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?