Last Days in Bagamoyo...

Time has flown and my time in Bagamoyo is coming to a close. In four weeks, I've learned and seen so much. I've made new friends and terribly missed friends and family back home. I've seen things that break my heart and those that give me undeniable hope in the strength of the human spirit. I've learned that Africa is so much more than what western media leads us to believe. Africa isn't dying - it's perhaps more alive than anyplace on Earth.

At our rather emotional final feedback meeting at CCS, Zik told us, "Thank you for coming here and giving of yourselves to help our country." I smiled and thought to myself that what it is that I may have offered this place is so very miniscule in comparison to what it has given me. I feel somewhat selfish, knowing of all of my blessings, material and non, awaiting my return at home and yet I will arrive home even richer for the things I have seen and done here.


I'll leave here on Monday and catch a flight to the Kilimanjaro airport. There, I'll spend a few nights on the slopes of Kili at a lodge at about 9500 feet. I hope to hike a bit (no time, money, or gear to actually summit Kili - guess I'll have to come back!) and simply enjoy the view. Then, I'll spend a few nights outside of Arusha near some coffee plantations (I'm also hoping to sit in on a few of the Rwandan Genocide Trials) before flying back to Zanzibar. I'll be in Stone Town and do the historical and spice tours for two days before my final two nights on the northern part of the island at Matemwe beach. Then, I'll fly back to Dar in time to catch my flight back to the US. I'm looking forward to a new part of my adventure and time to reflect on all that the past weeks have meant, though leaving Bagamoyo and the people that I've grown to love here will not be easy.

Because students were beginning a month-long summer break at Mwasama, my last day at the school was early this week. When tea time rolled around, teachers all gathered and placed the tables under the jackfruit tree together into one long table. Soon, cold glass bottles of soda were passed, along with chapate, sausage, and sambosa. It was my farewell party.

While there had been times at Mwasama when I found myself frustrated at an education system so very different from my own and capable of so much, what I failed to realize was the impact that I was having through asking questions and sharing what I believe and how I teach. I don't pretend to assume that I've somehow changed the course of Tanzanian education in four short weeks, but I do know that I have done a tiny bit to share what I know with teachers and students here, as they have with me. So, as we sat beneath the tree and shared all that we've learned from one another, the teachers presented me with a kanga in thanks. I was so touched.Then, they all laughed at my inability to tie it correctly for some photos.

Later this week, I met two Mwasama teachers, Godfrey and Kasanga for a drink.

"You have helped us a lot, Madam Wembah. Many volunteers come and teach and then they go but they do not stop to learn. You stopped."

With my eyes full of tears (that seems to be a theme this week), I accepted a beautiful batik of a giraffe in front of a mountain and a wooden makonde carving of two fishermen in a boat. I feel so blessed to have made such friends so far from home.

During placement hours for the remainder of my days in Bagamoyo, I spent a little bit of time at AMAP (African Modern Arts Park), helping out in the preschool for street children there. I also spent a few days at Imuma, an orphanage and school for street children, orphans, and for those whose parents don't seem to notice. This was an altogether different experience than that at Mwasama. Down a rutted dirt road that shrank into a path between mud huts, the classrooms are tiny and across a small courtyard from a small dorm, office, and goat/chicken pen. Someone has accurately labeled the wood gate with chalk: "House of Goat"

Hannah, another volunteer who spent time here last summer and speaks somewhat fluent Swahili, explained to me how Imuma began. A local man had created a movie house of sorts and realized that the same kids came each day. Seeing the need for a place for these kids to go, to learn, and for some, to sleep, he created Imuma from his own funds. It's humble in the most accurate sense of the word, but is better than the streets.

When my final day of volunteering came, we took the children of Imuma to the beach. Elias, the driver for CCS, drove us and the CCS Toyota van up to the path to Imuma. Children, screaming with delight, raced toward the open doors and piled in. I tried to count, but those climbing onto my lap obscured my vision. By the time the door slid closed and we began the drive to the beach, the van that usually holds 10 adults comfortably was host to roughly 40 children and six adults. We were quite a sight, bumping down the roads of Bagamoyo, though not all that different from the packed daladalas that act as public transportation.


After a similar screaming exit from the van, kids ran to the beach, ripped off their clothes (bathing suits are non-existent for these kids, so most swim in their underwear or in, well, nothing) and ran to the water. One boy grabbed my hand, said, "Swim?" and pulled me in.

There I was, playing in the Indian Ocean with a group of children for whom clean clothes and a home are but a dream, yet they were so happy. I attempted to teach them how to float on their backs, taking each one in turn and supporting them while pushing them along. We cheered when they were successful and continued to try when not. Occasionally, a younger child would climb up into my arms and lay her head on my shoulder before being asked to be thrown into the water. As they grew tired, we worked our way up onto the beach where a group of kids had gathered under the palms. When I got closer I could see that Major, a musician and co-founder of Imuma, was singing and playing his guitar for the children. Kids sang along or watched from high in a tree. Some danced, some shouted requests for new songs. I turned, looked at the sun reflecting off of the water and watched kids laughing, swimming, playing in the sand, and singing.

There are moments in life when one has to stop and catch her breath, and there are those that simply take it away.