Left Tabora yesterday in a flood of tears after saying goodbye to the children. All of them had started calling me "Mama Chiku", so that, added to the fact that Chiku herself came up to me and said "Sister Liza! Mimi na wewe kwenda Australia"(Me and you go to Australia), made leaving feel like my heart tore in half. I know the idea of bringing Chiku home with me is a ridiculous pipe dream for legal reasons (made more ridiculous by the fact that I am unmarried, the wrong religion for international adoption, unemployed, homeless and unconversant in her native tongue) but I really felt a connection with that little girl and could actually imagine becoming her mother. It was interesting to contemplate just from an ethical perspective - ie, what are the rights and wrongs of bringing an 11 year old swahili-speaking Tanzanian orphan to live in Australia? It's the whole cultural maintenance vs quality of life question, made bigger and more resonant as a result of having someone I came to love dearly bring an otherwise hypothetical argument to life. It's hard to accept the image of Chiku, as bright and clever and sparkly and promising as she is, becoming pregnant and housebound by age 16 by some unemployed bloke who will abandon her and only come back to knock her up again the following year. Without a private school education, it's entirely possible this will happen to her, regardless of how clever she is. She's an orphan in a country where 5 per cent of children finish high school.
My mind is ticking over.
Arrived in Zanzibar yesterday afternoon and was soon overcome with excitement at the prospect of a fairly decent hotel room (with my own bathroom! It's the first time I have actually been able to see the bottom of a toilet bowl in three months - there are no words to describe the one at the HAPO house, I am still having flashbacks). Zanzibar itself is languid, hot and exotic, despite the hoards of tourists walking around in (gulp) shorts, which I haven't seen since I arrive in Tanzania. It's weird getting used to seeing body parts again (including my own). Last night I walked through the crazy walled streets and accidently found myself at Forodhani Gardens, an outdoor seafood barbecue market perched on an ocean wall, where you walk around sampling skewers of lobster, prawns and octopus while the vendors compete (very theatrically) for your business. Obviously I have many opportunities for a four-day adventure with a scantily-clad, bemuscled rastafarian (as was offered to me at least seven times between the beach and the market) so I am sitting back and considering my option before picking my companion for the week :-)
The rain seems to have stopped so I'm off to explore Stonetown... will probably head to one of the beaches tomorrow. So far loving it here.... but nothing compares to my Tabora....
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