I Know This Much is True

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!