Moshi Reflections

The time has come and gone to say kwaheri to Moshi and all of Northern Tanzania. Of course, I abhor goodbyes, so I'd rather substitute that "kwaheri" with "tutaonana badaaye." The thought of never returning to that place makes my stomach lurch, so I won't even venture there. Never have I been to a country or town that was so warm (in every respect), welcoming, distressing, beautiful, and simultaneously ugly as Tanzania. It's the perfect storm of adjectives, full of the most beautiful sights and people and the ugliest corruption and poverty.

There are one thousand things I will miss about this country... the hot weather, the goregous views of unspoiled nature, the humbling generostiy of the local inhabitants, and the ridiculous cuteness of my tiny students, to name a few (bed nets, ironing my underwear, and squaty-potties not topping my list). There's something truly intoxicating and comforting about eating every single meal of the day outside, too. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I was to return to the States right now, at the beginning of February in Chicagoland. Eat at a kitchen table surrounded by windows, which, in turn, are surrounded by snow... and without ants? It just doesn't seem natural.


Leaving the children at Amka school, as well as the countless other friendships I've forged in Moshi, has definitely been the most difficult part of packing up and heading out. Amka has come leaps and bounds, however, in my three short months there, which makes it a little easier to retreat. Mama Naseem's dream, as I wrote long ago, was to see the new Step Up school grow -- not only in numbers enrolled, but in respect and recognition of the parents of Njoro/Moshi. That is certainly the case, as far as I can tell. Since I began teaching there at the beginning of November, I have watched the number of students in my class triple in size, and Mamas and Babas stop by all the time to inquire about this, that, and the other thing, examining the new paint job and the children chattering over picture books and math assignments. It makes my chest swell just thinking about it.

I won't pretend to have anything to do with this evolution -- the determination of Teacher Olivari and the hard work of the students out-shines any small thing I accomplished -- but it brings me incredible happiness to think that I was one small cog in the wheel. The smiles on the faces of my children on my final day there -- the hugs and kisses and high-fives I received -- all speak straight to my heart, telling me, "Hey, dada, you did alright."

The end of Month 3 came last week. After an endless stream of goodbyes to CCS staff and local volunteers and friends, my exit interview with program managers Moses and Mama Fatuma, and my final teaching day at Amka (which was chock-full of coloring, singing, chocolate and bubbles [which, as you can imagine, was the biggest hit of all; video-evidence of this to come later]), I made my way over to Mama Naseem's house, the orginal Step Up school. That was a difficult goodbye, to say the least. After she presented me with a beautiful traditional kanga (a gift of thanks for my time and efforts at her school), we hugged and promised to keep in touch. She doesn't know it, but that kanga may mean more to me than the huge bag full of pencils, crayons, children's books, and pencil sharpeners I "accidentally" left behind for my students at Amka... it's simply too much kindness.


More reflections and revelations to come. I'm evidentally hogging the free laptop at my hostel in Zanzibar, haha. I'm such a jerk.