Home (sigh)

I'm sitting at my own desk, at my own computer, feeling a little down. It is so, so good to be with my husband and family again, but everything seems pale here. There is a blandness to this culture and life when compared with the bright colours, the hard red earth, and the dangerous sun of Tanzania. Here, traffic glides by. There, bicycles and trucks swerve chaotically around each other as busses belch out heavy choking clouds. It is not that I miss the choking, or cleaning buckets of dust out of my ears every night, or having to brush my teeth with bottled water. It is something else I can't yet quite describe. Perhaps it is something like the effort of life there, and the obvious, felt vitality in people. Some of those people are the strongest I have ever met. They push and push and push against poverty, thirst, disease, stigma - and it has given them more muscle and heart than is usual for people here. 

It is so hard to believe that a few nights ago we were dancing in the courtyard of the Cpar office, re-playing Bob Marley over and over (and over) again, drinking glasses of wine or bottles of fanta passion, laughing hysterically as Paul channeled his inner ostrich. It is hard to believe that a few days ago we boarded the bus and arrived 10 hours later in Dar Es Salaam, all of us shocked to find ourselves in an oversized, reeling city after spending so long in the country. The coastal air was so different, smelling of salt and fish, humidity coating our skin instead of dust. Jean and Japhet gave us a tour of the city's finest hotels - flowing fountains, chandeliers dripping with jewels, thick carpets and baby grand pianos - to show us that wealth in Tanzania does not trickle down.  And of course we spent some time wading in the ocean. Our last hours in Tanzania were spent staring forlornly out to sea, drinking in as much of its peace and beauty as we could before we had to leave for the airport.

To say that we were all very impressed by Cpar and the work they are doing there is a good contender for understatement of the year. Having studied the many failures of NGOs in developing countries, Jill Heinrichs was so pleased to see the success of Cpar in Tanzania.  And all of us learned how really helping people means making an effort to know what they want and need, and means working to make it possible for the people to adopt and sustain the changes themselves.  

And now I know I will have dreams of Tanzania. My nights will be strange and fantastical voyages back to Masai villages, to herds of zebra, and to the almost holy summit of Kilimanjaro. I have already looked at my pictures several times, and have stuck my nose in the fabrics I bought to smell the heady scents of Karatu's market - livestock, roasting meat, sugar-cane, rubber sandals, peanuts...

Thank you so much to Jean, Japhet, Deo, Nderingo, Ed, Mpesa, Mohammed and all Cpar staff in Tanzania for so generously teaching and inspiring us. Thanks also to Paul Tucker for arranging and managing all the details. Now, who thinks Kerri will have second thoughts and will take that guy up on his offer of 10 cows, 10 donkeys for her hand in marriage?

Karatu

It is nearly time to leave Karatu, and so I have been trying to commit its details to memory. It is a town on a highway, like a tangled knot on a long string. The streets trail off the highway like frayed threads, and having been here awhile now we've had the chance to walk many of them without getting lost. The buildings are long and low, made of red brick or concrete, and painted in what can only be described as ice-cream colours muted by layers of blown red dirt. Some are shops, guest houses, or restaurants with wobbly red plastic patio sets and cases of bottled pop, chip fryers, or choma (barbeque) grills. All the drinking glasses appear dingy and smudged. In fact, the whole of Karatu has a smudged look, as though it were a greasy, dust-covered photograph someone made a half-concerted effort to wipe clear. It is a fascinating place. It is a hotbed of differing religious beliefs, styles, and people - Masai in their famously red plaid shukas, school kids in uniform, farmers in from their fields, women in kengas, and of course many in jeans and t-shirts. Conspicuously absent are the tourists. Though this highway drives straight into the Ngorongoro Crater, one of the most popular safari destinations in the world, most tourists pass through, stay one night, or just long enough to get off the bus and buy some generic African souvenirs.

Speaking of safaris, we too got the chance to drive into the crater. And I must admit to feeling the urge to don a faded blue ralph lauren button-up, a pocketed khaki vest, some binoculars and a tilly hat, and to use phrases such as "tally-ho!" and "by jove there's a lion!" But, in all seriousness, the crater is one of the most wildly beautiful places on earth. Picture miles of tawny earth, golden in the sun, traversed by so many herds of animals. I felt entirely priveleged.

Over the past few days, we've also had the chance to talk a little, about how we feel about Cpar and about what we've learned, which i'll leave for next blog ... For now it is time for our wrap-up party.. toasts, drinks, and dancing.

In the spirit of Nyerere...

Before this study tour, I had the impression that donating money to aid projects in Africa was like throwing money into a bottomless pit, and that rarely would the money do any real good. I have never been so happy to be so wrong. The 60 or so representatives of Cpar's farmer field schools that we met yesterday now have a warehouse stacked with bags and bags of maize, 3000 bags to be exact, enough to feed their families for the whole year, and enough to sell. No one will go hungry, even during the lean season. It was an encouraging sight, and I could really feel the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction these people had as we stood between the corn stalks under the burning sun. Farmer field schools consist of around 25 to 30 people each. They are co-operatives who experiment and learn together about methods that will help increase their yields, including the planting of maize alongside pigeon peas and mixing in other plants that return nitrogen to the soil. Many families have quadrupled their yields, and with improved storage techniques they have managed to achieve food security. A little education has changed the entire village. These are not the starving Africans you see on those terrible TV commercials, there are no vacant listless expressions here. These are strong, active, productive people.
And, it must be said, they are almost embarassingly hospitable. I think it is safe to say that none of us on the Cpar team have ever experienced a welcoming party quite like that one before. As soon as we stepped off the trucks and even before I had time to wipe the dust from my glasses we were surrounded by celebrating dancers. It was as if we were engulfed by some sort of multi-coloured African amoeba, and I found it humorous to look around and see the bewildered looks on our pale, puffing faces as we attempted to follow the Iraqw dance steps. Stand shoulder to shoulder, hold your fists chest high and pogo on the spot - two fast, one slow - to the beat of the drum. Keep doing this for a long, long time until thoroughly exhausted and grinning.

Needles!

The little boy screamed and cried on his mother's lap after being given a needle against measels, his displeasure made worse by the fact that there was 9 strange white people staring at him. Yesterday was national immunization day, when kids all over the country were immunized and given a dose of vitamin A and a de-worming medi cation. Husna Hassan has been a nurse for 35 years here, and works frequently with Cpar. Typical of most long-time nurses, she has that tough but gentle manner about her, and is excellent at her job. As a nursing student, I really enjoyed being able to help give needles, holding the kid's little arms between my thumb and forefinger and watching their faces stiffen into bravery or collapse into tears. As entertaining as the drama of immunization day was for us, we were also very entertaining for the kids. Dr. Don Payne is the most dedicated photographer in our group, and the kids love him and his camera.

This morning at breakfast we talked, as per usual, about the bat and owl noises we heard during the night. It is going to be another scorcher of a day, but we are all ready to head out in the trucks for another "african massage," meaning the jolts our bodies receive from the bumps and ruts of the roads.

Proximity to Birds

Yesterday, a bird alighted on the window ledge, as close as my own elbow, and whirred there like a small blue motor. On mount Kilimanjaro, the white necked ravens followed us from dripping, hissing rainforest up to the open airless stretches of rock and boulder. It was always amazing to be so near them, and to hear the slow whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of their wings as they gathered enough strength for lift-off. Despite the proximity to birds, and despite the flowers that are so incredibly saturated with light and colour, this place is no paradise. Last night, for example, I felt pinned under a heavy blanket of smoke from the garbage burning, and under the ever present shouting of a maniacal-sounding street preacher with a hoarse voice and a bad microphone. All the vistas and lives I had witnessed in the past week suddenly seemed a weight on my forehead, my mind so crowded with images of dry throats and dust-covered feet that I tried in vain to retreat inside some cool inner room painted in soothing monochromatic tones.

In the afternoon, Jean took a few of us to see a few tourist resorts, to see how the other half experiences Africa. What we saw was an astounding example of contrast. When we first arrived in Karatu town, there was an announcement by loudspeaker that there would be no water for 10 days. Yet, in the resorts, we saw the most beautiful swimming pools filled with pristine, clear water. In one resort, you could rent your own Masai warrior to show you how to roast coffee. Jean told us that many, if not most tourists experience Africa this way - and to them, it is paradise. They spend the day in the national park on Safari, and then return to the hotel compound for a cool shower, a cocktail or two, and a wonderful meal. Sadly, all the tourist dollars have had a 0% effect on reducing poverty in the area.

Angela

Out the windows of the land rover the landscape moves past us in jerks and lurches, the candelabra cacti and trees with frazzled, tangled branches that emerge somehow out of ground that is hard and dry. Vic Aniol, one of the doctors on the study tour, put it best when he said "just looking at the land makes you thirsty." It is an amazing landscape, especially because of the people who live in it.
Yesterday we visited several families, to see the imapct of Cpar's women's income generation projects. I loved meeting Angela and her family. She is a small, shy woman, almost bird-like. But the longer she spke to us, explaining how and why she planted certain trees on her compound and how she waters them, it became more and more apparent just how strong and progressive in nature she is. She told us how she used to have to walk several miles three times a day to get enough water for her mango tree and her family. Now, after learning about drip irrigation, she only has to walk to get water every five days or so. Her back is not so sore anymore, and the plants and trees are lush and productive. I was so surprised to see what drip irrigation means in this part of the world - it is not an expensive system of hoses, but simply a water bottle turned upside down in the mulch, letting water out a bit at a time. Angela has also benefitted from raising dairy goats and chickens. As part of the cpar project, she will then pass on their kids and chicks to other women in her community. I really appreciated Angela's hospitality. She gave us hugs before we left, and had her young son pray for our safety on the rest of our journey.
Nderingo, one of the Cpar field officers, made an excellent point yesterday. He told us "When you support a man, you support a man. When you support a woman, you support a family."

Impressed

As soon as we opened the gate they began to dance toward us, a blaze of fabrics and colours, throwing flower petals in the air and singing "yi-yi-yi-yi!!" These are the UMATU women of Karatu, loosely translated as "hope and love women living with HIV." We spent the morning observing them in action, and then spent most of the afternoon together, in one of the most interesting and inspiring discussions I have ever been a part of. These women are brave. They have firm hand shakes and broad smiles, and are terrific at asking and answering pointed questions. We wanted to know about life with HIV here, how their husbands are responding etc, and they wanted to know about reasons for homosexuality in Canada. The exchange of ideas that followed included much nervous laughter and clearing of throats as we talked about stigma in our respective cultures, exactly how gays and lesbians achieve sexual pleasure, gay pride in Canada, the church's perspective, and more. The reason I loved the discussion so much is that it was not the typical dynamic of Africans entertaining the white tourists, it was real and gritty cultural exhange, with both sides giving and taking, shifting awkardly in our seats at times.

UMATU was started by two local women in 2005. Because of CPAR's market outreach in Karatu at that time, these women knew they had somewhere to go for information on how to live with their disease. Once armed with information, they began to teach other women, encouraging them to get tested and offering support for those testing positive. Now there are 60 members, some benefitting from small business loans, all taking ARV drugs, all full of life and doing well. Progress!

A word about the Cpar staff here - I am watching them as closely as I am the huts on the side of the road, the flitting birds, the slow-eyed donkeys... Not only is this my first time in Africa, it is my first time with an NGO and the staff have made quite an impression on me. They are so animated in the way that they speak and so focused on what they are working towards I feel a bit pale-spirited and aimless beside them. I do however, feel a bit better about being a tourist after reading a passage in the Graham Greene novel I brought with me from home. He said (and I paraphrase) there are two truths about a place. The first truth belongs to the person whose home is there. The second belongs to the traveller, for it is the traveller that notices what others who have been there too long fail to notice anymore.

The power of WATER!

Slept like a stone last night after a long, full day. The thing about cpar is they take you way, way off the beaten track which I appreciate very much. We drove several hours out, down the most dusty bumpy roads to two primary schools. Kids everywhere, in their bedraggled uniforms, so very proud to show us their rain water harvesting tanks and trees that they planted. When they broke into song it was enough to make my heart surge a little, they sing so well! It is one thing to read about how clean water has changed life here, and another thing altogether to witness it first hand - the kids smiling faces and the water coming out of the tap. It was amazing to see how such a simple thing can effect so much change. Before the tanks were in place, these kids were fainting from dehydration or were not making it to school at all. Now they all line up with their brightly coloured plastic mugs and have drink of clean, clear water whenever they want. I know it sounds cliche - but I may never look at water in the same way again.

We're Here!

We're here! For a first-timer to any new country, the minutes just out of the airport are nothing short of miraculous. We arrived at night, quicky got our bags, and headed out to the waiting cab drivers. Right away I noticed how different the air is; the weight and scent of it. Our taxi headlights had just enough time to catch fractions of moments along the highway to Moshi - the swish of a woman's skirt, the quick lift of a flip-flop, light glancing off cheekbones and elbows of all the long black bodies walking along the road - that is all I would know of Tanzania until morning. And morning came with a blast, muslim prayers on the loudspeaker and a cacophony of traffic horns and rumbles. It seemed as though no vehicle had a muffler. Three of us students came early to climb Mt. Kili - which we found wondrous to say the least. More on that later...

And now the CPAR group has arrived in Karatu, and are in the process of getting over jet lag. Yesterday Jean took us on a walking tour, where we experienced the red, red dust - fine as baby powder - that creeps up pant legs and into socks. Needless to say my white canvas shoes turned pink. We walked down many red roads, with kids everywhere, some shy and some taunting and teasing us. White people! White people! Today we begin in earnest to learn about CPAR's projects here, and I must admit to feeling awkard inside, as I am insatiably curious about everything and everybody. Being a tourist is both fun and frustrating. To me, it is still a novelty to sit like some sort of mock royalty under my bed's canopy-draped mosquito net, but it is difficult not understanding anything. Afica is yet a mystery.

me, skeptical?

One of the questions Paul, our trip co-ordinator, asked to me consider is "how skeptical are you about development?" Well, not that skeptical. I did laugh during the Sally Struthers episode of Southpark, but my laughter didn't have a mean or bitter edge! Besides, I know my answer to that question will change during the study tour, and I'll have a new and improved position on development once I return. But for now, I must admit my position is one of suspended hope. I want to see good things happening. I want to know that improving people's lives is possible, and that these improvements are sustainable. But, isn't there always more bad news than good news? For every good beginning it seems there are a thousand unfortunate endings. On the one hand there are our efforts, and on the other hand there are wars, natural disasters, and impossible political situations all bound up and tied together with reams and reams of silky red tape.

Last April I attended a forum on International Development hosted by U of M's World W.I.S.E. Resource Centre, and I left with all sorts of contradicting thoughts fighting for space in my exam-weary brain. As I listened to the expert panel speak of their frustrations with humanitarian work; how slow things move, how funds are mismanaged, how volunteers themselves can become part of the problem, I felt like letting out a very loud, very resigned sigh. But, I must say I left that forum with a little more drive than I had before. Looking into the faces of each of the speakers I wondered what makes them do this work, and what makes them keep doing it - so doggedly and with so much zeal? It must be worth it. Most people I've met who are seasoned in the art of humanitarian action are optimists. Not airy-fairy head-in-the-clouds optimists, but very grounded, almost sombre optimists. they know the facts, and yet they continue. 

Perhaps I sound grim. I should not forget the promise of joy. And yes, I believe there is a joy to be found in a life of working for others. A very personal, deep, abiding joy. Just after New Years I was at a Christian Conference in Toronto, where it seemed like everyone and their dog was building an orphanage or digging wells in Africa. And it was obvious to me that they knew something I didn't. 

lists, and lists of lists

Earlier today, driving home down Dunkirk, with the familiar voices of the CBC providing such lovely, undemanding company and the traffic flowing smooth and easy, I felt pretty -well, comfortable. Travel can be a real spoke in the wheel and I suppose I'm just about due for one. It has been awhile since I've gone anywhere far, and the lists I've been making are bringing back some memories of the efforts; physical and otherwise, of travel. 

repair soles of boots

rehydration powder

appt. for malaria meds

immodium...

And what about music? a travel soundtrack is very important. Besides offering needed reprieves from crowds or unwanted conversation, music is a mood-shaper and a beauty-enhancer. But it has happened before that the music I bring doesn't make sense where I am traveling. It sounds wrong somehow, is an ill-fit. I went far up north once, when I was with the army, and lived in a tent on the ocean. The rock/pop music I had with me seemed so trite in all that vastness. The landscape was too profound. I needed something hugely operatic, or something minimal and wordless. Obviously it will be a different situation altogether for Africa. I am wondering if the Icelandic art-rock band I've been partial to lately will fit there?

Leaving in a month!

For years I have been waiting, rather impatiently, to begin a relationship with Africa. I've read the books, taken the African history class, and watched so many documentaries that they are beginning to blur together. All of them, it seems, depict children playing soccer, line ups for food, women sweeping huts, machetes and mass graves, and well-meaning white NGO workers in khaki shorts. And they all seem to be about the resilience of the African people. I wonder about this. I watch these documentaries in the same way I, as a nursing student, examine a patient's bed sore. How can they live with such a raw open wound? What do they do with the pain? Whenever I meet an African immigrant, I am as inquiring and polite as any Canadian should be, and yet I really want to stare at them. For an inappropriate amount of time. And I want to find out who they are, and how they got to be who they are. I know I might not be able to ever understand them completely, but I certainly can gain more understanding than I have now. I worry, sometimes, that my fascination with all things African might be a little naive.   

And so, in attempt to become less naive, I'm heading to Tanzania with the CPAR study tour. On the trip, I expect to be frustrated, inspired, surprised, tired, overwhelmed, and uncomfortable at times. It'll be great. I hope to observe the relationship that the CPAR staff have with the Tanzanian people, I hope to learn a little of who these people are, and above all I hope to gain insight into how I might begin to have a real relationship with them myself.