linguist for cryin' out loud! haha
Regardless, I’m happy with how things are going now – the ball is rolling. I was feeling like Atlas to this point and as Atlas, I shrugged and now we’ve got a great project unfolding daily. So, in our meeting one woman piped up about the village contribution to the project. They will donate the stones, sand and bricks when the time comes – but she wanted to propose an exchange for the labor. Labor here pays 3,500Tsh a day (that’s about $2) but she would settle for 1,500Tsh ($1) a day because the labor is so difficult (carrying sand and stones on the head). In that moment, my response was that this was absolutely a village decision. I said that I had done my part to fundraise and I fell short of my goal for this year by just under half. (I didn’t tell them how much I raised, but while I wanted to raise $20,000USD, I came over with just over $10,000USD, which is actually awesome – but not quite the target number.) I emphasized that they could choose the best way to spend the money. Every penny they spend on labor will be less for the materials and therefore less construction ultimately for the amount Project Wezesha can give at this time. “Please know, this is not my project. This is your project and you as a community council should make this decision without me.”
Another man spoke to say he ‘supports my vision’ and agrees that they will donate the labor. I smiled and said they could vote and see what would be best for the group. The woman then spoke again to say that she was so grateful for Project Wezesha and the donations of all the people back home (I showed them the long long list of individuals who had given varying amounts of money toward the project so they would truly understand it’s not coming from me, but from all of you!). The woman went on to say she has three young children in primary school and she knows that this is their future. She is happy to work for the school. (I had to bite my cheek a few times in this meeting to avoid crying under the weight of the significance this project carries for the village. Seriously – THANK YOU so much to everyone who made this possible.)
I told them I would return early the next day to work with them. This is where my ‘Eff That’ sentiment comes in. The site had been partially cleared for construction prior to my arrival. The site is just as beautiful as I remember – atop a hill with views of Gombe National Forest in one direction and every possible valley and hill in all other directions. The initial work that we are doing now is the preparation for building. Isaya, the builder, will be coming early next week to start laying the foundation. The foundation is comprised of stones (large stones), sand and concrete. The villagers prep work consists of carrying the sand and the stones to the building site. This is where I join them – carrying stones and sand ‘to the head’ (This is how Lucas says it and I like it).
The men go in one direction from the building site to break up large boulders into stones that are reasonably sized to carry on the head. The distance they walk from the site of the stones and back to where the piles are being made is about 50 meters… not too bad. About 20 men showed up to work the first day I joined them. Each can carry one large stone or two medium/small stones. There is no transport for the stones (wheelbarrow) and there is no road that leads up to the site which would allow the use of trucks (and actually trucks cost too much anyway – this is a remote village with no vehicles, no real roads, just large paths and one or two wider dirt thoroughfares for walking and biking). The stones have to be broken with a pick axe. When I arrived, they told me their axe had broken – it was still partially functional, but I’ll be shopping for a new axe in the morning. When they told me about the axe, showed me the broken part and said work was difficult now, I told them that I would buy a new one and hand it over when the chief comes to Kigoma for our meeting Monday morning. They all started clapping.
The women walk in another direction down a hill and toward an old river bed where they fill plastic painter’s buckets with sand. After carrying two stones with the men, Lucas told me a woman had an extra bucket for me and I was to help the women. The distance from the sand pick up site to the school site is about 200 meters… at least. I went with Jane, Ashahadu’s wife, for the first collection. There were about 8 women working as well as one grandpa. Also, that morning I recruited (they offered to help the day before) Hindu, Dibeit, Saidi and Musa - the kids from Kiganza.
The sand buckets weigh a ton! The women roll up a scrap of kanga (the colorful fabric they wrap around their waists) and place it on their heads to soften the load a bit. Jane gave me a piece for my head. I couldn’t get the bucket on my head without help – it’s that heavy! Once it was on my head, we walked single file up the single track trail back up the hill to add to the growing pile.
We only made about five trips before they were calling it a day. It was only 11am! I can’t say I was unhappy about quitting. My neck – not strong like theirs from a lifetime of carrying ‘to the head’ – was tired. I wondered if I could do damage by jumping in like this, but I felt fine the day after. I could never carry the sand without balancing the bucket with my hands. These rockstar women not only carried the sand without the help of their hands for support, but in the case of three women they did so with babies on their backs. I told Lucas they should have one woman or even a ‘bibi’ (grandma) babysit while they worked. He replied with a laugh (and his all too familiar response to many of my observations or comments) “Rai, this is African peoples. This is Africa.” haha - I adore my partner!!
After a few hours of work, the whole team was ready to head back to the village center to congregate in the tea houses (men) or prepare the lunch (women). For the rest of the day – would they work? No. I don’t get it, but I can’t exactly expect much more productivity when they are all working for free and working hard!
Many things about the way this has to be done puzzled me. It seemed so slow and tedious – one bucket or stone at a time, three hours a day, 30 hands on deck. It seemed to me that it would take years to get enough for the foundation. Lucas said as Isaya’s team begins the work, the villagers will continue to come with sand and stones. Pole Pole (Slowly, Slowly). My frustration that day came in part from the pain of hefting the sand on my head uphill and in part to the sight of the work being done so inefficiently and slowly. But, it'll happen and I'm sure I'll be pleasantly surprised by how well.
Before we all retired back to the village, one elder man – the grandpa helping the women work – pulled out his whistle. Everyone gathered around clapping as Grandpa danced a ‘happy’ dance to celebrate the work done and the chai to come. We all laughed and clapped when he finished. Then everyone wandered off in various directions into the trees, back to their homes or the village center (don’t blink – you might miss it.)
As the day was young and we were all tired, I decided to treat Lucas and the kids (Hindu, Musa, Saidi and Dibeit) to a thank you meal. The kids seldom get to go into Kigoma town from the village. We walked about an hour back to Kiganza where we piled into a tightly packed dala dala and headed straight to the ‘New Modern Café’ to share three plates of fish and rice. After filling our bellies – we walked another distance to the lake – to a part of Lake Tanganyika where the water is never more than 4 feet deep for quite a distance. The boys dropped to their shorts and Hindu and I made our way out fully clothed. Some other ‘watoto’ joined us and we all splashed around and laughed until it was time to get the kids home. Lucas saw them off at the dala dala station in town and I went back to my hotel where I slept 11 hours!
The day before I worked side by side with the villagers, we had a meeting in the town with the council. As I mentioned, there were about 15 in attendance – 4 women, 11 men, one infant, one toddler and one pre-schooler (moms always come with kids in tow which is why I think they are often discouraged from participation in leadership positions; I was happy to see them this year. Last year there was one woman, this year, seeing these four – including Ashahadu’s wife – was inspiring).
In our meeting, Lucas simply recounted our trip to Kigoma the day before and the need for this council to step in and get to business with the official matters that I can’t (nor should I) be responsible for, such as acquiring the building permit, meeting with the land engineer to approve the building site, etc. I know full well that this is business that should have been taken care of prior to my arrival with the funding; however, as the request fell into my lap days before I left last year, I had no time to investigate and prod Lucas throughout the year to get x, y, and z done before my arrival. The village council probably could have done so – but again, without knowing what nudges to send Lucas into the village with – there was no way to get the ball rolling…. One more lesson learned - I'm merely a linguist for cryin' out loud! haha
Regardless, I’m happy with how things are going now – the ball is rolling. I was feeling like Atlas to this point and as Atlas, I shrugged and now we’ve got a great project unfolding daily. So, in our meeting one woman piped up about the village contribution to the project. They will donate the stones, sand and bricks when the time comes – but she wanted to propose an exchange for the labor. Labor here pays 3,500Tsh a day (that’s about $2) but she would settle for 1,500Tsh ($1) a day because the labor is so difficult (carrying sand and stones on the head). In that moment, my response was that this was absolutely a village decision. I said that I had done my part to fundraise and I fell short of my goal for this year by just under half. (I didn’t tell them how much I raised, but while I wanted to raise $20,000USD, I came over with just over $10,000USD, which is actually awesome – but not quite the target number.) I emphasized that they could choose the best way to spend the money. Every penny they spend on labor will be less for the materials and therefore less construction ultimately for the amount Project Wezesha can give at this time. “Please know, this is not my project. This is your project and you as a community council should make this decision without me.”
Another man spoke to say he ‘supports my vision’ and agrees that they will donate the labor. I smiled and said they could vote and see what would be best for the group. The woman then spoke again to say that she was so grateful for Project Wezesha and the donations of all the people back home (I showed them the long long list of individuals who had given varying amounts of money toward the project so they would truly understand it’s not coming from me, but from all of you!). The woman went on to say she has three young children in primary school and she knows that this is their future. She is happy to work for the school. (I had to bite my cheek a few times in this meeting to avoid crying under the weight of the significance this project carries for the village. Seriously – THANK YOU so much to everyone who made this possible.)
I told them I would return early the next day to work with them. This is where my ‘Eff That’ sentiment comes in. The site had been partially cleared for construction prior to my arrival. The site is just as beautiful as I remember – atop a hill with views of Gombe National Forest in one direction and every possible valley and hill in all other directions. The initial work that we are doing now is the preparation for building. Isaya, the builder, will be coming early next week to start laying the foundation. The foundation is comprised of stones (large stones), sand and concrete. The villagers prep work consists of carrying the sand and the stones to the building site. This is where I join them – carrying stones and sand ‘to the head’ (This is how Lucas says it and I like it).
The men go in one direction from the building site to break up large boulders into stones that are reasonably sized to carry on the head. The distance they walk from the site of the stones and back to where the piles are being made is about 50 meters… not too bad. About 20 men showed up to work the first day I joined them. Each can carry one large stone or two medium/small stones. There is no transport for the stones (wheelbarrow) and there is no road that leads up to the site which would allow the use of trucks (and actually trucks cost too much anyway – this is a remote village with no vehicles, no real roads, just large paths and one or two wider dirt thoroughfares for walking and biking). The stones have to be broken with a pick axe. When I arrived, they told me their axe had broken – it was still partially functional, but I’ll be shopping for a new axe in the morning. When they told me about the axe, showed me the broken part and said work was difficult now, I told them that I would buy a new one and hand it over when the chief comes to Kigoma for our meeting Monday morning. They all started clapping.
The women walk in another direction down a hill and toward an old river bed where they fill plastic painter’s buckets with sand. After carrying two stones with the men, Lucas told me a woman had an extra bucket for me and I was to help the women. The distance from the sand pick up site to the school site is about 200 meters… at least. I went with Jane, Ashahadu’s wife, for the first collection. There were about 8 women working as well as one grandpa. Also, that morning I recruited (they offered to help the day before) Hindu, Dibeit, Saidi and Musa - the kids from Kiganza.
The sand buckets weigh a ton! The women roll up a scrap of kanga (the colorful fabric they wrap around their waists) and place it on their heads to soften the load a bit. Jane gave me a piece for my head. I couldn’t get the bucket on my head without help – it’s that heavy! Once it was on my head, we walked single file up the single track trail back up the hill to add to the growing pile.
We only made about five trips before they were calling it a day. It was only 11am! I can’t say I was unhappy about quitting. My neck – not strong like theirs from a lifetime of carrying ‘to the head’ – was tired. I wondered if I could do damage by jumping in like this, but I felt fine the day after. I could never carry the sand without balancing the bucket with my hands. These rockstar women not only carried the sand without the help of their hands for support, but in the case of three women they did so with babies on their backs. I told Lucas they should have one woman or even a ‘bibi’ (grandma) babysit while they worked. He replied with a laugh (and his all too familiar response to many of my observations or comments) “Rai, this is African peoples. This is Africa.” haha - I adore my partner!!
After a few hours of work, the whole team was ready to head back to the village center to congregate in the tea houses (men) or prepare the lunch (women). For the rest of the day – would they work? No. I don’t get it, but I can’t exactly expect much more productivity when they are all working for free and working hard!
Many things about the way this has to be done puzzled me. It seemed so slow and tedious – one bucket or stone at a time, three hours a day, 30 hands on deck. It seemed to me that it would take years to get enough for the foundation. Lucas said as Isaya’s team begins the work, the villagers will continue to come with sand and stones. Pole Pole (Slowly, Slowly). My frustration that day came in part from the pain of hefting the sand on my head uphill and in part to the sight of the work being done so inefficiently and slowly. But, it'll happen and I'm sure I'll be pleasantly surprised by how well.
Before we all retired back to the village, one elder man – the grandpa helping the women work – pulled out his whistle. Everyone gathered around clapping as Grandpa danced a ‘happy’ dance to celebrate the work done and the chai to come. We all laughed and clapped when he finished. Then everyone wandered off in various directions into the trees, back to their homes or the village center (don’t blink – you might miss it.)
As the day was young and we were all tired, I decided to treat Lucas and the kids (Hindu, Musa, Saidi and Dibeit) to a thank you meal. The kids seldom get to go into Kigoma town from the village. We walked about an hour back to Kiganza where we piled into a tightly packed dala dala and headed straight to the ‘New Modern Café’ to share three plates of fish and rice. After filling our bellies – we walked another distance to the lake – to a part of Lake Tanganyika where the water is never more than 4 feet deep for quite a distance. The boys dropped to their shorts and Hindu and I made our way out fully clothed. Some other ‘watoto’ joined us and we all splashed around and laughed until it was time to get the kids home. Lucas saw them off at the dala dala station in town and I went back to my hotel where I slept 11 hours!
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