The 7th month hump

Dear family and friends,

Whew. It has been a long time since I wrote to share my Tanzania experience. Well I had a rough patch a while back. I was feeling a bit homesick, but simultaneously wondering about my future and next steps – for example, where will I be after my tenure in Tanzania is over. How long will I/should I stay in Kigoma? I have since crossed that 7 month hump and, I guess I can say that I am newly resolved to stay for a while and, well, perhaps I am acclimated. I have taken on a part-time position teaching at the social work institute in town. This school was founded as an implementing partner of UNHCR to provide social work training to refugees throughout the region. The community, without a local higher education institution asked that they be able to enroll, and the institute sought and received governmental accreditation. My students come from throughout the country from Dar and Kilimanjaro, from right here in Kigoma, and some are refugees from neighboring countries. I teach research methodology in English language, of course, and am training my students for their data collection practicum next semester, in preparation for their ultimate stage before graduation—the writing of a thesis paper. I enjoy teaching and training, it is somewhat of a passion of mine, and I hope to continue teaching wherever fate finds me next.


When I talk of acclimation, it’s been elusive, as things change and transform for me daily. For instance, I came during the rainy season and survived the dry season and it is now thundering and lightning outside my window, threatening to rain – in anticipation of a heavier than usual rainy season to come. I have made great friends and colleagues in Kigoma, only now to say goodbye to them all. Much of the international presence here revolves around the refugee population, which is steadily declining due to increasing stability throughout the region. Most of my friends are leaving next month and in December for their new assignments in other conflict zones and by next March/April, the rest. Some of my friends came to Kigoma as students to collect data and having done so have left or are leaving soon. Only one or two, besides myself will remain in Kigoma beyond March. On one hand you want to make friends, and you do quickly make intense bonds, but then on the other hand, these people like myself, are seeking to assist the neediest, and once they have done so, they eventually therefore must move on. I haven’t quite got the hang of the “ex-pat” lifestyle, and saying goodbye is as eventual as forging friendships with these kindred spirits.


From June to August I, on behalf of my org., hosted three young interns: one from the US, and two from neighboring Uganda. They were quite lovely and the four of us roamed two districts in observation of the care provision process to orphans and vulnerable children. From their observations, and mine as well, I am trying to compose a summary report about the challenges, strengths, and general culture of formal and informal caregiving for this vulnerable population. Many of you have already seen photos of us visiting with organizations, which I shared publicly on my facebook profile. What I deduced is that the people of Kigoma are for the most part ingenuous and dedicated to caring for and educating each child of their community, despite the lack of general social services provision and funding. Additionally, vulnerable children are not generally orphans in the true sense as many have families, but are born to families who are ill equipped to care for another mouth to feed—a familiar concept to many disrupted families in poor neighborhoods of the Bronx, where I served as a social welfare officer. Anticipating the decline of the international presence in the region—as the UN especially assisted with development of the local infrastructure, I am drafting a website to feature the stories and material needs of these service providers to orphans and vulnerable children so that their cause may be known to the wider community of potential investors. By the way, it is relatively easy to make a difference with a bit of creativity. Individuals shouldn’t shy away from become investors and “donors” to distant communities like Kigoma.


On Thursday I heard a disturbing story. I haven’t yet looked further into this issue, but I plan to. One local leader informed me that he seeks a sponsor for his son who was born hearing impaired. This young man is a wiz at computers, his proud father boasts. He can also sign and communicate by writing. He is seeking to complete secondary school and attend university but cannot, because in Tanzania there is no school for handicapped children, including those who are hearing impaired – not one such school! And there is no assistance given to help these children attend schools in neighboring countries such as Kenya, or actually, according to this parent, many other countries in the region have such institutions. He asked me if I could raise some support so that his son could attend school in Cuba or US or Canada or elsewhere in Africa; the countries are too long to list. He said he had done his research and personally petitioned the government for support. The father was understandably emotional and believes that many in his homeland, including the government, would consider his son inhuman. Crazy huh! I was just floored when I heard this story.


This Wednesday is a public national holiday, in commemoration of the life of the late President Nyerere. October 14th 1999 was the day he died. I heard from two elder Tanzanians (one gentlemen who approached my intern and I on the dala dala bus) one day and another elderly lady I am well acquainted with. The gentlemen approached us by saying that when he first studied Swahili he nearly failed the class—but passed with a D. He laughed at his memory. During his childhood – he and every other school educated person spoke English. After President Nyerere and the Independence of Tanzania, there was a resurgence of nationalism that took the form of shedding European imperialism along with its cultures and languages. Those speaking English now had to learn Swahili. My female friend reminisced that when she was a youth she wore fitted blue jeans (pants now unseemly according to gendered standards of dress for modern Tanzanian women—pants can even denote what some might chide as a “loose” woman!) My friend wore her hair in the teased and primped styles of the late 50s and early 60s, listened to the Beatles and other popular music of that era, and of course wore her blue jeans and lil’ bitty skirts. In her words, ‘we did as the Europeans did.’ This included courtship (the ‘dating’ ritual now well outside the limits of the Tanzanian cultural context—not to say that it doesn’t happen, of course), as well as partying and dancing. President Nyerere is widely revered within Tanzanian as he should be and did some amazing things for the development of the Tanzanian nation state – including its expansion and unification with satellite islands off the coast, such as Zanzibar, each having a distinct history quite separate from that of the mainland. These transformations brought about by independence created a national identity by legitimizing traditional values, languages, and cultures of the region—along with the humanity of its inhabitants. Now Tanzanians are trying to balance the heavy load of rich tradition with its practicality. How interesting it is to meet elder Tanzanians who learned English before Swahili, who were adapted to an international culture before a national one.

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I wrote this bit during the month of August: Tonight it is raining! Well it is the third rain for the last three months. It has been heating up pretty much with intolerable sweaty nights. But it is the dawn of the rainy season – now my second – and with it the end of the dry season. The dry season is quite unlike the rainy season in so many ways – the red clay soil turned brown. The tiny creeks and streams dried into sand paths. The horizon to Congo had become obscured and one could barely make out the mountainside just across the lake. The heat, although drier and less humid, became stronger and stronger during both the days and nights. Sometimes during the nights of rainy season, as I can recall, I wore a sweater to bed to guard against the chill. During the last few months it was all I could to not rip off the mosquito net to ensure I received as much breeze as possible. Other things stayed the same – abundant fish to eat from the lake, as always. Swimming in the lake. Mosquitoes and ants. Oh and the one minor earthquake (two brief earth rumbling trembles) during July. Right now I see thunder out my living room window, which faces the lake and hear the lightning.


By the way Congo is back in our Kigoma horizon. From this side of the lake the sunset is a spectacular departure of fluorescent light into the Congolese mountainside.


On a light note, during the month of July I had a little friend visit my home – a little green frog that lived in my toilet bowl. I’m not quite sure how he got there – all I know is that he scared the heeby jeebies outta me one evening. I will spare the details—as I thought I was a lost character from Aliens. Cute, sure, but no one feels relaxed using the toilet with a living creature swimming around inside. Anyway, it was pretty much impossible to remove him. So we flushed and he swam back up, we flushed again and again, and finally one day he returned to whence he came. Poor little guy. I heard him hit the pipes all the way down. I think he lives in the septic tank, if he is still around…


During the month of Ramadan every night one could hear the sound of drums beating from the surrounding hills. This was the sounding call of those pious communities of Kigoma awake already at 2AM, so that they may prepare and eat a meal in anticipation of their daily fast. Beautiful drumming, though it was an unresolved but welcome mystery for me, a frequent insomniac, for some time.


I almost forget to talk about the monkeys. Were you to visit Kigoma you would notice that monkeys are abundant. These cute creatures are curious about their human fellows and are sharp as a whip. Be careful when you visit our beaches to guard your bags and your snacks. Don’t be surprised if, while eating, monkeys surround you in a group as large as six or seven awaiting your leftovers, or perhaps to intimidate you into abandoning your meal!


A note to ponder – several local folks have told me this, “My dear, we are all standing in cue” which is meant to be a condolence you say to someone after the death of a loved one. Meaning: we will never know when it is our time to go, in the end.


Until next time,

Love

Christie

Professional Summary

Dear friends and family,

I am presently working as a professional volunteer in Western Tanzania for an international, US based organization. In this capacity I am the regional program coordinator for an exciting initiative entitled Tujenge Pamoja, which means working together in Swahili. Tujenge Pamoja is being newly implemented in Western Tanzania (Kigoma and Tabora) regions. I have joined the team during the initial phases, which means facilitating establishment of the main office in Kigoma region and, soon, the satellite office in Tabora region. I have been actively involved in recruiting and managing new staff, coordinating interns from the United States and Uganda, as well as soliciting data. As the program coordinator I am the liaison between the local communities and organizational headquarters in Washington, DC. This involves introducing our new activities to the local leadership and administration as well as to the potential beneficiaries—indigenous and community based organizations (CBOs) caring for orphans and vulnerable children. Tujenge Pamoja is seeking to build the leadership and technical capacity of these organizations to provide better quality of care to this vulnerable population. One of the means that we have been able to enact this vision, thus far, is through workshops for the directors and leaders of these organizations, which allows us to simultaneously garner the level of capacity as well address relevant training needs. Through a self-administered survey we have been working to identify all CBOs in the region. I have been moving through the region to meet these organizational leaders at their sites of work in order to see how they serve their communities. In this vein, I have been developing assessment tools utilizing techniques of observation that I learned while serving as a social welfare officer in New York City, including child safety and risk assessments and other needs assessment tools.

All in all I am enjoying this wonderful experience living in a new locality, which is deeply impacted from structural challenges quite different from those I see on the streets of my native Bronx, New York City—but which are every bit as devastating. With the amassing of political refugees in Kigoma from Congo and Burundi, especially, along with an active HIV/AIDS epidemic, child labor, and poor employment opportunities, I see a crucial opportunity for development, especially participatory development. I am thinking all the time about what difference I can make, as a simple girl from the U.S. and how a merging of skills which I have acquired in my academic and professional career could be useful by some small measure here, such as post-colonial analysis, poverty studies, health, aid and welfare policies, identity studies, and intergovernmental processes.

I am uncertain how long I will be fortunate enough to serve in this capacity as a volunteer without financial remuneration and desperately hope to be able to remain in direct contact with vulnerable populations, on the ground. My vision is to learn quickly from the people I meet, as I am awestruck by the generosity shown by communities with few and fleeting resources to take care of their own victims. The volunteerism which I am witnessing in Kigoma is akin to that which I observed and documented in my thesis research in the Philippines, where I observed lay village women providing integral health care to their peers, where there is often 1 trained medical doctor to 50,000 or more persons in a rural locality. I hope to honor the message that the informal orphan and vulnerable caregivers from Western Tanzania show me every day, as volunteers from their own communities, by doing my part to make sure that their work is acknowledged and that changes at the policy level reciprocate their efforts.

I know for certain that more people from inner cities and under-represented populations should be involved in the decision-making processes which impact disempowered people, the world over.

In my endeavor I have countless people to thank who have made such a voyage a reality for me. I have been away from home for nearly six months and am seeking employment and research opportunities which will sustain me in this mission. Please keep me in your thoughts and hearts as I navigate this uncertain terrain.

With love, heartily,

Christie

Check out this video featuring my field work in Kigoma, TZ:
http://http://current.com/items/90739278_capacity-building-field-research-in-tanzania-with-ark-foundation-of-africa-kigoma.htm

Originally posted: Friday, August 21, 2009 at 1:27pm

Howling at the Moon

Since turning 30 (umri miaka thelathini) in Kigoma, Tanzania, traveling to visit friends and family in Uganda and upon my subsequent return flight to TZ, I do feel different. Well, it has been a long time since I sat down to write down my thoughts and feelings.

I am learning how to howl at the moon, as the neighborhood dogs do each and every night. Ok, please don’t take me literally. What I mean to say is that learning to be in the moment, unselfconsciously letting go completely, is a craft that is difficult to master. If I were not able to reign in self-critique, worry over the future, worry over the political and economic climate, worry about how I can leave my mark on the world before life is over for me, then I would not enjoy the beautiful sky over my head (replete with fuchsia sunsets), the beautiful children all around me, the shooting stars that dot the evening sky – of course when the gorgeous red moon isn’t outshining them. Kigoma is a beautiful place and I am letting go and inhaling it. Now, I could be stressed by the fact that in fact I am a professional volunteer (no pun intended as I wish for this to be my last) and I am seeking gainful employment. I am really trying to get my foot in the door through my current position. I am involved with meaningful work with potential, but I also see potential in my own life.

The full moon is out right now over all of us, and I can’t but help to reflect that we women often follow the pattern of the moon every month, and our entire lives actually mirror ancient rhythms. Birth and fullness may come to us at multiple times throughout our lifetimes. I’m discovering my own rhythm and am working desperately to have the courage to follow it.

To speak the truth, I don’t think I’m ready to return to the U.S., my home, just yet. It’s a treat to have a bit of space to reflect on ones-self and ones upbringing and to question just about everything that one has been taught about objectivity, normalcy, and factuality. I miss my family and friends deeply (I wish they would come and visit me in this place, if financially able).

I mentioned in a previous letter that a woman is nothing if not a momma--at least in the cultural context where I reside. As a bosslady I have in some small measure been elevated, in part, to momma status. Some of my employees actually refer to me as momma Christie, of course, I reply shikamoo (which is also a greeting of respect given to elders).

I truly felt like a momma, with all the accompanying stress and anxiety, when I went to visit a secondary school last month with the premise of preventing a dear young girl I know from being kicked out due to lack of school fees. I spoke to the administrators at the school and they showed me the young lady’s report card -- she is performing well, despite a couple of recent dips in grades. She is in the top ten percent among her peers. I have come to know this young lady through an organization which cares for orphans and other vulnerable children (OVC). She presented a compelling speech during the workshop we sponsored, about the value of caring for orphans to an audience of OVC service providers. I negotiated with the school that I would try to assist with some contributions on her behalf. She is a true orphan and is sometimes residing in an orphanage, sometimes with her sickly grandmother. She is industrious about seeking donors to pay her private school tuition at a respectable school. She is a third year high school student. She asked for me to include a few words on her behalf. I am asking for any donations among any in my network for Rose or for other children like her, specifically for school fees and other related expenses.

Her words:
“My name is Rose R. Mishi. I am a form three at private school which called Arch Bishop Kahurananaga Secondary School but my future plan I will be a doctor, now I perform good in my subject because I needs to depends after in my life and I like at next time to help others who have a problems like me or who is a orphan like me. My mother was already dead and also father.

But I like for you to continue me our education for helping the schools fees and other problems like clothes of school and shoes because I need to study up to university help me and my combination is scientist.

I am orphan I haven’t mother and father but the grandmother who help me for school fees last time now was sick. Sugar disease but can fail to educated me. But the school fees is 200,000. I like to help me. Thanks.
Your obey
Rose R. Mishi
God bless you.”

If anyone is interested in sponsoring a child or an organization directly caring for children please let me know. Thank you.

I am working hard with my current interns to develop a marketing tool for the indigenous and local organizations who are directly caring for OVCs. Specifically I am drafting a web site to feature a listing of all providers and their respective areas of expertise, but also would include those that orgs. that need donations and technical support. In this respect I am also devising a curriculum with content about transparency, budgeting, report writing, and soliciting donations and grants for the service providers.

If anyone is interested in supporting such an activity in any form, please feel free to contact me.

In fact, I am very much interested in conducting some ethnographic research in the community of service providers to OVC—namely, why do they do it? Or, what is their inspiration. As I have been going around the community and meeting various service providers I see a common theme emerging. All of them are charismatic, at least enough so to aggregate community donations and occasional sponsors from larger international agencies, or more commonly, from the aid workers themselves. This is no easy feat. Imagine getting local church patrons who themselves are living in near or abject poverty, for instance, to contribute a shilling or two to care for orphans who are unrelated to them. When I ask these persons, what is it that inspired you to start this organization, frequently I hear more or less, that the person noticed that their community was plagued by homeless children, women begging for school fees, especially after the death of the husband, women being abandoned by their husbands, etc. This gap encouraged creativity among these leaders to address these problems via, often, rallying peers and neighbors to assist them. These organizations are subsequently plagued with common challenges. The external support dwindles or ceases completely, but the rent for the office space continues and the community continues to drop children off at your door. Yesterday, I heard a great story from one such founder of a local organization. He is a pastor and said that he was on his way to preach somewhere early one morning at 5AM when he got caught in a rain shower. He was surprised to see children emerging from the sewage drains as they were now inundated with rainfall. He thought, how can I as an elder help these children?

Some of you have mentioned to me that you would like to be of assistance to vulnerable children here. Please do contact me about how you can.I have many other things to write about but I will save them for a later time.Please do keep in touch!

Love,
Christie

Originally posted: Friday, August 7, 2009 at 2:41pm

Thelathini

Dear friends and family,

Well I have just returned to Kigoma. I just landed from Dar Es Salaam after a really extremely hectic past three weeks. Just as an update, I organized a workshop held in Kigomato to train service providers of orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) selected from the entire Western Tanzania region (comprised of Kigoma and Tabora) the week before last. Directly following that was our workshop held in Entebbe Uganda, to train service providers of OVC from various localities of Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania. As co-organizer/facilitator I didn’t get all my needed rest, however it was all worth it to share a room with people who are actually providing integral services to OVC and their caretakers. I have learned much from actual stories from the field, which we shared with each other, and how participants surmounted the logistical barriers which we each faced in order to get together.
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It has been 69 days since I arrived to East Africa.
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I am not sure how many have heard of the “culture of poverty” theory proposed by Oscar Lewis. I read about it many years ago before I formally decided to study anthropology. I guess by now it has been debunked for many reasons and there are so many other ways to approach this phenomenon. Lewis suggested that there is an actual culture of poverty which can be objectively monitored and which cuts across racial, ethnic, and temporal lines. That those who possess a culture of poverty, which is a somewhat permanent way of being, may differ strikingly from those suffering poverty perhaps only briefly, or who somehow managed to inherit some other protective cultural characteristics which allow them to escape situational poverty. This culture of poverty somehow inhibits one’s ambition, the belief that one can surmount poverty through modes of action with subsequent reasoning choices premised on this outlook. This is an incomplete theory as it does not take into consideration actual glass ceilings which do inhibit economic advancement and the multiple rationalities which people employ to survive some environments. I am also reading a nice book called The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion & Subsistence in SE Asia by James C. Scott, which talks about how peasants, those of the lower classes in mainly agrarian contexts, consistently make reasoning choices based on a rationality predicated on securing sustenance for the family in the short term, rather than taking larger risks in order to maximize profit in the long term, a mode of thinking which had been considered irrational (versus the so called rational decision-making utilized in market or capitalist economies).

I brought this up because I often wrestle with these types of thoughts during my travels through Africa (or of course the Philippines of which I am very familiar). I remark upon how the UN or Int’l Red Cross, for example here in Kigoma, utilize a variety of methodologies to target the dispossessed and displaced, with full confidence that people who have experienced trauma such as genocide or warfare exhibit many common psychological features—for which these organizations are more or less prepared to encounter. In the United States there are persons who have historically undergone similar atrocities and yet the same methodologies are not utilized. For example in Kigoma, where I work, there are many refugees from Burundi and Congo and even Rwanda. Due to displacement, there are higher HIV rates and higher numbers of orphans. A key question to ask in the first place is--Why are there so many orphans needing to live in NGO or FBO (faith based-org) orphanages? Some answers include a break down of traditional or kin based systems to handle incidental death of caregivers, which has itself been broken down by displacement and to an extent HIV/AIDS. Then ask--Why are there higher rates of HIV/AIDS? Some answers include poverty, yet higher incidence of disease is also a known consequence of internal displacement and forced migration. As a former social worker who served the South Bronx, my hometown, I try to explain to my friends abroad why Black Americans suffer higher HIV rates and whose children flood the foster care system. I cannot help but draw a parallel to our own history of Black American kinship structure breakdown, forced migration, and internal displacement (euphemistically called gentrification) which is presently occurring on a large scale throughout many American cities. I asked the regional director of UNHCR in Kigoma how she felt about my musings and she replied, well the U.S. doesn’t even sign or recognize the Geneva Convention for Human Rights. I knew this much and contemplated the inadequacy of our American Civil Rights polices including our social welfare system, which is much in need of repair. If the international approaches (repatriation, cultural and context based counseling services, acknowledgement of said atrocities) work for those in other countries, why shun the use among our own populations. Cynically, I believe that this type of thinking brings up to the surface too much bad blood and shame for America – that to acknowledge the active tools of exploitation utilized by our historical ancestors against slaves and abused migrants, draws a startling parallel to dictators and warlords of the present day.
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Well I just returned from Kampala via Entebbe and I had a great time there. I love my Ugandan friends, many of whom are like my very own family. I also had some interesting cultural experiences in Uganda and heard some interesting views while there.

One night I went out and was just floored by all the prostitution which I found in this one swanky popular Latino bar in Kampala. It is interesting how subtle cultural cues can be presented slightly off kilter in order to cue a prospective client – I’m available…for a price. Unfortunately, young women who, in my opinion could have been young American co-eds, could be viewed in this cultural context to be prostitutes—as they were dressed “too sexy” and wearing too much makeup, as my friend remarked. All of the prostitutes at this particular bar were black Ugandan women and their clients, or potential clients, were all white foreign men, many of whom appeared to be “average Joe” types, casually dressed or wearing business attire refitted for the night (tie undone, shirt top button unfastened). My friend and I sat at the bar and made many merciless speculations about these short-term couples – oh he has just left his wife at home, look at the hot chick he is with, maybe he has simply grown bored, how else could he get a hot chick like that? And we muttered about another – aah that drunk old man is probably going to simply pass out when he gets to his hotel room and she is going to empty his wallet. And for yet another couple— oh he is probably working on an overseas tour as a development worker and he’s probably just so lonely here in Kampala.
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While I was in Kampala I happened to be watching the evening news and was startled to hear a report that the Ugandan President is presently tackling pervasive child sacrifice throughout the nation. Apparently this practice, which is very active, is done by so-called witch doctors who advise clients seeking wealth to sacrifice a child. A friend of mine told me rumors about several rich persons in town who were thought to have benefited from this practice. I’ve even heard a fascinating tale about a man who is now haunted by the child that he killed, who will not let him sleep and wakes him up each night to get out of bed and make money! Due to this phenomenon, even little boys are getting at least one ear pierced early (and not due to omnipresent Hip-Hop culture) but because the sacrificed child must have never spilt blood prior to the ritual. Parents guard tight their children ever closer these days.
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Tap tap tap – against her thigh. On the topic of HIV and AIDS and why it is prevalent as a heterosexual disease, my musings about higher incidence attribution to being ready or not. At some unspecified hour during the night, for a man and wife who live in a one room hut (commonly) with several children, the man will awaken his wife – tap tap tap against her thigh. He will then mount her with no regards to her state of arousal and without any notion of foreplay. What is the likelihood of transmission via a single vaginal sexual act of intercourse when there are no prior infections – the rate certainly varies according to whether the woman is ready or not.
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I had a tiresome experience in Kampala while shopping at the Owino market. I went to Owino market to buy cheap used practical clothing for my stay in Kigoma. I did not take any photos of my experience as I don’t think I could have managed the camera in the crowds there. Plus all the warnings about rampant thievery got to me, I guess. I wish very much that I could describe it so that one could feel as I did. The market is very large and one can walk at least a couple of hours to explore the entire place. It is located in downtown Kampala. The day I went shopping it had rained a few days before so I was advised to wear shoes that could stand to get muddy. As Owino is an outdoor market, it is prone to being exceedingly hot – due to open spaces at the center where the sun beats down and also due to overcrowding within. Owino is a vast place with narrow walkways and dirt floors and where one can find nearly everything at reasonable prices to downright steals. One can buy dresses, jeans, shoes, spices, vegetables, dry beans, grains and rice, kitchen stuffs, live chickens in cages!, simple electronics, and tourist paraphernalia such as paintings, carvings and jewelry, only you will rarely see a Mznungo (white person/foreigner) shopping at Owino; also there are aisles of seamstresses and tailors inside who will literally make you new clothes. The place is dirty and some places really stink (I mentioned the overcrowding and chickens for sale, above). A friend accompanied me, otherwise I would have been lost in what was seemingly a maze of booths and tiny cramped enclosures. I should have brought a bottle of water so I was unable to shop more than the two hours it took to do a quick walk through the market. I settled on a pile of clothes from which I made the majority of my selections. Several women with the same idea pored over the pile alongside me (and we all were occasionally pushed out of the way by merchants carrying heavy loads on their heads as they passed us in the narrow, narrow aisle). Steadfastly, while sweating, we picked out our selections from among the stained and torn items while the loud chant of the seller loudly called out to us “designer dresses!” I did find some good selections, which I promptly took home and washed. I also bought some jeans and some denim skirts from other vendors which I successfully bartered down.
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I have spent the last few days in Dar Es Salaam. I enjoyed a tour which my friend gave me through the city to the museum, past the memorials throughout the city center dedicated to the African soldiers who bravely fought off the Arab armies, to the city malls where I went to cinema. I wish I could have taken photos of some of my observations from riding the dala-dala or touk touk which were my primary means of transport across the city—or from the ferry ride which I rode to get to Kigambomi beach. I would have photographed the things, of course, which were memorable to me. For example the hot and breezy tropical paradise of Kigambomi with the shade of palm trees reminiscent of a Hawaiian seaside, but which is populated by Muslim women covered from head to toe in conservative colors, some wearing Nikab. Similarly, the tall and lean Massai men who, at one point rode the dala dala next to me. I would have photographed them as they cavalierly and conspicuously stroll throughout the modern city proudly representing their tribal tradition by carrying a spear and wearing beautiful handcrafted jewelry and colorful draped fabric. These men can be seen commonly employed throughout Dar as security guards for hotels and other tourist attractions where thievery is rampant—as they are known to be fastidious warriors.
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Well, last week I also turned 30 (thelathini in Kiswahili). I knew I wanted my 30th to be special and of course it was as I was in Kigoma that day, on the eve of traveling to Uganda and just following the completion of my Kigoma workshop. The day I turned 30 I was sooo tired and went to hang out with my friends. By the way, I have friends now in Kigoma, my closest are dudes: one Tanzanian, one Moroccan and the other Belgian. I have many other friends here and all of them (via movie nights and house-parties) cured my homesickness. Some threw a party for me on this momentous occasion, which was very lovely. Others, the night before, threw me in the swimming pool while I was fully dressed! I am happy to be in Kigoma though it took me a bit longer to become adjusted to the place. Those who called me early on knew right away, listening to my cracked voice, that I was feeling homesick! I still feel pangs of this feeling on occasion and I of course experience bouts of uncertainty and loneliness. But I love learning about the people who are my neighbors and in the process learning much about myself.

Originally posted: Monday, June 8, 2009 at 3:56pm

One Week No Power from Kigoma

Dear friends and family,

First, I think I am getting over my addiction to technology. The entire of last week my home had no power, which was not incidental. My home is adjacent to the fancy new hotel in town and down the road from the Regional Commissioner's home. The prime minister came to Kigoma last weekend and everything was transformed in my little neighborhood. There were sweeps by security agents, the little dirt roads were blocked off. And, most jarringly, my power was taken in order to ensure the hotel had a continuous supply. You see, whenever the hotel's power supply goes off, and I hear their generator come on, I start to look for candles--that is how in sync our power supply had been. However, the hotel enjoyed the best power last week, while the prime minister dined there daily. Tee hee, I did enjoy when the power briefly cut out on one of the prime minister's luncheons, so that he could experience a taste of REAL life in Kigoma. But, of course, that brief time without power (and with a generator at the hotel) pales in comparison to my entire week without power and without a generator. So, I learned how to cook on the Giko stove (kerosene little burner) like a pro. I can cook chapatee (not sure how to spell), rice pilau Tanzanian style, and mchicha (local spinach) all on my little kerosene burner.

Also, my companion Mama Nema left. I accompanied her to the airport to Dar on Friday. I don't want to talk about it. But I am getting along just fine going all around on my own now.

Now I want to share with you some brief anecdotes.

Yesterday I hung out with my newfound “secular” friends which are the folks, in my age range, who are working for UNICEF, UNDP, Red Cross Japan, International Red Cross and several where I am not quite sure where from but other various Spaniard, Belgium, Dutch aid groups. We had quite a house party – and I won't write any further about that! They get together quite frequently and folks are welcoming and chill. It was my first night to join the debauchery because...

The Friday before last Mama Nema and I made the long journey to Kasulu. It took me a couple of days to recover. The day began with a friend of ours who took us, very early in the morning, to the main road so that we could hitch a ride to our destination. This would be in lieu of the public buses, which we were encouraged to avoid if possible. Apparently the public buses speed down treacherous roads, are often dirty, and carry up to triple occupancy, and (occasionally result in death, as one of the Ministers died in a bus accident just last week.) Anyhow, we tried to get a ride unsuccessfully for two hours, after which a group of people heading to a conference in Kibondo offered us a free lift. They dropped us off in Kasulu district, north of my home, and adjacent to two of the biggest refugee camps of the region where we attended our meeting with the district social worker. He explained that he was able to in effect create the dept. of social work for Kasulu district just last year after receiving his degree in social work. Unfortunately though even though there is a strong need, and there are many nationals educated in public health and social work, many of these valuable positions remain unfilled.

We have discovered via our introductions to UNHCR and Red Cross, that it is possible to simply hitch a ride with either when they make their regular trips to Kigoma and Kasulu based refugee camps. Their cars are built for the journey and are, of course, safer and more comfortable than some other means of travel.
...
I learned the methodology by which modern day missionaries enter the community. First, a couple (husband and wife) accompanied by a translator and three locally trained preachers (from the local Bible College) travel into back country, where there are no roads. Actually, the number of preachers to accompany varies according to the number of villages intended to travel to. This caravan travels into territory where few non locals have entered and seeks out places, especially where there is known “witchcraft.” They travel through perilous roads, actually non-roads which are mere footpaths, often through bamboo forests. As I have been informed, the bamboo is knocked down by the front of the car advancing, and at the back the bamboo springs back up, so that the car is completely surrounded at all times by the menacing bamboo. This journey can take at least 18 hours PAST known districts such as Kasulu (which I mentioned above.) Once arriving in a village the couple will simply say to the local tribal leaders, God knows that you are here. God has already told us your worries and your concerns. God cares for you, which is why He sent us to you. Please allow me to tell you about Him. This is always a bit jarring (I would just imagine) to the villagers who, according to the missionaries, ALWAYS allow them to introduce Jesus Christ. The missionaries set up a double sided screen and everyone in the village watches the “Jesus Story” in Swahili (up to 10,000 viewing at once.) Afterward stories from the Bible are shared, Bibles are left behind, the local pastor is left behind too (to now live at his new home forever) and the missionaries promise to return with supplies as well as a team who will build the missionaries a school. Some time in the upcoming next months “teams” of other missionaries return to the sites with shoes, clothing, medical supplies, and supplies for building a simple school. The community may be mobilized in one day to make thousands of mud bricks so that the next day building of the school commences.
...
Corruption at the Tanzanian National Bank, where upwards of billions in local currency had been stolen, presumably by those bankers at the top of the chain of command. (The newly constructed 4 star hotel next to my home was established by a former top tier manager at the Tanzanian National Bank.) I was told this particularly disturbing story. There was an official who worked at the Bank who was extremely wealthy. A married man, of course, with a family. On his front lawn were kept dozens of the fanciest cars. He would woo a young woman with the promise of a car, which he would likely give to her, along with large sums of money. After he was through with the woman he would say – now use this money to buy medications because I have HIV. This man is now imprisoned due to fraud relating to Bank embezzlement.
...
Someone who I know shared with me this story which gave me a look deeper into the culture of orphans and widows. “What would happen to your children had you died?” is what I asked the woman, after her husband passed away. A child who loses a father has to contend with extreme stigma here. If you are one of the fortunate who is enrolled in University and your father dies, you can look forward to alienation from your friends who now consider you a potential liability, because if your father died, you must be heading into poverty, for what can your mother do for you? When you enroll for the next semester your mother must try and get an uncle or male friend to co-sign your application, because a woman would not be considered able to maintain your school fees. Male relatives may feel legally entitled to inherit the wealth of the deceased so that they can oversee the management of the children and the wife. Of course, this is how true orphans can be borne, because these self-serving persons have no genuine intention of caring for a bunch of children that are not theirs. The house may be sold and the wife and children now become homeless and penniless. In the case of my friend's tale, the ending of the story was a happy one because the magistrate yelled at this “uncle” to get out of the courthouse as the oldest son was already a young man and the mother had shown her ability to manage household affairs. The local courthouses are now acutely aware of attempts to exploit widows and so now try to ensure that their courthouses no longer produce true orphans en masse.
...
This particular story, which happened to a woman I know here is terrible really. She has a total of 5 minor children, 2 of whom live with relatives, as she is very poor, 2 of whom live with the father and well, at the beginning of the story she was just finding out she was pregnant with the 5th. This woman was visiting her children in Eastern Tanzania when she called her husband here in Kigoma to share that she was pregnant. He told her that he did not want her anymore and denied that the child was his. He warned her never to return. Something pressed on this woman's heart which encouraged her to return to her husbands home. When she arrived she found that her husband had married his new bride at the Church the day prior. He began to beat her until she fell unconscious and when she awoke she was at the hospital, where she remained under psychiatric evaluation for 3 weeks. It is understood that her husband beat her because he had told the pastor at the Church that his wife had died so that he could remarry. The new groom was ashamed that his wife had ruined his lie! When released from the hospital my friend could no longer occupy her former home, now occupied by the new bride, so she moved into a public compound with her baby boy – a place where she can see the stars while she sleeps. My friend and her son, now 4 years old, had been rejected by the father and tormented by the new bride and groom. In one instance when she was at their home they put a poison ivy on her mat that she lay on with the baby. She and the baby suffered badly for the week afterward. My friend has attained a new job, which is rare to come by in Kigoma, and is starting to put on some weight (covering up her visible chest bone). Funny enough after 4 years of suffering the second wife embraced my friend by plaiting her hair in the evenings. The husband and his second wife promised my friend that they will move and leave her the home, so that she is no longer living in the field. It is felt by those who know my friend that through silently persevering through this four year ordeal, my friend has achieved God's glory in the end.

Forgive me for grammer or punctuation as I had no time to proofread.

Love you
Christie

Originally posted: Sunday, May 10, 2009 at 8:07pm

Vulnerable Children we Meet

Dear friends and family,
My mother has a best friend who once shared with me that while at her native village in Nigeria she sometimes eats in the shadows because many children can watch her eat, who do not have food of their own. Usually she would share most of her food with the children, but sometimes she would have to eat herself. I can understand how she feels. While eating at the popular restaurant in town called Sun City one can see children and sometimes adults come to watch you eat in the hopes that you can provide them some food, which you had abandoned on your plate. It is hard for me to get used to children begging, even for a hardened New Yorker who bypasses the homeless nearly everywhere in her native city. (For me, I can readily recall my memory of the homeless infant on the sidewalk in Cebu City, Philippines who was nonchalantly stepped over by harried workers during rush hour.) Yesterday, while eating lunch at Sun City I met two girls. They had stood outside in the heavy rain waiting while we ate. The tried to get our attention silently with their eyes, so that we could possibly know that they were very much hungry. We called for the girls to join us at the table. I could not eat half of my meal while the children were looking on. One girl, 10 years old, was so tiny for her age. Barefoot. A beautiful girl, yet disfigured by an apparent burn covering many parts of her body. She recounted her grim tale to us without much emotion in her voice, but her eyes shared that she had known much pain. Her elder sister had grown tired of helping to care for her and threw her in the fire that was meant to heat her food. Her mother lives in Dar and her father doesn’t like her. Her grandmother is now her caretaker, but is so old that she cannot prepare their meals. We had to take the fish off the bones for her so that her disfigured hands could place the food in her mouth. The other girl turned out to be a young lady – age 19. She lives with her stepmother. Since no one wants her, no one will feed her. She begs on the street for food. She has never attended school. We hope to be able to offer her some help at our agency.

I am actually quite dismayed that some of the women I have encountered here have a difficult time counting money, especially large bills. Some too have a problem with simple reading and writing.

On several occasions I was able to visit the regional hospital. Yesterday I was able to visit the laboratory. Due to the highly resilient malaria which one can encounter in Kigoma, it is advisable to get tested for your parasite load in the blood once one suspects the ill effects of the disease. One medical provider informed me of his own personal battles with malaria. He and his 10 year old daughter (she is still quite ill) recently went through several regiments of standard treatments, which had no effect on the parasite. Fortunately they could afford to go through several courses before finding the cure. His daughter is on the road to recovery and is missing many school days. Unfortunately his friend, a local teacher, chose to take one drug course without frequent testing of the blood to confirm the efficacy of the meds, and the infection spread to her brain as cerebral malaria, and she consequently died. Due to misinformation people chose to treat the symptoms of the disease such as taking aspirin to reduce fever and the associated aches and pains. (This is especially true for children suffering from Malaria). Completely the wrong course of action and deadly. Even Mama Nema was surprised to hear that this, which had been her usual method of treatment (before invariably breaking down and actually purchasing the correct meds), actually makes her body more hospitable for the parasite to thrive!

On a, I guess silly or less serious (?) sidebar, I often complain about my own status or, more appropriately, my non-status in the community. As an unmarried woman with no children I am not considered to be a matured (read: real or complete) woman. Hence, I have no formal title. I know I shouldn’t take this personally, but this cultural caveat is particularly irksome to me. Nail gratingly irksome.

I might soon be starting some sort of Swahili class. I hope I do begin formal training and I hope it works! I am picking up a few useful phrases ☺

PS Am I the only person who doesn’t know well the story of “Where Livingston met Stanley.” Well Kigoma is where. If you know better than I, please don’t hold your tongue.

Love
Christie
Originally posted: Wednesday, April 29, 2009 at 6:36pm

FGM and bits about religion

Dear friends and family,

Well, of course, the longer I am here the more I learn. To speak of vulnerable children, greater than 1 in ten may be considered as such, orphans. Orphans are endemic in the region due to HIV AIDS (which causes loss of 1 or more parent) and extreme poverty, which really doesn’t allow the family or extended network the ability to care for many children, and of course the refugee population here.

Can you imagine that Female Genital Mutilation, also known as female circumcision is very prevalent here in TZ – so far I am unsure of the prevalence in Kigoma. One of my dear friends here informed me that her husband nearly divorced her because she wouldn’t agree to this procedure for her daughters and was consequently ostracized by his family. (Also she fought for her daughters to be formally educated.) This is an issue that cross cuts religion, as it affects both Muslim and Christian households and all income levels. This is a largely tribal practice. Unfortunately this process is done in informal settings with handmade tools. My friend feared that her daughters could be one of the victims of said practice who contract HIV from the procedure, as many are cut by the same blade. There are also orphans of women who have died related to complications resulting from the procedure, such as post-partum tearing and bleeding out.

Speaking of religion, unlike in the U.S. one can see Muslims and Christians truly living together amicably. One can observe the giving of the salaams to either faith. The call of the Adan is omnipresent throughout the towns and even on the radios.

Today a Chinese gentlemen walked up to me and introduced himself. He is here working on the roads – the Chinese are known throughout TZ for building of the roads. Road development is sorely needed! His bold introduction gave me the confidence to randomly walk up to and introduce myself to a girl who appeared like me, to be a foreigner. From Canada, the young woman said she will invite me to some weekly social gatherings for aid workers here, including international workers addressing the needs of vulnerable children.

Well I look forward to moving to my new compound soon. At least there I will be meeting some families from Kigoma who I can befriend and possibly practice Swahili with! I have already met one of my new future neighbors who is just about to give birth!

I have also met with some missionaries here from the U.S. who are providing feeding services to children and are building wells. Apparently, the only buildings/homes which receive water from the pipelines are those that can afford the hefty private price. There are many from the community so badly in need of water that they break the pipes in order to access. Of course this disrupts service to paying customers and then the repairs are made. New breaks would also be made in a new location quickly enough though! All of this without any consideration for a publicly accessible water supply! Argh! And speaking of wells – as water here is a too oft scarce commodity -- I am a bit nervous about the approaching dry season where it will not rain once until about December!I may be gathering water from the lake by that time.

Anyhow, please do keep me in touch with the goings-on on that side of the world!

Love,

Christie

Originally posted: Friday, April 24, 2009 at 8:59pm

Getting a bit more acquainted with the local culture Kigoma

Dear friends and family,

My colleague and friend here Mama Nema has, since the last time I wrote, come down with and was subsequently cured of malaria. She was able to identify the symptoms early and take the proper medicine, which is readily attainable at the local pharmacies. This is the experience of malaria here for those who are knowledgeable about the early symptoms and have the means to procure medication. Cut and dry at that! Thanks god. I have been told that due to the high amount of displaced peoples here and refugees malaria resistance is high. But there are medicines that work for every ailment that can be acquired here.

I forgot to mention that I was able to attain my official Work Visa! I have also opened a local bank account. All of these things are not 1 2 3 easy to get and so I am very satisfied with my progress thus far.

Right now I am preparing my official introductory letter to local leaders in order to familiarize them with the work that we are doing. These type of formal introductions, I have been told, are very helpful in ensuring that there are no unnecessary hindrances to ones work.

So far daily life for me is okay. I have really befriended the missionaries here. But I look forward to moving into a new compound, which houses both missionaries and native residents. I went with my friends for a swim in the lake. There is a private beach a few kilometers away. The lake water is clear and tasteless as it has no salt, of course. My closest friends can appreciate just how much I enjoyed swimming in the lake because the fish swimming with me look just like the fish I had in my aquarium – the freshwater fish. I felt as if I was really swimming in my fish tank!

So last week I cut my finger a bit deep because I was talking too much while I was preparing passion fruit juice. Anyways, I was informed that wounds heal a bit slower here due to humidity. I guess the moral of this story is that it brings awareness of how, had my wound become infected, just how poor health access is here. There is one regional hospital – and do you know just how big Kigoma is? I mean it encompasses the jungles to the north (safari parks). The residents of the north and south have to travel by boat to get to the hospital and many die along the way. There are perhaps 1 or 2 boats departing per week, with no definite schedule. Also the case for those hoping to traverse Congo or Burundi. Anyway, I am fine, but many are not and poor medical access is one of the major problems of this region.

Well, in case anyone wants to mail anything to me, I was advised by my friends living here that mail should be sent to me in a box which is no larger than a shoe box or envelope so that the contents are not “inspected” and/ or removed along the route. I have seen personally the way that mail is courried – tisk tisk. I will try to think of things that could be donated to the children and pregnant women and widows here.

Lastly, it is really to observe the local culture via the DalaDala (the local word for the cheap buses that commute through town). I have observed the way in which local men and women interact. Men are really at the top of the food chain. I mean on the daladala you can be pushed, stepped on, with little regard and definitely no apology. I noticed, from Dar to Kigoma, that it is the men who are the perpetrators of this rude behavior. A bunch of ladies and I were eating the other day at the hotel (fancy) restaurant and the waiter took our butter away just before we were going to dive in, in order to give to a man at another table so that he could enjoy his bread first – of course! It is just amazing for me to see the way in which women are generally treated. I have heard that women can be treated as essential slaves here and some are prohibited from leaving the home – ever.

I am on the lookout to learn. I too must modify my behavior and appearance, but I am working on getting it all together.

Love you
Christie

Originally posted: Wednesday, April 22, 2009 at 4:43pm

Settling into Kigoma Tanzania

Hello everyone,

Well it has been a few days since I have had internet access. Where do I begin? Well it has been a bit of a lonely experience and I really must learn Kiswahili. The night before last I had dinner with my husband and wife neighbors who are missionaries from Long Island. They are really very nice and have been offering very helpful advice for living here. I had an “interesting” interaction with the wife the day before. I have my own feelings about the interaction I will share, below – those who know me can just imagine my thoughts. Previously the husband and wife had shared with me that they are here to spread the Good News (Bible) to a tribe which is located in central Tanzania that has previously had little to no interaction with foreigners, so they have a very traditional way of life. The couple will be bringing missionary college students from various universities in the U.S. to join them in this mission. The wife shared with me and my female colleague here (who is Muslim and like a mother to me) that she is here to help uplift the spirit of the people here. That even though what I (as in me, Christie) am doing to address child abuse and poverty here is fine and all, it does not compare to that which is the upliftment of the spirit. She has said that she single-handedly has seen people who were crippled become cured and such. She and her husband are providing a Christian framework for empowerment of women – and also serve as a direct role model of a healthy relationship. After I respectfully expressed my misgivings about organized religion (which I also discuss with my Muslim colleague here on occasion). This missionary replied that the Muslims were responsible for American slavery and they had brought the slaves to the U.S. and anyways those of the American North fought to free the slaves of the South. Then she shared an example of a Tanzanian man whom she and her husband were able to bring to the U.S. for schooling. This man told her that he was upset at black Americans calling him brother – for he was NOT their brother and that black Africans had more in common with white Africans. He also rationalized that black Americans were lucky to have been brought to America because there is overwhelming poverty in Africa now. She smiled and concluded – see, good things come out of bad. It is all god’s work – He is in charge.

I thought I had to share this little anecdote with you to give you a taste of some of my daily experiences here. I would like people to share with me their viewpoints on what the missionary said to me.

Also, worrisome to me, yesterday I found out that slavery is alive in Kigoma to this very day. We have had intermittent electricity and heavy rains for the holidays. I had really been quite busy setting up the office and meeting the other service providers for vulnerable children and orphans during the days prior, and had little time to rest. Yet since the holidays have come I have had a bit of a reprieve. I was bitten by mosquitoes this past weekend and took some needed time to relax! Malaria is very common here and I was told that most “walk with malaria.” Note: the mosquito’s bite here is soo painful and feels as if you are stabbed deep in your flesh and then punched (radiating around the wound)! I had never experienced anything like it elsewhere. Also, their needle can pierce through a folded bed sheet (as happened to me)! They are really smart—mosquitoes will enter your bedroom and then hide under the bed or in your belongings patiently all day until you fall asleep! A bed net, which I have learned the hard way, is truly important.I have had a good time hanging out with the orphans who live adjacent to our office. The boys enjoy teaching me Kiswahili and promise to teach me football (soccer). I asked them what they do for fun and they say they play football and tell each other stories. One of the more outspoken boys told me a folk tale about a rabbit and his friend (couldn’t translate the animal) and their adventures. One thing that really caught me by surprise is the fact that there are so many Tanzanians who look like some friends and acquaintances I have in the U.S. I was thinking, well I know that our ancestors come from West Africa, but so many look familiar here, more than I had ever seen elsewhere. Well my hosts told me that they will one day take me to the slave ports at the East coast (also at Zanzibar) where Arab enslavers took many peoples to be slaves in the middle east, and of course, eventually to the West. I must look into this further. Resemblances are uncanny. I like to say that many of my friends in the U.S. have a twin here. What I have observed is that the population is either Christian or Muslim. I have been told that the split is about even. I have some critical observations to make about both faiths as I have seen here, but I will save that for a later time.

On Friday I was able to attend a local women’s empowerment meeting in a nearby village. I was able to introduce myself and the organization we are implementing—urging the community to report to us any abuses to children as we are advocates, and to feel comfortable to otherwise visit us. My audience really warmed to me after I passed around photos of my family and my nieces. They were really happy to learn more about me and my close relationship to my family. There were several elders there—the eldest really held me close for some time and it was a lovely moment for me.

I have made a local friend – actually he is the house dog who watches over our compound. His name is Fujo and he is huge – like a cross between a golden retriever and a blood hound—I’m not sure of his species. We hang out together and he follows me about looking for affection.

The local community is quite diverse as there are several (White) missionaries from the U.S. and local residents from neighboring Burundi and Congo-- so far in my friend/acquaintance network. There are two major neighboring refugee camps which I plan to visit soon. Actually just a short walk away is the governor’s mansion. If I look outside my back window across my yard to the lake I can even see Congo. It looks as if one could simply swim a few meters across—but I heard it appears deceptively close, as it is at least 8 hours by boat. It is the 1st or 2nd deepest body of water in the world. My gosh—just beyond my backyard. I actually can’t wait to go swimming. One of the missionaries told me that at the nearby tourist beach you can tell the Americans apart because they don’t swim far out, perhaps they have all seen Jaws! I was told that although there is a gradual decline as you swim out, suddenly the bottom drops out and is miles deep, and other foreigners would swim even that far out! There is a diving pool at the hotel nearby and hence I have two options. I must start to go swimming daily cause I feel as if I am missing out fully enjoying paradise. I hope to be able to work it into my regular schedule.

I look forward to hearing from anyone via email or especially phone. Sorry if I have not received your text—as soon as I am able I will try and get a better phone or provider. If you have Google Earth, these coordinates will let you see the home which I am living in now. 4˙52” 51.48” South by 29˙37” 24.85” East 786 altitude

Love

Christie

Originally posted: Thursday, April 16, 2009 at 7:22pm

Newly arrived to Tanzania

Hello everyone,

I continue to have a hard time with internet access. I don’t know when I will be able to upload any pics or videos—I may give my supervisor who is returning soon to the US, a copy of pics, videos to share there in the US.

Today was the best because I really was able to hang out with some of the local orphans. The boys I met today were great and told me folk stories, we sang, and we had a chance to ask questions of each other. They are very small for their ages due to malnourishment and lack of adequate medical attention. We told them that our office is a place for child advocacy and that they are always welcome. My supervisor told them I will be their friend and advocate. They really seem curious about me but we do get along. Speaking of the office – today we had it cleaned and the title put on the building. I am also going to have my own office! Yay!

There are really many missionaries here and ironically, as most of them are white and seek to be here in Africa, some would look down on Black Americans like my boss and I. Hmmm…

Anyways, I really have so much to share and I hope I can let it come out so that you can know about all these really amazing going ons in the world.

LoveChristie

Sent 4/6/09:
Hi everyone, this is the CORRECT mailing address for me--we just set it up today!Christie Johnson
The Ark Foundation of Africa
P.O. Box 651
Kigoma, Tanzania

Today was a day impeded by the intermittent electricity, no running water, and local officials who possibly wanted a bribe -- well, it is just a gut feeling we felt. However, things on the ground are becoming clearer for me. I feel better, less emotional, and more familiar with my surroundings. Thank you for all the well wishes. I really do hope to post photos soon. Now I am working on that work visa.I hope to spend my birthday in Uganda! More details to follow on my trip to UG!

love,
Christie
Sent 4/5/09:

Dear Friends & Family,

I am having a more difficult time than anticipated adjusting. I feel a bit isolated. I cannot really receive text messages, which, to say the least, is disconcerting. However, I do live down the road from this hotel with breathtaking lake views, http://www.laketanganyikabeachhotel.com/, which opened up only last week. This is where I am able to now access the internet, although verrry slowly. Hence, I am not sure whether or not I will be able to share photos with folks for a while.

It is heartwrenching to see the plight of the orphans here. However, this is my mission to assess the service provisions to orphans, identify gaps, and help transform official policy and local capacity to address such gaps. I hope to have much more to say on this later. Perhaps I can write up some notes when I am not on the clock at the cafe.

I really do hope that folks can check in on me from time to time as it will be hard for me to call and receive text messages. I am still acclimating. My boss is leaving on Wednesday to the U.S. and I will have a lot to do on my own -- including fly to another locality!

I really do hope to be in touch soon,
love
Christie

Sent 4/3/09:

Hello my friends and family,

This is my first time to sit down at an internet cafe. I flew to Dar Es Salaam (after layover in Dubai, which is sooo beautiful by the way) and spent two nights with a wonderful lady and her 7 children, the youngest of which is 17yo. She and one of her daughters, who is one year younger than me, traveled together alll day by bus and by walking into the city. It was really the hottest city I have ever been in and my sweat literally dripped off of me! I only spent one day in town so I was unable to get a great observation of the city. I flew in today from Dar to Kigoma, which is right on lake Tangenika. My new home overlooks the water, which is breathtakingly beautiful. However, it will be something to get used to as I do not yet speak the language and must communicate in Kiswahili. Soon I will be left rather independently to fetch my own things from the town and cook and care for myself. There are many refugees here and thus it is a hotbead of UNHCR and various aid groups -- including the Columbia University school for Aids Research -- who knew. For now I don't know anyone yet. I am also referred to as muzungu (white person by local children on the road) which I will have to grit my teeth and get over. It is going to be a trying time, but I am sure I will have better updates later. I have been having a hard time receiving calls--although Esther was able to call me, and not able to receive text messages (although I can receive some local ones). I must get it sorted out soon so I can stay in touch with my peoples!

Even though my internet is slow and requires a walk into town, please do try and keep in touch.

love,
Christie

Originally posted: Sunday, April 5, 2009 at 6:44pm

My Journey to Tanzania

Dear friends and family,

I am embarking on a very special year long journey at the close of the month to assist the expansion of health and education services in Tanzania. I will act as a volunteer working in rural communities of Tanzania. These are vulnerable communities, faced with large challenges such as a rapidly expanding population, young orphans and increasing HIV/AIDS infections. In partnership with the Ark Foundation, I will be developing programs to deliver resources and aid to these communities. I hope to make a small impact in improvement of delivery of maternal and child health, HIV/AIDS education, and empowerment strategies including the promotion of financial security to the families, women and children that I will serve.

I have been awarded a scholarship to support some of my travel expenses and living expenses while in Tanzania. However, there is a significant gap between the scholarship and the total expenses needed for me to complete my volunteer commitment.

Please assist me in off-setting this difference. Your tax-deductible donation will directly support my volunteer tenure and will go towards supplies, intra-country travel, medical care and other sundry expenses. Any amount will be greatly appreciated; however, to make my fundraising goals, I would prefer a donation of $25.00 or higher.

Please make your check payable to the Ark Foundation (http://www.arkafrica.org/) by Saturday, March 28th; however, donations may be submitted throughout the length of my service. On your check please note: Christie Johnson Volunteer Commitment.

You can also donate online at: https://secure.groundspring.org/dn/index.php?aid=13462 On the online form there is a box entitled “How should we apply your donation?” Please add Christie Johnson Volunteer Commitment. All donators will receive a tax-deductible acknowledgement and receipt.

Please notify me by email at christiejohnson@maroonproject.org if you make a donation so that I can be on the look out for it .

Thank you in advance for your support,

Christie