So my goodbye shindig went well. I was completely dreading the whole thing but it worked out fine. I wanted to sneak out but realized that was impossible. I really don’t like the attention or saying goodbye to people- I much prefer avoidance. But I think it was a good thing- it sort of made everything more real. Everything happened after lunch. The head teacher thanked me for everything as well as Rovina the nurse and a reluctant social worker. The kids put on a gymnastics show for me (“Whitney today we do show for you”) and I passed out lollipops. The education department gave me this dark brown outfit that’s basically Capri pants and a shirt with little white zebras. It’s REALLY Tanzanian and I thought it was really sweet. I was given an Amani shirt as well. I expected to be really depressed and thought the whole thing would be awful, but I was actually just really touched from all the love from the kids. It made me feel much better about the whole thing. Anyways, I started crying, which was so awkward and embarrassing, but I felt really touched standing in front of all the kids. I told them I’d miss them all and I’m so very grateful for their friendship. The best gift of all was a huge stack of cards that Anna came in to make with the kids last weekend. I’m hoping to make a book for myself out of drawings and thank you letters. It’ll be a really great booster to look at when I’m feeling crappy about life. I feel like a little part of me is missing knowing that I’m leaving the kids behind. They’re my family. I’m not afraid of change as much as I’m afraid of feeling incomplete.
Here’s a list of my future plans:
-Apply to grad school
-Plant a vegetable garden
-Go kayaking regularly
-Listen to new music
-See my dear friend Ang when she comes to visit CA from NYC
-Sell African fabrics at the Ojai Farmers’ Market
-Get a job (boo)
-Take a dance class or some kind of fitness thing
-Be an amazing pen pal to the kiddos
-Find some inner peace daily
-Eat a lot of tacos
-Bake a pie
-Make a sandwich
-Send my dear friend Anna some care packages
What I’ll miss about my life in Africa:
-Waking up on the weekends reading and drinking tea in our little country house and doing my laundry by hand & letting it sun dry (surprisingly)
-Speaking Swahili
-The kids (of course)
-Cheap travel
-Phones that don’t have voice mail (it’s a beautiful thing)
-The calls to the mosque that go off five times a day
-Our three-legged wonder dog
-Milk tea
-Mangoes
-African beaches and long weekends spent exploring
-All the beautiful walks to hidden waterfalls in the villages
-Not having shitty/depressing news pressed upon me in my apt/house or on the street
-Barbeque for less than $2
-Being able to buy an EMS fleece-lined jacket for $2.40
-African fabrics and the beautiful women that wear them
-People who say hello and are friendly and dress colorfully
-Greeting every elderly person I see to show respect
-Little TZ kids in the boonies who randomly give me high fives and scream in my presence (like I’m Elvis)
-Vegetables and fruit sold everywhere
It’s coming down close to my departure date, December 3rd, and while I do feel like a dark cloud might soon be following me, right now, I feel at peace. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt at peace in my whole life, so this is definitely a new beginning after twenty-four years. I am worried about my transition back- all the luxuries and somewhat feeling detached from the land (i.e. buying food without having any idea of where it’s coming from and even washing my clothes in a machine will seem so separated). One of my favorite things about living here is feeling connected to things. I have clothes I own that I physically labor over to be kept clean. I buy fruit and vegetables from the people that grow them, or at least know the farmer in some way. When it doesn’t rain, there isn’t much produce for anyone to eat. I really think the world would be in such a better state if we were all more connected to our lives and the land we live on. Maybe it sounds trite, but I think everyone would just be happier. There would be an unwavering sense of balance. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to buy some fruit in New York, but because it came on a plane, I couldn’t afford it. This is clearly something people can avoid going to farmers’ markets, but it still doesn’t seem the same as having almost all your food products come from the country you live in. You want to eat a chicken- you need to know someone who has some chickens to sell and kill that day. It’s so strange that the most self-sufficient countries are the ones that struggle so much. I hate how eating in the U.S. is so solitary and so taken for granted and so unappreciated. No wonder it leaves you feeling a little more lost.
I’m so grateful for this year, partly because I feel so much more comfortable in my own skin. So many people have this image of Africa as a place filled with AIDS and misery and hunger. Not that those things don’t exist, but they are definitely not defining. People are so proud of where they come from, so unshakingly optimistic, so honest in their welcoming. It’s hard to say that about many other places, particularly ones with money. Even in the face of all the difficulties, most of the men and women and children I know are so thankful that they are survivors. Death is so much more common here, but in my opinion, so is life. People celebrate their life as a gift so much more than I’ve seen in richer countries, and there’s something incredibly genuine and embracing about that.
I will definitely miss going into the villages and walking through the jungle and finding a beautiful waterfall somewhere and going swimming with friends. I think I’ll miss those moments that feel so pure. Purity is a rare thing in this world. It’s definitely worth celebrating. In the end though, I feel like it’s okay that I’m moving on. I will always feel connected to life here. This place will always feel like home; more so than any other place I’ve lived. But I feel okay saying goodbye to a place that’s given me so much and made me realize what’s important and what is worth hanging onto.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Blog Update: The End of a Beginning
I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out because this is my last week at Amani and I can’t believe how fast time has gone. This past month hasn’t been easy. I think I’ve been suppressing my feelings about leaving just a bit and the kids have been expressing their feelings with ferocity. Fierce anger or fierce love; hate notes and love notes. Either way I’ve been getting a lot of mail.
For Halloween I dressed up like a Masai woman. I was a little worried about being culturally inappropriate but then someone came to the ex-pat bar (The Watering Hole) as a Mormon man selling bibles.
This past weekend was interesting to say the least. I woke up at 6:30 on Saturday morning to a little voice saying “Whitty! Whitty!” I’m the only one in the house who can see the gate from my bedroom window, and looked outside to see three little boys waiting outside the gate. Since I know a significant amount of kids now living on the street my head was spinning in circles thinking of who could be outside my gate. As I opened all three of our locks to go outside the kids started to get skiddish and walk away. It turned out there was only one kid I know, Zawadi (14), with two of his friends. One of the kids (Rama) looked around 8 or 9, and the other (Amani) closer to 12 or 13. I was shocked and sort of heartbroken to see Zawadi since I had yelled at him the day before for not listening to me and repeatedly entering the playroom. It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m so scared of imaginely the next chapter of my life without these kids that I’ve been really irritable. It’s always easier to leave a place if you’re pissed off- I guess it makes it easier to start over. At the end of the day I have to remind myself that I’m working with kids who’ve been through incredibly difficult circumstances and that when they act out, it’s not personal. Zawadi refused to talk to me at first, so he told Anna (my best friend here and co-worker) that he was scared of being punished at Amani for his behavior. (I’m terrified to leave Anna as well- she protects my heart here and I truly love her friendship). The two other kids were covered in petrol and it was very obvious they live and sleep outside in parking lots and markets. The littlest one had a water bottle full of petrol that he told us he uses to keep the mosquitoes away, but I still wonder if he inhales it since it’s a popular drug abused by kids here living on the streets. We live within walking distance of the YMCA, where we took the kids to get early morning Chai, mandazi (donuts) and hard-boiled eggs. I’m sure that if the staff knew we took the kids there we would probably get in trouble but I don’t regret it. We have some kids books in our house which we brought with us and the littlest kid Rama kept staring at me in a way that said “Should I trust this person?” The YMCA isn’t the nicest place in Moshi but it was clear that it was one of the nicest places all three kids had ever been to- they sort of just stared around in wonder. Zawadi kept washing is hands at the sink and reading the paper like an old man with his tea. When I asked him if he wanted more mandazi he said “More everything!” I love Zawadi and I apologized to him for yelling at him on Friday and explained to him that it’s frustrating for me when kids refuse to listen. It’s not that I approve of Zawadi running away, but I think it must be nice for the kids to just get the hell out of Amani sometimes. It’s a good place for them but I’m sure it feels constricting compared to the freedoms they’ve had. Once the kids told Anna and I they wanted to go to Amani we took a taxi at eight in the morning to Magereza. The kids were more than surprised to see us on a Saturday morning and all very happy to see Zawadi was back. Anna and I stuck around until lunch playing games and organizing art for the kids (Anna opened the health room for the sick kiddos). One of the new kids we brought with us had such filthy shorts infested with bugs that they had to be burned.
I think it’s important that I’m leaving Amani and Tanzania although it’s been difficult to come to terms with and not feel completely depressed to be leaving kids that feel like my extended family, some of whom are my best friends and others, my heart. Another volunteer put in well that I can’t give anymore of myself to the kids until I have the chance to reenergize again and invest sometime in taking care of me. I guess to some people that might sound selfish, but I know in my heart that it’s true. I’m hoping to call Amani every few weeks and talk to the kids and write letters when I can. I don’t want to consider this goodbye.
Friday is my last official day at Amani, although I plan to come in on the weekend and relax with the kids. I officially leave the country December 3rd and plan to travel to Mombasa and Pangani and come back for both Thanksgiving and Amani Christmas weekend (the last weekend of November). It’s been difficult to get notes from the kids that say “Don’t go,” or “Please stay a little longer.” Sometimes all I feel like doing is crying, but somehow I just can’t make that happen. I’m sure that I should have kept my boundaries a bit better with the kids- not coming in on the weekends as much and getting as close, but I can’t say I regret that either. So I guess, no regrets. I’m sticking to my choices and standing up for my actions and I’m not going to give myself a guilt trip about leaving. That would be the wrong feeling to come away with, and really, I can only feel thankful to the kids for allowing me to be a part of their lives. That is not an easy decision after the kind of trauma and betrayal they have experienced, and I will be forever grateful for their openness. I hope they all know that they have changed my life for the better and helped me realize who I want to be and what is truly important. I don’t expect the future to be perfect but I do know that I am a better person from my experience here. As for the kids, I can only hope for their safety and good health, and if there is any justice in this world, I hope for them to be able to dream and feel comfortable in their own freedom to imagine a better life, a holistic and tangible happiness that every child deserves.
For Halloween I dressed up like a Masai woman. I was a little worried about being culturally inappropriate but then someone came to the ex-pat bar (The Watering Hole) as a Mormon man selling bibles.
This past weekend was interesting to say the least. I woke up at 6:30 on Saturday morning to a little voice saying “Whitty! Whitty!” I’m the only one in the house who can see the gate from my bedroom window, and looked outside to see three little boys waiting outside the gate. Since I know a significant amount of kids now living on the street my head was spinning in circles thinking of who could be outside my gate. As I opened all three of our locks to go outside the kids started to get skiddish and walk away. It turned out there was only one kid I know, Zawadi (14), with two of his friends. One of the kids (Rama) looked around 8 or 9, and the other (Amani) closer to 12 or 13. I was shocked and sort of heartbroken to see Zawadi since I had yelled at him the day before for not listening to me and repeatedly entering the playroom. It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m so scared of imaginely the next chapter of my life without these kids that I’ve been really irritable. It’s always easier to leave a place if you’re pissed off- I guess it makes it easier to start over. At the end of the day I have to remind myself that I’m working with kids who’ve been through incredibly difficult circumstances and that when they act out, it’s not personal. Zawadi refused to talk to me at first, so he told Anna (my best friend here and co-worker) that he was scared of being punished at Amani for his behavior. (I’m terrified to leave Anna as well- she protects my heart here and I truly love her friendship). The two other kids were covered in petrol and it was very obvious they live and sleep outside in parking lots and markets. The littlest one had a water bottle full of petrol that he told us he uses to keep the mosquitoes away, but I still wonder if he inhales it since it’s a popular drug abused by kids here living on the streets. We live within walking distance of the YMCA, where we took the kids to get early morning Chai, mandazi (donuts) and hard-boiled eggs. I’m sure that if the staff knew we took the kids there we would probably get in trouble but I don’t regret it. We have some kids books in our house which we brought with us and the littlest kid Rama kept staring at me in a way that said “Should I trust this person?” The YMCA isn’t the nicest place in Moshi but it was clear that it was one of the nicest places all three kids had ever been to- they sort of just stared around in wonder. Zawadi kept washing is hands at the sink and reading the paper like an old man with his tea. When I asked him if he wanted more mandazi he said “More everything!” I love Zawadi and I apologized to him for yelling at him on Friday and explained to him that it’s frustrating for me when kids refuse to listen. It’s not that I approve of Zawadi running away, but I think it must be nice for the kids to just get the hell out of Amani sometimes. It’s a good place for them but I’m sure it feels constricting compared to the freedoms they’ve had. Once the kids told Anna and I they wanted to go to Amani we took a taxi at eight in the morning to Magereza. The kids were more than surprised to see us on a Saturday morning and all very happy to see Zawadi was back. Anna and I stuck around until lunch playing games and organizing art for the kids (Anna opened the health room for the sick kiddos). One of the new kids we brought with us had such filthy shorts infested with bugs that they had to be burned.
I think it’s important that I’m leaving Amani and Tanzania although it’s been difficult to come to terms with and not feel completely depressed to be leaving kids that feel like my extended family, some of whom are my best friends and others, my heart. Another volunteer put in well that I can’t give anymore of myself to the kids until I have the chance to reenergize again and invest sometime in taking care of me. I guess to some people that might sound selfish, but I know in my heart that it’s true. I’m hoping to call Amani every few weeks and talk to the kids and write letters when I can. I don’t want to consider this goodbye.
Friday is my last official day at Amani, although I plan to come in on the weekend and relax with the kids. I officially leave the country December 3rd and plan to travel to Mombasa and Pangani and come back for both Thanksgiving and Amani Christmas weekend (the last weekend of November). It’s been difficult to get notes from the kids that say “Don’t go,” or “Please stay a little longer.” Sometimes all I feel like doing is crying, but somehow I just can’t make that happen. I’m sure that I should have kept my boundaries a bit better with the kids- not coming in on the weekends as much and getting as close, but I can’t say I regret that either. So I guess, no regrets. I’m sticking to my choices and standing up for my actions and I’m not going to give myself a guilt trip about leaving. That would be the wrong feeling to come away with, and really, I can only feel thankful to the kids for allowing me to be a part of their lives. That is not an easy decision after the kind of trauma and betrayal they have experienced, and I will be forever grateful for their openness. I hope they all know that they have changed my life for the better and helped me realize who I want to be and what is truly important. I don’t expect the future to be perfect but I do know that I am a better person from my experience here. As for the kids, I can only hope for their safety and good health, and if there is any justice in this world, I hope for them to be able to dream and feel comfortable in their own freedom to imagine a better life, a holistic and tangible happiness that every child deserves.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Blog Update: Villages, Gunshots and a weekend with Masai
It’s been a hell of a month.
A few weeks ago I went to Arusha for the weekend to see friends and get out of Moshi and while two of us were eating dinner one night two gunshots went off. The first about 75 feet away; the second closer to 20. All the other tourists around us just carried on la-dee-dah like nothing was wrong. I especially liked how a worker at the restaurant just said “oh it’s just the neighbor making sure everyone knows he has a gun.” Sure. To make a long story short, we got home fine but lied down in the back seat to be sure. The cab driver, like most Tanzanians, just kept telling us “no worries,” and my favorite “everyone has a gun in Arusha, it’s so easy!”
*Amani Update*
I also got the chance a little while back to go on a home visit with a social worker and a fourteen-year-old boy at Amani I’m very close with. His family lives two villages or so down the road from Amani, near Bonite, the Coca-Cola bottling plantation. I love seeing the Coca-Cola staff buses along the roads in Moshi since the bus is so ancient it’s a miracle it’s not falling apart, trailing in pieces. I have to say though Coca-Cola really is ingenius. When small shacks/shops decide to sell their products they give them printed signs of the shop’s name in exchange. Plus the transportation among other things. They really have it down. Anyways, it seemed like this village was really built around this bottling plant, which is pretty much out in the sticks. The area is pretty poor- mostly mud huts- and from what I’ve heard there’s a good amount of street kids and alcoholism. When we went to see the boy’s house (mud hut), his parents were absent since his father was at work and his mom was at a funeral (very typical here). We did see instead the mother of a child out on the street who I know who used to be at Amani about four months ago. It was pretty heart breaking since she was clearly drunk so early in the morning and hadn’t seen her son in so long. Her son is a great little artist and addicted to drugs. Since the parents weren’t there we went to visit the little brother at primary school. Because we were in the bush, at one point I looked behind me at the school and literally saw one hundred kids behind me chanting “Mzungu! Mzungu!” which means foreigner or white person. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a Rolling Stone, and I’m pretty okay with that.
On the walk back the little brother kept saying “tunaenda wote?” or “are we all going back?” It was clear he’d really missed his older brother and wanted to come visit him which isn’t really done. Although of course the following weekend he showed up at Amani to play with bicycles and the next day his father angrily took him back. Unfortunately, I’m sure he was beaten since that’s what’s done here. This entire country is silently crying out for anything resembling a movement against domestic violence. There really is nothing and nowhere anyone can go when they are abused. The police are pretty worthless other than anything outside of bribes, which isn’t fair to say, but it’s mostly true.
By the time we got back the mother had returned (by the way the whole walk back the social worker was trying to get me to agree to marry him- not fun). The mother is blind from years of cooking over smoky fires and from what I can tell can only see shades of light and shapes. She was angry we had brought her son back since before he left he was going down to the river to help fisherman clean fish to sell to make some money for himself and his younger brother since the father was using his money on pombe (beer). This of course brought the boy to tears. The father came home around lunch and in typical Tanzanian fashion the two told the social worker that there are no problems at home. Ten minutes later they were yelling at each other so I took the kids to get a soda. In retaliation the mother stopped cooking for the husband, who refused to give her money to support herself for her disobedience. There were really hard any possessions in the house other some buckets and coals for a fire so I’m really hoping my little friend isn’t being reunified anytime soon without financial assistance and some much needed family counseling. The whole process was really interesting since really, this is what I want to learn about and eventually do.
A lot of the kids behavior has been really erratic lately. They love me one hour, they hate me the next. Many are pissed that I’m leaving them and I don’t blame them. They’re entitled. It must be confusing since I’ve been here close to a year.
There are a few new children this week, although one I’m pretty sure will leave soon. He’s got that look in his eye and it’s easy to see. The littlest one is pretty adorable and in love with the tiny keyboard we received as a donation recently. Personally, I want to chuck that thing out the window. It’s got prerecorded songs like “Jingle Bells” and….oh, wait, one other (!) and the kids love to listen to it on repeat and pretend they’re playing the songs. It was pretty heartbreaking today since I was standing over him and noticed a scar on his arm beneath his t-shirt line. As I pulled up the t-shirt sleeve I saw a cigarette burn (on a child less than ten years old), and four letters including K and L written out on his arm. The terrible part about it was the letters were scars from burns, and he tried to convince me he did it to himself when he can’t write. Whoever this child’s father was essentially branded him as a form of punishment. I’m continually shocked and disgusted on new levels of what humans can do to humans; what adults can do to children.
One of the best parts of my week are Thursday mornings when I go pick up two wonderful kids called Kalisti and Zainabu at a special needs school the next village over. I think they really love that they get to show off their school and have someone come pick them up since people don’t really do that here with kids. Even preschool kids make the long walk alone. Zain has pretty intense ADD sometimes, and let me tell you, they don’t sell daily drugs for that here. She is one slap happy child truly living on her own planet. I call it “The Zai Show” or “The Hurricane.” Anyways, I really love them and walking down the village road alongside the banana trees and the skinny stream and the wandering chickens to go get them is always so fun.
*Lake Natron*
After hearing of Amani’s death last week, I really needed to get away for the weekend and be distracted. Of course, I have still been thinking about him every day and really feel like it wasn’t properly explained to the kids. It’s difficult since they truly are so much more used to death here. It is much much more commonplace. His picture was taken off the website and it’s sort of just not being talked about.
My wonderful friend Anna’s mom and brother (plus girlfriend) are visiting her this week so I decided to go with them this past weekend to Lake Natron. If you’ve seen “Out of Africa,” Lake Natron is mentioned when Meryl Streep’s character ventures with her own safari party to go meet her husband, although it never actually shows the lake. Anna’s boyfriend (Josh) is Tanzania and was able to rent a large SUV for the six of us to drive out there. Of course when we got the car, it turned out the back seat was missing so yours truly sat in the trunk for six hours. It actually wasn’t too bad and I felt like I was in the womb being rocked to sleep on the backcountry road haha…yes, I know that sounds weird. On the way out there the car kept stopping and Josh would have to start it again, and the car was tilting a lot since the road was so crappy, which made Anna’s family less than pleased. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to terrible buses in this country or because I was clueless spacing out in the back, but it seemed like a pretty decent ride. Along the way Masai (kids mostly) kept appearing from across the desert asking us for water, which we had since we brought a few boxes of our own.
The drought that’s going on in this part of the world right now is incredible. I can’t tell you how desperate people were for water and I have never seen so many dying cows in my life. Masai depend on cows for their life and it is said that Masai believe all the cows in the world are their own. It was grim to see half decayed carcasses and cows that weren’t getting up to go to the bathroom, who according to Masai we met, would die the same day or the next. I don’t know how people are living out there, but it’s incredible.
The camp we stayed at was an oasis in the desert with trees and grass, right near an active volcano. We each stayed in a stand up tent with beds inside and lantern light. It was beautiful to wake up in the morning and see goats and sheeps and donkeys grazing on the camp grounds. The bathrooms reminded me of the Flintstones since the sinks were made of rock and the showers were rock covered by Masai blankets. There was a small sort of restaurant open to the elements, all run by Masai.
We took a short walking safari (only a few hours) from the camp ground through dried lava ash, across a river through the Masai bomas (villages) and finally to the lake. It felt so special to be able to walk in Masai country and see things like the bush they use (or the branches) to brush their teeth. The lake was beautiful and filled with pink flamingoes who shy fairly easily away from people. Because of the drought, the lake is much smaller than normal and the salt in the water was drying out the mud. At some point I felt like I was walking across a brownie, sort of crispy on the top and fudgy inside.
That same day we hiked up a canyon through a river to a waterfall. On the way back baboons were crawling up the hills like something out of “The Wizard of Oz” and there was a massive dust storm that at first made us think the volcano might be erupting and then just made me feel like I was traveling in north Africa. The waterfall was very picturesque and reminded me of “Swiss Family Robinson” since you had to lift yourself into one waterfall and then you could walk back to others hidden from plain view. At the end we were able to slide down a rock (a mini water slide) which was more than beautiful.
This all sounds fine and lovely until you hear about what a pain in the keister it was to come home. On the way to the campsite (the first day) we were running on empty for forty minutes or so and just made it in before night fall. Because we were out in no man’s land we had to buy gas through a deal with villagers and I’m pretty sure something was fishy with those forty-five liters of petrol….possibly diluted or dirty. Needless to say, the car broke down two hours outside of Lake Natron on the return trip, in the middle of endless desert. Josh tried fixing the car but I could tell nothing was gonna help this lemon. Luckily since there is only one road to Natron some safari cars passed us and tried to help. Of course, they all had clients and couldn’t really help us for long, and instead told us they’d radio for help. Stupidly not one safari car had a SAT phone which I sort of thought was necessary for trips like those. Eventually an ancient safari car from the 50s or 60s was driving our way and agreed to tow us…..10 kilometers in about an hour…to the next village. By the time we got there I really had to pee and this Masai chick flipped out at me and wanted to charge me a ridiculous amount for using the building that said “toilet.” We then had to pay since the rental car we were ditching was next to her house and she was talking about destroying it in retaliation. Honestly. I also forgot to mention that when we were stranded in the desert for hours Masai came out of nowhere (who did NOT speak Swahili) and were pinching our skin and looking at us like we were total aliens. Eventually I shut my door since I felt like I was on display at the zoo and the started drawing pictures in the dirt on our car. Back in the village, I convinced Josh we ditch this piece of crap rental car and pay these two Tanz dudes to take us to Mtu Mbu- Mosquito River- a village 2 to 3 hours away where there is cell-phone service and paved roads. We all climbed in the trunk of the hollowed out ancient safari car and made the slow crawl back to Mtu Mbu, were we had to get yet another lift to Arusha, at which point it started pouring out of nowhere. The good news is were alive and back in Moshi and we’ve survived.
A few weeks ago I went to Arusha for the weekend to see friends and get out of Moshi and while two of us were eating dinner one night two gunshots went off. The first about 75 feet away; the second closer to 20. All the other tourists around us just carried on la-dee-dah like nothing was wrong. I especially liked how a worker at the restaurant just said “oh it’s just the neighbor making sure everyone knows he has a gun.” Sure. To make a long story short, we got home fine but lied down in the back seat to be sure. The cab driver, like most Tanzanians, just kept telling us “no worries,” and my favorite “everyone has a gun in Arusha, it’s so easy!”
*Amani Update*
I also got the chance a little while back to go on a home visit with a social worker and a fourteen-year-old boy at Amani I’m very close with. His family lives two villages or so down the road from Amani, near Bonite, the Coca-Cola bottling plantation. I love seeing the Coca-Cola staff buses along the roads in Moshi since the bus is so ancient it’s a miracle it’s not falling apart, trailing in pieces. I have to say though Coca-Cola really is ingenius. When small shacks/shops decide to sell their products they give them printed signs of the shop’s name in exchange. Plus the transportation among other things. They really have it down. Anyways, it seemed like this village was really built around this bottling plant, which is pretty much out in the sticks. The area is pretty poor- mostly mud huts- and from what I’ve heard there’s a good amount of street kids and alcoholism. When we went to see the boy’s house (mud hut), his parents were absent since his father was at work and his mom was at a funeral (very typical here). We did see instead the mother of a child out on the street who I know who used to be at Amani about four months ago. It was pretty heart breaking since she was clearly drunk so early in the morning and hadn’t seen her son in so long. Her son is a great little artist and addicted to drugs. Since the parents weren’t there we went to visit the little brother at primary school. Because we were in the bush, at one point I looked behind me at the school and literally saw one hundred kids behind me chanting “Mzungu! Mzungu!” which means foreigner or white person. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like a Rolling Stone, and I’m pretty okay with that.
On the walk back the little brother kept saying “tunaenda wote?” or “are we all going back?” It was clear he’d really missed his older brother and wanted to come visit him which isn’t really done. Although of course the following weekend he showed up at Amani to play with bicycles and the next day his father angrily took him back. Unfortunately, I’m sure he was beaten since that’s what’s done here. This entire country is silently crying out for anything resembling a movement against domestic violence. There really is nothing and nowhere anyone can go when they are abused. The police are pretty worthless other than anything outside of bribes, which isn’t fair to say, but it’s mostly true.
By the time we got back the mother had returned (by the way the whole walk back the social worker was trying to get me to agree to marry him- not fun). The mother is blind from years of cooking over smoky fires and from what I can tell can only see shades of light and shapes. She was angry we had brought her son back since before he left he was going down to the river to help fisherman clean fish to sell to make some money for himself and his younger brother since the father was using his money on pombe (beer). This of course brought the boy to tears. The father came home around lunch and in typical Tanzanian fashion the two told the social worker that there are no problems at home. Ten minutes later they were yelling at each other so I took the kids to get a soda. In retaliation the mother stopped cooking for the husband, who refused to give her money to support herself for her disobedience. There were really hard any possessions in the house other some buckets and coals for a fire so I’m really hoping my little friend isn’t being reunified anytime soon without financial assistance and some much needed family counseling. The whole process was really interesting since really, this is what I want to learn about and eventually do.
A lot of the kids behavior has been really erratic lately. They love me one hour, they hate me the next. Many are pissed that I’m leaving them and I don’t blame them. They’re entitled. It must be confusing since I’ve been here close to a year.
There are a few new children this week, although one I’m pretty sure will leave soon. He’s got that look in his eye and it’s easy to see. The littlest one is pretty adorable and in love with the tiny keyboard we received as a donation recently. Personally, I want to chuck that thing out the window. It’s got prerecorded songs like “Jingle Bells” and….oh, wait, one other (!) and the kids love to listen to it on repeat and pretend they’re playing the songs. It was pretty heartbreaking today since I was standing over him and noticed a scar on his arm beneath his t-shirt line. As I pulled up the t-shirt sleeve I saw a cigarette burn (on a child less than ten years old), and four letters including K and L written out on his arm. The terrible part about it was the letters were scars from burns, and he tried to convince me he did it to himself when he can’t write. Whoever this child’s father was essentially branded him as a form of punishment. I’m continually shocked and disgusted on new levels of what humans can do to humans; what adults can do to children.
One of the best parts of my week are Thursday mornings when I go pick up two wonderful kids called Kalisti and Zainabu at a special needs school the next village over. I think they really love that they get to show off their school and have someone come pick them up since people don’t really do that here with kids. Even preschool kids make the long walk alone. Zain has pretty intense ADD sometimes, and let me tell you, they don’t sell daily drugs for that here. She is one slap happy child truly living on her own planet. I call it “The Zai Show” or “The Hurricane.” Anyways, I really love them and walking down the village road alongside the banana trees and the skinny stream and the wandering chickens to go get them is always so fun.
*Lake Natron*
After hearing of Amani’s death last week, I really needed to get away for the weekend and be distracted. Of course, I have still been thinking about him every day and really feel like it wasn’t properly explained to the kids. It’s difficult since they truly are so much more used to death here. It is much much more commonplace. His picture was taken off the website and it’s sort of just not being talked about.
My wonderful friend Anna’s mom and brother (plus girlfriend) are visiting her this week so I decided to go with them this past weekend to Lake Natron. If you’ve seen “Out of Africa,” Lake Natron is mentioned when Meryl Streep’s character ventures with her own safari party to go meet her husband, although it never actually shows the lake. Anna’s boyfriend (Josh) is Tanzania and was able to rent a large SUV for the six of us to drive out there. Of course when we got the car, it turned out the back seat was missing so yours truly sat in the trunk for six hours. It actually wasn’t too bad and I felt like I was in the womb being rocked to sleep on the backcountry road haha…yes, I know that sounds weird. On the way out there the car kept stopping and Josh would have to start it again, and the car was tilting a lot since the road was so crappy, which made Anna’s family less than pleased. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to terrible buses in this country or because I was clueless spacing out in the back, but it seemed like a pretty decent ride. Along the way Masai (kids mostly) kept appearing from across the desert asking us for water, which we had since we brought a few boxes of our own.
The drought that’s going on in this part of the world right now is incredible. I can’t tell you how desperate people were for water and I have never seen so many dying cows in my life. Masai depend on cows for their life and it is said that Masai believe all the cows in the world are their own. It was grim to see half decayed carcasses and cows that weren’t getting up to go to the bathroom, who according to Masai we met, would die the same day or the next. I don’t know how people are living out there, but it’s incredible.
The camp we stayed at was an oasis in the desert with trees and grass, right near an active volcano. We each stayed in a stand up tent with beds inside and lantern light. It was beautiful to wake up in the morning and see goats and sheeps and donkeys grazing on the camp grounds. The bathrooms reminded me of the Flintstones since the sinks were made of rock and the showers were rock covered by Masai blankets. There was a small sort of restaurant open to the elements, all run by Masai.
We took a short walking safari (only a few hours) from the camp ground through dried lava ash, across a river through the Masai bomas (villages) and finally to the lake. It felt so special to be able to walk in Masai country and see things like the bush they use (or the branches) to brush their teeth. The lake was beautiful and filled with pink flamingoes who shy fairly easily away from people. Because of the drought, the lake is much smaller than normal and the salt in the water was drying out the mud. At some point I felt like I was walking across a brownie, sort of crispy on the top and fudgy inside.
That same day we hiked up a canyon through a river to a waterfall. On the way back baboons were crawling up the hills like something out of “The Wizard of Oz” and there was a massive dust storm that at first made us think the volcano might be erupting and then just made me feel like I was traveling in north Africa. The waterfall was very picturesque and reminded me of “Swiss Family Robinson” since you had to lift yourself into one waterfall and then you could walk back to others hidden from plain view. At the end we were able to slide down a rock (a mini water slide) which was more than beautiful.
This all sounds fine and lovely until you hear about what a pain in the keister it was to come home. On the way to the campsite (the first day) we were running on empty for forty minutes or so and just made it in before night fall. Because we were out in no man’s land we had to buy gas through a deal with villagers and I’m pretty sure something was fishy with those forty-five liters of petrol….possibly diluted or dirty. Needless to say, the car broke down two hours outside of Lake Natron on the return trip, in the middle of endless desert. Josh tried fixing the car but I could tell nothing was gonna help this lemon. Luckily since there is only one road to Natron some safari cars passed us and tried to help. Of course, they all had clients and couldn’t really help us for long, and instead told us they’d radio for help. Stupidly not one safari car had a SAT phone which I sort of thought was necessary for trips like those. Eventually an ancient safari car from the 50s or 60s was driving our way and agreed to tow us…..10 kilometers in about an hour…to the next village. By the time we got there I really had to pee and this Masai chick flipped out at me and wanted to charge me a ridiculous amount for using the building that said “toilet.” We then had to pay since the rental car we were ditching was next to her house and she was talking about destroying it in retaliation. Honestly. I also forgot to mention that when we were stranded in the desert for hours Masai came out of nowhere (who did NOT speak Swahili) and were pinching our skin and looking at us like we were total aliens. Eventually I shut my door since I felt like I was on display at the zoo and the started drawing pictures in the dirt on our car. Back in the village, I convinced Josh we ditch this piece of crap rental car and pay these two Tanz dudes to take us to Mtu Mbu- Mosquito River- a village 2 to 3 hours away where there is cell-phone service and paved roads. We all climbed in the trunk of the hollowed out ancient safari car and made the slow crawl back to Mtu Mbu, were we had to get yet another lift to Arusha, at which point it started pouring out of nowhere. The good news is were alive and back in Moshi and we’ve survived.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Blog Update: Goodbye Amani Eduardi.
Saying goodbye is difficult. Saying goodbye to a child whose life ended much too soon is something that cannot be described with words. This week, Amani Eduardi, along with three of his friends living on the street, traveled by bus to Dar to try life there. Dar is a much bigger city where more money can be made. All of the kids had been to the center but Amani had spent the most time there. This whole year he’s been in and out, in and out. At some point he’d always return a few months later after running back to the street. I don’t know Amani’s story, but I felt like I knew who he was for the short period he stayed (one month at a time).
Amani, fourteen, died in a bus accident this week. His friends survived. I look at his photograph and feel beaten. I wanted him to have so many things and for some reason I always hoped he would pull through. Life is not easy here and it’s sometimes possible to lose sight of that. It’s terrible to think that more kids I know might die before me, might die before adulthood. I feel sick and shocked and saddened all at once so that it makes me not feel anything. I know Amani had a difficult life but he was always so appreciative and joyful. His eyes expressed such raw emotions that can’t possibly be revealed unless someone has experienced so much they do not have the energy to consciously conceal their state of mind.
To Amani Eduardi I say: I’ll miss you. I’ll miss seeing you. I’ll miss drawing with you; spending time with you. I hope you found some peace in your last few moments and I hope you know you will be remembered. Most of all I hope you know this is not your fault. While many people look down on children living on the street, I admire you for escaping a situation that felt unsafe. Not everyone is brave enough to do that. And I admire you for still embracing your childhood after everything that happened. I wish you could have grown up and finished school. I wish you could have had many things. I’m glad I got to meet you and I’ll be thinking of you.
I’m not sure what I believe in; all I know is that I don’t know much at all. I think atheists are as stubborn as fundamentalists, and stubbornness never solved anything. If I believe in one thing, it’s that a person’s spirit stays with us long after they’re gone. I think it’s what you do with this person’s influence that determines whether you’ll continue to change your life for the better. Amani: we’re thinking of you and you are loved.
Amani, fourteen, died in a bus accident this week. His friends survived. I look at his photograph and feel beaten. I wanted him to have so many things and for some reason I always hoped he would pull through. Life is not easy here and it’s sometimes possible to lose sight of that. It’s terrible to think that more kids I know might die before me, might die before adulthood. I feel sick and shocked and saddened all at once so that it makes me not feel anything. I know Amani had a difficult life but he was always so appreciative and joyful. His eyes expressed such raw emotions that can’t possibly be revealed unless someone has experienced so much they do not have the energy to consciously conceal their state of mind.
To Amani Eduardi I say: I’ll miss you. I’ll miss seeing you. I’ll miss drawing with you; spending time with you. I hope you found some peace in your last few moments and I hope you know you will be remembered. Most of all I hope you know this is not your fault. While many people look down on children living on the street, I admire you for escaping a situation that felt unsafe. Not everyone is brave enough to do that. And I admire you for still embracing your childhood after everything that happened. I wish you could have grown up and finished school. I wish you could have had many things. I’m glad I got to meet you and I’ll be thinking of you.
I’m not sure what I believe in; all I know is that I don’t know much at all. I think atheists are as stubborn as fundamentalists, and stubbornness never solved anything. If I believe in one thing, it’s that a person’s spirit stays with us long after they’re gone. I think it’s what you do with this person’s influence that determines whether you’ll continue to change your life for the better. Amani: we’re thinking of you and you are loved.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Blog Update: Cheeky rat invasion and other news
Our house has turned into a fancy campground. And by this I mean that we haven’t had power in 4 days so all six of us are sharing the propane stove. On the plus side we are really contributing to the East African candle and match industry. A big percentage of Tanzanians don’t have electricity so I’m a wuss to complain but I’m spoiled and appreciate the spoils I’m spoiled by. The dogs have chewed a giant hole where the butt goes on the hammock and we also have a massive colony of rats living in our roof that sounds like WWF-Rat at night. We wanted to believe it was lizards, but no. Apparently, the bastards have been playing with the wires attached to the electricity meter accelerating the measuring process, which explains why our electricity bill was so high last month.
Luckily when the fundi was over at the house investigating the rat sabotage situation, me and my new roommates Max and Zahra went for a hike in Marangu (a village at the foot of Kili.) It’s a lot cooler up there and very green, with banana trees and coffee plans everywhere. The waterfall we hiked to (Nduru) with a guide named Frank, was really beautiful. We walked through residential areas first with small farms and then reached the top of the river valley where there were some hiking sticks. Other than a german couple we passed on the way down, we were the only ones there. The jungle was so beautiful colored with every different type of green you can imagine. The way down was pretty steep and on the way back I felt like I might pass out with the altitude change. It was raining off and on during the hike, which felt really wonderful to walk in. The rain let up when we reached the 80 or so foot fall where we decided to go swimming. The water was cold but bearable and swimming under the fall made my heart beat and beat and beat faster than I can remember.
Amani update:
This week is my last week at Amani without my replacement. Scary! I’ve been so sad for months thinking about this but now I actually feel ready to move on. This week was fun- we drew hippos and watering holes and street scenes. I’ve learned a lot and love many of the kids but I’m burnt out. I’m unsure about the future. I do feel like I am much more creative now, or can at least think of new ideas quickly. I applied for a job in Arusha and got an email last week about having an interview but don’t know how I feel about it. I also don’t really have a desire to live in Arusha. Anna has become a really amazing friend here and is like a sister to me so I’ll be incredibly sad to say goodbye to her. Either way I’d really like to do more with street children issues in Tanzania and would love to come back and do some research in Dar sooner rather than later. My dream would be for someone, maybe me maybe not, to develop a drop-in center for street kids where they can get a shower, rest, eat a meal, and play some games. It would be great too if there was an addiction specialist and a psychologist- I would want any kid to be able to come in off the street but in order to use the facilities they’d have to talk to the psychologist first. I don’t know how realistic that is. There should also be some first aid supplies and someone there to chaperone sick kids to nearby clinics for malaria/STI tests. I would also want a literacy program and some vocational training classes. This is just the dream in my head but there is really no place like this in this area.
In other news my darling Ibrahim Simon came back on Thursday. I didn’t want to come in because some of the kids have been so rude lately, but when Anna called to tell me he was back it was a no-brainer. I had written him a letter and we ate juice and cookies together. This probably isn’t really encouraged since the kids are usually punished for running away but he’s a child and I love him. (I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be a kind of crappy social worker). Anyways, Anna took him to the clinic the next day and it turns out he has really bad malaria from a week sleeping out on the street so it’s good she caught it in time. David, the kid with the toxic urine, actually has schistosimasis (SPPPP), the disease you get in poorer countries from bugs that live in dirty water crawling into intact skin, etc. So it turns out those idiots at the clinic didn’t need to order all those shots for him. The nurses were terrible at giving him his injections and used the biggest needle I’d ever seen on any child or adult, jammed right into the vein. Poor David was miserable and I wanted to body slam the nurse who told him there was no reason he should be crying. Another one of the kids has had swollen limbs and especially feet for the past few months especially and when I asked him, he said it’s been bothering him for a year. The clinic gave him medicine, which of course hasn’t been working, so he needs to go to KCMC for more tests this week with Anna. It’s possible his liver is failing. We hope it’s not too serious, but something is really wrong with him.
Anna has been working incredibly hard and I really feel like she is sort of taken advantage of as a volunteer. She’s the nurse right now! She, another volunteer Peter and I were all talking and we’re interesting in setting up a dental fund for the kids. This wasn’t very well received but I really think it should be implemented. It was all Anna’s idea after she took a kid to what sounds like the worst dentist ever and instead of doing a root canal for 70,000 shillings they pulled his tooth out for 2,000 because Amani couldn’t pay. Of course, they numbed his tooth and didn’t wait long enough so the numbing kicked in after the agony. There’s also another girl that needs braces and more kids that need teeth pulled. The kids don’t have any annual dental check-up at all, and many of their teeth are deteriorating due to poor water quality in villages and in Arusha.
Unfortunately, on Friday when I took a day off because some of the kids’ behavior has been truly awful, a girl who had been kicked out of Amani and sent home to her village showed back up at the front gates. Because she abused the other children she is not allowed to come back to Amani but apparently told Anna that her family murdered her grandmother in front of her and then blamed her when the police showed up. Both she and her family have serious mental problems so I’m not sure how much to believe, but whatever happened she is traumatized and alone with nowhere to go and no school or home that will take her. As Anna said, her life is ending in her early teens and it’s awful. No matter what she’s done, it’s an injustice that help cannot be found and I’m fearful that she’ll turn to prostitution.
That's it for now...the new art volunteer gets here this week! Crazy. Tomorrow I'm going on a home visit with a social worker to see where my best friend Zacharia is from. I love love love him and I'm a little apprehensive about seeing his home situation. I hope it's not too disheartening.
Hope everyone is enjoying the fall...
Luckily when the fundi was over at the house investigating the rat sabotage situation, me and my new roommates Max and Zahra went for a hike in Marangu (a village at the foot of Kili.) It’s a lot cooler up there and very green, with banana trees and coffee plans everywhere. The waterfall we hiked to (Nduru) with a guide named Frank, was really beautiful. We walked through residential areas first with small farms and then reached the top of the river valley where there were some hiking sticks. Other than a german couple we passed on the way down, we were the only ones there. The jungle was so beautiful colored with every different type of green you can imagine. The way down was pretty steep and on the way back I felt like I might pass out with the altitude change. It was raining off and on during the hike, which felt really wonderful to walk in. The rain let up when we reached the 80 or so foot fall where we decided to go swimming. The water was cold but bearable and swimming under the fall made my heart beat and beat and beat faster than I can remember.
Amani update:
This week is my last week at Amani without my replacement. Scary! I’ve been so sad for months thinking about this but now I actually feel ready to move on. This week was fun- we drew hippos and watering holes and street scenes. I’ve learned a lot and love many of the kids but I’m burnt out. I’m unsure about the future. I do feel like I am much more creative now, or can at least think of new ideas quickly. I applied for a job in Arusha and got an email last week about having an interview but don’t know how I feel about it. I also don’t really have a desire to live in Arusha. Anna has become a really amazing friend here and is like a sister to me so I’ll be incredibly sad to say goodbye to her. Either way I’d really like to do more with street children issues in Tanzania and would love to come back and do some research in Dar sooner rather than later. My dream would be for someone, maybe me maybe not, to develop a drop-in center for street kids where they can get a shower, rest, eat a meal, and play some games. It would be great too if there was an addiction specialist and a psychologist- I would want any kid to be able to come in off the street but in order to use the facilities they’d have to talk to the psychologist first. I don’t know how realistic that is. There should also be some first aid supplies and someone there to chaperone sick kids to nearby clinics for malaria/STI tests. I would also want a literacy program and some vocational training classes. This is just the dream in my head but there is really no place like this in this area.
In other news my darling Ibrahim Simon came back on Thursday. I didn’t want to come in because some of the kids have been so rude lately, but when Anna called to tell me he was back it was a no-brainer. I had written him a letter and we ate juice and cookies together. This probably isn’t really encouraged since the kids are usually punished for running away but he’s a child and I love him. (I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be a kind of crappy social worker). Anyways, Anna took him to the clinic the next day and it turns out he has really bad malaria from a week sleeping out on the street so it’s good she caught it in time. David, the kid with the toxic urine, actually has schistosimasis (SPPPP), the disease you get in poorer countries from bugs that live in dirty water crawling into intact skin, etc. So it turns out those idiots at the clinic didn’t need to order all those shots for him. The nurses were terrible at giving him his injections and used the biggest needle I’d ever seen on any child or adult, jammed right into the vein. Poor David was miserable and I wanted to body slam the nurse who told him there was no reason he should be crying. Another one of the kids has had swollen limbs and especially feet for the past few months especially and when I asked him, he said it’s been bothering him for a year. The clinic gave him medicine, which of course hasn’t been working, so he needs to go to KCMC for more tests this week with Anna. It’s possible his liver is failing. We hope it’s not too serious, but something is really wrong with him.
Anna has been working incredibly hard and I really feel like she is sort of taken advantage of as a volunteer. She’s the nurse right now! She, another volunteer Peter and I were all talking and we’re interesting in setting up a dental fund for the kids. This wasn’t very well received but I really think it should be implemented. It was all Anna’s idea after she took a kid to what sounds like the worst dentist ever and instead of doing a root canal for 70,000 shillings they pulled his tooth out for 2,000 because Amani couldn’t pay. Of course, they numbed his tooth and didn’t wait long enough so the numbing kicked in after the agony. There’s also another girl that needs braces and more kids that need teeth pulled. The kids don’t have any annual dental check-up at all, and many of their teeth are deteriorating due to poor water quality in villages and in Arusha.
Unfortunately, on Friday when I took a day off because some of the kids’ behavior has been truly awful, a girl who had been kicked out of Amani and sent home to her village showed back up at the front gates. Because she abused the other children she is not allowed to come back to Amani but apparently told Anna that her family murdered her grandmother in front of her and then blamed her when the police showed up. Both she and her family have serious mental problems so I’m not sure how much to believe, but whatever happened she is traumatized and alone with nowhere to go and no school or home that will take her. As Anna said, her life is ending in her early teens and it’s awful. No matter what she’s done, it’s an injustice that help cannot be found and I’m fearful that she’ll turn to prostitution.
That's it for now...the new art volunteer gets here this week! Crazy. Tomorrow I'm going on a home visit with a social worker to see where my best friend Zacharia is from. I love love love him and I'm a little apprehensive about seeing his home situation. I hope it's not too disheartening.
Hope everyone is enjoying the fall...
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Hearts and Health
The Big Picture:
My departure is becoming more real. And I’m scared. In some ways I’m looking forward to certain things. I started making a list to give myself a more positive perspective: being able to talk to friends on the phone or in person, seeing doctors who don’t ask me for gifts from America, smoothies and sandwiches and driving and bookstores. Pie. Sterilized bathrooms and doctors’ offices. I’m still scared, but it helps. Today is October 2nd and the new art teacher at Amani arrives October 15th. I’m terrified of this because it will make my departure real. The kids will know I’m leaving them and I don’t want to. I know at some point, I have to move on. I have to get paid and be an adult. I do get tired and burnt out here more intensely than in the U.S. but I feel like I live here now. My life is here and it will be so hard to pack up and go. I want to come back as soon as I can, but still it will never be the same as living here. There have been times where things have been really difficult at work and just day-to-day, but in some days I feel like I’m just getting started. I look around at the kids and think, what will I do when I have to leave you? Life will certainly feel emptier. Multiple kids have become like surrogate children to me. It’s beautiful but heartbreaking to be told I am their mother. I hope to be in a loving relationship some day and I would be surprised if I didn’t adopt, but right now, in these moments, being with these children is enough. I feel guilty for leaving. I like myself less.
The thought of going back to the U.S. (so far away) where I may not find a job is difficult as well. Even so, I’m thankful I’m not from here. Maybe that sounds awful. It’s incredibly beautiful and resourceful and conservative and I want to come back immediately, but life here is incredibly hard. Kids begin to scrub and soak and carry bucketfuls of water on their heads by the time they are in preschool. It’s a wonder they don’t have arthritis by the time their twenty. And the women. The women are one thousand times stronger than I am or ever will be. Imagine giving birth eight times with no option of pain killers, ever. Eight sets of arms and legs and shoulders. Eight little donut-shaped butts to clean. Seventy-two months of pregnancy. PREGNANCY. Cleaning, cooking, children, farming, sewing. It’s really close to incredible. It’s hard to keep in mind the big picture and stay positive when I know how hard it will be to break away, but at least if I have to leave I can appreciate my luxuries a little more.
*****
Updates:
This week was a mighty long one. Since the nurse is not here for three weeks, my friend Anna has taken her place. Mind you, she’s a volunteer. She’s been working twelve-hour days and on Tuesday I helped her to take eight kids to the clinic for malaria tests, stomach spasms, etc. Along with that, today we went back to the clinic with kids (but really, Anna has had to go multiple times a day every day this week). Did I mention, she’s a volunteer? One kid’s urine is so toxic he has to get shots twice a day. I don’t know how that happened but he has lived on the street for a while. His friends also all went back to the streets and took his clothes, so he now owns one Bart Simpson t-shirt and one incredibly tight pair of blue pants that look like they are for someone half his size. The storekeeper at Amani is out of pants and shirts for the older kids so I gave him a pair of sweats I don’t really need. The injections look so painful and he’s so tough, yet he still asked me at the end of the day today when the toys and games would be taken out again. He’s still a child inside.
Anna and I went to immigration today since some agents stopped by Amani to check our papers, and we both realized that even though we have resident permits we don’t have the resident stamp you need inside your passport. Bleh. By two o’clock all was well as we were heading back to Amani along the main highway from town when we saw one of the Amani boys walking down the road. Anna miraculously spotted him so we turned the taxi around and got out to talk with him. I talked to one of the street educators over the phone hoping he would have some words of advice for Frank but he was busy at the main hospital and instead told me “You know what to do, you can do it.” This was a little overwhelming. This is not my culture or my language. I don’t know what it’s like to be a Tanzanian boy without a family. The taxi driver helped us talk him into going back to Amani and Frank admitted he likes school (and is a great artist). At first he was pretty against the idea but slowly started to warm up. Apparently he was fighting with another boy who hit him. Who knows what really happened, but I do know his eyes looked very lost. Two younger boys left earlier this week, which has been really difficult. I love them both, and one in particular, Ibrahim, is the most well-behaved, kindest child at Amani. He’s young and scrawny and kids pick on him because he is so helpful to teachers. The thought of him out on the street is painful. Every morning he would greet me with a big hug and a “Good morning, Whitney!”. I don’t know what happened, but something must have gone wrong to force a child to leave his home and his school. He absolutely loves being in school. Frank claimed he knew where the two boys were so we turned the taxi back around and went into town to explore. I know one of the boys (Bahati…which ironically means lucky) living on the Moshi streets, who is sadly very addicted to glue and will probably stay on the street for years to come. He came to Amani once this year but only lasted a week, and considering there is no drug rehabilitation program in this country for any age group, he doesn’t have a lot of hope. I visit him sometimes and buy him bread or juice. He only looks around ten but I’m sure he’s older. Anyways, he and his friend Nemes were the only ones we saw, and I had already visited them this week to look for the two missing boys. There’s been no sign of Ibrahim or his friend Baracka, but I am thinking of them constantly and hope to see them soon. *
All and all it was quite a busy day/week and ended with me holding Zacharia’s hands as Peter, another volunteer, drained a giant sore in his knee. At this point at Amani, I am closest to Zacharia. He’s fourteen and came to Amani around the same time I did. His father is abusive and his mother is blind but his energy is so contagious and his love of life. He’s my friend and my family and I would give my life for him if it came down to it. I love him with my whole heart and that’s not an easy task. I remember reading this quote once that said something like children teach you how to love and how much love resides within you to share with others. It’s very true.
Oh also! I saw a monkey at my house in the front yard for the first time. And a wonderful little kitten who I was hoping to take home and feel sardines and milk too was taken by a crazy man. The kitten followed me home from the garden down the road from our house and I was trying to get him to jump in my purse since he was scared of our dogs but alas, he was captured.
* Anna and I went to Arusha for the day on Saturday with our new roommates. We saw former Amani kids who live in Arusha now (they’ve graduated), but no sign of Ibrahim or Baracka.
My departure is becoming more real. And I’m scared. In some ways I’m looking forward to certain things. I started making a list to give myself a more positive perspective: being able to talk to friends on the phone or in person, seeing doctors who don’t ask me for gifts from America, smoothies and sandwiches and driving and bookstores. Pie. Sterilized bathrooms and doctors’ offices. I’m still scared, but it helps. Today is October 2nd and the new art teacher at Amani arrives October 15th. I’m terrified of this because it will make my departure real. The kids will know I’m leaving them and I don’t want to. I know at some point, I have to move on. I have to get paid and be an adult. I do get tired and burnt out here more intensely than in the U.S. but I feel like I live here now. My life is here and it will be so hard to pack up and go. I want to come back as soon as I can, but still it will never be the same as living here. There have been times where things have been really difficult at work and just day-to-day, but in some days I feel like I’m just getting started. I look around at the kids and think, what will I do when I have to leave you? Life will certainly feel emptier. Multiple kids have become like surrogate children to me. It’s beautiful but heartbreaking to be told I am their mother. I hope to be in a loving relationship some day and I would be surprised if I didn’t adopt, but right now, in these moments, being with these children is enough. I feel guilty for leaving. I like myself less.
The thought of going back to the U.S. (so far away) where I may not find a job is difficult as well. Even so, I’m thankful I’m not from here. Maybe that sounds awful. It’s incredibly beautiful and resourceful and conservative and I want to come back immediately, but life here is incredibly hard. Kids begin to scrub and soak and carry bucketfuls of water on their heads by the time they are in preschool. It’s a wonder they don’t have arthritis by the time their twenty. And the women. The women are one thousand times stronger than I am or ever will be. Imagine giving birth eight times with no option of pain killers, ever. Eight sets of arms and legs and shoulders. Eight little donut-shaped butts to clean. Seventy-two months of pregnancy. PREGNANCY. Cleaning, cooking, children, farming, sewing. It’s really close to incredible. It’s hard to keep in mind the big picture and stay positive when I know how hard it will be to break away, but at least if I have to leave I can appreciate my luxuries a little more.
*****
Updates:
This week was a mighty long one. Since the nurse is not here for three weeks, my friend Anna has taken her place. Mind you, she’s a volunteer. She’s been working twelve-hour days and on Tuesday I helped her to take eight kids to the clinic for malaria tests, stomach spasms, etc. Along with that, today we went back to the clinic with kids (but really, Anna has had to go multiple times a day every day this week). Did I mention, she’s a volunteer? One kid’s urine is so toxic he has to get shots twice a day. I don’t know how that happened but he has lived on the street for a while. His friends also all went back to the streets and took his clothes, so he now owns one Bart Simpson t-shirt and one incredibly tight pair of blue pants that look like they are for someone half his size. The storekeeper at Amani is out of pants and shirts for the older kids so I gave him a pair of sweats I don’t really need. The injections look so painful and he’s so tough, yet he still asked me at the end of the day today when the toys and games would be taken out again. He’s still a child inside.
Anna and I went to immigration today since some agents stopped by Amani to check our papers, and we both realized that even though we have resident permits we don’t have the resident stamp you need inside your passport. Bleh. By two o’clock all was well as we were heading back to Amani along the main highway from town when we saw one of the Amani boys walking down the road. Anna miraculously spotted him so we turned the taxi around and got out to talk with him. I talked to one of the street educators over the phone hoping he would have some words of advice for Frank but he was busy at the main hospital and instead told me “You know what to do, you can do it.” This was a little overwhelming. This is not my culture or my language. I don’t know what it’s like to be a Tanzanian boy without a family. The taxi driver helped us talk him into going back to Amani and Frank admitted he likes school (and is a great artist). At first he was pretty against the idea but slowly started to warm up. Apparently he was fighting with another boy who hit him. Who knows what really happened, but I do know his eyes looked very lost. Two younger boys left earlier this week, which has been really difficult. I love them both, and one in particular, Ibrahim, is the most well-behaved, kindest child at Amani. He’s young and scrawny and kids pick on him because he is so helpful to teachers. The thought of him out on the street is painful. Every morning he would greet me with a big hug and a “Good morning, Whitney!”. I don’t know what happened, but something must have gone wrong to force a child to leave his home and his school. He absolutely loves being in school. Frank claimed he knew where the two boys were so we turned the taxi back around and went into town to explore. I know one of the boys (Bahati…which ironically means lucky) living on the Moshi streets, who is sadly very addicted to glue and will probably stay on the street for years to come. He came to Amani once this year but only lasted a week, and considering there is no drug rehabilitation program in this country for any age group, he doesn’t have a lot of hope. I visit him sometimes and buy him bread or juice. He only looks around ten but I’m sure he’s older. Anyways, he and his friend Nemes were the only ones we saw, and I had already visited them this week to look for the two missing boys. There’s been no sign of Ibrahim or his friend Baracka, but I am thinking of them constantly and hope to see them soon. *
All and all it was quite a busy day/week and ended with me holding Zacharia’s hands as Peter, another volunteer, drained a giant sore in his knee. At this point at Amani, I am closest to Zacharia. He’s fourteen and came to Amani around the same time I did. His father is abusive and his mother is blind but his energy is so contagious and his love of life. He’s my friend and my family and I would give my life for him if it came down to it. I love him with my whole heart and that’s not an easy task. I remember reading this quote once that said something like children teach you how to love and how much love resides within you to share with others. It’s very true.
Oh also! I saw a monkey at my house in the front yard for the first time. And a wonderful little kitten who I was hoping to take home and feel sardines and milk too was taken by a crazy man. The kitten followed me home from the garden down the road from our house and I was trying to get him to jump in my purse since he was scared of our dogs but alas, he was captured.
* Anna and I went to Arusha for the day on Saturday with our new roommates. We saw former Amani kids who live in Arusha now (they’ve graduated), but no sign of Ibrahim or Baracka.
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