These next blog entries will be
written from the comfort of home in the US, not from far away in a land called
Tanzania. As you know if you have been following this blog, internet access and
power outages restricted our ability to post anything on a regular basis. Also,
time just got in the way: evenings around the volunteer house were spent
talking with fellow volunteers, who came from all corners of the world, or
recapping for Deb our day’s events, or creating lesson plans for the kids we
were teaching at the Kilimanjaro Orphanage Center (KOC), or just trying to get
a much-needed shower. So, in the next days and weeks, I (maybe Rebecca, also)
will try to recapture those moments, and perhaps we can paint a picture of a
land far from home that soon came to feel like a second home. The quote from a
fellow volunteer, posted below that I borrowed from the Foot2Afrika website,
speaks volumes for me as to why Tanzania, and the people of that country,
touched our hearts in ways I am not sure I will ever be able to put into words.
However, try I must, so here goes……
Within days of
our arrival in Moshi, our days took on a familiar routine. The trip from the
volunteer house was a 45-60 minute walk to the town of Moshi. The house was
located in a village northwest of downtown Moshi, called Soweto. Awaken at
6:30, attempt to take a shower (this was soon abandoned on most days, as we
found other times during the day when having water for a shower was a better
bet), then a communal breakfast prepared by the great chefs of Foot2Afrika
(Msafiri, Lymo, and Sarafina). Breakfast consisted of freshly made fruit
juices, fresh fruit (mango, papaya, passion fruit, pineapple, watermelon,
banana), toast, hard boiled eggs, a thin pancake that resembles our crepe, an occasional
omelet, a delicious bean dish made with tomatoes and green peppers, some fried
dough things that were not my favorite….I forget what else. The options changed
daily. Oh…..and instant coffee with powdered milk. In the land of freshly
growing Arabica coffee beans, not one cup of freshly brewed coffee. For freshly
brewed coffee, we had to go into downtown Moshi and go to one of the “western”
coffee houses. Coffee, and the electric brewer to make it in, are luxuries that
few Tanzanians can afford.
After breakfast,
at about 8:15 AM, we would head out for the trek to Moshi. In the beginning, we
walked the long dirt roads and paths to Moshi. Imagine our first day, thinking
it would be impossible to retrace our route without Deb, but by the third day
or so, we had it down. Turn left at the gate with the scalloped edges, turn
right at the burning trash heap, turn left where the woman sits on a wooden
stool, leaning over a wood fire roasting corn on the cob. There are few road
signs telling you the name of the road/dirt path. However, soon we were pros.
Arrive in town hopefully by 9 AM, stop at the Kilimanjaro Coffee Lounge for
bottled water and to use the rest room, walk to the dala dala stand and wait
for one heading to Pasua. In the beginning, it was nerve wracking worrying if
we were in fact getting on the correct dala dala. They do have the names of the
beginning and ending stop on the front of the vehicle, but still, the fear of
getting on the wrong one and heading to some unknown place was a tad
disconcerting. Soon though, we even had that figured out. Then, pack into the
dala dala. There were occasions when we would pass one up because it was too
crowded, but dala dalas to Pasua did not come by as often as others did, so
usually we accepted.
Two stops later,
the dala dala stopped at Mbyuni market. This market is a sprawling expanse of
outdoor stalls and mats placed on the ground, where everything from produce to
furniture can be purchased. This is where the dala dala picked up women with
their baskets and bags of produce, fish, and an occasional live chicken.
Sometimes this stop lasted 20 minutes while bodies and bags were rearranged to
make room for waiting passengers. It is not as if this was the only dala dala
leaving the market and heading to Pasua; a dala dala is not full until at least
one body is hanging out the open door and people are standing hunched over the
seated passengers. Many times baskets of produce would be hanging out an open
side window, or perched precariously on the roof. Everyone held each other’s
bags, and even kids. There was no such thing as personal space: if a row of
seats was meant to seat four, it was not full until seven people occupied it,
and you were sitting on one hip with two people crammed alongside you. There
was a protocol for arranging knees with the person seated in front of you. At
first the dala dala ride felt a bit overwhelming, not only because of the
crowded conditions but also because of the smells, from people, fish, you name
it. Soon it became just another part of the adventure, as every dala dala ride
was unique. I actually miss them.
The dala dala to
Pasua dropped us at the “Bingo” stop, and from there we walked 10-15 minutes
through the poorest village I had ever seen. People sold goods from makeshift
stalls made from tree branches and cardboard boxes, or maybe torn canvas or sheets of plastic. I once
saw a woman in one such stall that was sewing on a treadle sewing machine, in a
space not much larger than four feet square. The stall was made from scrap
slats of wood, with a tin roof, and no solid walls anywhere. Chickens and goats
wandered freely around, feeding off the scrap piles of garbage that dominated
the pathway to the orphanage. Children played in the dirt, making toys out of sticks,
bottle caps, anything they could find on the ground. They always greeted us
with “mambo” or “jambo” or even a “good morning” here and there. Often times
they shouted “mzungu” which means foreigner or white person. Many of them asked
for “peepee” which is Swahili for “candy”, or for money, and then once they
learned we had cameras, they wanted their pictures taken. What a thrill it was
for them to see their smiling faces looking back at them from the digital
display on the back of the camera! They were always smiling! Everywhere we went
in Tanzania, the people were smiling, friendly, and courteous. Displays of
affection and emotion, especially anger, are not expressed in the Tanzanian
culture. But the motto “hakuna matata” (no worries) really describes their approach
to life…..expressions of rudeness, impatience, or frustration were never
witnessed by me during the five weeks we spent in Tanzania (except by mzungus!).
On the last stretch
of our walk to the orphanage, we were always greeted by a group of children who
lived in a house along the path. I do not know if they are related, but they
were always together. You may have seen photos of them in our album. The “mama”
was always outside, sweeping the dirt ground of loose dirt and making
everything tidy. This too was something we saw everywhere. Many homes,
especially those in the poorer villages, have space only for sleeping, and
oftentimes even the cooking takes place outdoors. Consequently, the family spends
much time outside, and the women are always sweeping the dirt to clear it of
the loose dust that forms everywhere. Or, if on a sidewalk, they wash the
sidewalk with rags and a pail of dirty water, bent over at the waist, taking
great care and pride in making what little they have clean and orderly. At this
one house along the way, chickens and roosters ran about the yard, squawking
loudly at us as we passed. These children also begged for candy or money, but soon
became content with having their pictures taken. The mama would watch us from
the yard, smiling and waving at us, as we picked up and hugged the children,
who were always so excited to see us. The children always took our hands, “fighting”
over who got to hold whose hand, and walked us to the gate of the orphanage
where we would bid them goodbye until it was time for us to make the return
walk back to the dala dala stand.
Eventually we
got tired of the long walk from Soweto into downtown Moshi, and we began
catching a dala dala from a stop near the volunteer house. This saved us at
least 30 minutes on the commute, and cost 300 TSH, or about 20 cents. We still
had to go to downtown Moshi to catch a dala dala to Pasua, as there was no
direct route between Soweto and Pasua. Still, this allowed us to use the last “western”
restroom we would see until we left the orphanage and returned to Moshi in the
afternoon. The dala dala from Soweto to Moshi dropped us off at the Moshi bus
terminal, where we were greeted by the same piki piki drivers (motor bikes) and
taxi drivers, all hoping to give these mzungus a ride. After a bit, they
realized we were “locals” and stopped asking, but we never failed to draw
attention. Never once did I feel unsafe though: they just wanted to either sell
us something, or give us a ride, since all mzungus are “made of money” and are
a possible source of a sale for the day, which could mean the difference between
eating and not eating that day. As I said, the level of poverty and need is
beyond the comprehension of most of us “foreigners”.
So that was the
day’s journey for four weeks. We would spend about 3 ½ hours teaching at the
orphanage and always left before the kids had lunch. We arranged our day this
way for several reasons. First, after lunch the kids took a long nap until the older
children returned from school, so there was really nothing for us to do other
than chores, like cleaning the outdoor pit toilets, which frankly was a chore
we did not want. Second, on our third day we were served lunch that I found to be
inedible. It had little whole, dried fish in it that resembled sardines and it
was so salty I gagged on it. Seeing the little fish heads was not very appetizing.
Throwing food out in a country where people are starving went against every
fiber of my body, so I secretly passed my plate to one of the boys sitting next
to me. He inhaled the food, but looked around surreptitiously to make sure he was
not going to get in trouble for getting an extra portion and not sharing it
with the other children. I felt bad for putting him in such a position, but he obviously
needed the extra food. Lastly, to take food from the children, when we could
afford to buy lunch in town, was thoroughly not acceptable to either of us.
Lunch was provided free to the volunteers, but it just felt ethically and
morally wrong to take food from those who had so little. Every day, we bid our
goodbyes to the kids before lunch and set off into Moshi where we ate lunch and
were glad to have a western restroom to use (Rebecca never did get used to the
squat toilets, but having lived in Japan for a year, it was not so foreign to
me).
We never did
connect to a permanent afternoon project. Most volunteers divided their time up
as we did, but had a set assignment for the afternoon. For a variety of
reasons, we did not take on a permanent assignment in the afternoons, and thus
we had free time for shopping, or going out to Hope Village to see CeCee, or
later to see Luka and the kids at the Salama Center. It made for a more
relaxing experience for both of us, and gave us the opportunity to get a more
varied outlook of the different orphanages. It was time well spent, and the
four weeks flew by way too quickly.
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