It has now been almost three months since I was in Tanzania, the distance between myself and the country greater than the eight weeks I spent there. No global experience has had as much of an impact on me as this fellowship has. As my first extended amount of time in the developing world most of what I discovered and gained an understanding for was related to development. In reflecting on the experience I realized that the most impactful moments didn’t come from the fieldwork directly but from thinking about the context of the work we were doing, considering our positionality, and from conversations and time spent with our coworkers and friends. From Week One to Week EightI also realized how much I grew throughout the eight weeks and how accustomed to the environment I became. Amanda was the one who pointed out this growth to me on one of our last days in Arusha. On our fourth day in country we explored downtown Arusha. My journal pages from that day highlight the stress and uneasiness I felt. The city was bustling with lots of people walking around and cars driving. I felt nervous walking along the side of the roads because most streets lacked sidewalks. There was lots of dust filling up the air that made it difficult to breathe and burned my eyes as well as car exhaust that smelled terrible and made me feel nauseous. Amanda and I had no sense of direction, no clue where to go and simply wandered aimlessly around the city trying to stay out of everyone’s way. To make matters worse our foreignness was strikingly obvious and I couldn’t pretend to fit in if I tried; our light skin shining a spotlight on us everywhere we went. I had never felt so uncomfortable or exposed just walking down the street in my life. Several people tried to talk to us, some trying to sell us things, some asking for money or haggling us, and some just wanted to know who we were and what we were doing in Tanzania. One man talked to us for a while as we stood outside a museum waiting for Mathias, our driver, to pick us up (which was stressful in and of itself because we had to verbally describe to him where we were using visual cues even though we had no idea where we were). At first I was worried that the man was trying to get us to buy something but after exchanging a few words we learned that he was actually working with another social enterprise that teaches young Masai girls to make reusable sanitary pads. We ended up having an interesting conversation but I was still on edge and only half paying attention to what he was saying and half scanning the cars circling the roundabout in front of us looking for Mathias. When Mathias finally found us and we got home, I was exhausted and I felt helpless, lost, and dumb. I was the one who had suggested we walk around downtown because I was eager to explore but I had a terrible experience and felt like I couldn’t go back. The city was too busy and I was too foreign to feel comfortable there. Fast forward to our last week and Amanda wanted to buy headphones because she had lost hers. Stella, the Solar Sister Administrator, had told us about an electronic store downtown and described how to get there. By this time, Amanda and I were accustomed to receiving verbal directions and we had been downtown enough times that we felt confident enough to find it. So we took off towards the store. The walk was probably a little over a mile each way and because the electronic store was closing soon we were walking briskly to make it in time. By this time we had driven and walked through downtown so often that I felt comfortable navigating the streets. After eight weeks of walking places on roads that lacked sidewalks I was completely used to walking on the side of the road and even felt confident stepping out in front of cars when I wanted to cross. The dust didn’t bother me anymore and I had gotten used to the exhaust so I couldn’t notice the smell. I learned to walk with purpose and to avoid eye contact with street vendors and politely decline those who tried to approach us while still moving forward. Walking around downtown was normal now and I felt just as comfortable I do walking around downtown Seattle. The city was familiar, comforting now even as I passed by our frequent stops such as our go-to bank, Afrocafe, the river, and the cellphone store. This major shift from week one to week eight wasn’t one I would have been able to pinpoint on my own if Amanda hadn’t brought it up. She asked if I remembered how nervous I had been the first time we came downtown compared to how confident I seemed now. I genuinely had to rack my brain for a while to recover the emotions of the past because they felt so long ago and so silly. I’m glad Amanda reminded me of how far I had come. It gave me assurance to remind myself that unfamiliar environments only become familiar the more time you spend in them and that fears of the unknown can easily be overcome. In addition to becoming more comfortable and confident living and working in Arusha and Tanzania in general, there were several lessons and even more questions that I have brought back with me to the US. The Last Mile really means the Last. Mile.My conception of rurality, distance, and isolation prior to the fellowship were based mostly on theoretical assumptions about what these concepts meant definitionally. The experience of visiting sisterhood groups in the Last Mile, filled these concepts with actual weight, truth, and understanding. I no longer accept someone else’s account that there are villages in Tanzania a several hour drive away from any sort of substantial development, I know this to be true because I have experienced the journey to the Last Mile myself. I have driven for hours along an unpaved, bumpy dirt “road” to reach these villages. Along this drive I came to empathize with the many we passed who were walking along the road because they had no other means of transportation. I developed an awareness of the reality in which a lengthy and challenging journey I completed once was apart of someone else’s daily routine. Even traveling by car had significant challenges as addresses and maps were not common place, government corruption significantly slowed the speed of travel due to frequent check-point stops, roads were often full of holes and at times the road condition was so unsuitable that we simply had to turn around and forgo the journey altogether. Driving down the freeway from SFO back to Santa Clara on the day we returned the the US I remember looking out the window in a state of shock. The multi-laned road on either side intersecting overpasses and underpasses in an intricate web filled with a variety of vehicles zooming past on all sides blew my mind. This used to be my normal, something I took for granted without a second thought, but now all I could think about was what was underneath, what was before. What the skeleton of the landscape was prior to all of the road development and how much time, effort, manpower, and money had to go into building such sprawling mazes of roads and signs. I remember turning my focus to a simple yet pristine highway barrier wall and thinking about what went into just that one wall. Nothing that I saw in Tanzania looked as pristine as that highway barrier wall. The disparity was deeply unsettling and I felt overwhelmed by the expansive development I had grown up in and was so used to. I found it interesting that this disparity didn’t strike me when I arrived in Tanzania, but when I arrived back in California. Looking out the window I was reminded of a conversation I had one afternoon with Amanda, Lumba, and Vitalis sitting outside the pool of our hotel in Morogoro. What Does it Mean to be Tanzanian? I don’t remember how the conversation started but somehow we arrived on the topic of development and Tanzania’s lack thereof. I expected Lumba and Vitalis to blame colonialism for the country’s current difficulties and reject white saviors so I was shocked to hear their much more nuanced opinions which demonstrated to me the complexity of the issue. To my surprise, they held up South Africa as the best country in Africa because of its colonizers. Lumba told us that because the British stayed in South Africa longer than any of their other colonies, they were able to support the country and build it up. The common narrative about South Africa in the United States that I have heard is much more negative, highlighting the deeply rooted racial tensions and injustice in the country. Hearing Lumba and Vitalis’ perspective however gave me a new lens through which to view South Africa and African’s in general. South Africa is the most developed country on the continent and although the white population in South Africa reaps most of the benefits of this development, the African population’s standard of living is still much higher than in many other countries. In spite of the complex circumstances and the way in which South Africa has gotten to its current position, the positive outcomes were what stood out most to these two Tanzanians. I thought of how easy it is to criticize colonialism from our American perspective but in doing so, we are also victimizing Africans. This victimization is dangerous because it furthers the mindset that the colonized are helpless and in need of support. The mindset has deeply rooted consequences that become internalized in many Tanzanians and creates a lack of confidence and trust in themselves. As we continued to talk, Lumba brought the effects of this internalized distrust to life. “Africa is rich and Tanzania has a wealth of natural resources, but look at our number of imports compared to our number of exports. We import everything. We rely too heavily on other countries and believe we are dependent on them” she told us. She went on to explain how much harder it is for Tanzanians to start businesses and make investments than it is for foreigners. This difficulty stems from a distrust of other Tanzanians. “If you and I go to a bank,” Lumba explained, “and we each had the same credentials and sum of money to invest, the bank will choose you over me simply because they think you are more loyal and trustworthy then a Tanzanian.” It broke my heart to hear the deeply rooted distrust that has been cultivated between Tanzanians. They will assume the only way a Tanzanian could get money would be through stealing, cheating, or lying and that they couldn’t obtain the money in an honest way, she explained. Lumba continued to express how important it is for smart and talented Tanzanians to stay in the country and help to build it up. Most people who are highly educated and who have the opportunity to leave the country do so. But if the country’s brightest minds continue to move away, they will leave behind a country that deeply needs them. “I understand why people want to leave” she confessed. “Vitalis would go back to Canada if it wasn’t for his children” she added. We looked over the Vitalis who had fallen quiet as the discussion had intensified and he nodded his head in agreement, telling us he planned to move back as soon as his children were grown. “I just couldn’t do that” Lumba told us, “I have to stay here and use my knowledge to improve Tanzania.” Lumba’s passion for her country was inspiring and her tenacity was unwavering. I agreed with her wholeheartedly. Tanzania is not deficient in people like Lumba and Vitalis who are incredibly smart, motivated, and hardworking. They are deficient in opportunities for these people to build the country up from within. Colonialism has imposed a static mindset in many Tanzanians that has falsely made them believe their greatness is dependent on others which has significantly limited their potential. What Does it Mean to be American? To be Catholic?Thankfully, this negative mindset can be changed and organizations like Solar Sister are making a significant impact in revealing to rural Tanzanian women the powerful agency they have always possessed within themselves. While the founder and CEO of Solar Sister, Katherine Lucey, is an American women, I am grateful for her commitment to putting the leadership of Solar Sister in Tanzanian hands. All of the Solar Sister employees in Tanzania from the BDAs all the way up to Fatma, the Country Manager, are Tanzanian and are passionate about investing in local communities. Thinking about development in Tanzania lead me to reflect on development in the US. It begged the question, if a system, structure, or country begins in a terrible and unjust way, can it bring good in the future or does its corrupt start make it inherently and irreversibly damaged? The United States was founded by European colonizers who killed and displaced Native Americans and the country was built and grown by slaves and immigrants who were excluded from many of the benefits of living here. But the US has also given so many people economic opportunity, it has become a safe haven for many immigrants and refugees, it is a diverse melting pot of cultures and is much more open and accepting than many other places in the world. Are all of these positives discounted because of how our country was founded? Or is it impossible to definitely say one way or another if the bad outweighs the good or vice versa because of how complex and layered these issues are? My journal pages from the days following this conversation are filled with question after question that I don’t know if I’ll ever find the answers too. These questions intensified the more time we spent with various Catholic congregations. When I entered into these spaces I instantly felt comfortable and at ease because these women and I shared a faith tradition. But what did it take to create of feeling of familiarity for me in East Africa? Catholicism was brought to Tanzania, it is not a native religion, its presence in Tanzania is a product of European influence, imposed on Tanzanians by colonizers. But all of the wonderfully amazing Sisters I met and spent time with wouldn’t have been Sisters or have provided services like schools, disability centers, farmers coops, and women’s support groups had Catholicism not been brought to Tanzania. And there would be no Catholic spaces for me to feel safe and comfortable in. What then does that say about the impact of Catholicism in Tanzania? Throughout our time in Tanzania I also realized how misunderstood the US is. Just as most American’s hold the misconception that all Africans are poor and starving, many Tanzanians assumed all Americans were wealthy and successful. When I tried to explain wealth inequality in the US and how homeless and poverty were huge problems, many people had trouble believing me. One Sister that we spoke with at the St. Francis convent in Arusha couldn’t believe her ears when I told her that there were people in the US who lived on the streets. She had never imagined that Americans could be poor or that our country could be unjust. At first I was shocked but the more I thought about it, it made sense why these views were so misconstrued. The majority of the Americans that come to Tanzania are wealthy; they would have to be to afford international travel, especially those who come here for vacation. If all of the American’s most Tanzanians interact with are wealthy tourists it makes sense that they would project that view onto the rest of the country. Even so, I was frustrated to learn that Tanzanians have it just as wrong as we do. I wondered how to increase awareness and understanding across cultures and continents especially going from Tanzania to the US because much fewer people have the opportunity to travel and bring back their experiences. I want Tanzanians to understand that most Americans aren’t rich not because I don’t want to be put into a privilege box but because I want them to realize that our country isn’t perfect and shouldn’t be touted as such. We have to stop putting each other into categories and ranking one country and people as better or more successful than another. Both Tanzania and the US are flawed. Both countries struggle with corruption. Both countries have poverty and injustice. Both countries have lots of room to grow. My Friend MateoWhile this reflection is filled with many more questions than answers about what I took away from the fellowship, I want to close by sharing a story that I refrained from sharing in my earlier posts. This story is about a man I met named Mateo and how through him I was confronted with my privilege in the most direct way. Matteo was the guardsman at the airbnb we stayed in during our first two weeks in Arusha. I remember the first day we pulled up to the apartment, a small group of men were sitting outside of the apartment and Matteo sprung up from among them to open the gate and let us inside. He had a huge grin on his face and was eager to help us with our heavy bags, carrying them up the stairs into the apartment. I am ashamed to admit that the first couple of days that we stayed at the apartment, I didn’t think much about Mateo. Him and the guardsmen for the other houses in the community would sit outside the gates everyday in a group, waiting for people to come and go. One morning I watched them from my window as they lifted pipes and concrete blocks for a workout. Every time we left for the office in the morning and came back in the afternoon he rushed to the gate to greet us with a huge smile and habari za asubuhi or habari mchana. Even though his English was as limited as my Swahili, I always felt incredibly welcomed by Mateo and I could tell his concern for our wellbeing was genuine. I began to think about Mateo more and started to try to strike up conversations with him. One of the first things I learned was his name. Then his age: he was 29 years old. It was very difficult to converse and I relied heavily on Google Translate to get back key words and phrases across but I was committed to making an effort. For a couple evenings in a row I smelled smoke from my bedroom window. At first I was concerned but after inspecting the area below my window I saw there was a small fire lit. I wasn’t sure what it was for but I didn’t mind or question it. One night, I was walking down the steps from the roof where I would often do yoga. I had gone out later this evening and the sun had fully set by the time I finished. As I walked down the steps towards my apartment, I noticed the smoke curling up and peered over the railing to see Mateo boiling water over a small fire. Next to the fire were two small tomatoes and a potato. The image immediately raised a red flag in my mind. Why was Mateo cooking dinner outside? Is that all he is eating? Why isn’t he home? Does he have a home? Where is his home? These questions burned inside me and I knew I couldn’t go back inside yet. I walked down to the ground level and found Mateo near the fire next to the shed. He greeted me with a huge smile like always. I smiled back and said hello, then I started typing into Google Translate: “Are you cooking dinner?” He nodded his head. He pointed to the pot and told me he was making ugali and vegetables. Next question, “Where do you live?” He gestured down: here. Okay, I needed to be more specific. I changed one word, “where do you sleep?” His eyes widened and he brought into an understanding smile as he gestured me over to the shed. The shed was an open gazebo-like structure with a roof held up by pillars and no walls. It was right near the gate and we walked past it everyday but I had never paid it much attention. Mateo pulled me into the shed and reached for a rolled up sheet of cardboard that was leaning up again the wall. He started unrolling it and within was a thing foam pad and a blanket. My stomach dropped. Mateo was eager to show me his bed but I didn’t want to see anymore. Discovering where Mateo slept filled me with guilt. Amanda, our professor Leslie and I were sharing a large apartment and we each had a room to ourselves. Every night that I had gone to bed in my comfy queen bed in my large room with a private bathroom, Mateo had gone to bed one story below me on a thin foam and cardboard bed outside. Below us was Margaret, the owners home, where she lived alone with her daughter. There was even a second apartment behind the house that Margaret also rented out and I knew there was no one currently staying there. I was appalled that Margaret would let Mateo sleep outside at all, especially when the apartment was empty. I couldn’t justify why he should ever have to sleep in the shed when there had to be a free bed or couch somewhere on the property. We met Margaret when we first moved in and she seemed wonderfully kind and accommodating. We even learned that Margaret’s daughter had a developmental disability and had started a school for disabled children because of her daughter. How could a kindhearted woman like that let her guardsman sleep outside? How could I continue to sleep in my comfortable bed knowing Mateo was outside below me? I didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t leave the airbnb and I didn’t think complaining to Margaret would have had any effect except maybe getting Mateo into trouble. I thought about all of the cash we had stashed under Amanda’s bed. We had been going to the atm everyday to take out cash to pay our driver for our upcoming road trip. It would cost over $5000 USD. The weight of all that money stashed under our bed weighed even heavier as I came to understand Mateo’s reality. I felt an urge to run upstairs and give it all to him but I knew I couldn’t do that either. Feeling helpless, I did the only thing I thought I could. I kept talking to Mateo, I tried to learn more about him, to understand and get to know him despite our language barriers. I thought that even though I couldn’t improve his situation, maybe I could improve his day and we could talk and he would see that I genuinely cared about and was interested in his life.
I stayed outside with Mateo for a while and, with technological help, we were able to have a fruitful conversation. I learned that Mateo is Masai from the Kilimanjaro region where he grew up. In his previous job he used to make Masai blankets. I was impressed and I told him that the red checkered Masai blanket he wore everyday was very beautiful. Mateo was the first born in his family, out of how many siblings I am unsure, and he came to work for Margaret a few years ago. Just getting this basic information took a while with our mixture of reading google translate and gestures. I could tell Mateo was excited to talk to me and wanted to keep trying to understand me despite many confusing exchanges. I wondered what the details were of his story, how he met Margaret and if he has seen his family since he left them. I wondered if he is happy and if he misses his village. After talking for a while, I wanted to be conscientious of his time and didn’t want to keep him from his dinner so I said goodnight and walked up the steps back to the spacious apartment. Each step felt like a punch to Mateo. Flustered, I rambled to Amanda and Leslie about Mateo and how unfair it was that he slept outside. They were empathetic but Leslie told me that she wasn’t surprised. She told me she was sure all of the guardsman here have a similar situation and said that it was just the norm here. But considering the fact there were more guardsman sleeping outside tonight didn’t make me feel any better. How was that treatment just? Especially in the wealthy neighborhood we were staying in, it wasn’t like the homeowners couldn’t afford to put their guardsman up in a room. These men are so helpful and kind and what do they get in return? A foam and cardboard mattress and a small amount of ugali and vegetables. I struggled to piece together my thoughts and wrestled with the uncomfortability of my privilege. It made me feel even worse when I considered that learning about Mateo’s living conditions was sending me into a state of torment yet I was the one who would never have to sleep outside. Who would never understand the depth of his life and what conditions brought him here. Maybe working for Margaret was the best opportunity he had been given. If that was the case, how could I ever feel anything but immense gratitude for the opportunities I have been given, especially for the chance to participate in this fellowship. Was I even deserving of it all? I couldn’t see a difference between myself and Mateo, we had been born and grew up on opposite sides of the world but we were just two young people trying to make the most out of the cards we have been dealt and make a better life for ourselves. I have thought about Mateo many times since I met him and every time I am reminded of his overwhelmingly radiant positivity and joy. Even though I never took a picture of him, his grinning face is plastered in my mind and whenever I think of him it brings a smile. Mateo reminds me to value every person in my life, no matter how small or fleeting their role, and to never take the opportunities I have been given for granted. He also brought up many questions for me and forced me to wrestle with my privilege in a necessary and critical way. Mateo reinforced my commitment to serving the less fortunate and supporting the dignity of every person. I wish I had more time to spend getting to know him and hearing more of his story but I am so thankful for the short time we did have and the lasting impact he had on me. It is impossible to write about my field experience in a way that ties every moment together and provides closure on the fellowship. I discovered a whole new world and culture over the course of eight weeks but I went through immense personal growth and raised many questions for myself. The more I think and reflect on Tanzania, the more I realize new perspectives and deeper understandings. I don’t know if the learning or questions will ever end and I don’t want them to.
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AuthorI am a senior Environmental Studies major at Santa Clara University from Seattle, WA. To learn more about me check out the "About Me" page! To contact me you can email me at [email protected] or connect on LinkedIn. Archives
November 2019
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