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Published: November 14th 2008
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Childhood
A child sits in front of the youth centre. After a week of volunteer training in Dar es Salaam, we were headed to Zanzibar. The ferry was crowded and we sat huddled together, listening to the sound of the rain pelting against the windows and the hum of people speaking Swahili around us. It had been raining all week, but it wasn’t like the steady, gentle Canadian rain we were used to. This rain started and stopped in an instant, and it fell so hard it sometimes hurt my skin. It was just another reminder of how far we were from home.
It was dark when the ferry docked in Stonetown. We piled into a small truck with our backpacks and headed towards what would be our home for the next ten weeks. We were five new acquaintances, Canadians thrown together in a strange country with a common goal- to try to make a difference. We knew we’d be teaching HIV/AIDS awareness and supporting people who were living with HIV, but we had no idea what the next few weeks would hold for us. As the truck bumped down the dark, muddy road, we grew quiet. We pulled up to a plain house surrounded by a high metal fence,
Dala Dala
Erin sits on the dala dala near Stonetown. and the driver turned off the engine. We were home.
There was a lot to get used to, in the first few weeks of our new existence. We slept on simple foam pads on a concrete floor, with our bug nets tucked neatly around us. In the morning we’d take turns drawing water from the well in the back yard. The water would come up full of bugs and floating debris, which we’d skim off before using it for our washing. A morning shower consisted of a couple of good splashes of water with a cup, soaping up, and then a few more splashes. We walked everywhere. It was five kilometers to the youth centre where we were working and we made the trek there and back at least twice a day in the blistering heat.
We were treated like aliens on our street. It was the first time that foreigners had ever lived in our community, and the first time that many of the children on our street had ever seen white people. The surprised screams of laughter that followed us wherever we went bothered me at first. I longed for the invisibility of Canada. As the
The duka
Me in front of the local store on our street. weeks passed, the laughs quieted into familiar smiles and finally, Swahili greetings. It isn’t unusual to exchange three or four greetings with each person you pass in Tanzania. I grew to enjoy the leisurely walk to work each day, stopping to chat with each person I passed along the way.
Our work moved slowly. On top of HIV/AIDS education at the youth centre, we were given the task of working with a group of HIV positive women in Stonetown. They supported themselves by making and selling soaps to local hotels. We were asked to help improve their marketing and sales. After some brief conversations with hotel managers in Stonetown, it became apparent that we were up against some challenges that would be difficult to overcome in our short stay. There was a perception (from both locals and tourists) that HIV was contagious and that it could possibly be passed on through the soap. It was times like these that we felt completely helpless- the issues these women faced seemed insurmountable. The only consolation was that we were the first group of many volunteers - and longer term problems could be worked on over the course of time. We just
AIDS orphan
One of the children we visited during our research for a funding proposal. needed to get the ball rolling.
Our other big project was to gather research for a funding proposal. We wanted to find a way to generate funding to support the caregivers of AIDS orphans. We drove around the island visiting families that were raising orphans, and recorded their stories with the help of a translator. Many of the families were living in one room huts, sleeping together on straw mats on the ground. Some homes had five or six children. We were told about times when there was no food to eat for days. The most surprising part of this experience was how happy and well adjusted the children seemed to be. They crowded around us, smiling, laughing and asking questions about Canada in Swahili. Even though they had lost so much and lived with so little, they truly seemed happy.
By the end of our ten weeks in Zanzibar, I felt as though a piece of me had changed forever. A common Swahili greeting is “Salama”, which means “peace”, and that’s exactly what I found on this tiny Muslim island. Back in Toronto, I find myself missing the clarity of the stars at night. I miss the children at the youth centre, with their big smiles and bright eyes. I miss the intensity of the bongo flava music, and the freedom of letting all my inhibitions go with a huge crowd of people on the dance floor. Back in Toronto, I sit on a streetcar filled with commuters and imagine myself in the back of an open Dala Dala, with the wind blowing and everyone laughing.
I believe that volunteering is one of the best ways to see the world. It has allowed me to view the world through a different filter. Not surprisingly, it’s given me a new appreciation of Canada and all of the advantages that come with being born here. What is surprising is that my experience has also opened my eyes to the advantages of a simpler lifestyle. I never expected to feel jealous of a culture that has so little. In some ways, I feel that the people of Tanzania have it much better than us- they have a much stronger sense of community and seem to appreciate each moment of every day. They take the time to stop and greet each person they pass on the street. They dance and laugh with their hearts wide open. I only hope I can manage to hold onto a tiny piece of this African life, and merge it into my life here in Canada.
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