Selfie

Sorry it’s been a few days since my last post!.

Earlier this week, I went back to the Rolina Orphanage to visit with the kids I fell in love with two weeks ago. I loved it even more the second visit, and I had no idea that was possible. Baba and the kids who weren’t at school sang for us again, and he told several stories about how the kids came to live with he and his wife.

Believe it or not, we live in the age of selfies. Selfies, for those who may not know, are pictures taken of yourself. Just you. They often embody the vanity and narcissistic-like attitudes of our generation. (Note: I say this knowing that I am, in fact, GUILTY of selfie fever as well)

The following picture is, in my opinion, the most beautiful selfie in the whole world of selfies. The smile you see is unforced and spur of the moment. She had no idea about filters, and she most definitely had no thoughts of “likes” or recognition.

Meet *Emily ^^^. She is originally from Kenya. After her birth father died, her mother became suicidal. She cam to Tanzania to live with a friend, but after having an affair with the friend’s husband, she became homeless with her four children. Baba stumbled upon the family, and invited them to stay in his home. One morning, he woke up and all that was left was Emily. She is now a part of Baba’s family, and has been for years.

Emily is now intelligent and happy. She played their makeshift drums with enthusiasm, and pretended not to notice when some of the women began to cry upon hearing her story. The picture of Emily was taken while she messed around with my camera.I kept telling her how beautiful she was, and she simply laughed and shook her head. It is astounding the lack of materialism and vanity these children demonstrate.

A day or so after visiting the orphanage, I read an article that was really relevant. It was an article entitled “#Instagrammingafrica,” or something to that effect. It discussed the ever popular “profile picture” and how many people have begun collecting these pictures in an attempt to gain popularity or likes. Sometimes volunteers are accused of having ulterior motives for their volunteer work based on the number of pictures they post while serving others. While I can only speak for myself, I understand how some people could accuse others of having impure motives for service sometimes. In other words, the article pokes fun at people who seem to practice altruism with the hope of self fulfillment.

I have somewhat of a different opinion of pictures, though, and I hope it might offer insight as to why volunteers choose to take pictures. I have been in Tanzania for over three weeks, and I can honestly say with one hundred percent certainty that my life will NEVER be as it was before I came to Africa. Because the people and the community have become so important to me in such a short time, I am taking pictures. I am unashamed of the pictures, but don’t want them to fool any of you: I am building relationships, and attempting to help in whatever capacity I am able. The pictures, while they could never adequately explain what I’m experiencing, work as a time capsule of my time in Tanzania. I hope that no one who sees my pictures with my new friends and automatically assumes I am a “voluntourist” with hopes of a new profile picture and a pat on the back. These people have changed my life – both those in my pictures and those who simply remain a picture in my mind. As difficult as it is to swallow, I’m okay with some people judging my actions… I can handle whatever life throws at me. I know exactly why I feel compelled to help others, and at the end of the day, that is enough.

Selfies or no selfies, I am learning that love and respect are the most important aspect of social interaction – whether it be face to face, on a phone, or on the computer.

Lala Salama.

Ululation

This past year in Choir at Marshall, we sang a Tanzanian spiritual entitled “Nitaimba Sifa.” In this song, there was a part in which we had to ululate. For those who may not know, ululation is the high pitched trilling sound that is common in many tribal songs. When our choir reached the part in the song involving ululation, it always felt a bit awkward and out of place.

The ululations I heard on Sunday at church were anything BUT awkward or out of place. The sounds coming from the congregation – predominantly children – were sounds of pure joy. Unlike some religious services I have attended in the past, the entire church was ALIVE. We sang for about one hour. After singing, the pastor and father to the orphans invited us up to give “testimonials.” Normally I shy away from speaking in front of a room of people. Here, however, I felt at home and just told them how thankful I was to be in the presence of such happy individuals.

After testimonials, the sermon was given. The preacher spoke in English which was a very kind gesture while his son translated the English into Swahili for the rest of the congregation. He spoke about the power of ideas in particular. He kept saying “nothing powerful as ideas,” and gave an example that really spoke to the type of world we live in today.

If anyone is familiar with recent news, Kenya is facing serious Terrorist threats and attacks. While I have been in Tanzania, I have felt nothing remotely close to unease and danger. I am in a very safe country and in an even safer neighborhood. However, we live in a world that calls for caution no matter where you find yourself. The preacher spoke about terrorists and terrorism and the differences between the two. There is a huge different between the name given to those who establish fear in a community and the act of fear.

In the sermon, Baba (Father) spoke about the inability to kill terror. He said one could kill as many terrorists as possible, but the idea of terror and fear would continue on Earth. Nothing powerful as ideas. I understood the point he was making, but I kept taking a more optimistic way of thinking. In the same way one is unable to kill terror, there is no way to kill hope and joy. Someone could kill the happiest person on Earth, and their ideals of happiness would persist in the world. This was a refreshing realization.

I talked about “change” in my last post, and I believe every word I wrote. However, I think I would encourage the idea that one cannot simply rid the world of terror by blunt force. Change requires patience, understanding, and commitment to the cause. Change is inevitable, but like Baba insists, we must promote change that embodies the good parts of the world and not the “satan strongholds” of evil and emotions.

Those ululations will be ringing in my mind forever, as they represent the joy that overcomes fear in the world. Best. Church. Service. Ever.

Lala Salama.

Sacrifice

**To begin… HERE’S YOUR SHOUT OUT MEREDITH. Love you and miss you. ;)**

 

When I hear the word “sacrifice,” several images pop into my mind. Sometimes I picture a mother jumping in front of a bullet for her daughter, like my great grandmother did for my great aunt many years ago. I think about what it means to be a parent, and the various sacrifices my parents have had to make over the years – like not buying something they really wanted in favor of buying a toy for one of us Putorek girls. Sometimes I imagine heroes who give everything – for their family, for their friends or even for their country. Yesterday, I was really considering what it means to be self-sacrificing.

I met a girl who is only 22 years old, but has already set up a non-profit organization to benefit the Tuleeni Orphanage here in Moshi. This orphanage is the one I am working in over the next couple of weeks, and I could not be happier with my volunteer assignment. The children are unbelievable sweet and gracious. Obviously “Neema,” as the locals call her, felt the same connection. She felt compelled to help the kids, and after she returned to assist in the building a new facility to house the orphanage. At the bottom of the post, I will add the link to the website for the organization – if anyone felt driven to make a donation, I can personally attest the the difference it will make in the lives of these amazing children. I am excited to see what this upcoming week has in store for us at Tuleeni.

SO anyway, today we hiked up the first part of Mt. Kilimanjaro. The entire climb was exhilarating, but extremely difficult. That being said, I have never hiked up a mountain. I’ve lived in West Virginia my entire life, and the hikes through the woods I’m familiar with are child’s play compared to Kili. However, like so many other aspects of life, the journey was tough, but the destination made the entire struggle worth it. We were above the clouds, and I felt a sense of pride at completing the hike. This feeling only lasted a millisecond.

As I looked out at the impressive scenery, including the Kenyan border in the distance, I was nearly knocked off of my feet by a profound realization: I could fall off the mountain, and nothing on Earth would change. The ideals and values I feel so strongly about would fall off the mountain with me. (Don’t worry Mom, I didn’t want to jump or anything…and I’m safe). What I mean is that the enormity of my insignificance struck me all at once. It was totally humbling.

I have a plea for anyone reading my blog. Take a few moments during the day to look out at the world around you. Know that you are totally insignificant, and realize that at most, you only find individual significance in those closest to you. Your friends and family recognize your worth and value, and they certainly love you. Those people that find value in you, in turn gain significance from those around them. In this way we are all connected. This connection between individually insignificant people is the catalyst of change. Without the realization of personal insignificance, nothing will change for the better.

I guess, in theory, insignificance yields self-sacrifice. I am grateful for this realization, along with all the other lessons I learned today on the tallest freestanding mountain in the world. (Don’t fight Gravity! Don’t run on mud. Don’t try to use fancy footwork. Etc.)

(Here I am feeling insignificant and LOVING it^^^)

Lala Salama!

 

LINK TO NEEMA INTERNATIONAL ORG. DONATE IF YOU FEEL MOVED AND INSPIRED LIKE ME;)

http://neemainternational.org/

Fortnight

I’ve been in Tanzania now for almost two weeks. It’s incredible how quickly time passes. In this fortnight I’ve already learned more than I could have ever imagined, and seen more than I thought I would get to – that is both a very good and very bad thing. Because I’m an optimist, let’s start with some things I’ve learned that are good!

1) I do not have to use ketchup with EVERY meal. Even though I’ve been spoiled with ketchup at some meals, I’ve been branching out. Some of you might think it’s strange I would mention this first, but those of you who know me well, know that ketchup is as important to me as water. So..there’s that.

2) Children can be happy without TV programs and iPads. I know. This fact shocked me at first, too. Believe it or not, imaginations do still exist. The kids today at school got as excited as I did for the safari, and all I had to do was show them a pop-up book.

3) It is relaxing to take walks. Long walks that might take up to two hours to complete. It turns out on doesn’t need a car in order to make it from point A to point B.

4) Small talk is not only pleasant, it makes for a better relationship with the person you’re talking to. Instead of just asking for directions, attempt to communicate feelings of happiness and well wishes before diving into the details of what you need from someone.

Now onto the not-so-good things I’ve learned over the past two weeks.

1) The kids in the orphanage I’m working in do not even know what the term “adoption” even means. I explained what an adoption is and they all looked at me as if I had 5 heads. (Granted, I speak hardly any Swahili, so I’ve had to use translators and charades.) I learned that adoption is so rare, it isn’t even discussed. Life in the orphanage, and then hopefully married life and a job is the most these kids can hope for.

2). The HIV/AIDS problem is STILL a problem. Prevalence is down, but there is still a huge number of infected individuals – even kids. One of my new friends has been working with a group of kids who are somehow affected by the disease. Some tested positive for it while others may have family members who suffer from it. Either way, HIV is around for awhile.

3) Kids die here from things they might not die from if they were in the United States. A young boy, who one of my friends met recently, died just last night from a heart defect that could have been fixed in the U.S or a more developed region.

4) People who own shops might be persistent, but that is only because they rely on the income to support their family. Every “hapana, asante” (No, thank you) I say to a store clerk hurts more and more, though I know it is impossible to buy EVERYTHING.

I knew that coming here would mean dealing with the bad and sad aspects of the world. I am pleasantly surprised by the vast array of knowledge I feel like I am accumulating by being surrounded by fellow volunteers, students, and Tanzanians. I will take the good and the bad, and be grateful for the lessons I learn along the way.

Kwaheri!

Patience

I have very little patience in certain situations. I am also not very artistic at all. When both of these vices met today, I was definitely tested – though in a fun way. A local Batik artist came to home base to teach us how to paint in the style. Batik paintings are done on thin cloths and involve adding wax on certain parts of the cloth in order to maintain the colors you want. With that being said, there are many processes to this style of painting.

I chose to (attempt to) draw Mount Kilimanjaro with sunflowers and corn plants in the front. The sunflower fields here are endless, and corn is one of the most important crops in this region. Ugali, the national food, is made from maize. I was so impressed with the mountain after finally seeing it on Sunday and feel as if it will always remind me of my adventures in Tanzania. I was excited for a nice souvenir to bring home. THIS, however, is what I created…

 

 

Needless to say, this was not the most glorious visual interpretation of how impressive Mt. Kili actually is. I keep telling myself that it actually looks kind of abstract.

After my (failed) painting experiment, I was able to purchase a piece of the artists work. This, my friends, is what a Batik painting SHOULD look like…..

 

 

The various processes of Batik painting really had me contemplating “patience.” To me, patience has always been a side effect of society. What I mean by this is that our society moves SO FAST that when we are forced to slow down, we freak out. We are not happy until we have immediate satisfaction and gratification.

Today at school, working with the kids from Tuleeni Orphanage, I attempted to teach them shapes. These kids are excited to learn, but they are very young. Some of them have not had the chance to learn patience in school, and they get distracted very easily. This ultimately leads teachers towards a choice: practice patience or intimidate the students. I am trying very hard to ALWAYS practice patience – in school, in life, etc., but I am in no way “good” at displaying patience. I hope I become better as the month goes on and as I am faced with many more opportunities to practice patience and understanding in my life.

My friend Diane and I walked home from school today. The walk took about an hour and a half. That in itself requires a type of patience. It was definitely worth it in the end. I learned more about a new friend and got some exercise in! Can you believe that some students around here walk 2 hours to school AND back home? Just think about that for one moment. In high school, I was upset if I had to park in a “far” parking space. I think I can demonstrate patience for kids that are so enthusiastic to learn they walk miles and miles and miles and miles just to get to school….

Lala salama!

Education

Are you ready for post #2 of the night? I hope so, because this one is by far the most important post I’ve made so far.

Today during our cultural experience, a man named Basil Lema came to home base to speak to us about Education in Tanzania. I suggest you remember this man’s name, as he is one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.

He spoke to us about the History of education in what is now Tanzania. He began by talking about the some 120 tribes that originally made up this region of Africa**. The 120 original tribes of Tanzania eventually went through the colonization period. Missionaries entered East Africa in the late 1800’s. They first set up churches, then hospitals, and then schools. On the surface, these new establishments sound great. However, as Mr. Lema explained, the motivation behind these original establishments were much more sinister. Colonialism was consuming the African continent. Within these spheres of influence, one of the bigger issues was the language barrier. How could the Germans rule over 120 different tribes, each with different languages and cultures? The schools set up during colonization were crucial to the rule over native peoples. They began to teach Swahili in schools in an effort to unify the region under German rule and one single language.

Moving along 50 years in Tanzania’s history, the tribes did become more unified, and the country was renamed Tanzania from Tanganyika after the acquisition of Zanzibar – an island off the coast of the country. Today, Zanzibar is still a part of Tanzania and there are still many tribes, such as the Massai tribes. MOST people speak Swahili and English and these are the national languages.

You may be asking “why should children in Tanzania learn English?” I don’t blame you for this question – I myself was deeply convinced that I needed to be fluent in Swahili in order to help these kids. Here is the problem with education in Tanzania, like many underdeveloped areas of the world: children are raised in tribes and families that may have different languages from those taught in school. For instance, Lema was raised until age seven speaking his tribal language, went to primary school at age seven and learned Swahili, was given English lessons for approximately 8 minutes a day, and then was expected to speak English at his University.

Just imagine the problems kids have. If they beat the odds and continue in school, they are “punished” in College. They are not only expected to understand difficult concepts, but are expected to understand these concepts in a foreign language. Basil Lema told us how lucky we were that we were raised in a place where English is acquired via society and community.

I had never really considered the implications of living in America, where not only are we taught English from birth, we expect those who come to America to speak English fluently. I cannot even count the number of times people around me have complained about immigrants not speaking English well enough. I am ashamed of those thoughts and sentiments, though I understand language barriers are very frustrating. Believe me, I want nothing more than to be able to speak to my Tanzanian friends in Swahili with ease.

Basil Lema, who has spoken on behalf of the UNA Tanzania party to the United Nations Council and was a teacher in Tanzania for many years, told us he had a plea, and a bit of encouragement. He told us about a woman from Philadelphia who “changed his life” by simply speaking English to him and encouraging him to speak English. He said he has never forgotten her influence though she was not even a long term individual in his life.

He told us we must encourage the children we work with. He said that by speaking English to the kids, even if they do not understand us, we are encouraging the development of the English language in children who will otherwise struggle severely with academic obstacles in upper level grades and College.

That is a pretty powerful realization. Personally, I was concerned no one would benefit from this trip other than myself. However, maybe Mr. Lema has a point. I hope that by speaking English and encouraging these unbelievably intelligent and kind children, I might just make a difference… I mean, can you imagine having to learn a new language AND sit through First Year Seminar? Let’s help these kids out.

Lala salama.

**Speaking of tribes, on the safari this past weekend we were able to visit a Massai village. This tribe is one of the more well-known tribes in East Africa for several reasons. They are the notorious animal herders. They live a pastoral life, and the men move around with the herds of their cows. They practice polygamy in most instances, and are just now beginning to send their children to school. This tribe is also responsible for one of the more barbaric practices known as FGM – Female Genital Mutilation. (Later this week, our group will hear from those who deal with the effects of FGM first-hand, in a clinic in Moshi town). I should point out that the Massai tribe is not the only tribe that practices FGM, but are one of the more traditional tribes left in this region of Africa.**

Lions and Zebras and Birds, Oh My!

Let me preface this post by saying that it will be one of two posts I make this evening. You’ve been warned.

 

Ngorongoro Crater should be one of the “wonders of the world.” Believe me when I say that if Heaven is anything like a place on Earth, it will look just like the vast expanse of the Ngorongoro Crater. (That’s pronounced just how it is spelled, by the way).

We left our campsite early Saturday morning to make the hour-long drive into Ngorongoro National Park. We were greeted at the gates by baboons. LOTS of baboons. Once inside the gate, it was a 30 minute drive along the ridge of the crater. Unfortunately we could not see the inside of the crater, as we were too high in the clouds. When we came out of the clouds however, my heart literally skipped a beat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sight quite so magnificent and astounding. Even though pictures of the crater could never do the scenery justice, I hope you are able to imagine what it might look like in person.

 

 

Once we made the trek down to the crater floor, we were greeted by a herd of Wildebeests. We then ran into a group of Ostriches. I think they are terrifying, quite frankly. They have legs that look disturbingly human. Shortly after, we came across a group of zebras (or Zebs, as our tour guides called them). It was a very cool feeling seeing wild animals in their natural habitat. Zoos sometimes claim to resemble the animals’ natural habitat, but I can assure you – no zoo could give a zebra the grasslands of the Ngorongoro. Enjoy this “zebra selfie.”

 

 

Another interesting discovery during the Safari was just how HUGE lions are. They are truly magnificent. But they are also lazy. They were asleep the whole time we watched them. At one point, a male lion sat up just to fall directly into his friend and back to sleep. The zebras were grazing less than 100 yards away during this spectacle and seemed to have no fear. The animals really live in a sort of harmony that is impossible to describe. The lions don’t become predators until they absolutely have to.

I feel it is only appropriate that I should add a quote in an attempt to convey my awe at viewing the Lion in his natural habitat. And what better a quote than one about the greatest lion of all time: ASLAN.

“‘I have come,’ said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him.” 

C.S. Lewis

After the first pride of lions, we saw more lions, an elephant graveyard (Like the Lion King II), and then some hippos. While we drove back up the mountain, I managed to snap a shot of the winding road up the wall of the crater. The way the clouds embrace the mountain is really astounding. I am so lucky to be surrounded by so much beauty on this trip. Africa is really remarkable for so many reasons. Tanzania, Ngorongoro, and Moshi definitely have a part of my heart indefinitely.

Rice

Today at school I sorted through rice for rocks and wood. You heard me right. Diane and I sifted through about 5-10 pounds of rice for tiny rocks and bits of wood. It was an extremely humbling experience. We both wanted to make sure to get as much out as possible, as our adorable students will be eating that rice tomorrow. It is the end of their school term so the other teachers are bringing in some vegetables, beef, and rice to have a “celebratory” lunch.

I also got scolded today for picking up a crying three year old named Violet. My heart melted the second I heard her pronounce “three.” Most of the kids are unable to say “th” without rolling their tongues, which yields a very cute pronunciation. Anyway, she apparently wanted to “rest” with me and “not learn,” so I was instructed not to “catch the child.” I just nodded and smiled, but inside I was sad. I mean COME ON. LOOK AT THIS FACE

 

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She is perfect. At least I stole this picture before the scolding.

After school, we returned to the home base for some down time and then went into Moshi Town later in the afternoon. I finally got some shopping in, which my parents will be happy to hear, I’m sure (sarcasm). Later, we walked down to the Karanga River. There are some small shops right along the river and I made some new friends. They did not speak a bit of English, aside from one gentleman. He was able to sell me a skirt, and the woman taught me how to wear it. Even after I asked “Unasema kiingereza?” (Do you speak English?) they all laughed. A crowd gathered and we were all laughing at ME. I am okay with it. These people are so intelligent and curious, and I know they just enjoy seeing a “mzungu” trying to speak kiswahili.

Walking back from the river, we met a man who began speaking English remarkably well. When I mentioned the idea of  “mzungu,” he laughed and told me what he taught his own children. He said:

“I tell my children, look down at your hands. You have five fingers. We all help one another with these fingers and hands. We are all the same, and must remember this.”

I tell ya, when you hear such wisdom in a tiny village in Tanzania, it really hits home. These ideas and beliefs I’ve tried to live by really ARE universally significant. My heart is so full tonight. Tomorrow I leave for Safari and I am excited to see what lessons I learn this weekend….And I’m hoping to see some elephants.

Lala salama.

Sticks and Stones

Today started out just like any other here in Karanga Village. Birds were singing, babies were crying, and the staff at our home base were quietly finishing their morning duties. It was harder to get up for my volunteer assignment this morning than usual. We were out later last night, dancing and enjoying a nice meal. We got to watch a local dance group perform, and that was a fun time. They had a snake which was…errr…scary and odd. My friend and I got a picture with it though, so that was a plus.

Well, anyway. I got up, ate a good breakfast, and then we were all packed into the van and ready to go. We arrived to the school a little earlier today than usual, so we walked with some of the kids to the school building. One of the girls has a fierce desire to hold my hand – AT ALL TIMES – which is precious, but also a bit troublesome. She freaks out if I let go of her hand, and if another student attempts to hold my hand, she gets mad and lashes out. I was confused about this behavior for a number of reasons. Why did she seem to have such an attachment fascination? I automatically assumed she must have several siblings and must not get a lot of attention at home. Another possible (probable) explanation for the behavior is the fact that I am a “mzungu.”

“Mzungu” literally translates into “white person.” This word is in no way offensive or upsetting until you really begin to explore why the phrase is being constantly shouted at you while you walk, shop, or even pass by in a van. The word itself is amusing and at most, a slight annoyance. The problem with the thought processes behind “mzungu” goes something like this: white people are rich. ALL OF THEM. Not only are white people rich, they are much smarter than Africans. They must carry money with them everywhere. OH, and the white “mwalimu” (teacher) cannot hit us with sticks or punish us in class.

Let me address the first problem with the “mzungu” label. I am not rich. I have a part time job, am a full time student, and will be thousands of dollars in debt when I graduate with my PsyD…eventually. However, compared to the vast majority of Tanzania’s population, I AM rich. There is no way around this fact, and as much as it upsets me, I cannot help but feel “white and privileged” which means that when I hear “mzungu,” I outwardly and inwardly cringe.

The next problem, the question of intelligence, is another tricky subject. I do not feel in ANY way that I am the smartest person in the school where I am volunteering. I believe that intelligence cannot be measured by books and standardized tests. With that being said, however, as an American, I am REQUIRED to attend school up until tenth grade. Here, kids are not only NOT required to attend school, they often times cannot afford school. And when they do attend school, their teachers are often volunteers from the neighborhood/village. Some teachers have little to no education themselves. The teachers I work with are both volunteers. They speak little english, but at this point, the language barrier is often so overwhelming I am very grateful for the little english we can speak with them. So while I do not believe I am smarter than Tanzanians, I am without a doubt, better educated than most kids over here (though I just ironically misspelled “educated” at least three times and probably have hundreds of grammatical errors).

Finally, one of the more controversial and upsetting issues of the “mzungu” complex is the fact that we do not believe in corporal punishment in America. In schools, paddling was outlawed long before my time. I’m not saying I didn’t wish a paddle upon some of my peers at one time or another, but it was never an actual threat while I was in school. With that being said, seeing some of my kids getting swatted/hit with a stick or branch is my very least favorite aspect of my volunteer assignment so far. I should emphasize that the branch being used on the students doesn’t REALLY hurt. I hit myself with it to see! (The kids got a great laugh out of that one, for sure!) The fear the stick instills, however, really speaks to the type of conditioning these teachers believe in. If a child is hit enough times for being wrong, late, or tired, they surely won’t be that way for long.

I am trying to understand this culture that is so foreign to me. I do not judge the teachers I work with. I understand that they only know what they know. I hope they take something from me in the same way. I hug the children and encourage them, and just hope that the teachers realize that love works just as much as fear.

A perfect example of love working better than fear was the orphanage we visited today. As we drove, I kept telling myself “Halie, this isn’t like the orphanages you see in movies..this is NOT ‘Annie.'” Sure enough, the “orphanage” was a single family home with a smaller room next door, where the boys slept. The husband and wife who run the orphanage were two of the most kind-hearted individuals I’ve ever had the extreme pleasure of meeting. They would have to be kind-hearted. “Mama” has 35 children, currently. They greeted us with songs, and we came bearing gifts of bread, oil, rice, and soap. They treated us like royalty, and the only thing I felt was sympathy. I realized quickly, however, that these kids were just GREAT kids. We talked (as best we could with my severely lacking kiswahili knowledge) and quickly became friends. I am happy to say that I will be returning to visit them at least once before I head back to America.

One thing I heard while at the orphanage, however, will never leave my heart and mind. “Baba” (father), the man who started the orphanage, talked about how he came to this point in his life. He spoke specifically about the man who built the house they were currently living in.

An Englishman was visiting Tanzania. When he met “Baba,” however, he knew he had to help in some way. He told “Baba”:

“I am here to climb Kilimanjaro. But now, I am not going to climb Kilimanjaro. Those stones will not remember me…that mountain will not remember me. You need a house, so I will fly home and you will get your house.” 

The love I have witnessed in just five short days is incomprehensible. I hope each of you find something worth more than money. “Baba” and that wonderful, nameless Englishman can teach us all what it means to find happiness and joy in the simplicity of service and compassion.

Lala Salama.

Ring around the Rosie

I am so happy I was not in Tanzania during the Rainy Season.

I woke up this morning to a peaceful rain. But let me clarify: this rain was only peaceful from a warm bed. The streets of Moshi were flooding, and the normally bumpy roads were now nearly impassable. Our driver did a fantastic job at getting us to our volunteer placement safely, but it took nearly an hour. The rain did not stop the locals from heading to work or school. Most did not have umbrellas or anything resembling rain boots, and were certainly not in a car or van.

I should emphasize, at this point in my posts, that I am in a very nice neighborhood, in a safe and friendly country. This very nice neighborhood, however, sits in such poverty and a state of underdevelopment that it pains me to consider it “nice.” I keep telling myself it could be worse. I will have pictures of the streets soon, I hope.

PLEASE, however, do not mistake “underdeveloped” for “dirty.” The streets are practically garbage free, and the people of Moshi take great pride in the appearance of their homes. The Daycare I am placed at this week is the perfect example of differences between the two. The children take their shoes off at the door, and sit on a bench with a long desk in front of them. The chalkboard is wiped clean after each lesson, and there is a tin roof over the school house, which, I am told, is a luxury of sorts. They even have a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, though it went out several times during the morning. I am trying to provide you with an adequate picture of this school, but unfortunately there are no words to describe the shock I felt while viewing this “nice” neighborhood and “nice” school.

The children, ages two to six, are eager to learn. They greeted us with songs in both English and Swahili, and exclaimed “Welcome, Teacher!” more times than I could possibly count. Because they are so young, a huge portion of the day was spent singing songs in English.

A new one I taught them today was “Ring around the Rosie.” When we reached the point in the rhyme where we “all fall down,” the children collapsed onto the dirt-covered floor in a heap of giggles and laughs. They are just like any children in that age group in this way. After this song, we worked on the “Hokey Pokey” and taught the kids their English left and right (which is really difficult, considering I know some adults who cannot remember their left or right)!

I am so incredibly excited to be with these children and teachers for the rest of the week. I know I have many more songs ahead, but believe me, there are worse things than singing “Ring around the Rosie” with lovable, kind, and energetic pre-schoolers.

Lala Salama!