One last day in Africa

Today was my last day at the Primary School. Teacher Veronica thanked me many times for the donation that enabled them to buy more desks, books and supplies for the teachers. After school the children sang me a goodbye song that is practically impossible not to start crying to - so of course I cried. Tomorrow I will be taking the children from the orphanage on safari to Arusha National Park. They are so excited and the girls have been discussing what they will wear, while the boys are more interested in the portraying the various animals they will encounter. After Safari I will have dinner at the orphanage and head to the airport. Everytime I have to leave this amazing continent it absolutely breaks my heart. Katie and I both agree that Africa is our second home. While I am looking forward to returning to New York to continue work with MMCF a part of my heart will be left behind with the amazing people we have met. Till next time...

PO Box

Yesterday I was approached by a 21 year old man I had met while staying in Tanzania two years ago. He has a sponsor for school but was having difficulties understanding why she was unable to send him money. After some time reading through emails, I realized the problem lied in the lack of "legal address". You see, in Tanzania, and in most of Africa, there are no street names, let alone building numbers. There is no mailman that delivers mail to your house. Even businesses have PO Boxes where they pick up their mail. Of course PO boxes in much of North America are given a bad name and considered sketchy. So, his sponsors bank refused to send money to the PO box for his school. Matters are further complicated by the fact that the new school term started 2 weeks ago. YIKES! I have been working for 2 days now, brainstorming with local friends, talking to school officials and with the leadership at the orphanage and I think we have a solution. My goal is to get my friend back to school by Monday. So much to do and so little time to do it. I cannot believe I leave Sunday morning!!!

Bittersweet

At 3am Katie and I say our rushed goodbyes as Katie runs through the security line to board her plane to NYC ready to get to work after our successful time in Uganda. After a layover in Nairobi I am back on yet another plane bound for Mt. Kilimanjaro International Airport. As the plane is landing over fields spotted with Masaai natives herding their cattle I am grinning ear to ear. The last week in Uganda has been amazing, I cannot express how full my heart felt after being introduced to so many people and beginning to understand the experience Katie had there 3 years ago. It was sad to leave Uganda, the people, and of course Katie but I was also terribly excited to return to Tanzania after 2 years away. I was met at the airport by the Orphanage and school Director Ally with a large SUV for my bags (which would take another 24 hours to arrive...grrr). Back at the orphanage and school much had changed, new buildings, new children, new people managing the facilities, but many of the smiling faces that greeted me were the same. I was pummeled with hugs, even the children who had not met me before were caught up in the excitement.

The next day at school, I quickly learned I have my work cut out for me while I am here. The teachers have somewhat taken advantage of the almost constant flow of volunteers. Instead of teaching lessons themselves they pass the responsibilities to volunteers and dissapear. Unfortunately, many volunteers are not certified teachers nor do they understand the lesson plans and many children are falling behind. As the school is a primary school I was very concerned that the children would not be ready for secondary school when the time came, negating any help that MMCF might be able to offer. I am currently on a mission to get things straightend out and will be meeting with Ally tomorrow to voice my concerns. Time will tell...

Sounds.

Observers.

Sights.

Return to Phillips House.

Walking down the dirt path to Kiwanga orphanage, I have the feeling of returning to home. Do you remember the feeling when you were at University for the first time and it was Christmas break time and you are so homesick for your childhood dog at home and your family and your bed that you could just curl up in a ball and cry /and/or/ blow chunks? That is how I felt.
The feeling washed over me like a first splash of cold water from a bucket bath in the evening when there is a slight breeze. Then, the feeling turns into a complete fluffy-couch-comfort feeling.
“Hallo Mzungoo!” We smile and wave. Stepping through the small gate, We say Hello to the guard that I remember, only he doesn’t remember me. There have been countless numbers of pale skinned volunteers there since, I’m sure. Kelly smiles at me, a sort of look you give your child when you give a non-verbal go-ahead to jump into the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. I lead her straight towards Phillips House, the gated part in the back with the mentally and physically challenged. When we are passing the library, the sound of the children singing gets louder. Maybe this next part sounds a little to Lifetime movie to you, but once I can figure out how to post the video, you will understand. It is hard to explain the sounds that passed by us. Its like a slight mist of rain. You can feel it. You can feel it on your body. We stepped past the corner of the library, and on our right, we see them. Halfway. The primary school children were jammed into the school dining hall practicing for their competition.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kawala catches us. Kawala is around the age of 35, but mentally she is 5.

She.is.amazing.

She starts to run towards us, with a slightly confused look on her face. She remembers me, just not fully, yet. She embraces me.

“What is my name?” I say.
“Aunt uhhhh….” – Kawala
“Aunt Kate!”
“AUNT KATE!”

She hugs me even tighter. Now she remembers. At Phillips house, they never forget. My favorite place. She introduces herself to Kelly by giving Kelly the biggest bear hug I have ever witnessed, and after a few times of asking her name, it is understood that ‘Aunt Kelly’ is now, “Auntie Karen”.
We are pulled by Kawala to Phillips house and are bombarded by Isabella, the basketball player, Michael, the jokester, and Gertrude, the storyteller. Each one, in the best way that they are able, scream ‘AUNTIE KATIE!’ My heart melts. Kelly is taken immediately into the family.
I see Charles through the doorway peering out trying to see who is causing the commotion. His eyes get wider and I hear him say my name. I have written of him before. My favorite. He can only get out the vowels, but I know what he says. He sits like a pretzel, with food dried to his face. We sit down with our ‘posse’ and begin catching up. Phillips House is a place of complete happiness for me. I love spending time with these beautiful people, who if it wasn’t for their amazing caretakers, would have been shunned to the streets or dead.
I spot Henry in the corner like a shy puppy, head cocked to the side. He cannot stand, so he uses flip flops on his hands to move around. We head into the art room so we can see what he has been working on. Dozens or purses and wallets, mats, leather bound pieces of art with colored straw, and others. It’s incredible really. He might not speak very much, if at all really, he might not be able to stand, and to most he is considered ‘mentally challenged’, but to me, he is a beautiful artist, a caring soul, and a friend.
We draw, we sing, we play, and a couple of hours later, Kelly and I head up to Aunty Maria’s quarters to have supper.