Today I saw a Maasai man in full traditional gear wearing wraparound shades and carrying a briefcase. Arusha's pretty cool.
There are plenty of Maasai (especially men) in Arusha, and most of them do wear the the traditional garments: red or purple robes and blankets, walking sticks, dagger, and often beautiful jewelry as well. Most of them have stretched earlobes as well, and I've noticed designs scarred onto the cheeks of both men and women, but I don't know what they mean. It's interesting to see these elements of Maasai traditions in the middle of the city. It's especially striking to see actual Maasai going about their daily lives in these clothes while at the same time being surrounded by the commodification of Maasai culture. The image of the Maasai as the archetypical African warrior is especially strong here because they're from this region, but I'm told you see it everywhere in East Africa.
There's a metaphor in here somewhere about the way the various tribal cultures of Tanzania are being changed, exploited, and often destroyed by modernization, westernization, population growth, etc...but I can't quite figure out how to put it right now.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sports!
I have discovered to my delight that the local secondary school soccer league plays on Wednesday evenings at the pitch near my house. I first saw them last week, and since they were there last night too it must be a regular thing.
Last Wednesday when I got off the daladala and started walking down the Dubya Road as I always do, I was distracted by the sight (and sound) of a large crowd behind on the other side of the maize field cheering about something...
Hmm, maybe a digression is in order:
So where was I? Ah yes, walking down the road last Wednesday. The aforementioned maize had just been cut and the field plowed on the weekend, so this was the first time that I'd had a good view of the pitch from the road at this time of day. My attention was drawn by the shouts, but it took me a second to figure out what the gathering was all about. When I saw a soccer ball sail through the air behind the crowd, my Holmes-ian skills kicked into gear, though, so I went to check out the match. It was high-school aged boys playing to a crowd of at least 300 people, most of whom were still in their school uniforms.
It took me a bit of time and questioning in both English and garbled Kiswahili, but I eventually discovered that it was a match between Tengeru Boys' Secondary School (wearing yellow jerseys and cheered on by fans in grey and green), and Duluti Secondary (blue and white supporters). Duluti wore red, but while Tengeru's shirts were proper matching jerseys, theirs were just mismatched red tshirts.
The pitch itself is in pretty rough shape; dirt patches, no lines, and I think the only mowing is done by machete (maybe), and goat (definitely). [Those who are disappointed that this site has turned into "Robin Blogs About Goats Dot Com" can skip ahead to the next paragraph.] I know for sure that goats are involved in the upkeep of the field because that they are so dedicated that they were still there working as the game went on. Half a dozen of them stuck stubbornly to their pasture and grazed obliviously at one end of the field. So the teams just played around them. Actually, I think I was the only one who found the whole scene remarkable; the athletes played around and through with no obvious break in concentration, and the crowd made to real effort to herd the animals away. The animals were occasionally startled by a ball landing in their midst or a player dribbling between them, but would soon go back to eating (looking slightly indignant, in my opinion).
The game itself was pretty good, at least to my inexpert eyes. The boys had good skills: smart and accurate passes, fancy footwork, and the game had pretty good flow. You could tell that these guys' spare time is all spent kicking a ball around, practicing and showing off.
It's been a million years since I last saw high-schoolers play, but I'd be willing to bet that either team could beat or at least hold their own against any similarly aged Canadian comp team (especially Duluti, the red team. They were better than Tengeru). Regardless, it was really really fun to watch - fast-paced and entertaining. But the really cool thing for me was just the atmosphere and the fans.
The spectators were loosely segregated, with each school's supporters taking one side and one goal end each. And good golly were they into it. When Duluti lined up for a penalty kick, Tengeru fans raced across the field and massed themselves behind and around the net to the point that the ref had to herd them into an acceptable, non-disruptive formation. When Duluti missed, there was absolute jubilation from the green-and-greys. But there must have been something wrong with the penalty (don't ask me...maybe the goalie stepped forward too soon?) Duluti were awarded a re-kick: pandemonium. The blue-and-whites hoorayed, and the Tengeru students stormed the field to argue their case to the ref. Of course then the Duluti kids had to have their share of the yelling, so they came onto the field...you get the picture. The ref was an old pro, though, and had quickly sorted it out and cleared the pitch. Duluti missed their second shot anyway.
But when Duluti did eventually score, on another penalty kick, it was total madness! Their fans stormed the pitch, dancing, cheering, cartwheeling (seriously), and hugging the players. I even saw one guy on his knees, genuflecting to the scorer. All this happened again with Duluti's second goal, and at the end of the match.
I've spent a lot of time in sports crowds, especially smaller, non-commercial ones like this, and it was cool to try to identify the similarities and differences between these crowds and ones in Canada. I don't know if I gleaned any deep cultural insights, but it was interesting all the same.
Yesterday it was different teams, same goats. I think I must have just never noticed the games before because of the maize and the fact that Tengeru's so noisy anyway.
This game wasn't as good and didn't keep my interest beyond halftime, but it had its moments. I had a lively debate with the guy next to me about the accuracy of a foul called on the blue team: I argued that it was a clean play and that the red man had tripped on his own and played up the fall for effect, while he felt it was a fair call against a dirty bit of cheating. Or at least that's what I think we were talking about. I was speaking English and him Kiswahili, so in truth he could just as well have been asking me if I've ever worked for the Mongolian foreign service. I still say the tackle was clean, though.
Last Wednesday when I got off the daladala and started walking down the Dubya Road as I always do, I was distracted by the sight (and sound) of a large crowd behind on the other side of the maize field cheering about something...
Hmm, maybe a digression is in order:
A daladala is a cheap, packed, and frankly dangerous minibus. They're on all the main roads, and are my main form of transportation after walking. I must remember to dedicate a whole post to the daladala experience later on.
The Dubya Road is obviously just a name I made up for the road that goes North from the Arusha-Moshi highway and eventually past my house. If it even has a real name, it's probably just "Meru Hospital Road" or something like that. But I've christened it after the ex-President of the US because the first kilometre or so of it was originally built for his visit to Tanzania a few years ago. He was scheduled to come see the hospital (which is maybe 500m from the highway), and the government decided that their distinguished visitor couldn't be driven there on the existing rutted, rocky dirt road. So they paved a stretch up to the first intersecting path. All well and good, I suppose, though certainly extravagant - there are schools here that don't even have desks... So anyway, the secret service showed up to do their standard recon before the big guy's arrival. They looked around, saw the direct view from the terraced foothills to the road, and visions of sniper-fire danced in their heads. So Bush was driven to the hospital along a presumably very bumpy backroad, and probably never even saw or heard of the newly paved and ditched street. A strange tale.
So where was I? Ah yes, walking down the road last Wednesday. The aforementioned maize had just been cut and the field plowed on the weekend, so this was the first time that I'd had a good view of the pitch from the road at this time of day. My attention was drawn by the shouts, but it took me a second to figure out what the gathering was all about. When I saw a soccer ball sail through the air behind the crowd, my Holmes-ian skills kicked into gear, though, so I went to check out the match. It was high-school aged boys playing to a crowd of at least 300 people, most of whom were still in their school uniforms.
It took me a bit of time and questioning in both English and garbled Kiswahili, but I eventually discovered that it was a match between Tengeru Boys' Secondary School (wearing yellow jerseys and cheered on by fans in grey and green), and Duluti Secondary (blue and white supporters). Duluti wore red, but while Tengeru's shirts were proper matching jerseys, theirs were just mismatched red tshirts.
The pitch itself is in pretty rough shape; dirt patches, no lines, and I think the only mowing is done by machete (maybe), and goat (definitely). [Those who are disappointed that this site has turned into "Robin Blogs About Goats Dot Com" can skip ahead to the next paragraph.] I know for sure that goats are involved in the upkeep of the field because that they are so dedicated that they were still there working as the game went on. Half a dozen of them stuck stubbornly to their pasture and grazed obliviously at one end of the field. So the teams just played around them. Actually, I think I was the only one who found the whole scene remarkable; the athletes played around and through with no obvious break in concentration, and the crowd made to real effort to herd the animals away. The animals were occasionally startled by a ball landing in their midst or a player dribbling between them, but would soon go back to eating (looking slightly indignant, in my opinion).
The game itself was pretty good, at least to my inexpert eyes. The boys had good skills: smart and accurate passes, fancy footwork, and the game had pretty good flow. You could tell that these guys' spare time is all spent kicking a ball around, practicing and showing off.
It's been a million years since I last saw high-schoolers play, but I'd be willing to bet that either team could beat or at least hold their own against any similarly aged Canadian comp team (especially Duluti, the red team. They were better than Tengeru). Regardless, it was really really fun to watch - fast-paced and entertaining. But the really cool thing for me was just the atmosphere and the fans.
The spectators were loosely segregated, with each school's supporters taking one side and one goal end each. And good golly were they into it. When Duluti lined up for a penalty kick, Tengeru fans raced across the field and massed themselves behind and around the net to the point that the ref had to herd them into an acceptable, non-disruptive formation. When Duluti missed, there was absolute jubilation from the green-and-greys. But there must have been something wrong with the penalty (don't ask me...maybe the goalie stepped forward too soon?) Duluti were awarded a re-kick: pandemonium. The blue-and-whites hoorayed, and the Tengeru students stormed the field to argue their case to the ref. Of course then the Duluti kids had to have their share of the yelling, so they came onto the field...you get the picture. The ref was an old pro, though, and had quickly sorted it out and cleared the pitch. Duluti missed their second shot anyway.
But when Duluti did eventually score, on another penalty kick, it was total madness! Their fans stormed the pitch, dancing, cheering, cartwheeling (seriously), and hugging the players. I even saw one guy on his knees, genuflecting to the scorer. All this happened again with Duluti's second goal, and at the end of the match.
I've spent a lot of time in sports crowds, especially smaller, non-commercial ones like this, and it was cool to try to identify the similarities and differences between these crowds and ones in Canada. I don't know if I gleaned any deep cultural insights, but it was interesting all the same.
Yesterday it was different teams, same goats. I think I must have just never noticed the games before because of the maize and the fact that Tengeru's so noisy anyway.
This game wasn't as good and didn't keep my interest beyond halftime, but it had its moments. I had a lively debate with the guy next to me about the accuracy of a foul called on the blue team: I argued that it was a clean play and that the red man had tripped on his own and played up the fall for effect, while he felt it was a fair call against a dirty bit of cheating. Or at least that's what I think we were talking about. I was speaking English and him Kiswahili, so in truth he could just as well have been asking me if I've ever worked for the Mongolian foreign service. I still say the tackle was clean, though.
Woohoo!
Birthday magic!
It has been a frustrating week for me, business-wise, as I was blindsided by some information that could have potentially have totally derailed the project (which I'm not going to get into here). A safari boss was also giving me the run-around, and I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed by the mountain of work I'll need to accomplish in the next month.
But so far today everything's coming up frangipani! I met with another safari company this morning (Alex is in Zanzibar and Dar this week), and when I left their office I was skipping down the street.
Soko Adventures is a smallish company run by a Tanzanian couple. They already have a great reputation for giving back to the community (they give money to a women's group, hospitals, and orphans, and every month they take orphans for a day-long safari). I spoke to both Irene and Sabastian, and they were very interested in the project. They asked tons of questions, talked about bringing guests to see the women working, ordering different projects, and we discussed numbers and prices and practicalities.
Nothing is decided yet; I left them with the printed materials and a set of samples, but they were both visibly excited by the project. I have a very strong feeling that something big will come out of this meeting.
Best birthday ever, and I haven't even had any cake yet!
It has been a frustrating week for me, business-wise, as I was blindsided by some information that could have potentially have totally derailed the project (which I'm not going to get into here). A safari boss was also giving me the run-around, and I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed by the mountain of work I'll need to accomplish in the next month.
But so far today everything's coming up frangipani! I met with another safari company this morning (Alex is in Zanzibar and Dar this week), and when I left their office I was skipping down the street.
Soko Adventures is a smallish company run by a Tanzanian couple. They already have a great reputation for giving back to the community (they give money to a women's group, hospitals, and orphans, and every month they take orphans for a day-long safari). I spoke to both Irene and Sabastian, and they were very interested in the project. They asked tons of questions, talked about bringing guests to see the women working, ordering different projects, and we discussed numbers and prices and practicalities.
Nothing is decided yet; I left them with the printed materials and a set of samples, but they were both visibly excited by the project. I have a very strong feeling that something big will come out of this meeting.
Best birthday ever, and I haven't even had any cake yet!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Erratum
My dear readers, I have let you down, and I am ashamed. You come to this site for true reporting from the front lines in Tanzania, but instead in the last post I gave you lies. I would like to set the record straight:
There are sheep here, they're just freaky-looking. What I had originally taken to be a subspecies of thickset, exceptionally ugly goat is, instead, ovine. They've got shortish, straightish wool (which is what initially threw me off), and thick sheepy tails. I was also sitting next to a pen yesterday and noticed that the animal next to me had round pupils - as I'm sure you know, goat pupils are rectangular and satanic. So there went the ugly-goat theory. It's ugly sheep after all.
I can only beg your forgiveness for this massive oversight, and promise to strive for higher editorial standards in the future.
There are sheep here, they're just freaky-looking. What I had originally taken to be a subspecies of thickset, exceptionally ugly goat is, instead, ovine. They've got shortish, straightish wool (which is what initially threw me off), and thick sheepy tails. I was also sitting next to a pen yesterday and noticed that the animal next to me had round pupils - as I'm sure you know, goat pupils are rectangular and satanic. So there went the ugly-goat theory. It's ugly sheep after all.
I can only beg your forgiveness for this massive oversight, and promise to strive for higher editorial standards in the future.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Bits and bobs
I don't have time to write a full post right now, but I feel bad for neglecting my blogging duties. I'm letting down my adoring public.
So here's a few random thoughts and observations...
-I love that there are geckos inside my house. Most of our windows are glazed, but some aren't and there are also vents near the eaves, so plenty of nature inside, but it's no problem other than sometimes there's a slug on your bed. The geckos are awesome, though. Every evening, they'll start to show up on the walls, darting about and being cute. Alex has what he considers a resident pair in his room, and calls them Simon and Garfunkel. They're our malaria-fighting pals.
-I have not seen a single sheep here. When you think about it, this makes total sense and shouldn't be noteworthy. I mean, there can't be much of a market for wool in East Africa (though people do wear sweaters and long pants...while I'm dying in a tank top), and just imagine how sweaty the sheep would get. But still, I was surprised somehow. I guess that since there are lots of goats, cows and chickens everywhere (and boy do they all make themselves heard), I sort of expected some sheep to sort of round out the farmyard scene. But nope, just the ugliest goats I've ever seen.
-I have lost weight since I arrived. Not too much, but enough that my pants were starting to lose the fight against gravity. So I went to the Tengeru market a few weeks ago and bought a used yellow naugahyde belt for 1500Tsh, which is slightly more than a dollar. So now my pants stay up, but the extra fabric bunches at the waist. To complete the fashion-plate image, I had to fix my hair. I'd forgotten to get it cut before I left, and it was getting really heavy and unmanageable. So I went outside to the backyard, and using a pair of child's school scissors (with the cm printed on the blade) and checking my reflection in the window of Lema's truck, I gave myself a trim. Glamour.
-There's a really nice cafe/club/meeting place/bistro/etc in town called Via Via. It's on the grounds of the old German Boma (colonial admin buildings/fort), along with the museum and an arts centre and some other things, and right next to one of the small rivers that goes through Arusha. The restaurant bit is at the top of a small hill, half open to the air and surrounded by mango trees. Today I saw a little chameleon on one of them! The hill makes a little amphitheatre down to a stage. It's green and quiet (except in the evenings when they turn into a club), and has a nice menu with some good Western food. It's a great place to go if we're in town to just grab a table and get some work done with a milkshake or a Fanta. The other day I was there, and they had a KITTEN!! It was the cutest thing - a teensy weensy grey tabby, and he came over and slept on my lap while I chatted with some new friends from the States and worked on my Swahili. I mean, I probably got worms, but it was worth it.
So here's a few random thoughts and observations...
-I love that there are geckos inside my house. Most of our windows are glazed, but some aren't and there are also vents near the eaves, so plenty of nature inside, but it's no problem other than sometimes there's a slug on your bed. The geckos are awesome, though. Every evening, they'll start to show up on the walls, darting about and being cute. Alex has what he considers a resident pair in his room, and calls them Simon and Garfunkel. They're our malaria-fighting pals.
-I have not seen a single sheep here. When you think about it, this makes total sense and shouldn't be noteworthy. I mean, there can't be much of a market for wool in East Africa (though people do wear sweaters and long pants...while I'm dying in a tank top), and just imagine how sweaty the sheep would get. But still, I was surprised somehow. I guess that since there are lots of goats, cows and chickens everywhere (and boy do they all make themselves heard), I sort of expected some sheep to sort of round out the farmyard scene. But nope, just the ugliest goats I've ever seen.
-I have lost weight since I arrived. Not too much, but enough that my pants were starting to lose the fight against gravity. So I went to the Tengeru market a few weeks ago and bought a used yellow naugahyde belt for 1500Tsh, which is slightly more than a dollar. So now my pants stay up, but the extra fabric bunches at the waist. To complete the fashion-plate image, I had to fix my hair. I'd forgotten to get it cut before I left, and it was getting really heavy and unmanageable. So I went outside to the backyard, and using a pair of child's school scissors (with the cm printed on the blade) and checking my reflection in the window of Lema's truck, I gave myself a trim. Glamour.
-There's a really nice cafe/club/meeting place/bistro/etc in town called Via Via. It's on the grounds of the old German Boma (colonial admin buildings/fort), along with the museum and an arts centre and some other things, and right next to one of the small rivers that goes through Arusha. The restaurant bit is at the top of a small hill, half open to the air and surrounded by mango trees. Today I saw a little chameleon on one of them! The hill makes a little amphitheatre down to a stage. It's green and quiet (except in the evenings when they turn into a club), and has a nice menu with some good Western food. It's a great place to go if we're in town to just grab a table and get some work done with a milkshake or a Fanta. The other day I was there, and they had a KITTEN!! It was the cutest thing - a teensy weensy grey tabby, and he came over and slept on my lap while I chatted with some new friends from the States and worked on my Swahili. I mean, I probably got worms, but it was worth it.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
I'm fine!
Some of you have very sweetly expressed concern about my last post, but I don't want you to worry at all! My mood has bounced back like flubber, and I'm doing very well here. It's not always sunshine and roses, but what kind of person would I be if I ignored the poverty and problems and only saw the monkeys?
I'm keeping this blog because I want to share what I'm learning and experiencing on this adventure with my friends and family (that's you!), and I think it's only honest if I include the downs along with the ups.
So thank you for worrying, but don't! I'm really doing fine, and there is nowhere else I'd rather be right now than right here in Tanzania (though I do miss my dog).
I'm keeping this blog because I want to share what I'm learning and experiencing on this adventure with my friends and family (that's you!), and I think it's only honest if I include the downs along with the ups.
So thank you for worrying, but don't! I'm really doing fine, and there is nowhere else I'd rather be right now than right here in Tanzania (though I do miss my dog).
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
First world problems
I survived a small bout of homesickness last week only to be struck down by a sudden wave of overwhelming sadness and guilt at how much I have compared to most Tanzanians. 'You've been living in the one of the poorest countries in the world and you're just noticing this now?' is what you must be asking, but I don't mean that I was ignorant of this huge disparity before, but it had affected me differently.
Before, I had certainly seen the poverty around me: subsistence lifestyles, lack of education, torn clothing, poor health and dental care.* I didn't romanticize it or ignore it, but my sadness was always tempered by hope and energy. I saw every heartbreaking thing as an opportunity for things to get better for the people I've been meeting, and for this beautiful country. The dignity with which everyone carries themselves made me optimistic and confident that things are going to get better for Tanzania and Tanzanians. And I was here, working hard and doing my best to be a part of that recovery.
But this week, that optimism dissolved into despair. I blame the babies.
On Sunday, I went with Freddie (you remember Freddie, right? He's Lema's mum's neighbour) to help at the orphanage that the Green Foundation supports. It's for kids four years old and younger. Right now, there are 21 little ones living there, including 2 four-month-old babies. We got there just in time for the kids' early lunch/mid-morning meal, and our extra hands were much appreciated. I discovered that all of these babies and toddlers are taken care of by only two mamas.
Freddie and I helped dish out the food and spoon- and bottle-fed the really young ones their lunch of ugi, a thin millet- and milk-based porridge (I've had it, it's nice), and bean stew over rice. Then we cleaned up, I changed a lot of diapers (no pins or snaps on these bad boys—just folding, and some fuzzy velcro on the diaper cover), and we played with the kids until their afternoon naps. Then I helped in the kitchen, chopping and grating for dinner.
I was completely overwhelmed. How those two mamas managed it, I had no idea. It wasn't the physical work of it that got to me, though; I've changed many a diaper in my time, and the kids were fairly well-behaved and kept each other entertained. It was the emotional toll. My mind filled with everything I've ever learned about infant and early-childhood development, from nutrition to socialization to one-on-one affection, and all I could think of was what these kids don't have. For all I knew, this was a luxe orphanage—there were some toys, plenty of second-hand clothing in various sizes, food, room to play—but I wanted to cry, and scream, at how little they had.
The children were genuinely excited to see us, which was nice. They viewed me as someone to play with, not as a white-skinned novelty, which was a welcome change from being followed down the street outside our house by shouts of "Mzungu!" (European).
When I chose my placement, I briefly considered volunteering at an orphanage but decided against it. I figured that it was work that could be done by 18-year-old gap year students, and that I would be more useful in a "harder" job where I could use my work experience and education. As I left the orphanage Sunday afternoon, however, I had no doubt which job would be harder. My work with the Mamas may be more complicated, but I was left an emotional wreck by my Sunday-morning visit. It was so hard to be there, and when we left, I never wanted to go back. As we closed the gates behind us, I wanted to run down the road in the opposite direction until I reached the ocean.
And as if I weren't already feeling low enough, Monday made me feel even worse.
I chose that day to visit the UN International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda for the first time. It's based in Arusha (the city's nickname is the Geneva of Africa), and trials are open and free to the public. The experience deserves its own blog post, but suffice it to say that watching a war crimes trial isn't uplifting in the traditional sense of the word. The terrible details of particular deaths and burials on particular days were described matter-of-factly by survivors and perpetrators. It was fascinating, and I went back this afternoon, but I still left the room at lunch grateful for the fresh air and sunshine.
If you can believe it, though, that was the cheeriest part of my day. On my way home from meeting the Mamas (Alex was home sick after a bit of bad pork in town), Mr Shija and I stopped in at a couple of connected houses about halfway down the road. It's a long concrete/plaster building with about four shallow rooms all in a row, and a connecting porch or step along the front. I don't know what facilities or land might be out back, but there's an outdoor cooking area next to it, and there's always washing hung out to dry in front. There are usually people sitting or working out front when we go by, and they always say hello to us and Mr Shija. This time, I was excitedly welcomed by a couple of young women, (I think a bit younger than me, but I'm not sure). They invited me to sit down, gave me a Coke, and asked if Mr Shija could take a picture of us together. I didn't really know what was going on, of course, as everyone was speaking very rapid Swahili. Then Mr Shija said that I was invited in to eat with one of them. It would have been rude to refuse, so I went into her part of the building—one small room, a bit smaller than my bedroom here—and given a plate piled with rice, potatoes, and greens. The room held a bed, a cushioned bench, a rack of clothes, some boxes and crates covered in blankets, and one corner was piled with cooking things. They said they were so happy to have me in their home, and thanked me for joining them, invited me back anytime, etc, but for the life of me I didn't know why. I hadn't really met them before, I had barely conversed with them in my limited Swahili, but I was being treated as an honoured guest. And they didn't seem to be asking for anything in return, either.
I learned that Rosie, the one whose home I was in, had had to drop out of school when she became pregnant. The father lives in Dar, and she can't afford to go back to school. She has tried to set up a small enterprise selling used clothing, but doesn't have any capital and so is struggling with it (I think—the translation there was iffy). She'd like to take the six-month hotel-management course in Arusha to work in the tourism industry, but can't afford it. She lives in that small room with her son (and, I think, her sister), and provides for him all by herself, and yet she invited me in, fed me, and acted like I was the one doing her a favour.
I felt helpless and lost. Rosie isn't an unusual case; there are so many men and women with similar stories and circumstances, and I felt like nothing I could do would ever be enough. There I was, with my biggest worry whether or not I'll be accepted to law school, and I felt so guilty and miserable and hopeless. The fact that Rosie didn't resent me for it just made it worse; I resented myself.
Part of this story has a happy ending, and I'm feeling better today than I did Monday evening. Alex and I went again to the orphanage this morning (I had to psych myself up for it), and were greeted by four smiling young European women making breakfast and changing diapers. Apparently, the Mamas I met on Sunday aren't alone in their work after all, though I didn't learn this through the language barrier the other day. These other volunteers (a German midwife, a Finnish kindergarten teacher, and two German education students, plus another one who's on holiday right now) are there Monday to Friday, and do a wonderful job with the children. Two of them are doing year-long placements sponsored by the Lutheran Church of Bavaria (and a German government grant, I think), while the others are here for about a month each.
The older kids also have nursery school during the week, easing my mind even further. There's a stand-alone building on the orphanage grounds that I hadn't seen inside on the weekend, but has alphabet posters, number charts, pictures, and all that.
Our help was still useful today, of course, and I really enjoyed meeting the other volunteers. After breakfast, we cleaned up, I did a diaper or two, helped with folding some laundry, and of course played with the littlest kids. I sat in the yard with an infant on my lap (I brought an extra shirt to change into, which was good because she spit up on me), while Alex tried to keep a toddler from eating mud. It was a really good morning.
Seeing the kids so happy, and the other volunteers working so hard, made me feel a lot better. My feeling of helplessness is mostly gone, and I'm hopeful and energetic again. Two days ago, anything I can do seemed like a drop in a bucket. Today, it still does, but maybe the bucket is half full. (Geez, that's a schlocky analogy. This blog is now officially owned by Hallmark. The point is, I feel better. And isn't that what counts?)
Baadaye,
Robin
*I don't want to give the impression that everyone here lives in squalor; they don't. There are varying levels of wealth and comfort, with houses like ours (with a gate, power, hot water, and glazed windows) just down the road from two-room houses that shelter families who cook on outdoor fires. (There are also the "middle class" as we'd think of it, and the extremely wealthy, but you mainly see them in Arusha). Mama Hans, who hosts our meetings and is the Mama Machumba Project's secretary, has a home made, I think, of sticks and mud in the traditional style. But she has a large yard, many chickens, banana trees, and separate buildings for sleeping and cooking. They have electricity, and even a small TV set. She's doing very well (it helps that she can read and write, obviously) compared to many of the others in Ambureni Moivaru. But I don't know if she can afford to send all her children to school, or at least until what level. And her life is exhausting; she and her husband work their fingers to the bone just to maintain this small level of comfort they've managed to achieve.
Before, I had certainly seen the poverty around me: subsistence lifestyles, lack of education, torn clothing, poor health and dental care.* I didn't romanticize it or ignore it, but my sadness was always tempered by hope and energy. I saw every heartbreaking thing as an opportunity for things to get better for the people I've been meeting, and for this beautiful country. The dignity with which everyone carries themselves made me optimistic and confident that things are going to get better for Tanzania and Tanzanians. And I was here, working hard and doing my best to be a part of that recovery.
But this week, that optimism dissolved into despair. I blame the babies.
On Sunday, I went with Freddie (you remember Freddie, right? He's Lema's mum's neighbour) to help at the orphanage that the Green Foundation supports. It's for kids four years old and younger. Right now, there are 21 little ones living there, including 2 four-month-old babies. We got there just in time for the kids' early lunch/mid-morning meal, and our extra hands were much appreciated. I discovered that all of these babies and toddlers are taken care of by only two mamas.
Freddie and I helped dish out the food and spoon- and bottle-fed the really young ones their lunch of ugi, a thin millet- and milk-based porridge (I've had it, it's nice), and bean stew over rice. Then we cleaned up, I changed a lot of diapers (no pins or snaps on these bad boys—just folding, and some fuzzy velcro on the diaper cover), and we played with the kids until their afternoon naps. Then I helped in the kitchen, chopping and grating for dinner.
I was completely overwhelmed. How those two mamas managed it, I had no idea. It wasn't the physical work of it that got to me, though; I've changed many a diaper in my time, and the kids were fairly well-behaved and kept each other entertained. It was the emotional toll. My mind filled with everything I've ever learned about infant and early-childhood development, from nutrition to socialization to one-on-one affection, and all I could think of was what these kids don't have. For all I knew, this was a luxe orphanage—there were some toys, plenty of second-hand clothing in various sizes, food, room to play—but I wanted to cry, and scream, at how little they had.
The children were genuinely excited to see us, which was nice. They viewed me as someone to play with, not as a white-skinned novelty, which was a welcome change from being followed down the street outside our house by shouts of "Mzungu!" (European).
When I chose my placement, I briefly considered volunteering at an orphanage but decided against it. I figured that it was work that could be done by 18-year-old gap year students, and that I would be more useful in a "harder" job where I could use my work experience and education. As I left the orphanage Sunday afternoon, however, I had no doubt which job would be harder. My work with the Mamas may be more complicated, but I was left an emotional wreck by my Sunday-morning visit. It was so hard to be there, and when we left, I never wanted to go back. As we closed the gates behind us, I wanted to run down the road in the opposite direction until I reached the ocean.
And as if I weren't already feeling low enough, Monday made me feel even worse.
I chose that day to visit the UN International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda for the first time. It's based in Arusha (the city's nickname is the Geneva of Africa), and trials are open and free to the public. The experience deserves its own blog post, but suffice it to say that watching a war crimes trial isn't uplifting in the traditional sense of the word. The terrible details of particular deaths and burials on particular days were described matter-of-factly by survivors and perpetrators. It was fascinating, and I went back this afternoon, but I still left the room at lunch grateful for the fresh air and sunshine.
If you can believe it, though, that was the cheeriest part of my day. On my way home from meeting the Mamas (Alex was home sick after a bit of bad pork in town), Mr Shija and I stopped in at a couple of connected houses about halfway down the road. It's a long concrete/plaster building with about four shallow rooms all in a row, and a connecting porch or step along the front. I don't know what facilities or land might be out back, but there's an outdoor cooking area next to it, and there's always washing hung out to dry in front. There are usually people sitting or working out front when we go by, and they always say hello to us and Mr Shija. This time, I was excitedly welcomed by a couple of young women, (I think a bit younger than me, but I'm not sure). They invited me to sit down, gave me a Coke, and asked if Mr Shija could take a picture of us together. I didn't really know what was going on, of course, as everyone was speaking very rapid Swahili. Then Mr Shija said that I was invited in to eat with one of them. It would have been rude to refuse, so I went into her part of the building—one small room, a bit smaller than my bedroom here—and given a plate piled with rice, potatoes, and greens. The room held a bed, a cushioned bench, a rack of clothes, some boxes and crates covered in blankets, and one corner was piled with cooking things. They said they were so happy to have me in their home, and thanked me for joining them, invited me back anytime, etc, but for the life of me I didn't know why. I hadn't really met them before, I had barely conversed with them in my limited Swahili, but I was being treated as an honoured guest. And they didn't seem to be asking for anything in return, either.
I learned that Rosie, the one whose home I was in, had had to drop out of school when she became pregnant. The father lives in Dar, and she can't afford to go back to school. She has tried to set up a small enterprise selling used clothing, but doesn't have any capital and so is struggling with it (I think—the translation there was iffy). She'd like to take the six-month hotel-management course in Arusha to work in the tourism industry, but can't afford it. She lives in that small room with her son (and, I think, her sister), and provides for him all by herself, and yet she invited me in, fed me, and acted like I was the one doing her a favour.
I felt helpless and lost. Rosie isn't an unusual case; there are so many men and women with similar stories and circumstances, and I felt like nothing I could do would ever be enough. There I was, with my biggest worry whether or not I'll be accepted to law school, and I felt so guilty and miserable and hopeless. The fact that Rosie didn't resent me for it just made it worse; I resented myself.
Part of this story has a happy ending, and I'm feeling better today than I did Monday evening. Alex and I went again to the orphanage this morning (I had to psych myself up for it), and were greeted by four smiling young European women making breakfast and changing diapers. Apparently, the Mamas I met on Sunday aren't alone in their work after all, though I didn't learn this through the language barrier the other day. These other volunteers (a German midwife, a Finnish kindergarten teacher, and two German education students, plus another one who's on holiday right now) are there Monday to Friday, and do a wonderful job with the children. Two of them are doing year-long placements sponsored by the Lutheran Church of Bavaria (and a German government grant, I think), while the others are here for about a month each.
The older kids also have nursery school during the week, easing my mind even further. There's a stand-alone building on the orphanage grounds that I hadn't seen inside on the weekend, but has alphabet posters, number charts, pictures, and all that.
Our help was still useful today, of course, and I really enjoyed meeting the other volunteers. After breakfast, we cleaned up, I did a diaper or two, helped with folding some laundry, and of course played with the littlest kids. I sat in the yard with an infant on my lap (I brought an extra shirt to change into, which was good because she spit up on me), while Alex tried to keep a toddler from eating mud. It was a really good morning.
Seeing the kids so happy, and the other volunteers working so hard, made me feel a lot better. My feeling of helplessness is mostly gone, and I'm hopeful and energetic again. Two days ago, anything I can do seemed like a drop in a bucket. Today, it still does, but maybe the bucket is half full. (Geez, that's a schlocky analogy. This blog is now officially owned by Hallmark. The point is, I feel better. And isn't that what counts?)
Baadaye,
Robin
*I don't want to give the impression that everyone here lives in squalor; they don't. There are varying levels of wealth and comfort, with houses like ours (with a gate, power, hot water, and glazed windows) just down the road from two-room houses that shelter families who cook on outdoor fires. (There are also the "middle class" as we'd think of it, and the extremely wealthy, but you mainly see them in Arusha). Mama Hans, who hosts our meetings and is the Mama Machumba Project's secretary, has a home made, I think, of sticks and mud in the traditional style. But she has a large yard, many chickens, banana trees, and separate buildings for sleeping and cooking. They have electricity, and even a small TV set. She's doing very well (it helps that she can read and write, obviously) compared to many of the others in Ambureni Moivaru. But I don't know if she can afford to send all her children to school, or at least until what level. And her life is exhausting; she and her husband work their fingers to the bone just to maintain this small level of comfort they've managed to achieve.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Business update
One of the first expressions I was taught when I arrived here in Tanzania was "pole pole". It means "slowly, slowly," and it's something of a mantra here (though not on the roads or in the markets). Another popular expression is "haraka haraka hena baraka," which means "hurry hurry holds no blessings."
Are you detecting a theme? Alex and I have had to take this pole pole attitude to heart in our business dealings, because otherwise we would have both gone crazy by now.
There have been many unforeseen and foreseen complications and delays. I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow account of everything we've done and all the little problems and successes. Broadly, though, we spent the last month planning the business idea, figuring out pricing, calculating the number of items the Mamas can produce per week, making promotional materials, writing a formal business plan for the tour companies, researching companies, improving the quality and consistency of the products, and finally approaching safari companies. It doesn't sound like a full month's work, but I promise it has been. Pole pole, remember?
The main obstacle, obviously, has been the language barrier. Mr Shija comes with us to translate every time we visit the mamas, but his English isn't perfect and I think sometimes we speak too fast, or the details escape him. We'll have to go over the same ideas a few days in a row sometimes, after discovering that our point was missed. I sometimes get the impression that Mr Shija agrees with us for the sake of it without fully understanding what we're saying, and it can be a bit frustrating. I'm not blaming him; we're all doing the best we can, it's just taking longer than it would if we all spoke the same language—Kiswahili. I really wish I had a better handle of Kiswahili, but even with my little book of language lessons it's slow going. I have a pretty good handle of a lot of food-related nouns, and basic phrases and greetings, but my business and handicrafts vocabulary are sadly lacking.
It hasn't just been the language barrier that's slowed things down. Our safari and my getting sick last week didn't help, and don't even ask about how long it took us to track down a printer with ink that could print double-sided). There's also been some more expected delays, like having to build up our stock of bracelets and coasters (oh, I wish I had photos—they're really beautiful) before we could formally approach the safari companies.
But despite all of this, after a month in Tanzania we've made a sale!
We will be selling the bracelets and coasters in batches of 30 (which is how many the Mamas can make per week), for 90,000 Tanzanian shillings a batch (that's about $70 US, I think). As an incentive, however, we've offered the first batch at a trial price of 75,000 Tsh.
This week, we spoke to two safari companies, both of which have good reputations for giving back to the community. The first one, Access2Tanzania, is run by a friend of Lema's. I had spoken to him informally about our idea a couple of times, and he was very enthusiastic. So Alex and I met with the office manager with our formal pitch—the business plan, a pamphlet we made about Mama Machumba Crafts, the wrapped and unwrapped samples—and she was quite receptive. We're waiting to hear back from the big bosses in the States.
But the second company, Maasai Wanderings, bought a trial pack outright, in cash! We met with the owner, a lovely Australian woman named Donna. Her company has a few other contracts for thank-you gifts, including Maasai beaded bracelets. This is good news, because it means that not only are they set up for this sort of business already , but it's unlikely that she'll be pressing us for more than we can produce.
As arrogant as it may seem, one of my biggest worries is demand outstripping production. The Mamas live busy lives, and right now can only devote an hour or two, four or five times a week. I hope that as the business becomes more successful it will become more worth their while to produce more and that they'll be able to rearrange their priorities, but right now it's an issue. We want these two companies to love the product and want to continue working with us...but not too much!
Assuming that one or both of these tour companies want to buy from us on a regular basis, we have our next steps tentatively mapped out. There is another group of Mamas, called the Nazareth group, who worked with the last set of volunteers in creating a little Tanzanian cookbook. It's been selling slowly in a hotel shop here, and those volunteers (Rachel and Rebekah) have been selling them at home in the U.S. But if this safari tour plan goes well, Alex and I have floated the idea of training the Nazareth Mamas in banana weaving and incorporating them into this project. It would increase their income and our output.
Alex and I also have to work on a monthly budget for Mama Machumba Crafts and creating a simple way for the Mamas to keep track of how many of each item they're each producing. That will be essential to making sure that they're paid fairly for their work, and that we get the right number and kind of products every week.
Even further in the future (and this may be a project that I simply take a few steps on and then leave for the volunteer who's coming this summer), we might be able to get the Mamas making lunchboxes for Maasai wanderings. Most meals on safari are eaten at the lodge or campsite, but there are a couple of lunches eaten at scenic stops during the game drives. Right now, MW uses plastic containers for their guests, but Donna asked us if we'd be able to produce boxes. It would take a lot of work and time to organize, but it could be a wonderful next step for the Mama Machumba business.
Anyway, that's what I've been up to when I'm not looking at lions, eating bananas, or complaining about the heat (good gravy is it hot here! I can't wait for the rainy season to begin, seriously). Thanks to all of you for your constant support!
Upendo,
Robin
Are you detecting a theme? Alex and I have had to take this pole pole attitude to heart in our business dealings, because otherwise we would have both gone crazy by now.
There have been many unforeseen and foreseen complications and delays. I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow account of everything we've done and all the little problems and successes. Broadly, though, we spent the last month planning the business idea, figuring out pricing, calculating the number of items the Mamas can produce per week, making promotional materials, writing a formal business plan for the tour companies, researching companies, improving the quality and consistency of the products, and finally approaching safari companies. It doesn't sound like a full month's work, but I promise it has been. Pole pole, remember?
The main obstacle, obviously, has been the language barrier. Mr Shija comes with us to translate every time we visit the mamas, but his English isn't perfect and I think sometimes we speak too fast, or the details escape him. We'll have to go over the same ideas a few days in a row sometimes, after discovering that our point was missed. I sometimes get the impression that Mr Shija agrees with us for the sake of it without fully understanding what we're saying, and it can be a bit frustrating. I'm not blaming him; we're all doing the best we can, it's just taking longer than it would if we all spoke the same language—Kiswahili. I really wish I had a better handle of Kiswahili, but even with my little book of language lessons it's slow going. I have a pretty good handle of a lot of food-related nouns, and basic phrases and greetings, but my business and handicrafts vocabulary are sadly lacking.
It hasn't just been the language barrier that's slowed things down. Our safari and my getting sick last week didn't help, and don't even ask about how long it took us to track down a printer with ink that could print double-sided). There's also been some more expected delays, like having to build up our stock of bracelets and coasters (oh, I wish I had photos—they're really beautiful) before we could formally approach the safari companies.
But despite all of this, after a month in Tanzania we've made a sale!
We will be selling the bracelets and coasters in batches of 30 (which is how many the Mamas can make per week), for 90,000 Tanzanian shillings a batch (that's about $70 US, I think). As an incentive, however, we've offered the first batch at a trial price of 75,000 Tsh.
This week, we spoke to two safari companies, both of which have good reputations for giving back to the community. The first one, Access2Tanzania, is run by a friend of Lema's. I had spoken to him informally about our idea a couple of times, and he was very enthusiastic. So Alex and I met with the office manager with our formal pitch—the business plan, a pamphlet we made about Mama Machumba Crafts, the wrapped and unwrapped samples—and she was quite receptive. We're waiting to hear back from the big bosses in the States.
But the second company, Maasai Wanderings, bought a trial pack outright, in cash! We met with the owner, a lovely Australian woman named Donna. Her company has a few other contracts for thank-you gifts, including Maasai beaded bracelets. This is good news, because it means that not only are they set up for this sort of business already , but it's unlikely that she'll be pressing us for more than we can produce.
As arrogant as it may seem, one of my biggest worries is demand outstripping production. The Mamas live busy lives, and right now can only devote an hour or two, four or five times a week. I hope that as the business becomes more successful it will become more worth their while to produce more and that they'll be able to rearrange their priorities, but right now it's an issue. We want these two companies to love the product and want to continue working with us...but not too much!
Assuming that one or both of these tour companies want to buy from us on a regular basis, we have our next steps tentatively mapped out. There is another group of Mamas, called the Nazareth group, who worked with the last set of volunteers in creating a little Tanzanian cookbook. It's been selling slowly in a hotel shop here, and those volunteers (Rachel and Rebekah) have been selling them at home in the U.S. But if this safari tour plan goes well, Alex and I have floated the idea of training the Nazareth Mamas in banana weaving and incorporating them into this project. It would increase their income and our output.
Alex and I also have to work on a monthly budget for Mama Machumba Crafts and creating a simple way for the Mamas to keep track of how many of each item they're each producing. That will be essential to making sure that they're paid fairly for their work, and that we get the right number and kind of products every week.
Even further in the future (and this may be a project that I simply take a few steps on and then leave for the volunteer who's coming this summer), we might be able to get the Mamas making lunchboxes for Maasai wanderings. Most meals on safari are eaten at the lodge or campsite, but there are a couple of lunches eaten at scenic stops during the game drives. Right now, MW uses plastic containers for their guests, but Donna asked us if we'd be able to produce boxes. It would take a lot of work and time to organize, but it could be a wonderful next step for the Mama Machumba business.
Anyway, that's what I've been up to when I'm not looking at lions, eating bananas, or complaining about the heat (good gravy is it hot here! I can't wait for the rainy season to begin, seriously). Thanks to all of you for your constant support!
Upendo,
Robin
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