First, I would like to apologize for my extreme lack of diligence when it comes to updating this blog. If I had to come up with an excuse, I would say that it’s due to the fact that I’m having too much fun to write, but really, there’s no excuse.
I figured I would dedicate a part of this post to the place that I have been regularly volunteering at: Moshi’s Juvenile Detention Center, or Mahabusu ya Watoto.
When people from home inquire as to what I have been doing in Tanzania, the conversation normally goes something like this:
Person at home: “Maya, what have you been doing in Tanzania?”
Me: “Well, in the mornings I volunteer at a Juvenile Detention Center…”
Person at home: “Oh my God! Is that scary?”
Because of this frequently recurring interchange, I would like to establish that Juvie is in no way scary. (This is not to say that when I was first informed that I had the chance to work there that I was not slightly anxious.) Part of this may be due to the fact that they are all incredibly small, most of them having suffered from malnutrition as small children. In fact, for my first month at Juvie, I had assumed that most of the boys were ten or eleven, but when I asked, I was informed that the youngest boys were thirteen. So, as you can probably imagine, it would take a lot to be intimidated by a sixteen-year-old boy that looks more like he’s ten.
At home, one often associates Juvie with people who have committed a legitimately serious crime. This is true, but at home, we have a (relatively) un-corrupt legal system, where in Tanzania, corruption is a common as a speeding ticket. This means that many of those who are sent to Juvie are there for reasons that would receive barely a slap on the wrist in the states. Boys in Tanzania are sent to Juvie for anything from homosexuality to talking back to a teacher, and even for being too far away from home. More often than not, boys are sent to Juvie because of theft, which frequently occurs when there is no other way for them to get food.
Everyday when I walk through the gate, I am swarmed by shouts of “Mambo (what’s up?), teacha Maya!” The boys are often playing a game of surprisingly intense soccer (many soccer balls have been lost over fences and popped by loose nails) with makeshift goals constructed out of scrapped wood that are constantly falling apart.
After they make themselves breakfast, we start the day by asking what the date is, and what the weather is like outside. In unison, they repeat after me or one of the other two teachers saying the date and then the weather, which frequently has them simultaneously chorusing, “Today, it is hot and sunny outside.” Next, we hand out their individual notebooks and they get started on a math warm up. Some boys are still mastering basic addition and subtraction, others who are working on algebra, and everything in between. We divide them into groups as best as we can to allow them to receive the most useful assistance.
When math is done, the boys have a break, or “breki,” as they fondly refer to it. Some will go into the courtyard to play soccer, and others will rush up to us begging to use our iPods, and will then spend the subsequent fifteen minute break playing a song of their choice on repeat.
The rest of the day differs—sometimes we’ll bring in a science experiment for the boys to conduct, other days we’ll teach them about different cultures. We’ve had them make paper airplanes and test to who’s flew the farthest. We dedicated a week to the five senses, and another week to colors. We normally end the day with a story.
Every Thursday, however, we show them a movie. Their favorite movies normally consist of overtly violent fighting scenes, they love all Jackie Chan movies, but they also love random Disney movies—Ratatouille is a favorite.
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This past weekend, Knock conducted a Health/Wellness Seminar in a village just south of Moshi Town, called Kikavu. To prepare for the seminar, I made flip charts, typed out worksheets in Swahili (which, let me tell you, is no easy task—and I unsurprisingly made a decent amount of typos, which Kim fixed), checked expiration dates on condoms, created schedules, and, with Kim, assembled and stapled 800 packets.
Although the preparation was slightly tedious at times, the seminar went well and I was glad that I was a part of it. At 6:45am on Saturday, Kim, Max (Knock’s Tanzanian Managing Director), six teachers, and I all piled into a van and set off to Kikavu. The seminar was set to begin at nine, but people did not start to arrive until around eleven. This is partly due to what locals fondly refer to as Tanzanian Flexible Time (TFT) which means everything starts later than it’s supposed to, and partly due to the fact that at 10:30, some guy with a megaphone walked around the village announcing that we were serving free food, and that we were not conducting HIV/AIDS tests.
Nevertheless, by 11:30, there were about 200 people (which is still half as many people as we expected) congregated underneath the tents that Knock rented for the two day event. Once things finally got going, everything went seamlessly. Everyone was engaged and interested, and a lot of great questions were asked. The teachers helped the participants understand the issues that their community faces and everyone seemed genuinely happy to be getting this information.
It was an interesting day and I was glad that I had an opportunity to participate in it and experience it.
I have just under three weeks left in Tanzania, and I can’t believe how fast it has gone. I can’t wait for the next part of my gap year, but I’ll definitely be sad to leave.
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