I just returned from a funeral-morbid for some, but quite revealing of the condition of life here in Tanzania. We buried a mother of about 45 years old (the average TZ mortality rate). Her husband passed just over a year prior. She had apparently suffered from a chronic fever for over 2 years (curious indeed – HIV/AIDS?). They leave 4 children, ranging from 8 years old to about 14-all orphans now, cared for by their cousin already burdened by a family of his own, with 4 children to boot.

I biked in the sprinkling rain not quite sure where I was headed; all I knew was that their last name was Msigwa (close to everyone’s last name in Manga is Kihombo or Msigwa, so it wasn’t much help really:). Fortunately, I met a young girl on the road who knew of the funeral, so she jumped on the back of my bike wearily to lead me to their mud home, set back behind rows of corn. Their thatch roof was bleeding smoke as I approached – I knew it was either from the heat of people inside or from a fire..or both. When I entered, I realized it was indeed both, discovering a plethora of people, from bibis (grandmothers) to watoto (kids), sitting solemnly around a fire. The warmth overwhelmed me as the fire raged between the typical 3 keystones, used to balance pots when cooking ugali. I couldn’t help but think of my great great grandmothers cooking back in the 1800’s. They must have cooked this same way.

I made small greetings in Kibena as they welcomed me to a kigoda, a locally carved 3-pegged seat, smooth and browned from years of use. I sunk in comfortably to the scene, greeting the kids, respecting the elderly properly with small talk about the rain and the height of the corn and how the tomatoes are so hard to come by these days. Then, I requested to meet the children of the late woman. Nico, I learned, had been caring for his mother this past year. He had dropped out of 3rd grade to do so. Can you imagine? What a strong boy he was. You could see it in his face.

I sat over an hour there chatting about village happenings-how so and so’s cows had been stolen, amazement over never-ending rain and how it had rained with such intensity 2 days before, the muddy condition of the road making it even impassable for the village truck to pass, how the tomato farmers were making a killing this season-so much so that they weren’t selling any in Manga so no one has any tomatoes to cook with, etc. It’s nice that conversations tend to resemble each other, in that I only have to remember a few key phrases to get by and appear as if I know what I’m talking about! Ha.

I’m so not a farmer. My neighbors love to poke fun at the lack of blisters or worn spots on my hands like they have from toiling with their hoes. I’m embarrassed to admit my garden has only succeeded due to Sarah, my friend who helps around my house. To be quite honest, my flowers are the only thing that give me bragging rights. Apparently, I didn’t inherit Grandaddy’s farming prowess, but I can do flowers. And they are beautiful, shining brightly in front of my door and in my courtyard, intertwining with ivy climbing up and down and everywhere. I love it. It’s hard to imagine that my courtyard was just a mudpit when I arrived. It feels good to have made a home homey-my first time doing so, really. Peace Corps has provided a lot of first...

...such as first-hand experiences watching children becoming orphans overnight, just little children who will now have to struggle daily to fight for an education, a basic human right. It’s timely, this funeral, as this very week, I’m initiating my research on orphans in my village. Just today I received a list of 15 different families in which either the father, mother or both parents have passed away. It only took my village chairman the whole week to prepare this list. I don’t mean to be demanding, but c’mon, really. It seems as if village governments doesn’t keep up to date on the orphan situation, sadly. I was told there should be a list in every village office of the number of orphans, but this wasn’t the case in Manga. They had to create one as a result of my request. Note to self. Maybe even the fact that I’m even doing this research will raise awareness and compassion for the orphans next door. I can only hope so.

I will soon be venturing off with this chairman to visit house to house, introducing myself (although hopefully most will already know me), presenting each guardian and child with consent forms. These forms are only meant to explain the process and purpose of my research, and how the interviews will proceed. This way, if they feel uncomfortable responding or participating at all, they understand that they can refuse or discontinue without consequence.

Needless to say, I’m ecstatic to get the interviews rolling. My questions are ready, translated in Swahili and approved by my counterpart, Kaduma. My tape recorder is set to go. The blank tapes are standing by. And my heart and pen are anxious to begin.

My goal is to better understand the hali halisi or actual condition orphans and their caretakers’ are living in these days in the village. What are their struggles? What support are they getting, if any? What are their greatest concerns? What life necessities are they lacking? How is the child’s emotional status? Do they have hope? If so, what are they hopeful for?

My hope is that these interviews will provide not only enlightenment for me personally, but also be able to provide enough meat for a 40+ page thesis paper for my Master’s degree. I’m thankful for this opportunity of hands-on learning, although I know it’s going to be tough for me and my interviewees. What will I do if the child starts to cry? And if I cry? It would be ideal to have a trained counselor along (Adele?Corrie?Lavinia?Where are ya when I need ya?), but I’ll have to go alone.

It’s funny-village time can be so painstakingly slow, and yet somehow, so fast. Perhaps this new pace has something to do with having an end in sight-a distant sun setting after one very long day. I hope this day lasts a long time. I honestly can’t imagine this ending. People in my village have already started talking about my departure, inquiring where I’ll go from here, and who will come next. Of course, even I have no answers to their questions. Only time will tell...

On the horizon:
*March 8 (International Women’s Day): Hosting a women’s career panel at Secondary School for all female students. The objective is for girls to realize the myriad of career opportunities that exist and lay before them (i.e. not just teaching, which is the sole career position most of them see). We’ll be inviting a policewoman, a lawyer, an NGO director and a nurse - all local successful women. They’ll be explaining how they made it and sharing their secrets as to what kept them on track in this man’s world.

*March 9-11: HIV/AIDS Soccer Camp at the Primary School. This 3-day camp of HIV/AIDS lessons and soccer lessons/games will take place behind my house on the primary school field. My friend and fellow PCV, Emma, hailing from the Hanang region (near Arusha), will be co-facilitating the seminar along with me and a trained specialist from Njombe. We’ll be providing these 60 kids (selected from 5th-7th grades, half boys, half girls) with not only education and fun, but also with a nutritional breakfast, lunch and t-shirt! What else would the t-shirt say on the back but TUPO PAMOJA! Many thanks to King, Reusch and Spain families for making this HIV/AIDS awareness seminar a reality. And asante sana to Emma’s mom and church friends for shipping the soccer balls. We’re crossing our fingers they arrive in time.

*May 6-10: Close of Service Conference at Mt. Meru. Working on the final slideshow, goodbye speeches now:(

With love, especially for all you Valentines out there, Tait