Maria

 Maria

July 11, 2011

            I had the recent pleasure of spending an entire week with Neema and Maria at my home in Mkuu.  If this is what it is like to be a grandmother, I am really looking forward to it.  I had a lot of fun, especially with Maria.  I say it jokingly, but there really is something special about Maria.  She is six now and is completing her second year of pre-primary school.  Already I am seeing the benefits of enrolling her in a good, private English medium school.  I am sure she speaks English better than Yuda.

            One afternoon, Maria and I were out on the porch coloring pictures.  A man on a motorcycle drove up, stopped, and asked me something in rapid fire Kiswahili.  Maria looked up at him and said in a stern voice, “Speak English!”  The man looked quite flustered and said nothing.  I thought he probably did not know how to speak English, so I saved him from embarrassment and repeated what I thought he said in Kiswahili.  I was right; he wanted to sell me charcoal for cooking.  (Too bad I am leaving soon, because my understanding of Kiswahili is really improving). 

            There are many things that Maria loves: braiding my hair and sticking flowers behind my ears, eating, singing, dancing, drawing pictures, watching movies, and reading books, but the thing Maria loves best is to talk.  One evening when the power was out, we were all sitting together in the living room, so I suggested that we tell stories.  Maria eagerly volunteered to go first.  She told some complicated tale in Kiswahili.  Aggie translated into English.  Maria said she had another story, so we encouraged her to tell it.  I was amazed when she started telling a story in English!  OK, it was a very short story, but the child was speaking English!  Another day we boarded a very crowded bus to go to town.  Some kind old woman told Maria to sit on her lap so that she would not be crushed in the crowd.  I was standing nearby, and I could hear Maria jabbering away.  Several times I heard her say my name in conversation and I heard the bibis laugh.  I am sure that those women now know all of my business.  I was not so upset, but when we arrived in town, Agness gave Maria quite a lecture about talking to strangers.  A few days later, Maria was once again carrying on an animated conversation with a stranger, and the lady turned to me and said, “I am a primary school teacher, and this child will be going to A-level for sure!”

            Thanks to friends and family, I now have many movies on my computer.  Aggie loves to watch American movies, but Yuda often loses interest half-way through because he does not know the language and has not had enough life experience to understand what is going on through context.  When Maria and Neema asked to watch a movie, I was not sure if they would understand enough to enjoy an American movie, and I have no Tanzanian movies.  Anyway, I decided to show them Up, an animated movie about a little boy and an old man.  Aggie had once told me that I really know how to speak to children (she probably really meant that I speak Kiswahili like a child), but I thought I would try my skills at translating the plot.  It seemed mostly to be for Neema’s benefit, because Maria seemed to follow the story pretty well.  Over the course of the week, we also watched Finding Nemo, Madagascar, Over the Hedge, and a couple of episodes of Harry Potter.  Translating a cartoon may not be so difficult, but how do you explain events in Harry Potter?  Leave it to Maria; she shrieked with laughter at all the funny scenes (remember Dudley’s pig tail) and shouted “Ery Pota, Ery Pota, toka! Toka!” (Harry Potter, Harry Potter, get away from there!  Get away from there!) when Harry was in especially precarious situations.  Movies can be so educational.  Throughout the week she summarized the stories for whoever cared to listen, and I often heard her saying, “Mr. Fredrikson, I am so tired!” and singing, “I like to move it, move it.”  When I took the girls to a restaurant in Moshi, we saw some goldfish in a tank.  Maria called out, “Ruthi, Ruthi!  Look, it is Nemo!”  Luckily she did not insist that we help him escape.

            Adorable little Maria, so intelligent, so clever, so funny; she can always make me laugh.  All Maria’s stories make me wonder about her story.  How will it turn out?  I sense her insecurity at times, like the night I woke up to find an arm wrapped tightly around my neck.  As I tried to extricate myself, she latched onto me like a leach.  I held her for a bit and then felt a quick kiss on my cheek.  I kissed the top of her head and after a few minutes, I once again heard the sound of her rhythmic snoring.  I gently rolled her back onto her side of the bed.  In addition to her loving nature, she also has a very stubborn side.  She lives a difficult life, and I wonder which aspect of her personality will become the stronger one.  Will she grow up to have a compassionate heart helping out the needy, or will she become a mercenary soldier fighting only for herself?   She insists that she is coming to America to visit me one day, so maybe I will have the opportunity to find out. 

            God bless Maria, protect her spirit, and help her to grow strong in your love.

Saying Good-Bye

Saying Good-Bye

July 6, 2011

         
     I have always been an avid reader and have read many types of books; however my favorite have always been the ones in which goodness prevails over evil, problems find resolution, and stories have happy endings.  Maybe because of my optimistic outlook on life, I want to believe that this is reality, but I have lived long enough to know that life just does not unfold that way.  Often it seems that unfairness and injustice are the victors in most cases.  Problems may be resolved but are soon replaced by new ones.  Brief respites of happiness are inevitably followed by periods of pain.  

            My work here in Tanzania will soon be finished, and I desperately want to reassure you, as well as myself, that all of the people that I have written about will live happily ever after.  However, I cannot.  After all, this is real life and these are real people.  I cannot tell you how their stories will conclude.  My task was to plant the seeds; I was never meant to stay and watch them grow.   The rewards of the harvest are for God alone. 

            The sadness I feel at the thought of leaving those whom I have come to love is abated by my joy at the prospect of returning home to those I love equally as much, or even more.  Still, I struggle to say good-bye, because I know how difficult it will be for the ones I leave behind.  My heart especially aches for Yudathade and Neema.

            I remember the day when I first went to greet Yuda at his home far up the mountain.  He was a ragged looking, hungry little boy, living alone with no supervision and no love.  He was a child raising himself, facing all of his fears alone.  However, it was not his circumstances that were unusual.  There are many orphans in Tanzania living in similar or even worse conditions.  Rather, what is extraordinary is how dramatically this child’s life was changed.  I do not believe it was by luck or chance.  I believe it was by the hand of God.  It was a modern day miracle.

            In the time that I have known Yuda, I have always sensed that the thing that he needed most from me was a mother’s love.  The memory I will always cherish of Yuda is the one in which I opened the door one morning and saw him standing on my porch, a big smile on his face, joy in his eyes, happy to be “home” for the holidays.  This is what he needed; this is what he will lose when I go.  Yuda has lived without a mother for so many years that he does not even remember when she died.  I glimpsed the depth of his pain when we went to the local church office to obtain a copy of his baptismal card so that he could apply for a copy of his birth certificate.  The sister in charge may have been kindly, but sensitivity was not her strength.  As she filled in Yuda’s card, she looked at his name and said, “What kind of name is this?  Why would your parents name you Masumbuka (his tribal name)?  It is not a good name.  Do you use that name at school?  If you do, you will not have a good life.  Choose a different name.”  Yuda was speechless.  Aggie turned to me and said, “Madam, choose a new second name for Yuda.  Sister does not like the one his parents have given him.” While my mouth was still hanging open in surprise, Sister began throwing out some names: Amani (peace), Baraka (blessing).  Yes, that was the one: Baraka.  Yuda and I both liked it.  He had been blessed and he was a blessing.  Sister recorded his new name: Yudathade Baraka Liberathi Swai.

            Sister continued to talk.  Next, she asked Yuda about his parents, and he told her he really didn’t remember them.  She said, “What do you mean you don’t remember them.  How long have they been dead?  Who has been taking care of you?  What do you mean by no one?  Surely you cannot have been living alone, you are only a child. Maskini!  That is a terrible thing!” I looked over at Yuda and tears were streaming down his face.  I moved my chair closer so that I could put my arm around him. I wanted him to feel my love. I wanted him to know that I cared, even though I wondered how much comfort it would be, because soon I would be leaving him as well.

            Although I feel bad about leaving, I know that Yuda has hope now for his future, and hope is a powerful motivator.  Believing that his dreams are possible brings him closer to actually achieving them.  He goes to a good school, and his performance has improved remarkably in the year that he has been there.  He has food to eat every day.  He has books.  He has nice clothes.  He even has pocket money.  Aggie and Fidesta love him, and I have reassured him that we would continue to support him from America.  Yudathade, the rich little orphan boy: God has certainly blessed him.

            I cannot help but contrast his case with Neema’s.  Neema, whose name means “Grace of God,” is not an orphan.  She has a mother, a mother who would not or could not provide for her and never even sent her to school. Now Neema must do housework for a relative who beats her if she does the slightest thing wrong.  I wonder if she has ever been loved.  Neema and Maria recently came to visit me here in Mkuu.  I know it was only a brief respite, but Neema was able to rest from all her troubles for an entire week.  Aggie and I stuffed her with food and ripe avocadoes, hoping that she would gain a little weight.  Neema was in paradise.  Maybe for the first time in her short life, she was able to just be a child.  She laughed and joked, she sang songs and danced, she colored pictures and watched cartoons, but mostly she enjoyed the love.  Although she is almost 13, she held my hand whenever we went walking.  She sat close to me whenever she could.  She hugged me and prayed for me every night before we went to bed.  Neema does not speak English, so I decided to write her a letter in Kiswahili to remind her that God had not abandoned her.  I had a Native American “dream catcher” key chain that one of you sent me in a package, so I decided to give it to her.  If she hides it well, maybe it will give her courage and strength when life seems especially difficult and dark.  I explained the legend of the dream catcher in the letter.  Neema is not a good reader (remember she just started school about a year ago), so I asked her if she wanted me to read it to her.  She eagerly said “Yes!”  As I read her the letter, I felt her begin to shake. I glanced over at her and saw that she was silently sobbing.  I finished the letter and then we just sat for the longest time, me holding her in my arms and kissing the top of her head.  I could feel her pain radiating out of her.  I wished that I could absorb it all, but it was not possible.  Her well of sorrow is very deep.

            In order to catch the bus back to Morogoro early in the morning, it was necessary for the girls and I to spend a night in Moshi.  That experience was another treat.  While doing a bit of shopping, I noticed a store with a sign saying: We will test your eyes for a good price.  I had suspected that Neema needed glasses, so on a whim, I took her in to be tested.  I was right.  We ordered her glasses (less than $20 USD) and were told to come back in 2 hours.  We went to a restaurant and indulged in chipsi kuku (fried chicken and fries), picked up the glasses, and then returned to the hotel to watch TV.  Maria also took 2 or 3 warm water showers, something she had never done before.  The next morning I escorted them to the bus stand, carrying their big bag on my head. (It really is easier than trying to carry a heavy load with your arms).  As we waited for the bus, Neema asked me if I would be coming to Morogoro again before I return to America.  I told her probably not.  Then she began to cry.  I held her close and told her I loved her, but inside my tears were flowing for her too. 

           You see, while Yuda has hope, Neema has none.  She struggles to learn in a poor government school.  To others it may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but last year she was number 47 out of 49 students.  This year she is number 30 out of 35.  Yuda most likely will pass his exams and go on to A-level studies.  The chance of Neema passing her primary school exams and being selected for secondary school studies is very slim.  Hopefully she will at least learn to read and write.  How she will support herself in the future, I have no clue.  While Yuda has no parents, he at least has Aggie and Fidesta to love him and take care of him.  Neema has no one.  At the end of the school day, she goes home to cook and clean for people who mistreat her.  She has no time to study.  Aggie and I have talked about trying to find her a private boarding school, but it would have to be a very special school with loving, caring teachers.  She is almost 13 and only in the 4^th grade.  She needs a lot of individual help and attention.  I wonder where I would find that in Tanzania, and if I could, would her family let her go?  I so want her story to have a happy ending, but I am afraid it will not.  Only God can move her mountain and if he does, it will truly be a miracle.