Tanzania

Mimi na kupenda wewe…..

Thursday, February 10, 2005
Mimi na kupenda wewe…..

Mimi na kupenda wewe…………That means “I love you” in Swahili, and I said to every child I saw. Even the ones that peed, poo-ed, and even worse, bit me! So, last night, after our Swahili lesson, I talked to Fulgence, one of the men that works with CCS. Andrew did opt out of Kilamahewa School, and I just think that is where I belong, so I asked him if I could go there. He said “Of course! You can go anywhere you want to!!”, so we made plans for me to go back to the orphanage today and to talk to Sister Immaculata so that she would know what I was doing. When we dropped off Andrew for his last day at Kilamahewa, I looked at the school and knew that I was doing the right thing.
With a deep breath, I headed for the orphanage and another day of babies.
Today I went directly to the playground and spent the morning under a pile of babies. It was great! And, yes, I am covered in all matter of things, but it doesn’t matter to me! There is a special needs boy, Phillipe, probably about two years old with a huge smile and big giant eyes. He makes a bee-line for me whenever he sees me with arms open wide. Then he proceeds to grab my hair and pull as hard as he can! One of the nurses (they are actually all young teen-age girls that live at the orphanage) actually walked up to me and handed me one of my hairs that she had pried out of a babys hand! Lucy is a little girl with braces on her feet and an old yellow party dress that someone, probably from America, donated to the orphanage. Eric is the color of latte, has huge golden eyes and is the one that ran up to me yesterday when I got out of the van. There are thirty more babies tumbling like puppies in this yard of dirt, dust and a few dilapadated playground items. A couple of them are scared of the mzungu, (white people) but most just want us to wrap our arms around them. I sit in the dirt with my arms wrapped around as many of them as possible singing, “Twinkle, twinle little star…” to them. I whisper over and over, “mimi na kupenda wewe….mimi na kupendo wewe…”, as they lay in a jumble in my arms. Each time I feel a tiny hand on my arm or stomache, I just hug them all tighter. After ten or fifteen minutes, they get up to play and a new batch moves in. My heart is broken into a million pieces.
After potty time, (for the most part completely unsuccessful because they had already all peed on me!) we all washed our hands and went inside for milk, and then, lunch. Once more. I took care of feeding Michael. As he ate, I alternated snapping and clapping behind his head to check to see if he was deaf. One of the women at the CCS compound is a doctor and she said that deafness was very common with infant menengitis. He responds beautifully though, and after milk, I take the opportunity to try and manipulate his left arm and leg. The sisters said that at first he could not hold his head up at all, but now he can, so I think there might be some hope for further mobility. It is not much, but a little movement couldnt’ hurt.
The end of lunch signals the approach of the CCS van for us, so I went to find Sister Immaculata. She was nowhere to be found, so I ended up talking to one of the other nuns. Before I could get a single word out, I just started crying. I feel completely torn in two. I try to explain to her through my tears that I just feel called to Kilamahewa School, and that I love Upendo and the children, but that I think that I am doing the right thing. I have only been there two days and I am devestated. She was wonderful and said that I could come any time, not just in the morning like normal, so I felt a little better. If I can split some of my days between the school and the orphanage, I would be happy. Emotionally, this is all just completely overwhelming…….
After a quiet ride back to town, Christy and I had Simon drop us off in Moshi. I need to change money and send email, so here I am. I am going to attempt a bit of shopping before going back for another Swahili lesson. Another day in Tanzania is passing quickly.

 

Anna aka Mud Butt

Houston, we have a problem……

Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Houston, we have a problem……

Houston, we have a problem……………..Today is finally the day, I am going to see babies!!!!!!! I am very excited, and a little nervous. Last night, I read the log book here that the workers at Upendo Childrens Home have been writing in, and reports are very discouraging. Stories of unsanitary conditions and alleged abuse make me very concerned for what I might see. It does not scare me away from wanting to work there, but the negativity in the messages is a little off-putting!
At 7:30 in the morning, we all piled into the CCS van and Simon, the driver, took us all to our various placements. One girl is going to a kindergarden, several girls are going to the local clinic, one of the guys is going to a youth arts workshop, and four of us to the orphanage. We were at our next to last stop when my heart went into my throat. Andrew, one of the young men here, is volunteering at Kilamahewa School, and we dropped him off before going on to the orphanage. I had been told a little about the school, but I was unprepared for what I saw. Literally, a one-room mud hut in the middle of a large dusty field. It usually holds 70-80 children.
Let that sink in for just a moment………………70-80 children in a room no bigger than 15×15. They are ages 3-10. That, however, is not the amazing thing! The teacher is a man named Mr. Massawe. He was too poor to send his children to school, so he began to teach them in his home. Word spread quickly and children from all over the area that were also too poor to attend school began coming to his house (that would be the aforementioned mud hut). He took them in and Kilamahewa School was born. That is the amazing thing.
When Andrew approached the kids, they all chanted out “Hibari” to him as the teacher directed them with his arms. He was waving at them and smiling madly. I was about fifty feet away, sitting in the van, and I was immediately covered in goosebumps. You know how sometimes, you don’t know why, and you don’t know how, but you just KNOW that you are in the right place at the right time. Every fiber of my soul told me that THIS was where I was supposed to be. I wanted to yell at Andrew to come back and let me go instead. As the van pulled away, my eyes filled with tears. This was definitly NOT in the plans!!!
Soon, though, we arrived at the orphanage. I stepped out of the van and an eighteen month old boy ran to me with outstretched arms. I swooped him up and told everyone, “Ok, I am done….I got what I came for!” We were taken to meet Sister Immaculata, the nun in charge of the home, and I took the boy with me. I mean, how could I put him down?! The sister was very gracious as she welcomed us into her office, and introduced herself. I asked her what her expectations were for the volunteers and she just said to love the children as much as possible. Hmmmmm, I don’t think that will be difficult!
After our meeting, the other volunteers disappeared, and the sister took me on a little tour. We went into the nursery where I met Michael, a little boy that had become half-paralyized by menengitis. As he grinned up at me, I just wanted to swoop him up and take him home! I spent the morning with the pre-toddlers, (babies that are just starting to walk), and before long, it was tea time. Rather than milk, they got a sweet, hot tea, and the nurse and I fed them from plastic cups. There are no sippie cups, or bottles…..just regular drinking cups, so they hold a plastic bowl under the babys chin and have them drink. When the extra drips into the bowl, they just pour it back into the cup and keep going. It is kind of amazing!
After tea, a few of the other nurses brought in all of the boys, aged 16 months to two and a half years.
Now it was milk time! Again, they drink out of regular cups, and it is the cutest thing you ever saw! As I looked at all of these little African babies with milk all over their faces, I thought, the milk industry has no idea……this is my idea of a “Got Milk?” ad!!!!
They play for a while and I become a human jungle gym. It is official…..I am a human story-teller doll! I have been peed on, pooped on, snotted on, milk-ed on, and minutes later…..beaned and riced upon! I cannot tell you how happy I was! After a little more play time, they boys sat down for lunch. Bowls of hot beans and rice were bought out and all but the littlest ones were given spoons. A nurse brought in Michael and strapped him into a chair. It turns out that there is one sippie cup here and it is his. Using a bowl to catch the dripping, I feed him while he looks up at me with huge brown eyes fringed in the longest lashes I have ever seen. I put the bown and cup down to pull another little boy off of me, (he has both of his hands firmy entwined in my hair and his teeth sunk into my arm), and Michael deftly turns the bowl of milk over. He smiles and laughs and laughs. Oh man….this is great.
As for the conditions at the orphanage, I think the nuns are doing an incredible job with the resources that they have. There are 55 or so children here, and in a country with rampant disease and poverty, they are doing their best to give them a safe environment. They are fed and clothed (after a fashion) and I am very, very impressed. All of the babies have on used, hand-me down clothes, and none of them wear diapers. there is a half-hearted attempt to potty-train them from the moment they start walking, and I can tell you, it is not working very well! Mostly, the kids pee where they want, (including on me!), and if a nurse sees them with wet pants, she takes them and sits them on a little plastic pot. The picture of three or four little babies sitting on pots out on the playground is absoulutely precious, but I don’t think they are getting the idea! No one wears underwear, so when you notice a suspicious smell, you just start going around a pulling the back of their pants out to investigate. It is kind of like playing that game, ‘where is the button’. They have no kleenex or anything, so as far as sanitation is concerned,…well, there isn’t alot. But, again, the nuns are doing much better than many of the village families are able to do, so my heart really goes out to them. I think that the earlier volunteers that wrote in the log book might have had unrealistic expectations of the orphanage.
As far as toys go, there is a very small assortment of old, plastic pieces of toys littered about the playground. The children love them, and constantly give them to me, just to here me say, “Asante sana….Sawa!!!!” and hand them back. The other volunteers are a little shocked and saddened at the lack of toys, but as far as I can see, the babies are so happy! I think any mother will tell you that a two year old will get equal amounts of delight out of a barbie and a wooden kitchen spoon. It is really something to see.
When the bus finally comes to pick us up, I am exhausted. But even more so, I am happy. I am carrying a thousand smiles back with me after only one day. so how could I ever be unhappy! However, all day long, I could not get Kilamahewa School out of my mind. I love all children. I love them all, but my plans were to come take care of babies! As we were riding back to the house, I heard Andrew talking about asking for a change of assignment. It turns out that he has no teaching experience at all, and feels somewhat overwhelmed at Kilamahewa School. That would leave the school with only one volunteer three days a week. The orphanage has at least five everyday. I just have this overwhelming feeling that the universe is telling me that that is where I belong. I am going to sit with it for a while before I make my decision…….

Anna aka Mud Butt

Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)

Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)

Nipendo Tanzania! (I Love Tanzania!)-Monday So, toady we finally had orientation. After a morning of rules, customs, etc., we got a group assignment to go out into the community, and then an individual assignment. Our group assignment was to go to the home of Chief Shio, the chief of the village. We went to his home and his daughter brought out chairs for all of us. When he came out from his home, he sat in front of us and asked us our names and where we are from. He was in his late 60’s or so, and had missing teeth, a threadbare pair of brown pants and an old shirt. He is, like many people, bare footed. His home looks like any other here, and he explained to us that even though a chief is elected for five years, (and he is on his second term), they get no salary or benefits at all. Of course, by benefits, he means a cow or chicken, not health insurance and an IRA. Despite living in what we would consider extreme poverty, he is gracious and dignified. After extensive greetings all around, he took us into his yard to show us his animals. As we went back, he said, “I have been cutting up a goat”, and I was sure that this was not going to be good! However, there was no sign of goat, whole or otherwise, anywhere, so I felt much better! First, he took us to the pigpen to show us his eight or nine young pigs. This seemed unusual to me, because this country has a fair amount of Muslim people, so pig is not something you see much of! After the pigs, he showed us his goat shed, and his garden. I wish that I could give you an idea of what a typical home looks like here. I have not been inside of one yet, but Jessica, a young girl that works here, has invited me to her home, so I will report on that soon. However, the outside is very much like something you would see on a “Save The Children” commercial. A ramshackle collection of small sheds, some with roofs, some without, made of every feasible kind of material that you can imagine. Animal pens are connected one to another, I am assuming so as to save from having to build four walls. There are piles of rinds and peels from vegetables and fruits, and any water you might see appears very dirty. There is often a small fire for cooking, and some sort of latrine. Of course, there is rarely running water and very few people have any kind of electricity. You can imagine that it is exactly like the “Save The Children” ads. However, there is something that we cannot see on the television. The picture is very true to life, but what is not evident is the grace and dignity with which these people live. These places are home to families that work and love and laugh. They care for themselves, their children and their animals as well as possible, and there is a great, great deal of happiness. The children walk through pens in ankle deep manure and after only being here a few days, all I can see are their smiles and happiness. It is really amazing. This report is getting rather long. So I will continue it in another email. Our schedule is getting busier, so I am borrowing a laptop and writing several reports at once. I will be able to send them all every few days when I go into town. Until then, take care!!! Tonga! (Monday Part 2) After we left Chief Shio’s home, we each had our own assignment to do. I was handed a card that read: “Community Drop Off Activity: Go out of CCS gate, turn left and go straight to the main Uru Road. At the main road, turn left and go straight until you come to a small trading center called Rau Madukani. Ask for a place where a welding workshop is. Greet the welders, introduce yourself and ask them where they get their welding materials from.” Two other girls had assignments at the Madukani, so we headed off together. The trading center is a small conglomeration of storefronts, carts, ladies sitting on blankets and men carrying boards with sale items nailed to them. Understand, this market is for locals, not tourists, so most of the items were practical, everyday things. We came upon a long line of women on sheets selling fruits and vegetables, and immediately we were approached by two elders with their hands outstretched. Toothless grins stretched wide as they greeted us, introduced themselves, asked our names, and then asked for money. I smiled and asked where the welders were, and within seconds, we had a throng of local women around us talking a mile a minute! They all leaned in to read the card with my assignment written on it, and argued among themselves in Swahili. Finally, a woman in her twenties reached through the crowd, grabbed my hand and dragged me down the street to the welding workshop. I walked up to all of the men welding, (and lounging) and introduced myself. After greetings, (and realizing that not one of them spoke a word of English), I promptly began working my way through several lines of questioning. Surely one of them would work! Ten minutes later, they are smiling broadly, but still have no idea what I am asking for. I give it one final try. ”Amerika”, I say pointing to myself. They all nod knowingly. “Tanzanian”, I say, pointing to the man nearest me, again with nods of comprehension. Then I pointed to the metal gate that they were welding and held up my hands in question. Blank looks all around. Julie and Nicola had been hanging back, and finally Julie said, “Anna, come on….they are just laughing at us!”. I told her, “No, actually, they are laughing at ME, and I do not mind in the least!”. I was in the process of telling them that I would not be leaving until I knew where the materials came from when a man walked up that spoke English. Damn! I am certain that with enough time, we could have broken down that language barrier! I relented and asked the man. “Tonga!”, he said with a smile, and we headed back to the house. On the way back to the house, a Masai tribesman approached us and stopped to greet us. Over six feet tall, he was wrapped in the traditional red and blue plaid of the Masai. He was probably in his twenties and had tribal tattoos and silver-dollar-sized holes in his ear lobes. I don’t think that calling him a true Masai warrior would be very far off the mark! He shook our hands and welcomed us to Tanzania. He had the whitest teeth and the most beautiful smile, and I had to constantly remind myself that he was real. It was the highlight of my day. The rest of the day was filled with more orientation and Swahili lessons. They have brought in a Kiswahili teacher to tutor us for an hour a day so that we can be as fluent as possible. As I went to bed, words like “Hujambo, Asante, and Gina loca ni nami” cluttered up my brain. It has been a great day, but I am tired and I want to get down to the reason I am here…….the children! Tomorrow, I finally go to the orphanage. Kwaheri!

Anna aka Mud Butt

Mzungu!

Monday, February 07, 2005

Habari!
Well, since we are still doing orientation, I have some free time, so I decided to use it wisely and send home another report! I am keeping a really detailed journal and between emails and that, I am already getting confused, so if I repeat something, I am sorry!!
So yesterday, Dana, one of the women here, gave me a crash course on the clothing Tanzanian women wear. We can get clothing made very cheaply, so I am trying to figure out what I want to have made. There is a type of sarong-wrap called a Conga that women wear wrapped around their waists as skirts. It is made of beautiful African prints and the thing that sets it apart from other garments is the proverb that is written around the bottom. The one that Dana had on says in Swahili, “I am proud of the woman I have become”. However, it is used as more than a skirt…..it is used as a non-verbal communication, mostly with a womans husband. When a Tanzanian woman gets up in the morning, rather than pick out which color she wants to wear, she picks out the proverb that suits her mood! It is a way to let her husband know how she feels without saying anything! There is even one that says something to the effect of, “I know what you are up to”, and when a woman knows that her husband has a ‘small house’, (slang for having a mistress), she wears it. She will say nothing to him, but will parade around all day for all of the world to see. Isn’t that neat!?
As far as a lot of cultural things go, I am certainly no expert yet, but I am learning very quickly! For instance, if a young man can provide a roof and food, a girl will marry him. That is pretty much all it takes. I explained to my Tanzanian friend that in America, the only real reason to get married is for love. He says that that has nothing to do with it here. But, divorce is almost unheard of. If a couple gets divorced, it reflects very badly on the parents of the couple. It brings a lot of dishonor to the family so relatives will intervene strongly if there appears to be a problem.
As for us…..we are all Mzungu. Technically, that means European, but it is a word that they use for all white people. When I walked through the market in Arusha, everyone shouted “Mzungu…Mama Mzungu!”. It is not a slur or insult, just a description. However, in this culture Mzungu means money….always. So it is not unusual for children to walk up to you and say with a smile, “Mzungu, give me money”. I even had some grown men do it! Don’t get me wrong….this is not begging. It is not homeless or street people. It is just something everyone does!
Needless to say, I learning alot!!! Not only about the way things are here, but also about the ingrained cultural bias I have brought from America. It is really eye opening!
This morning, seven of us walked into town to do email, and swarms of children followed us the whole way grinning and saying, “Hello…good morning…how are you”. They are excited to practice their conversational english and delighted when we answer in Swahili. Of course, nothing comes easily!! Yesterday a group of women greeted me with “Jambo” to which I replied, “Loa”. As they giggled uncontrollably, I remembered that I am actually supposed to say, “Poa”! There is no telling what I said to them!!
As the jet lag and culture shock is wearing off, it is slowly sinking in that I am really here. Yesterday as I walked through the village alone, I was overcome with one thought……”When did I become this woman?!?!?” Seriously, when did I become a person that believed that she could travel around the world to a completely different place and feel right at home? On the one hand, I was very proud. But on the other hand, I wondered if I was, in some way, a ……well, …..bit too big for my britches. Does that make sense? Maybe I am not made for things such as this, and someone just forgot to tell me! Well, I am here now, whether or not I belong here, and I am taking in 150% of what is around me. And as far as how I became this woman…..I am pretty sure that my mom had a lot to do with it!
Kwaheri for now…………..

Anna aka Mud Butt