I promise I’m still alive! My boss left in early October because her mother is sick back in the US, so things have been busy around here. Thankfully, we are still able to communicate with her via email, and I have some pretty amazing Tanzanian coworkers, so we haven’t gone completely crazy.

A little update on work: we’re in the midst of a month-long low season for Mount Kilimanjaro, so we’ve been teaching classes! We’ve been focusing on organizing classes to teach porters about their rights. Basically, we arrange with the companies to meet with their porters (sometimes 20 show up, sometimes 500!), we teach them about their rights, and then we invite the director in at the end to discuss any issues. It’s been a learning experience, but we’ve had some really great classes these past few weeks. Sometimes I get teary hearing the porters standing up for themselves in front of their company director. Usually they are too afraid that they will lose their jobs to do this on their own, so it’s very rewarding to see the staff of our organization acting as mediators.

A few pictures:





As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, it’s been an interesting few months for our organization politically, and I’m seeing many sad parts of Tanzanian life that I didn’t realize were there before. It’s depressing to think about how things came to be this way and even more difficult to think about how things will be able to improve.

That being said, there are still many parts of Tanzanian culture that I love. People are generally friendly and kindhearted and willing to go out of their way to help you. Sharing, cooperation, and togetherness are values deeply embedded in the culture that I think we could learn a lot from in America. There are also some quirkier parts of everyday Tanzanian life that I’ve been noticing and loving a lot lately. I thought everyone might enjoy it if I explained some of them here:

1. Pedicures at the bus stand. Most people travel by bus around here, so the bus stand is a pretty hopping spot. The stand is full of people trying to sell lots of stuff-from tickets to snacks to shoes. But my favorite salesmen at the bus stand are young men in the age range of 15-25 who carry around nail files and a basket of nail polish, and for $1, they will give you a complete manicure/pedicure.

2. Text forwards. I think these may have been somewhat popular in the US for awhile, but they have really found their niche in Tanzania. And with the types of texting packages that are available, people can be free to send lots and lots of these forwards without paying extra. Their charm lies in their dramatic abbreviated language and how they make you think you should be able to understand them if only you were a little more philosophical. For example: FWD: Neva think of the past b’z it brings tears n don’t think much of the future b’z it brings fear. Lif is where u a, commitment & self determination ar ze mirror or ur precious upcoming future look 4ward with confidence & backward with gratitude & where u a with hope!”

3. Man Love: This is somewhat related to texting forwards. Homosexuality is technically illegal here, but it is definitely not illegal for a young man to send another young man a text message along the lines of “I miss you and love you so much that I'm going to die,” even if they have just seen each other 5 minutes before.

4. Celine Dion: It’s also not a shameful thing for a man (or woman or child) to truly and deeply love Celine. My 25 year-old taxi driver made a special trip to get a “special” playlist before taking my friend and I to the airport a few days ago. It turned out the playlist was “Falling Into You” in its entirety.

5. Unabashed Requests for Contact Info: On the daladala yesterday, I sat next to a young man. Our conversation went something like this:
young man: How are you?
me: Fine. How are you?
young man: Fine. What is your name?
me: Laura. What is your name?
young man: Emmanuel. May I have your contact so that we can communicate in the future?
me: Ummm…I have to go. Bye!

This is my life, over and over again.

6. Name Confusion: This is another typical conversation:
Tanzanian: What is your name?
me: Laura.
Tanzanian: Flora?
me: no, Laura.
Tanzanian: Glory?
me: no, L-A-U-R-A.
Tanzanian: oohhh, Laura. Like Laura Bush. You look just like her!

7. Waiting in Line: When you go to the store or market here, you just have to elbow your way up to the front. I used to try to wait my turn, but after being passed up too many times, I now cut line without even thinking about it. I’m a little worried how this is going to work out at Target when I’m home for Christmas…

8. Saying No: As a general rule, a Tanzanian will never tell you “no.” Even if something is utterly impossible and both he and you know it, he will tell you not to worry, it will happen “tomorrow” or “another day” or “when there is time.”

9. Buying Vegetables: Another general rule: you most likely won’t get a mama at the market to decrease her price, but you will get her to increase the amount of fruit or vegetables she will give you. For example, maybe you are shopping for oranges. She says she will sell you 5 for 1,000 shillings but refuses to go down to 900 shillings. She will, however, give you 1 or 2 extra oranges for free which makes the per-orange price less than what it would have been if she had decreased it to 900. Ah well.

10. Traveling Pharmacy Salesman: This is maybe my favorite cultural phenomenon. You’re on the bus, and all of the sudden there’s a young businessman up in the front asking for your attention. He proceeds to pull various health and beauty products from a bag, describe them, and explain how they are all being sold for just a fraction of the cost! It’s kind of like the Home Shopping Network but live and in-person, and you’re on a bus so you can’t escape.

11. Chinese Products: Cheap, fake Chinese products are everywhere here, and Tanzanians have a somewhat love-hate relationship with them. They scoff because things are Chinese-made (or “kichina” as they say in Swahili) and will wear out so quickly, but they buy them because they are so cheap. For example, I currently have in my possession 2 pairs of sunglasses (one pair of Dolce and Gabana’s and one pair of Ray-Ban’s) and an Adidas watch. I bought them all for a total of less than $6, and I can almost guarantee you they will all be broken by next month.

12. Burned Movie Collections: In a topic somewhat related to fake Chinese products, “movie collections” are also available on the streets of Moshi. These are basically multiple pirated movies burned onto the same disc and sold for less than $2. For example, there is one collection called “2010 New Movies” that includes When In Rome, Date Night, Remember Me, The Back-Up Plan, etc. Various seasons of "24," "Heroes," "Lost," and "Grey's Anatomy" are also readily available and all on one disc. And as an added twist, many of these movies come with non-removable English and Chinese subtitles. And I don’t know how it happens, but the English subtitles aren’t exactly what the actors are saying—it’s this weird, overly translated version that tries to mean the same thing as what the actors are saying but doesn’t make sense. For example: No, I want to take him to the park” is subtitled as “Do not, I wish bringing it to garden.”

So there are a few hidden gems of Tanzanian culture—I’m sure a Tanzanian living in the US would have many funny things to share about American culture, too. You are all welcome to come visit to experience all of it for yourselves!

Hope everyone is doing well, and I hope to see many of you at Christmas.

I don't have any new news to report, but have I ever mentioned that my sister is really talented and hilarious? Anyone who gets the Hippensteel family Christmas card already knows, but for those who don't, here are some fake news posts that she has written recently (please don't report me for using the onion logo):



Local Resident Surprised by Hardwood Floors
CINCINNATI, OH Catherine McCafferty, resident of Dana Avenue, was shocked last Thursday, when she discovered that her bedroom floor was actually hardwood. Though she moved in about two months ago, the room has stayed in a constant state of moving in, with boxes piled in all nooks and crannies, thus hiding the floor. Said roommate, Rachel Smolen, “At first, I was kind of like yeah, you should clean your room. But then the roach infestation began, and I was honestly just afraid of what she might find if she moved anything.” Though McCafferty refused to comment, sources say that she has referred to her floors as “cozy and carpeted,” and residents of the apartment below claim to have heard her vacuuming at various points during the semester. Caity Burke, who occupies the room directly below McCafferty, specified that “it was one of those heavy duty carpet vacuums, not a dinky little hardwood vacuum.” Burke and Smolen both noted that McCafferty has been handling the shock quite well, and has even purchased a Swiffer to adjust to the hardwood life.

MOSHI, TANZANIA In a surprising turn of events, local resident Laura Hippensteel has nothing to do today. A report from Friday indicates that a friend, Christina, became ill, thus requiring the cancellation of what should have been a weekend of festive fun. Said Hippensteel, "I feel bad for Christina, but I was pretty excited about spending time in her boyfriend's village this weekend. Now I just have my chickens for company." Bordering on pathetic, Hippensteel has begun to analyze the different squawks that her chickens make to occupy her time. Christina, in an exclusive interview that was technically off record, stated that "I'm not really sick. I just didn't want to spend a whole weekend with the kind of person who thinks she's a chicken whisperer. I mean, she's nice and all, but..." After receiving the harsh news that her supposed watermelon plants are actually bean sprouts, the news of a weekend free of activity just might crush poor Hippensteel. "I've almost made it through. I just have a few hours left until work on Monday. I've been counting down since Friday," Hippensteel claimed, in what experts believe to be the first documented account of a working individual wishing the weekend away.

CINCINNATI, OH After extensive testing, the world’s most qualified doctors have declared Xavier student Jenna Hippensteel “a mystery to the entire world of medicine.” Dr. Sven Bjorka, an internationally recognized Swedish rheumatologist added that Hippensteel “shows so many signs of different things, that we really can’t say anything for sure. She has at most two serious illnesses, one life-threatening condition, and three or four minor issues. At the least, she’s healthy as a horse. We just don’t know.” After a CT scan, a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, countless blood tests, various biopsies, and a tuberculosis exam, Hippensteel remains in medical limbo. Gastrointestinal specialist Andrew Jones expressed extreme frustration with the situation. “How can one person be border-line on so many things? I mean seriously, can’t the patient just be sick or not? And it’s not just her health. Even as a person, she’s only kind of interesting. Like when I ask her about her daily habits, her answers are always ‘Sort of,’ ‘I guess,’ or ‘Yeah, maybe.’” Jones concluded the interview with other examples of Hippensteel’s mediocrity that cannot be printed due to HIPAA regulations. In a phone interview, Nancy Hippensteel, mother, compared Jenna with her sister, Laura. “Laura is just so wonderful. She’s athletic, she’s a great teacher, she has the initiative to up and move halfway across the world. And Jenna, well, she’s…interesting. I mean it’s not that she’s bad, she’s just not that good, either. Wait. Don’t print that last part. It’s just that for Jenna, she’s isn’t that good at staying healthy, but she’s also apparently not that good at being sick.” Doctors continue to provide tests and procedures for young Hippensteel, but there seems to be no end in sight. Said Bjorka, “I have lost track of the number of cures I have discovered for various illnesses, as well as the numbers of Nobel Prizes I have been awarded for my outstanding contributions for the field of medicine. But I just cannot figure out this case.” Despite extensive medical attention, Hippensteel, who declined comment, continues to lead a life as run-of-the-mill as before her health troubles, which may be nothing at all.

There have been many festivities lately with the Amani kids, and I've been lucky to get to share in some of the fun.

Last Friday, we celebrated the 7th grade graduation, which is the end of primary school and a big deal in Tanzania. It's always very beautiful to see the kids looking so grown up and happy. It was a fun affair as usual, complete with acrobatics, jumprope, skits, songs, and delicious food. The best part, though, was the dance-off and rap-off at the end. I've never cried at a rap-off before, but when everyone chanted the name of an especially troubled Amani child to encourage him to take the microphone, and then when he started rapping about how Rovina (the nurse) had saved him from the streets, it was really very special.

Yohana receiving a graduation gift:

Standard 7 graduates and their family members:

Standard 7 graduates

On Saturday, Charles, one of the older Amani kids, celebrated his confirmation. And what did he want for his present? A new history book for school. Sometimes these children amaze me. Please also note the fact that Charles is wearing cuff links, which I'm assuming he borrowed from one of the Amani staff.

On Sunday, we went to see Ismaili, another one of the Amani kids, in his weekly gig with his band. Ismail studied dance and music in art school, and now he's doing an internship with this band in Moshi. They like him so much that he's hoping to stay on with them after the internship is over.

Ismaili the one playing the drums.

And here he is singing:

It's been a busy September so far here in Moshi.

Again I won't mention too much about work, other than to say it's pretty busy. I will also say that working with the porters has boosted my self esteem to an all-time high as I am turning down marriage proposals right and left these days. Aside from work, here are some other things that have been going on:

First I have to brag a little bit. If you know me or have been reading this blog for awhile, you know about Baraka who is a child from Amani who has come to be like my little brother over the years. He began secondary school in January, and he was sent to a private (and more expensive) school. In many of the government secondary schools here there aren't enough teachers and there are no books or teaching materials, so many of the students just sit in the classroom all day with no teacher and nothing to do. Seeing that this is a bit unproductive, Amani has started to send some kids (especially those who show promise in academics) to private school. Because Baraka made good grades in primary school, he was a good candidate for private secondary. He got his first grade report back in June, and he brought it to my house to show me on one of the first weekends I was back. He made an "A" average, placed 1st in his class out of 250, and received a scholarship for free tuition this term! I am so very proud, as are the Amani staff. When he went to get some school supplies from Amani a few weeks ago, he accidentally interrupted an education staff meeting and received a round of applause from all of the teachers. It's just so nice to see something going right in a place with so many challenges.

On another note, I've become the proud parent of one rooster and two chickens. I don't know anything about chicken care and should actually probably be using these few hours of electricity to do some internet research, but they seem to be doing ok so far. I do enjoy hanging out with them outside after work, although they don't seem to like me that much.

Yesterday I attended the high school graduation of Regina, one of the older Amani kids. She's been reminding Christina and me about it since April, so we figured we better go. Unfortunately the daladala got stuck on the way, so by the time we made it to her school we were caked in mud, but we were still glad we went. After the ceremony, we were able to visit with Regina and her brothers and sisters and do the tradition Tanzanian feeding of cake to each other.

I've also just been asked to join the board of a small children's home here in Moshi. It's called SWIWSCO and is home to 35 children. It was started by a local farmer, Collins, who at first just welcomed 3 street children into his home. Over time, the number of children has grown, as have the expenses. 35 children now live in a small house in Moshi, and they are struggling financially to provide food and school fees for the children. They are currently registered as an NGO in Tanzania only, but if you would like to support a child, please contact me, or check out their website at http://www.swiwsco.org/. Here are some pictures of the house and kiddos...





I think that's all for now. May our thoughts be with those who lost loved ones on 9/11 and in the Zanzibar ferry tragedy yesterday. Have a nice Sunday, everyone!

Things are moving along out here in Tanzania....if anyone wants to escape the hurricanes, earthquakes etc., come on over! Plus, Ramadhan will be over tomorrow so all my favorite restaurants will be open again. AND, our power cuts are finally on a schedule so at least we know when the outages will be. I guess we can't complain!

Although I would like to post all the details about the work we are doing with the porters, for political reasons I don't feel comfortable doing so at this time. I'm becoming more and more aware of the difference between working with this organization and working somewhere like Amani. When you help street children, you bring in money and assistance that was never there in the first place, so everyone is happy; however, when you advocate for human rights in the workplace, the money is already there, it's just the division of it that changes. This shift in the balance of power and money can make people pretty upset, and unfortunately for us, these upset people are usually powerful people with powerful friends. That's all I can really say for now, but one day when I'm safely back in America I look forward to giving you all more details than you probably ever wanted to know.

Aside from all of that, there is some sad news to report from the Hippensteel/Drummond family. A couple of weeks ago, my "other grandmother" Snookie was taken to the hospital. A few days later they discovered she had cancer, and a few days after that she peacefully passed away. Although it was quite shocking to everyone and it has been difficult to be away from my family during this time, I think we are thankful that she was not in prolonged pain and that she was able to "go home" in peace. I was very thankful to be able to see the funeral via Skype. We will always remember Snookie's chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake, colorful style, Christmas tree decorations, and crossword puzzles. We will miss you Snookie, but we know you danced all the way to heaven.

Things are quite busy over here. I'm still loving my job, although I feel like I'm constantly going back and forth between having a great time talking to the porters and being amazed about all the ways people figure out to take advantage of them. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if those people used all that ingenuity to create really great companies instead of spending time figuring out ways to cut corners. It is, however, always nice to see companies that are doing good work and to help other ones improve. I love talking to porters about standing up for themselves and talking to company directors and guides about using their power not only to support their own families, but to support the families of those who work for them, and, in doing so, build their country. It is sometimes tiring and frustrating work, but, as you can see, very rewarding.

I think I explained this before, but part of what we do is loan clothing to porters free of charge to take with them on their mountain climbs. Because the climate here is so warm (although I'm shivering these days with the temperature in the 70s), many porters don't have the type of gear necessary to climb the mountain, like warm coats and pants, proper shoes, hats, etc. This can cause big problems, and porters have even died on Mount Kilimanjaro because of lack of proper clothing. There was an American who visited KPAP a few years ago after climbing Kili, and, recognizing the problems that a lack of clothing can cause, began collecting clothes from various ski programs in Colorado. This year, he sent the clothes over in a huge container, and they have allowed KPAP to open offices in the different villages around Kilimanjaro where porters and climbers enter the national park.

On Monday, we had the official opening of one of the offices. Many of the porters hang around there in the mornings in case there are extra spots to fill on climbs that are going up, so we invited them all to the opening as well as leaders from the national park service and the local village. It was, of course, a Tanzanian affair, with all of the special guests arriving hours late, but I think everyone was happy to hear about the new office, and, maybe even more so, to receive free soda.

Here are some pictures from the opening:


Our office is the last one on the right. You can see the official gate to the Kilimanjaro national park up above.


This is the outside of the office. The woman standing by the door is Sara, and she will be managing the office.


Here are the clothes that the porters will be able to borrow.


Some porters waiting outside


Philip, a former porter who will hopefully eventually direct KPAP, made a speech.


And, while I'm posting pictures, here is our regular office in town.


Here is Zebe, another former porter and our new office manager, showing off some of the jackets in the Moshi office. Yesterday when Zebe and I were drinking a soda in our little office after lunch, he said, "When I was growing up in our village, a person might get soda once a year. Sometimes I can't believe I've come so far, and I try to never take drinking a soda for granted." I am constantly blessed to work with people who remind me of things like that.

Love from TZ!

whew! i've been back for only two weeks, but it seems like it's been a long time. and between getting used to my new job and power outages that are happening about 50% of the time these days, there hasn't been much time for updates.

i am LOVING my new job. i was a bit nervous about doing something that wasn't teaching little kids, but the transition has been really smooth and i'm enjoying it so much. my official title is "education coordinator" because i'll be arranging classes for porters during the low season when they're not climbing the mountain. but it's the high season now, so i'm helping with other aspects of the Kilimanjaro Porters Assistance Project.

i've learned so much over the past few weeks about porters and how they are treated. and while i love working for this organization, sometimes it's hard to watch how people can be taken advantage of so much. i've never climbed Kilimanjaro, or any mountain for that matter, but it's hard to believe how hard the porters work. while the mountain guides and tourists are outfitted in the latest gear, carrying only their backpacks and even sometimes still getting too sick or tired to make it to the top, the porters are carrying the tents, food, water, toilets, etc. all the way up the mountain, usually wearing whatever warm clothes they can piece together, often for very little benefit.

there is a "recommended" minimum wage of $5/day for porters, but not all companies adhere to it. many porters have to pay a bribe to even get on the list to climb. because of the low wages, porters rely on tips from the climbers. however, oftentimes the climbers give the tips for everyone to their guide (kind of like the head person on the trip), who secretly pockets a good chunk of it for himself before dividing it among the porters. the maximum weight porters are supposed to be allowed to carry is 20 kg (44lb) plus their personal belongings, but many end up carrying up to 61 lbs. i could go on and on about how horrible their conditions can be. regardless of the conditions, they will almost always accept work because of the old "bad work is better than no work at all" argument.

the project that i work for loans clothing to porters for free and provides classes in english, money management, and first aid during the off season. they also work with different climbing companies around town to help them improve the working conditions of porters. they have a list of partner companies that's posted on their website that prospective climbers use to choose a company. because "responsible tourism" is becoming quite popular these days, many companies wish to be on the list, so part of my job right now is helping to monitor the actions of these companies by interviewing porters, attending salary payments, etc. it's quite different from anything i've done before, but i'm really loving it.

although I loved the kids at Amani, something that was always sad to me was the difficulty of bringing families out of poverty. unemployment is so prevalent here, so many times it's difficult to find a job even if you have completed school. for the parents of many of the Amani kids who hadn't finished school, finding a job is even harder.

i think that's one of the reasons i have loved this job with the porters so much. because, for them, the road out of poverty for them doesn't seem so impossible. they already have jobs; they just need to be treated fairly while they're doing them. if companies are held accountable for treating their porters properly and paying a fair wage and climbers demand that they do so, the porters can buy food and pay the rent and send their kids to school.

it's also rewarding to act as a voice for the porters who are often too scared to speak for themselves for fear of losing what work they do have. many times the porters are portrayed as these thieving troublemakers, but all of those whom i have talked to seem genuine and hard-working, and they just want to be treated fairly.

i attended a salary payment for one company last week, and one porter was so excited because one of the climbers had taken his picture on the mountain. showing me the picture, he told me his plan--"i'm going to take this home and show this to my children. when they see the hard work that their father is doing so that he can send them to school, they won't mess around with their studies. they'll work hard, and then one day they won't have to do this kind of work to buy food for their families." i would have loved to have seen his wife and children at home that night, gathered around their father and that picture.

these men (and a few women! woohoo girl power) work so hard, and it shouldn't have to be such a huge fight for them to have enough money to put food on the table. there IS enough money to go around, and hopefully between the work of kpap, porters learning to fight for fair treatment themselves, and the leaders of companies realizing that they are helping to build a strong country by treating their porters fairly, the working conditions on kilimanjaro will continue to improve. i am so thankful to be working with the amazing people at kpap and the thousands of kilimanjaro porters.

Gosh, it seems like there’s a lot to update.

Things seem to have fallen into place, as we knew they would.

While I was walking down the street one day in late April, I stopped to talk to an American woman I know who runs an NGO in Moshi that helps improve the working conditions of the porters who help people climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. She mentioned that she was looking for an education coordinator to help with classes that are held for the porters during the low season and asked if I would want to meet with her to talk about it. I said yes, and I’ll be starting at the beginning of July. (http://www.kiliporters.org/)

In the meantime, I had my last day at Amani. It makes me sad to think of the little things I’ll miss by not being there every day, like Salim waiting at the door to show me his latest math grade, or Rama asking me to take him to get a new toothbrush, or being there on the first day Joshua doesn’t get into a fistfight (which will surely happen sometime soon). I'll always love those little ones, and I’m thankful I’ll be closeby.

Then on June 7th, I was back in America!

It’s been wonderful to see my family and friends and to use the washing machine and to eat ice cream and to speak English.

In the past when I’ve come back for longer periods of time, it’s sometimes been a tough adjustment to fit back into American life. But I’ve found that during these shorter trips I can more easily sit back and enjoy the perks that the U.S.A. has to offer.

So I've been soaking up every moment of this month, from visits with best friends,



to visits with family,



and picnics in the park,



and Father's Day,





and baseball games,



and cirque de soleil,


and a foster baby,


and talking to friends on the phone, and going to get ice cream, and silly game nights with the family, and going to the swimming pool, and eating LOTS of yummy food.

And while I know in my heart that Tanzania is where I'm supposed to be right now, sometimes, I start to wonder.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why couldn't I just be content with a normal life? By now, most of my friends have jobs or are getting married or are having babies. Many of them are doing amazing, rewarding, and beautiful work right here in America. Why wasn't that the plan for me?

In many ways, this month back home has helped me understand. I am just so blessed.

With friends who take a whole week out of their summers to come hang out at my house in Franklin. With a cousin who buys a plane ticket to Nashville just for the weekend even though it costs a lot. With a sister who sleeps in my room every night and doesn't complain I make her look through every section in Target. With a mom and dad who still love me even when I tell them I'll be spending another year halfway across the world.

When you're given this much love, all you can do is try to pour it back out where you feel like God is telling you to do so. To those who don't have these kinds of moms, dads, sisters, cousins, or friends. And, for me, that's why it has to be this way. For now, at least :)

We’ve got lots of new kids at Amani these days. As usual, it’s been a joy to see hungry bellies become full, dirty clothes become clean, and kids who were sleeping on the city sidewalks just a few nights ago sitting in the classroom and playing on the playground today. At the same time, it’s been lots of work. When we typically get new kids, many of them have received schooling at some point in their lives. So while they may not be the best readers or writers in the world, they usually come in with some basic knowledge. This group, however, has been quite different. The majority of them have never been to school, and, understandably enough, they are quite starved for attention. They are also somewhat violent, to the point that in our starters class we need at least two teachers these days—one to actually teach and another to maintain the peace. I find myself using some of the same techniques and teaching some of the same skills to these kids as I taught last year to my pre-K students with autism—how to sit in a chair, how to follow instructions, how to appropriately get someone’s attention. And while it has been challenging and tiresome, most days there are some glimpses of improvement.

A couple of days ago I was on my way back to class from our morning break when I saw one of the new kids, Fanwel, sleeping on a bench in the dining hall. I nudged him to wake him up and told him it was time to go back to class. He opened his eyes, and the tears just started rolling down his cheeks. “I miss my mom,” he said. Not what I was expecting. And so, I put my books down, forgot about the class I was supposed to be in, and pulled him into my arms. We just sat there for a little while, and eventually I started asking him questions about his mom. Apparently she left home a few months ago, and no one knows where she is. Then Fanwel’s dad kicked him out. Fanwel started sleeping and working on the streets, and eventually he met Amani’s street worker who brought him to Amani.

Sometimes there are just no words. There is no explanation why anyone should be in this kind of situation, especially a child. Fanwel is 10.

I imagine the perfect day in America. I play board games with my family. I lay on my bed with my best friends, laughing for hours. I walk around Target with my sister, and then we drive my cute honda fit to Jason’s Deli for lunch where I can get a salad and ice cream and ice in my drink, and we talk about things like boys and books and movies and don’t think about how Fanwel is missing his mommy or how kids sleep out in the rain or why parents can’t care for their children.

And it scares me, because I don’t think that will ever happen.

Proverbs 24:12 says this: "Once our eyes are opened we can't pretend we don't know what to do. God, who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls, knows that we know, and holds us responsible to act," and I think it is true. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I will always be thinking of Fanwel, of Charles, of Erick, Emmanuel, Joseph, Rama, Emiliana, Miriam, and so many others who have touched my heart so much. I've seen them, and helping and loving and teaching them isn't just something nice for me to do, but something that is my responsibility.

And while lots of times I just want to be like Fanwel and crawl into a ball and tell someone I miss my mommy, I am so thankful to be here. I wake up in the morning thankful, and I go to sleep thankful, and I am thankful most of the time in between. I have never been in a place where I thank God so much, where you can see Him working so clearly. Amidst all the pain and suffering, there is beauty and there is hope and there is life. I am blessed to be surrounded by it all.

There were lots of relatives in town over Christmas, and my cousins and I joked about the questions we kept getting asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?” everyone asked Andrea (who doesn’t, but who does have a lot of other cool things happening in her life). “When will you be graduating from high school?” they asked Jenna (who is currently junior at Xavier University). “Weren’t you going to be on Broadway?” they asked Angela (who got married last year and now lives in Cleveland). And to me, “What are you going to do after this year in Africa?”

All questions we didn’t necessarily want to hear over and over again, although mine at least was a pretty good one. One I had started asking myself, in fact. What was I going to do? For those relatives and distant friends, I had my typical answer, “I’ll probably start trying to figure that out in March or April.” But when I asked myself, I was much more unsure.

Now that April has arrived and I’m supposed to be figuring things out, I still don’t have any answers. And as hard as that is for my brain that likes so much to plan ahead, that’s all I have. I DON’T KNOW.

There are so many ways of looking at things. There is my family. Of course I don’t WANT to live this far away from my mama. And of course they want me to live close to them. I know it’s no picnic having your daughter living on the other side of the world. At the same time, they raised me to be independent and strong and to love others and to follow my heart, and so much of the time I feel like my heart is here.

There is also my family here. There are the little ones at Amani. There is Baraka, my little one at Amani who is now all grown up. It just so happens that he’s now attending secondary school down the street from my house. He lives at a hostel but sometimes comes by to get help with his homework or just to say hi. When the other kids at his hostel leave to greet their families on Saturdays, lots of times he comes by to greet me. It has given me such joy to continue to be a presence in his life, and it’s something I don’t feel like I can treat lightly.

Then there is the ever-present issue of readjusting to life in America. It’s just tough, no matter how you look at it. I know lots of people here who don’t have running water, who don’t have electricity. I know 9 year-olds who sleep on the streets, families who don’t have enough food to eat. I don’t know when the time will come again when I’ll want to think about home decoration or the results of The Bachelor or how the Vols football season is going. But that’s what people like to talk about in America, and I also don’t want to be the person who is always acting too good for everyone else because she’s been to Africa.

I DON’T KNOW.

I look to the Bible for answers.

“Honor your father and mother.” It’s right there in the Ten Commandments. “Come home,” my parents tell me. Well, there you go.

I keep reading. In Matthew, Jesus tells Peter that “everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.”

And in James: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

And things are complicated once again.

I pray for answers, and I feel at peace. “Don’t worry,” Jesus whispers to me. “Just love.”

And so, on this Easter weekend, I’ve decided try it. Not to worry, but to love. And to trust. Mostly because it’s all I can do. I don’t know, but He does. And so I trust that the right thing will appear. Trust that He will take care of me just like He always has. Because, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing, HE IS RISEN. And that is all that really matters.

This weekend I did one of the coolest things I've done this year in Tanzania, and maybe my whole life: I got to be a guest in a Masai village.

The Masai are perhaps the most famous of all the tribes in Africa, known for being tough warriors and living off the land. They are cattle herders who have maintained many of their customs even as people of other tribes have become more modern over the years.

My friend Christina (who is the special education volunteer at Amani/go-to person to get things done/all-around amazing gal) has been dating Isaya, a man who is Masai, for about 2 years. He is from a village that is about 5 hours from Moshi. They don't allow tourists to visit the village, but they make an exception for Christina since she is Isaya's girlfriend. One night a few months ago, Isaya and Christina were at our house when Isaya's mother called (although they do maintain most traditions, lots of Masai people have cell phones these days). I asked to greet her, and she invited me to the village! We were all shocked because Christina has never been allowed to bring any friends home.

So on Saturday morning, we set off. We took two buses and then walked for and hour through open grasslands. Isaya's family was so gracious and welcoming. We spent our time drinking milk tea (every free second it seemed like another cup was put in front of us), herding the cows, sheep and goats, visiting with different family members, holding babies, eating fresh goat meat, sleeping in a mud hut on a cow skin, watching the sun go down and being amazed by a million stars, and watching the men make fire by rubbing sticks together.

It was so amazing to get a glimpse of their way of life. Their village is made up of Isaya's father and his 4 wives and their children. They all live in circular mud huts that mainly consist of an open room for a cooking fire and two beds. There is no running water, so every few days they take jugs and donkeys to fetch it. There is also no electricity, so they use fire or flashlights to see at night. They are truly beautiful and loving people with such interesting traditions, and I feel so lucky to have gotten to see it.

Because children are needed to help graze the cattle (and the fact that education is not free here, and many people do not have money for school fees), many Masai children are not able to go to school. In the past, I've seen the children (even tiny ones) in the fields helping to graze the cattle. It's always made me think of the kids at Amani who are Masai, and in the back of my mind I think I've always been a little thankful that our kiddos are in school and not wandering around with cows all day.

But I've been realizing more and more lately that the most important thing a person can have is someone to take care of them. Whether it is a parent, grandparent, or foster parent, that connection seems to be crucial to the development of children. Although Isaya's family doesn't have many material possessions, they are very close and very loving and very happy and that is evident in the children.

And so, from now on, when I see those tiny kids herding their goats through the open plains, I will be thankful that they have families that they know they are a part of, living in a community in which they can be supported and help support. Because, although it's a tough life living on the land and walking miles to get water, if you don't have a family, it's even tougher.

As part of being a "guest" in the village and not a "tourist," I didn't take any pictures while I was there, but here are a few from our walk.

Isaya and Christina

Christina and me

The ridge you can see here is the Ngorongoro crater, a popular safari spot

A village in the distance

Lots of love and thanks to Christina and Isaya and Isaya's family. Ashe naleng!

There's one thing I haven't really mentioned about daily life here: power outages.

As I understand it, there's only so much power to go around, and it's not enough for the whole city. So they turn our power off in shifts, with one area having power during the day and the others having it at night. So pretty much everyone has power either in the day or at night.

It's been like this since January, but for the past few weeks, our house has somehow seemed to fly under the radar. People all around us have continued to lose power every day, but we've had it pretty much all the time. Sometimes our electricity would go out, and we would say, "This must be it, they finally realized that it's our turn," but then it would come on like 30 minutes later. It's been a little unbelievable actually.

I'll admit, we had gotten a little prideful about our power status, bragging about it to our friends (believe me, it is something to brag about. think about how much is controlled by electricity. not only lights, but the stove, refrigerator, hot water, phone and computer chargers, etc). And then yesterday morning, it went out and didn't come back on. For 36 straight hours.

So today I've eaten lots of meat and drunk lots of milk since they would have spoiled if I hadn't. And I've rekindled my relationship with two old friends:

the kerosene stove

and the kerosene lantern

And, though it is a hassle, this evening as I walked through the house after the electricity returned, I noticed I was smiling. Simply because I could see things. And I realized I don't think I would have ever been that happy if we'd never lost our electricity in the first place.

So, TANESCO (Tanzania Electrial Supply Co), I just want to say thank you. Although I tend to curse you on a daily basis, you've taught me an important lesson. Sometimes it's good to lose the things you have so that you learn to appreciate them when you get them back.

Update:

I passed Salim's social worker on the road as I was leaving yesterday, and, behind him, trailed Salim.

The story is not pretty or happy, especially when told through the eyes of that dear child who was so full of hope just a few days ago.

But, on the bright side, Salim was able to see his brother and sister. We might be able to start providing them with some kind of support, as they aren't currently in a good situation. And Salim has returned to Amani with an even deeper desire to focus on school so that he can hopefully help his family to one day have a better life.

And although it is a tough story to hear, I am so thankful Salim is living in a place that is safe and where there are people that love him.

As for me, I'll be taking some time today to be thankful for having parents who always cared for me well (and still do).
Maybe you will too.

Remember Salim?

As time has passed, he’s continued to make progress. He’s reading everything in sight these days and has moved into subtraction in math. But his progress outside the classroom is even more remarkable. He’s developed an interest in football. He’s made friends. And he does his laundry without being asked. And while he still has some trying moments, the good moments seem to outnumber the trying ones these days. He’ll invite other kids to play with his tennis ball, and he’ll play without hitting them. Or he’ll carry around his math notebook, telling anyone who will listen how he’s going to have to get a new one soon because it’s almost all filled up. Or on the way to lunch, he’ll find me and say, “Let’s try to sit at the same table today.”

As one can imagine (and as I’ve written in some other posts), there are some hard parts about working with these kids who have experienced trauma. Sometimes the kids decide to run away. Sometimes it’s hard to know what the best decisions are for the kids and their families. And most of these difficult aspects of working with these children can be sad and frustrating.

But one of the hard parts, ironically, is a really happy thing. We get to take abused, hungry, and often angry kids off the streets and love them and feed them and take care of them until they blossom into these wonderful, playful children. Many times you can see them being made new right before your eyes. It is truly a gift to watch.

Once the kids are happy and healthy again and ready to talk about their pasts, many times the family reunification process begins. And although that too is a beautiful thing, it’s also where it starts to get hard. Because, after all the work, after saying for what seems like hundreds of times “Don’t forget to wash your hands” or “You need to raise your hand” or "Make sure you wear socks,” or “What’s a better idea of something you could do if someone starts bothering you?”—just when they start to get it, you have to let them go.

Last week, I saw Salim hanging around outside my classroom door. He looked like he wanted to say something, but when I asked him he said he didn’t. I reminded him that, if he ever had something to say, he could talk to me or any of the caregivers.

A little while later, I came back to my classroom , and Salim was still there.
“I’ve been thinking about my mama,” he said, before I was halfway down the hall.

I was quite surprised. I don’t know Salim’s past, and he’s never brought it up in conversation. And he had, up to this point, refused to have any contact with his family.

“Well, tell me about your mama,” I replied.

So we went into the classroom, and Salim told me about his mama. How she’s short like he is and cooks really good vegetables. He drew a picture of his house and described his chores and the neighbors. He said his social worker had recently asked him again if he wanted to go visit his mama, and he decided that he did.

“I’ve been listening to those talks they give to us in the evenings,” he said, “and I decided that if I go back to live at home, I won’t run away. I’m going to stay there and help in the house and get my education.”

How amazing to hear this 11 year-old boy, who once seemed so immature for his age, say such thoughtful and wise things seemingly just out of the blue. I told his social worker about our conversation, who, in turn, continued to talk to Salim about visiting home.

And so, yesterday, Salim left with his social worker to go see his mama. It takes 2 days to get to his village, and they took all his stuff with him in case things go really well and everyone decides that he can stay.

And while a tiny part of me hopes he’ll be back on that bus with his social worker in the morning, mostly I pray that things go smoothly and that, at home, he is able to have a place where he is safe and he is loved.

This was Salim right after he arrived at Amani:




And here he is last week. He is full of life once again, and his mama is in for a treat.

It’s been a crazy first month back here in Moshi. The new school year has started at Amani, and we’re currently minus one teacher, so everyone has been picking up the slack. We also had a big meeting with the children to get their opinions about the things at Amani that went well in 2010 and what they wish could improve in 2011. Many of them expressed that they wished they could have longer school days and more classes (isn’t that amazing!), so we have increased the school schedule. So we are quite busy these days, but busy in very good ways.

I’ve done a bit of traveling this month, first to a lake near the Kenyan border and then to Zanzibar which is a beautiful island off the coast. Both trips were lots of fun, and it was great to spend time with friends.

Lake Chala

Zanzibar

Although it has been a good month, it’s been one filled with goodbyes.

First to my family. Although I was ready to be back to my normal life here, it wasn’t easy to say goodbye after such a sad holiday.

Then to Andrew, the art teacher at Amani, who finished his time here last week. He helped the kids at Amani start doing art that wasn’t just tracing or copying something someone else had drawn out of a book. He taught them to think creatively, and it was really amazing to see some of the projects they created through his lessons.

Then yesterday, Susan, the health volunteer at Amani and my best friend in Tanzania, went home. I will miss her more than words can say, and so will the babies.

About a week ago, 12 new kids arrived at Amani on the same day. It was great to see a few old faces and lots of new ones. And it was even greater to see hungry bellies getting full, dirty clothes getting washed, and little tired bodies getting rest. It was a bit daunting to walk into the Starters classroom the next day. Overnight, 15 students had become 27. At the same time, what a privilege it was to be a part of providing structure and love to these children (ranging in ages 8-15) who, until the previous day, had been sleeping on the streets.

Amani has what they call an “open door” policy, which mostly means that they will never turn away a child due to lack of space or supplies. This was very evident during my first two trips here when 90+ kids were sleeping in a 2-bedroom house every night. But the open door policy also means that kids will never be held at Amani against their will. If a child wants to leave, they are allowed to go.

It often seems crazy to us, looking at things with our grown-up, comfortable, always-had-a-bed and raised-in-a-loving-home selves. We see the kids living on the streets. They’re dirty, hungry, and often abused. And then we see the kids at Amani. They’re well-fed, well-clothed, and cared for. And, for us, it’s easy to discern the better option.

But for a street child, things look a little different. On the streets, they can make money. They can do what they want to do when they want to do it. There are no rules, no bedtimes, no chores.

And so, many times, when kids first arrive at Amani, it’s quite an adjustment. Suddenly, they’re supposed to be in school all day. They have to listen to the caregivers, they have to help with the cleaning, they have to go to bed at 9 and get up at 5. They can’t use drugs or hit anybody.

Oftentimes, this transition is quite difficult. Which is why, in many ways, the “open door” policy is a beautiful thing. Lots of times, children will arrive from the streets, check things out, and go back to the streets a few days later. After a couple of weeks, they might come back and decide to stay for good. And although it’s so, so very hard to see them go and upsetting to the dynamic of everything for the staff and for the other kids, it’s extremely important that the kids are able to leave. It’s a big decision for a child to leave the streets, and it’s very important that they’re the ones to make it.

Like I said, last week 12 new kids arrived at Amani. When we returned from Zanzibar on Tuesday, 19 were gone. Most of them were the new kids, but some had been at Amani for months, and some for even years. They were kids we had loved, played with, talked to, and taught. 19 empty beds. 19 empty desks. It’s very surreal. I wonder, what are they doing? I wonder, what were they thinking? I wonder, what could we have done better?

To be honest, I’m a little tired of saying goodbye. It’s just not very fun.

But I think I’m realizing that, the only time saying goodbye isn't fun is when you're saying it to people you love. And I’m lucky to be around lots of people who are very loveable.

And I hope that the ones that we’ve said goodbye to, especially those who don’t have a place to sleep tonight, will remember the love that we’ve shown them. And that they will decide to come home soon. The door is open.

Please pray for these kids who have left:

Hassan,

Jackson,

Tumaini,

Mwinyi,

Ibra,

Paulo and Robert,

Issa,

Salamini,

Hussein,

Halidi, Ibra R., Patrick, Samwel, Benson, John, Amani, Julius, and Joseph.