Finding Purpose

"He who is able, thinks he is able."

- Buddha


November 23, 2008

I try to figure out my village's need this week. My village is poor. This might sound like an obvious statement, but I have gotten used to thatched roofs, barefoot children and bad roads- but I think we might really be poor. I went to two village meetings, one at the ungodly hour of 6.30 am so that it doesn't interfere too much with a day of farming. I stand in front with the community leaders and introduce myself. It is intimidating but people are kind.

Then I decide to hold my own interview with Mzee Ngoda (Lit. Old Man Ngoda)- he is my neighbor, one of the founders of the village and the one who everyone believes is a wizard. Most people are afraid of him but treat him with respect. I figure he will be a good person to know what the village needs. I make Juster come along because I need her help translating. She doesn't want to go but agree because "we are best friends". Along the way we meet the village driver, Stanley, the one with the crush on me, however, he is a totally innocent boy. Juster asks him to accompany us, because she is scared. She crosses herself as we go into his home. I feel a bit like a brat for making her go, but we could do with a little village adventure. Katherine walks by on her way to visit me, so she tags along too. Pretty soon we are joined by an out of school youth friend of Stanley's, the head teacher's wife and two other women (all with babies strapped to their backs) and Mzee Ngoda's son who is also the leader of our sub-village. (Turns out most of the village is related to Mzee, as he has 15 kids). So as you can tell this is an eclectic group of villagers, with Juster running the show in her high pitched, loud, lively voice. Oh, how I love that woman. The house is filthy and most people have to sit on the floor. But I start asking questions: What is the biggest problem in the village? What are the health issues? What resources could we use? And amazingly, everyone is really open to sharing their views. Katherine is even encouraged to talk about issues for children.

I find out my village is 3,500 people. Now about 1,000 are enrolled in primary school more are that age and not going, almost every woman has a baby on her back, so I would say all in all there can't be more that 1,000 villagers over the age of 27. I am waiting for the exact break down though. I find out that transport is a big problem (Obviously- I know this) The roads are bad and we have no cars for people and during the rainy season our one village car might not run (Gasp!What!?!) How will I get to Njombe? My saving grace when I am tired of being a Tanzanian Villager! Luckily at the end of this month a new volunteer is going in only 9 K from me. She is along the main road so she has good transport. I can walk 9k in the rain- I am an Oregonian, after all. My village is the only PCV village I know of without regular transport. When I ask why, they tell me money. So we are sort of isolated, no wonder people stare at me. For school a big problem is kids who finish primary school and do well on their exams cannot afford to go to secondary school, so they stop going to school all together. For the first year of secondary school it costs about $150 USD, which is expensive by TZ standards. Our village health center has no microscope, the critical ingredient in checking to see if one has Malaria as well as any number of illnesses. So villagers must go to town to get tested and you can see how easy that is.

The most shocking moment is when I ask what they know about HIV/AIDS and prevention methods- they answer "Nothing." What? I am afraid I didn't hear right? Who has known nothing about this since 1986? So I ask again. Katherine says, "Nothing". Okay, she is seven. Stanley's friend says he knows one is supposed to use condoms, but they are expensive and don't work. All the women shake their heads "No". Juster says- "I know, Brie." So, great, the most educated person who is not from our village and studies in Uganda knows how to prevent AIDS.

So-Plan: Easy Stuff: Health class through art at Primary School for girls and boys, Girls Empowerment and Life Skills group at my home after school, a few weekend seminars at the village dispensary- ideas: Nutrition and Children (For Mothers), HIV/AIDS Education- For community... more to come. Write grant for a microscope at dispensary. Hard Stuff: Start some kind of sustainable scholarship program for Primary School students who do well on their exams but cannot afford Secondary School. Write grant for village library (probably won't see the results but maybe the next volunteer at my site would continue it.) Figure out how to make a bus come down our road- (Yeah, Right. Have you seen our road? I am afraid of walking on our road.) The next day Juster says she had nightmares all the night before and thinks we were bewitched at Mzee Ngoda's- I thank her profusely for going.

So I am finally getting a cat- if it lives until I get back from Dar es Salaam. I wanted the two that the Mwalimu Mkuu had, but he told me they ran away. I waited too long, but I was not ready to be a good cat owner before now. I was sad, the next day he tells me he has a cat for me. I go to his home. In the kitchen curled up in a tiny ball next to the cooking fire is the boniest, dirtiest, homeliest, little kitten I have ever seen. It is tiny, hips and vertebrae protruding through matted white and orange blotchy fur. It puts up no fight when I try to hold it. And I think: Do I really want this cat? But I remember Timon- and we all thought he was homely, now he is the love of my family's life. I think it will be so hard if I take this cat and he dies. But I feel drawn to him- plus what other option does he have? He looks like an outcast and an underdog- so of course, I love him, but not too much because I have to make sure he is still there when I return from my Thanksgiving break.

I spent most of the day at a teacher's home, Mama Latifah. She was very sick. Tanzanians do this weird thing, where when someone is sick they all go and visit them and cram into the same room with them. It is maybe the exact opposite of what Americans do, which is wanting to be mostly alone and watch TV or sleep and visitors shy away from the sick. But sickness is a part of life here and hard to avoid. Since Tanzanians mostly don't have TVs, I guess they need company for their entertainment. So we crowd around Mama Latifah, curled up on her couch. There was a huge thunder/lightning and rainstorm that day while I was there. Let's just say the thatched roofing works to an extent but we started to get pretty wet. We had a lively discussion about marriage and children over Mama Latifah's sleeping head. Tanzanians find it fascinating that Americans will get married but not have any children. "What kind of marriage is that? You are not a real woman if you do not have children, Brie." They are always very happy when they discover how many kids my parents have. I don't try to explain adoption. When they find out I am the oldest this is always met with a "Hongera" (Congrats). I am not sure why being the oldest deserves this response.

One of my most memorable moments in Tanzania happened today. Imelda, the orphan who lives with Juster, has just finished Primary School. She got into Secondary School, but Juster cannot afford to send her, as she is already paying for two of her younger sisters to attend. Juster told me that Imelda will have to be married (She is 15) and maybe her husband will agree to send her. They have talked about this and she understands that this will be her fate. Imelda is a good girl, she is good in school, kind, and has had a hard life. I told Juster I would put her through her first year. I know PCVs putting multiple kids through secondary school on our small stipend, so I know it is possible. I know there are dozens more like her in my village, but I know her and it will make a difference in her life. Juster called Imelda in and told her that I had agreed to pay for this as long as she got good grades and that she would not have to find a husband. The girl's eyes welled up with tears, she dropped to her knees in front of where I was sitting, clasped her hands together almost like she was praying and said, "Asante sana, Mama Mdogo." (Thank you, young aunt) She looked shocked overwhelmed and happy. I asked if she wanted to go to school and she nodded. I think I have never given a better gift, than the gift of education. It is not really sustainable to be giving these hand outs and not really what we as PCVs are supposed to be doing. We don't really have any money. But I don't know one PCV who hasn't believed in a Tanzanian and given them money, put them through school, put money toward them starting a business, etc. I think it goes against our nature to not share what we have to offer on all levels. And if she is really inspired to learn, than education in itself is sustainable. Selfishly, it was a pretty good feeling to give it. Really, I think it was a gift for both of us- she needs to go to school and I need to find some purpose in Tanzania. It was nice in all of my difficulties to be important to and loved by someone.