Hmmm… where to start??

After finally returning from Zanzibar last Friday, we enjoyed a jolly conversation with some nuns at the airport while waiting for our ride (see blog entry- Non Smoking Please).  

This morning Manka arose from bed, took a couple hopeful sips of hot tea and then quickly went back to bed. Our wonderful driver convinced her to let him take her to the hospital. I will leave space for Manka to blog about this worthy experience but must comment on one thing. You would never believe who took care of her?? Yes! Its true!! We were greeted and shown much favor by the very two nuns we had met at the airport!! I am not kidding!

Not forgetting this is Africa, much time passes between arriving at the hospital and the following paragraph. Oh!Manka is feeling much better and should continue to get stronger with every hour!! 

One of Mama Lucy’s girls turned twenty today. For a surprise, we picked up some tubs of vanilla ice cream and brought her a present. She was so excited! We learned later that she had told her friend, “I am turning twenty tomorrow. I should not even expect to recieve a card.”  When asked what she hopes for her 20th year, she said, “I would like to return to school.”

On a side note… I got the priviledge of serving the ice cream. As I started dishing it out, the children reacted very differently than expected.  One of the boys touched it with his finger and then jumped back. Others were watching the ice cream paint their plates as it melted. And then!! Then there was a scream!! Not the, ”I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream,” type of scream (actually, the reaction I had expected)!! When one of the little ones touched the ice cream, he started to cry… “Its too hot! It burned me!! It burned me!!!”

Come to find out, this was the first time any of them had ever seen, touched, or tasted ice cream! Let me remind you, for perspective sake, the birthday girl turned twenty today…… 

Our lovely Manka has spent the last few days suffering with a severe case of food poisoning. I’ve been nursing her back to health with Sprite, electrolyte replacements, and bottled water. She has been such a wonderful patient. All details regarding how she spent the last 48 hours are left to her discretion, though tempting they may be to blog. 

After fully assessing Manka’s status this morning and believing her confessions of feeling twice the woman than she was the day before, I left to see the kids. 

The orphanage seemed unusually quiet. As I walked in, I was greeted with a warm hug from Mama Lucy’s daughter. After the five hours of hello, typical in Tanzania, I asked what was wrong with the children.

She: (looking down) We have run out of food. We have maiz but no fire wood to cook it with. The children have not eaten since yesterday (which means, she had not eaten either).

Me: (Realizing it was nearly 1pm) WHAT??!! *thinking to myself, why didnt they tell us sooner?? 

You see, I live in a city where the homeless shamelessly beg on the streets, openly admitting the money will go for beer. We expect those in need, to ask. Things are different here, maybe as they should be. I must learn to listen with more than my ears so that I can love with more than my words. I never want to see this happen again!

We picked up two weeks worth of rice, beans, sugar, cooking oil, some vegies, soap, toothpaste, and oil for the children’s bodies (and then some). For a special treat, we grabbed bread, peanut butter, honey and some bananas. For those curious types, two weeks of staple food and firewood, costs about USD $60-100.

Here’s where I almost lost it! Each child waited patiently for their meal. They recieved a banana and a sandwich with peanut butter and honey lathered more lightly than most apply butter on toast. Sitting quietly in their seats, they ate slowly, similar to the way most of us used to eat oreo cookies, as children. As I walked by, one of the boys looked up at me and with a big grin, he said, ”Teacher, our food today is good.”  

Sometimes seemingly going nowhere actually accomplishes something. 

A couple of other options for land developed while we were in Zanzibar.  These offerings are larger plots of land than we were asking the government.  These pieces of land are held privately, so the transaction may be easier if we pursue that route instead.  We plan to look at those plots tomorrow.

A couple of weeks ago, my relative told us a story about how he sings a song whenever the power goes out in Tanzania. The first words are: “Tanzania Tanzania Nakupenda Kwa Moyo Wote.” This means “Tanzania Tanzania I love you with all my heart.” The power goes out every day, so instead of getting angry and complaining, he chooses to think of the good things about Tanzania.

Our flight from Zanzibar was delayed, so we missed our connection in Dar es Salaam. Apparently this happens all the time. We managed to get seats on the late flight back to Kilimanjaro.

We met a guy who lives in San Francisco along the way, and also made random contact with someone who may be able to help KCJF receive some funding. I decided to approach him because he was wearing a shirt of an organization I’m familiar with. He was the proud designer of the shirt “I designed these shirts myself!”

My relative and family friend met us at the Kilimanjaro airport and took us to a festival in Arusha. They brought a musician and performer with them to meet us. He is an artist, composer and directs performance theater. He takes kids off the street and teaches them traditional Tanzanian music. He also holds the distinction of being the first Tanzanian to release a CD. They were all dressed in Masai wear.

They were late to the airport because the car had some problems with the exhaust system on the way to meet us.

We left Arusha late (1 am), and the roads were empty. Amanda fell asleep in the car to our new friend singing Tanzanian lullabies to her while hand drumming on her back. It was perfect.

Then we stopped refuel the car, but the fuel attendant used gasoline instead of diesel! Lots of black smoke, fumes and lurching ensued. Dogs barked as we sputtered by. We stuck our heads out the window to breathe. We tried to find another gas station but stations were closed at the late hour, so we lurched forward, agonizing kilometer by kilometer. The engine felt like it was going to die every few seconds.

We covered our faces, said “I will never forget this experience” a few times. Our companions tried humming to drown out the horrific noises the car was making, but the car got progressively worse. It was impossible to have a conversation with the loud popping, thrumming and lurching the car was doing, plus no one really wanted to breathe anyway.

Then in the darkness we heard it: “Tanzania, Tanzania, Nakupenda, Kwa Moyo Wote.” My relative belted out the song that he used as a substitute for despair. Despite our unwillingness to breathe, we started laughing hysterically and joined in when we composed ourselves.

Amazingly enough, we found a gas station that was open, and more amazingly (I kid you not) the engine finally died just as we pulled in. We didn’t make it to the pump, so we had to get out and push it about 15 feet. We chanted “nyuki nyuki” as we pushed the car, which means “bees bees,” something Mama Lucy tells the children when they have to carry something heavy.

The next several minutes entailed our driver tasting fuel, wringing fluid out of the filter, and sucking fuel out of various places by mouth. He is our hero.

We were underway and returned to Moshi after 2 am. Amanda looked at me.

Amanda: This is the longest day of travel I have ever had!

Me: [Long pause while trying to figure out what was different about Amanda’s appearance] You look a little grey. Hmmmm… Hold on.

I took the inside of my shirt and wiped a small part of her cheek. The spot on my shirt was black and the spot on her face was less gray.

After she washed her face twice, the towel turned black as she dried it.

That’s a lot of smoke.

Amanda and I marvelled at my relative’s and family friend’s ability to remain calm throughout the ordeal. They didn’t get angry at all, instead made jokes like “have you seen the movie the Gods Must be Crazy Part Two?”

The time has come to leave the “Spice Island.” Manka just ran off to grab us our last cup of Masala, Cardamom and Ginger Tea (with milk, please).

I couldnt sleep last night.
Had an interesting conversation with one of the employees of the hotel last night. It was interesting because we continue to find out about various organizations who mask themselves in noble missions but are actually exploiting the poorest of poor. While walking to the sea, after a mini discussion in world economics, Ms R. (employee) tells me:

She: I am nearly 30! I want to do something with my life!! I cant work here forever and I have a family to raise.
Me: What is stopping you?

She: Well, there are many things. How? What? I have ideas and need help but dont know where to go.

Me:  Have you looked into microfinancing (named a couple of organizations that we are researching)

She: (rolling her eyes) Oh please!! Those places?? If (big IF) you get a loan from those organizations they charge you so much money that they cause debt and make people poorer than before. And besides, we need direction! We have ideas but dont have a complete understanding of how to make our dreams happen. As a result, there is not enough work.

Me: Hmm… Have you considered getting a group of your friends together and maybe starting a business as a team.

She: The women here choose one of two things: if they are married, they stay home. If they are not, most are not educated and do not speak english. Unless they find help, they either beg in the streets or become a prostitute.

Our conversation carried on for a little longer before she had to run back to work…
I sat there for some time, tears rolling down my face and then hurried to Manka, full of excitement!

Me: Manka!! Manka!! We are not dreaming big enough!! Our plans are not large enough!  We must expand our vision!!

A long conversation ensued - more laughter, more tears, more truth and then more hope.  We’ll tell you more when we have time to articulate it ourselves!

Yesterday was my 33rd birthday. It was a perfect day. Amanda and I spent the day kayaking, reading, and talking about the stuff we’ve learned. We’re reading a book together. It’s the first time I’ve tried reading a book with someone. We can only read a couple of pages at a time because it provokes so much reflection and conversation. We’re on page 10. Only about 100 more pages to go! It is precisely the book that we needed for this trip.

We return to Moshi today. We’ve been in Zanzibar for 4 days now. I have very mixed feelings about this place. Amanda and I are very conscious of being women here. Men make it a point. Women are not really seen on the street, and if they are they’re completely covered with a burqa.  You feel very naked and exposed when you happen to show your neck, or your face.  The funny thing is, while walking on the street, our exposed skin is all the men seem to notice, but when we’re in line, say at an ATM, we mysteriously become invisible again.  Men feel completely comfortable cutting in front of us in line, and if another man doesn’t restrain them (as a security guard did at an ATM), we’d sit waiting for every single man to finish his task before we had a turn.

On one hand, Zanzibar beaches are beautiful.  On the other hand, we haven’t heard a peep about environmental sustainability since leaving Moshi.  I suppose it’s easy to take such beauty for granted, thinking that the environment will magically regenerate itself, but watching some local girls using the pristine blue ocean water as a toilet while tourists were swimming just a few yards away was a bit difficult to stomach.

Wherever there is a subtantial concentration of people here, there is pollution.  Trash lining the street, air choked with smoke and exhaust, dust everywhere.  We fought the urge to leave for the first couple of days, but the northeast part of the island was more unspoiled.

Mama Lucy has mentioned that there are a number of non-profits that are fraudulent -they are money making schemes. They travel to Tanzania, set up shop, take some photos, create brochures, apply for grants and solicit donations but don’t achieve impact.

She cited example after example to us, but I don’t think we go it until today. It seemed so strange to our way of thinking, almost incomprehensible.

When we were in town a couple of days ago, Amanda set off in search of a post office. Instead of the post office, she found a non-profit that billed itself as serving widows, disabled people and orphans. We stopped in. We were greeted by a receptionist and the organization’s accountant.

Mom and Chelsea joined us as they sat us down. We asked what they did, and instead they told us what they stood for. We tried asking a few different ways. Finally, we cut right to the chase:

Us: Do you provide a home for the people you serve?

Them: No, but we plan to, these plans are still very new.

Us: OK, could you give an example of how you help people?

Them: Well, just the other day we delivered some chickens to people with AIDS, in a hospital.

I’ll spare you the pain of the rest of the exchange, but it turns out that foreign visitors bought the chickens, and the people from the non-profit delivered them. That was the only example they could give us. We assumed the organization was young, but after asking we learned that they’d been around for at least 8 years. (on a side note. they have a wonderful office with posters supporting breastfeeding and the secretary was bebopping to some fine RnB tunes).

We were dumbfounded.

We didn’t have time to discuss that visit until today. Amanda and I talked about it on the flight to Zanzibar. She was just as doubtful as I was about that non-profit. We concluded that it was an example of the fraud Mama Lucy talked about.

After we found our hotel in Stone Town, we started walking around the area. We saw a group of 20-something year olds leaving the beach. They started walking right behind us. I asked them “where are you from?” (something I rarely do).

Turns out they were Americans volunteering with two orphanages in Moshi and had traveled to Zanzibar on vacation. They were leaving the next morning.  We asked them about the orphanages they were working with, and one guy piped up and said “well, I’m auditing the one I’m working with and I think they might be stealing money. Check with me on Tuesday and I’ll let you know.”

You guessed it, the orphanage he is working with is the one Amanda stumbled upon last week, the one that Amanda and I had just talked about a couple of hours earlier! It was surreal. He said “Yeah, I felt so bad that we weren’t doing anything that I just bought some chickens and asked them to deliver them to some sick people.”

Amanda and I exchanged significant glances.  Then we briefly told him about Mama Lucy’s work to contrast his experience, and we’re hoping to get together when we return to Moshi.

Amanda and I are sitting in the Business Center of the Serena Inn in Zanzibar.  It’s 10pm here.  We saw Chelsea and Mom off last night, then decided to travel to Zanzibar this morning when we woke up.

We visited the kids yesterday, and we ran some errands with Mama Lucy today before we boarded our plane.  It is so hot in Zanzibar!  We arrived safely and found a good hotel in Stone Town for a great price.  We travel to the North Coast tomorrow.

We ran into the Tanzanian Run Around with the land.  We’re learning the various forms of the Tanzanian Run Around. 

For those interested in a bit of Tanzanian culture, here are the forms of the Tanzanian Run Around we have encountered to date:

Form #1: I won’t help you because I’ll get in trouble. The typical comment is “I cannot do this without approval from my superior.” 

Form #2: I’ll tell you I’ll help you then disappear. The typical leave-me-alone comment is “come back at this time.”  You note that there is no clock on the wall and the person telling you this is not wearing a watch.  Not surprisingly, that person is anywhere but where he said he’d be at your meeting time.

Form #3: You’re asking me something that is very difficult.  “Ah, but this would be very difficult to do.” 

Form #4: The person you need to speak with is not here. They tell you this with confidence without checking first.  So far, the person is actually there about half the time we’ve heard this comment.

Form #5: The person you need to speak with is “coming now.”  We think “now” in Africa means “sometime before midnight.”  Last night, we waited at a ticket counter for someone who was coming “just now” for 30 minutes, then we learned the person wouldn’t arrive for at least another hour.

There is an abundance of “no worries in Tanzania” bumper stickers here, as the locals think the impatience of Westerners is pretty humorous. 

This was our last night all together, and we’re sad to see Chelsea and Mom leave tomorrow evening.

I got food poisoning.  Amanda, Chelsea and I had our reservations about eating at a certain restaurant, and apparently those concerns were well founded.  I was the only person that was affected, and since it was a mild case, I’m already on the tail end of it.

We met with the land officials yesterday to discuss the size of the new land - KCJF needs more land than they are offering.  We’re following up with them in a few days. 

We took Sister D out for a day yesterday.  Sister D (her real name is Madonna) is Mama Lucy’s only biological child.  Amanda comments: “Sister D is a profound being.”  Sister D didn’t want to order food at a restaurant because she knew she could not finish an entire meal.  The idea of wasting food was so abhorrent that she would rather go hungry.  We took her to a beauty salon to get some braids. 

Six hours later…African Time happened.  Her hair was supposed to be done at 4pm.  They didn’t finish until 7pm.  By then, I was back at the hotel nursing my sick belly, but I saw a photo of her and she looked amazing!  When we asked the driver what he thought when he saw her new hairdo, he responded: “can I marry her?”  Mom’s response was immediate.  “It will cost you your very soul!”  This was a nice way of saying “don’t even think about it!”

By the way, I think one factor contributing to African Time is that no one wears a watch and wall clocks are seldom seen.  No one knows what time it is, and it’s a reflection of their choice to not hurry, to not time things, to not worry.

We’re just beginning to process all we’ve seen and heard here.  We’ll have a lot to chat about when we return. 

We dream of the kids.  We sing their songs.  We see their faces.  We see Mama Lucy’s face.  And every day, we hear something truly amazing from someone. 

We went to Marangu today and my relatives’ little girls accompanied us.  They are 11 and 7.  They are wonderful little people. The following exchange happened when we dropped them off this afternoon.

Chelsea: Thank you for letting us bring your daughters with us today.

Relative: You are most welcome.

Amanda: You have a lovely home.
Chelsea: We didn’t go inside, but we thought the grounds were very beautiful.

Relative: Thank you, but it cannot be a home unless we are all there eating supper together.  When you come again, you will visit us there and then it will be a home.

For our last dinner together, we ate at a place called El Rancho near our hotel.  It is an Indian restaraunt with a Spanish name that serves Italian and Chinese food too.  It also happens to serve the best tasting Indian food I’ve ever eaten and some of the tastiest food I’ve eaten anywhere. 

Mom asked our waitress if it was possible to thank the chef personally for such a great meal.  Turns out that the chef was the mother of our waitress.  Our jaws dropped, then a slew of questions erupted.  Did she grow up in Africa?  Yes, she is Chaga (also the ethnic group that Mom belongs to).  Did she take cooking classes?  No.  How is this possible?  I don’t know.

We made sure to take our leftovers, but upon walking out of the restaurant (we were walking back to the hotel), we saw some bad dogs on the street.  A young guy was walking in the dark in the opposite direction of where we were going.  Mom asked him to walk us back to our hotel.  He did without hestitation.  Along the way he told us that he works at an outreach for street children.

When we arrived at our hotel, he told us his name, shook each of our hands and walked off.  Amanda called him back to give him our left overs.  He better enjoy them.  I’m choosing to forgive Amanda little by little. (really)

We’ll spend the day at KCJF tomorrow. More thoughts tomorrow evening, if electric power prevails.

I’m going to atttempt to describe a day in the life at KCJF.  First thing to know is that KCJF operates out of two homes.  We’re spending our time at the home in Boma.  Four kids live at the house in Machame, and I’m guessing 50 kids live at the house in Boma. The rest are away at boarding school.

We drive from Moshi on a paved two lane road for about 30 minutes to Boma.  This is the main road. People on foot, on bicycles, cars, trucks, and buses all share this road.  We see people carrying huge loads of wood, we stop for donkeys, goats, cows.  Women balance tubs of water on their heads.

Once we reach Boma, we turn into an unmarked neighborhood with unpaved roads.  We bounce down this road, avoiding big potholes and puddles of water.  Kids stare, smile and wave.  Some say hi.

We wind our way to the very end of this neighborhood.  It takes about 10 minutes.

KCJF is unmistakable because of the massive amounts of clothes hanging to dry outside the front of the house.  Usually when we arrive, they have just finished washing.  Washing takes a very long time. 

There are 3 girls who are 19 or 20 years old, and are in between semesters at school.  There is another girl in her late teens, and there is a boy of about 20 who is waiting for tuition to return to school.  All of them help Mama Lucy take care of things.

Mama Lucy usually also has at least a couple volunteers who cook and look after the kids.  Seems like every child over the age of 12 helps out, taking the smaller ones to the bathroom, feeding, cleaning, etc.  There is always something to be done.

There are 3 children who are 2 years old.  One is very talkative, the other two are very quiet.  There are about 30 kids who are between the ages of 4 and 11.  And there are about 15-20 kids between the ages of 11 and 15.  It’s hard to guess their ages because many are so small for their age.

When we pull up, we usually hear screams of delight.  Then several little faces appear in between the wood slats that make up the gated entrance.

Some make their way outside, gathering around the car before we even manage to get out.  There are little hands grabbing your fingers, grabbing your skirt instantly.  The littlest ones walk right up to you and ask to be picked up. 

The oldest girls come out and warmly greet you, taking your bags before you even realize what they’re doing, telling you “karibu sana,” which means “you are very welcome.”  By now you are holding at least one child and there are a couple of others standing by.

Imagine a ranch style house with a fenced in area in front and you’ll get a picture of what the house in Boma looks like.  The kids are usually in “class” in this fenced area by the time we arrive. Everything happens in the fenced area.  Little desks are set up and there are blackboards around.  Foreign volunteers or the older children teach the young kids reading, English and math.

At some point, they start singing, as Amanda says “at any random moment.” They will sing for a long time.  They dance. Some kick a ball around the open area.  Others are helping prepare the next meal.  Some are cleaning.  Some go into the front yard and play.

If there is food, it takes a long time to cook it on a fire stove.  They serve the little children first, making sure that the youngest ones have as much to eat as they want.  The older ones help the young ones eat and wait until they are done, then they eat whatever food is left.

Then they clean.  Imagine washing 60 dinner plates with a couple of buckets of water!  Then they wash the kids, in part because the kids eat with their hands.  After dinner time, they sing songs again and then go to sleep. 

The kids sleep 2 or 3 to a twin bed, and the twins beds are stacked in bunks.  There are 3-4 bunks per room.  Boys and girls are separated, and the older girls sleep in rooms with the young kids to supervise and assist during the night.  Mama Lucy sleeps with the kids. 

A few of the kids wake up during the night.  I doubt that Mama Lucy and the older kids have slept through an entire night in quite a long time.

Since there are so many kids, Mama takes turns with privileges.  She rotates who will accompany her on her outings.  For the most part, the kids seem ok with it, and it’s rare to hear a child cry.  It’s astounding, even more so given the sheer number of kids there: we may hear one child cry once during the course of a day.