Tanzania: 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.