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.
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