Not What, But Who - A Delayed Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was a week ago and I’m not a big holiday, birthday, intentional celebration person so I wasn’t too bothered by being away. But as the day always does, it had me thinking about how much I have to be thankful for. More than that, who I have to be thankful for. I’ve got friends who know me inside and out, who can read me like a book and bring out the best in such different ways and while I'm so lucky to have so many incredible friends, I'm going to take this time to highlight four. Relative to my black and white personality, I feel like they reflect two very different sides of me as well. 

When I left the US, I left the Rosie to my Sophia Grace. Baby Lauren - my best friend, favorite friendship story, the best person to road trip with, and the person who taught me that separation anxiety is a very, very real thing. I don’t think there are many people who bond over a lunch date and Fergilicious the way we did during the summer of 2010 when we were scared newbies in college. We made the best “not roommates” before we became official roommates after that long freshman year when we had to figure out how to never leave each other’s sides despite doing different sports, classes and living one floor away from one another. We never had to discuss that we would have our meals together, go out together, get “appetizers” for the three minute ride home from the grocery store and officially live together as soon as we could. The jokes about my lack of feelings started in high school and continued in college when Lauren would try to get me to talk about things going on. Sometimes I would text her on a bad day, “I think I’m having feelings” which she always loved. Now I understand the importance of having someone who will always listen to what’s going on in your head, and genuinely want to know also. I’m lucky to still have Lauren by my side when something goes wrong and I just need a familiar voice from home. We attended my brother’s wedding together after over a year without seeing one another and it confirmed that even though Clemson led me to Arusha on a very twisted path, this friendship was the best thing I got from Clemson. To this day, there’s nobody I’d rather have a sleepover or Sunday movie day with than Lauren. So, Baby Lauren, thanks for the PBD dates, concerts, nights out, real talks, gas station adventures, for being the vital part of an unforgettable college experience and always being by my side, even when we are nearly 8,000 miles apart.

If you’ve heard about my time in Arusha, you’ve probably heard about my Canadian soul sister, my spirit animal, my absolute, Jenna. I met her in 2013 and by the first impression, I never thought we would be friends – she was so. cool. As it turned out, we went to the bar together that night and the most amazing friendship came to life and for that I am so grateful. I lived with her all over Arusha for several weeks that first summer we met…then again the following year when she came back. She pulled me out of my shell even more and showed me honesty, freedom, and an openness to everything life has to offer. Never turn down an opportunity, be the best friend you can be. Always. The next year she returned to Arusha and lived with me. She knew Hill Crest, Isaac and Elizabeth, my friends, my personal life, and most importantly that I only like my toast warm; if a piece of bread can even be called toast, it’s too toasted. There is nobody else who has seen me in my highest highs, who completely understands my lowest lows, and nobody else who can make me weep so much at the thought of reuniting. So, Jenna, thanks for making me all those pieces of toast. For always making me laugh, for loosening me up and being a pivotal part of what Arusha has become - home. My love for you is immeasurable. I am so happy to have you back, even if just for two weeks.

If you have heard about what’s gone on this year, you have probably heard about Shayna and Mhairi – the other two of my four ride or dies. There couldn’t have been a more perfect time for these two to come into my life. When my world was falling apart, one hazy but unforgettable weekend away with them was the beginning of it’s coming together. For me to be so comfortable with two people so quickly says it all. There is no way to put my relationship with these girls into words and do it any justice, but I truly don’t know the mental, physical or emotional state I would be in if it weren’t for these two this year. We were all going through something but most days we spent together were nothing short of our own convoluted version of perfect. Our moments of weakness turned to jokes about our Truman Show life, because none of it could possibly be real. We are Arusha’s Savannah’s girls who always had all the fun, all the feels and all the love. Shay Shay and V, thanks for always being down for a drink after a horrible day, giving me some of my favorite memories, for never judging me for that time I snored myself awake, and for being the best two spoons anyone could ask for. I can't wait to See You Again.

Thank you girls for being home. For getting me through all the messes, and making sure I remember that the most important things are my work and my sanity. And that as long as I get my work done, there’s no harm in spending a couple more dollars for a couple more drinks because if a few bad hangovers is what I leave Arusha regretting, then it will have all been worth it. You’ve all helped shape me into the person I am today, someone I am so proud to be because I’m lucky enough to call you four my friends.

The Gray Area

If you know me, you know I’m a music buff. Music is always my answer. If you know me a little bit better, you know that when I care about someone or something, it’s with my whole heart. If you know me from Tanzania, you know that I love and care so much that I don’t know how to handle it sometimes. My black and white personality gets the best of me sometimes and I am constantly reminded that I have no gray area. When I love, I love. When I hate, I hate.

On Thursday I got some intense news from the US and I had to let loose that night with my friends at my favorite bar here to de-stress a little bit. That little bit turned into a lotta bit just in time for one of the worst days. I woke up Friday morning to my phone buzzing and I somehow managed to turn over and check it. “Mama Remy died.” Now, I’m not going to backtrack into our issues with Mama Remy, but there were issues that leave me feeling so conflicted about her death. Part of me is so enraged, part of me is utterly heartbroken, and part of me is relieved.

Mama Remy was sick and her alcoholism made her make very poor decisions. With her passing, she isn’t risking the health and safety of anyone else again, but her sober smile and laugh won’t be present outside Hill Crest anymore. When she was sober she was a lovely person with an infectious laugh; kind, warm, appreciative and loving. It’s hard to lose that presence despite her very poor decisions which stemmed from illness and desperation that none of us could even begin to imagine. The part of me that is sad still can’t believe that she won’t be around Hill Crest. It’s her poor decisions, despite the circumstances, that bring on the feeling of relief. She won’t be able to cause anyone else any pain or damage. She won’t bring another life into this world that she can’t support. She won’t come drunk, spitting, throwing curses and fighting into Hill Crest or the neighborhood anymore…but the enraged part wanted her to live the repercussions of her poor decisions. I guess it’s like a criminal at home getting the death sentence and us seeing it as an easy way out for them – they deserve life in prison, constantly thinking about what they’d done to put them there. I am so sad to lose Mama Remy, so relieved, and so mad. I guess I’m experiencing my gray area.

The whole way to school on Friday morning I couldn’t stop hitting my steering wheel and cursing. When her body was being taken out of the house and put in the truck, I was so sad we wouldn’t see her smile again. Leaving school, I was so glad she wouldn’t be able to cause any more pain. Remy is safe and at peace with his mother’s death which is the most important thing. Ujamaa Children’s Home has taken such good care of him since he moved in there and his future is brighter than ever. When I was speaking to the owner of the home, she said “we’ve almost done our job too well.” That’s the best thing. That is what makes my heart full and has me at peace deep down beneath all the gray.

I’ve had ‘Don’t Swallow The Cap’ by The National on repeat since Friday. I don’t know how to articulate what I feel about the lyrics and how they resonate with me and this situation, but if you feel so inclined to listen to it, maybe you will understand, maybe not.  Maybe that’s something for a future blog post.

What's going on?!

So last time I wrote it was just before my family came and we had a crisis with one of the students. My mom, brother and I had a great time together (Philip’s first time!) and we dealt with the student crisis with loads of support. Now sweet Remy is at Ujamaa Children’s Home – check them out.

Instead of looking back at the last couple months which have been fairly uneventful, I figured it’s time to start giving you all some insight on the forward motions I’ve made. For months and months now I’ve been trying to create a vision. I have to go from small scale to big scale thinking, as I have Hill Crest and the project and another piece of land to play with soon! I have spent time in the community and realized that a great way to use the next piece of land will be to build a community within the community. A big center for adults to come learn English (an idea I stole from a school my friend volunteered at), take general health and first aid courses, learn about managing money, sustainable farming, a study center for children from unstable home environments to come and do their homework and get tutoring, and anything else that may pop up along the way. I thought building a school was dreaming big so this is next level! But I also believe it’s a completely attainable goal, especially because we can start…NOW! The project has one massive room that could be split into two classrooms but then I thought, why not use that to teach adults?! We have four classrooms already which will very comfortably hold around 125 children so we can use our massive room to start having English and Health Education classes! I also changed one small spare room into a sewing room because it is very small. This means we can hire a woman from a sewing training center (somewhere that finds widows and teaches them to sew so they can get a job and make an income) in Kisongo and hire her full time to make the school uniforms and even sew our very own items for me to take back to the US and sell! We will give her a nice cutting table and a quality sewing machine to work on. I’m so excited!

I’m really hopeful about this. I like the changes that I’ve made. They’re manageable and will make a difference and I won’t have to wait anymore! The project (name of school is still undecided, I’m open to suggestions hehe) will open as a school in January, giving me time to furnish the building, find students, find teachers, go home for a month, then hit the ground running to prep for our opening. But in the mean time we can start with the adults and I’m thrilled about that! I’ve been lucky enough to recruit friends to help me. A nurse is setting up the health education and first aid program, another friend just got her masters in ESL so she is going to lead our English classes, and another amazing woman is a social worker in the US and has been here several times and wants to move here long term, so she will be heading up our investigations/community outreach division! Then, as we feel things out and make sure we are running smoothly at the project, we will look into all the other programs and how we can build the community center to move the English and Health courses there and kick off the other programs as well. Oofta! I’m really lucky to have these friends on board to help me. They are just as excited as I am, are very supportive and will be amazing to work with. While I’m setting all these programs up, I’ve hired another friend who is a teacher in Denmark to take over at Hill Crest for a few months! Again, someone who has been here already and wants to spend more time here. I’m excited and know that she will bring new ideas and energy to Hill Crest and help make our teachers even more incredible humans than they already are.

Wait…are things looking up? Is that what you’re reading? A positive post?! Cue the sigh of relief, yes. Things are looking up. (touch wood) I’ve moved on and see a future here that has me very excited. Instead of being awake at night stewing about how horrible everything is and trying to convince myself that things will be okay, I’m up planning and thinking about other programs we can do and the products I want our seamstress to make and places in the US that can sell them and partnerships and volunteer opportunities and possible internships we could host and EVERYTHING! Because finally, I believe with every fiber of my being, that everything is okay and better than ever. Don’t get me wrong, I still get a little bit overwhelmed when I think about the fact that I was supposed to go home for good in January 2016 and yet two weeks ago I signed a two year contract for a house here…but I am so thrilled with the way things have progressed and so so SO excited for the future of Hill Crest, the project and the future community center!  To do all this, I had to register a company so look out for the website launch and your opportunity to sponsor any of the over 200 students that will be under our wings!

Love from TZ,

Kat

6.26.15

I always talk about how up and down life is here, and recently it’s been really down, yesterday being what I hope is the worst of this trial.

There’s a Hill Crest student named Remy who could brighten anyone’s day with his smile and energy. His mother is a drunk and they don’t have a home, they just float around the village sleeping where anyone will let them. Remy’s only assured meal is at school, and after school he leaves with his mom who will cane him for trying to be a kid, if she doesn’t drunkenly come and take him from school during the day.

Remy was especially down one day and told the head teacher, Hilda, that he was feeling sick. We assumed that he was just scared to go home as he said he was caned the day before for asking to go play after school. We gave him some porridge and let him stay at school a little bit longer, then sent him on his way. There was not much we could do except make sure he got a bit more to eat and an extra snuggle before going “home”.

A few days later, Hilda texted me saying she was taking Remy to the hospital. I was on safari with my family and couldn’t be there and am unsure of exactly what transpired, but he was diagnosed with a rectal prolapse and there were loads of issues with Mama Remy at that time also. Everything that has occurred this last week is also a blur and I don’t know where to start with it. Remy’s prolapse had occurred four times and the fifth was last Thursday. Having my car made it easiest for my mom, Mama Remy, Hilda and me to take him to the hospital this time. His bowels were visible when he was standing properly and the doctor admitted him into the hospital that night. They were talking amongst themselves asking why the mass was so big. That night they fixed it. Over the next few days, Remy and Mama Remy had regular visits from volunteers and teachers alike. He was discharged on Tuesday.

Yesterday Hilda, Mama Remy and I went to a bigger and better hospital in Moshi, a town at the base of Kilimanjaro, hoping he would be admitted and could have surgery to fix the rectal prolapse. They tried to examine him but he put up a fight and made it impossible. To make matters worse, he had to get blood drawn and like most kids, hated it. He screamed, cried, fought, and yelled a lot…and yelled something that made all the doctors holding him down look at each other and ask why he was saying that, all the while Mama Remy was on the other side of the room looking away. I made her go over so he could see her, hoping it would comfort him a bit but he just kept wailing. Hilda had his body locked in hers, four doctors holding onto him as one drew the blood. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood where he could see me and Mama Remy.

A while later I asked Hilda what Remy was yelling that made the doctors so confused…she told me, and I understood. Now, there’s no way for me to put into words just how bad Remy’s current situation is for him. His mom drinks all the time, gets mad or someone gets mad at her, she causes a ruckus at school or at the neighbor’s house, threatens to run to Babati with Remy, and apparently threatens to hang herself…and Remy has heard her say that. And he said it. He’s only three, so I know he probably doesn’t understand what he was yelling in that lab yesterday, but one day he will understand and one day he might do something. There is speculation in the village that his prolapse has occurred due to sexual abuse. So standing in the lab listening to my student wailing about hanging himself, while his mother, who might have allowed the problem that is leading to his current pain, won’t even try to comfort him, was difficult to say the least. I wanted Remy to be comforted through his fear and pain but I also wanted Mama Remy to see his pain in case the rumors are true. If they are true, then she allowed a man to come into their room, walk away with Remy, be inappropriate with him and come back a couple hours later, probably for money. Apparently the last time this happened was last Wednesday…and the last time the prolapse occurred was last Thursday. It could be coincidence, it could just be rumor…I hope it’s just rumor.

We are working on moving Remy into a children’s home owned and managed by Australians. He was accepted into the home, now we just have to work through the legalities. Mama Remy has to sign over her parental rights and guardianship will be given to the home. We will continue to see him through the surgery and post-op and of course continue to be a part of his life, but what’s important is that he is never influenced to scream that he will hang himself and never be sexually abused. Even if the rumors are not true, we need to prevent the possibility of it happening in the future.

I know there are a lot of gaps in this story and I’ll get around to filling them in the next couple of weeks, but this is all I can manage to get out tonight. Send Remy some prayers and positive vibes, he’s an amazing kid.

5.26.15

We are facing another issue, unfortunately, at Hill Crest which I will have to update on when it’s over and done.  I’m asking for prayers and positive vibes again, as this is weighing heavy on my heart!

There are a lot of things going on for me at the moment, and I find meeting new people just leads to loaded questions that I don’t really know how to answer. I get very flustered because I don’t want to undermine what I’m doing, but there’s so much behind the story of “I’m director of a school and building another and starting my company and working on development plans for another piece of land.” It’s exhausting. Usually it’s followed up with questions and comments about how inspiring it is and how lucky I am to be here doing it, etc. A few nights ago I was briefly going over everything with someone who just arrived and she couldn’t believe how I’ve “uprooted” my life at home to do these things.

One definition of uprooted is “to force to leave an accustomed or native location.” To force to leave an accustomed or native location. Nothing about my leaving the US was forced, and I wouldn’t say I was accustomed to that life either. If anything, every time I go back to the US, I’m being uprooted from here. The things that led me to being “stuck” here (if you haven’t read Rocked, refer to that) weren’t pleasant and I wouldn’t want to go through it again, but the result is my life here. Isaac assured me a life here, a life I love. And while some days I’m confused, lost and feeling alone, at the end of the day, I don’t want to leave. I couldn’t handle being uprooted from this.

Shortly before my life changed for the worse before the better, I met two girls and had no idea how important they would become. Over the five months we were together, we cried a lot, talked a lot, danced a lot, laughed a lot, and drank a lot. I’ll be forever grateful for their ability to get me out of my head and be my sunshine on each cloudy day I have faced since 2015 came rolling in with a bang. They have both left now and the day after the second went, I was distraught. Sobbing uncontrollably the entire day, texting my mom wondering why I’m here. It hit me when she left that the two most vital people in my absolute darkest days were gone and I was left here alone with nobody who would understand what I’d been through the last five months. It almost felt like the first time I went back to the US in November 2012; I was surrounded by people who had no clue how much my first three months in Africa had changed me. There’s nobody to blame for that, but there’s also nowhere to go. Thankfully, in 2012, I did have somewhere to go. I was back in Africa five weeks later. This time, I woke up the next morning still wanting to be here. The weakness I felt the day before was just that; a moment of weakness. It didn’t change the fact that I am in love with this life. I’m happy and free, and though my body is literally aching to go home and see every –ologist in existence, my heart overflows with a love and happiness that I never experienced in the US.

Slowly, my life in the US will mix with this one and I can't wait for that. Both of my parents have come, and in two weeks my mom will be here again and my brother will join her (now just need my sister!), and tonight I will hopefully see someone from my sister’s high school class that is coming for a safari. I hope that next summer even more friends from home will be able to come catch a glimpse of my life in Africa, but until then, I’ll be here, and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve planted myself and there’s nowhere better for me to grow as a school director, as a developer and as a person.

4.13.15

There are a couple reasons I need to get serious about learning Swahili. Besides being able to communicate with my workers, kids and teachers in their own language, I need to communicate with Mama Alice, the mother of a student who comes to clean my house, wash clothes or cook for me every other day. I realized this when I texted her that I was late and she came to my house relieved I was just behind schedule and not dead. It’s all fun and games until your translator application translates the wrong meaning of “late.”

Mama Alice was at my place yesterday. She cleaned up my disaster of an apartment (the remains of a Friday night feast/slumbo jumbo with two friends) then came into my room where I was lying face down on my pillow, mouth wide open, a tissue stuffed up my nose, coughing up who knows what. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I know that because I woke up to it on Saturday…and probably last Saturday also (shoutout to Shayna and Mhairi #oshi). Anyways, she came and sat next to me on my bed, her arm across my body just like my mom does when she wants to chat while I’m in bed. Mama Alice started by saying she wanted to tell me something but didn’t know English. Now, she does speak some English so I told her to try. She explained in broken words that Alice is getting tutored every day over break at Maasai Joy, the school where we sponsor the kids. It’s 50,000 for the month including transport. She told me that without this job, she wouldn’t be able to afford it. She told me how thankful she was for me and the job. I told her that I was happy to help her and I love having her around.

Most days when she finishes, she sits at my table and munches on any snacks she can find with a mug of water or tea. She really took to the peanut butter crackers my dad brought for his flight, unfortunately they’re gone now so I have to find something else for her to snack on.  I would like to communicate with her better. Even though we laugh a lot while trying to have an English – Swahili conversation, knowing Swahili is important so I can tell her how much I appreciate her hard work.

Another person who has inspired me to take learning Swahili more seriously is Noella’s Aunt. You know, the woman who lives in a house smaller than most of our bathrooms’ in the US with only a double bed and seven kids to take care of. Last Wednesday, Elizabeth and I went shopping for Noella, Angel and the little brother Frankie. We showed up to Auntie Noella’s house but she was not home. The neighbors told us the family was out of food and the kids were off playing, so Elizabeth and I went on our own to the hectic Tengeru Market and got so many clothes for the kids! We also restocked on food for them and gave Auntie Noella money to get clothes for her own four kids, shoes and haircuts for all seven. The kids were so excited to get new clothes and they looked so good in them! My little Noella smiled so big I hardly recognized her. The Aunt was so grateful as well, but she has no idea how thankful I am that she was so willing to take these kids. Elizabeth said “your brother’s kids are your kids” so Auntie Noella is taking good care of them. We recently found out Noella's dad tested HIV positive, was left my his second wife and moved to a hospital in Tanga to be with his parents. He is out of the picture and I am so thankful we got the kids before their dad got so visibly sick. Who knows where they would be if we had waited a few weeks to get them. Auntie Noella kept thanking me and I kept thanking her back, and that afternoon when I bought vegetables from her, she gave me two bananas as a gift of appreciation. We smiled at each other, thanked each other over and over again and I continued my walk back home.  I can’t yet express how much I admire her and how lost I would be if she didn’t take the kids with open arms. Hopefully one day I can, but I just have to get to studying.

Right now, I’m sitting in my apartment writing this while I eat my salmon and broccoli dinner. I get to escape Africa every night and go back to my American life with chicken or fish, a carton of juice, silverware, a couch, running water, electricity (usually), two pillows, a big bed, a shower, a full belly, water. Luxuries. Here, I am luxurious. Mama Alice goes home every day to a mud hut, eleven people in two beds, no electricity. Auntie Noella has seven kids to take care of on her own, one bed, no electricity. Neither of them have running water or their own toilets. They both sleep with padlocks on their doors. I know that even if I don’t lock my apartment, it will be fine because we have a guard and live on a safe street. I know that even if I don’t have food in my house, I’ll still get to eat. I know that if I don’t have money, my parents are always there to send a hundred bucks. Even these things are luxuries here despite how simple they are.

I don’t like going in this direction with my posts, but I think it’s appropriate for this one. I hope you will realize how lucky you are to live in a country where the luxuries people don’t even know exist are some of the simplest things you have. When you lay down in your bed tonight, imagine sharing it with five, six or seven other people, then stretch out extra big and appreciate that you probably either share it with one other person or nobody at all. And when you wake up, appreciate that your phone is fully charged and all the food in your fridge is still good because you didn’t lose power over night. Not to mention that you even have a fridge! And even if you send/sent your child or children to private school, be glad that there is/was at least an option for free education. That’s the end of this post and my mini lecture, I’m off to catch a baby lizard before my kitten does. And hopefully that slug the length of California that was in my shower this morning is gone ;)

As always, thank you for the continued support. Happy Monday to everyone at home, six months until I’m back there for my brother’s wedding! YAY!

3.31.14

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you might remember my post “I love you through and through” which was a reflection on the beauty of this land after a long motorcycle ride far out of town with my favorite driver, Victor. I still use him regularly and he still spoils me. A couple weeks ago, I had him take me out of town to meet Elizabeth for something. While we were waiting, he took me for another mini cruise. We just so happened to be in the village he went to school in from age 6-15, roughly. He took me around, showed me his former schools, where he lived with his Uncle while school was in session, and explained to me some Maasai vocabulary, traditions, and his experiences as a kid. His English is perfect so learning from him is easy. That day, I fell in love with Tanzania again. Today, I fell in love once more.

The rainy season has begun and in almost no time, things have gone from brown and dry to green and full, and I just got back from another long ride out of town with Victor. He took me to my project the same way as usual, right through town. Once we got out of town, we were going through fields of wet soil being plowed. It sounds pretty regular and less than thrilling when I write about it, but let me see if I can paint a better picture. We turned off the tarmac onto the dirt road, dodging puddles left and right. To my right are mud huts, bomas with cattle, locals sitting on the ground passing a sachet of the local alcohol between one another. To my left, vast fields as far as we can see. The dark soil has been plowed by the tractor in the distance, and in line with the tractor are men and women in their colorful garments, small buckets in one hand, dropping seeds with the other. Bordering these fields are trees and green as can be, and against the near black soil, it makes for a beautiful sight. In the backdrop, Mount Meru, playing shy today and hiding behind the clouds. The visual is incredible but what really seals the deal is the culture. The simplicity of the lives these people lead constantly leaves me in awe. Every few seconds a group of kids, some with no shoes, in tattered clothes holding sticks runs out to the street to say hi to the passing white person. This is my sight the whole way to the project, with some shrub fences protecting a little “neighborhood” of Maasai [k1] mud huts, or the occasional brick house. I love those ten minutes to the project from the main road and every time I go out there, I’m reminded why I love being here and why I chose that piece of land. I can take all the pictures I want, but it will never do this beauty justice.

I told Victor how much I love being out of town, so he took me on another “off the map” route back home. I don’t know how to describe the trip home, but it was beautiful. There were a couple times I wasn’t so sure we would get out of that spot, but we always did…even if I had to get off the bike and meet him where the rocks stopped or top of the hill. We weren’t on roads, just navigating through bush and forest, then through a shallow creek and up a dusty hill where we found a road and eventually made it back to the tarmac and eventually into town. You know, exactly the situation you would be cautioned about…a girl with a dead phone on the back of a motorcycle with some guy, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Sorry parents! (not that sorry though)

Days like this motivate me to keep pushing through this foggy time. I love the people, the land and the culture and I can’t believe I almost let one “snake in the grass” take this all away from me. It brings me back to a song by one of my favorites, Ben Sollee…

When love comes, will you release the rain?

Will you change the world to the song you sang?

Or when the smoke clears, will your hope remain,

To make some peace on this land you claim?

 

3.30.15

I thought that when this ended, I was fine. I came out on top, Hill Crest belongs to me. The project belongs to me. The company belongs to me. How could I be sad about any of this? How could I not be okay? It is becoming increasingly clear to me that I have a long road to recovery ahead of me. I even dyed my hair because it was the only thing I felt I had control over. I love it, but that was very out of character for me. I’m trying to regain control now and move forward!

I can’t believe anything anyone says. I’m just waiting to find out who the next “Isaac” will be, because if he could do such awful things, somebody else will too… right? The hardest part of it is that he wasn’t just awful to me. On top of the many other former volunteers, his wife has suffered more than I could ever imagine. Elizabeth is now my co-director but also my friend and mama. Two weeks ago, we were having tea together. Relationships came up in our conversation. We talked about my first boyfriend in Tanzania and how much she hated him. She asked me about the last guy I was seeing, and when I reminded her that his name was Isack, we had a good laugh. It seemed like that opened her up, as if that brought us closer somehow. The entire day from that moment on, we were laughing and talking and loving that we were brought together by this wild and crazy world. We bought a bag of maize that was too heavy for both of us to carry and a ten minute walk back to school took 45 minutes, and we were laughing all the way. She was happier than I’ve seen her, even since my first trip in 2012. She was laughing from her gut, allowing herself to release the joy she was feeling. She has told me several times since we began working together that she knew I would be the one to save her. Since last January, she has been waiting for God to bring her out of the situation she was in, and she saw it in me. She was hoping I would see the truth, and we all know I did. And that’s why she is a happier and stronger woman than I’ve witnessed before. Don’t get me wrong, her marriage was okay until January 2014, but it went downhill quickly from there. Now we get to recover together, from very different situations, but together nonetheless.

This month we get to focus on fixing things at school. Checking the curriculum and adjusting it, seeing where we can improve. We will also continue to have a handful of kids come in daily for lunch. There are two returning volunteers I talk to regularly who contribute financially while they are away. They have been an incredible support system to not just me but Elizabeth also. They have encouraged her to be independent and find her inner strength. Judi, one of the volunteers, encouraged her to go to an empowerment seminar in town, but Elizabeth wants to hold her own. I’m hoping we can arrange for her to go to one before we hold one in the village so we have a better idea about how to go about it. Judi and Catriona have been incredible help and support to us and we are both so thankful. It is their support that I know will pull Elizabeth through, and will help me also. Weekly, we Skype and set up a plan which helps me stay organized and on task because my brain is constantly being pulled in so many different directions! Judi and Catriona also Skype and talk to Elizabeth individually, so as I’ve said, they have played a vital role in our recovery.

Rainy season is here so I have to go find some ratty old converses at the second hand market soon! Getting to school and the project will be real tasks as well. The mud makes things difficult but not impossible. And if anything, just that much more interesting. We are still trying to figure out the best thing to do for Riziki, our student who is on the streets, but it is hard. She has a dad but he doesn’t take care of her. I would like to find someone to take her in, but there is no telling if she will get treated any better if we just place her with another family. We need to figure it out soon though.

I’m off to the project, we have the floors in in three rooms and my workers are ordering more materials as I write this. I will meet them at the jobsite in time for the delivery of more cement and sand! I can’t believe we have floors! Keep sending your prayers and positive vibes this way as we continue to move forward with school and the project J

Just as I began to reread this, I got a text from Elizabeth telling me she just found out that Noella’s dad has been in the hospital since last week suffering from HIV. Amazing how things can change in the blink of an eye. We will figure out what we can do for her dad in addition to feeding the kids. Happy Monday..right?

3.21.15

 

Mama Alice is cleaning the house right now and I am so pleased. She speaks a little bit of English, I speak a little bit of Swahili, so communicating what I want and what she needs is like a game. But I have my Swahili dictionary on the table to fill in the gaps!

I thought I should do an update on here about what we have accomplished since Elizabeth and I took over. Some of this may be redundant if you’ve seen all of my posts on Facebook, but I know some of it will be new!

I’m not sure exactly the date I took over, legally, but we have made some big moves. The first thing Elizabeth wanted handled was our oldest class, Class 1, a primary level class. We had around 20 kids in the class, but Hill Crest was not fit to teach them, as we are a Pre Primary School. Apparently Isaac was keeping them so that when the project finished, we could move them there. We never agreed to change our boarding pre primary school to a day primary school, but that’s what he told the parents of these kids. Elizabeth’s main source of stress was having these older kids. We both knew the teacher was terrible, so I moved quickly and found Maasai Joy, a small Primary school in the hills of Ngaramtoni. The kids got sponsored so we moved them there and fired the teacher, who we found out was not a teacher… just someone Isaac met on the street. Good one, Isaac. Now the kids are at Maasai Joy and doing so well! We miss them at Hill Crest but they needed to be shifted, for their own benefit!

Around Christmas, a girl with club feet was dropped next to Hill Crest to stay with the neighboring family who happens to be the family of a Hill Crest student. We invited Cadogo into school and enrolled her. She was measured for a uniform and a visiting volunteer bought her two beautiful dresses, as it didn’t seem she had anything. With Isaac gone, it was my chance to do something! So I went to a clinic/school/therapy/pre-op house for kids with burns, club foot, benign tumors, etc. It’s a beautiful facility called Plaster House. The Founder explained the process and said she would take Cadogo and get her ready for surgery in either April/May or August/September. I don’t remember the exact details from that conversation anymore! They would start preparing her bones for the surgery by casting her several weeks before, and the surgeons are European volunteers so it technically wouldn’t cost anything, but if the family/caregiver/guardian is able, they appreciate 100,000 Shilling donations (approximately $54). Of course, I accepted and waited for them to call and tell me when to move her into Plaster House! During this time, her mom and siblings came back and moved into a vacant mud hut next to the school. When we took Cadogo to Plaster House, the founder said that she was a “wicked case.” They are confident her feet can be fixed, but it is going to be a long and painful surgery and recovery.

Word of Cadogo got back to the US through Judi Davis, a former volunteer, major Hill Crest supporter, and founder of Sunflower Kids (her NGO that raises and sends money for food at Hill Crest). A 10 year old boy heard Cadogo’s story and started making and selling bracelets to fundraise for her surgery, shoes, and for Mama Cadogo to go visit her. He’s so excited about it and has raised $200 for her! That definitely pays for her surgery and first pair of shoes, and I will hold onto the remaining and make arrangements for her mom to go visit her for as long as possible while she is recovering. Taxis are expensive and Cadogo has a long journey ahead so I’m hoping Colter can keep his spirit up and keep raising money for her! It will be nice for both mother and daughter to have each other’s support during this process. Her next step is casting, so that’s when we I will start arranging to take her mom, or send her with my motorcycle driver.

The next thing I handled was Noella. We have lost a handful of the kids I started with in 2012, they moved or their parents split and one of the parents took them. I don’t remember when Noella stopped coming to school, but something inside me never stopped asking about her. Maybe it was because her house was right on the way to hill crest so she was easy to think about, but anytime I asked Isaac he just brushed it off with her parents shifted, he was not sure. I asked him at least ten times over time and always settled because Isaac likes to talk, and most days I just couldn’t fathom asking a question that could make him talk for another unnecessary 30 minutes. I settled when I should not have, and I am so angry at myself for that. One day as Elizabeth and I were going to take care of a personal issue, we passed where Noella was living and I asked Elizabeth where the family went. She turned around immediately and started asking the neighbors questions. That was when we found out that her parents divorced and her mom took the three kids, then her dad took them, then their grandparents got them, then their aunt, then their dad took them back again. The dad and stepmom don’t take care of the kids which is why they were being taken by the other family members. We met with the Aunt, who is living in the house they used to live in, and she told us how serious their situation was. We told her to call their dad and tell him to prepare their things because they would be moving back with their Aunt until we figure out the best thing to do for them.

Elizabeth and I went on to deal with this issue, and the next morning Noella and her sister were in school. Before I got there, Elizabeth texted me and told me that I would cry when I see them, and she was right. Noella was skin and bones, her face thinned out and that beaming smile was missing. Her young sister, Angel, jumped into my arms and clung her little arms around my neck and would not let go. Her cheek was pressed against mine as she held me. My heart broke and I was reduced to tears at the sight of them. On my way to school, Angel used to meet me on the street, running to me with her shoes on the wrong feet, a shirt that was way too big, and a huge smile and giggle as she yelled “teacher! Teacher! Teacher!” the whole way between her and me. I always scooped her up, gave her a big hug, then continued my walk to school. Noella was always one of my favorite students, probably because she always wanted so much love. She also did this cute thing with her mouth anytime she spoke English, pursing her lips as far out as they would go. And for being so cute and gentle, she was also vicious. I always adored her. I couldn’t believe the two girls I was seeing were Angel and Noella. Elizabeth and I bought food for her Aunt, who has three kids of her own plus the three she just took in, so it was necessary. That’s when I turned to Facebook, desperate for help for these kids. I’m so thankful for the $575 that was raised for them, it is going to go so far. We will be able to buy so much food over the next several months and we will also go to the market to get all six of the kids clothes, and something special for Aunty Noella also. She deserves it.

That's it for this time, check back Monday or Tuesday!

3.18.15

I have decided to start using this in more of a diary format from here on out instead of sweeping updates. It’s a much less daunting task if I just do this every other day instead of trying to hit every big point in one post every few weeks.

Monday day was nice. Things are finally starting to seem normal again at school as things are calming down and coming together. I met Elizabeth on the road to school at Noella’s Aunt’s house. (If you don’t know the story behind Noella, go back to my facebook and scroll down! There is a status from a couple weeks ago). She needed more food so off we went. Thanks to so many generous donations, we were able to get them enough food for at least 3 weeks! And we will be able to keep doing this for at least 8 months, though I hope longer. We dropped off the food and went back to school. I did some dishes and some budgeting/accounting then went to a meeting after school. On my way to the meeting, Auntie Noella stopped me and gave me two bananas, an amazingly beautiful gesture of appreciation that I should have remembered later that night.

Monday night I got so frustrated with things and people here that I cried for about three hours. I should be used to people seeing me as money, but I’m not. I can’t wrap my head around people just assuming I have money all the time because I’m white. What people don’t realize is that since “the incident” I have gone without lunch or dinner at least 15 times and owe my motorcycle driver money because he was constantly sending me phone credit because I couldn’t afford it. Monday night, I got two texts that just sent me over the edge. I texted my friend asking if I look like an ATM machine, because that is what I felt like. I guess their excuse is that neither of the people that texted me are directly related to Hill Crest but they both knew everything that happened… and after everything that happened and how much money I spent recovering hill crest, why don’t people understand that I don’t have a bunch of cash just lying around? Do these people have no appreciation for me and how willingly I forked up every penny of my savings to keep things together for the kids? Nope. Not a bit. And that really hurt my feelings and made me livid. I even texted my dad, fuming and sobbing, a message with the big fat F bomb in it before I finally took enough Melatonin to knock me out for at least 12 hours. I turned my phone off, fell asleep, woke up, took a shower and read an entire book before I turned my phone on again. Tuesday was a ‘me’ day and I deserved it. I also realized that if something is going to be done and done properly, I have to do it. Another frustration I’m facing daily but I can only take on so much, so I’m choosing my battles.

Today I met a friend of Isaac’s who is a contact for the sponsor of one of our students, Alice. When he heard about what was going on with Isaac, he contacted Elizabeth who put him in contact with me. The sponsor was contacted and didn’t send any more money. Nobody knew that Alice was already sponsored until I held a parents meeting for our older kids who needed to move to Primary school. Gregory, the contact, met me today and explained to me that they agreed for Alice to be sponsored at Hill Crest for $250/term-$750/year. Outrageous. Gregory spoke to Isaac and said that because of the high school fee, Isaac needed to give some of that back to her family to help them. Then Gregory told me about what a bad situation Alice’s family was in. He also said that Isaac evaded giving the family any of the money the sponsor sent. Gregory gave me the sponsor’s phone number and I will be in touch with him. I asked him to take me to Alice’s house, so off we went. We were met by Mama Alice at the water well on the street, where she was having a big cup of tap water. Then she took us to her home, a mud hut which is falling apart at the seams. It is two rooms with one bed in each, the whole house approximately 10’x12’ give or take a bit. I asked who lived there. To Alice, her Grandma and Grandpa, mom and sister, two Aunts, one Uncle and three cousins. Alice’s dad died last year. Only the Grandma works, and they are suffering. The only security they have is knowing the Grandma’s job is permanent.

So I told Gregory to ask Mama Alice if she would like to come and clean my house and wash my clothes four times a week, maybe even cook for me sometimes. She agreed and will start tomorrow. What we still have to settle is her sponsorship. Now Alice has two sponsors, something that needs to be fixed. So ill be working on that situation this week and hopefully resolve it and have another post about it in the coming week or so.

The Class 1 students we got sponsored and moved to Maasai Joy got their new uniforms today. I’m so excited to go and see them tomorrow! Maybe I will just meet them at the bus stop in the morning again, it’s the best way to start a day!

Don’t forget about the trip in June. Two weeks in Tanzania at Hill Crest and a safari?! How could you pass that up ;) Email me for the itinerary! Katherine@hillcrestpreprimary.com

Rocked.

My world was rocked almost two months ago when everything I knew and trusted about (former) Hill Crest director, Isaac, came crashing down right in front of me. When we bought the lumber for the roof of the project in October, he lied to me about the payment and payment agreement. So on January 14^th, I found myself at the lumber yard surrounded by angry employees, abandoned by him, locked in an office, almost arrested and forced to sign a contract. I was crying and shaking so badly I could hardly use my phone. I was humiliated that Isaac was the reason for all of this so I didn’t want to call anyone and tell them what was happening. Thankfully, the police officer that arrived recognized that he could not arrest me and gave me a ride. It was then that I called my former housemate and best friend in Arusha, Hans, and met him at our friends’ house where I sobbed into him for a few minutes before telling him everything that happened. He said it was all a setup, as did everyone else I told over the next few weeks. If you know me, you know how hard it is for me to cry in front of people. The fact that I melted into Hans and then six of my other friends should tell you how absolutely traumatized I was by what happened.

If those boys had not received me and comforted me the way they did, I would have gotten on a plane home that night and not looked back. I would be home saying, “yeah it was a good two years.” I would be getting back on society’s assembly line. I would be looking into going back to school this summer, getting a job, and hoping to create the white picket fence life in a couple of years. I would be returning to false happiness. I was so close to losing everything I love. I was about to go back to the life I was so miserable in because I knew there was no way to recover my relationship with Isaac after what he did that morning, which meant my time at Hill Crest was over also. It isn’t easy being betrayed in a foreign country by the first person who is supposed to take care of you. I spent three days cooped up in my apartment before I gathered the courage to tell the three people who needed to know; my mom, dad, and Bernard, the American who “adopted” the construction of the project shortly after we bought the lumber in October. I met Bernard in a café in town, crying as I told him. Before I finished, he was calling his people to get things taken care of. That night I had to tell my parents. I went through a strange range of emotions. Would they be disappointed in me? Or mad, or make me go home…would they stop trusting my judgment, would they regret sending me here? How could I tell them what happened? For some reason, I thought they would be disappointed in me. They weren’t. For those few days, I was realizing everything I thought I lost. I would not be welcomed at Hill Crest again; I lost my kids. I couldn’t imagine facing Isaac again; I lost him. His wife had become my mama, my sister, my friend, my rock and root; I lost Elizabeth. Two days prior, I moved into an apartment far away from my friends and close to Hill Crest, now a mistake. I was scared to pass the lumber yard on my way to town. I was relieved nobody knew yet where my new apartment was, at least Isaac wouldn’t show up on my doorstep with the police. That was the only sense of relief I felt for a long time.

I also thought I was going to lose the project but then I heard that Isaac said he would keep things peaceful and stay away from the project. The next day, he changed and said he was going to fight. That’s when Bernard called in the “big dogs” and my dad flew in. Isaac didn’t know what a mistake he made by making things vicious. The people that came to my side are powerful and Isaac had no grounds to stand on. It came out that he was here illegally since 2008. Hill Crest was not a registered school. He was probably planning on taking the project for himself when it was done. He told the court that I was stealing project money and spending it on boys at the clubs. He tried to say that the money for the project didn’t even come through me. He made a fool of himself and ruined his chances of winning the fight. Over the six days that my dad was in town, we were in a hearing and then had meetings with some of the most powerful people in Arusha. They asked me what I wanted to happen to Isaac, and at that point I just wanted to scare him. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t messing around anymore and that he had better not come near me or the project, but I needed assurance that his wife and kids would be taken care of. I was in complete denial that his wife knew about anything he had done over the last two years; partly because I know my heart just wouldn’t have been able to handle betrayal by Elizabeth, partly because I genuinely believed she knew nothing.

Over time, the truth unfolded and my respect for Isaac diminished. His life was being revealed and it was horrifying. Everything I knew about him was a lie and the truth was disgusting. He is a coward and a pathetic excuse for a man. Now, even Elizabeth thinks every word that came out of his mouth was a lie. I know that because, as I suspected, she knew nothing.

After two weeks, we came up with an agreement that put me on top and let him walk away. I would get the project and Hill Crest, he would not get arrested or deported. He refused to sign and walked out of that meeting on February 3^rd and that was the last we have seen or heard from him. Because he is Kenyan, we realized later that he did not even need to sign the agreement. Elizabeth, as a Tanzanian, was the one that needed to sign. She did.

The trouble that Isaac tried to get me into ultimately ended with me as director of Hill Crest, owner of the project, and now a CEO of a company that I just registered in Tanzania. I am also being given land to develop into a community project through my company. Isaac gets to live in hiding. He knows the police are looking for him, and when he is found he will face the law. Sure, he left us in debt and I spent all of my savings recovering Hill Crest, but I can find more money. I would never be able to replace my kids, my relationships, or my life here.

I’m thankful for everything he put me through. It’s still a very open wound and writing this has been a challenge, but I would never have known the strength I possess. I’ve learned to fight, to stand up for myself, and to defend the kids. The passive person that I was for 23 years is gone and I welcome challenges now. Elizabeth and I are working hard to restore the integrity of Hill Crest and turn it back into the school it was before Isaac chased her away and lied to me about everything. We have a lot of work to do and it is going to be a long road to recovery, but it will happen. Nobody is going to stop me now. I would like to see someone try.