Our health and the weather combined were a recipe for potential disaster, so we've decided to keep our lives intact, and be total wieners. (I hope at least my mom is pleased with this call, as I think it really was the most sensible choice.) The nurse in my room says we both likely have bronchitis, and the rains have been awful, which leads me to believe that the snows on Kiliminjaro would have been unbearable. Besides, just last month a rock slide on Kili killed 3 climbers and an unknown number of guides, and seriously injured 5 others. Were you really ready to say goodbye?
Don't worry, we'll be back, but we'll schedule the climb at the beginning of our trip, when we might actually be healthy enough to accomplish the journey.
That said, we'll both be staying another week here in Tanzania with CCS. I likely won't return to my placement (I'll explain why soon), but instead will be touring other organizations and helping out as I can. Hmmm . . . where to begin catching you up . . .
Well, I started my week in the most amazing way I can imagine. As you read, some friends and I painted the new building at my school last weekend. Monday morning began when I arrived at Shepherd's Junior and the children - 110 of them - rushed around me singing, beautifully and with so much gratitude for a truly small accomplishment that I was literally in tears, a song of thanks:Teacher Stacey, Teacher Stacey, Teacher Stacey what a wonder you are
We love you so, so, so Teacher Stacey
Teacher Stacey what a wonder you are.
They continued to sing to me through morning assembly, where Teacher Nancy and the headmistress made announcements of gratitude, and I continued to cry. I was literally overwhelmed by their gratitude. The school really does look beautiful, though.
Monday night, we visited to a Black Panther who's now living in exile here in Tanzania, as he was convicted on some trumped up weapons charge and, if he returned to American soil, he would be immediately sent to prison. He was fascinating. He's been in Tanzania now for over 30 years, and has seen many of his family members from his home in Kansas City (even his own children) very little or, in some cases, not at all. Since he arrived, he's been focused on building his organization (I believe it's called the United African Community Center, or UACC). The center is an amazing place that teaches English, music, art, computers - essentiall
y whatever courses they have volunteers to teach. The center also brings over young African Americans from the inner city to experience life here and, hopefully, learn a little something. It's run entirely by volunteers, with funds by donors, and its services are offered for free. In addition to the courses, the center has dug a well that provides clean water to many in the local community, and has implemented solar cells that provide electricity to 85 local homes and the center itself. Pete's super into new technologies - so Sanjay impressed him with his Blackberry. That's him over there!It was actually remarkable to visit the place - they served Mexican food which was really unexpected and delicious and the solar power made the lights there so bright, it's incredible. I felt like I was seeing some of the people I was with for the first time. The power problems here make electricity definitely inconstant and, even when it's on, it's incredibly dim.
With regard to the water, you'd be amazed to see where people fetch their water. On multiple occasions, I've seen children fetch and/or drink water directly from what look to be sewer or storm drains. The water is completely opaque and brown. It's really incredible. I've never seen a child drink water at my school. I've seen those who can afford it have a soda or juice in the afternoon, but never water - the water from the tap cannot even be used to brush one's teeth, even by the locals. At the center's store, I bought Ashlee and Chooch super-cool prizes from the Center's shop, where all the goods are made by their students. I would describe them, but what fun would that be???
On Wednesday, I brought Shepherds' Junior Class 2 and Class 3 to my school to perform for the other volunteers who aren't lucky enough to get to work with them every day. They saw our water jug, and many of the children asked cautiously if they might have a glass of water. I've never seen anyone drink as fast as they did. It's clear that they don't have enough to drink.
During the performance, the children sang a few really moving songs about the AIDS epidemic here, followed by a quite formal debate as to whether girls are better than boys. They did a little play about government corruption, and Leah read a funny little mathematics prayer. They ended with a rousing and well-received rendition of my personal favorite song, "Be Happy Before You Die!" We offered everyone a glass of clean water when they were through, but I wish I'd had more.
The next day during recess, I had brought a few sheets of small star stickers and I began to place them on each child's head. The children were incredibly excited about their small gift. Even the older boys who rough house and roughly play the "real" football (i.e., soccer) during recess, ran to me wanting stars to adorn their foreheads. Their appreciation for small things is truly incredible. I can't imagine that boys of the same age on American playgrounds would even tolerate having a sticker on their face, let alone smile broadly, giggle, and ask for more before returning to their games.
That evening, we ate again at my favorite restaurant in Tanzania, Big Bite, where we feasted on Indian food with about 20 volunteers and Zungu, the artist who's continuing to paint a mural scene from "Goodnight Moon" on the front of the newly-painted school. Since Sanjay is the owner's new favorite customer, his wife had prepared a special dessert of really yummy gulab jamun for all of us. Yummy!!!
Friday, on my last day at my placement, I was greeted first by Teacher Nancy who rushed me to her classroom to present me with a gift. This incredible woman, who makes between 70,000 and 80,000 shillings per MONTH, or the equivalent of $55-$60 USD, to teach third graders with remarkable skill and grace, gave me a purse made of dried banana leaves and a card. She cried, as did I. My day would end on a similar note. After I spent my morning singing and teaching the baby class, I spent my break on the playground making and racing paper airplanes with the children. At the end of the break, Leah, an incredibly smart and beautiful girl from Class 3 (the one who earned the "Math Superstar" award I'd made from construction paper, came up to me and said, as she began to well up with tears, "I will never forget you." She couldn't have said anything more heart-wrenching if she'd tried. My tears continued.
After break, instead of returning to class, the children began to bring chairs and carpets out of their classrooms to prepare for a surprise bon voyage celebration and concert for me. After Class 3 sang to me two songs wishing me farewell, while the girls sobbed and the boys struggled to hold back their tears, I was presented with a traditional African dress that was quickly pulled over my head by Lucy, the school's headmistress, as well as a wall-hanging that says "To: Stacey's Family From: Shepherds Junior Academy" on the back. The students and teachers each presented me with separate, very sad, farewell cards. I sobbed throughout the entirety of their program, as did the children and teachers. Though I wished in vain that I'd brought more substantial gifts, I passed out chocolates to everyone.
Unfortunately, my van arrived during the program, and the 19-year-old rich Greek boy, Antonis, was late to catch his flight to Zanzibar, so I had to leave quickly. The children followed me to the gates, and grabbed at me not to go. Literally, these children were sobbing, boys and girls alike. I picked up Leah and hugged her, promising to email her soon. I was perhaps most moved by a little boy, from Grade 1, Caleb, whose normal handsome, mischievous grin was replaced by tears streaming from his face.
It was truly an incredible experience, one that supercedes my vocabulary. It wasn't until after we'd said farewell that Sanjay made the final decision that we wouldn't be climbing Kiliminjaro. So we'll be here for another week, but I don't think I can go back and put my babies, or myself, through another torturesome goodbye. It's a very good thing that I know that they'll all be well taken care of, because I'd otherwise be unable to leave.
That afternoon, I had the pleasure of witnessing again the generosity of the poor. Thompson, the night watchman at the CCS compound, invited us to visit his home. Once we arrived, his incredibly gracious wife, Janet, offered us sodas that she'd fetched for us. He showed us around his home, and then showed us a miracle. Thompson, from his own meager salary, has constructed a schoolhouse about the size of an American bedroom in his own front yard. When he first started to work at CCS, he was frustrated with his English and immediately hired a tutor from Kenya to teach his children English so they wouldn't suffer the same fate. Once his neighbors heard that he had a tutor at his home, they said he was selfish unless he invited all of the neighbor children to learn with them as well. He did. That was a few years ago and now, with all his own money, he has constructed a schoolhouse where a VOLUNTEER tutor teaches over 40 local children every day. The people here are unreal.
Yesterday, we awoke early to begin plans to cancel our climb and visit Tengeru market near our home base. Even though we've been warned on multiple occasions not to take photos (for fear that either our camera would be stolen or locals would violently demand a fee for their photos), we were determined to steal a few, because nothing other than a photo could describe for you what this place is like. We even managed to snap this shot of a bloodied butcher sitting on the chopping block with chunks of flesh at his feet. Essentially, our technique was that I'd pose as if Sanjay were taking a picture of me only, and he'd quickly snap something over my shoulder. I hope they turn out.We then decided to move for the weekend to a hotel in town where we could take a real shower and, hopefully, begin to recover from out plague. (Actually, I'm pretty certain we're only here because Sanjay is REALLY excited to watch the Superbowl. Little did he know, though, that our hotel's TV's won't be showing the game. He's just gone upstairs to check us out, and is already researching alternatives that provide ESPN. Good luck. I wonder if that's actually why he agreed to cancel our climb?)
On our taxi ride over to the Kibo Palace, there were literally a million butterflies clouding the air. They looked like snow, their infestation apparently a direct consequence of the recent heavy rains.
Upon our arrival, after absorping a couple of American movies on the television (which we haven't seen in over a month now!), we ate a so-so dinner (Sanjay had some super-yummy enormous prawns while I had some alright peas and paneer in a sub-par sauce) at the hotel restaurant and watched some wedding festivities that was unfolding around the hotel pool. We did have a small, unsatisfying banana split for dessert, and then headed to a casino that's the size of an American bedroom with a blackjack table, a roulette table, a poker table and a few slot machines. It was actually pretty fun for an hour or so as we tipped the dealers heavily, and they were super appreciative. They kept saying "thanks from the girls!" After we handed over all our money, we returned for a fairly long, restful sleep and room service for breakfast.
We're sitting in our hotel lobby now. I've only coughed up a little green stuff this morning. I'm feeling a little better, but not nearly 100%. Although we're missing Kiliminjaro, I'm hoping this week will still be exciting - it kind of sucks to still be sick, though . . . I REALLY wish we could have gone :(
PS: Check out the American Lion in Masai Hell entry again - we're adding photos as we speak, and, if I do say so, they're fantastic!
