A Heart Always Remembers

Arusha, Tanzania is one of the most beautiful places on the planet; not because of the lush vegetation and vibrant colors, but because of the people. Walking around town, it is rare to pass a stranger that does not say hello and welcome you to Tanzania. Driving to the school, every child you see smiles and waves. At L.O.A.M.O, it is impossible to walk around school without being hugged and wished a good morning. The culture here is so overwhelmingly welcoming that in the short amount of time I have been here, I have found a place that will always be home.

It is for this reason that when I hear the word “Tanzania”, the first thought in my mind will be of smiling faces and beautiful laughter. I have seen elephants, lions, zebras, and more, but the students at L.O.A.M.O outshone them all. I have never felt so much love and gratitude radiating from one place, and it is hard for me to imagine it existing anywhere else. I have seen and done so much on this trip, but there isn’t enough time in the universe to accomplish everything. I am not ready to leave L.O.A.M.O, but I never will be. Even if I had stayed here for years, I would have always needed one more hug, one more dance, and one more smile.

I think that is what made Saturday’s goodbye the hardest one yet. Two of my students, Noel and Precious, muttered quiet “I love you”s through tight hugs. When I told them the same, their only question was “then why are you leaving?” Tears welled in my eyes and I was left utterly speechless. How do you explain that a plane ticket is your best excuse for leaving to two children who only want love? All I could do was pull them closer and whisper, “Because I know my heart will always remember you.” Precious nodded and wiped tears from my cheeks while Noel grabbed my hand for one last time and pressed a folded letter into my palm.

Watching their bus drive away, it did not feel like the last time I would see them. My brain said it was goodbye, but my heart knew that it would always return home. Maybe I’ll see the students at L.O.A.M.O next summer, or maybe I’ll never get the opportunity to see them again. Either way, we will sleep under the same stars and I will take comfort in the fact that I never truly left them, for you can never leave family.

Walking Miracles

                Poverty is a nearly impossible cycle to break. One of the only ways out is an education, and one of the only ways to get an education is to be financially stable. In Tanzania, public primary schools are taught in Swahili, but secondary school is taught in English. Because of this, many students that could not afford private primary school do not know English, so they drop out of school after class 7. As a result, they are less educated, which means they make less money, which means their children are more likely to drop out of school, putting the cycle on a never-ending loop. That is, until a miracle happens. A child is able to skip a grade, and as a result, their family scrapes together enough money to send them through form 2. That child then gets a higher paying job, and with the help of a sponsor is able to send their own child all the way through form 6. That child then grows up and is able to send the next generation all the way through university. In this way, a child with a great grandmother that that never finished grade 7 can earn a university degree. But this process takes generations and requires multiple miracles to occur.

                One of my favorite songs reflects this with the lyrics, “The world waits for a miracle”. I loved those lyrics until today. Looking around my classroom, I realized that my students are not looking for miracles, they are miracles. These children have every possible odd pinned against them. Many come from homes with no electricity, no water, and a million other excuses not to finish school. Despite this, speaking to the students and seeing how hard they work every day has made it clear that they want nothing of the sort. I have spoken to students who want to be teachers, doctors, or engineers, and speak of this as if it is their certain future. They are not waiting for a miracle; they are creating one by doing everything in their power to shape their future. They don’t think anyone will do it for them, and they wouldn’t ask anyone to. They demonstrate motivation, determination, and resilience in the rawest form.

                Every student at L.O.A.M.O knows a song with the lyrics, “I’m walking power, a walking miracle”. I hope with all my heart that these children believe those words, because they are the some of the most brilliant and capable people I have ever met. I know it is likely that many of them will never see their dreams come to fruition, but they are all bringing their families one step further from poverty. If their dreams do not come true, they will be passed on to their children, their grandchildren, and so on until they are achieved. I dream that in this way, the hope in my student’s eyes will never be lost, only transferred. They truly are, and always will be, walking miracles.

Time Well Spent

My first glimpse of Tanzania was the rocky summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro peeking through the clouds. Below these clouds, the rocks transformed into lush green fields. As we drove home, I noticed goats, cows, and smiles everywhere. I was greeted with enthusiastic waves from precious children, and joyful “karibu”s from their beautiful parents.

This welcoming greeting continued when I arrived at L.O.A.M.O, but the students were so shy that the conversation often ended there. By the next day however, the same students that had been embarrassed to tell me their names were laughing and screaming as they played their first round of trashketball. I had known the students were brilliant from the second I walked into the classroom, but in that moment, they became so much more than students. They are someone’s friend, someone’s sibling, and someone’s child. They are sweet, hilarious, and beautiful. They are students, but more importantly, they are people. Each of them has a story to be told, but it wasn’t until my home visit that I realized just how inspirational their stories are.

Lillian is 39 years old and has two sons, Enoch and Ebanezer. They are both in class four at L.O.A.M.O, and are some of the sweetest boys you will ever meet. From the outside, you would never know that they live in an 8x8 foot home with no water or electricity. Their bathroom consists of a singular toilet bowl dug into the ground, and a bucket of water. They share this bathroom with 20 other people. If you think that these conditions sound bad, the conditions that they came from were far worse.

When Enoch was one and Ebanezer was three, their father left them. The same man returned two years later and took the boys from Lillian. He made the boys work on his farm, and at only the ages of three and five, they would lead cows for miles with no shoes on their feet. When they got home, there was no dinner waiting for them. When one of the boys was nearly killed, Lillian began to hear stories of their inhumane treatment. She fought to get them back, and by the time Enoch was five and Ebanezer was seven, she succeeded. Lillian has been blind since she was two years old, but despite all of the challenges that this creates and the lasting pain that she endures in her eyes, Lillian has worked as hard as humanly possible to provide for her boys. She is one of the strongest, most inspirational women I have ever met, and I will never forget the love and gratitude that radiated from her home despite all of the hardships that her family has suffered.

I have been in Tanzania for less than a week, and I am already amazed by how incredible these people are. They have found hope and joy in people rather than possessions, and I strive to be as strong and loving as they are. It breaks my heart to think that I only have a week left with the students at L.O.A.M.O, but I plan on taking after the Tanzanian people and living in the moment. There will never be enough time, but I can always make the most of the time I have. After all, “[Time], if well [spent], is long enough.” -Seneca