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.