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.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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.
My beef with the Peace Corps Tanzania
I have to say, without trying to be a rain cloud, Peace Corps people (at least in this country) really rub me the wrong way. I know that that’s pretty much a gross generalization, blah blah blah….but I don’t care. They always try to play the p-card (p as in poverty) “oh my life is so tough I live in a village.” Dude. You get stipends, you get to travel, you get time off, you get paid thousands of dollars at the end. The villages (at least the ones I know about) are incredibly beautiful. I’m not playing the p-card and I drained the majority of my savings to come here. It sucks but the sacrifice was worth it. I think I’m mainly just annoyed because they act like an elite club and isn’t that the opposite of the point PC is trying to make? I also am not really a fan of JFK’s foreign policy (Bay of Pigs, anyone? Anyone?), which I always think of when I think of the PC (since he started it). Maybe they’re apples and oranges, whatever. So yea, I’m a little biased. At least it exists and they try to do wonderful things and no one’s perfect, lord knows.
I’m sure this sounds bitchy but imagine you’re me. You’ve lived here for nine months- not an eternity but not a tourist jaunt. Enough time to grow a baby inside your phantom uterus. You work with locals, you speak the language and you’ve finally stopped getting harassed in town because you look like you know where you’re going (oh sweet sweet victory!). It just makes it doubly insulting when these Peace Corps people who have been “at the site” for three months think they know how it all works here and say, like tonight, talk on and on in my face drunkenly about how tough they are. I mean, just because I’m white and not PC I don’t know what I’m doing? It’s also insulting to the people that live here. A person can live in a village for two or three years here and still not fully know what life is like for the people living in these isolated rural communities. Maybe they’ve lived there, but have they grown up there? Have they made families there? No. It’s possible I’m just bitter because when I meet PC volunteers they always assume I’ve only been here a few weeks and I always want to tell them to shut their pie hole. I guess it’s just frustrating because you can make a difference anywhere, it doesn’t have to be in East Africa or Southeast Asia, and it doesn’t have to be with the poorest of the poor. But if all people get out of helping others is bragging rights, then what’s the point? If that greater message is missing, then it’s all in vain. I feel pretty proud sometimes that I’ve gone out into the streets and met kids and criminals. I love that some of the Amani kids have become my best friends (and they’re fourteen). It feels liberating to bridge those connections, but I also think it’s so so important to keep in mind that what I feel lucky for is this window of observation and eventual interaction that I’ve been granted. In no way can that experience be romanticized because the lives of the kids, the criminals, the scavengers, are their own. Others can’t claim them. And the Peace Corps, volunteering, it’s definitely romanticized. If I don’t come out of my experience with a greater understanding of the unknown, then the lesson has been lost. If all I think about it is me and what I’ve done at the end of this, then I’ve failed. That’s not the point. I think the point is gaining a greater understanding of the human condition, of the relationships we make, the lives of others and what we choose to do in those seconds before our choices are made.
I’m sure this sounds bitchy but imagine you’re me. You’ve lived here for nine months- not an eternity but not a tourist jaunt. Enough time to grow a baby inside your phantom uterus. You work with locals, you speak the language and you’ve finally stopped getting harassed in town because you look like you know where you’re going (oh sweet sweet victory!). It just makes it doubly insulting when these Peace Corps people who have been “at the site” for three months think they know how it all works here and say, like tonight, talk on and on in my face drunkenly about how tough they are. I mean, just because I’m white and not PC I don’t know what I’m doing? It’s also insulting to the people that live here. A person can live in a village for two or three years here and still not fully know what life is like for the people living in these isolated rural communities. Maybe they’ve lived there, but have they grown up there? Have they made families there? No. It’s possible I’m just bitter because when I meet PC volunteers they always assume I’ve only been here a few weeks and I always want to tell them to shut their pie hole. I guess it’s just frustrating because you can make a difference anywhere, it doesn’t have to be in East Africa or Southeast Asia, and it doesn’t have to be with the poorest of the poor. But if all people get out of helping others is bragging rights, then what’s the point? If that greater message is missing, then it’s all in vain. I feel pretty proud sometimes that I’ve gone out into the streets and met kids and criminals. I love that some of the Amani kids have become my best friends (and they’re fourteen). It feels liberating to bridge those connections, but I also think it’s so so important to keep in mind that what I feel lucky for is this window of observation and eventual interaction that I’ve been granted. In no way can that experience be romanticized because the lives of the kids, the criminals, the scavengers, are their own. Others can’t claim them. And the Peace Corps, volunteering, it’s definitely romanticized. If I don’t come out of my experience with a greater understanding of the unknown, then the lesson has been lost. If all I think about it is me and what I’ve done at the end of this, then I’ve failed. That’s not the point. I think the point is gaining a greater understanding of the human condition, of the relationships we make, the lives of others and what we choose to do in those seconds before our choices are made.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Blog Update: Manual labor and white sand beaches
I’ve been out of touch for a while…so here it goes:
Right now I’ve been nursing the flu for a while, which is unfortunate because the weather is changing and it is now blazing hot in East Africa again with wind and dust. I also had a bad infection over the weekend which gave me fever and chills. This country…. Anyways, the older kids have at Amani graduate this Friday as they’ve taken their test to get into secondary school. Kids trying to get into secondary school have one chance to take the national exam to be able to go on in their education. One chance. If they don’t pass, their only option is vocational training for jobs like plumbing, electricity or sewing. I can’t imagine a single test I took at sixteen determining my life’s path. The test is in English and not easy. Fro Friday, I’m working on the slideshow I’ve been making as a present to them, which I’ll show at graduation. However since my body has decided to turn against itself with another regional illness, I’m a little nervous about making it the best version of what it could be.
In other news, a few weeks ago the volunteers, a few staff members, and mostly all of the kids went to the Amani shamba (farm) to harvest corn. It’s about a twenty-minute walk or so into the bush from the center. I wish I had brought a camera. The kids looked so beautiful set in a background of dried yellow cornhusks. I wasn’t sure how to harvest corn. It’s strange how we eat all these foods in the U.S. we don’t know how to cultivate or properly take care of from scratch. Anyways, the dry husk covers the corn, and there are about two to three on every stalk. Once you find the corn you peel off most of the husk and twist it off the stalk, then peel off the rest of it. It was pretty fun and exciting at first and I felt like an African Mama, but then the bugs started. There are these microscopic bugs that live in the fuzz at the top of the corn and eat away at the kernels. You don’t notice it at first but then the itching intensifies and every part of my body that wasn’t covered with clothing was red and swollen. It’s Ramadan right now (actually it just ended) so the Muslim kids (there are about twenty) aren’t eating or drinking during the day. They were all exhausted during the harvest, which went on for about three hours and itching like crazy. Since then the corn has been drying out in the basement and yesterday and today the kids were smashing the corn with sticks to get all the kernels off. It looked really strange….like farm kung-fu….and oddly therapeutic.
Last weekend I went to Dar es Salaam on the coast (the commercial capital of TZ), with my roommate Anna. Her boyfriend is Tanzanian and lives in Dar. It was sort of a culture shock (i.e. there is an actual mall in Dar with thirty stores and air conditioning), but I had a good weekend and I’m glad I went considering I was thinking of writing my whole blog before I left about Tanzanian men all being pigs. Really, I cannot even begin to count how many men have either a) asked me for money or b) been sexually inappropriate. Granted, I’m pretty tired of men from all countries- I don’t discriminate. In the past eight months numerous old men have told me to buy them sodas, or pay for their bus ride, which they tell the bus conductors in Swahili and think I won’t understand. The women ask too but the men are the worst. Kids are taught to beg here from a young age as well. The most frustrating part is when people ask me for things and they clearly have jobs and are wearing nice clothes. I mean, really? When so much of the country is poor and suffering that sort of thing upsets me. There’s also this crazy old woman who yelled at me once for taking a taxi to Amani. Really I’m just sick of getting treated as a means to an end or old geezers asking me for presents or sex. Doctors also ask me for presents from America. What the hell? If so many of my relatives didn’t have access to this, I would use many expletives right now. Anyways, the nice part about Dar is harassment happens less since it’s such a big city.
Dar was a nice break though. We ate at a really wonderful Ethiopian restaurant furnished with beautifully carved chairs, old lanterns and colorful umbrellas. I had never eaten Ethiopian food before and always think of famine when I think of that country, but it was really delicious! (It really made me want to go to Ethiopia and explore). You eat as a group with your hands and the plate is delicious and edible. Best of all it was all things I could eat since the bread is this spongy sourdough type thing made from rice and other gluten-free grains. The wine was a little too sweet since it’s made with honey but the food was excellent- different meats and vegetables marinated in spices and sauces. On Saturday we took a five minute ferry to an island across from the city that only cost 100 shillings (ten cents). Dar is large and congested and reminds me of California since everything is spread out and you really need a car to get around, which is why I was surprised that this island is lined with beautiful white sand, turquoise water beaches. About eight of us went…a few Tanzanians but mostly American college students doing research on public health issues in Tanz. We rented army tents outside that looked like they were from the 70s and it was strangely freezing that night. Down the beach there was a Rasta drum circle that went on until dawn. They were all incredibly stoned and excellent at making us feel continuously slightly awkward. Because of my distrust and bitterness toward Tanzanian men as well as my disinterest in the ganga or “sticky icky” as they like to call it, I didn’t stay for long. My friend Anna wanted to go for a late night moonlit swim in the ocean with her boyfriend, which we all thought was romantic from a distance, but it turned out that she swam right into some sort of spiky anemone that stuck into her leg, hand and foot, which her boyfriend later had to painfully extract from her skin. I went swimming most of the time we were there or drank passion fruit juice, which is the idea of a lovely time in my book.
At the moment I’m pretty preoccupied trying to figure my life out for the next year. Since I’m applying for grad school in international social work for the fall it’s difficult to look for an actual “job job” as I like to say. I finish at Amani end of October/early November, but I actually think it will be a lot harder for me than the kids. Three new long-term volunteers have come who I’m sure the kids will bond with, but I know I’ll think of the kids constantly. I sort of wish I had told my boss I could stay until the end of the year...but when he asked me a few months ago I wasn’t sure financially and he found a replacement art teacher incredibly fast. But to be honest, I’m also sort of burnt out. The holidays really aren’t a big deal to me and I’m sure it would be really wonderful to spend with the kids…but I will be in California by Christmas. The kids get shoeboxes every year filled with little things like pencils and stickers, etc. I’m not really sure what to do for the eight months I have until I start the school that I’ll hopefully get into. I would love to stay in Tanzania but money-wise it’s really not possible. I also want to avoid turning into a twenty-something loser who relies on her parents constantly financially. Then again I wouldn’t want to stay in Moshi and not see the kids…it’d be too difficult. I was hoping to try and stay here longer by bartending at the ex-pat bar in town but the boss (my boss’s wife) isn’t hiring until at least January….and volunteering on the side. I met a girl from Dartmouth who somehow knows the president of AMREF and she had some good contacts…including an American PHD student focusing on street children who might be looking for a research assistant in Dar so I’ve emailed the professor and I’m still fishing around for possibilities.
I feel like I really know what I want to do and surprisingly, it makes everything harder. I know I want to be a social worker, specifically working with homeless or previously homeless kids. I didn’t expect to figure that out this year but I just sort of feel it in my malaria-affected gut that this is what I’m meant to do. Maybe I’ll read this in a few years and think about how naïve I was, but for now, I feel pretty certain. The part that makes it hard is the idea of doing different things and being unsatisfied. Sometimes I think I’m so focused on thinking about the life I want to be living that I forget to live the life I have now. It’s just part of being human I suppose, but sometimes it can be crippling. I don’t want to turn into someone who is so scared of being unhappy in the future that she forgets to be happy in the present.
I feel pretty tough or at least like I have a thicker skin from working at Amani. It’s a strange feeling when new volunteers come in…just to get their perspective on what they think of Amani and the kids and I inevitably think about how much they don’t know and that I was once in their place. Just to hear the kids’ stories and see them leave and know that they’ve struggled without family or adults to lean on. Some of them are not really kids at all, more often “the child” part of them just leaves their eyes. Other times I forget what they’ve gone through, both individually and collectively, because they are still able to experience some part of childhood.
My good friend, roommate and co-worker Anna is working on a drug-intake form to be filled out by kids when they first arrive. She’s in Arusha now visiting the kids on the street. The drugs kids most commonly do are glue and “mari-ja-juana” as they say (both about twenty cents U.S.). Others include “kiwi” or shoe polish, coke (which is becoming more and more popular as it becomes more prominent across East Africa), and car petrol from fuel tanks (which is inhaled).
I know it’ll be nice to go back to the U.S., especially to see a doctor who, say…doesn’t use a flashlight from their cell phone to look into my mouth and ears. Ha! But when I really think about it, I don’t really miss the U.S. that much. I miss food at times and new music and not being a minority, but really, I like the challenge of living here. I’m sure I bitch about it a lot, but I really do feel blessed to be able to live in another country. I love speaking another language the majority of the time, unless it’s with a lot of perverts. I don’t know how much I’ve really helped the kids, and I still think at times that I’m doing more of a disservice becoming attached to the kids and then leaving them. I’m pretty sure that they’ve given me more happiness than I could ever give to them. I do know that I don’t regret coming here and a part of my heart, like any place that I live, will stay here forever.
All the best…. Whitney
Right now I’ve been nursing the flu for a while, which is unfortunate because the weather is changing and it is now blazing hot in East Africa again with wind and dust. I also had a bad infection over the weekend which gave me fever and chills. This country…. Anyways, the older kids have at Amani graduate this Friday as they’ve taken their test to get into secondary school. Kids trying to get into secondary school have one chance to take the national exam to be able to go on in their education. One chance. If they don’t pass, their only option is vocational training for jobs like plumbing, electricity or sewing. I can’t imagine a single test I took at sixteen determining my life’s path. The test is in English and not easy. Fro Friday, I’m working on the slideshow I’ve been making as a present to them, which I’ll show at graduation. However since my body has decided to turn against itself with another regional illness, I’m a little nervous about making it the best version of what it could be.
In other news, a few weeks ago the volunteers, a few staff members, and mostly all of the kids went to the Amani shamba (farm) to harvest corn. It’s about a twenty-minute walk or so into the bush from the center. I wish I had brought a camera. The kids looked so beautiful set in a background of dried yellow cornhusks. I wasn’t sure how to harvest corn. It’s strange how we eat all these foods in the U.S. we don’t know how to cultivate or properly take care of from scratch. Anyways, the dry husk covers the corn, and there are about two to three on every stalk. Once you find the corn you peel off most of the husk and twist it off the stalk, then peel off the rest of it. It was pretty fun and exciting at first and I felt like an African Mama, but then the bugs started. There are these microscopic bugs that live in the fuzz at the top of the corn and eat away at the kernels. You don’t notice it at first but then the itching intensifies and every part of my body that wasn’t covered with clothing was red and swollen. It’s Ramadan right now (actually it just ended) so the Muslim kids (there are about twenty) aren’t eating or drinking during the day. They were all exhausted during the harvest, which went on for about three hours and itching like crazy. Since then the corn has been drying out in the basement and yesterday and today the kids were smashing the corn with sticks to get all the kernels off. It looked really strange….like farm kung-fu….and oddly therapeutic.
Last weekend I went to Dar es Salaam on the coast (the commercial capital of TZ), with my roommate Anna. Her boyfriend is Tanzanian and lives in Dar. It was sort of a culture shock (i.e. there is an actual mall in Dar with thirty stores and air conditioning), but I had a good weekend and I’m glad I went considering I was thinking of writing my whole blog before I left about Tanzanian men all being pigs. Really, I cannot even begin to count how many men have either a) asked me for money or b) been sexually inappropriate. Granted, I’m pretty tired of men from all countries- I don’t discriminate. In the past eight months numerous old men have told me to buy them sodas, or pay for their bus ride, which they tell the bus conductors in Swahili and think I won’t understand. The women ask too but the men are the worst. Kids are taught to beg here from a young age as well. The most frustrating part is when people ask me for things and they clearly have jobs and are wearing nice clothes. I mean, really? When so much of the country is poor and suffering that sort of thing upsets me. There’s also this crazy old woman who yelled at me once for taking a taxi to Amani. Really I’m just sick of getting treated as a means to an end or old geezers asking me for presents or sex. Doctors also ask me for presents from America. What the hell? If so many of my relatives didn’t have access to this, I would use many expletives right now. Anyways, the nice part about Dar is harassment happens less since it’s such a big city.
Dar was a nice break though. We ate at a really wonderful Ethiopian restaurant furnished with beautifully carved chairs, old lanterns and colorful umbrellas. I had never eaten Ethiopian food before and always think of famine when I think of that country, but it was really delicious! (It really made me want to go to Ethiopia and explore). You eat as a group with your hands and the plate is delicious and edible. Best of all it was all things I could eat since the bread is this spongy sourdough type thing made from rice and other gluten-free grains. The wine was a little too sweet since it’s made with honey but the food was excellent- different meats and vegetables marinated in spices and sauces. On Saturday we took a five minute ferry to an island across from the city that only cost 100 shillings (ten cents). Dar is large and congested and reminds me of California since everything is spread out and you really need a car to get around, which is why I was surprised that this island is lined with beautiful white sand, turquoise water beaches. About eight of us went…a few Tanzanians but mostly American college students doing research on public health issues in Tanz. We rented army tents outside that looked like they were from the 70s and it was strangely freezing that night. Down the beach there was a Rasta drum circle that went on until dawn. They were all incredibly stoned and excellent at making us feel continuously slightly awkward. Because of my distrust and bitterness toward Tanzanian men as well as my disinterest in the ganga or “sticky icky” as they like to call it, I didn’t stay for long. My friend Anna wanted to go for a late night moonlit swim in the ocean with her boyfriend, which we all thought was romantic from a distance, but it turned out that she swam right into some sort of spiky anemone that stuck into her leg, hand and foot, which her boyfriend later had to painfully extract from her skin. I went swimming most of the time we were there or drank passion fruit juice, which is the idea of a lovely time in my book.
At the moment I’m pretty preoccupied trying to figure my life out for the next year. Since I’m applying for grad school in international social work for the fall it’s difficult to look for an actual “job job” as I like to say. I finish at Amani end of October/early November, but I actually think it will be a lot harder for me than the kids. Three new long-term volunteers have come who I’m sure the kids will bond with, but I know I’ll think of the kids constantly. I sort of wish I had told my boss I could stay until the end of the year...but when he asked me a few months ago I wasn’t sure financially and he found a replacement art teacher incredibly fast. But to be honest, I’m also sort of burnt out. The holidays really aren’t a big deal to me and I’m sure it would be really wonderful to spend with the kids…but I will be in California by Christmas. The kids get shoeboxes every year filled with little things like pencils and stickers, etc. I’m not really sure what to do for the eight months I have until I start the school that I’ll hopefully get into. I would love to stay in Tanzania but money-wise it’s really not possible. I also want to avoid turning into a twenty-something loser who relies on her parents constantly financially. Then again I wouldn’t want to stay in Moshi and not see the kids…it’d be too difficult. I was hoping to try and stay here longer by bartending at the ex-pat bar in town but the boss (my boss’s wife) isn’t hiring until at least January….and volunteering on the side. I met a girl from Dartmouth who somehow knows the president of AMREF and she had some good contacts…including an American PHD student focusing on street children who might be looking for a research assistant in Dar so I’ve emailed the professor and I’m still fishing around for possibilities.
I feel like I really know what I want to do and surprisingly, it makes everything harder. I know I want to be a social worker, specifically working with homeless or previously homeless kids. I didn’t expect to figure that out this year but I just sort of feel it in my malaria-affected gut that this is what I’m meant to do. Maybe I’ll read this in a few years and think about how naïve I was, but for now, I feel pretty certain. The part that makes it hard is the idea of doing different things and being unsatisfied. Sometimes I think I’m so focused on thinking about the life I want to be living that I forget to live the life I have now. It’s just part of being human I suppose, but sometimes it can be crippling. I don’t want to turn into someone who is so scared of being unhappy in the future that she forgets to be happy in the present.
I feel pretty tough or at least like I have a thicker skin from working at Amani. It’s a strange feeling when new volunteers come in…just to get their perspective on what they think of Amani and the kids and I inevitably think about how much they don’t know and that I was once in their place. Just to hear the kids’ stories and see them leave and know that they’ve struggled without family or adults to lean on. Some of them are not really kids at all, more often “the child” part of them just leaves their eyes. Other times I forget what they’ve gone through, both individually and collectively, because they are still able to experience some part of childhood.
My good friend, roommate and co-worker Anna is working on a drug-intake form to be filled out by kids when they first arrive. She’s in Arusha now visiting the kids on the street. The drugs kids most commonly do are glue and “mari-ja-juana” as they say (both about twenty cents U.S.). Others include “kiwi” or shoe polish, coke (which is becoming more and more popular as it becomes more prominent across East Africa), and car petrol from fuel tanks (which is inhaled).
I know it’ll be nice to go back to the U.S., especially to see a doctor who, say…doesn’t use a flashlight from their cell phone to look into my mouth and ears. Ha! But when I really think about it, I don’t really miss the U.S. that much. I miss food at times and new music and not being a minority, but really, I like the challenge of living here. I’m sure I bitch about it a lot, but I really do feel blessed to be able to live in another country. I love speaking another language the majority of the time, unless it’s with a lot of perverts. I don’t know how much I’ve really helped the kids, and I still think at times that I’m doing more of a disservice becoming attached to the kids and then leaving them. I’m pretty sure that they’ve given me more happiness than I could ever give to them. I do know that I don’t regret coming here and a part of my heart, like any place that I live, will stay here forever.
All the best…. Whitney
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Blog Update: Glue, scrap metal and other educational stuff...
Last week I was sitting on the benches outside Amani and Frances, who’s around 11, kept pointing at the metal parts of the bench and saying “Hey Whitney, mia tano!”. At first I thought he was just sort of talking to himself and speaking nonsense. Then I realized “mia tano” means 500, as in shillings, and he was talking about how much the metal on the bench would sell for. I asked him if he used to sell scrap metal when he was on the street and he was like “Oh yea! I know all the good places you can sell it.” Then all the kids chimed in about where they thought was the best place to sell it. It turns out a lot of the boys have a background in sales. Surprising, eh?
The discussion then led to what they would buy with their money, which then led to a discussion of glue. I finally understand enough Swahili so that when their babbling on about things I know what they’re talking about. At least 80 percent of the time. It also turns out that most of them had a glue habit at one point. It’s pretty damn cheap, 200 shillings or 16 or some odd cents, and suppresses hunger so I guess sort of the appeal is survival. Even so I told them now it’s not good for them to do it because it will mess up their brain and because of all the theft in the play/art room I’m locking up the glue.
I’m also locking up the stickers and the balloons. On Thursday morning I had to go to each classroom and collect the kids keys to their cubbies. It was pretty awful and I felt like I worked a juvenile detention center. Even though it’s not like that at all, I felt pretty awful having to raid each kids square foot of space they get to call their own. Three kids had stolen close to 100 balloons, a coloring book and some scissors, which may not sound terrible, but if I let these kids get away with it they’ll keep stealing. So now they aren’t allowed in the play/art room for at least a month.
On Saturday I went into Amani with some new toys for the kids that I bought at the only fancy supermarket we have outside of town on the way to Arusha. I bought two Barbie scooters, one batman costume, one spiderman mask, and two spiderman boxing gloves. The scooters had to be put together and one of the kids already manage to break a wheel off. I had considered going to Arusha that day to do some food shopping for myself, but it was actually pretty nice to bring the kids new things instead.
Augustino has been acting more quiet around me these days. I can’t really describe the guilt I feel that I will eventually be leaving him. I love him so much and I know he could never be my son but I still want to be part of his life. It’s painful to know that once I leave Tanzania I can’t come back until I have $2,000 to fly me round trip. I’m scared to imagine the emptiness I’ll feel not being part of the kids’ lives.
In other news, I keep having this dream where I’ve gone to Whole Foods to meet my dad and I’m waiting for him in a cookbook section away from the food since I’m so overwhelmed (does Whole Foods even have a book section by the way?). Anyways I’m so overwhelmed by all the food in one place coming from so many different places that I faint, come to, and then have a panic attack. This could be a real possibility. I’m sort of terrified of adjusting back to a place with super markets where canned food isn’t the main option and book stores and music stores and set prices on top of everything. It all sounds really scary. Although one thing that sounds really amazing is nice bedding- like a big comforter you can sink into like a cloud, and constant electricity to beat. But still, that’s one nice thing. I can’t imagine having all these nice things, all these insane luxuries, in one place. There’s the fancy bedding, television, super markets, access to a car, high-speed internet, and clothing stores with NEW clothing since it’s really only possible to find second-hand clothes here from rich countries. Let’s not forget potable water, toilets that don’t leak sewage into your backyard, and trash that gets carted away from your house instead of burned right in front of it for you to smell on Sunday morning.
I watched this movie called “The Gods Must Be Crazy” the other day and it was about a bushman in the Kalahari Desert (in Botswana) who sees an empty Coke bottle drop out of the sky one day. He brings it back to his village and at first everyone thinks it’s a wonderful gift from the gods. They find out they can use it as a great new tool for just about everything, even as a musical instrument, and eventually they begin to fight over it. Whereas before they got everything they needed from the earth, here is this one item that they can’t share equally. It can’t be reproduced and just one person can’t own it. Everyone becomes so unhappy that the bushman who found it, Xi, decides to take it to the end of the earth. Along the way he meets some white researchers and a teacher from South Africa looking to escape her life in the city. Anyways it’s pretty funny and it’s a good story I think. It got me thinking about possessions and ownership. How complicated our lives are and how we contribute to make them more complicated. Not just wanting for certain material things, but becoming so isolated in our own outlook that we start to push away the things that matter most, like our relationships with other people. I think that’s really what I’m afraid of going back to. I know that eventually I want to practice social work in different countries, but it’s unsettling to think about going back to live in a big city without a real sense of belonging with anyone. Even though I’m reminded I’m an outsider here, close to everyday, I share a house with volunteers and I go to work to see the kids who’ve welcomed me with open arms. Together, they form some sort of community, and if there’s anything worth fighting for, it’s the companionship and love you share with others.
The discussion then led to what they would buy with their money, which then led to a discussion of glue. I finally understand enough Swahili so that when their babbling on about things I know what they’re talking about. At least 80 percent of the time. It also turns out that most of them had a glue habit at one point. It’s pretty damn cheap, 200 shillings or 16 or some odd cents, and suppresses hunger so I guess sort of the appeal is survival. Even so I told them now it’s not good for them to do it because it will mess up their brain and because of all the theft in the play/art room I’m locking up the glue.
I’m also locking up the stickers and the balloons. On Thursday morning I had to go to each classroom and collect the kids keys to their cubbies. It was pretty awful and I felt like I worked a juvenile detention center. Even though it’s not like that at all, I felt pretty awful having to raid each kids square foot of space they get to call their own. Three kids had stolen close to 100 balloons, a coloring book and some scissors, which may not sound terrible, but if I let these kids get away with it they’ll keep stealing. So now they aren’t allowed in the play/art room for at least a month.
On Saturday I went into Amani with some new toys for the kids that I bought at the only fancy supermarket we have outside of town on the way to Arusha. I bought two Barbie scooters, one batman costume, one spiderman mask, and two spiderman boxing gloves. The scooters had to be put together and one of the kids already manage to break a wheel off. I had considered going to Arusha that day to do some food shopping for myself, but it was actually pretty nice to bring the kids new things instead.
Augustino has been acting more quiet around me these days. I can’t really describe the guilt I feel that I will eventually be leaving him. I love him so much and I know he could never be my son but I still want to be part of his life. It’s painful to know that once I leave Tanzania I can’t come back until I have $2,000 to fly me round trip. I’m scared to imagine the emptiness I’ll feel not being part of the kids’ lives.
In other news, I keep having this dream where I’ve gone to Whole Foods to meet my dad and I’m waiting for him in a cookbook section away from the food since I’m so overwhelmed (does Whole Foods even have a book section by the way?). Anyways I’m so overwhelmed by all the food in one place coming from so many different places that I faint, come to, and then have a panic attack. This could be a real possibility. I’m sort of terrified of adjusting back to a place with super markets where canned food isn’t the main option and book stores and music stores and set prices on top of everything. It all sounds really scary. Although one thing that sounds really amazing is nice bedding- like a big comforter you can sink into like a cloud, and constant electricity to beat. But still, that’s one nice thing. I can’t imagine having all these nice things, all these insane luxuries, in one place. There’s the fancy bedding, television, super markets, access to a car, high-speed internet, and clothing stores with NEW clothing since it’s really only possible to find second-hand clothes here from rich countries. Let’s not forget potable water, toilets that don’t leak sewage into your backyard, and trash that gets carted away from your house instead of burned right in front of it for you to smell on Sunday morning.
I watched this movie called “The Gods Must Be Crazy” the other day and it was about a bushman in the Kalahari Desert (in Botswana) who sees an empty Coke bottle drop out of the sky one day. He brings it back to his village and at first everyone thinks it’s a wonderful gift from the gods. They find out they can use it as a great new tool for just about everything, even as a musical instrument, and eventually they begin to fight over it. Whereas before they got everything they needed from the earth, here is this one item that they can’t share equally. It can’t be reproduced and just one person can’t own it. Everyone becomes so unhappy that the bushman who found it, Xi, decides to take it to the end of the earth. Along the way he meets some white researchers and a teacher from South Africa looking to escape her life in the city. Anyways it’s pretty funny and it’s a good story I think. It got me thinking about possessions and ownership. How complicated our lives are and how we contribute to make them more complicated. Not just wanting for certain material things, but becoming so isolated in our own outlook that we start to push away the things that matter most, like our relationships with other people. I think that’s really what I’m afraid of going back to. I know that eventually I want to practice social work in different countries, but it’s unsettling to think about going back to live in a big city without a real sense of belonging with anyone. Even though I’m reminded I’m an outsider here, close to everyday, I share a house with volunteers and I go to work to see the kids who’ve welcomed me with open arms. Together, they form some sort of community, and if there’s anything worth fighting for, it’s the companionship and love you share with others.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Blog Update: Chaos and kiddos
The big news is I’ve decided to apply to grad school for international social work next year. I’m really excited about this and really have my heart set on going to Boston College (they have an amazing program for international work). I really hope to specialize in child services as well.
Work has been busy. The kids today were debating my race. That’s always interesting and funny. Whitney is “my mzungu” aka “my white person.” Whitney is black. No she’s not black she’s white. No she’s not white she’s yellow, red and white. Great. Thanks for the clarification.
It’s strange but most days I feel like a mother of sixty children, or an incredibly underpaid nanny. I never thought that I would know what it feels like to have children this young. I don’t have a career and I’m definitely nowhere close to being in a long-term relationship, but somehow I have a second family. I know I don’t technically have children and that it might seem like I’m exaggerating my role to sound more self-important, but I do feel like a guardian or a kind of surrogate mother to many of the kids I see each day. The kids come to me when they’re sad, or they’re angry, or they need clothes and shoes repaired. They want me to hold their hand, to read to them, to hold them close. They’ve missed out on some much positive attention and guidance. I am like the Pied Piper when kids follow me around waiting for games or hoping to draw.
There’s Zacharia, 14, who is always asking to read English books and was irked when I went on safari; Charlie, 10, who has six fingers and six toes and an abscess on his head but is one of the sweetest children you’ll ever meet and is always holding my hand trying to snuggle or take naps on my lap. Augustino, 14, goes to school outside Amani but writes me little love letters and draws beautifully. Sometimes I wish more than anything that he was my child. Elbaricki, 13, pretends to be crying whenever I see him so I’ll call his bluff and make him laugh. Victor, 14, loves Jamaica, red, green and yellow, and saying funny things in broken English. There’s Kalisti, 11, with his big lips and unfortunate love for the song “Down by the Riverside,” which he listens to on repeat sometimes for hours; Zainabu, 12, with her small head and Mickey Mouse ears (she is always humming so pleased with herself). Zulfa, Amina and Asha’s shiny little faces are missing each morning when I come to work. They left Amani a few weeks ago. They use to dance around so sweetly in their bright African blankets like three little fairies.
I visited Zulfa, Amina and Asha again today at their nursery school and tried to “teach” drawing to their class. The school is out in the country amongst all these sunflower and corn fields. They were out of control. They kept putting their tiny hands in my pockets and trying to squeeze my boobs (“oh very small teacher!”). I was trying to teach them how to drawn flowers and gave each little gal and guy two crayons. Every time they would draw a line or circle they’d shout “ANGALIA mwalimu!” (Look teacher!). Later we tried drawing Kilimanjaro and a house and a chicken and a cow and a cat and a mama and a mtoto and by then it was chaos. They were all holding my hands or hitting each other by the end. So basically I have no control forty five year olds. They drank their porridge and were happy as clams.
On Thursday I also visited Augustino and his three friends at primary school down the road further into the bush at Shrimatunda, after picking up Kalisti and Zainabu and the special needs school with Anna. I think he was a little mortified to have all the extra attention but I was so proud to see how studious he was taking notes while everyone else was just looking at the alien (me).
The kids are stealing a lot, which I get really tired of. I get pictures printed and they steal some of them, or they steal toys, or they steal pencils, etc etc. I can sort of understand it since I know how difficult it would be to have so few things to call your own, but I figured since I’ve been at Amani for close to six months the rate of stealing would…depreciate.
Old habits die hard.
Last Sunday my house mates and I went to dinner at Mage's house (she's the woman who takes care of our house). She doesn't have any electricity and she, her husband and her daughter all sleep in the same bed together, but they were so welcoming and, as is the Tanzanian way, served us loads of food.
It’s still overcast and cool in Moshi but I can’t complain. I keep having bad dreams, particularly one where I wake up in the U.S. and don’t know how I got there and want to go back to Tanzania. So maybe this place is becoming more of a part of me than I thought. I really have no idea what is going on in the news/world but really, I’m okay with that.
Work has been busy. The kids today were debating my race. That’s always interesting and funny. Whitney is “my mzungu” aka “my white person.” Whitney is black. No she’s not black she’s white. No she’s not white she’s yellow, red and white. Great. Thanks for the clarification.
It’s strange but most days I feel like a mother of sixty children, or an incredibly underpaid nanny. I never thought that I would know what it feels like to have children this young. I don’t have a career and I’m definitely nowhere close to being in a long-term relationship, but somehow I have a second family. I know I don’t technically have children and that it might seem like I’m exaggerating my role to sound more self-important, but I do feel like a guardian or a kind of surrogate mother to many of the kids I see each day. The kids come to me when they’re sad, or they’re angry, or they need clothes and shoes repaired. They want me to hold their hand, to read to them, to hold them close. They’ve missed out on some much positive attention and guidance. I am like the Pied Piper when kids follow me around waiting for games or hoping to draw.
There’s Zacharia, 14, who is always asking to read English books and was irked when I went on safari; Charlie, 10, who has six fingers and six toes and an abscess on his head but is one of the sweetest children you’ll ever meet and is always holding my hand trying to snuggle or take naps on my lap. Augustino, 14, goes to school outside Amani but writes me little love letters and draws beautifully. Sometimes I wish more than anything that he was my child. Elbaricki, 13, pretends to be crying whenever I see him so I’ll call his bluff and make him laugh. Victor, 14, loves Jamaica, red, green and yellow, and saying funny things in broken English. There’s Kalisti, 11, with his big lips and unfortunate love for the song “Down by the Riverside,” which he listens to on repeat sometimes for hours; Zainabu, 12, with her small head and Mickey Mouse ears (she is always humming so pleased with herself). Zulfa, Amina and Asha’s shiny little faces are missing each morning when I come to work. They left Amani a few weeks ago. They use to dance around so sweetly in their bright African blankets like three little fairies.
I visited Zulfa, Amina and Asha again today at their nursery school and tried to “teach” drawing to their class. The school is out in the country amongst all these sunflower and corn fields. They were out of control. They kept putting their tiny hands in my pockets and trying to squeeze my boobs (“oh very small teacher!”). I was trying to teach them how to drawn flowers and gave each little gal and guy two crayons. Every time they would draw a line or circle they’d shout “ANGALIA mwalimu!” (Look teacher!). Later we tried drawing Kilimanjaro and a house and a chicken and a cow and a cat and a mama and a mtoto and by then it was chaos. They were all holding my hands or hitting each other by the end. So basically I have no control forty five year olds. They drank their porridge and were happy as clams.
On Thursday I also visited Augustino and his three friends at primary school down the road further into the bush at Shrimatunda, after picking up Kalisti and Zainabu and the special needs school with Anna. I think he was a little mortified to have all the extra attention but I was so proud to see how studious he was taking notes while everyone else was just looking at the alien (me).
The kids are stealing a lot, which I get really tired of. I get pictures printed and they steal some of them, or they steal toys, or they steal pencils, etc etc. I can sort of understand it since I know how difficult it would be to have so few things to call your own, but I figured since I’ve been at Amani for close to six months the rate of stealing would…depreciate.
Old habits die hard.
Last Sunday my house mates and I went to dinner at Mage's house (she's the woman who takes care of our house). She doesn't have any electricity and she, her husband and her daughter all sleep in the same bed together, but they were so welcoming and, as is the Tanzanian way, served us loads of food.
It’s still overcast and cool in Moshi but I can’t complain. I keep having bad dreams, particularly one where I wake up in the U.S. and don’t know how I got there and want to go back to Tanzania. So maybe this place is becoming more of a part of me than I thought. I really have no idea what is going on in the news/world but really, I’m okay with that.
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