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.