For more Christmas photos and fun, click HERE!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Msamaria Street Center
So there I was, sitting at a table with some chipper young boys chattering away in Kiswahili (surely poking fun at each other, or, more likely, the blonde mzungu across the way) while stringing brightly colored beads onto thin pieces of wire, when I started thinking about survivors and scars.
Let me take two steps back. Last week, just before Christmas, Amka School closed until January 10th for the holiday/ summer break, leaving me without an assigned volunteer placement. No problem! There are plenty of places with kids that stay open all year round... namely, orphanages and street centers. My more cynical readers might be thinking, Oh yes, what's more cheery and uplifting than an orphanage on Christmas? Nothing could be more sad than saying goodbye to my tiny, adorable students that I've come to know and love, however (more on this particular last-day-goodbye in another post)... and you'd be surprised. Truthfully, I was excited, too, to check out other volunteer opportunities, dive deeper out of my comfort zone, and make a few new kids laugh, so... enter Msamaria for a day.
Unfortunately, my information on this particular street center is somewhat limited. What I have gathered from others (largely volunteers like myself) is that the center itself suffers from the usual suspects -- overcrowding, underfunding, and my new favorite, corruption. During most of the year, the center is chock-full of children of all ages (nearly all young boys). Some of them are orphans, while many others are children who decided all on their own that the center -- with it's pee-soaked mattresses and pealing- paint walls -- was a better option than the homes they came from. While some (even as young as 7 years old) arrive at the gate by themselves "merely" tattered and malnourished, others wander in with a lifetime's worth of suffering and sadness. Abuse. AIDS. Abandonment. Pick your poison.
Yet there I was that sunny day in December, two days before Christmas, watching the older kids play soccer and sharing a dish full of green and blue beads with a 10-year-old boy, laughing and arguing about which international "football" team we preferred. He eventually grew frustrated with what he deemed my "minimal" knowledge on the subject and took up comparing Ally (another volunteer) and I to different animals in snickering Swahili, assuming we wouldn't understand what they were chatting about. Guess what, though, little guy? I just spent the last 7 weeks practicing animals name with nursery school kids, so I know your game! Naturally, we called him out on it after he determined I looked like a "simba" (lion) with my hair like the "jua" (sun). Busted. Granted, the humidity has been particularly smitten with my curls in the worst kind of way, as of late, so I guess I can't really blame him.
I digress, but little boys seem to be the same all over the world, don't they? These kids, though... they're a little bit different. They face more difficult conundrums than which superhero to be for Halloween, if you know what I mean. Rather, they wear their every-day outfits down to thin pieces of fabric and sleep multiple boys to the same smelly bunk bed. The morning I arrived, they spent the first twenty minutes sweeping up the dirt front yard with a broom made of sticks and washing plastic dishes in a concrete sink. And, believe it or not, they bead jewelry to pay the bills.
You read that right -- the boys come and go, but a steady stream of them sit with CCS volunteers every morning, beading bracelets, necklaces, anklets and earrings to sell in town in order to pay the Center's water bill. Because, for a while? Yeah. They didn't have running water, and SOMEBODY has to pay for it.
One look at these kids and their decaying Center and anyone would be filled with a sense of injustice. Never mind Pity, jump straight to Indignant Frustration; do not pass Go, and do not collect $200. How can there not be enough money to pay the monthly water or electricity bill for these kids? Why has this simple but now seemingly impossible responsibility fallen on the shoulders of street children (and the occasional, high-turnover volunteer)? Seriously. They already have nothing! Whose not doing their job?
That's the funny thing about having nothing, though; it's never really the full story. People who have nothing, like these kids -- the people who appear to all the world like nobody's, invisible to everyone save for themselves -- often have more "somethings" than a real Somebody (not to completely Dr. Seuss you). These kids... well, as far as I can tell, they have energy and pride and sense of brotherhood the rest of us dream of... and a will to live like I've never seen. With physical reminders in the form of deep gnarled scars, many must relive their already long, painful histories we can only dare to imagine every time they look into a mirror. But they're stronger than that.
The kid sitting across from me at the beading table? He has scar, wide and raised, down the side of his left jaw bone that looks for all the world like it should have split his face in two. The first time I saw it, I inadvertently shivered, the ways he might have acquired it swiftly flooding into my brain... and then I felt wildly ashamed. It suddenly reminded me of a passage I read in a book last week. The narrator, a young, female Nigerian refugee, pleads with the reader, "I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived."
And so I smiled at the little survivor in front of me, as that's exactly what he was, and thought about how his (and every other) scar was actually infinitely more beautiful than any bracelet we could create. (Those kids make some beautiful things, too, I have to say.) Scars mean healing, and life... and right then, life demanded that the water bill be paid, so I went back to beading with new spirit in spades.
Let me take two steps back. Last week, just before Christmas, Amka School closed until January 10th for the holiday/ summer break, leaving me without an assigned volunteer placement. No problem! There are plenty of places with kids that stay open all year round... namely, orphanages and street centers. My more cynical readers might be thinking, Oh yes, what's more cheery and uplifting than an orphanage on Christmas? Nothing could be more sad than saying goodbye to my tiny, adorable students that I've come to know and love, however (more on this particular last-day-goodbye in another post)... and you'd be surprised. Truthfully, I was excited, too, to check out other volunteer opportunities, dive deeper out of my comfort zone, and make a few new kids laugh, so... enter Msamaria for a day.
Unfortunately, my information on this particular street center is somewhat limited. What I have gathered from others (largely volunteers like myself) is that the center itself suffers from the usual suspects -- overcrowding, underfunding, and my new favorite, corruption. During most of the year, the center is chock-full of children of all ages (nearly all young boys). Some of them are orphans, while many others are children who decided all on their own that the center -- with it's pee-soaked mattresses and pealing- paint walls -- was a better option than the homes they came from. While some (even as young as 7 years old) arrive at the gate by themselves "merely" tattered and malnourished, others wander in with a lifetime's worth of suffering and sadness. Abuse. AIDS. Abandonment. Pick your poison.
Yet there I was that sunny day in December, two days before Christmas, watching the older kids play soccer and sharing a dish full of green and blue beads with a 10-year-old boy, laughing and arguing about which international "football" team we preferred. He eventually grew frustrated with what he deemed my "minimal" knowledge on the subject and took up comparing Ally (another volunteer) and I to different animals in snickering Swahili, assuming we wouldn't understand what they were chatting about. Guess what, though, little guy? I just spent the last 7 weeks practicing animals name with nursery school kids, so I know your game! Naturally, we called him out on it after he determined I looked like a "simba" (lion) with my hair like the "jua" (sun). Busted. Granted, the humidity has been particularly smitten with my curls in the worst kind of way, as of late, so I guess I can't really blame him. I digress, but little boys seem to be the same all over the world, don't they? These kids, though... they're a little bit different. They face more difficult conundrums than which superhero to be for Halloween, if you know what I mean. Rather, they wear their every-day outfits down to thin pieces of fabric and sleep multiple boys to the same smelly bunk bed. The morning I arrived, they spent the first twenty minutes sweeping up the dirt front yard with a broom made of sticks and washing plastic dishes in a concrete sink. And, believe it or not, they bead jewelry to pay the bills.
You read that right -- the boys come and go, but a steady stream of them sit with CCS volunteers every morning, beading bracelets, necklaces, anklets and earrings to sell in town in order to pay the Center's water bill. Because, for a while? Yeah. They didn't have running water, and SOMEBODY has to pay for it.
One look at these kids and their decaying Center and anyone would be filled with a sense of injustice. Never mind Pity, jump straight to Indignant Frustration; do not pass Go, and do not collect $200. How can there not be enough money to pay the monthly water or electricity bill for these kids? Why has this simple but now seemingly impossible responsibility fallen on the shoulders of street children (and the occasional, high-turnover volunteer)? Seriously. They already have nothing! Whose not doing their job?
That's the funny thing about having nothing, though; it's never really the full story. People who have nothing, like these kids -- the people who appear to all the world like nobody's, invisible to everyone save for themselves -- often have more "somethings" than a real Somebody (not to completely Dr. Seuss you). These kids... well, as far as I can tell, they have energy and pride and sense of brotherhood the rest of us dream of... and a will to live like I've never seen. With physical reminders in the form of deep gnarled scars, many must relive their already long, painful histories we can only dare to imagine every time they look into a mirror. But they're stronger than that.
The kid sitting across from me at the beading table? He has scar, wide and raised, down the side of his left jaw bone that looks for all the world like it should have split his face in two. The first time I saw it, I inadvertently shivered, the ways he might have acquired it swiftly flooding into my brain... and then I felt wildly ashamed. It suddenly reminded me of a passage I read in a book last week. The narrator, a young, female Nigerian refugee, pleads with the reader, "I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived."
And so I smiled at the little survivor in front of me, as that's exactly what he was, and thought about how his (and every other) scar was actually infinitely more beautiful than any bracelet we could create. (Those kids make some beautiful things, too, I have to say.) Scars mean healing, and life... and right then, life demanded that the water bill be paid, so I went back to beading with new spirit in spades.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Christmas Eve Musings
So there I was, the blazing hot morning of Christmas Eve, briskly walking down a dirt path into Moshi town, when my usually outwardly-vigilant mind turned inward. "I've been in Tanzania for nearly 8 weeks already. I've been living in Africa for almost 2 months." Wait. What?
Don't get me wrong, I've totally been living in the moment, enjoying and appreciating every inch and minute of this experience. But sometimes, I get so entrenched, so comfortable (or at least so busy) that the novelty of the statement "I live in Africa and will for many months yet" doesn't compute. In fact, it doesn't even occur to me organically. I find myself sitting somewhere, or walking somewhere, or doing something that has become some kind of familiar and ordinary -- looking out at Mt. Kilimanjaro as I read a book on the front porch, for instance, or strolling into a coffee shop and ordering a chai in Swahili -- and I have to actively remind myself, "You are in Africa, Sarah. You live in Tanzania."
"No. Seriously. Rwanda is your next door neighbor."
It's truly an exciting (and odd) revelation every time... and it actually happens more often than you would think. I have wanted to come to Africa for as long as I can remember. Now, I'm actually here. Maybe that's part of it; it's always felt like a distant, possibly unreachable pipe-dream. But it's December 2010, I'm 24-years-old, and I'm living in East Africa... unreal... and it's largely due to all of you.
Truthfully, the other large part of it is that I'm just... living my life. I've made a home here. I have a schedule, I work, and I occasionally go on a weekend holiday (to the Serengeti, granted, but whatever). I had a lunch date scheduled for that afternoon (with some Tanzanian schoolboys) and I dropped off some Christmas pastries I bought at the bread shop for local friends (Athumani the Taxi Driver and Teacher Olivari's family in Njoro) before that. I have a cell phone here, for goodness sake. It may be the original Nokia, but I have Tanzanian phone numbers in it. I LIVE here. All of this occurred to me (for the hundredth time) as I walked down that footpath, sweltering under the 9AM summer sun.
The hardest part to reconcile is that while I may feel some sort of at home here, half of me (a big, weighty half) is still my old self -- I am a Western mzungu. I think about things like "which color kanga would look best with my hair color," and "I would love to go to Uganda for a weekend, because its right here, and wouldn't that be amazing? I could visit a school, maybe see the start of the Nile...." But I cannot afford/justify the plane ticket, and I'm actually frustrated by this on a regular basis. I've only been here eight weeks, and I've gone the couple of hours east to witness the Ngorongoro Crater at sunrise. Meanwhile, some of the people who have lived here their entire lives haven't even been close. Also, I carry around an embarrassingly nice water bottle.
I am spoiled rotten.
Granted, I wouldn't be here if I hadn't worked and fundraised for every cent. And granted, what little spending money I do have, I've largely been spending on school supplies and paint for my school. And granted, I am here as a volunteer, with nearly all of my waking hours devoted to planning lessons, hugging babies, and teaching 3-4-year-olds their 1-2-3s... and generally living my dream. But living here for as long (and as short) as I have, seeing what I've seen -- the poverty, the illness, the general struggle as well as the will -- and knowing what I know about all of it, I find it harder and harder to justify some of my "Western" worries and/or wants.
It would be a lie if I said something dramatic like "this is huge character-changer for me." I've always struggled with distractions silly, vane, and vile at home to some degree. I never bought an iPhone, for instance, because I knew that I didn't need to stare at it all day long (and I absolutely would). The dribble of reality TV always made me feel wildly irritated. And nearly every time I bought Starbucks, I thought about how many school pencils I could purchase with that money instead (the picture at the top of my blog being a constant reminder of my kids in the D.R. Congo). Somehow, though... I found ways to excuse it. (Pumpkin Spice Lattes are really, really good... and seasonal, don't you know?) But now? Umm. It's exceptionally more difficult to cut myself some slack. And yet here I am, still wishing I could go to Uganda. Or Rwanda. Or trek to the top of Mt. Kili. Sigh.
These are the musings and plights of a girl out of her comfort zone; of a Westerner with the blinders off. I've been blessed with many things... this opportunity, for one, and a superb support system and excellent education, to name a few others. I have library cards in three different cities and the ability to push a few buttons and have clean laundry within the hour when I'm back in the States. I'm going to get to try South African wine IN South Africa. But I still want. That's the trouble with being human. I know, but I want.
I'm not perfect, friends and family. But I'm learning, and I'm growing, and as I plopped my kanga-clad backside down on that African curb to wait for my Christmas Eve lunch dates... I was all kinds of grateful. That's me, and it's enough for now.
Don't get me wrong, I've totally been living in the moment, enjoying and appreciating every inch and minute of this experience. But sometimes, I get so entrenched, so comfortable (or at least so busy) that the novelty of the statement "I live in Africa and will for many months yet" doesn't compute. In fact, it doesn't even occur to me organically. I find myself sitting somewhere, or walking somewhere, or doing something that has become some kind of familiar and ordinary -- looking out at Mt. Kilimanjaro as I read a book on the front porch, for instance, or strolling into a coffee shop and ordering a chai in Swahili -- and I have to actively remind myself, "You are in Africa, Sarah. You live in Tanzania.""No. Seriously. Rwanda is your next door neighbor."
It's truly an exciting (and odd) revelation every time... and it actually happens more often than you would think. I have wanted to come to Africa for as long as I can remember. Now, I'm actually here. Maybe that's part of it; it's always felt like a distant, possibly unreachable pipe-dream. But it's December 2010, I'm 24-years-old, and I'm living in East Africa... unreal... and it's largely due to all of you.
Truthfully, the other large part of it is that I'm just... living my life. I've made a home here. I have a schedule, I work, and I occasionally go on a weekend holiday (to the Serengeti, granted, but whatever). I had a lunch date scheduled for that afternoon (with some Tanzanian schoolboys) and I dropped off some Christmas pastries I bought at the bread shop for local friends (Athumani the Taxi Driver and Teacher Olivari's family in Njoro) before that. I have a cell phone here, for goodness sake. It may be the original Nokia, but I have Tanzanian phone numbers in it. I LIVE here. All of this occurred to me (for the hundredth time) as I walked down that footpath, sweltering under the 9AM summer sun.
The hardest part to reconcile is that while I may feel some sort of at home here, half of me (a big, weighty half) is still my old self -- I am a Western mzungu. I think about things like "which color kanga would look best with my hair color," and "I would love to go to Uganda for a weekend, because its right here, and wouldn't that be amazing? I could visit a school, maybe see the start of the Nile...." But I cannot afford/justify the plane ticket, and I'm actually frustrated by this on a regular basis. I've only been here eight weeks, and I've gone the couple of hours east to witness the Ngorongoro Crater at sunrise. Meanwhile, some of the people who have lived here their entire lives haven't even been close. Also, I carry around an embarrassingly nice water bottle.
I am spoiled rotten.
Granted, I wouldn't be here if I hadn't worked and fundraised for every cent. And granted, what little spending money I do have, I've largely been spending on school supplies and paint for my school. And granted, I am here as a volunteer, with nearly all of my waking hours devoted to planning lessons, hugging babies, and teaching 3-4-year-olds their 1-2-3s... and generally living my dream. But living here for as long (and as short) as I have, seeing what I've seen -- the poverty, the illness, the general struggle as well as the will -- and knowing what I know about all of it, I find it harder and harder to justify some of my "Western" worries and/or wants.
It would be a lie if I said something dramatic like "this is huge character-changer for me." I've always struggled with distractions silly, vane, and vile at home to some degree. I never bought an iPhone, for instance, because I knew that I didn't need to stare at it all day long (and I absolutely would). The dribble of reality TV always made me feel wildly irritated. And nearly every time I bought Starbucks, I thought about how many school pencils I could purchase with that money instead (the picture at the top of my blog being a constant reminder of my kids in the D.R. Congo). Somehow, though... I found ways to excuse it. (Pumpkin Spice Lattes are really, really good... and seasonal, don't you know?) But now? Umm. It's exceptionally more difficult to cut myself some slack. And yet here I am, still wishing I could go to Uganda. Or Rwanda. Or trek to the top of Mt. Kili. Sigh.
These are the musings and plights of a girl out of her comfort zone; of a Westerner with the blinders off. I've been blessed with many things... this opportunity, for one, and a superb support system and excellent education, to name a few others. I have library cards in three different cities and the ability to push a few buttons and have clean laundry within the hour when I'm back in the States. I'm going to get to try South African wine IN South Africa. But I still want. That's the trouble with being human. I know, but I want.
I'm not perfect, friends and family. But I'm learning, and I'm growing, and as I plopped my kanga-clad backside down on that African curb to wait for my Christmas Eve lunch dates... I was all kinds of grateful. That's me, and it's enough for now.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Happy Holidays from CCS!
Gerald (one of our charming, no-nonsense security guards, pictured here) set this up in our meal area overnight so we'd walk out to breakfast in the morning and... SURPRISE! Merry Christmas from Africa, everyone!
Yes, those are hot pink balloons. Twinkle-lights included.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Magical Rangi from Rau
Josie, Nickson, and Rogers are three teenage boys (age 18 and 19) from Rau that Jennifer (a fellow volunteer) found studying at Upendo Art Association and School in Rau a couple of weeks ago.
The information I've gathered on them so far is that they all live together in a one-room concrete home (literally called a "ghetto," wherein at least three other boys and zero parents live with them) next door to the Tuleeni orphanage and are prime candidates for falling between society's cracks. Honestly, these guys could succumb to drugs, crime, and/or "mere" malnutrition in a heartbeat... it's just to easy here.
I mean... sincerely? Half a dozen teenage boys shacking up together with no real responsibilities, authority figure, or resources doesn't exactly conjure up the vote of confidence or image of productive morality one hopes for a bunch of decent kids... nor does it seem a likely catalyst for ardor, innocence, and enterprise... in the States OR rural Africa, for that matter. (A "give them a TV, an Xbox, and a gift-card for the nearest BP convenience store and you'd never see them again" sort of image comes to mind... only Africanized, of course. It'd be a real Christmas Miracle if we went a day here without losing electricity.)
These guys, though... they've got it; all of it, and I don't mean food, cash-money, or that hypnotizing gaming system. They've got drive. Growing talent. And a hunger to help... despite the odds. Suddenly, my meaningful painting project just grew a little more meaningful.
After seeing Josie's artwork at Upendo and realizing his eagerness to have anything to do during his time out of school, Jennifer introduced him to me, thinking perhaps we could put our heads and skills together to create something beautiful. Upon meeting up with him, I threw out some basic ideas about jovial animals and ABCs for the wall of the preschool... explaining to him that this was strictly volunteer work and floundering a little bit with the language barriers along the way. I journeyed home a little skeptical about whether or not this new project would really materialize, to be honest. Projects in Africa, experience has shown, usually take a while to happen, if at all. Josie, meanwhile? Oh, he promptly went home to his ghetto with his roommates (two of whom immediately decided they wanted in on this volunteer-business) and began sketching majestic giraffes and beautiful African sunsets that very weekend. No joke. We had our first paint-date scheduled with him within the week.
One week later, I arrived at Step Up Amka ready to drop to my knees with gratitude and amazement... the boys, my new, adoptive baby brothers, are AWESOME. We may be able to talk to one another only just barely (though we desperately try, and it's hilarious), and they may come from a ghetto in Rau, but they can PAINT. Moreover, I've never seen any teenage guy more eager to do anything so arduous, time-consuming, and high-pressure for FREE. Heck, forget "eager"; these young men are earnest, and the quality of their work and dedication to it proves this.
Don't take my word for it, however; check out some of the pics to follow. The transformation is like night and day. My kids come in to school every day so completely pumped about their new classroom, it makes my heart nearly burst. I am so, so thankful to have Josie and Co.'s help and talented art for my preschoolers to enjoy. Bonus, it's been such a pleasure so far to work and chat and hang with them, as they are great guys.
More than that, though... I'm thankful for this opportunity to give Josie and his comrades some quality time outside of the ghetto in Rau, and to share with them a sense of community and adult responsibility, as well as to instill in them, hopefully, a sense of pride about their work... because they should be proud of what they've done. It's an amazing (not to mention aesthetically pleasing) act of selfless giving. And who'd have thought it could all get done so quickly (or ever), and with such cool results? Not me, really... it's ridiculous... but it's such gratifying work when all of this is accomplished.
Again, as is now often the case... my cup runneth over. Meet Josie (above), Rogers, and Nickson:
The information I've gathered on them so far is that they all live together in a one-room concrete home (literally called a "ghetto," wherein at least three other boys and zero parents live with them) next door to the Tuleeni orphanage and are prime candidates for falling between society's cracks. Honestly, these guys could succumb to drugs, crime, and/or "mere" malnutrition in a heartbeat... it's just to easy here.
I mean... sincerely? Half a dozen teenage boys shacking up together with no real responsibilities, authority figure, or resources doesn't exactly conjure up the vote of confidence or image of productive morality one hopes for a bunch of decent kids... nor does it seem a likely catalyst for ardor, innocence, and enterprise... in the States OR rural Africa, for that matter. (A "give them a TV, an Xbox, and a gift-card for the nearest BP convenience store and you'd never see them again" sort of image comes to mind... only Africanized, of course. It'd be a real Christmas Miracle if we went a day here without losing electricity.)
These guys, though... they've got it; all of it, and I don't mean food, cash-money, or that hypnotizing gaming system. They've got drive. Growing talent. And a hunger to help... despite the odds. Suddenly, my meaningful painting project just grew a little more meaningful.
After seeing Josie's artwork at Upendo and realizing his eagerness to have anything to do during his time out of school, Jennifer introduced him to me, thinking perhaps we could put our heads and skills together to create something beautiful. Upon meeting up with him, I threw out some basic ideas about jovial animals and ABCs for the wall of the preschool... explaining to him that this was strictly volunteer work and floundering a little bit with the language barriers along the way. I journeyed home a little skeptical about whether or not this new project would really materialize, to be honest. Projects in Africa, experience has shown, usually take a while to happen, if at all. Josie, meanwhile? Oh, he promptly went home to his ghetto with his roommates (two of whom immediately decided they wanted in on this volunteer-business) and began sketching majestic giraffes and beautiful African sunsets that very weekend. No joke. We had our first paint-date scheduled with him within the week.
One week later, I arrived at Step Up Amka ready to drop to my knees with gratitude and amazement... the boys, my new, adoptive baby brothers, are AWESOME. We may be able to talk to one another only just barely (though we desperately try, and it's hilarious), and they may come from a ghetto in Rau, but they can PAINT. Moreover, I've never seen any teenage guy more eager to do anything so arduous, time-consuming, and high-pressure for FREE. Heck, forget "eager"; these young men are earnest, and the quality of their work and dedication to it proves this. Don't take my word for it, however; check out some of the pics to follow. The transformation is like night and day. My kids come in to school every day so completely pumped about their new classroom, it makes my heart nearly burst. I am so, so thankful to have Josie and Co.'s help and talented art for my preschoolers to enjoy. Bonus, it's been such a pleasure so far to work and chat and hang with them, as they are great guys.
More than that, though... I'm thankful for this opportunity to give Josie and his comrades some quality time outside of the ghetto in Rau, and to share with them a sense of community and adult responsibility, as well as to instill in them, hopefully, a sense of pride about their work... because they should be proud of what they've done. It's an amazing (not to mention aesthetically pleasing) act of selfless giving. And who'd have thought it could all get done so quickly (or ever), and with such cool results? Not me, really... it's ridiculous... but it's such gratifying work when all of this is accomplished.
Again, as is now often the case... my cup runneth over. Meet Josie (above), Rogers, and Nickson:
Painting Progress!
After many, many trips back and forth from home-base to the paint store, and home-base to Rau, and Rau to Amka in Njoro and back to home-base again... marvelous, tremendous, stupendous progress has been made on the cheering-up of Step Up Amka School! As per usual, I will fail to find the most accurate words to describe my feelings about this, but "immense pride," "amazement," and "ridiculous excitement" come fairly close.
Almost every afternoon last week (and at least one day each of the last three weekends in a row), I have made the trek over to Njoro (the neighborhood where Amka Nursery School is located) in Athmuni's dependable Moshi taxicab (Yes. I do in fact know my cab driver by name; it's my latest stint in "product" loyalty, calling him up nearly every day for a ride and getting a jovial, impromptu Swahili lesson along the way) to continue painting the classroom walls the happiest shades of blue and green imaginable. Every morning, I had the immense pleasure of watching my tiny students arrive one by one and burst with incredulous delight as they saw the latest brilliant new coat and color. Then the real fun began. To be continued...kesho!
Almost every afternoon last week (and at least one day each of the last three weekends in a row), I have made the trek over to Njoro (the neighborhood where Amka Nursery School is located) in Athmuni's dependable Moshi taxicab (Yes. I do in fact know my cab driver by name; it's my latest stint in "product" loyalty, calling him up nearly every day for a ride and getting a jovial, impromptu Swahili lesson along the way) to continue painting the classroom walls the happiest shades of blue and green imaginable. Every morning, I had the immense pleasure of watching my tiny students arrive one by one and burst with incredulous delight as they saw the latest brilliant new coat and color. Then the real fun began. To be continued...kesho!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Ceremony Season
It's been a busy month, friends! I cannot believe we're a week away from Christmas! It's sunny and sweltering here in TZ, so it doesn't really feel like Santa Clause is coming to town, to be honest. I also don't have any Christmas Day plans, as of yet, but I'm sure something new, different, and wild will come up. Here's hoping.
Earlier this month, I had the pleasure of attending a Tanzanian-style graduation ceremony for a group of young men and women at WEECE (a women's education and empowerment center in town). It was, in fact, the first ever graduation ceremony the vocational school had ever had, so it was a really special occasion... complete with donated robes and a courtyard completely decked out in balloons (which I helped blow up, thanks very much), ribbons, and brightly colored fabrics. The students' handy-work -- neatly sewn dresses, skirts, bags, and pants galore -- were displayed around the school, and many of the young women had gotten their hair redone and braided especially for the occasion.
WEECE, among many other things, functions to provide these young women (and few lucky young men) with practical skills they can use to support themselves and their families out in the community, including lessons in English, computers, and sewing (in addition to they usuals, reading and math, etc.). On the morning of the ceremony, upon walking into the transformed courtyard, I saw the "stage" fashioned out of an array of vibrant fabrics, the dozens of plastic chairs lined up all over the stone patio, and the nervous, smiling faces of the graduates-to-be... and I IMMEDIATELY started getting weepy. It was truly pathetic. The amount of work that Mama Mrema (who started WEECE) and her staff went through to make these kids feel special and accomplished, after preparing them for a productive adult life outside WEECE... well, let's just say it was crazy cool and emotional.
After tons of speakers, some amazing singing and dancing (by the students themselves, as well as a guest group of Maasai singers), and the handing out of the certificates, the family of each graduate swiftly ran up out of the sea of plastic chairs to place necklaces, flower leis, and kisses/hugs onto each student... so of course I broke down and wept (for real) again.
There was once a time when I didn't cry in front of anybody. So much for that. In a country where many do not have the opportunity to complete secondary school, it was really amazing to be a part of this celebration of academic achievement.
The best part about this hot, long, and exciting day, however, was that I was asked to film all of it. That's right! I was the volunteer videographer, photographer, and keeper of cameras, and it was a welcomed (though exhausting) responsibility that I wouldn't trade for anything. Not only does WEECE now have video footage to keep as a memory of their first ever graduation ceremony, but I also have the beautiful voices of the young graduates singing on my camera card forever. Plus a new line of electronic skills that I can add to my resume. Win-Win-Win.
Earlier this month, I had the pleasure of attending a Tanzanian-style graduation ceremony for a group of young men and women at WEECE (a women's education and empowerment center in town). It was, in fact, the first ever graduation ceremony the vocational school had ever had, so it was a really special occasion... complete with donated robes and a courtyard completely decked out in balloons (which I helped blow up, thanks very much), ribbons, and brightly colored fabrics. The students' handy-work -- neatly sewn dresses, skirts, bags, and pants galore -- were displayed around the school, and many of the young women had gotten their hair redone and braided especially for the occasion.
WEECE, among many other things, functions to provide these young women (and few lucky young men) with practical skills they can use to support themselves and their families out in the community, including lessons in English, computers, and sewing (in addition to they usuals, reading and math, etc.). On the morning of the ceremony, upon walking into the transformed courtyard, I saw the "stage" fashioned out of an array of vibrant fabrics, the dozens of plastic chairs lined up all over the stone patio, and the nervous, smiling faces of the graduates-to-be... and I IMMEDIATELY started getting weepy. It was truly pathetic. The amount of work that Mama Mrema (who started WEECE) and her staff went through to make these kids feel special and accomplished, after preparing them for a productive adult life outside WEECE... well, let's just say it was crazy cool and emotional.
After tons of speakers, some amazing singing and dancing (by the students themselves, as well as a guest group of Maasai singers), and the handing out of the certificates, the family of each graduate swiftly ran up out of the sea of plastic chairs to place necklaces, flower leis, and kisses/hugs onto each student... so of course I broke down and wept (for real) again. There was once a time when I didn't cry in front of anybody. So much for that. In a country where many do not have the opportunity to complete secondary school, it was really amazing to be a part of this celebration of academic achievement.
The best part about this hot, long, and exciting day, however, was that I was asked to film all of it. That's right! I was the volunteer videographer, photographer, and keeper of cameras, and it was a welcomed (though exhausting) responsibility that I wouldn't trade for anything. Not only does WEECE now have video footage to keep as a memory of their first ever graduation ceremony, but I also have the beautiful voices of the young graduates singing on my camera card forever. Plus a new line of electronic skills that I can add to my resume. Win-Win-Win.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Painting Party
Guess what, you guys?
I STARTED PAINTING AMKA! Hooray! After rallying several of the other volunteers, organizing a time to paint, and going into town to find and purchase brushes, rollers, tape and two huge buckets of paint (cheery "ripple green" and "summer blue"), we got started on Operation Colorful-Classroom... and it's looking AMAZING so far! No longer will my children learn in a front porch jail cell -- oh, no. Now they'll be surrounded by a brilliant oasis! Sound dramatic? It kind of is; the contrast is unreal.
I am so happy I decided to do this. It feels so good to brighten up these little punks' learning space. Just the knowledge that I'm leaving something physical and lasting of myself behind there, too, feels terrific.
The plan now is to go back on Sunday to give it a second coat (because I want it to last more than five seconds, being that they are prone [literally] to climb the walls)... and then I'm (FINGERS CROSSED) looking into "hiring" a local student artist at Upendo Artist Association (a local NGO in Rau where my roommate is volunteering) to paint some friendly safari animals on one of the walls. The kid I talked to is so sweet and talented, I think he and I could come up with something pretty great. Nothing says preschool in Africa like smiling twigas, tembos, and simbas, yes? Thus this could, potentially, turn out awesome. Long story short, I'm going to bend over backwards until I'm satisfied this classroom looks like a warm, bold, and happy haven.
Anyway, just an update on one of the better projects I've thrown myself into recently! More pictures to follow...
The best paint crew this side of Mt. Kilimanjaro: Craig, Jennifer, Some Blonde Chick, Lucetta, and Ian! Magicians with a paint brush, each and every one of them.
Many thanks to Sarah S, Mama Sarah, and Lois, too! Woo!
I STARTED PAINTING AMKA! Hooray! After rallying several of the other volunteers, organizing a time to paint, and going into town to find and purchase brushes, rollers, tape and two huge buckets of paint (cheery "ripple green" and "summer blue"), we got started on Operation Colorful-Classroom... and it's looking AMAZING so far! No longer will my children learn in a front porch jail cell -- oh, no. Now they'll be surrounded by a brilliant oasis! Sound dramatic? It kind of is; the contrast is unreal.
I am so happy I decided to do this. It feels so good to brighten up these little punks' learning space. Just the knowledge that I'm leaving something physical and lasting of myself behind there, too, feels terrific.
The plan now is to go back on Sunday to give it a second coat (because I want it to last more than five seconds, being that they are prone [literally] to climb the walls)... and then I'm (FINGERS CROSSED) looking into "hiring" a local student artist at Upendo Artist Association (a local NGO in Rau where my roommate is volunteering) to paint some friendly safari animals on one of the walls. The kid I talked to is so sweet and talented, I think he and I could come up with something pretty great. Nothing says preschool in Africa like smiling twigas, tembos, and simbas, yes? Thus this could, potentially, turn out awesome. Long story short, I'm going to bend over backwards until I'm satisfied this classroom looks like a warm, bold, and happy haven.
Anyway, just an update on one of the better projects I've thrown myself into recently! More pictures to follow...
The best paint crew this side of Mt. Kilimanjaro: Craig, Jennifer, Some Blonde Chick, Lucetta, and Ian! Magicians with a paint brush, each and every one of them.Many thanks to Sarah S, Mama Sarah, and Lois, too! Woo!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I ate Wildebeest!
Sincerely, I did! And it was delicious, let me tell you. Earlier this week, a new Tanzanian friend invited several of us mzungus over to his house in Rau for a traditional dinner, and he cooked us tender, flavorful wildebeest. I'll try [nearly] anything once, and I'm so glad I did.
In other news, I also have neglected to blog about the following activities:
On Thanksgiving night, we American volunteers were served a delicious Tanzanian-American T-day feast, complete with sweet potatoes, green beans, and cranberry sauce... and, most importantly, a turkey! The cooks truly out-did themselves, traveling all the way to Arusha the day before to find us that bird. Sitting around the dinner table, we cheered their names, counted our blessings, and gave thanks that we were all their together -- an adoptive, international family of volunteers.
Several weekends ago, I went on a day hike along the base of Kilimanjaro to a humongous and beautiful waterfall. Words cannot accurately describe how gorgeous an African waterfall in the rain forest is and can be... or what a good workout it is to get there, haha.
I was lucky enough to be led by a nice guy named Oscar, who also welcomed us into his home and showed us how his family harvests fresh organic coffee -- start to finish. We helped him pick the coffee berries, clean, peel, dry, roast, and grind them, and then -- most importantly -- drink several cups of it. I don't think I've ever tasted better. It was a great and much needed energy boost for the forthcoming waterfall hike, as well.
Last Wednesday, the new volunteers and I also had the rare and unforgettable opportunity to visit the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. Located in Arusha, the Tribunal continues to try high level government officials for their involvement in the 1994 genocide in Rwanda... and we got to sit in on one of the trials. I was particularly excited to visit the ICTR because I spent some time researching and reading about the genocide and Tribunal work while in University. To see it in action, however, was completely unreal.
The existence and impact of the Tribunal for Rwanda cannot be understated. It has served as a huge step in the administration of criminal justice, not just in Africa, but internationally. Since its creation, several other tribunals have been created around the world to try everyone from heads of state to top military generals, sending the powerful message that no one is above the law when it comes to war crimes, genocide, crimes of aggression or crimes against humanity. Further, in addition to promoting global justice, it has created an indispensable archive of the events of the '94 genocide, so that future generations may learn from what has come to pass and guarantee that history never repeats itself.
So far, the Tribunal has arrested 81 people and among those completed 53 trials. 11 people indited are still missing. On that particularly day, the former Minister of Planning was on trial, and we listened in as he was questioned about documents and cables he had received in 1994 concerning violent attacks, stolen weapons, and squelched protests. The courtroom was full of tension and frustration, as there were several disputes over the documents validity and who had said what -- the translators there having a hell of a time since the defendant spoke French while the judge and counsel spoke English. Wildly interesting stuff; my ears were glued to my translating head-set.
Okay... that's enough blogging about my various feasting and pursuits of knowledge for today, eh? Pole! Kwaheri, my friends!
In other news, I also have neglected to blog about the following activities:
On Thanksgiving night, we American volunteers were served a delicious Tanzanian-American T-day feast, complete with sweet potatoes, green beans, and cranberry sauce... and, most importantly, a turkey! The cooks truly out-did themselves, traveling all the way to Arusha the day before to find us that bird. Sitting around the dinner table, we cheered their names, counted our blessings, and gave thanks that we were all their together -- an adoptive, international family of volunteers.
Several weekends ago, I went on a day hike along the base of Kilimanjaro to a humongous and beautiful waterfall. Words cannot accurately describe how gorgeous an African waterfall in the rain forest is and can be... or what a good workout it is to get there, haha.
I was lucky enough to be led by a nice guy named Oscar, who also welcomed us into his home and showed us how his family harvests fresh organic coffee -- start to finish. We helped him pick the coffee berries, clean, peel, dry, roast, and grind them, and then -- most importantly -- drink several cups of it. I don't think I've ever tasted better. It was a great and much needed energy boost for the forthcoming waterfall hike, as well. Last Wednesday, the new volunteers and I also had the rare and unforgettable opportunity to visit the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. Located in Arusha, the Tribunal continues to try high level government officials for their involvement in the 1994 genocide in Rwanda... and we got to sit in on one of the trials. I was particularly excited to visit the ICTR because I spent some time researching and reading about the genocide and Tribunal work while in University. To see it in action, however, was completely unreal.
The existence and impact of the Tribunal for Rwanda cannot be understated. It has served as a huge step in the administration of criminal justice, not just in Africa, but internationally. Since its creation, several other tribunals have been created around the world to try everyone from heads of state to top military generals, sending the powerful message that no one is above the law when it comes to war crimes, genocide, crimes of aggression or crimes against humanity. Further, in addition to promoting global justice, it has created an indispensable archive of the events of the '94 genocide, so that future generations may learn from what has come to pass and guarantee that history never repeats itself.
So far, the Tribunal has arrested 81 people and among those completed 53 trials. 11 people indited are still missing. On that particularly day, the former Minister of Planning was on trial, and we listened in as he was questioned about documents and cables he had received in 1994 concerning violent attacks, stolen weapons, and squelched protests. The courtroom was full of tension and frustration, as there were several disputes over the documents validity and who had said what -- the translators there having a hell of a time since the defendant spoke French while the judge and counsel spoke English. Wildly interesting stuff; my ears were glued to my translating head-set.
Okay... that's enough blogging about my various feasting and pursuits of knowledge for today, eh? Pole! Kwaheri, my friends!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Updates on Amka
I'm sure all of you could tell how stressed I was my first week or two of volunteering at the preschool. I truly still feel stretched thin, and many mornings I find myself wondering what on Earth I can and should do next to address the dozens of challenges my children face every day. It's a tough place to stand strong in... knowing what I know about teaching, and what these kids deserve, and how little they really have... and how ill-equipped and ill-prepared I still feel for the task at hand, to be honest. But then I think about a couple of really important things...
1. What my expectations for myself really are (as briefly described previously), and that they are, in fact, obtainable, if I stay the course and continue to earnestly and honestly work my tail off (because, gosh darn it, those kids are worth it);
2. They're just kids. They may be pretty naughty, and they may beat each other over the head with their tiny fists every once in a while, and they may come from one-room homes where poverty and hunger and violence are the norms... but really? They're just kids, and they're like every other kid in the world. They just want love, attention, and some fun, whenever possible. I can give them that... and more. I also have power to teach them some things, and that's a gift I came all the way from America to share.
So, anyway, after spending some time being confused about how I could contribute and what my role really was here, etc. etc., I had an informal meeting with Mama Naseem. She wanted to meet me, and I just wanted to get to know her and ask her questions about how and why she started Step Up... what she hoped for her students, etc. This one meeting (and a subsequent chat with Olivari, the one teacher I work with at the new Step Up extension school) nearly tripled my confidence level and drive to do good by these kids. No joke. I feel like I am part of a team now, striving for a really important victory. Sound corny? I bet it does, but I'm totally being earnest, and it was the best feeling in the world.
In a country where corporal punishment in schools is still WIDELY used, Mama Naseem has created a safe haven of a learning environment. She wants her students to feel welcomed and comfortable at school (as home-life often isn't both or either)and to associate learning with fun and persistence, not pain and embarrassment; thus, no one uses the cane on her kids. She wants her school to give children the skills, smarts, and confidence they need to succeed in primary, secondary, and university; thus the inclusion of English in the curriculum, in addition to extra tutoring sessions every afternoon, evening and weekend morning for anyone who wants to learn. She loves that volunteers come in to help, as it not only opens the door for new ideas, extra help, and cultural exchange, but also allows her to promote her school to local families as a place that employs native English speakers -- a real rarity here.
Her hope, she explained to me, was that the new school where I have started working (Amka, which opened in January) would be as colorful and full of life as the original... but it just isn't there yet. Parents don't want to send their kids there, as it's not as bright, cheerful, and safe as the original (where Mama Naseem herself lives... someone they know and trust -- another bonus), and there are no resources. But Mama Naseem has so much faith in her new school, and so much passion towards her cause... it catalyzed a new energy in me, breathing new life into the core of why I packed up my life and moved to Africa.
So what have I been doing for the past week, you ask? Well, I've brought in a handful of children's books I hunted down every single day. I read to them, and then I let them share and pass around the books themselves, so they get a chance to explore the books on their own. It's magical how pumped they get about this.
I've also photocopied at least a half dozen different coloring book pages and collected as many crayons and colored pencils as possible, so that they could have some fun with art and practice their colors and English vocabulary. Last week, I did a few mini-lessons on "Animals" and "Animal Habitats," having them practice writing and drawing animals and identifying their homes (in English and Kiswahili, as I need as much practice as they do, haha), in addition to browsing animal books and singing any and every song I can possibly remember about animals. (You'd be surprised how many are out there if you reached into the depths of your memory bank, let me tell ya.)
This week, I dove head-first into "Shapes," as they don't know a triangle from a rectangle from a circle... but my goodness, are they cute. I cut out dozens of construction paper shapes and had them paste them to their own pieces of paper, collage-style, and it was basically a blast.
[True story: When I held up the construction paper hearts and asked them "What shape is this?" they all promptly responded, "I love you! I love you!" To which I responded, "Yes, ndiyo. That's correct!" and then proceeded to melt and kiss them all on the top of the head. So I'm basically the worst educator ever. haha]
Anyway, in addition to my adventures in teaching in Swahili (which I'm painstakingly studying every evening after dinner), I also had a chance to ask Olivari and Naseem if they would like me to see if I could paint the front porch "classroom" of my preschoolers (being that I do have several summers as a paint crew employee under my belt), and they were all for it! Thus my research for finding cheap and brightly colored paint, rollers, and masking tape in Moshi town as well as rallying my fellow volunteers for extra help begins! What do you think, guys? Teal? Royal blue? Periwinkle?
(My classroom at AMKA... minus the future fun paint job)
More to come!
Most sincerely, Sarah
1. What my expectations for myself really are (as briefly described previously), and that they are, in fact, obtainable, if I stay the course and continue to earnestly and honestly work my tail off (because, gosh darn it, those kids are worth it);
2. They're just kids. They may be pretty naughty, and they may beat each other over the head with their tiny fists every once in a while, and they may come from one-room homes where poverty and hunger and violence are the norms... but really? They're just kids, and they're like every other kid in the world. They just want love, attention, and some fun, whenever possible. I can give them that... and more. I also have power to teach them some things, and that's a gift I came all the way from America to share.
So, anyway, after spending some time being confused about how I could contribute and what my role really was here, etc. etc., I had an informal meeting with Mama Naseem. She wanted to meet me, and I just wanted to get to know her and ask her questions about how and why she started Step Up... what she hoped for her students, etc. This one meeting (and a subsequent chat with Olivari, the one teacher I work with at the new Step Up extension school) nearly tripled my confidence level and drive to do good by these kids. No joke. I feel like I am part of a team now, striving for a really important victory. Sound corny? I bet it does, but I'm totally being earnest, and it was the best feeling in the world.
In a country where corporal punishment in schools is still WIDELY used, Mama Naseem has created a safe haven of a learning environment. She wants her students to feel welcomed and comfortable at school (as home-life often isn't both or either)and to associate learning with fun and persistence, not pain and embarrassment; thus, no one uses the cane on her kids. She wants her school to give children the skills, smarts, and confidence they need to succeed in primary, secondary, and university; thus the inclusion of English in the curriculum, in addition to extra tutoring sessions every afternoon, evening and weekend morning for anyone who wants to learn. She loves that volunteers come in to help, as it not only opens the door for new ideas, extra help, and cultural exchange, but also allows her to promote her school to local families as a place that employs native English speakers -- a real rarity here.
Her hope, she explained to me, was that the new school where I have started working (Amka, which opened in January) would be as colorful and full of life as the original... but it just isn't there yet. Parents don't want to send their kids there, as it's not as bright, cheerful, and safe as the original (where Mama Naseem herself lives... someone they know and trust -- another bonus), and there are no resources. But Mama Naseem has so much faith in her new school, and so much passion towards her cause... it catalyzed a new energy in me, breathing new life into the core of why I packed up my life and moved to Africa.
So what have I been doing for the past week, you ask? Well, I've brought in a handful of children's books I hunted down every single day. I read to them, and then I let them share and pass around the books themselves, so they get a chance to explore the books on their own. It's magical how pumped they get about this.I've also photocopied at least a half dozen different coloring book pages and collected as many crayons and colored pencils as possible, so that they could have some fun with art and practice their colors and English vocabulary. Last week, I did a few mini-lessons on "Animals" and "Animal Habitats," having them practice writing and drawing animals and identifying their homes (in English and Kiswahili, as I need as much practice as they do, haha), in addition to browsing animal books and singing any and every song I can possibly remember about animals. (You'd be surprised how many are out there if you reached into the depths of your memory bank, let me tell ya.)
This week, I dove head-first into "Shapes," as they don't know a triangle from a rectangle from a circle... but my goodness, are they cute. I cut out dozens of construction paper shapes and had them paste them to their own pieces of paper, collage-style, and it was basically a blast.
[True story: When I held up the construction paper hearts and asked them "What shape is this?" they all promptly responded, "I love you! I love you!" To which I responded, "Yes, ndiyo. That's correct!" and then proceeded to melt and kiss them all on the top of the head. So I'm basically the worst educator ever. haha]
Anyway, in addition to my adventures in teaching in Swahili (which I'm painstakingly studying every evening after dinner), I also had a chance to ask Olivari and Naseem if they would like me to see if I could paint the front porch "classroom" of my preschoolers (being that I do have several summers as a paint crew employee under my belt), and they were all for it! Thus my research for finding cheap and brightly colored paint, rollers, and masking tape in Moshi town as well as rallying my fellow volunteers for extra help begins! What do you think, guys? Teal? Royal blue? Periwinkle?
(My classroom at AMKA... minus the future fun paint job)
More to come!
Most sincerely, Sarah
How the West was Won
Two days before Thanksgiving, I hopped in a bus bound for an African orphanage. We were only there for one hour, but it was one of the more fulfilling hours of my life. I didn’t even do very much, but the little I did do felt more meaningful than some of my biggest and boldest moves.
After stopping by a local grocery window to buy all the bread, sugar, flour, and cooking oil several thousand shillings could buy (to give to the nuns and children upon our arrival), we walked into the orphanage – specifically, the baby room – and I fell in love. I plopped down on the floor, pulled a baby (and sometimes two) into my lap, and barely moved for the next sixty minutes. You see, the only thing (aside from food and comfortable sleep) that these beautiful babies want is Love. Cuddles and tickles. Human touch. That’s it. Something we all take for granted, and I’ve never been happier to provide.
It reminded me of the hour I spent at the infirmary in Jamaica, visiting the sick and disabled that the world had dropped off and left behind… people who want little more than someone to talk to, someone who will acknowledge them, read to them, hug them, look at them. And it happens so little.
Both of these separate experiences, in very different parts of the world, remind me of how lucky I am to have people in my life who care about me, love me, hug me; it’s so very humbling. And so, in case I’ve forgotten to say so recently, let me take this chance to tell you how much I appreciate and care about each of you – my friends, family, and mentors following along as I try to share the love you gave me and the compassion that you taught me in other countries and communities and homes. I cannot thank you enough. My cup runneth over.
And with one tiny, innocent, genuine smile from the beautiful baby orphan in my arms, my Western heart was wholly won over that day. I cannot wait to go back.
After stopping by a local grocery window to buy all the bread, sugar, flour, and cooking oil several thousand shillings could buy (to give to the nuns and children upon our arrival), we walked into the orphanage – specifically, the baby room – and I fell in love. I plopped down on the floor, pulled a baby (and sometimes two) into my lap, and barely moved for the next sixty minutes. You see, the only thing (aside from food and comfortable sleep) that these beautiful babies want is Love. Cuddles and tickles. Human touch. That’s it. Something we all take for granted, and I’ve never been happier to provide.
It reminded me of the hour I spent at the infirmary in Jamaica, visiting the sick and disabled that the world had dropped off and left behind… people who want little more than someone to talk to, someone who will acknowledge them, read to them, hug them, look at them. And it happens so little.
Both of these separate experiences, in very different parts of the world, remind me of how lucky I am to have people in my life who care about me, love me, hug me; it’s so very humbling. And so, in case I’ve forgotten to say so recently, let me take this chance to tell you how much I appreciate and care about each of you – my friends, family, and mentors following along as I try to share the love you gave me and the compassion that you taught me in other countries and communities and homes. I cannot thank you enough. My cup runneth over.
And with one tiny, innocent, genuine smile from the beautiful baby orphan in my arms, my Western heart was wholly won over that day. I cannot wait to go back.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Two-Buck Chick
One of my fellow volunteers here at CCS, Ed (who sadly leaves Tanzania with his lovely partner-in-crime, Jane, today) has been working at the local juvenile detention center these past three weeks. Not long after his arrival there three weeks ago, he discovered that one of the things the boys (and one girl resident) needed most was a chicken coop… as they are desperately in need of another source of income, food, and responsibility (i.e., eggs). Their days are normally filled with…well, not much (another volunteer teaches them some lessons in the morning, and they have a small garden, but that’s about all there is to do), so life’s more than a little bleak. We have learned, however, that for some of the kids, the ju-vee is a better home than wherever they came from – imagine that, for a minute. A barbed-wire compound with nothing but yard and some large bunk-rooms (and one “classroom”) -- a better home than Home.
Anyway, Ed decided that before his three weeks were up, he would make sure a chicken coop was built and some chickens were bought so that day-to-day life at the detention center could be a little more comfortable and purposeful. Enlisting the other volunteers’ help, I found myself joining Ed at the detention center one day to see if I could lend a hand in constructing the coop. Although I was largely unhelpful (some of the young residents were pitching in, so my extra hands were mostly unneeded), I was happy to support the project and take part in what Ed later dubbed the “2 Buck Chick” campaign (guess where he dreamed up the inspiration for this name, haha).
“2 Buck Chick” is exactly what it sounds like – for two bucks, one can sponsor a baby chicken for the ju-vee coop. Isn’t it incredible, the impact two dollars can make in this world? (At home, it can almost buy you a bottle of Charles Shaw – decidedly a good deal, haha; here, it means food and income for weeks and months to come.) Many of the volunteers as well as several staff members at the Home Base have pitched in, and after many days searching for healthy, cheap chicks (people keep trying to charge extra because Ed is a mzungu, and there’s a lot of “he-said, she-said” about who currently possess chickens for sale), and only a few days of construction, the coop is now finished!
In case you were wondering, I insisted that the chick I sponsored be named Chuck. Or Joe.
Anyway, Ed decided that before his three weeks were up, he would make sure a chicken coop was built and some chickens were bought so that day-to-day life at the detention center could be a little more comfortable and purposeful. Enlisting the other volunteers’ help, I found myself joining Ed at the detention center one day to see if I could lend a hand in constructing the coop. Although I was largely unhelpful (some of the young residents were pitching in, so my extra hands were mostly unneeded), I was happy to support the project and take part in what Ed later dubbed the “2 Buck Chick” campaign (guess where he dreamed up the inspiration for this name, haha). “2 Buck Chick” is exactly what it sounds like – for two bucks, one can sponsor a baby chicken for the ju-vee coop. Isn’t it incredible, the impact two dollars can make in this world? (At home, it can almost buy you a bottle of Charles Shaw – decidedly a good deal, haha; here, it means food and income for weeks and months to come.) Many of the volunteers as well as several staff members at the Home Base have pitched in, and after many days searching for healthy, cheap chicks (people keep trying to charge extra because Ed is a mzungu, and there’s a lot of “he-said, she-said” about who currently possess chickens for sale), and only a few days of construction, the coop is now finished!
In case you were wondering, I insisted that the chick I sponsored be named Chuck. Or Joe.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Visiting Villages
Since I have arrived here, I have had the opportunity to visit two different northern Tanzanian villages – Rau and Marangu.
Rau -- located only about 5 minutes away from our home-base in Moshi – is an extremely impoverished area. On the way there, we (the other volunteers and I) were thrown around inside our van like popcorn kernels cooking in a microwave bag – typical of this area and my time here, as the roads are not paved, instead just a winding maze of packed dusty, orange dirt littered with chicken, goats, and people… and the inside of the van is ALWAYS hot.
On either side of this road through Rau are metal, cardboard, and wood plank homes often no bigger than a garden shed back home, plopped amongst the trees (which are flowering beautiful reds and purples right now), bushes, and trash of Africa. Laundry lines of shirts, pants, and brightly patterned kangas blow in the breeze in every direction.
Our first stop in Rau was to visit the chief, who graciously invited us into his home so that he could answer any questions we might have about the village and his role as chief (i.e., settling any disputes among villagers, addressing issues such as school truancy, unemployment, and the local alcohol problem [which is sadly all too common around here, particularly for men who get a little lazy, choosing instead to camp out at the local tiny shack bar sipping banana brew all damn day long while the women do much of the work]).
After the Q & A, he proudly showed us his motorized bicycle and then gave us a tour of his own chicken and goat supply out back. Meanwhile, we became surrounded on all sides by Rau’s children, who seemed to have materialized shyly out of the trees. With each passing minute they became more and more bold, eventually following us around for the rest of the afternoon. After visiting several other households in Rau, stopping periodically to examine the quietly working women’s tidy family garden plots, copious amounts of beautiful sewing and washing work, and the never-ending job of child-rearing (not to mention many of them have outside work to bring home extra money for their children’s school fees and empty bellies), we stopped at a children’s center where each are taught (by local volunteers) tremendous art skills (in addition to basic ed). I nearly cried at how beautiful the various murals and canvases were propped up against the cement walls… all done by the local kids. Amazing.
We finished up our visit in Rau with a quick stroll through the market – which was, incidentally, chaotic, but nothing like the market in Marangu. I wish I could have taken pictures of this place... if you do, everyone there starts demanding you pay them money, so I decided just to live in the moment. Picture the biggest and busiest farmers market in the States... and no multiple that craziness by twenty. Every kind of fruit, vegi, fish, chicken, fabric, cheap electronic, rice and grain you could imagine, and all those smells combined. I decided to buy nothing, but watched my fellow volunteers try their luck at "burgaining" (as a local told us to do) while being ushered into and under tents of all kinds to "just brush their eyes" (or "browse," haha). While the beautiful kanga fabric seems to be all of our weaknesses (the Mamas here can take any piece of it and design and create any skirt or tunic or whatever you want in a matter of days), I've decided I cannot justify buying it unless it's being sold by a local women's group (where I know part of the profits are going towards their program/food/education). These women are often the sweetest people I've ever met, and I'd gladly support them if I'm going to splurge and buy anything.
Anyway, in addition to the market, we also visited a giant baobab tree and a local blacksmith who showed us how he uses traditional methods (rare in this area) to make Maasai spears and tools and other metal and wood carvings. After that, we spent the rest of the afternoon learning all about the Chagga tribe. Marangu is quintessential rural Africa on the bottom of Mt. Kilimanjaro. It's a great place for hiking and bird-watching, but in particular, it's excellent for checking out traditional Chagga homes (which look like giant thatch bee-hives, half of the inside reserved for a cow or two, the other half for the family and cooking fire) and climbing down into ancient Chagga caves, which were used by the Chagga to live in and hide out from slave traders and the Maasai during the war between the two. I did both (check them out, that is... not live and hide in the cave). The caving, in particular, was fascinating and challenging, as the tunnels are often so small you have to crawl through them, but I would recommend the experience to anyone who has the chance to check it out. It's pretty unbelievable.
(Traditional Chagga homes)
Rau -- located only about 5 minutes away from our home-base in Moshi – is an extremely impoverished area. On the way there, we (the other volunteers and I) were thrown around inside our van like popcorn kernels cooking in a microwave bag – typical of this area and my time here, as the roads are not paved, instead just a winding maze of packed dusty, orange dirt littered with chicken, goats, and people… and the inside of the van is ALWAYS hot.
On either side of this road through Rau are metal, cardboard, and wood plank homes often no bigger than a garden shed back home, plopped amongst the trees (which are flowering beautiful reds and purples right now), bushes, and trash of Africa. Laundry lines of shirts, pants, and brightly patterned kangas blow in the breeze in every direction.
Our first stop in Rau was to visit the chief, who graciously invited us into his home so that he could answer any questions we might have about the village and his role as chief (i.e., settling any disputes among villagers, addressing issues such as school truancy, unemployment, and the local alcohol problem [which is sadly all too common around here, particularly for men who get a little lazy, choosing instead to camp out at the local tiny shack bar sipping banana brew all damn day long while the women do much of the work]).
After the Q & A, he proudly showed us his motorized bicycle and then gave us a tour of his own chicken and goat supply out back. Meanwhile, we became surrounded on all sides by Rau’s children, who seemed to have materialized shyly out of the trees. With each passing minute they became more and more bold, eventually following us around for the rest of the afternoon. After visiting several other households in Rau, stopping periodically to examine the quietly working women’s tidy family garden plots, copious amounts of beautiful sewing and washing work, and the never-ending job of child-rearing (not to mention many of them have outside work to bring home extra money for their children’s school fees and empty bellies), we stopped at a children’s center where each are taught (by local volunteers) tremendous art skills (in addition to basic ed). I nearly cried at how beautiful the various murals and canvases were propped up against the cement walls… all done by the local kids. Amazing. We finished up our visit in Rau with a quick stroll through the market – which was, incidentally, chaotic, but nothing like the market in Marangu. I wish I could have taken pictures of this place... if you do, everyone there starts demanding you pay them money, so I decided just to live in the moment. Picture the biggest and busiest farmers market in the States... and no multiple that craziness by twenty. Every kind of fruit, vegi, fish, chicken, fabric, cheap electronic, rice and grain you could imagine, and all those smells combined. I decided to buy nothing, but watched my fellow volunteers try their luck at "burgaining" (as a local told us to do) while being ushered into and under tents of all kinds to "just brush their eyes" (or "browse," haha). While the beautiful kanga fabric seems to be all of our weaknesses (the Mamas here can take any piece of it and design and create any skirt or tunic or whatever you want in a matter of days), I've decided I cannot justify buying it unless it's being sold by a local women's group (where I know part of the profits are going towards their program/food/education). These women are often the sweetest people I've ever met, and I'd gladly support them if I'm going to splurge and buy anything.
Anyway, in addition to the market, we also visited a giant baobab tree and a local blacksmith who showed us how he uses traditional methods (rare in this area) to make Maasai spears and tools and other metal and wood carvings. After that, we spent the rest of the afternoon learning all about the Chagga tribe. Marangu is quintessential rural Africa on the bottom of Mt. Kilimanjaro. It's a great place for hiking and bird-watching, but in particular, it's excellent for checking out traditional Chagga homes (which look like giant thatch bee-hives, half of the inside reserved for a cow or two, the other half for the family and cooking fire) and climbing down into ancient Chagga caves, which were used by the Chagga to live in and hide out from slave traders and the Maasai during the war between the two. I did both (check them out, that is... not live and hide in the cave). The caving, in particular, was fascinating and challenging, as the tunnels are often so small you have to crawl through them, but I would recommend the experience to anyone who has the chance to check it out. It's pretty unbelievable.
(Traditional Chagga homes)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Things that I've done...
but haven't yet been able to blog about (and this is only the beginning):
1. Washed and ironed my first load of clothing outside this past weekend (as I didn't have a single t-shirt left that didn't smell a bit like safari). What an incredible work out! Yikes... and no bug troubles yet!
2. Read my first Tanzanian newspaper, front-to-back, and felt more in the know and less like a mzungu than ever.
3. Tried -- and hated -- the local banana beer and wine. Some of the other African beers (entitled "Safari," "Serengeti," and "Tusker," for example) are not terrible, but... I think I'll be saving any alcohol purchases/splurges for when I'm in South Africa and surrounded by vinyards. I'm having a hard time justifying buying anything like that right now, anyway... with so many people around me struggling to buy food and/ pay basic bills and school fees. It just doesn't feel cool.
4. Visited another local nursery school not far from mine that a fellow volunteer works at... although no longer, as his kids have "graduated" and will be attending primary school in January. He had at least twice as many kids under his watch (although he had extra help), and it was break time when I arrived, so they all bum-rushed me with hugs, high-fives, and "teach-uh! teach-uh!" upon my turning the corner... so it was kind of awesome. Nothing quite like being a celebrity among children to get a little confidence and morale boost.
5. Went out to dinner (on CCS) with the other volunteers to a local restaurant where a bunch of traditional African drummers and dancers came out to entertain us as well as teach us how to "shakey shakey." This was INCREDIBLE. It was like Cirque de Soleil meets dinner theatre meets African dance club. Did I say doing my laundry here was a good workout? Try "shakey shakey." Master it and you'll feel fearless.
6. Brought in a handful of excellent children's books to my kids at Step Up (that I had brought from home, thank goodness!) so that I could read to them and they could finally get their cute, eager little hands on some... and holy smokes, guys... they loved them. They're so smart and so deserving... I wish I could give them an entire library.
1. Washed and ironed my first load of clothing outside this past weekend (as I didn't have a single t-shirt left that didn't smell a bit like safari). What an incredible work out! Yikes... and no bug troubles yet!
2. Read my first Tanzanian newspaper, front-to-back, and felt more in the know and less like a mzungu than ever.
3. Tried -- and hated -- the local banana beer and wine. Some of the other African beers (entitled "Safari," "Serengeti," and "Tusker," for example) are not terrible, but... I think I'll be saving any alcohol purchases/splurges for when I'm in South Africa and surrounded by vinyards. I'm having a hard time justifying buying anything like that right now, anyway... with so many people around me struggling to buy food and/ pay basic bills and school fees. It just doesn't feel cool.
4. Visited another local nursery school not far from mine that a fellow volunteer works at... although no longer, as his kids have "graduated" and will be attending primary school in January. He had at least twice as many kids under his watch (although he had extra help), and it was break time when I arrived, so they all bum-rushed me with hugs, high-fives, and "teach-uh! teach-uh!" upon my turning the corner... so it was kind of awesome. Nothing quite like being a celebrity among children to get a little confidence and morale boost.
5. Went out to dinner (on CCS) with the other volunteers to a local restaurant where a bunch of traditional African drummers and dancers came out to entertain us as well as teach us how to "shakey shakey." This was INCREDIBLE. It was like Cirque de Soleil meets dinner theatre meets African dance club. Did I say doing my laundry here was a good workout? Try "shakey shakey." Master it and you'll feel fearless.
6. Brought in a handful of excellent children's books to my kids at Step Up (that I had brought from home, thank goodness!) so that I could read to them and they could finally get their cute, eager little hands on some... and holy smokes, guys... they loved them. They're so smart and so deserving... I wish I could give them an entire library.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Step Up, Amka Branch!
Mama Naseem (second from left), Teacher Olivari (far right), an some Step Up students in front of the school gate! The two in the middle, Ansila and Hussein, are in my class.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Living in The Lion King
Last weekend, I had the extraordinary opportunity to go on safari for four days with the other CCS volunteers. I cannot even begin to adequately describe the views, the sounds, and the general experience of seeing animals like cheetahs and zebras in their natural habitats... so just be prepared for the following retelling to fall short, times one million.
The first day, after placement (it poured rain that morning, so half the kids didn't show up to school, meaning that I went to the original Step Up and ended up watching The Lion King and Tarzan on at tiny TV screen with the children so they could "practice hearing and understanding English;" I've never seen kids more excited about hearing the song "Hakuna Matata!" haha), we hopped in three safari trucks and began to head east towards Arusha and the Ngorongoro Crater. Along the way, we passed the Great Rift Valley, a score of baboons loitering in the road, and Mt. Kili, towering in our rear-view mirrors. No big deal, or anything. It was okay, I guess.**
No sooner had we arrived at the edge of the Crater at dusk to set up camp (literally a dozen or so tents and a bonfire on the edge of a giant bowl of beautiful) when an ELEPHANT casually walked through our campsite. Whatever, no big deal.** (It was AWESOME.) It then took a swig from our water tank and then moved on, no doubt annoyed by our camera flashes.
After our first of several campfires under a humongous starry sky, our only other guests that night (that we were awake for) were a pack of hyenas sniffing our tents and chatting away to each other at about 3AM. Rude.
The next morning we rose at dawn to see the sunrise over the Crater. The pictures I took BARELY do this justice. Many have said that the Ngorongoro Crater is the 8th Wonder of the World; I would have to agree. I mean, here's a pic of our campsite:
Yeah... That's a legit rainbow. After some hot tea and oatmeal (it gets rather chilly at night at the Crater), we hopped back into our safari trucks and began heading further east towards the Serengeti. Along the way, we stopped at the Olduvai Gorge to have a "squatty potty break" (if you catch my drift) and explore/learn a little bit about -- oh, you know -- where mankind is said to have originated. Again, whatever, no big deal.** Just some bones older than ANYTHING.
Next, we paid a visit to an actual Maasai village, wherein I got to take part in a traditional dance with the Maasai women and then go inside one of the red-cloaked warrior's mud-thatch houses -- no joke. I could write a separate blog all about the Maasai and never run out of interesting information to share, honestly. Even more amazing was that one of the Maasai men at this particular village had taken it upon himself to try and build a kindergarten just outside the village circle (since he himself had the chance to leave and get an education and felt his people's children deserved the same opportunity) and we got to go inside and see it! Nothing more than stick walls, one blackboard, and 4 rows of tiny children chanting the ABCs, but it was incredibly interesting and a worthy endeavor.
Several hours of driving in the hot African sun later, and we arrived at the Serengeti National Park. Please, just go watch The Lion King again and pay particular attention to the opening scenes... and anything to do with Pride Rock. That's basically what we saw for the next 24 hours. Zebra and wildebeest herds migrating across the dry grassy savanna, leopards laying lazily in the sun, hippos barely moving in their watery homes, and elephants and giraffes slowly moving their way through the acacia trees, nibbling their lives away. I barely sat down the entire time, opting instead to stand on my seat and stick my head out of the top of the truck like a crazed ostrich (oh yeah, we saw those, too), braving the intense dust and wind-whipping that ensued.
The night we camped in the Serengeti wasn't too different from our first night on the Crater rim, other than for approximately one hour, I was never more petrified in my life (nearly, anyway). My tent-mate and I woke up sometime around 2AM to the sound of "somethings" ravaging our dinner trash outside (most likely hyenas or warthogs)... as well as animal calls answering each other across the grassy field our tents were plopped in.
Then came the roaring and growling of lions. (Seriously. No **.) We proceeded to lay there, not moving and barely breathing, staring at each others outline in the darkness and realizing there was nothing but a piece of canvas between ourselves and X number of lions... and, oh yeah... we're on THEIR turf, not the other way around. I mean, it's not like I'm at Six Flags Great America, nervously boarding a new roller coaster, soothing my fears with the knowledge that "they wouldn't let anyone ride it if it wasn't safe." Laying there, I started thinking (irrationally) 'hakuna matata, we're totally fine,' because we wouldn't be there if it wasn't safe... only to suddenly remember that we weren't in the States, this patch of grass in the Serengeti wasn't Six Flags, and this probably wasn't entirely safe. Yikes. Knowing that there was absolutely nothing either of us could do about it, and being too scared to move, I decided to repeat the same E.E. Cummings poem in my head over and over and over again to drown out the terror and make myself fall asleep again. Well... it worked, and the lions must have thought someone smelled too harshly of Deet, or something, to bother knocking our tents down and eating us. So mission accomplished, and we lived to see another day.
As scary as it was... I wouldn't relive that hour any other way... and that's probably the least safe I'll ever be here in Africa (knock on wood, God-willing).
And what a glorious day it was, too, so thank goodness. On Sunday, we spent nearly the whole day in the Serengeti, taking in more zebras and gazelles and -- most extraordinarily -- a pride of lions brilliantly stalking and then chasing down a herd of wildebeests for a kill! Several of the lionesses and one or two males walked right along our truck, blending in superbly with the white/yellow dust of the grass and tire path! I've never been happier to be so close to a cat (from comfortably perched atop a truck, instead of cowering in a tent, of course). Truly an amazing sight.
After several more hours of driving under the sun (with one quick pit-stop at a Serengeti education center), we began driving back to the Ngorongoro Crater, where we would camp one more night, celebrate two volunteers' birthdays (how about turning 25 while on safari -- what a memory!), and rise early, again, to actually drive down into the Crater at dawn. To sum this particular experience up, I'd have to say I'll probably never see a prettier side of the world, ever. It literally looked like heaven on Earth, and my eyes began to sting because I didn't want to blink and miss one second. Then just about everyone in our truck fell asleep, because they were so freaking tired.
While driving around inside the Crater, before stopping next to a water-hole home of some hippos for picnic lunch, we had the pleasure of seeing two rhinos in the distance (now EXTREMELY rare, even there, in the heart of Africa... sorry Tim H), a cheetah, several elephants, and a ton of gorgeous flamingos, among various other usual suspects that we were suddenly desensitized to (zeebs, gazelles, and hyenas, to name a few). Kind of cool, maybe.**
It doesn't get much more eventful than that, folks. After 4 days on safari, bunk beds, cold showers, and toilets any more intricate than a hole in the ground all seemed luxurious, so upon arriving back at Home-Base, there were happy campers (no pun intended, sort of) all around. The dinners at the campsites were so delicious, however (zucchini soup, fresh cut fruit, spaghetti with vegi-"meat"-balls, for instance), and the memories so unreal, I wouldn't exactly say we all went hungry or were totally unhappy.
And then Simba and Nala watched Rafiki hoist their new lion cub up into the air, and all the animals cheered. The End.**
**Warning: A little sarcasm for good measure, everybody.
The first day, after placement (it poured rain that morning, so half the kids didn't show up to school, meaning that I went to the original Step Up and ended up watching The Lion King and Tarzan on at tiny TV screen with the children so they could "practice hearing and understanding English;" I've never seen kids more excited about hearing the song "Hakuna Matata!" haha), we hopped in three safari trucks and began to head east towards Arusha and the Ngorongoro Crater. Along the way, we passed the Great Rift Valley, a score of baboons loitering in the road, and Mt. Kili, towering in our rear-view mirrors. No big deal, or anything. It was okay, I guess.**
No sooner had we arrived at the edge of the Crater at dusk to set up camp (literally a dozen or so tents and a bonfire on the edge of a giant bowl of beautiful) when an ELEPHANT casually walked through our campsite. Whatever, no big deal.** (It was AWESOME.) It then took a swig from our water tank and then moved on, no doubt annoyed by our camera flashes.
After our first of several campfires under a humongous starry sky, our only other guests that night (that we were awake for) were a pack of hyenas sniffing our tents and chatting away to each other at about 3AM. Rude.
The next morning we rose at dawn to see the sunrise over the Crater. The pictures I took BARELY do this justice. Many have said that the Ngorongoro Crater is the 8th Wonder of the World; I would have to agree. I mean, here's a pic of our campsite:
Yeah... That's a legit rainbow. After some hot tea and oatmeal (it gets rather chilly at night at the Crater), we hopped back into our safari trucks and began heading further east towards the Serengeti. Along the way, we stopped at the Olduvai Gorge to have a "squatty potty break" (if you catch my drift) and explore/learn a little bit about -- oh, you know -- where mankind is said to have originated. Again, whatever, no big deal.** Just some bones older than ANYTHING.
Next, we paid a visit to an actual Maasai village, wherein I got to take part in a traditional dance with the Maasai women and then go inside one of the red-cloaked warrior's mud-thatch houses -- no joke. I could write a separate blog all about the Maasai and never run out of interesting information to share, honestly. Even more amazing was that one of the Maasai men at this particular village had taken it upon himself to try and build a kindergarten just outside the village circle (since he himself had the chance to leave and get an education and felt his people's children deserved the same opportunity) and we got to go inside and see it! Nothing more than stick walls, one blackboard, and 4 rows of tiny children chanting the ABCs, but it was incredibly interesting and a worthy endeavor.
Several hours of driving in the hot African sun later, and we arrived at the Serengeti National Park. Please, just go watch The Lion King again and pay particular attention to the opening scenes... and anything to do with Pride Rock. That's basically what we saw for the next 24 hours. Zebra and wildebeest herds migrating across the dry grassy savanna, leopards laying lazily in the sun, hippos barely moving in their watery homes, and elephants and giraffes slowly moving their way through the acacia trees, nibbling their lives away. I barely sat down the entire time, opting instead to stand on my seat and stick my head out of the top of the truck like a crazed ostrich (oh yeah, we saw those, too), braving the intense dust and wind-whipping that ensued.
The night we camped in the Serengeti wasn't too different from our first night on the Crater rim, other than for approximately one hour, I was never more petrified in my life (nearly, anyway). My tent-mate and I woke up sometime around 2AM to the sound of "somethings" ravaging our dinner trash outside (most likely hyenas or warthogs)... as well as animal calls answering each other across the grassy field our tents were plopped in.
Then came the roaring and growling of lions. (Seriously. No **.) We proceeded to lay there, not moving and barely breathing, staring at each others outline in the darkness and realizing there was nothing but a piece of canvas between ourselves and X number of lions... and, oh yeah... we're on THEIR turf, not the other way around. I mean, it's not like I'm at Six Flags Great America, nervously boarding a new roller coaster, soothing my fears with the knowledge that "they wouldn't let anyone ride it if it wasn't safe." Laying there, I started thinking (irrationally) 'hakuna matata, we're totally fine,' because we wouldn't be there if it wasn't safe... only to suddenly remember that we weren't in the States, this patch of grass in the Serengeti wasn't Six Flags, and this probably wasn't entirely safe. Yikes. Knowing that there was absolutely nothing either of us could do about it, and being too scared to move, I decided to repeat the same E.E. Cummings poem in my head over and over and over again to drown out the terror and make myself fall asleep again. Well... it worked, and the lions must have thought someone smelled too harshly of Deet, or something, to bother knocking our tents down and eating us. So mission accomplished, and we lived to see another day.
As scary as it was... I wouldn't relive that hour any other way... and that's probably the least safe I'll ever be here in Africa (knock on wood, God-willing).
And what a glorious day it was, too, so thank goodness. On Sunday, we spent nearly the whole day in the Serengeti, taking in more zebras and gazelles and -- most extraordinarily -- a pride of lions brilliantly stalking and then chasing down a herd of wildebeests for a kill! Several of the lionesses and one or two males walked right along our truck, blending in superbly with the white/yellow dust of the grass and tire path! I've never been happier to be so close to a cat (from comfortably perched atop a truck, instead of cowering in a tent, of course). Truly an amazing sight.
After several more hours of driving under the sun (with one quick pit-stop at a Serengeti education center), we began driving back to the Ngorongoro Crater, where we would camp one more night, celebrate two volunteers' birthdays (how about turning 25 while on safari -- what a memory!), and rise early, again, to actually drive down into the Crater at dawn. To sum this particular experience up, I'd have to say I'll probably never see a prettier side of the world, ever. It literally looked like heaven on Earth, and my eyes began to sting because I didn't want to blink and miss one second. Then just about everyone in our truck fell asleep, because they were so freaking tired.
While driving around inside the Crater, before stopping next to a water-hole home of some hippos for picnic lunch, we had the pleasure of seeing two rhinos in the distance (now EXTREMELY rare, even there, in the heart of Africa... sorry Tim H), a cheetah, several elephants, and a ton of gorgeous flamingos, among various other usual suspects that we were suddenly desensitized to (zeebs, gazelles, and hyenas, to name a few). Kind of cool, maybe.**
It doesn't get much more eventful than that, folks. After 4 days on safari, bunk beds, cold showers, and toilets any more intricate than a hole in the ground all seemed luxurious, so upon arriving back at Home-Base, there were happy campers (no pun intended, sort of) all around. The dinners at the campsites were so delicious, however (zucchini soup, fresh cut fruit, spaghetti with vegi-"meat"-balls, for instance), and the memories so unreal, I wouldn't exactly say we all went hungry or were totally unhappy.
And then Simba and Nala watched Rafiki hoist their new lion cub up into the air, and all the animals cheered. The End.**
**Warning: A little sarcasm for good measure, everybody.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Being "Teach-uh" in East Africa
(OR: Working at Step Up: Amka Branch, Part 1)
So the original Step Up Nursery School, the one founded in 1995 by Mama Naseem, looks sort of like a hole in the wall between two buildings on a dirt road... the doorway appearing somewhat like an entrance to a dark, metallic cave. Upon entering, however, it's more like a colorful, boxy maze. Each wall of the hodgepodge collection of adjoining rooms is covered in brightly painted murals and posters, displaying the ABCs, different shapes, diagrams of body parts, and other various images ripped from magazines. Each are varying levels of educational, and many are hand-painted or drawn. There's even a Risk gameboard framed on one of the walls. Nearby, a giant bulletin board filled with pictures of past volunteers smiles down at anyone who enters.
In each room, 2-4 long cement or shiny wooden desks and benches cover the floor, facing blackboards filled with subtraction problems and English vocabulary words. It makes for a cheery -- though chaotic and somewhat cramped --learning space in Africa. Mama Naseem both works and lives on the premises, and a handful of other teachers and the occasional volunteer both male and female teach in the other rooms (and hallways), making use of every inch they have.
Beautiful tiny children jovially pop in and out of the spooky cave front door every morning -- wearing, it seems, the same outfit or two every single day, often looking wildly over-dressed for the African heat-- to greet our approaching volunteer van with smiles, waves, and cheers of "Teacher! Teacher!" (which sounds more like "Teach-uh! Teach-uh!"). All-in-all, a truly simultaneous heart-melt and heart-break vision to start every day.
This is not where I work, though, really.
I've been placed at the new Step Up Nursery School, Amka, the first extension of the original which opened only in January of this year. It is located in a similarly poor neighborhood, only about 15 minutes away. At first glance, the differences between the two schools, however, appear to be many, and I'll be honest, I fell for them hard the first week and a half. The gateway out front is painted pink, but other than that, there is ZERO color, for instance. There are no posters, no murals, and no gameboards, as far as I can tell. There is a beautiful little yard, and a brand-new gray-cement building. The older kids who come to get extra help before secondary school are taught in the one classroom inside. The nursery school kids? Oh yeah, they learn on the front porch.
By "learn on the front porch," I mean there are two long wooden benches and desks placed in front of one large blackboard that leans against the cement wall. That's it. No rugs, no crayons, NO BOOKS. Not one. Welcome to preschool! How fun!
I have to tell you, it's pretty disheartening. Or at least that's how I felt until halfway through this week. I've been in many preschools in my day, and this one's looking pretty sad. Brand new, which is awesome... but totally lacking. While none of this has changed since my arrival... I've decided to buck up and look at it as a sort of... challenge.
Now, I don't have much money, and the CCS "donation policy" is pretty strict about what you can give to your work placement (because if we, the volunteers from the West, just throw money and resources at them every time we show up, they'll begin to depend on it, and the program will no longer be sustainable on its own), so I'm not planning on emptying out my bank account to buy this place toys, markers, and a colorful paint job. But what can I do?
The nursery school kids who reside on the porch are officially ALL MINE. Seriously, I am now their teacher, as the school itself only has one and he's pretty preoccupied with the older students inside learning algebra. These kids come from poverty stricken homes covered in dust. Many of them have grown up witnessing that the best and quickest way to solve a problem is by hitting someone. Some of them only eat one meal a day, and it's the cup of porridge I serve them at 11am.
So, this is a summary of my emotional and mental progression since I arrived:
Day 1: Holy smokes, this is devastatingly sad, daunting, and unreal. What am I doing?
Day 2: I am selfish, spoiled, and ill-equipped. Also, why did I think I could control a room (i.e., porch) full of preschoolers, let alone teach them anything, in a foreign language? And with no resources? Ha.
Day 3: How do I get them to stop beating on each other? And where did they get all these razor blades? Wait, are they actually using them to sharpen their pencil nubs?
Day 4: Maybe if I continue to learn some key Swahili phrases like, "Please sit," "Write this down," and "Stop hitting him," I won't flounder so much. Maybe I can actually teach them a song, too... they are preschoolers, after all... And maybe if I bring in some books, I can give them something really special...
During the first few days, I fell into a huge hole of guilt, responsibility, and unrealistic expectations for myself. And let me tell you, it's a slippery slope. Then, finally, after an epic weekend on safari, camping under the stars, I started reworking my inner-questions and personal expectations. Sarah, why did you come to Africa? What can you actually accomplish here? What is the most important thing you can give to these kids?
I, Miss Yale, can instill in them a love for learning. I can help them believe that school is a safe and happy haven. I can make them feel proud of the work they've accomplished. And I can share with them my passion for reading. And that is exactly what I intend to do.
So the original Step Up Nursery School, the one founded in 1995 by Mama Naseem, looks sort of like a hole in the wall between two buildings on a dirt road... the doorway appearing somewhat like an entrance to a dark, metallic cave. Upon entering, however, it's more like a colorful, boxy maze. Each wall of the hodgepodge collection of adjoining rooms is covered in brightly painted murals and posters, displaying the ABCs, different shapes, diagrams of body parts, and other various images ripped from magazines. Each are varying levels of educational, and many are hand-painted or drawn. There's even a Risk gameboard framed on one of the walls. Nearby, a giant bulletin board filled with pictures of past volunteers smiles down at anyone who enters.
In each room, 2-4 long cement or shiny wooden desks and benches cover the floor, facing blackboards filled with subtraction problems and English vocabulary words. It makes for a cheery -- though chaotic and somewhat cramped --learning space in Africa. Mama Naseem both works and lives on the premises, and a handful of other teachers and the occasional volunteer both male and female teach in the other rooms (and hallways), making use of every inch they have.
Beautiful tiny children jovially pop in and out of the spooky cave front door every morning -- wearing, it seems, the same outfit or two every single day, often looking wildly over-dressed for the African heat-- to greet our approaching volunteer van with smiles, waves, and cheers of "Teacher! Teacher!" (which sounds more like "Teach-uh! Teach-uh!"). All-in-all, a truly simultaneous heart-melt and heart-break vision to start every day.
This is not where I work, though, really.
I've been placed at the new Step Up Nursery School, Amka, the first extension of the original which opened only in January of this year. It is located in a similarly poor neighborhood, only about 15 minutes away. At first glance, the differences between the two schools, however, appear to be many, and I'll be honest, I fell for them hard the first week and a half. The gateway out front is painted pink, but other than that, there is ZERO color, for instance. There are no posters, no murals, and no gameboards, as far as I can tell. There is a beautiful little yard, and a brand-new gray-cement building. The older kids who come to get extra help before secondary school are taught in the one classroom inside. The nursery school kids? Oh yeah, they learn on the front porch.
By "learn on the front porch," I mean there are two long wooden benches and desks placed in front of one large blackboard that leans against the cement wall. That's it. No rugs, no crayons, NO BOOKS. Not one. Welcome to preschool! How fun!
I have to tell you, it's pretty disheartening. Or at least that's how I felt until halfway through this week. I've been in many preschools in my day, and this one's looking pretty sad. Brand new, which is awesome... but totally lacking. While none of this has changed since my arrival... I've decided to buck up and look at it as a sort of... challenge.
Now, I don't have much money, and the CCS "donation policy" is pretty strict about what you can give to your work placement (because if we, the volunteers from the West, just throw money and resources at them every time we show up, they'll begin to depend on it, and the program will no longer be sustainable on its own), so I'm not planning on emptying out my bank account to buy this place toys, markers, and a colorful paint job. But what can I do?
The nursery school kids who reside on the porch are officially ALL MINE. Seriously, I am now their teacher, as the school itself only has one and he's pretty preoccupied with the older students inside learning algebra. These kids come from poverty stricken homes covered in dust. Many of them have grown up witnessing that the best and quickest way to solve a problem is by hitting someone. Some of them only eat one meal a day, and it's the cup of porridge I serve them at 11am.
So, this is a summary of my emotional and mental progression since I arrived:
Day 1: Holy smokes, this is devastatingly sad, daunting, and unreal. What am I doing?
Day 2: I am selfish, spoiled, and ill-equipped. Also, why did I think I could control a room (i.e., porch) full of preschoolers, let alone teach them anything, in a foreign language? And with no resources? Ha.
Day 3: How do I get them to stop beating on each other? And where did they get all these razor blades? Wait, are they actually using them to sharpen their pencil nubs?
Day 4: Maybe if I continue to learn some key Swahili phrases like, "Please sit," "Write this down," and "Stop hitting him," I won't flounder so much. Maybe I can actually teach them a song, too... they are preschoolers, after all... And maybe if I bring in some books, I can give them something really special...
During the first few days, I fell into a huge hole of guilt, responsibility, and unrealistic expectations for myself. And let me tell you, it's a slippery slope. Then, finally, after an epic weekend on safari, camping under the stars, I started reworking my inner-questions and personal expectations. Sarah, why did you come to Africa? What can you actually accomplish here? What is the most important thing you can give to these kids?
I, Miss Yale, can instill in them a love for learning. I can help them believe that school is a safe and happy haven. I can make them feel proud of the work they've accomplished. And I can share with them my passion for reading. And that is exactly what I intend to do.
Education in Africa, Tanzania-Style
I cannot believe I've been volunteering at the nursery school for nearly two weeks now. This is probably because it's been a complete and utter whirlwind of change, in every sense of the word. Each day I am there, the schedule changes, my "responsibilities" change, and the number, abilities, moods, and 'tudes of my children change.
Thus, every morning I arrive at Step Up Nursery School, Amka Extension, with varying amounts of confidence, energy, and knowledge/expertise. This is confusing... and a little bit frustrating... but mostly just exhausting. Let me attempt to explain by backing up a few steps and summarizing what I've come to gather and understand about education in Tanzania.
Historically, the "education system" in TZ began like many other places -- informally, wherein each person learned the history, ways, and rules from the other people in his/her immediate community/tribe, with absolutely no influence or information from the outside world. Eventually, of course, as we all know, the world came boldly marching into Africa (namely the Germans and Brits, in Tanzania), demanding and enforcing change. Education evolved from informal learning to special skills training, with children inheriting the specific trades of their parents/families. While the colonizing Europeans began to draw much wealth from the region, little investment was made in the quality of life of the local Africans. Enter my friends Protest and Liberation.
Tanzania, then called Tanganyika, gained independence from British rule on December 9th, 1961, under the leadership of a guy named Julius Nyere, who was -- what else?! -- a charismatic and optimistic young school teacher. From that moment on, Nyere -- revered and respected around the world for putting the welfare of his people above all else -- committed his government to investing in education. In particular, they strived to provide free universal primary education for every child in Tanzania. A noble and worthy goal, no? Unfortunately, this dream still hasn't yet been realized.
Children here have, however -- no matter which of the over 200 ethnic groups they may be members of -- been taught to identify themselves as proud Tanzanians with a shared language: Swahili. Furthermore, by the late 1980s, the country's literacy rate was one of the highest in Africa, all thanks to Mwalimu (as Nyere is still known), which means "teacher" in Swahili.
Since then, however, much of the momentum has been lost, as about only 20% of the 85% of the child population enrolled in primary school actually end up finishing it, and barely 5% complete secondary school.
There are, of course, many reasons for this downward trend, and I bet you could guess some of them (sincerely, you're pretty intelligent) -- insufficient government funding, trained teachers, schools and general resources, being some of them. Corruption, expensive school fees, and language barriers being others.
The original Step Up Nursery School (founded by Mama Naseem in 1995), operates under the belief that children should be in school as early as possible, as education paves the way for equality, stability, and perhaps even prosperity for the individual as well as the community. The Nursery School aims to prepare kiddos for primary school, so everything from the ABCs to the 1-2-3s is covered.
In particular, Step Up also strives to include as much English instruction into the school day as possible. This is different and important, some argue, because while all Tanzanian primary schools are taught in Swahili, ALL secondary schools are taught in English. Imagine starting high school in the States and finding out you'd have to take every class completely in Swahili -- AWESOME, right? No problem. A+. Therefore, as you may have guessed, many if not most students enter secondary school without a sufficient understanding of the new language, thus catalyzing, in part, the humongous drop-out rate here in TZ. With an early introduction of English, Step Up hopes to prepare its students for learning in both languages -- national and international. Cool, right? Poa.
Even with this potential leg up, Step Up still operates like many other schools here -- with limited supplies, limited space, and limited teacher man-power. Enter Me.
To be continued in the NEXT POST. Hooray! Do you feel saturated with information? I'm sorry. Pole sana.
Thus, every morning I arrive at Step Up Nursery School, Amka Extension, with varying amounts of confidence, energy, and knowledge/expertise. This is confusing... and a little bit frustrating... but mostly just exhausting. Let me attempt to explain by backing up a few steps and summarizing what I've come to gather and understand about education in Tanzania.
Historically, the "education system" in TZ began like many other places -- informally, wherein each person learned the history, ways, and rules from the other people in his/her immediate community/tribe, with absolutely no influence or information from the outside world. Eventually, of course, as we all know, the world came boldly marching into Africa (namely the Germans and Brits, in Tanzania), demanding and enforcing change. Education evolved from informal learning to special skills training, with children inheriting the specific trades of their parents/families. While the colonizing Europeans began to draw much wealth from the region, little investment was made in the quality of life of the local Africans. Enter my friends Protest and Liberation.
Tanzania, then called Tanganyika, gained independence from British rule on December 9th, 1961, under the leadership of a guy named Julius Nyere, who was -- what else?! -- a charismatic and optimistic young school teacher. From that moment on, Nyere -- revered and respected around the world for putting the welfare of his people above all else -- committed his government to investing in education. In particular, they strived to provide free universal primary education for every child in Tanzania. A noble and worthy goal, no? Unfortunately, this dream still hasn't yet been realized.
Children here have, however -- no matter which of the over 200 ethnic groups they may be members of -- been taught to identify themselves as proud Tanzanians with a shared language: Swahili. Furthermore, by the late 1980s, the country's literacy rate was one of the highest in Africa, all thanks to Mwalimu (as Nyere is still known), which means "teacher" in Swahili.
Since then, however, much of the momentum has been lost, as about only 20% of the 85% of the child population enrolled in primary school actually end up finishing it, and barely 5% complete secondary school.
There are, of course, many reasons for this downward trend, and I bet you could guess some of them (sincerely, you're pretty intelligent) -- insufficient government funding, trained teachers, schools and general resources, being some of them. Corruption, expensive school fees, and language barriers being others.
The original Step Up Nursery School (founded by Mama Naseem in 1995), operates under the belief that children should be in school as early as possible, as education paves the way for equality, stability, and perhaps even prosperity for the individual as well as the community. The Nursery School aims to prepare kiddos for primary school, so everything from the ABCs to the 1-2-3s is covered.
In particular, Step Up also strives to include as much English instruction into the school day as possible. This is different and important, some argue, because while all Tanzanian primary schools are taught in Swahili, ALL secondary schools are taught in English. Imagine starting high school in the States and finding out you'd have to take every class completely in Swahili -- AWESOME, right? No problem. A+. Therefore, as you may have guessed, many if not most students enter secondary school without a sufficient understanding of the new language, thus catalyzing, in part, the humongous drop-out rate here in TZ. With an early introduction of English, Step Up hopes to prepare its students for learning in both languages -- national and international. Cool, right? Poa.
Even with this potential leg up, Step Up still operates like many other schools here -- with limited supplies, limited space, and limited teacher man-power. Enter Me.
To be continued in the NEXT POST. Hooray! Do you feel saturated with information? I'm sorry. Pole sana.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Questions I was asked before I left:
1. Will you chop off all of your hair before you go? And could you dye it brown? How about both?
Answer: No. Way. I actually don't hate my hair. Also, I think I'd still be recognized as a foreigner, even if I did. (The Africans are pretty adept at spotting the "mzungu" [white people], believe it or not.) Unless, of course, I also managed to become fluent in the local language. And also change my skin color.
The only real difficulty I've had thus far related to standing out as a mzungu is that I (the other volunteers and I) get harassed on the street a lot. People either want a donation, see an easy target for pick-pocketing, or would just LOVE to show you their goods... or take you "wherever you need to go"... for a small fee. And they will follow you down the street for miles just in case you might break down and buy that crappy bracelet. So far I've bought nothing and lost nothing on the streets of Moshi. I have learned to "walk with purpose" and say, repeatedly, "hapana, asante!"
2. Why on earth are you going to Africa?
Answer: Holy smokes, why not? The culture, the people, and the scenery -- all different and all beautiful, and that's an understatement. Plus, for a person who wants nothing more than a volunteer opportunity and a chance to be truly useful (where your knowledge, your skills, your resources, and your influence are all valued in spades) there's no shortage of projects or people to assist in Africa. Let's be real. Also, have I mentioned the fresh coffee? How about the elephants? It looks like I'm actually going on an EPIC safari this weekend with my fellow CCS-ers, staring tomorrow after work and ending on Monday (including the Serengeti, the Crater, and a Maasai village visit). Why NOT Africa?
3. What about laundry?
Answer: Now that's an interesting question. I found out this week during our tour of the Home-Base (where I live with the other volunteers) that I'll be washing my [filthy, dust and sweat-encrusted] laundry in a bucket outside in the yard... then hanging it out in the African sun and air to dry. For three months. (Until I go to South Africa.) Others, I'm told (many, many others), send their laundry out for a Mama to do it for them. Being that I am on a pretty tight budget, however... a very, very tight budget... and I kind of came to Africa with the intention of living simply and respecting the culture by living fairly minimalist-style... it looks like I'll be the girl getting familiar with the wash bucket out back.
The truly interesting part of this endeavor is that it is "highly recommended" that we iron every single piece of clothing afterward -- not to make a good impression or to be sensitive to the conservative culture and our "professional positions" in schools and hospitals, but to kill off all the tiny bugs that may have taken up residence in our shirts and undies, etc.
More later, of course. Feel free to send me any more questions via Comments or my email (sarah.atwood.yale@gmail.com)!
Answer: No. Way. I actually don't hate my hair. Also, I think I'd still be recognized as a foreigner, even if I did. (The Africans are pretty adept at spotting the "mzungu" [white people], believe it or not.) Unless, of course, I also managed to become fluent in the local language. And also change my skin color.
The only real difficulty I've had thus far related to standing out as a mzungu is that I (the other volunteers and I) get harassed on the street a lot. People either want a donation, see an easy target for pick-pocketing, or would just LOVE to show you their goods... or take you "wherever you need to go"... for a small fee. And they will follow you down the street for miles just in case you might break down and buy that crappy bracelet. So far I've bought nothing and lost nothing on the streets of Moshi. I have learned to "walk with purpose" and say, repeatedly, "hapana, asante!"
2. Why on earth are you going to Africa?
Answer: Holy smokes, why not? The culture, the people, and the scenery -- all different and all beautiful, and that's an understatement. Plus, for a person who wants nothing more than a volunteer opportunity and a chance to be truly useful (where your knowledge, your skills, your resources, and your influence are all valued in spades) there's no shortage of projects or people to assist in Africa. Let's be real. Also, have I mentioned the fresh coffee? How about the elephants? It looks like I'm actually going on an EPIC safari this weekend with my fellow CCS-ers, staring tomorrow after work and ending on Monday (including the Serengeti, the Crater, and a Maasai village visit). Why NOT Africa?
3. What about laundry?
Answer: Now that's an interesting question. I found out this week during our tour of the Home-Base (where I live with the other volunteers) that I'll be washing my [filthy, dust and sweat-encrusted] laundry in a bucket outside in the yard... then hanging it out in the African sun and air to dry. For three months. (Until I go to South Africa.) Others, I'm told (many, many others), send their laundry out for a Mama to do it for them. Being that I am on a pretty tight budget, however... a very, very tight budget... and I kind of came to Africa with the intention of living simply and respecting the culture by living fairly minimalist-style... it looks like I'll be the girl getting familiar with the wash bucket out back.
The truly interesting part of this endeavor is that it is "highly recommended" that we iron every single piece of clothing afterward -- not to make a good impression or to be sensitive to the conservative culture and our "professional positions" in schools and hospitals, but to kill off all the tiny bugs that may have taken up residence in our shirts and undies, etc.
More later, of course. Feel free to send me any more questions via Comments or my email (sarah.atwood.yale@gmail.com)!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Greetings from Moshi, Tanzania!
Earlier today, I flew into Tanzania in the tiniest plane I've ever been in. Mt. Meru towered beautifully to my right, while Mt. Kilimanjaro dwarfed everything else on my left, both rising out of a thick blanket of clouds. That's when it hit me. I'm in Africa.
Actually, that's a lie. It really hit me at 4 AM when I was already several hours into my overnight layover in Kenya... exhausted, stiff, and seriously red-eyed, with my bags hanging off of me like I was the saddest, blondest pack horse. People were falling asleep on benches and (more often than not) the floor all around me, and I was staring at my boarding pass from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro, wondering if 7 AM would ever arrive, when all of a sudden... I realized where I was. Africa.
It's nothing but beautiful so far, blog-followers. Beautiful food, beautiful people, beautiful scenery. This evening, after spending the day unpacking, meeting people, and adventuring around town a bit, some local friends from Moshi who run a safari/hike/tour guide business invited us over for a dinner and drinks, so that was fun. Watching the stars fly by above us as we drove home was truly unreal.
Tomorrow the other new volunteers and I begin a full day of orientation. I'm told the next three weeks are insanely full, with our work placements, guest speakers from the community, cultural excursions and language lessons. I'm incredibly excited to dive in... although I know this means I'll have limited internet time (Heads Up! I'm sorry if it takes me a while to get back to you this week!)
I'll be thinking of all of you during ever bit of it, you can count on that. There's not enough time in the day or room in my blog to describe every detail, but I desperately wish that I could. Every one of you deserves to experience it.
Til later, most sincerely,
Sarah
Actually, that's a lie. It really hit me at 4 AM when I was already several hours into my overnight layover in Kenya... exhausted, stiff, and seriously red-eyed, with my bags hanging off of me like I was the saddest, blondest pack horse. People were falling asleep on benches and (more often than not) the floor all around me, and I was staring at my boarding pass from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro, wondering if 7 AM would ever arrive, when all of a sudden... I realized where I was. Africa.
It's nothing but beautiful so far, blog-followers. Beautiful food, beautiful people, beautiful scenery. This evening, after spending the day unpacking, meeting people, and adventuring around town a bit, some local friends from Moshi who run a safari/hike/tour guide business invited us over for a dinner and drinks, so that was fun. Watching the stars fly by above us as we drove home was truly unreal.
Tomorrow the other new volunteers and I begin a full day of orientation. I'm told the next three weeks are insanely full, with our work placements, guest speakers from the community, cultural excursions and language lessons. I'm incredibly excited to dive in... although I know this means I'll have limited internet time (Heads Up! I'm sorry if it takes me a while to get back to you this week!)
I'll be thinking of all of you during ever bit of it, you can count on that. There's not enough time in the day or room in my blog to describe every detail, but I desperately wish that I could. Every one of you deserves to experience it.
Til later, most sincerely,
Sarah
Friday, November 5, 2010
I'm on my way!
Friends, family, and other followers! The day has come and gone... I am officially on my way to Africa -- in London, specifically, at the moment. International travel and I are actually getting along pretty well right now... and by "getting along pretty well," I mean "we're pretty much best friends." Everything has been on time, moved quickly, and been relatively painless (considering I have no phone, laptop, or even a crappy watch).
Example A, I am currently using the internet for free. Some girl I was sitting next to freely offered up her remaining minutes on the computer she was using. AWESOME.
Example B, since I (until just now) have no form of communicating with home that I am alive and well, I decided to send some postcards to the fam. Upon walking into a chocolate shop (which always seems like the safest place in the world to me) in the international terminal to ask where I could buy some stamps, the guy behind the counter promptly coughed up THREE FREE STAMPS and then gave me detailed directions to the nearest mailbox. AMAZING.
I like the world and the world likes me!
Today. For now. I probably just jinxed it.
Off to Nairobi, then on to Tanzania!
Love from a London layover,
Sarah
Example A, I am currently using the internet for free. Some girl I was sitting next to freely offered up her remaining minutes on the computer she was using. AWESOME.
Example B, since I (until just now) have no form of communicating with home that I am alive and well, I decided to send some postcards to the fam. Upon walking into a chocolate shop (which always seems like the safest place in the world to me) in the international terminal to ask where I could buy some stamps, the guy behind the counter promptly coughed up THREE FREE STAMPS and then gave me detailed directions to the nearest mailbox. AMAZING.
I like the world and the world likes me!
Today. For now. I probably just jinxed it.
Off to Nairobi, then on to Tanzania!
Love from a London layover,
Sarah
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Less than a week to go!
No, seriously. I leave on Thursday. Thus it is time for some quick updates!
First of all, I haven’t packed a thing. Not one thing. I have, however, picked up my malaria pills at Walgreens and bought half a dozen bottles of antibacterial lotion from my beloved Trader Joe’s.
Second, on that train of thought: my time as a crewmember at Joe’s has come to an end (for now, haha). I’ve never had or seen a nicer send-off, honestly. From the sunshine cake to the over-the-intercom goodbye and the hundreds of bear hugs and charitable words I received over the course of my last week… I really could not feel more loved and lucky. I know this will surprise everyone who shops there regularly (profound sarcasm), but I believe my TJ coworkers are unsurpassed in thoughtfulness (and wits, looks, and general hilarity, too, of course). Thanks to each and every one of you gorgeous people.
Reader Poll: What on earth am I going to do with all my Hawaiian t-shirts? I’m considering sewing them all together into one colorful, breathable, and machine-washable safari tent.
Third, I received my official volunteer work assignment for my first three months in Africa! Hooray! This blogger is now the newest volunteer teacher at Step Up Nursery School in Moshi, Tanzania. The mission of the Nursery School (which is run out of one woman’s home) is to instruct children who come from families living below the poverty line to read, write, and count in preparation for primary school. From the looks of it, my role will be to plan and help out with fun educational activities to get beautiful kiddos excited about school. So… it’s basically my dream job. I could not be more thrilled.
More on all of this later, my friends! ‘Til then, tutaonana!
First of all, I haven’t packed a thing. Not one thing. I have, however, picked up my malaria pills at Walgreens and bought half a dozen bottles of antibacterial lotion from my beloved Trader Joe’s.
Second, on that train of thought: my time as a crewmember at Joe’s has come to an end (for now, haha). I’ve never had or seen a nicer send-off, honestly. From the sunshine cake to the over-the-intercom goodbye and the hundreds of bear hugs and charitable words I received over the course of my last week… I really could not feel more loved and lucky. I know this will surprise everyone who shops there regularly (profound sarcasm), but I believe my TJ coworkers are unsurpassed in thoughtfulness (and wits, looks, and general hilarity, too, of course). Thanks to each and every one of you gorgeous people.
Reader Poll: What on earth am I going to do with all my Hawaiian t-shirts? I’m considering sewing them all together into one colorful, breathable, and machine-washable safari tent.Third, I received my official volunteer work assignment for my first three months in Africa! Hooray! This blogger is now the newest volunteer teacher at Step Up Nursery School in Moshi, Tanzania. The mission of the Nursery School (which is run out of one woman’s home) is to instruct children who come from families living below the poverty line to read, write, and count in preparation for primary school. From the looks of it, my role will be to plan and help out with fun educational activities to get beautiful kiddos excited about school. So… it’s basically my dream job. I could not be more thrilled.
More on all of this later, my friends! ‘Til then, tutaonana!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
October Habari (News)
Habari gani, everyone?
My hobbies, as of late:
1. Planning my meals and rest around the ingestion of typhoid pills (supplementing the array of vaccinations I already received the week prior, including, but not limited to, polio and yellow fever… yum)
2. Reading other people’s travel blogs, so as to make sure mine isn’t too crappy/inane
3. Learning and drawing up note cards for such important Swahili vocabulary and phrases as “the boy under the table” (mvulana chini ya meza) and “the woman in the car” (mwanamke katika gari)
Just living the dream, people. My wish list, meanwhile, includes more hours in the day, more room in my brain, and more time with the ones I love. Not to mention, of course, more cash money in my bank account. Not a lot, you know… just a little, because ‘more money, more problems,’ and I’m just not into that. But a little wouldn’t hurt, as we just dropped mad cash for my round-trip Africa plane tickets this past week.
Which leads me to this update: 15 more days of work and 4.5 weeks until I fly to Africa (seriously), with 2 days of travel time total (one stop in London and another in Nairobi, Kenya, before I land at the Kilimanjaro airport in Tanzania). Inconceivable. Naam!
My hobbies, as of late:
1. Planning my meals and rest around the ingestion of typhoid pills (supplementing the array of vaccinations I already received the week prior, including, but not limited to, polio and yellow fever… yum)
2. Reading other people’s travel blogs, so as to make sure mine isn’t too crappy/inane
3. Learning and drawing up note cards for such important Swahili vocabulary and phrases as “the boy under the table” (mvulana chini ya meza) and “the woman in the car” (mwanamke katika gari)
Just living the dream, people. My wish list, meanwhile, includes more hours in the day, more room in my brain, and more time with the ones I love. Not to mention, of course, more cash money in my bank account. Not a lot, you know… just a little, because ‘more money, more problems,’ and I’m just not into that. But a little wouldn’t hurt, as we just dropped mad cash for my round-trip Africa plane tickets this past week.
Which leads me to this update: 15 more days of work and 4.5 weeks until I fly to Africa (seriously), with 2 days of travel time total (one stop in London and another in Nairobi, Kenya, before I land at the Kilimanjaro airport in Tanzania). Inconceivable. Naam!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Asante Sana, In Spades
Greetings friends and family!
Time for the much anticipated thanks-so-much-for-your-support blog, and let me tell you, I have so many people to thank for their generous giving. Friends, family, coworkers, friends of friends, friends of family… the list goes on and on. So many of you have shown your support and shared your enthusiasm for what I hope to do abroad, and I cannot thank you enough. Honestly, each of you should be thanked individually no less than ten or twenty times. Or at least a baker’s dozen. Sadly, that’s not entirely feasible (did I mention I need to spend some time learning Swahili? Yeah, just a little).
Anyway, because of your aid and encouragement (including everything from beautifully supportive and handwritten snail-mail donations to epically creative garage sale fundraisers), I have officially covered the first leg of my African adventure! Look out, Tanzania! Sarah Yale is coming to town.
Now I can plow forward in fundraising for Volunteer Placement #2, which will be in Cape Town, South Africa, the balance for which is due at the end of November.
So… while I have your attention, I’d like to ask if any of you highly intelligent and thoughtful supporters have any ideas for future fundraising. I could seriously use all the help I can get, and I prefer to keep things interesting and fresh, so any new suggestions/brainchildren/thoughts on how to fund my volunteer efforts would be greatly appreciated! I need your help!
If anything comes to mind (or you have any questions) hit me with an email at sarah.atwood.yale@gmail.com. If you haven’t yet had a chance to sponsor my efforts and would like to rock my world/ do so, click the link to my Sponsor Page to the left. Additionally, feel free to spread the word (with the link to this blog and/or my sponsor page) about what I’m trying to accomplish to anyone you think might be interested in my international service.
All of you are incredible. Thank you so much (asante sana) for rallying around me! I’m so lucky to have all of you in my corner.
Most sincerely,
Sarah
Sunday, August 8, 2010
In the Beginning/The Perfect Storm
Let me begin by saying that this is all I have ever wanted to do.
Thank you so much for your support!
Most sincerely, Sarah
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