Not Kansas

I am definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Day three of actual work at HAPO and today, at least, I feel like I was somewhat useful for most of the day. The first two days I kind of walked around like an idiot while the other four girls seemed to be very focused and discussing important-sounding issues like height-and-weight charts, files and the IGA (Income Generation Activities) program. Although the only instructions I was given were to “dive on in”, it can be daunting to try and do so on your first day when everyone around you has been living and working intensively and intimately for at least six weeks. That was a disadvantage to being the only person starting in Tabora at this time – at least if I was with other new vols, we could voice (what basically amounts to) insecurities to each other. As things stand now, sometimes it can be a little lonely, standing on the outer and trying to be part of the team while simultaneously trying not to barge on in and alter the way things have already been established. It’s a fine line and I am very lucky that the other girls are clearly a) very nice and genuine, and b) very good at and involved in their work with the children. Obviously I have a lot to learn and they are only too happy to teach me… but it will be a process that will take me a while to find my feet.

There are 35 kids currently in the program, selected according to a set of guidelines that establishes which children in the community are most in need of support. HAPO doesn’t only take on the children, it takes on the guardians too, in an attempt to help the families (such as they are, in many many cases) to learn about health and hygiene, education and self-reliance. I’ve read the kids’ files; none are living with both parents and many are living with their bibi (grandmother) who has the responsibility of numerous children and earns money for their keep by begging on the street. Many of the parents have run off (no one seems to know exactly where or, more importantly, why) or died (some from AIDS) and these poor old bibis, having never had to think about business and having lived hard lives raising their own children, now have to work out how to feed children who aren’t even theirs. The IGA project is designed to help the guardians generate income instead of begging and then leading the children into begging – some are making vitungua (rice cakes), others are selling charcoal, others are making shanga (Tanzanian beaded jewellery, of which the volunteers have bought at least a zillion Tz shillings’ worth). HAPO sells them the supplies and then asks to be paid back at a later time. It’s a worthwhile project and one with a real future, but of course, it’s very hard for some of these poor and uneducated guardians to work out that business means you have to sell something at a higher price than you bought it for. It will take some time and a lot of interaction – it means visiting the guardians in their homes, which I can’t wait to do (but am in line).

Yesterday I went with the children in the back of the truck to drop them all home after class at HAPO (they attend school in the mornings and then come to HAPO for the afternoon, where we teach them a different subject every day until 5.30pm). Many of the houses look like they were constructed with a few pieces of string and some mud (I’m not exaggerating… they were leaning worse than Pisa) and families live in one room in lots of cases. The roads are completely sand. That’s one thing I wasn’t expecting when I came here – I was prepared for unpaved/non-asphalt roads but I thought they’d be packed dirt. Wrong. They’re sand and you need a four-wheel drive to get through some sections. I can’t imagine what that would be like when it rains, but I guess I will find out in a few weeks when the much-needed mvuli (short rains) season starts. Anyway, the children who come to HAPO live on these roads in these mud brick buildings, and although I have seen images like this before (India, South Africa etc), it’s different when you have a relationship with the people living inside them. I mean, little Hawa gets off the truck – she’s palsied down one side and so her education was basically ignored until she came to HAPO – gives us a big smile, says “kesho!” (tomorrow) to us and limps into this mud hut. I spent this morning working with Hawa on her reading, painstakingly, slowly, and then off she goes to that house. It’s hard to imagine. And yet you can’t stop any of them from smiling.

Monday was the first day I have ever touched people I knew had AIDS. There are a few kids who have a query HIV status (it’s unclear whether there’s a definite distinction between HIV+ status and AIDS) but Maseli and Elisabeth both have AIDS and are taking medication which appears to be having the “Lazarus effect” I have read about (because Lazarus was raised from the dead). Elisabeth is still tiny for her age and undernourished, and she has the muscular wasting common to AIDS patients, but she has heaps of energy and was the first person I connected with on Saturday when I arrived. You’d never believe Maseli has AIDS, but apparently she looked worse than Elisabeth when she arrived at HAPO last year. It’s hard to look at both of them – they are adorable – and realise they won’t live like the other kids, or nearly as long. Apparently people only get tested here if they start to show symptoms, but once diagnosed, the government provides medication, so I suppose Tanzanians are luckier than Zimbabweans, for example (where Mugabe’s ministers have told people not to use condoms as they are infected by Westerners with HIV in an attempt to kill off Africans). And malaria – out of the 35 kids in the program whose files I looked at, only four showed no sign of malaria parasites in their blood slides. I’m told malaria is simply something people basically have all the time here – it never really goes away and they just learn to live with it. Despite these ongoing health problems, the kids are taught imperatives like hand washing and teeth-brushing, and it’s really cute to see them all lined up at the rainwater tank, brushing their teeth with the toothbrushes supplied by and kept at HAPO. They have a meal with us every afternoon and for most it’s the last real meal they get until the same time the next day. But it’s hard to get depressed over the poverty when they are all crowded around, laughing uproariously at my Swahili, looking at pictures of my family on my camera, and giving and receiving kumbatia (hugs) so freely. The Doctor is trying to get President Kikwete out here to open the computer lab on World AIDS Day (1 Dec) so we are going to put together an education program for the leadup to that. I am curious to see exactly what the President will be opening, since the “computer lab” is currently a pile of mud bricks and a few poles surrounded by piles of stones… but why not stay positive (no pun intended).

What I do get a little depressed and frustrated over here is the fact that the children get piga’d (beaten) by Mama Sekasua and Sheki. Not beaten like black-and-blue, just spanked, sometimes with a stick. Of course it’s a fact of life in Africa and everyone does it all the time, no politically-correct stuff like in Australia, and doing it to someone else’s kid isn’t even hesitated upon. But Mama and Sheki think it’s absolutely hilarious that the volunteers get upset (in fact, so do the children think it’s hilarious… they have factored piga-ing into their daily lives so completely that I saw four little boys on the beach in Dar bash a crab to death and then lift it up and start piga-ing it with much gusto and enthusiasm). This morning while I was tutoring Hawa, I raised my finger to her forehead to say “fikiri!” (think) and she flinched like I was going to hit her. Again, it’s the issue of the fine line between coming to “help” as a volunteer and coming to tell Tanzanians how to raise their children. Personally I can’t understand why Hadija should be beaten if Mama finds out she has been missing from her house for four days (considering she’s eleven). Wouldn’t it be more constructive to find out why? I’m hoping I won’t hear or see someone being really piga’d because I am afraid it might make me lose respect for the program and what they are doing here, and I don’t want that. I know Mama and the Doctor really, really love the children, and the children adore them too. Most of the time it’s a threat but it’s a threat that seems to work because most stay in school and come to HAPO every day.

I’m sure I’ll have loads more stories to tell about the children so I’ll leave it there and give you all an attempt at an impression of Tabora itself… this afternoon doing break I rode into town to find some kangas (material) to have some skirts made. Yes, rode. On an ancient, rattling bicycle with no brakes, through the sand. Has anyone ever tried to ride an African bike uphill through sand in the heat of the day? Yet it was weirdly rewarding once I got to one of the three bitumen roads with everyone yelling “Mambo mzungu!” at me and I joined the hordes of bikers on the main drag. In that way Tabora reminds me of Rottnest at peak hour… there are far more bicycles here than cars and I have to say that riding that bike through town today, I definitely felt like I was living in Africa (ok, so Rebecca had to take me, but one day soon I’ll do it myself… just as soon as I can find the way). All the streets are lined with flame and mango trees, and legend has it that the mango trees sprouted when slaves spat the pips out on their treks across the country all those years ago. It’s crazy to look at those trees and think about how they got there. It’s almost obscenely laid-back and calm, and all those bikes lend it a really relaxed feel. At first I was nervous about riding in town, but then I realised that everyone was riding and driving so slowly that I was unlikely to be hurt if I was actually knocked off! Tabora isn’t at all a one-horse town but it’s very far off the tourist map and it’s a dusty, windy, dusty, sandy, dusty (did I mention dusty?) place with little to see and nothing to do at night except read (glory be) and go to the Tabora Hotel on the weekends. Which suits me as I have been going to sleep before ten every night after reading for hours with the girls in the living room.,, just like in the days before television (not that I remember those). A big treat is Sunday nights when we all watch one precious episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Anne-Marie’s computer.

So, I think I am settling in slowly. Each day has been better than the last which is a good trend, even though I feel quite lonely at times… but even that is hard to get maudlin over if I just spend 60 seconds with one of the kids. Perspective, folks… it’s making a grown-up out of me.

Oh, and did I mention the dust?