friday
yesterday my friend nicki and i ventured to a little corner of the world called 'hanahasif,' where we spent our evening with dozens of beautiful tanzanian girls and boys who call themselves 'watoto wa Mungu.'
'children of God.'
it was late afternoon when we pulled off the main road and onto a narrow dirt road lined on either side with steep, cement channels of trash and inches-deep dirty water. we made our way back into this neighborhood tucked away in the city of dar, a neighborhood which mutembei informed us was 'from the most extreme poverty to the better-off very poor.'
i can't even describe to you how i felt driving in and through this place. it was just…there. there and real and wrenching. the face of urban poverty in a developing country.
it's that reality that completely chokes your heart, on one hand, and on the other hand reminds you that wherever you find this fragile and remarkable gift of life, there you will also find as many awesome joys as their are adorable, wide-eyed, runny-nosed kids; and as much strength and resilience as there are broken lives, abandoned kids, untimely deaths. no degree of poverty can diminish the inherent value in the former, the immaterial - joy is joy, faith is faith, etc....and stretches over both oceans in miles and oceans in suffering.
but there it was, brutal and beautiful: life as it is in an incredibly impoverished neighborhood in the city of dar es salaam, TZ, east africa…
we walked past the walls of the lutheran church, the umbrella under which this orphanage center resides. each of the 30+ kids have different stories- they range from wee four yr-olds to kids in their late teens- but they've all found themselves together, here at 'hananasif,' leaning over a hot coal-fire as they prepare their meals together; leaning over their school books as they study together; leaning over their own-made wobbly wooden benches, elbows on their knees, bright-eyed at the two american girls who had come to say hello and ask if they could stay a little while.
we visited with the director, hezekia, as the kids trickled in in handfuls from their respective school, shooting us bright smiles and curious eyes as we talked with hezekia. 'the children do not sleep here at night, but this is where they eat every meal and spend all their time when they're not at school. we have found families to take them in to sleep until we can expand our facility and make a place for them to stay. there is a list of over a hundred kids that we are waiting to make space for. the kids come here in the mornings for breakfast, for lunch during school, and for after-school hours where they cook and study and play together; by around 8:30pm, they each go to their respective homes where they will help with chores and then stay for the night.
"here, we do not call the children orphans. we do not reinforce that they have either lost their parents or have been abandoned for one reason or another. we teach them that god is their father; that god is taking care of them. they have now a place to sleep at night, food when there wasn't food for them before; they are learning and going to school and getting their education. they have each other. you see? they can have hope. they can have a future. they do have a father, and he is taking care."
the director emphasized that there was more to a child than food and an education – he wanted so desperately to instill into these kids that they were valuable, capable, promising children. he told us the story of the young boy of no more than six years that sat closely next to me as we listened, hands in his lap. "when he came to us, we were told that something was wrong with him, mentally. he didn't speak a word. sydney, he was just starving. he needed food and care. within weeks he was fine, still very shy, but growing so much."
he pointed to another young boy named omari – he was abandoned by both of his parents after they divorced and went their own ways.
the kids warmed to us quickly as they came near and sat down around us. we exchanged greetings in both swahili and english – the director laughed as he told the children: "i promised you your opportunity to speak english would come. you didn't believe me. well? here it is!" as he pointed at us, as though we were miracles.
they all smiled widely, and after our greetings and plenty of giggles and shyness, they wanted to sing for us! we were so excited. the girls even lined up and danced in rhythm as they all sang in swahili, "God is our father, we are his children; the streets are not our parents; the streets are not our names; we are the children of God; yes, God is our father, he gives us our names."
these kids were so precious. and the director was warm and genuine and so encouraging about our expressed desire to offer what we could to these kids during the remainder of our stay in tz. he stressed several times that we could and would have so much to learn from each other. "you will have to be creative – our resources are limited. if you can teach them a talent, that is great. they need skills like speaking english or even sewing or art - things they can learn that might help them in the future. but also, if you can just come and sit with them, encourage them, give them hope, show them they have value – that is so important as well."
at one point during the evening, nicki and i caught each others eyes and just nodded, exchanging an unspoken "yep. this is it. this is what we were looking for." it wasn't some stiff, well-staffed, well-funded foreign establishment. it was grassroots. it was indigenous. it was literally tucked away in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city.
we left just after night fall, warmed by the visit and encouraged by the welcome, as all their smiling faces and waves saw us off down the dirt road and back to the university campus.
…
zai and i woke up just after seven am this morning (friday morning) - both a little sleepy, and me disbelieving i'd even get out of bed before another hour passed. but zai put the water on, and soon we were both sitting at her desk sharing cereal and chai together. shortly thereafter, we caught a bus to her uncle's house, just before the rains began.
today is "eid," the muslim celebration of the end of ramadhan, the breaking of the fast. there would be families together and much feasting, as it is celebrated here as a public holiday.
on our way through mwenge this morning to catch the second bus, light showers began to fall. "the rain has come!" zaina said. "it shows blessings from God." and that sounded beautiful to me.
we arrived at her uncle's house, and for the next several hours, we sat outside beneath a leaky tin roof in the outdoor kitchen area, and prepared the meal we would share for lunch with her uncles (the rest of her family is in the north). we made pilau (a special rice dish with zanzibar spices and meat) and kachumbari (a vegetable salad)– and it was fantastic. zai's sister, mwanaidi, even came to help us cook! we laughed so much and had buckets of fun (did i just say 'buckets of fun?'). i asked her to teach me to sew (she's an excellent tailor) – she, in exchange, wants to learn english. i say, do we ever have a deal.
and what's more – and i know i just said this – she's a tailor. a tailor. a sweet, bubbly twenty-something girl who knows how to sew, and was willing to teach…
two and two…
i asked her if i could hire her to come to the orphanage on saturdays and teach the kids to sew. she said it would be impossible without a sewing machine there.
"but if there were a sewing machine, you would come?"
she gave me an easy yes.
"how much is a sewing machine?"
"80,000 tsh," she said.
this is about $75 USD.
i told her that i would get back to her.
OK, so this is my idea. i think i can swing most of it to purchase a sewing machine. i'm sure some of the other international students would chip in. however, i really want to extend the invitation. are any of you…
1. interested in contributing any $ to buy a few sewing machines?
2. interested in donating to HANANASIF, the orphanage center in dar es salaam?
my mom's address:
nancy schaef
6061 Ashford Lane #502
Naples , FL 34110
so if you'd like, send a check and it will be deposited ( to: nancy schaef; specificy for: sewing machine or to hananasif!), transferred to my account, and i will withdraw the money and coordinate with Hezekia for appropriate allocation of any funds not specified for sewing machines/materials/expenses. (don't send after dec 16th, as my return flight plans are still up in the air.)
how does that sound?
i am most grateful for those of you who feel inspired to give.
i know this isn't the way official donation-stuff is usually run, but hey – you do what you gotta do. it has to be worth a try, doesn't it?
if you could only see their faces…you would say a thousand yeses.
and just know that even $5-10 bucks here would stretch in ways you wouldn't believe.
...
haya. that's all i have for now. i was just anxious to share with you about that place and the children and the opportunity to be connected there...
more soon, i'm sure.
...
to power outages and 6-day water cuts!
to rainy days and God's blessings and families taking whole days off together.
…and to beautiful african children who call themselves, not orphans, but 'watoto wa Mungu.'
amani.
sydney
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