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.