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.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
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.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)