Orphan Support Group

I’ve quickly become aware of how fast children must grow up here. Walking down the street I see young girls, ages 7 and 8, with small infants tied to their backs and young boys selling food or newspapers on the side of the road. Independence rushes in at a very young age in Tanzania and for a group of young kids I recently spent the day with, they are relying on each other for support. A group of 30 children, ages 7-13, who have lost one or both of their parents and are living with relatives, have reached the age where they need to begin partially supporting themselves financially. Yep, children 7-13 years of age expected to bring in income to support the family. So they have formed a financial and emotional support system to start this intimidating journey together. Meeting once every two weeks, the group brainstorms new income generating activities that they are capable of forming. They also spend the time talking to each other about their personal life-worries, struggles, needs-almost in a form of peer counseling. When I met them in their village, it was clear these children deal with more stresses than many adults and are unable to enjoy the blissful, simple, carefree childhood so many take for granted.

Together, we sat in a circle and began talking. I asked them their hopes and dreams for their individual futures…”I want to be a teacher,” “One day I wish to be a pilot,” “I will play soccer! And be the best goalie ever!” I told them to never stop believing in their dreams. With hard work and dedication, anything is possible. Their dreams are possible. Next we talked about their hopes for the future of their support group. Their answers were about having a big garden with lots of different crops and chickens and goats, both of which they will sell at the market. They will distribute the money depending on individuals needs (school materials, school uniforms, soap, new shoes) so no one will be left out or left behind. The group already has a small piece of land planted with cassava and peanuts, which was donated to them by a woman who has a strong love for children. Voluntarily, she attends their meetings, teaches them how to plant and harvest and helps brainstorm new activities within their reach. Before I visited, I had purchased cabbage and onion seeds as well as a large watering can for their garden and when I brought it out, the kids cheered with delight, yelling “Asante! Asante!” (Thank you! Thank you!). Two girls had brought drums with them that day, and the kids prepared and song and dance for me. Boys and girls alike entered the middle of the circle in pairs and danced traditional dances until they exhausted themselves. I was filled with so much emotion-joy and happiness for the children’s spirit but sadness and helplessness for their situation. I also brought a brand new soccer ball with me, and after the dancing, we spent the rest of our time together kicking around ball and enjoying each others company.

Before I left, one of the boys ran up to me and asked me a question that shocked me with its innocence…”Can you take us back to the city with you? I have heard it is so big and busy! We want to see a boat! Oh, and a plane! I want to see a plane!”

I would love nothing more.

Baba (Father) William

About 20 years ago, Baba William married a young, beautiful woman and together they had 6 children. In 2003, immediately after the birth of their 6th child, with no warning, the wife deserted the home, leaving Baba William with 2 infants and 4 other young children to care for. At the time, he was very ill, so much that he could barely sit up, let alone stand. As I walked through a crowded forest of banana trees, coffee plants, and maize, I found Baba Williams home-a mud and stick hut no bigger than a bedroom-and called out his name. He came out cheerfully, happy to have visitors, but his appearence was heartbreaking. Frail and thin, his body looked like it had been the victim of torture for many years. His finger and toe nails were rotted, his clothing torn, and his skin stretched and laying against his boney figure. He called out his children, the youngest only 6 years old, who looked just as pathetic as he. Their clothes looked like they had not been washed in months, their bodies showed the sign of being malnourished, but their smiles were beautiful. It was clear Baba William was so thankful to have friends to sit and talk with him. He told us of his awful story and of how his children are now all he has because all his extended family has died. His plot of land barely extends his mud hut and the food he grows is only used for personal consumption. He has no source of income, because he is too sick and frail to work, and must rely on neighbors and the church for survival. I don't know if there is hope for him-as terrible as it is to say. Baba Williams story is one that is not possible for me to understand but unfortunately is all too familiar for Tanzania.

Barbara

Barbara is 8 years old. Two years ago, at the age of 6, both of her parents died of AIDS, leaving her in the care of a neighboring husband and wife. The couple were living at the wife's fathers home, but soon after the recieved Barbara he died. In his will, he left all of his land to his 2 sons, and nothing to his 3 daughters. The family was now forced to leave and live with the husbands parents on the far side of the river. About one year after the move, the wife's parents were violently killed so out of fear, the family fled once more, across to the otherside of the river. Today, they are temporarily living in a mud and stick house on someone elses property. I say temporarily because at any time, they can be told to leave, with no warning. Entering the dark, cool hut, i greeted the wife, who's clothing was tattered and exposed her breast our entire visit. She made us tea and freshly picked groundnuts to snack on. Barbara has been progressively gettin sick over time and they now think she too has been captured with AIDS. She takes medication twice a day (once in the morning and once at night) which make her feel dizzy and nauseated and distract her from her studies. She loves school and hopes one day to be a teacher. As I left, I took this beautiful photo of the family-Barbara is in the pink dress. Out of a feeling of helplessness, I gave the wife everything I had in my purse...a pineapple, a few decorative head scarves, and 9,000 TSH ($10 USD).

one thing i can never get used to is the beating of children in school. children of all ages are constantly hit with small and large sticks, slapped with teachers hands, and having their ears twisted by the sharp twisting of angry fingers (to only name a few). the more astonishing thing is that this punishment does not only come in response to a child "goofing around" or not paying attention, but for getting answers wrong on homework and not answering a question correctly in class.

i watched a child today, Kelvin, get whipped and hit with a stick over and over because he was not writing the correct answers for his in-class work. the teacher never took a moment to sit next to him and describe the exercise in detail and help him discover the answers, just kept beating him as if that would help. the exercise was matching he and she to the names of individuals (asha, simon, edward) but Kelvin did not understand the difference between he and she. so i sat with him for about 20 minutes, and going over that he=boy and she=girl, just like Kelvin is a boy and I am a girl. then we tried the exercise again.

"Kelvin, is Asha a girl or a boy?"
"Girl"
"So is that a he or a she"
"A She"

That 20 minutes probably saved entire class periods of beating.