Tutaonana Tanzania (We'll be seeing each other Tanzania)

Malaria/Typhoid Testing Tools

I don't know about you, but when they prick your arm with that little needle labelled "anti-fecal-matter-induced-sickness miracle vaccine" and ply you with bottles of little "will-kill-all-things-mosquito-born-related" orange pills, you start to relax a bit, maybe even feel a bit cocky in the face of horrifying one-only-gets-sick-in-the-jungles-or-wilds-of-africa type diseases like malaria and typhoid. You don't dare to assume (at least I didn't) that it would even be remotely possible to contract not one, but both  diseases I'd somewhat written off as ailments of dirty pirate ships and things you write grant proposals about mosquito nets for. Wrong, wrong. So many ways to be wrong. Though I was proud to have successfully communicated my symptoms and suspicions of the diseases in Swahili to nurses at the clinic my housemate recommended, I was far less enthusiastic about their grim diagnosis: malaria-typhoid double-whammy and a few other random illnesses related to dehydration for good measure. I had my doubts after watching the lab technician withdraw my blood with a syringe that was then squirted unceremoniously onto a glass slide with a square of plastic fitted on top (vaguely reminding me of high school biology class) and then instructing me to relieve myself in a small canister identical to an old-school holder for a roll of film. There was the slight possibility that I should solicit a second opinion. Regardless, however, I popped over to the local corner pharmacy and purchased the many-packs' regimen of two metallic tasting post-malaria pills and ten days' worth of extra strength post-typhoid antibiotics. Whoopee! Combine that lovely experience with lots of travels to and fro, hence the many weeks' lag since my last post! But I digress...

Mount Meru at Sunset

It's never easy to say good byes. You always end up wavering between some embarrassing sniffling, snorting, and soggy tissue episode, or dashing off to make a swift farewell-less getaway when no one's looking. Sometimes it's a bit of both as happened to be the case when I departed Arusha and then Tanzania, winding down my East African sojourn for the summer. I must admit I was more than a little disturbed when I tried to part ways with one of our favorite moto-taxi drivers Baraka (meaning: Blessings) and somehow succeeded in informing him that I was in love with him. Nakupenda. 

Baraka, our favorite moto driver

To be fair, I did pantomime tears and distance so I can see where the confusion might set in, but really? I love you? After three months? Sigh. It's a shame Nitakumis (I will miss you) had escaped my countless informal Swahili lessons over the summer. He was tickled pink at this suggestion and considering that I had just hugged him good bye and taken a series of awkwardly angled "selfies" with him on my camera, I should not have been surprised at his conclusion that I was in fact madly head over heels for him and had been secretly so for the past several months. With a promise to email once I returned home, I bade him a final bumbling farewell and hurried off into what was to be my last glorious Arusha sunset erupting in gold and orange rays around the crisp blue gray outline of Mount Meru. Sheer beauty. 

Mama Kanga!!

World's Most Energetic Dog Chi Chi

I continued a similar series of near-tearful salutations (I'm such a sap, really) with Mama Kanga (who insisted on a stream of photos at different angles in her shop), the owners of my favorite mystery milkshake spot in town, Cafe Noble (never did find out the meaning of chikoo fruit which they swore was in every delicious frothy concoction they brought me), our lovable young house guard and energetic pooch (who, as evidenced by her calm, loving, and bite-free licks good-bye, knew I was taking off for good), and random passersby who more than likely noticed my trembling bottom lip and leaky eyes in the final days leading up to my departure. Everything tugged at my heart strings savoring those remaining moments. 

Roomies!!

Cynthia and Julie gifting a pumpkin to Salim

Farewell Dinner with newlyweds!

Farewell pizza with the ladies of Arusha!

For example, I was touched by the impromptu gathering of a whole passel of friends all gleaned from the ranks of companions of my two fabulous roommates, who joined together for a sad, yet wonderful and delicious sendoff at the best pizza spot in town. I got choked up recalling moments like being rescued by a loyal co-worker who stood guard against crickets and spiders in the open door of a squat toilet while I (to quote Facebook) "handled business with the speed of a starving cheetah" terrified as I was by the crawling creatures in the dark of the toilet, or receiving a shirt with the image of zebra stripes as a parting gift from a dear friend who remembered our random late night spotting of what I deemed a lucky herd of zebras galloping across the road as we returned from a field visit. For all the ups, downs, and loop-de-loops of the past few months, I genuinely, deeply was heartbroken to go. Just as life started to take shape-- words that meant comprehension, not translation; meals that made me giddy for a lump of ugali; nights out dancing and actually singing the words to new favorite songs; road trips that left me giggling and chewing on sticks of muwa (sugar cane) or lugging home gifts of oversized pumpkins-- and it was time to go. A fleeting glimpse of what could be, and the reality of what was to be. Just like that I was done.

It's not that every moment was rosy or that I looked back fondly on the minutes I'd spent frustrated with that or that, lamenting stomach-lurching situations like the raging bull of a man who threatened and attacked my group of friends in Dar; the story of another friend's encounter with her purse thief on a Tanzanian train, a young boy who was then beaten to death in front of her as harsh vigilante justice; the acid attacks against young British tourists in Zanzibar. None of those moments or stories would be easy to forget, but memories of the many people who gave me misty eyes in my final days would certainly be hard to erase. 

John, House Guard Extraordinaire

That last week, I found myself unexpectedly in the home of one of our next door neighbors, a small family consisting of a single mother and her two young girls, fourteen and eleven. I had been invited over initially to meet our guard's mother who he was finally able to see for the first time in just over a year. Though she lived only an hour's bus ride away, fears of taking time off from work compounded with the financial strain of paying for the $12 roundtrip ride back home had kept him away. After sitting for the better part of an hour with mom, son, neighbors, and their visiting friends, I stood to leave only to be asked to return again the next day to talk with the girls who were learning English. I came back the next day and the next at their request just to sit and spend time with the family trio. The young mother worked as a maid at a nearby Bible college while the eldest daughter Einoth had tested into an English medium school were she'd acquired what seemed to be fairly impeccable English with astounding vocabulary and commendable grammar. (A faint flutter of teacher's pride I couldn't suppress welled up in me from my days in front of the chalkboard.) Exceptionally bright with that sense of intelligence you can read in a person's eyes, she was an artist, skilled with a drawing pen or pencil and wanted to become a female pilot. Her younger sister Gladness, whose swollen cheerful cheeks revealed a broad-toothed grin, followed eagerly in her footsteps, copying her sister's strokes with the pen in English and in sketch. She was a wonder with small children who clung to her like their own mothers. Each night I came, everyone would arrange themselves  in front of a little TV in the small concrete one-room home, a curtain dividing the sitting room space from the sleeping area where they all slept together. As we watched the latest Filipino soap "Eternity" (dubbed in horrendously comical English), the mother Lilian would prepare the evening's meal on the propane tank and burner beside us. Plates at the ready, the TV would be turned off for everyone to hold hands and bow their heads in prayer before settling in to eat.

Adopted Tz Familia

That first night I found it hard to dig in with everyone else as I had watched Lilian prepare the modest dinner of a handful of lightly fried fingerling potatoes and a dab of ketchup with a few slices of cucumber and tomato. The meager portions she doled out to me first as the guest (who consequently received the largest share), then to each of the girls in turn, and finally to herself. A neighbor's three year old son had wandered over and rather than send him home for supper, she propped him on her lap to share her plate of which the child eventually ate the lion's share, asking for more. I tried to return several of my own fingerlings only to be rejected and urged to eat my fill. It was hard to swallow mouthfuls of potato against the hard knot gathering in my throat as I looked around the tiny room at the the four people with which I shared the evening. 

Letters from the heart

In my mind, in some parallel time and place I could see Einoth as a precocious high school freshman, laughing and joking with her friends and sketching drawings in the back of her notebook as the bell rang and she traipsed off to her Physics class to learn about aerodynamics. I could see Gladness rustling up the neighborhood kids like the one plopped on her mother's lap to babysit, earning some pocket money in her free time, perhaps with her eye on becoming a pediatric nurse or social worker. I could see Lilian, ever the indefatigable single mother balancing multiple jobs and parenting to take care of her girls, and was reminded of something my supervisor once told me: Always hire single mothers; they're some of the hardest workers out there because they shoulder tremendous responsibility and have too much to lose to fail. What I found it hard to see was a bright future on the horizon for this little family that had willingly opened their door to adopt me. Miracles can happen any day, and with education it's very likely that these girls can find a better way forward, but with a road as steep as the one they faced, it would come as no surprise if they failed. It would be little shock if Einoth woke up one day as a highly commended, yet mundane front desk clerk in one of Arusha's dozens of tourist hotels. It would be no surprise if young Gladness eventually took up a needle and thread to apprentice stitching for the neighborhood seamstress or followed in her mother's footsteps as a maid. Respectable jobs certainly, but nowhere near the potential either of these girls had, simply because they were born into circumstances they would have to fight to rise up out of. 

Life on our street

But this is no world phenomenon. It happens everywhere. Poverty is reality for most of the world's citizens. That's the reason I chose to work in international development, to find some way to make a dent in the massive blockade holding so many people back. What struck such a chord, however, was the outpouring of love and generosity I had been shown by so many with so little throughout my short time in East Africa. From the kindly Kenyan taxi driver who took me under his wing, dubbing himself my Kenyan baba (father) to the wakulima (farmers) we trained for our pilot project to this my very own adopted Tanzanian familia. Like the story of the widow's mite (Luke 21:1-4, Mark 12:41-44), even with so very little, it was clear this family had so much and were willing to share with open arms. And as we spooned precious mouthfuls of goat meat pasta my final night (a special treat for my going away), I knew I would miss much more about Tanzania than watching mahindi (corn cobs) dry on rooftops before being grilled on the streets and slathered with chili and lime; more than waking up at 8am to our other neighbor blasting 2 Chainz, P Square, and/or Neyo on his alarmingly professional stereo equipment next door; and more than even driving by places like Oprah Fashion House, American Barber, or G Unit Apparel. I would miss the people who made this summer an experience I never imagined.

Unexpected Besties at the hair salon

As I've said before and will say again, we always come back to the places we leave pieces of our hearts in. I knew that in Asia and I still believe that now. So, Arusha, Tanzania, this is not kwa heri (good bye), but merely tutaonana (we'll be seeing each other) for now. Don't forget me. I certainly won't be forgetting you.

Arusha Arrivals and Home Sweet Home Babati

Woman carries goods into Babati town

Samaki (fish) drying in the sun after lime seasoning

Arusha is freezing. (And I’m starting to think this is going to be a summer of climactic extremes.) We stepped off the airplane (onto the tarmac mind you, with our gleaming green and yellow Precision Air jet still humming in the background) into what felt like a balmy afternoon. By nightfall, I found myself bundled up in (and I kid you not) two pairs of socks (one woolen), two shirts, a hoodie sweatshirt, scarf, shorts and fleece pajama pants all wrapped up in my silk sleep sack from my Asian travels, a blanket and duvet folded lengthwise and tucked under; something of a human taco in colorful layers. And I was…still…cold. This is probably due to the fact that every room is best fitted to compensate for sweltering Tanzanian summers with open face brick grates leeching what little warmth is contained in the uninsulated walls. At the moment, I was contemplating tearing down my mosquito net (malaria be damned) and fashioning an additional sheath from the cold. Now to be fair, I may or may not be mildly or highly anemic; this fact has as yet been unverified ;)

Local NGO working with community women

The next morning, after a thoroughly disappointing visit to what was supposed to have been our Moshi office some 45 minutes away from Arusha (no computers, no lights, no desks to speak of, though admittedly there was an abundance of chairs), we piled into an all-terrain jeep and blazed down the highway in the direction of Manyara district. There we planned to scout one of three project sites in the town of Babati, not too far from the famed Ngorogoro Crater and Tarangire safari destinations. As we bounded first down the smooth black asphalt road, we quickly took a turn into the countryside, Masaai huts dotting the flat landscape as far as we could see. The road, now under heavy construction, grunted and groaned beneath us as the driver determined (against all our will) to continue blazing on to town in under four hours. Somewhere between the number of times we were air born and semi-air born, my fro smacking the roof every time we gave another lurch over the hamhock-sized rocks, I resolved to wear a sports bra the next time we decided to fly down the “highway” to Babati.

Meeting with d.light and community leaders

Babati town was bigger than a town by our reckoning, approximately the size of a very small city with one main road leading in and out, hotelis, and bars, restaurants, and shops springing up left and right as we entered. We noticed an invention convention of sorts taking place in a nearby collection of outdoor tents and promptly went to investigate. Mill presses, solar panels, and all sorts of creative devices were being gauged and judged by interested customers, mostly wakulima (farmers) from outside of town. I paused to chuckle for a moment as a young boy ran by in a Clinton Portis Redskins jersey; home even away from home. 

Boy in Redskins jersey peeks into demo at invention fair

For lunch we met with a group of village leaders, chair persons who instructed newly formed village savings and loans groups on how to function and be successful. They explained that in any given week they visit anywhere from 10-15 of these groups, volunteering their time to spread knowledge in the community. The motivation behind the groups is simple. Individuals at times require large sums of money, money which is hard to collect and come by in bits and pieces when you are desperate for that new irrigation system or hard-pressed for cash for your daughter’s wedding or son’s hospital bills. As a group, the members pool funds little bit by little bit, multiplying their contributions to achieve a sizeable amount of savings. These savings are then extended through a variety of means as individual loans either on a rotating basis (using a merry-go-round policy of allowing one member in need to withdraw all of the funds each month) or in bits and pieces (allowing multiple members to take smaller portions each month), etc. After lunch, we were able to see one group in action on collection day.

Women pack in for VSLA weekly meeting

We were ushered into a small house, careful to call out Hodi! as the polite request to enter anyone’s home or establishment. The hallway was dark and it was difficult not to stumble over the pile of shoes collected that we were assured we did not have to add our own shoes to. I felt my way along the cement walls until we reached the main room, the living room. An explosion of color, no fewer than 25 women sat in the tiny room, the only light streaming in through a square cut in the wall. They urged us to sit on the sofas as they crowded together on the remaining chairs and floor watching, smiling, and laughing some behind raised scarves. We were introduced and then gave our greetings in English and Swahili. The group stood, recited their opening chant of something along the lines of Together we can save, together we can live, held launched into their introductory prayer (a non-denominational verse asking blessings on the efforts of the Christians and Muslims in the room) and then resumed business as usual. Each woman stood and approached the center table where a single metal box sat, several pairs of keys beside it. The box was guarded by the treasurer who kept it safe at all times, but it required three keys to open it that were kept by the treasurer, secretary, and chairperson. The box was opened and the cash mounted as each woman in turn deposited her sum as a small stamp of a fish was made in her little ledger book to show she had paid in full for the week.

Treasurer prepares ledgers for money box

We left before the final distribution, but were told that monthly, the group amasses around 500-600,000 Tanzanian shillings (roughly $312-$375 USD). The next session a few kilometers away was fairly similar though this group was mixed with men and women. As part of the demonstration, the chair persons pulled out our lantern models to show their near-indestructibility. This included dunking the lights in buckets of water and throwing them against rocks and trees as they bounced back resiliently. Amid oohs and aaahs some members of the group skeptically shook their heads. Were these made in China? Too many cheap products had come from China they told us, recounting stories of abandoned solar panels and lanterns with broken parts that had long since become useless. We explained our two year customer warranty (full replacements, no repairs!) and they nodded slowly. Another man stood and remarked that his son had brought home our smallest model for two thirds of the price a few months ago. Why were they expensive now? Now this is a classic example of frustrating market distortion, all too often (unfortunately) perpetrated in the name of doing good. Let me see if I can explain the process as I've seen it.

Sample ledger counting pay-ins with fish shaped stamps

NGO writes grant or solicits grantor. NGO receives funds and purchases goods for community. NGO distributes goods free of charge or at an exceptionally low bargain incompatible with market prices (logic being that people are too poor to pay). NGO feels good, people have products, all hunky dory, no? NO. While well-intentioned and admirably motivated, a number of things go wrong in this scenario. A lantern malfunctions or worse, breaks. Where does the family turn? Not back to the NGO which in some cases has moved on or has no connection to a distributor to acquire new goods. A family wants to purchase additional lights or different models and varieties. Can they? As we saw, they are furious to pay any market price for the item, believing they are being cheated and therefore scorn the products and go without. In a number of villages we even learned that teachers were buying the products from students who had received them from NGOs at the reduced rates and then selling them for more than retail value in local communities. Now distrust is bred once accurate prices are discovered, a number of individuals can’t afford them, and again the NGO has moved on and cannot enforce proper distribution past the grant period.

Visit with second village group

Already I was learning the joys of mixing business with social impact, but it can be done. An NGO can distribute some items, say study lamps in a school, at a “promotional” price that is well-advertised as a limited time promotion. Communities are introduced to the goods, find them worthwhile, and in follow up local community leaders and figures like the chairpeople we met are able to bring in additional goods in a wider selection at market price, earning a small margin for their labor. Thus the local market becomes stimulated and the products continue to reach those in need. Groups like these savings and loans circles we visited can then pool funds and work together to raise the money necessary for items like solar lamps which help students study longer, shops stay open more hours, and women save their eyesight from sewing by candlelight into the night. Is this all an ideal system? Of course. But with the right investment, it has the potential for profound impact rippling through an entire community, town, city, and even region like Manyara. That is the purpose of this test pilot project. To see just if and how this can work on a small scale with potential room to group. To see how these networks of trust built up with community leaders, and pools of savings between neighbors can be leveraged to generate widespread social good. 

Product demonstration by community leaders

But I digress. Africa, it seems, had become my new teacher.