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.