Reader Input

What Would YOU Like to See?

            As I near the end of my trip here in Tanzania, there is still much I am curious about. More importantly, one of the goals of this blog was to inform and inspire others in many ways, and even instill curiosity upon readers. I hope I have done so—but it’s not over yet!

            What would YOU like to see? What would you like to learn about Tanzania? Tell me.

            Comment on my Facebook. Tweet at me. Email me. Post a comment on the blog.

            I will try my best to address and answer it!

I am leaving for a three day safari to Seregenti National Park (hopefully to see the massive wildebeest migration) and N’gorongoro Crater (one of the 7 Wonders of the World)! I will check my email and social media when I get back to see what you’ve said.

Email: otis.nicholasp@gmail.com

Twitter: @nicholasotis

Sustainable Community Empowerment

Mobilizing Societal Change

For those interested in community, global health settings, sustainability, research, non-profit, or humanitarian (Paul Farmer-esque) concepts: I think this will appeal to you, especially.

                CHASE is a research-project-turned-community-organization headed by two Harvard doctors, Tony Earls and Maya Carlson. Well-known in the Moshi area of Tanzania, CHASE stands for “Child Health and Social Ecology”, and aims to empower children to have active roles in educating and leading their community in prominent health issues, such as HIV/AIDS and malaria. The program rests on the notion that individual improvements and self-worth can lead to a collective effort to change a society (also known as “collective efficacy”). The program began as a research project out of Harvard in 2002, and concluded in 2007. CHASE proved very positive results on the concepts of efficacy.

However, less than 10% of all community research continues into the community after it finishes—and thus Tony and Maya have established a sustainable continuation of the project (no research) as an official Community-Based Organization.

                Seeing Tony and Maya “struggle”—and by that I mean many things in CHASE do not go as planned—makes me relieved. No, that’s not cynical. I mean, here are these two brilliant Harvard doctors that are working to implement really sustainable change within a developing country community, and they are met with obstacles at every turn. Nobody is immune. Sitting in a classroom, I always imagined public health interventions in a developing country to go well; us academics have resources to give—knowledge, materials, trained staff—and in a developing country they do not have these to the same extent. So, the plan is straightforward: go help. But I have learned very quickly that such scenarios are naïve daydreams. Nothing is linear.

                CHASE has been met with rejection from local grant funders when in dire need of funds, miscommunications with locals, theft, and more. The system in which they work is often dysfunctional, and occasionally, corrupt. Tony and Maya get things done at all costs though—staying up late into the night with work, and waking early the next morning to continue.

                Lorraine says Tony has told her many times: ‘you have an obligation to use your skills to further societal development.’ People like that are my role models. Undoubtedly.

               

                Tony, Maya, and I arrive at the small CHASE office located in a local health clinic. The health clinic is a complex of three painted cement buildings. In the waiting areas, the benches are absolutely full. The building adjacent to ours is the maternal building, and there again, benches are packed with women and their babies in lap and arm. Many are waiting to get their babies weighed, measured, or immunized. For now, the local doctor that Tony and Maya work with is out of his office; he has business somewhere outside of Moshi for a few hours. His wooden office door is open, and patients have filled office chairs inside, and benches outside. They stare as we peek into the office. Tony says the wait for medicine in Tanzania is notoriously bad. You need to get to the clinic in the morning to have the assurance that you will be seen the same day.

                Tanzania has a voluntary public health insurance program (there is private insurance too). In this system, you pay a minimum of 10,000 Tanzanian Shillings per year (approx. $6), and receive every service totally free. The rate is different based on family size. You can pay more if you wish, or not at all. The fees to visit a health clinic or office without this health coverage are 1,000-2,000Tsh per visit ($1 = 1600Tsh), one CHASE worker estimates. But the system doesn’t really work that well. If you are a healthier family, you might not need health services that often. And, if you’re healthy, the chances are higher that you are wealthier as well. Hence, you don’t attend the clinics, and don’t see the need to give money as it’s not financially worth it for your family. As we stand in one corner of the waiting area, Tony and I both marvel at these facts and system of health care together. Health is arguably the most vital component of a community, and deserves much attention.

                What Tony and Maya are attempting to do with CHASE and community health is right. It’s community engagement and, more importantly, empowerment. They are setting up a system that will leave the starting line with training wheels, but they will soon be shed. The chain will churn, the gears will be adjusted as those riding see fit, and the community will move towards the goal of a finish line (although as another mentor of mine, Dr. Rife, always says: “There is no finish line”). The most important part? The community will take control and make their own choices about how health should be addressed with the help of all ages.

                The TOMS book, Start Something That Matters, writes on a sustainable health non-profit called Surgeons OverSeas. Here’s how the founders, Dr. Peter Kingham and Dr. Adam Kushner describe it:

“As surgeons, we know how good it feels to go to developing countries and do a large number of operations, but we realized that if we could teach local surgeons, or even help local surgeons teach junior doctors in their own country, we could really make a difference. The local surgeons are the experts. We can assist with teaching materials, supplies, and moral support, but for the long term it’s up to them. It’s their country after all; shouldn’t they have the skills to care for their own population?”

Photo Friday Round IV

Week 4: June 1 – June 6

(Wiki Nne: Kwanza Juni mpaka Sita Juni)

Here’s to the Photo Friday that’s seldom on Friday!

I wade out into the water to get this shot of a small, anchored boat at sunset in Kendwa.

Tanzanian Friendship

“Safari Nyumbani”

“The Journey Home”

My journey back from Zanzibar to Moshi looked something like this: ferry from 9-11:30am, daladala (small bus) from 12-1:30pm, basi (large bus) from 2pm-1am. Safari ndefu (long trip).

I don’t know if I would’ve made it home without the help and friendship of strangers:

While waiting in the ferry terminal, I meet a Zanzibari man. We continue our conversation while we board, he and convinces the ship officials to let me take my bag instead of essentially checking it. The bag has no ID tags because it is an old, empty sack of rice (seriously) that another stranger in Zanzibar found for me; I didn’t have any more room in my small backpack due to a larger gift that I had bought. In the economy class, I sit next to a mama, na mume na mtoto zake (a mother, and her husband and child). We talk for most of the ferry ride, and when we arrive in Dar es Salaam, she shows me the way to the daladala stand, waits half an hour with me for the right one, and then joins me for most of that bus ride. Ironically, jina lake ni Saada(her name is Saada), similar to the Kiswahili word for “help” (msaada). On that same daladala, I meet an accountant named Gabriel , who overhears me asking people in Swahili if they are going to the bus station. He says he can help me find a bus, and so yet another stranger keeps me company and helps me stay afloat. Thanks to him, I barely catch the last bus leaving for Moshi that day. He rides some of the way towards his workplace, and leaves after we exchange phone numbers and emails. After the bumpy and bone-jarring eleven hour ride home—which includes stopping to fix most of the tires—he texts me the next day to see if I’ve made it safely.

Now here’s a story that I think sums up Tanzanian views towards friendship:

The next day, ninakula chakula ya mchana (I am eating lunch) with a man named Johnny from the new non-profit project I’m involved in. Johnny introduces me to friend, but then has to take a phone call. His friend, Jerry, and I are talking in Swahili. After five minutes I ask, kind of redundantly (because my conversation skills aren’t the greatest yet in this language), “So Johnny ni rafiki yako?” (Johnny is your friend, huh?)

He answers me back with: “Ndiyo, na wewe ni rafiki yangu pia” (Yes, and you are my friend too).

Boom. Light bulb! I realize his words describe the Tanzanian culture of friendship perfectly!

North Star

"Fears Revisited"

If there’s one thing that I’ve done a lot of in Zanzibar, it’s think about the future. I realize that in Tanzania, I’ve come up with more questions about my life and my future than I’ve answered here. The fact of the matter is, I never thought that would be the case. I figured I’d return home with a new sense of who I was, knowing exactly what I wanted the next step to be. “I want to work at this type of nonprofit after this next degree in nutrition. Check. Okay, what’s next?” Before I left, I even told those who asked about my future plans ‘after this summer, it’ll all come together.’ Nice; I had it down! In reality, that great epiphany I had imagined hasn’t happened to me yet—not one that I really feel all the way down to my bones. I’ve just come up with questions that make my head hurt.

During this reflection, I realize that all my unanswered questions actually stem from fears that I have. I write them down in my journal. Maybe this will help me feel better, I think.

“

1.  I won’t actually help anybody sustainably. It takes a lot to really change outcomes or the course of a life for another.
2.  I’m not sure which field I want to be a part of: nutrition or education.
3. If I decide to move around—Tanzania, England, Teach for America, Peace Corps—I will be alone in my travels (friends, family).

”

There are, of course, more, but they are generally centered around these three. I put down my journal and pick up my book Start Something That Matters, written by the founder of TOMS shoes, Blake Mycoskie. It’s passionate and insightful. I come upon these three questions in one of the chapters:

• If you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do with your time?
• What kind of work would you want to do?
• What cause would you serve?
  
  

I sit back and think about a similar conversation that I had last year: my good friend Daniel Wu and I were talking in the living room about entrepreneurship. He said that he’d read an article about an Indian man who started an eye care system. Before the venture, the man had barely any money or resources, and even less education in business, but knew he wanted to help those crippled by blindness (it was prevalent in India as a whole). Decades later, his hospital network is an extreme success: despite his death, the clinic treats millions of patients every year, and he had previously trained countless numbers of ophthalmologists who went on to treat even more patients. Thus, his impact has been estimated to include about 40% of the world’s eye care patients in one way or another. (*Google: Dr. Govindappa Venkataswamy or “Infinite Vision”)

To his success, it’s been cited that Dr. V had a North Star; a goal; a guiding light by which to navigate. And that was the single most important piece that held all the other pieces together.

            To me, this story has been invaluable (Thanks, Wu). In times of uncertainty, I think that despite all the question marks I may have about what I’ll be doing and where I’ll be going in the future, it’s okay. Here there is a distinct divergence between roads of passivity and trust. For now, I have to walk that road of trusting myself. I have a North Star of helping others; it’s all I can ask for at present.

            Ask yourself: what are your fears? About your career, where you are going, your happiness? I know a lot my friends are thinking about this—it’s the age where it really starts. Friends, write your fears down. Yes, honestly, it sucks to do so, because it’s kind of like facing them. But write your fears down, then answer those questions from the TOMS book above.

Check it out and see if it helps. Maybe then you will find, or redefine, your North Star.

Zanzibar

Tarehe Mbili Juni

            I wake up early to catch a basi (bus) with Baba to the airport. Leo (today), I’m making my way to the island of Zanzibar for a likizo (vacation) with the intent of reflecting on my travels so far, and enjoying myself. I’m flying from Kilimanjaro airport to Dar es Salaam, and ferrying over to the island from there.

            I leave at saa tatu na nusu (9:30am), and I arrive at my hotel in Zanzibar around saa kumi na mbili (6pm). It’s a long day of traveling, but I soon find out that it’s worth it.

            Zanzibar is a unique island: a blend of culture, tourism, beauty, and history. From spice trade and infamous slavery to great Arab buildings and white-sand beaches, there’s no shortage of things to see. I suggest you do a Google Image search for the famous beaches.

            I spend all of the next day exploring the capital of Stone Town. It’s got many small allies lined with little shops and businesses, and there’s seemingly no order to the allies’ alignment. I find the church that is the historic spot for the slave trade that used to run here. I take the tour in Swahili for practice, and to my own surprise, understand a lot (yes, there’s a little bit of help in English, but not a lot!). After, I wander for hours, work on my bargaining skills in the stores, and come out by the water again, this time down the coast from the port. I sit on a stone wall and enjoy the scenes in front of me.

            I then visit the spice, fish, and meat markets, having stumbled upon the ‘materials market’ already. There, I take video of wholesale seafood auctions in Swahili. Tons of fish, squid, shrimp, and scallops laying on a huge stone tablet while a man in a black t-shirt speaks to a small circle of buyers almost faster than I can comprehend in the language. Very cool, and to me, pretty unique.

            Alafu (then), I go to the night market by the water, which is full of cheap food and small vendors for other various things. I settle on some Zanzibar “pizza”, which was actually an awesome choice. While I’m waiting for it to be cooked over a wood charcoal grill, I have a good conversation about elimu (education) and what Zanzibar ‘needs’ with a baba (father/man) sitting on the boardwalk’s edge overlooking the water.

            The next morning I take a daladala (small bus) for an hour and a half to Kendwa on the northern part of the island. The area is known for its beautiful beaches and relaxing nature. The daladalas here are more open, like being in the back of a long pick-up truck with a roof over your head. As with all the daladalas in Tanzania, it’s quite cramped, but I like seeing how the locals travel. Meanwhile my buttocks and back aren’t quite as thrilled…

            I arrive around noon, and I have to say the beaches do not disappoint. This is my likizo, or vacation. Let’s just say I have a feeling the “Photo Friday” picture might be from Kendwa…

A small beach front I stumbled upon on the coast of Stone Town.

Photo Friday Round III

Week 3: May 25 – May 31

(Wiki Tatu: Ishirini na Tano Mei mpaka Thelathini na Moja Mei)

A private nursery school near Amani that I visited this week. The school was started by the woman on the right, from her own money on her own property, to make sure kids went to primary school (afterwards). Some kids pay what they can, others do not pay at all. Remarkable what one person can do.

And, the kids were literally attached to my arms and hands. I wish I could take their laughter with me wherever I go for the rest of my life!

Spark

"Navigating Our Journeys"
Tarehe Thealathini na Moja Mei

               I’m on a daladala mjini (small bus into town) early in the morning to catch a large bus to Arusha. I‘m going to visit Amani’s new Drop-In Center. My neck and back are arched to fit under the roof of the bus, like a giant in a house built for a dwarf. I think I’m going to fall over into the sitting man’s lap next to me because it’s so crowded. The conductor yells “Mzungu! Pay!” Some laugh, and I have come to learn mzungu (white person) isn’t rude, really. It’s just a-matter-of-fact type of thing, and even is used somewhat affectionately. I give him a 1000 note for a 400 fare (again, $1 = 1600Tsh). He gives me 500 back. I pursue the issue, and he ignores me, collecting other fares. I've come to realize it's a chess game. I hand him the 500 he gave me, and motion that I am paying for my Baba, too. I say “najua nauli, kaka: mia nne” (I know the fare, brother: four hundred). He says something about “ujua?” (you know?) and gives me two hundred shillings back, finally. (More on this type of thing in a later post.)

                At the Moshi station, I get a large bus, arriving at Arusha station 1.5 hours later. The Amani Drop-In Center was built for street kids of Arusha, and is used to establish a rapport with the children with the hope of eventually bringing them to the main complex in Moshi. It’s also used by street children that are too old for Amani. They can receive health information, advice from social workers, a shower, and more. I walk around the house taking pictures, talking to a former Amani street kid who is now a local artist, when I see one of the teachers treating a child sitting on the grass outside. His name is Frank, and he’s putting hydrogen peroxide on a nasty, open wound on his lower leg. I say that I’m an EMT back home, and ask to take a look. I’m told it’s a burn that he received three weeks prior in a street fire. Frank had been searching through rubbish next to a fire for warmth, when something exploded and caught his leg. From what I gather, the burn hasn’t made any progress in healing since it happened. We go to the duka la dawa (pharmacy).

                On the way, I want to ask him if he wants a piggy back. He had said the wound hurts when he walks, but when I ask this time “sawa sawa?” (it’s okay?), he says it’s fine. The pharmacist asks questions, examines the burn, and asks more questions. He asks what happened, and one of the social workers explains, telling him that Frank is a street child. The pharmacist asks if he’s been drinking, and smells his breath for alcohol. Frank is a young and innocent looking kid with a small, tight afro, and big eyes that look around actively sometimes, but at other times, down at the ground. He’s probably about thirteen. The burn seems less like a dumb stunt, and more as a result of the violence of the environment in which he lives. The pharmacist gives antibiotics and a burn ointment. The total cost is 5000Tsh. I hand him a bill. Imagine, just $3 without health insurance for medication!

                We are walking to the next errand for another child when Frank asks for money to eat. He has to take his pills with food. We go to a street vendor, and he sits and eats a meal of white rice, beans, and finely chopped and cooked green vegetable that is like spinach. After paying, we have to leave to the next errand. I give him a half hug and rub his head roughly but affectionately again. He says “asante sana” (thank you very much) with a genuine kindness. I stand there wishing I had the ability in KiSwahili to say that even strangers care for you, and I wish it gives you hope and warmth to think that, even though you may not always see it. But I can’t. There’s no translator, Frank speaks little English, and the other teachers had started walking again. All I say is “karibu sana” (you’re very welcome) a couple of times while looking down at him with a soft smile, and walk away.

                Back at the bus station after another couple of hours in Arusha, I pay 2500Tsh to ride back home. Once we’re on the road, the conductor is collecting fares. I say I’ve already paid, but the man next to me whispers that I need to pay now, because that’s the custom. I pay again. I’m upset. I listen to music, read my book, and stare out the window, a little mad at myself. It's not the amount paid, because it's little, really, but rather the principle. I need to learn the game better here, for it is a way of life!

                

                About halfway home, we stop to pick people up and drop some off. The same baba (father, or another name for a man here) next to me buys some corn on the cob from a peddler through the window. The corn has been roasted over a fire, and so the kernels are enlarged and warm. He turns to me, and offers some. At first, I say no thank you to be polite. I remember my Tanzanian manners: it’s rude to refuse. I change my answer to thank you, and we start a small conversation. The corn tastes like Corn Puffs cereal, except better because it’s slightly chewy. I eat every kernel, savoring it for its flavor and for its symbolism. I’m much happier after that. It was an act of kindness; he had said “Karibu Tanzania,” or “welcome to Tanzania.” Simple. We truck towards Moshi on the tarmac highway, across the countryside of sunflower and maize fields, and I do some comparing of the days events.

                Frank and I are alike: we both need to work within our systems, with a little outside help. I get frustrated occasionally here, especially with the hustling and bargaining. I talk to Lorraine, my family here, and my family back home. They guide me to realize how I need to take more understanding of others here, and the lifestyle people live through. And Frank may be equally as frustrated with his system, even if he doesn't show it. Today it was my turn to give that outside help, that spark of light that helps one to navigate their journey or struggles. We all need it at times! I hope my writing inspires you to do the same for another.

Photo Friday (I and II)

“Yes, I Know It’s Tuesday”

                Walking forty minutes to work every day has its benefits beyond beautiful snapshots of Kilimanjaro (see past post). I get to reflect, and sometimes pretty intensely. But this idea is simple: put the best picture of the week on the blog with the cute alliteration “Photo Friday”; it’ll interest people. One they haven’t seen yet. Because the internet was poor last week, I owe you two. So here we are…

Week 1: May 14 – May 17

(Wiki Moja: Kumi na Tano Mei mpaka Kumi na Saba Mei)

A shop just outside of the center of town. Closed for the day. Did a lot of exploring the first week.

Week 2: May 18 – May 24

(Wiki Mbili: Kumi na Nane Mei mpaka Ishirini na Nne Mei)

The family mbwa (dog),Tommy, hiding from the sun, and flies, on the cool porch on a lazy Sunday.


Enjoy!

Arusha Snake Park

“Arusha Snake Park”

                Jumamosi (Saturday), Amani goes for an outing to the Arusha Snake Park. Arusha is a jiji (city) about an hour and half bus drive away on the one-lane Moshi-Arusha highway. It’s all the watoto have been talking about all wiki! I arrive at Amani around 8am. The Dutch director is there, Meindart. His energy is great—like a big (6’3”) kid—and you can see he clearly loves the children. In between occasionally interrupting directions from other staff with goofy comments to make the kids laugh, he puts their arm around them, holds their hands. I just know Amani is going to go far with a person like that at the helm.

The buses are jam packed, right to the point where it’s almost necessary to have every other person leaning forward slightly so shoulders don’t bump. The entire ride, kids are talking and standing up, looking curiously outside at various things. I’m no exception because the terrain is beautiful. Fields of maize, blue hills, herds of goats and cattle, sunflowers, small towns with many fittingly small stores, the simple city of Arusha. I wish I could show you what it was like, but pictures don’t capture what I want them to.

Tunafika (we arrive) at the Snake Park around 10:30am. It’s like a small zoo. We see many types of nyoka (snakes), and although I can’t understand the explanations in KiSwahili by the tour guide, it’s still impressive. There are mambas (including the infamous black mamba, Google it), pythons thirty feet long, cobras, and many more. There are also tortoises, gators and crocs, lizards, birds, and a baboon, too. The watoto are intrigued, murmuring amongst each other all the time, some calling out and pointing at things, others laughing. At one point, we try on a snake, and the kids make me do it…! Afterwards we head into a small, dimly-lit building with many rooms and a dirt floor. It is the Maasai museum, a famous tribe on the border of Tanzania and Kenya. The display shows their dwellings, practices, and lifestyle with large displays. The last activity is camel rides for the kids, during which they shriek because suddenly they are ten feet off the ground.

On the bus ride back, not far from the museum, we stop at a large restaurant. The staff there are only welcoming, all coming out to the front steps to introduce themselves. We tour the entire complex: from how to make a cappuccino in the kitchen, to the dance club (“disco!” the kids say). Baada ya tunakula (after we eat), we have a dance contest on stage, and a dance party to end the day. Fantastic.

The final stretch on the bus for home is filled with excited talk of all the day’s activities, but soon dies down as everyone slips into a food-induced slumber. I wake up at one point. Kids are nodding off and catching themselves as their necks droop too far over and over again. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a summer camp. But there is a sad, biting, and difficult truth: the kids have no parents. Life’s a funny thing. The weirdest circumstances happen to some individuals on this Earth, individuals that deserve more.

I look out the window at the terrain passing by and think some more. I think so much about the people and the conditions that many beautiful people live with here. Here, Amani is giving these kids enormous hope. It makes me so happy! I know that I will come back to Tanzania, and I have a drive to change lives.

Curiosity. 

Don't tell mom.

The Kili Commute

"Commuting with Mount Kilimanjaro"

(Internet has been too spotty the last week for me to do anything! Maybe this attempt will go through.)

Kilimanjaro is definitely the most well-known aspect of Moshi. It overlooks the entire town. This is why kila siku, ninatembea madakika aerobaini (every day, I walk forty minutes) each way to Amani--rather than get a daladala (small bus), or a ride from a co-worker. It's magic.

Join me on my commute with Kili:

Starting from Amani towards home. 

Walking along the Moshi-Arusha Highway. 

A dirt path off the highway through a field...

...leads to this view of Kilimanjaro. 

And onto another dirt path that parallels the highway, headed for... 

...Home.

Watoto

Amani Children's Home

(Tarehe ishirini na Mei)

                I wake up mapema (early). Today is my first day at the Amani Children’s Home. It is a temporary orphanage for street children in the Moshi/Arusha area of Tanzania. Some children stay longer than others there. Ages range from saba (7) to kumi na tano (15), and there are much more boys than girls, which is reflective of the streets as a result of many factors. Now that is a conversation unto itself, and for another time.

                The walk takes about dakika arobaini (40 minutes), with Baba Toshi showing me the way and making sure I get there safely. We are welcomed in (“karibu”, they say) to a stunning and well-kept building, about 1km off the highway. After a brief introduction due to an all-day staff meeting, I’m shown to the backyard where the kids play.

                Surprisingly, I’m not nervous, as I would be in a situation with people who live a foreign culture, speak a foreign language, and see wazungu (white people) veritably.  I make many friends right away—it’s unbelievable how happy, energetic, and playful the kids are. My arms are tugged in every direction, and a million questions asked at once. It’s great.

                For the rest of the day, tunacheza mpira wa miguu, wa basket, kadi (we play soccer, basketball, cards), and Frisbee. I teach the kids—in KiSwahili—how to play knockout. What an experience and a challenge. Here I am saying, “kama yeye funga wa basket kabla ya wewe, alafu wewe ni OUT. Kwa sababu, yeye katika nyuma ya wewe! Tuko pamoja?” (if he scores a basket before you, then you are OUT. Because he is behind you! Are we together?) This was after a complete failure of explaining how to play H-O-R-S-E. I had to laugh at myself. But it worked!

                Children amaze me. Reflecting on it, I think their sheer potential, no matter the condition, is what attracts me. Paul Farmer, an American doctor, once traveled an entire day by foot in Haiti to see one patient in the mountains. The return journey, of course, took another day, and when he got back, people asked him ‘why did you do it?’ You could’ve treated 20 people yesterday, and another 20 today.’ He answered that every life is equally as valuable. Everybody should have the same opportunities, regardless of where they live, or what their conditions are. The fact that every child seems to have limitless potential intrigues my brain as well as my heart.

                These kids at Amani…they go on making the best of things, like nothing has happened. They have run away possibly because of physical abuse (some have intense scars), or sexual abuse; perhaps neglect because they are the eighth child, or a lack of food in their house. Whatever the case, most do not have parents who are fit to care for them. At lunch, I reflect on this:  on the adult role models in my life, and on the lack thereof in theirs. I’m lucky. I almost start to cry. And then…look at them! Kristy, my coordinator, tells me how eager they are to take a test in [Amani’s] school, and ask questions at a health information session! Sure, there’s some fighting amongst them, but I remind myself to me empathetic to their upbringing, which may have been violent in different ways. Regardless, even though they may have come to Amani with a deep mistrust of others—especially adults—here they are, holding my hand, teaching me card games, or asking ‘what’s this?’ as they pull on my arm hair (ow!). One small boy, who gets picked on a lot and thus sticks to my side, says he loves me! I’m almost a total stranger! It’s mind blowing.

                I contrast this with prejudices adults in this world sometimes have. Watoto (children) come to the end of their driveway here as I walk along in Moshi and yell and point “mzungu!” They run up and ask, very proudly in English, “Howah you?” They’re simply curious, with a clean slate. Watoto are born with no inherent opinions. To me, it’s incredible.

Each child has the same potential. Where they live should not determine if they live.

All lives are the same.

Karibu Amani.

 (Supervised) acrobatics.

Knockout!

 Watoto. (Stealing my camera!)

Facing Fears

“Baba Toshi na Mimi Tunaenda Mjini”
(Tarehe kumi na sita Mei)

            I wake up late at saa tatu kasarobo (8:45am)—yes, late here—tired from my safari (journey). My new family has a breakfast waiting of fried egg, homemade bread with butter and guava jam (awesome), and instant coffee. After eating, I wander around the yard asking questions because there is just so much to be curious about. For example, they have a large garden with migomba (banana trees) with beans growing under them, so the nitrogen helps the trees grow (panorama picture in the last post). There’s a mango tree, too, and eggplant and hot peppers also being grown. I write everything down. The birds, bugs, and lizards are ones I’ve never seen before either. My senses are on hyperdrive. I feel like an mtoto mdogo (little child).

            In the afternoon, Baba Toshi and I make a list of the things I need and prepare to go mjini (into town). We walk to the end of the barabara (road/street) with the dirt beneath our shoes and take a daladala (small bus). It looks like a small white van with many people and even less handholds inside. The daladala sees us wave, and zooms to the side of the highway where we are waiting in the shade. Two men hop out even before the bus stops. They open the sliding door, and we hop in. I can tell people are looking curiously because I am mzungu, a white person. I don’t have any Tanzanian shillings yet, so Baba pays the fare of 400Tsh each ($0.25). That soon changes, as I exchange American money for my new currency—and it looks way cooler. The exchange rate is $1 = ~1600Tsh.

            We walk into the Vodacom store so I can buy a SIM card for a phone I already was given, and a broadband modem for my computer. Thank God Baba is there to negotiate for me. Even in a retail store, the woman behind the counter wanted to charge me three times as much for the SIM card and pay-as-you-go subscription, and I hear the word mzungu. I give her $1000Tsh, the real price for the items. The modem and monthly subscription for internet costs 50,000Tsh, a lot of money. This is the “real” price, too. I am clearly already on guard against getting hustled because this was a fear I had initially. We go to get my SIM card registered and activated by an agent—there are many on the street, sitting at little carts with red umbrellas. As before, the man wanted to charge me much more than others. He offers 5000Tsh. I say “Mimi si mtalii, mimi ni mwanafunzi,” meaning I am not a tourist, I’m a student. Maybe it was unexpected, or maybe too polite, but there is some laughter. I shake my head when he tells Baba I am mzungu again. I pay 1000Tsh because of Baba’s help.

            Perhaps the discrimination is a way of life here; the tourist business is huge, and white folks represent wealth. I will say it makes sense on some level. But it bugs me. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I always have. I could deal with it kama watu (if people) simply looked at me funny; however, the treatment by strangers has made me feel unwelcome. I see a white couple walking down the street. I see how badly I stick out. “But we’re all humans,” I think, “who cares about skin color?” Someday, I want “we” and not “us and them.” Maybe with time.

            This trip will be a good lesson in living among those who are not necessarily receptive to help, especially from me. Obviously, there are many that are! Tanzania is full of polite, curious, and kind people. But, if I only interact with one group, I will not grow. Fear is what I have—fear of the unknown. And fear is more common than it seems, but we live in a culture where it must be suppressed and boldness is what impresses the most. Fear, though, is a powerful emotion; after all, it gives the hormonal rush for survival—“fight or flight.” It can either distort our behavior, or act a catalyst for change.

            I’m afraid of the unknown here. But no one goes into every venture knowing everything. If I spend all my time studying and preparing, I’ll never start that venture, I’ll never grow. As Mark Twain wittingly said:

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

            I have begun my journey in Tanzania.

 Safari (journey).

Mji (town) wa Moshi.

Trip Background

Tarehe kumi na sita Mei

            Some background on my trip:

·         Ninakaa (I am staying) in Moshi, Tanzania, a town at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro for wiki tano (five weeks). My professor and mentor, Lorraine, was kind enough to request arrangements for me. I’m very thankful for her help to make this an experience!

·         I may try to deliver a nutrition intervention to the Franciscan nuns that I am staying with.

·         I will be working in a children’s home called Amani (peace) in Moshi for ten days at the end of May. It serves as a temporary orphanage kwa watoto (for children), focusing on empowerment through education.

·         After that, I may travel to Arusha, a town west of Moshi; it is touristy, but would offer some good opportunities to observe shuleni nyngi, na hospitali (in many schools and a hospital). I might hike Kilimanjaro for a few days.

·         For at least two weeks, I will work for CHASE, a project started by two Harvard doctors that deals with child rights and empowerment, communal health problems, social ecology, and more.

·         Ninataka kusafiri Dar es Salaam (I want to travel to Dar es Salaam), the capital on the eastern coast. I may go with Tony and Maya, the doctors, as it is a longer trip (5-6 hours by bus). There, I would want to get in touch with my Swahili TA’s family—her aunt was the first female physician in Tanzania and is partnering with Tony and Maya on their project. Brenda, my TA, has talked to her family about showing me around, as well.

·         I will be taking lots of pictures, interviews, and videos, both for my own memories and to use in the nutrition department at UMass. Much of it focuses on public health and food. Lorraine and I are hoping it will help globalize the nutrition department and the university. I will be presenting to my local nutrition association, some UMass classes, and my high school when I return.

 The backyard where I feel like a little kid.

 Banana tree garden with bean plants underneath.

Kilimanjaro overlooks Moshi.

Initial Thoughts...Many At That

Tarehe kumi na tano Mei

            I land safely in Moshi, Tanzania at night after masaa ishirini na nne (twenty four hours). I step off the plane and take a breath of air in—it’s clean and you can smell the grassland. I am the last one from my flight out of the airport (too classic!). My visa took dakika thelathini (thirty minutes), na alafu (and then) I was stuck behind someone in customs who was arguing with the officials about an item he was bringing in. I greet my new family, the Franciscan Nuns, who are holding a sign up for me. After exchanging greetings, we head to the van to start back to Moshi on one of the only ways to travel, the Moshi-Arusha Road. We talk for a bit, but they can see nime choka (I am tired), and so they let me collect my thoughts, reflect, and stare out the window.

            I think about life as a Tanzanian, observing people traveling and conversing on the side of the highway in the dark. I know I could never imagine or feel what their life is like. “Can you believe I get that feeling immediately?” I write in my journal. I don’t know what people’s struggles are like. These people on the roadside, what are their goals, their North Star? While I fully acknowledge this is a generalization based on, really, very little, I can’t help but think of it.

            I self-reflect even more and acknowledge how scared I am. Little communication, a foreigner that represents money. Can I make a difference here? Oy, my mind just keeps flipping over. Maybe it’s the jet lag. I think of wazazi wangu, dada wadogo zangu, na rafiki zangu (my parents, my younger sisters, and my friends). Again, they support me and it flat out gives me strength when I think about it.

So, sasa (now) it’s real, there’s no turning back. Part of my brain, a fraction, wants to run away, not face it. But Lorraine noted, ‘If you’re squirmish and uncomfortable, you care and are taking it seriously.’

Under the safety of a mosquito net, writing in my journal and reading kitandani (in bed). Lots of thoughts, especially at the end of the day.

The Beginning: Flight

Tarehe kumi na nne Mei

            Boarded…on my way to Tanzania. My first large trip alone, and my first journey to a developing country. I have so many emotions—I’m scared to go, nervous, excited, curious. Right now, a small pig-tailed black girl grabs the old man’s cane at the end of my row. She holds steadfast, refusing to let go out of curiosity. It makes me laugh, letting out some of the tension I have. Wasi wasi (anxiety) is the Swahili word for what I had, but it’s gone temporarily.

            I chose to watch “Waiting for Superman” on the plane ride over. Fantastic. But it’s also simple…I think it reinforces that every person has their own, equal worth. Each person has the same potential for development; everyone should have the opportunity to do so. I want to be that enabler for people—as many as one person can.

            I’m very thankful for my parents—for their love and support—and teachers and friends who have shown belief in me. Not everyone gets to have that.