"Saying goodbye isn't the hard part, it's what we leave behind that's tough"

Day 10:

The best way to prevent yourself from crying before you even leave, is to distance your mind. Don’t focus on the fact that you know your heart will be broken in a few hours. Don’t look at your watch (you’ll realize how soon you’re leaving), don’t think about leaving, don’t think about how it’s your last day. You need to soak in every single last second, then pour your heart out in return. Any opportunity you see to do something, even the smallest thing, you take. Take every second and hold on to it for dear life, because before you know it it will be the next second, and the next, and the next, and the next… until suddenly you’re sitting in  your bed trying to put into words what just flew by at the speed of light, and all you want is to go back.

As I carried in huge boxes of dishes and spoons, a group of kids (including Kelvin) came out to help. We got all our supplies inside, then ran back out with soccer balls.

I was in a little dirt field surrounded by tall trees with Camryn, Kelvin, Yohana, and the five year old twins Meshak and Shedrak. For fifteen minutes straight, I played keep away with Kelvin and Yohana. We sprinted around the field, faking each other out, kicking up dirt, and screaming and laughing. The day hadn’t even started, and I was already out of breath. I didn’t mind though, because every moment was worth it. I was feeding off of the kids’ energy, and all I wanted was to stay in that moment.

                To switch it up, Jake and I switched stations, so I was now in gymnastics with Ansley and Makena.
We started off by stretching, but most groups ended up spending their hour doing handstands and playing games. It wasn’t until after lunch that Kelvin and his group came through our station. We lead everyone outside to a patchy little field.

Before starting any activity, we always say, “Make a circle!” and everyone holds hands and makes a circle. Today, whenever I asked to make a circle, two people would grab my hands. Then Kelvin and his best friend, Emmanuel (Emma for short [pronounced ‘Imma’] would yell at whoever was holding my hands in Swahili until they let go, then take their place. To be honest, I really didn’t mind it. Any opportunity I saw, I would grab their hands.

Their favorite game to play was called “groups”. To play the game, everyone runs around in random patterns, then the leader shouts out a number, and you have to make a group of that number. For example, if the number three was yelled, then I would grab two other people and cling to them. So as we played, Kelvin and Emma followed me closely (even though you’re supposed to spread out.) Then whenever Makena shouted a number, they would leap forward and grab me before anyone else could, wrapping their arms around my waist and holding my hands. My heart would race and my face would ache from smiling. I tried to hold onto them as long as possible until it was time for the next round. Another favorite was “What Time is it Mr. Fox”. Again, Emma and Kelvin would gang up on me and sandwich me from both sides.

Once the day had ended, it was time for our party. Rasta John came to be the DJ, and blasted a mix of incredibly loud Western and Tanzanian music. We danced, and danced, and danced. Grabbing hands, swinging kids, and singing along. It was a constant effort not to pass out from the immense heat, and to even hear each other after having our eardrums broken from the music. Benard, who had come for the last two days of camp, was in one hand, Kelvin in the other for most of the afternoon. Again, I didn’t mind the exhaustion. I was desperate to keep the time going. But eventually, as it always does, the music stopped – and my heart did too.

                The night before, we had made cupcakes and donation bags filled with clothes we picked out for them.

They left in groups, and each was harder than the last. Everyone hugged everyone at least three times, then walked away, heads down, clutching their new clothes.

                Kelvin grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug. We stood there for what I wish had been forever – but forever ends surprisingly fast.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Yes, I will miss you.” He said, looking up at me.

I went around the group, hugging everyone multiple times and saying our final goodbyes. Emma smiled as he hugged me again; we scratched each other’s backs and kept saying, “I’ll miss you. I love you.”

                Tears welled up in my eyes as I dragged my feet toward the car. Seven of us piled in, squeezing tightly together. The dam behind my eyes threatened to break, and burned my retinas. The gravel crackled under the tires as we pulled out of Maasai Camp for the last time.

It was when we passed Kelvin’s group one last time that the dam broke. Ben rolled down the window and we stretched our hands out toward the kids. Kelvin looked through the car and met my eyes. He flashed his beautiful smile one last time before he disappeared from my view and me from his.

The reason you refuse to think about leaving is not to make it easier. By no means should you ever close yourself off – that’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do.

I’ve always had trouble exposing myself to someone, and opening my heart. But it has come so easily on this trip. Every smile, hug, and kiss is like a key. Unlocking something inside me and opening my heart wider and wider. Each new child, bursting with energy, challenges me in so many ways. They challenge me to open up, to try harder, to give everything I can possibly give. Every face and name is burned into my brain, and woven into my heart like threads of silk. These kids have not just become new friends. They are family who have broken down my walls and built something beautiful with the rubble. They turn every second into a story to tell.

It’s because of the kids that my mind, heart, and soul are more open – and my life more beautiful.

Free

Day 5:

For the beginning of the day, we worked on reorganizing donation bags. The second half was spent at the Cradle of Love Orphanage. A large, extremely well kept facility housing around thirty infants and toddlers who have been abandoned.

Little feet waddled across the floor, and tiny hands grabbed my hair. For two hours, we fed, cuddled, and carried babies. One little girl named Witness clung to me for a good hour, spitting porridge on me and trying to suck on the strings of my hoodie. I danced around the patio outside with Witness, swaying and spinning her around. She often would stare at me and then say, “Datadadada,” which I would then repeat. I also walked around while clicking my tongue, which she enjoyed harmonizing with.

At the end of our visit, everyone gathered outside, babies on our hips, and watched monkeys swing from tree to tree. We piled into the car, our backs aching and our arms sore.

                                       

Day 6:

            Today was the day we started the athletic program for three orphanages. But instead of going with the group, I went on a home visit with Lisa Marie.

There is a young eleven year old boy named Benard who attends LOAMO school. Before now, Benard was working odd jobs, trying to help provide for himself and Aunt. His father had died and his mother abandoned him. A couple found him and offered to take him in and pay for his education, as long as he would “help around the house”. Benard has been a slave for the couple for two years now. Every morning, he would milk and feed the cows, feed the chickens, clean the house, and prepare food. Instead of sleeping in a room in the considerably large sized house, he would sleep in a small shack (no bigger than a dog house) out back. The couple not only forced him into labor, but would torture him every day.

Their intentions were to keep Benard as a slave and “pay” for his education for two years. By pay, I mean they have Maria (the head of the school) donate everything to Benard, and actually pay nothing. When the two years were up, they would tell Benard that he now owed them, and he would never be able to leave.

Social Services wouldn’t help (this happens all the time), and Benard’s two brothers couldn’t help. The only reason they never came for Benard, was because he was so determined to get an education that he would not leave the couple, who kept him in school.

So Lisa Marie made a plan for Benard to run away and meet us at LOAMO, where we would pick him up and take him to his brothers’ house in the slums about thirty minutes away.

            Lisa Marie, our taxi driver Bob, and I pulled into LOAMO. Benard stood a little ways away, with nothing but his clothes and a smile. The woman he had stayed with had taken his small box of belongings, thinking Benard wouldn’t leave if he had nothing but the clothes on his back. His mission was not hindered, he remained determined to start his new life.

We picked up Mr. Kimaro, a teacher from the school, with Benard, and began our project. A half an hour drive out of town brought us to the village where his two brothers, John and Rezeke, live. On the ride down, Lisa Marie asked when Benard’s birthday is. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. So we agreed that today, August 4^th, the day that Benard started his new life, was his birthday.

We found John at the restaurant where he works, and walked in the slums toward his house.

We walked through a creaking wooden door into an open space filled with clothes lines and multiple doors leading into different houses. We walked through another door leading to John’s house. The “house” was a single room, smaller than a common American bathroom. A twin sized bed (that John and Rezeke share) with a single blanket and no pillows was settled in a corner.

On the other side of the room in two corners were two piles of clothes (each only about two outfits) belonging to the two brothers. A miniscule burner, as well as a few buckets of water, were also placed in one of the corners. This is all they have. Not a single pen. No paper or books. Nothing on the walls or floors. The only “extra” thing they had was a box of matches on the windowsill.

No matter how few the possessions, the environment remained the same. For the first time in his life, Benard was in a home where he would be loved. No amount of pillows or blankets could compare to the life he was about to live. No bed or piece of furniture. No luxury or privilege. Absolutely nothing was needed in that house. Because there were three brothers who loved each other. Who fed, clothed, and hugged each other every single day. The feeling of a family radiated from each of them – and that’s more than any material possession could do.

We talked with John about the safety of the area, and he assured us that Benard was completely safe, and very welcome to stay. We also made a plan to go back into town and buy Benard a bed, sheets, a blanket, pillows, a uniform, a towel, and a mosquito net for his new home.

I have a newfound appreciation for one-stop-shopping. We drove all over the markets of Arusha, trying to find the best prices and best material. It took several different shops to find everything we were looking for.

We finally got back to the house with all our supplies. With the help of Mr. Kimaro, Lisa Marie, John, Benard, and me, we were able to assemble the new bed (with the help of some local welders, considering two of the parts didn’t fit) that we could fit between one of the walls, and the foot of the brothers’ bed. We went through a large donation bag for Benard, and had him try on new shoes, showed him how to use deodorant, and fumbled through all his new school supplies. Of the three pillows we bought (one for each brother), Benard chose his favorite.

Once finished with the bed’s assembly, the mattress, pillow, and blanket were fitted on (although the mattress was too small and we later had to go back into town for a new one.) Benard hastily climbed into bed. Wrapping the blanket tightly around himself. Benard’s first bed. It took us a few minutes to coax him out of the blanket enough to take a picture.

            Two years of waking up early. Two years of no bed, food, or clothes. Two years of torture. Two whole years of being a slave. And he’s finally free.

Free to sleep in and have a bed. Free to go outside and play. Free to go to school and study. Eleven year old, huge-smiled Benard, who had been enslaved and tortured for two years just so he could go to school – is finally free.

Day 7:

            Today was the second day at the athletic program (my first because the previous day I had spent with Benard.)

The camp is held from 10:00 to 3:00 at “Maasai Camp”, and involves around thirty children. There are four stations, gymnastics, soccer, dance, and boot camp. Sarah and I were the two leaders for the soccer station.

For the entire day, we played passing drills, teaching the kids different ways to pass. The four groups that rotated through brought new challenges each time: all the kids wanted to do was punt the ball or scrimmage. But as time went on, it became easier to easier to get control.

By the end of the day, the kids were all focused, and ready to learn more tomorrow.

Day 8:

            Today we continued working at the athletic program. Scott, Camryn, Jake and I left early to set up our stations at nine.

I attached one end of a square mosquito net to a clothes line with bobbi pins to make a goal, and laid out cones for different drills.

Throughout the day, the four groups of kids rotated through our stations, and Sarah and I had them practice their skills on juggling, tricks, and shooting. Every group was having a great time, until my second to last group. Everything was chaos for three kids, Caro, Vincent, and Brian. They were running away, punting the ball, and talking among themselves. By the end of the hour, we had them somewhat under control, but they left me exhausted.

            An eleven year old boy named Kelven has held my attention for the past two days. He tries his absolute hardest at every single activity, always wants to help me, and is an amazing soccer player. Always laughing and smiling, he chases the ball everywhere.

After camp and our end of the day meditation, Karlie asked all the kids to hug five people before they left. I stood up and immediately Kelven was in my arms .We hugged for a long time, until he finally broke away smiling and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Creating the Future

My mission behind everything I do is to help the less fortunate create lasting opportunities for themselves.

People are always coming up with new ways to help people, but I always see the same problem: the opportunities for someone’s future (if they are less fortunate) are extremely limited.
Extremely few children in the world have the opportunity to attend school. Even fewer receive an education that can provide a stable future for them and their future family.
If we not only change their education, but their passion, determination, and opportunity (their ability to get a job, provide, budget, etc.) then we can change their future.

This mission is not just something I dream about. At this very moment, I am putting my mission into action.

At LOAMO school, we not only taught, we encouraged the kids to always come to school, to try their best to become successful, and to reach towards a bright future.

My mission will not end when I step off the plane in Denver, or even years later. No matter where I go, there will always be students ready to learn. Even if they’re not in school, or are years older or younger than me. The opportunity to learn is always there, whether it be about education or simple human morals. I plan on always leaving a trail of learning far into the future.
However, the need for a successful future is not only found in the streets of Africa, the slums of Cambodia, or the schools of Nicaragua. All around the world, in every country, there are young students struggling.
My mission is not limited to any country, race, or religion. I plan to inspire education, passion, success, and a future in every child I teach.
Whether or not they’re struggling, live in America or Tanzania, are in elementary or college – I want to ignite a fire that will not go out. That students everywhere will become engulfed in an inferno that pushes them toward their dreams, and toward an improved future.

The world cannot be transformed into something harmonious and tranquil without the barriers of religion, education, language, or race, until we shape our future. No matter how cliché it may sound, the education and passion of our Now, will determine the world of our future.

Breathless

When you jump in cold water, you can literally feel the air get sucked out of your lungs. You come out of the water gasping for air – breathless.

That’s the only way to describe how Tanzania has left me – breathless.
From acres of corn fields and goats, to the cramped, endless markets; the crowds of people who smile and shout, “Mambo!”, to the 268 LOAMO students who I have absolutely, undoubtedly fallen in love with. This country is awe inspiring.

Day 1:

After 13 hours of life changing sleep, we got ready for a tour of Arusha. We met our tour guide, Rasta John, who is one of the most inspirational people I’ve ever met. As we walked to the first museum, Rasta John explained to me the morals he lives his life by: jobs are pointless if you’re only working to make benefit for yourself, but if you love what you do, success is inevitable. If you always wear a smile, people will like you because they see you have love in your heart. And peace and love must prevail over Earth.
The first part of our tour was at the Natural History Museum, where we learned about the history of Tanzania through plants, fossils, and skeletons. The rest of our day was spent at a beautiful cultural museum, and two of the cramped, insane (yet enjoyable) markets that stretched back into the streets like an endless maze.

The entire day, no matter where we went, we were greeted. In Tanzania, you greet someone by saying, “Mambo!” to which they reply, “Poa.”, and the greeting can go on even further. Every person I made eye contact with would smile and greet me, then get even more excited when they found out I knew some Swahili. I never turned a corner without someone welcoming me or asking how I’m feeling. It made me realize how informal, slightly rude, and usually nonexistent my greetings are. When I see a friend, it’s rare that I even ask how they are and genuinely want a true, meaningful response. In Tanzania it doesn’t matter if you know someone. Everyone cares about how you actually feel, because it’s in their culture. So often we forget the importance of greetings. Of leaving “first” impressions every day, long after a first meeting. Greeting someone doesn’t just mean saying hello, it means instantly being selfless, and making the conversation about the well-being of another.

Day 2:

Love can come when you least expect it. And it comes fast.
Our van bumped down the uneven dirt road, squeezing between the sagging houses. My heart shuttered and slammed against my chest, my mouth sore from trying not to smile.
I knew one of two things could happen: on one hand, the kids will be overwhelmingly grateful and absolutely in love with us. On the latter, they won’t want anything to do with us. And to be honest, my bet was on the latter. But the second I stepped out of the van, I knew I lost the bet. My feet hit the ground and instantly, kids of all ages were holding my hands, hugging me, and asking my name.

All day I worked in Class 3 with 26 students and two teachers. For the first few hours, I spent my time helping the teachers (Juliet and Mary) grade papers. Then, at 10:40, we had a tea break. After the break, Madam Juliet had to work on papers in the office, and trusted me (because of the first group) to look after the class. So I played math games and talked with Mary, but by the end of lunch, she needed to work too. I was on my own. Twenty-six pairs of dark, shiny eyes stared up at me – waiting. I knew they liked math games, so for the rest of the day I lead the class in math games, and threw in some things like Heads Up 7 Up, and outside games like “ball” and “running”.

Over the course of the day, the kids began respecting me more. I went from just, “Ava”, to “Teacha!” And every pencil, piece of paper, or box of flashcards I gave, was accepted with a huge smile of disbelief.

It sounds so incredibly cliché, but we take so many simple things for granted. However, I don’t think that the too common ungratefulness found in America is a product of our greed – but of our opportunity. Most of us are born and raised in an environment where we have unlimited access to pencils, papers, and countless other common objects. We are born with opportunities, while the students of Tanzania struggle everyday merely to sharpen a pencil they feel lucky to have.

Day 3:

Today was our last day at LOAMO, and I can’t even begin to describe it.

It has only been a day and a half, and the class of twenty-six students who used to be just students, have become my family. My new sister Einoth spent the day wrapped around my waist, while Rodrick, Sabrina, Ahlam, and Ester held my hand and played with my hair saying, “You have so many long hairs!” The rest of my family clung to my clothes and limbs.

Both teachers had to attend a staff meeting and couldn’t make it to class, so I had the whole day to play games and teach the kids. We used flashcards to learn about and practice multiplication, we drew pictures, sang, and played soccer. But it wasn’t long before my brothers and sisters were handing me cards, and asking if I could live in Africa.

Our time at LOAMO ended the same way it started – breathless.

After the goodbye ceremony, it was time to give our last hugs. We gave out our last kisses, and held the kids’ hands one last time. Hands tugged at my shirt, wrapped around my fingers, weaved through my hair, and the constant whispering of, “I love you.” echoed in my mind like a song. Einoth, her arms squeezing my stomach, looked at me with sad eyes and said, “I want to cry.”

“It’s okay to cry,” I told her as she buried her face in my scarf and sobbed.

 Less than two days. It took less than two days to change lives. To fall in love. To become a family. If something as life changing as our experience at LOAMO can happen in one and a half days… then imagine what we can accomplish in the next two weeks.

 

 

"Slavery is a memory of something we cannot remember, and yet we cannot forget."

               Millions of lives have a scar - a tragic memory that passes from generation to generation, and will never be ignored. Something that will haunt the world forever.
A little over six hundred years ago, the first trading of slaves was recorded. Nearly three hundred years later, the first group of slaves was transported to America. Then, two hundred years later, on January 30, 1933, Adolf Hitler was appointed the chancellor of Germany.
From a political view, both events follow the same pattern. Forced migration by political and economic push factors, and the harsh mistreatment of other human beings because of race or religion.
But it goes so much deeper. We often only see what happened as a general picture, the same story flowing through our heads that we have sympathy for, but we never truly listen to.

                 Eva Galler was born January 1, 1924. Her entire family and a friend were captured, and forced on a train for an internment camp, when someone found a way to escape. It was not long before everyone was jumping off the train, running from the soldiers who sat atop the train, shooting into the crowd. Eva and her brother and sister (the three oldest of the family), were told by their father to run, as he would stay with the younger children who would not survive in the crowd.
She ran as fast as she could, and somehow managed to escape from the gunfire. She later found her dead brother and sister, and countless others.
She and a friend from the train live in New York with one other survivor.

                  Sarah Ashley, 93 years old, was born in Mississippi. Every day she worked on a plantation, picking cotton and hauling her harvest a mile away to the barn. If anyone was not able to carry their haul to the barn, they would be whipped mercilessly until blisters appeared, the blisters, would in turn be broken open by being whipped.
Sarah was never whipped, and often stole food for the others. It wasn't until one night years later that she escaped the plantation. Everyone was sleeping, when she slipped out a window and crossed a neck deep river, following the north star toward Canada. For months she hid during the day, and ran at night, until she found a man who was a part of the underground railroad, who was willing to help her.

                   Years apart from each other - the same pounding fear. The fear of going back, of being tortured, of dying, of becoming a prisoner once again, of being hated because of how they look or what they believe.
These are just the two stories out of thousands. Thousands of people who had nightmares, who ran for their lives, and who miss their families.
All the stories are usually blended together, and the impact of each person is dulled. Of course we can't learn every single story, but we can allow ourselves to listen to them, and attempt to feel at least a fraction of the fear that cast a shadow over their lives.

                     The people I will be meeting in less than three months may not be directly affected by these travesties, but they have experienced nightmares of their own. The stories, while different in context, will not be all that different in emotion.

"Slavery is a memory of something we cannot remember, and yet we cannot forget." - Bill T. Jones

The World of Maasai

              The Maasai, an East African tribe that has roamed Tanzania for hundreds of years, is shaping and being shaped by the culture of Tanzania. This traditional folk culture is being diminished because of globalizing pop culture that is not only threatening their unique society, but their entire way of life.
              The mere presence of this historic tribe has a huge impact on the surrounding area (their diet, religion, and even their language). But as Tanzania continues to develop, the Masaai begin to deteriorate as the demand for this development overruns their way of life.

              Nearly every aspect of this tribe's culture contrasts with our modern one, but there are a few customs that stand out: how money is not an important material possession, but how many children and cattle you have determines your wealth. That women are rarely treated as humans, but are rather about the equivalent of cattle. And that tribe members are not buried, but are left outside the village for scavengers.

              The Masaai women share similar lives: build a house for their family, care for the cattle (mostly cows), prepare the food, collect firewood/water, make decorative beads for themselves and their families, and countless other things. Any major decisions made by the tribe are decided by elders, all of whom are men.
               It is sometimes thought that men don't love their wives or daughters - but that is far from true. While the equality between genders is very uneven, women are still loved by their families.
The role of Maasai women is much more complex than we think, and there are plenty of questions I would want to ask one of the female members. But if I could a woman one thing, it would be if she was happy. It sounds kind of stupid and corny, but I genuinely wonder if the women are happy.
               Although (depending on the specific tribe), some Maasai women may not know what life is like outside of their tribe. Some are familiar with the way of life in cultures outside of her tribe - I would want to know if she is content with her way of life, or if she wishes she could change how she lives.

               On my trip in Tanzania, I plan to learn more about the Maasai tribe, and the incredible life that they lead.

"Humans are amphibians -- half spirit and half animal... As spirits they belong to the eternal world, but as animals they inhabit time."

Being inspired by someone, is not just a simple decision you make. It's seeing who someone is and what they're doing, and hoping that you can do the same. 

Every since I was little, I have always looked up to Martin Luther King Jr. I'm not entirely sure when I started my admiration, all I know is that he has always been a hero in my eyes. Bravery and independence have been two of the most important characteristics that I've reached for, and Martin Luther King perfectly displays these and more. By saying what others were afraid to say, and always moving forward without using violence, I strongly admire this role model. 

The second person I look up to (even though it sounds kind of weird) is Jennifer Lawrence. She's not a role model for me because of her looks or fame, but because of her personality. Despite the raging attention, glorious fame, obvious beauty, and influence of the public; Jennifer Lawrence has remained her same fun-loving self. She's outgoing, even in front of huge, critical crowds, and has a good sense of humor. 

My third role model, ever since the seventh grade, is Lisa Marie. I promise this isn't some corny attempt to become her "favorite", or try and be the goody two shoes of the trip. I genuinely look to her for inspiration and guidance. When I first met Lisa Marie at an informational meeting about the CGA trips; I was interested in applying for Cambodia, and wanted to know how I should address her in my essay. Her response (which was very Lisa Marie-ish) was, "You can just say 'Your Queenliness'." My stress about making the trip alleviated somewhat, and I am relieved to have met her. 

One topic we were asked to write about (which I personally love) is what animal we think we would be if we were one. I've always thought, because of course I've considered it before, that I would be a wolf. It's dog-like, lives in a forest, is free, and is fluffy, so there's nothing not to love. In Native American folk tales, wolves usually represent freedom, instincts, intelligence, boldness, and choice. All of these characteristics are ones that I find very important, and try to express. Not to mention, I would have claws and fangs, which is pretty awesome.

"Humans are amphibians -- half spirit and half animal... As spirits they belong to the eternal world, but as animals they inhabit time." - C.S. Lewis