Spending Christmas in Tanzania was initially something I had been really looking forward to. Now that is has come and gone, I’m mostly just thankful to have survived it. things are pretty difficult around here. to say that our team is in shambles would be an understatement. I’ve never really struggled with homesickness, but this year, being away from my family during the holidays has been really difficult. I miss a lot of people all at the same time. So much has and is happening while I’ve been away. Major life events; engagements, weddings, births and the like… Too many milestones all around the same time. I have changed, quite dramatically I think, over the last few months, and I can only imagine the kind of changes that have taken place in my family and friends since I’ve been away. I only hope that our lives will still connect when I go back.
Being with the same group of people every single day for the last six months has proven to be a challenge. More than I initially thought. Despite the challenge it can often be though, I have managed to remain within intentional Christian community for the greater portion of my life. I’ve experience the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of the Christian faith and still I have returned to these scenarios. I suppose there is this undying hope or faith that I have in being in fellowship with other believers regardless of how painful or frustrating it might be. I have experienced my fair share of pain, disappointment, and frustrations over the course of this school… but yet I choose to remain with this same group of people who I have grown to deeply love and rely on. In all of the times that I have considered quitting or giving up I have wondered what it is that motivates me to remain. And, as silly or cliché as it may sound, I have concluded that it is only because of love. My love for God and my deep love and passion for this place and its people is what motivates me to keep going. In the midst of sadness, discontentment and unmet expectations with regards to this school, I choose to believe that things can get better. Things can, and hopefully will improve. But. Enough of that. Now to talk about what my Christmas was like.
Christmas eve I spent helping with preparations for our big dinner/gathering on the base. My friend Martha, an amazing older woman on staff here, was put in the unfortunate position of pulling of the whole event singlehandedly. And last minute no less. We rallied around her and did our best to help out. Rachel and I helped to rake the leaves in the outdoor courtyard and then I headed off to mbagala – the closest “city” – with Jen to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Oh man. I cannot even put Mbagala into words. It is literally straight from the pits of hell. Imagine the most crowded, foul, rank smelling, and dirtiest place imaginable…. THAT is Mbagala. A legitimate hellhole. The ‘road’ running through it can hardly be called that. Since it’s the rainy season, places are often flooded out and Mbagala is no exception. Navigating through the crowded streets filled with vendors and pedestrians, either by foot or dala dala, is almost impossible. I guess there were others doing last minute errands as well because we waited out by the mango tree for about 45 minutes for a dala dala (bus) that wasn’t completely packed. Now, a packed dala is to be expected, but on this day, it would have been humanly impossible to squeeze yourself on. After waiting for what seemed like forever, we finally bit the bullet and pushed our way on amongst the dozens of other people (and animals) on the bus (it’s actually more like a small van). Once we arrived in the city we stepped out to face the masses of staring faces and endless harassments and greetings. Now that I can understand Swahili, it’s a little bit more unpleasant to be in a crowded city where people shout fairly offensive things. I couldn’t help but laugh as Jen and I walked along dodging trolleys, vehicles and people carrying large objects on their heads. Every now and then a man would grab my arm or try to touch my leg and I would do my best to continue on, pretending not to notice. The smell was almost unbearable. We went down a back roadway that veered off the main street. Plenty of shops side-by-side all with eager sellers calling out, “Mzungu! Mzungu! Njo mzungu!” If you were not aware before that point of your minority status, you would quickly be faced with it in this setting. We did our best to barter with a couple of shopkeepers and saved a few hundred shillings on a couple of kangas. All in all, a successful shopping trip. We arrived back at the base and made some lunch and got to work helping out where we could with food preparations and set up for the big dinner. I had some friends from Barbados call and it was by far the most wonderful moment of my day: being able to talk to the entire Headley family. For most of the day I was fighting to have a good attitude and to stay positive. My community, this community, is not in good shape. It makes it even more difficult to be away from family on Christmas. Just before dinner I hit my breaking point. I was exhausted and emotional and to top it all off I was the subject of a very hurtful attack. I had to leave for a bit to clear my head. The only place that I am allowed to be alone in is this property. And luckily, it is pretty huge. It spreads for acres into a sprawling forest. A.K.A the bush. I walked and walked and walked, with endless tears flowing down my cheeks. I attempted to maintain my composure for fear that I would intercept someone along the narrow, overgrown path. I have a special place that I like to go to in the bush when I need to clear my head. A little creek or watering hole surrounded by coconut trees and swampy marshes. I find God there. He seems to speak a little clearer when I am sitting on that little cement wall, legs dangling over the murky water. I sat and cried some more – praying and talking to God aloud in-between sobs. I cannot tell you how many times I have reached that same point of utter desperation and disappointment. How many times I have considered the possibility of going home, weighing out the pros and cons of persevering versus giving up on something that seems so painfully hopeless. After I felt as though I had run out of words and tears I picked up my shoes and my few thousand shillings and continued on the path. I decided I would make my way into the village, alone, to buy a few more things. At that point, I could care less about any of the rules. I walked up a small hill and towards the shamba or farm which I would have to pass through in order to get to the main road just beyond the border of the property. I really did not want to see or talk to anyone, but I knew that it was inevitable because of the people who live and work on the farm. I kept my head down and looked up quickly as I passed through to greet a few of them sitting together. I’m not sure of their names, but there is a couple that lives there with a couple of kids. I’ve talked to the very shy mum a few times in an attempt to get to know her. Surprisingly, when I looked over she called and welcomed me to come over and sit with them. I felt honored. People here are very friendly and welcoming but they are seldom the first to initiate contact. (At least in my experience). I sat and we talked for a few minutes. I explained where I was going and what I was going to buy. One of the workers, Joshua, came over as I was explaining and insisted that he retrieve me one of their pineapples, grown on the farm. I followed him into a field of pineapples and he found just the right one, charging me the small price of 400 shillings. Brilliant. I felt honored by their warmth and generosity towards me. It felt like a tangible answer to prayer. A reminder from God as to why I am here. It is these people… The language, the culture, the faces, the sights, colors, sounds, smells, tastes… This is why I stay. This is what keeps me going. Experiences like that. I was so grateful. I enjoyed walking through the marketplace across the road and wandering through dirt walkways in the village by myself. I felt confident and comfortable. Less of a spectacle and more like an African being on my own. I made it through dinner that night without crying and into the next day. We decided collectively to go our separate ways on Christmas day… Evidence of the tension and lack of unity that exists amongst our team. We had morning tea together, opened stockings and then we dispersed shortly after without too many words being exchanged. It is absolutely miserable when we are together as a group! Rachel and I were invited into Jenny and Orlando’s room for a special Christmas platter of fruit and they gave us each beautiful hand painted mugs as gifts. It was amazing to be together with them. They are my family and feel like a second set of parents to me as well as being very close friends. I have fallen deeply in love with their little one Bupe. We have become like best friends and she brings so much joy to my life. I don’t know what I would do without them. I’m sure that I wouldn’t survive. Such an amazing family. I decided to stay on the base and relax for the rest of the day instead of facing the crowded cities in search of internet. I also preferred to spend the day in denial over the fact that it was Christmas. I didn’t want to think about my family back home or all of the people that I was deeply missing. I wanted to remain in my existence here, pretending to forget the existence of my former life, which seems more and more like a distant memory these days. I stayed indoors for the greater part of the day watching movies. Mulan, lion king 1, lion king 2, lion king 1 ½, the incredibles… one after the other… While I was sitting there half asleep, my phone rang. I ran into the next room to pick it up. The name display said Laila. She had called me a week or two prior to that. I met her once when I was working in the anc/postnatal ward at temeke and I fell in love with her tiny newborn girl. She was very unwell. Underweight and a very high fever. I sat holding her for a couple of hours –attempting to lower her temperature. Anyways, I was so excited that she had called me again. I wasn’t able to understand much from our previous conversation since she doesn’t speak any English and I only know a bit of Swahili. I was able to get my friend Joel to translate our conversation over the phone. She asked me to come and visit Emiliana. I was surprised that she was using the same name that I had called her little girl. Did that mean that she had kept the name? Either way, I felt so honored that she would call and ask me to come and visit. I begged Joel to take me that same day to see her, but he said she lived pretty far away. Two days later, on Dec 27th, Rachel, Joel and I all made the trip out to visit. We went on the dala dala with everyone that morning to Temeke hospital. Amazingly, the driver decided to take us where we needed to go from there. I can’t remember the name of the place where she lived but it was rough. To say the least. I’ve seen a lot of poverty and poor living conditions in Tanzania, but nothing like this. We would not have been able to get a taxi or a public dala dala there. Once we finally found the area that her house was in, Laila came walking towards us from a distance away as we sat waiting. I immediately recognized her from far off. So beautiful. One of the most beautiful women I have seen in Tanzania. 18 years old, light skinned, innocent, kind eyes… Her head was wrapped in a gorgeous purple kanga. By the looks of things, she comes from a Muslim family. She got in to the dala dala with us and we made our way towards her home. I felt such joy and excitement over getting to see her and be with her again. She led us into her home. A small brick house that was actually quite nice on the inside. Her mum was there as well. I remembered her from the hospital. I had the honor of introducing her to her first grandchild (emiliana) when I first met Laila at Temeke. We sat in their living room altogether and they brought in the little girl I had felt such deep love and care for a few weeks earlier. I cannot explain the feelings I had when I held her in my arms again. I honestly wasn’t sure if she was going to live, and here she was, a few weeks later, alive and well. She had gained weight and did not appear to be as dehydrated or feverish. She was still quite weak, but overall—a vast improvement from the last time I had been with her. Rachel and I were able to ask a number of questions through Joel who translated for us. We wanted to know more details of what pregnancy and delivery had been like. Why was the baby born so unwell? Was she breastfeeding frequently now? So many questions. They didn’t actually keep the name Emiliana for her. I can’t remember the name, but it was more African/Muslim sounding. We brought her a few gifts. Baby clothes, soap, and lotion… It was so amazing to be able to spend time with both mom and baby. It reminded me of why I’m here. Why I had chosen to do this school in the first place. Because of my deep love and passion for women and their children. My desire to care for them during such a vulnerable and needy time in their lives.
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