Kwa Heri Tanzania! Karibu Tena Marekani!

Kwa Heri Tanzania, Karibu Tena Marekani!

September 23, 2011

            It will be easy to walk away from this place and all of the challenges that accompany life here.  I will not miss the dust or the mud or the lack of electricity and running water.  I want to enjoy a hot shower again, and not have to make do with scoops of water poured over my head while sitting on a cold bathroom floor.   I want to have internet every day and I want to know what is going on in the world.  I am tired of pushing my way onto uncomfortable, overcrowded buses hoping they will make it to where I want to go.  Yes, I love America, and I want to go home.  However, I know that leaving Tanzania will not be easy.  Although I am eager to experience life in a developed country once more, I cannot begin to describe how I feel about leaving behind those whom I have come to love: especially those who love me for who I am and not just for what I can offer them.

            My first parting was with Yuda, and it was the most difficult of all.  I will always remember the day I first met him; he was a scruffy, lonely little boy surprised to see a “mzungu” at his home.  Now he smiles a lot, he seems more confident, and he has hope for his future.  I have found him a place to stay for school holidays with an older couple that I met at church.  The Leopolds are kind and compassionate.  They will be good to Yuda; however, why did my heart hurt so much as he sobbed in my arms when I said good-bye?  Is it possible that I had truly become his mother?  I must admit that I cried too, because somehow I know that this African child has become my son.

            I have said good-bye to many students over the years, and I may have felt a bit of regret at the loss of the relationships for a short time.  However, I did not feel too bad, because I knew that almost all of them would be moving on to something better.  That is not the case with my students in Tanzania.  When I walked into the form 6 classroom for the last time, the students all stood to greet me.  I was overwhelmed with emotion as I noticed their tears.  How could I leave them?  Would they be able to maintain their confidence or would they lose their hope after I was gone?  I could sense their fear.  Oh God, please be with them and give them peace!  I have only taught form 5 for one term, but I have grown quite fond of them too.  Who will encourage them now?  Who will teach them how to teach themselves?  Who will see that every student has occasional access to a book?  The students wanted to thank me for all I had done for them, but they were embarrassed because all they could give me was a song.  It was a beautiful song, a song about angels.  To me it was worth more than anything money could buy.

 

            When I am stressed, I tend to turn inward for strength.  I prefer to be alone to work through my problems; however, Fidesta and Aggie wanted to escort me all the way to the airport in Dar.  I told them that it would be painful, but they insisted on coming.  Victoria and Maria traveled from Morogoro.  Aggie’s brother and Mr. Leopold’s daughter also came.  I said farewell to Fidesta’s uncle and brother and many others by phone.  Aggie and Fidesta sang me our favorite song one last time (Nimepata Yesu moyoni wangu: I have got Jesus in my heart).  Maria traced the bones in my hand with her finger and seemed to be trying to memorize its color.  Victoria gave me a long letter thanking me for all I had done and reaffirming her belief that all that had transpired over the last two years had, indeed, been done by the grace of God.  Aggie begged me not to forget them.  I assured her that that would not be possible.  Hearts broke; tears flowed, we said good-bye.  I entered the airport alone.

            Kwa heri Tanzania! (Farewell Tanzania).  Kwa herini my friends!  Thank you all for your support and pray without ceasing; that is, live each day of your life as if it were a prayer to God.    

    

Wanting Water

Wanting Water

September 7, 2011

            I have had much to think about lately, but many of my thoughts have been about water.  In America, I think we take the availability of fresh, clean drinking water for granted.  If you are thirsty, you are able to turn on the tap and fill a glass and drink.  However, in many parts of the world, that is not the case.  As Elizabeth and I traveled across the flat, dry Arusha highlands, I began to realize just what it means to have no water.  Most of the Arusha plains seemed to be just dust fields dotted with dry scrub brush and fragmented by barren river beds, which will rapidly carry away any rain that happens to fall, because it has nowhere else to go. 

Finding water during the dry season is the most important daily chore and everything else revolves around that task.  Going to school is not an option for many children during this time, because they must herd the cattle, donkeys and goats to the water holes.  When they find one, they join the others filling their buckets and jugs at one end, while the animals wade in the water and drink at the other.  The water hole is no more than a large mud puddle, yet for most people in this region, it is water for drinking, for bathing, for cooking, and for washing clothes.  That muddy, green, bacterial infested, parasite-laden water is life.

            Fidesta recently returned home for term break.  Her school happens to be far out on the Arusha plain.  With more than 1000 students and no water, the administrators had no choice but to close school early.  She told us how difficult it was to obtain water.  Water holes in this region are carefully guarded by the Masai people. Students are allowed to fetch water only once a week: boys on Saturday and girls on Sunday.  The water holes are several kilometers from school and students must never go without a guardian.  If the Masai are there with their animals, students must wait until the animals have finished drinking before filling their buckets.  Sometimes the Masai decide that there is not enough water to share and they chase the students away.  Fidesta buys bottled water at the school shop for drinking because she is afraid of disease, but she uses the dirty water in her bucket for bathing and washing clothes.  She describes her daily micro bath as “passport picture size” bathing.  The school toilets are flush toilets which are no longer flushed.  She said that it is so unpleasant to use them that many students have begun going outside in the bush.  At night when it is not safe to go out, many just go inside on the floor.  

            As thoughts of cholera, dysentery, and typhoid ran through my head, I asked Fidesta if she wanted to shift schools again, but she said it was too late, and despite the problems there, she said that Longido does well with academics.  They have teachers, and the teachers actually enter the classroom and teach.  She likes her school and she wants to stay.  I searched through my first aid kit and found some water purification tablets.  I gave her every pack of wet wipes and hand sanitizer that I had left.  Then I prayed that the rains would come again soon and that God would keep her safe.

            Conditions like this may seem appalling and unusual, but lack of clean water is a problem faced by many people throughout the developing world.  The next time you flush a toilet, water your lawn or get up in the night to get a drink, thank God for this blessing and say a prayer for the men and women and children who suffer because they lack clean water to drink.   

        

Safari Njema

  Safari Njema

 (A Good Journey)

September 3, 2011

     My daughter recently came to visit me here in Tanzania, and since it may be a once in a lifetime trip for her and also because I wanted to see some of the best of Tanzania before I leave, I decided to put aside my kanga and head wrap, pull on my one pair of ill-fitting jeans and become a tourist.  We took the Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar ferry and spent a delightful day and night in Stone Town.  The thing that was delightful was that it was not crowded and there were not many street vendors to harass us.  This was probably because we arrived on Friday (Muslim holy day) during the holy month of Ramadan. The hotel was luxurious (at least I thought so, but then anything with a hot water shower and electricity would seem luxurious to me).  We found a quaint café nearby with a nice view of the Indian Ocean and we spent the late afternoon talking and eating ice cream.  
 

Our Zanzibar trip was wonderful, but the trip back to Dar was not so fun.  The sea was rough and even though I took motion sickness medicine, I had to join many of my fellow passengers outside at the railing, including the aides to the former president of Tanzania.  The former president stayed inside to regurgitate his lunch in a bag. (I wondered why he would choose to travel by public ferry and not by private plane).

        
Early the next morning Elizabeth and I boarded the Dar Express, a luxury bus, to travel back to Mkuu. A luxury bus means that everyone must be seated.  Most likely you will have your own seat, although sometimes a small child may sit on your lap.  Often the seats are overbooked, and if you are unlucky, you may have to sit on a bucket or a soda crate in the aisle even though you are still required to pay full price for your ticket. If a good Samaritan gives you something to pad your seat, make sure to say “thanks” because the plastic ridges on the bucket get very uncomfortable during the ten hour ride.  

    
    I was really excited to have Elizabeth visit my site.  I wanted her to meet all of the people that I have written about.  I wanted her to see all of the things that I have seen.  I wanted her to experience everything that I have experienced here in Mkuu.  However, after four days of greeting strangers, struggling to make sense of an unfamiliar culture, listening to me speak an odd mix of English and Swahili, even to her, and not understanding a word anyone said, she was thoroughly overwhelmed. I realized then that I was exposing her to too much too soon.  I have lived here for two years.  What seems ordinary to me now may have at one time seemed extraordinary.  I remembered all of the times that I longed to talk to someone, anyone, who could speak fluent English.  Now, although I might speak very bad Swahili, I can carry on a fairly long conversation. I remembered wanting to get out of the limelight but having nowhere to hide. Now I do not seem to be such a novelty in my community, but on days when I do, I know where to go.  There was a time in my life when I would have been disgusted by some of the foods that I eat here, and I would have been annoyed by some of the habits of my Tanzanian friends.  Now many things do not seem so bizarre, although I still refuse to eat goat intestines and cow stomachs.  It seems ironic that when I have finally adapted to this culture, I am preparing to leave it behind. 

Elizabeth may not have felt so nostalgic, because she seemed quite happy to get out of town.  After the cultural overload in Mkuu, we donned our tourist clothes again and went on safari to Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Manyara National Parks. Last year I went in a school bus; this year I traveled in an air conditioned land cruiser.  There was also a big difference in price, but still the trip was wonderful.  It was awesome to see so many African animals up close.  It was like being in the “Lion King.”  In fact, I might actually have been humming the theme song along the way.  I was nice to share that adventure together.

            After a brief stay at a beach resort in Dar, Elizabeth went home to America and I went home to Mkuu.  Her life will continue as she left it, my old life in America is gone.  When I return in a few weeks, I will begin anew.  Some days I spend too much time thinking about what it will be like, about what I will do, about how I will survive, and I begin to feel tense and uneasy.  Then I take a deep breath and remind myself to just follow the road.  Wherever it leads, the journey will be good.  Safari njema and follow the road!  A traveler always does.