Distended bellies, babies with fly covered faces, men with machine guns, naked women with loincloths covering their intimate regions, and danger lurking in every corner. That is the picture I had accumulated from a combination of blockbusters like Blood Diamond, commercials for Save the Children, and the words of decades of eager journalists and aid workers that I studied in school. So I was utterly confused when I landed in the small Entebbe airport in July of 2013 and was greeted by friendly Ugandan faces and unexpected kindness. Which is why, 2 years later when I stepped onto the tarmac into the thick Tanzanian air, I knew better.
There is a complexity to Africa
that I still don’t understand. Hunger, disease, inequality are very much alive,
but beyond that, there is a world that Hollywood could never accurately depict. It is a huge continent with many countries that too often
get lumped together, and I have only begun to scratch the surface of the
intriguing cultures that make up the mysterious landmass.
I wish I could give a more satisfying answer
to my friends and family who ask: “What
is it like there? What will you miss the most? “
The truth is, that for me, Tanzania
has been a warm blur of smiles, tears, frustration, despair and hope. It is a
lump sum of all the radiant smiles from locals, goodnight hugs from 45 girls
that I grew to love, deep discussions with coworkers that end with empty wine
glasses, and long days that make the age-old adage “anything is possible” seem
like a cruel joke. It is a collage of purple sunsets with cotton candy clouds
and sunrises that light the sky on fire. It is being mesmerized by the flames
of fisherman’s boats, and the twinkle of stars reflecting off the dark water of
Lake Victoria. It is the sound of dogs persistently barking at the moon, pigs
squealing, locus sirening, the patter of rain on tin roofs and the hum of
hopeful voices singing “Mambo Sawa Sawa” while they clap in unison between the
versus. I will always fondly remember the days when the sunshine sneakily
tricked me into believing that location can
sustain happiness. And I will forever cherish the moments of bliss that clump
together trying to fill in the missing pieces of my heart that I have left
around the world and with people I have loved along the way.
There is freedom in this life;
hidden away on the fertile shores of a water mass so big it could be excusably
mistaken as the ocean. It is easy to lose one’s self in paradise amongst the
lively backdrop of tradition, gently sung Swahili songs and colorful kangas. But
as an outsider looking in, the harsh reality I have come to know, is that
paradise comes at a price. Even with all the beauty I have fallen in love with
here, I have been forced to swallow some difficult truths about the world and
myself.
I have learned that foreign aid may have the ability to
build impressive structures, and temporarily feed and educate a community, but
it is not sustainable unless solutions come from within. Education is the only
way to overcome gender inequality and empower women. There is bureaucracy in
every level of development work. Morality is not black and white, but rather an
infinite grey beast that haunts my conscious. Culture gives people a false
sense of security. Tradition is more than a piece of identity; it is something
to live for. Love is ubiquitous, but unfortunately so is ignorance and hate. Most importantly I have learned that life is more fleeting than our fragile human minds can comprehend and more
precious than our organic hearts will allow us to feel.
Having previously spent a month volunteering
in Uganda, and 8 months as an expat in Peru, I realize that my 6
months working in rural Tanzania were sheltered. I
had luxuries that many aid workers would not. I spent the majority of my time
encompassed by other Americans, therefore the language barrier hardly affected
me. The few times I did venture off campus, I made the trip in a private car
with a driver, and consequently missed out on the “real local experience” I had
hoped for- cramming into the Dalla Dallas (taxi vans) that I had enjoyed in
Uganda. Short of a spotty internet connection, occasional power outages, and
difficulty with availability of gluten free food- my time here was rather comfortable.
Certainly not the rural Tanzanian experience one would envision.
Overall I faced many barriers and
obstacles to success and general fulfillment, but none had much to do with the
fact that I have been living in a developing country under a corrupt government.
I had prepared myself for cold showers, squatty potties, bland food, and lack of
resources; but in reality those were the easy parts. I learned that living,
working, and spending your free time with the same 6 people, day-in-and-day-out, is a recipe for frustration. Feelings emerge in unexpected places, and
love and hate become blurry lines within friendships. There is no room for
hiding when you are stuck in a world cut off from reality. You see the best and
worst in the people around you, and you inevitably expose your own flaws in the
process. You begin to question your morality and your strength. But on the other
hand, you are forced to face it all: the good, the bad, and the ugly. At
the end of the day, I have grown in unexpected ways. My limits have been tested
and I have established new boundaries. I have questioned my beliefs, and I have a stronger grasp of who I am and what I want. For that I
am thankful, and I owe that clarity to the life-changing months I spent forging through
rainy days and basking in the Tanzanian sun.
Beyond the deep void from the
absence of the girls’ smiles, I will miss the little things about my life in
Tanzania. I will miss my soothing morning routine of drinking tea while looking out at Lake Victoria. I will miss tucking in my mosquito net before bed, and I
will miss the repetitiveness of greeting locals with “Habari za asubuhi” (one
of the few Swahili phrases I managed to retain). However there are aspects I am
glad to be moving on from as well. I certainly won’t miss having to wear skirts below my knees. Even though I understand the importance of respecting
culture, I resent the hypocrisy in trying to empower the minds of young girls,
while I condone the sexist notion that women should wear dresses. I also won’t
miss cold showers, endless plates of Ugali and beans, or the constant itch from
mosquito bites.
The hardest thing for me to accept though, was that assimilating into rural Tanzanian culture is no easy feat, and a goal
that I all but gave up on. It is near impossible to have an authentic cultural
experience, when the American in me clings to the familiar luxuries of Western
civilization. I thoroughly enjoy escaping into the screen of my laptop, and
plugging it into the solar-powered wall outlet to recharge when the battery
runs low. I also begrudgingly admit that I am not cut out for hauling heavy
buckets of water on the crown of my head like the sturdy African women I
admire. Nor do I dare presume that
my core is strong enough to hold the weight of an infant wrapped around my back
and tied in a knot at my chest. I will never truly know real
hunger, inequality, the brunt of corruption, or the burden of being a woman in a
fatally misogynistic society. In these ways, I have always known that I will never fit in here.
I have seen strength in places where you would expect none, and witnessed kindness from people who have only known injustice. Tanzania is an amazing country with a lot to offer, but the most beautiful part I have found, is in the smiles of the 45 girls that have forever changed me. I hope I never forget the life lessons I have learned, and that I will always stay humble and strong.
