Arusha Project

The afternoon started off with 23 people in a dala dala, our dala dala. Volunteers and staff sat on top of one another and on the ground as we made our way up a dirt road to the United African Alliance Community Center (UAACC). This excursion was something we have been trying to plan all summer and finally Valerie was able to make it happen, so we all were eager to go. We pulled up to a gate and a graffiti covered wall surrounding the equally colorful encampment built by Mama Charlotte and Pete O’neal, a famous ex-Black Panther who fled to Tanzania to avoid jail time in the 70s. Since then the couple built an entire community center to serve the local population as well as visitors to Arusha.

A dog with dreadlocks hanging from its tail hangs out in the common area and all the walls are tagged with messages like, “Respect the Elders,” “Africa Unite,” and “Blessed be the Panther.” Pete has definitely not lost his outspoken temperament in response to social injustices, but he lives a very peaceful life now.

Pete said hi for a moment but it was Mama Charlotte, decked out in pounds of jewelry, a forhead dot and colorful attire, who showed us around the place. The main projects we saw were a crafts room, a computer room, and a music and recording studio that each housed daily classes, taught for free. The formation of the center is really incredible and seems to have touched almost all of the artists in Arusha, at least everyone we’ve met. Our cooks and our partner artists have all at one point in their live worked at the UAACC or taken classes there, and have used it as a launching point with which to start their own projects.

Mama Charlotte, who came with Pete when she was 18 and clearly fell in love with Africa, has emerged into a musical powerhouse in Arusha, heading up a reggae band called, Warriors of the East, some of the best music that I’ve heard coming out of Arusha. The UAACC students have their own music project as well, and are taught by a prominent member of Warriors of the East. Today, music class was conducted as a practice recital for their upcoming show. The class consisted of mainly of three women guitarists and a drummer, a few male and female vocalists, and an array of other musicians as well. It was a great show of female empowerment through music.

Together, Mama and Pete have created a little haven with a unique atmosphere that breathes peace and love. That sounds straight out of the hippy movement but in reality the moment you walk past the gate, you’re in a different world, unique like no other. Its truly an incredible space constructed to foster creativity and embrace social progress through education and artistic expression.

We arrived a little late today, the dala dalas were slow, and an entire classroom of students were waiting for us when we finally got there. The students, age 16 to 25, are members of Tekua, a school teaching secondary education along with art. This week, volunteers Andrew and Soniya started them on business letters, basically job application preparation. Most of the students came in with somewhat disjointed letters that needed varying levels of editing. They started with Dear Simba Safari, Dear Ngorongoro Park… some of them wanted to be tour guides, some to start a partnership to funnel clients to tour companies, some to be cooks. These children’s goals were for the most part tourism related, and many already had experience as drivers and such, however their command of the English language still needs some work.

Next door to the class, eight students sat carving, painting, and beading. It’s the school’s income generating activity and a training ground for students who want to become artists. Their work is quite impressive and covers the walls of their studio, a nearby shop and the Arusha Project house as well.

After finishing up the edits and a midday break, we were back in the classroom where one of the teachers had written “Money is better than education,” on the blackboard. The students numbered off into two teams to begin the debate. “Hello class,” the  boy said. “my name is Ramadhan, and I am pleased to propose the motion, money is better then education.” Each team sent up one representative at a time to argue their side, while a chairman was selected to keep score. Sadly, the pro-side definitely seemed to be winning.

Pro: “Money is better than education because with money you can go wherever you want.”

Con: “But how can you control your money if you don’t have education?”

Pro: “you can hire someone who is educated. Education is just a way to get money so if you already have money, education is not needed.”

The students applauded their representatives with enthusiasm. It almost seemed like they just wanted something to cheer for as the simple points made were no more than one-liners and lacked the complexity needed to make a thorough argument. Still, the ability of these young adults was more than I had seen in our other partner school and on the streets. Women and men alike stood in front of a class of 40 students without inhibitions to speak their side, and although the arguments favoring money were much more convincing than those of the opposition, it was merely a debate. The fact remains, these students were there to learn, they valued their education very much, and participating in a full on argument about the worth of knowledge was merely a competition, and winning, only a light-hearted desire.

-Kaia

It’s raining, it has been for a couple days. The roads are slippery mud, sometimes deep, sometimes a little more mellow. Yesterday, three volunteers, Tamara, Nicole and Ellen, walked a quick ten minutes from our house to their volunteer placement, Nelito primary school and were greeted by no more than 15 kids, a contrast to the usual 60 plus. No one seemed inclined to brave the rain or the walk in it. Granted the supply of rain gear here, especially to children that can’t afford to pay school fees, must be quite low, and apparently the world partially stops here when it rains, at least in the smaller communities. Teacher Rose even said she didn’t expect the volunteers to show up because of the rain. But they did, and they thought it was nice to spend a little more one on one time with the few kids that showed up.

When I got to the front door, around mid-morning, the children started singing some kids tunes that Rose has taught them.

“Mama, mama, mama
Mama is a chicken
Cooking chapatti
Chapatti yum yum
Chapatti yum yum…”

The few children shout out the songs, obviously enjoying themselves before they set down to the serious business of learning how to write letters. On blank workbooks, donated by some individuals at the Arusha Project, the children begin to write the letter ‘e’. Some are quite adept, but some aren’t so fortunate, and struggle with the every curve of the letter. One girl with would write a ‘Q’ for every different letter and number we asked her to attempt and then look up at you with her big beautiful eyes and a tentative smile, searching for approval and maybe a big star on her workbook. No matter how many times she was told, “Andika, hivi, hapa,” (write like this, here) it just didn’t go through. There were a few other kids like that, individuals that the volunteers and Rose would take individually and patiently help them trace out letters to understand the movement of a hand on paper.

Rose is a woman who, close to the time we arrived in country three months ago, came knocking on our gate pronouncing her qualifications as a teacher and asking for a job. With no position to offer her, Valerie mentioned a new school in the area, Nelito. Now she’s one of two women that teach the 60 children enrolled in the school. She’s a good teacher and a very kind individual.

The other day, Rose and the leaders of Nelito visited us at our house bringing armfuls of gifts for the Arusha Project staff just as a token of gratitude for our partnership with them (right now we have three volunteers working at the Nelito school and they also were the recipients of a loan with which they have expanded their income generating chicken project). Last week Cheryl and I also went to visit Rukia (the founder of Nelito) at her house, a short walk away. We arrived to humble house filled with her family and a table full of delicious food. “We are more than friends now,” Rukia kindly remarked. “We are family and it’s a gift for me that you to come to my home.”

The hospitality and generosity of the members of Nelito is incredible, especially coming from individuals that don’t have that much to give. It’s really a window into the culture here. Once you are family, you are treated as such, not in an obligatory fashion, but with a genuine sense of selfless sharing.

-Kaia

The barren landscape gave way to winds that stirred up dirt devils in fields beside our car. The dirt and dust was noticeably lighter, a deceiving sand color, and made the local Maasai in their colorful red and blue robes stand out against the flat backdrop of the land. Patches of bright green marked distinct areas of corn and sunflower seed crops set in between unusually square Maasai bomas. As we neared the mining town of Merarani the landscape changed to one of purely dirt and dirt houses, shops, markets

It was Sunday, the miners’ day off, and people lined the streets in a manner similar to Arusha town but much more quiet and rural. Past the town we drove through flats that had been dug to look like a minefield. Everywhere, workers had set up makeshift shacks made out of plastic and canvas bags on simple wood frames. This was the free area, anyone could mine there, and many people did, but only smaller traces of Tanzanite were usually found. Up in the hills were the proper mines, the small ones that were owned by individual companies and the big TanzaniteOne*

Last week I was asking Benson, a mining veteran of six years, what it was like to be in the profession and if it was possible to visit the mines. “There is no problem,” he said, “everyone knows me there.” After negotiating cheap park fees (the area is protected by the government and it usually costs $20 for Tanzanians and $50 for visitors to step foot on the land) there seemed like there really was no problem. Benson agreed to take us to his old place of work with out even asking for compensation, the small print that usually accompanies anything you ask for here. Still, the area was eerie, and after a while I noticed that we were the only non-black Africans there and, for the women in our group, we were part of a drastic minority. Although everyone we met treated us kindly, Valerie had previously worked very hard to convince authorities to let a group of women into a mine, by explaining that we were volunteers working with gender equality and that even though we were interested in purchasing tanzanite, we wouldn’t be comfortable doing so without seeing the source: The diamond industry has left a legacy of public skepticism regarding all trade of precious gems. But still the gender issue was far from subtle. When we arrived to our destination, the owner, mostly in jest, blurted out that women couldn’t go. The workers too were at first shocked and then thoroughly amused that a group of Americans and mostly women would want to venture into the mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the only women and the only non-Africans that had ever entered.

The mine, owned by “Unique Mining,” reached 200 meters into the earth and was accessible through a steep decline using secure ladders and cables.

Our guides, sometimes laughing at how slow we were to descend, and later ascend, were on the other hand quite impressed that we would attempt such a feat in the first place. In the middle of the mine shaft, our group burst out singing “Happy Birthday” for Brett’s 22nd, and our guides chimed in with slightly skewed pronunciation.

Mining, always deemed a dangerous profession, maintains its attraction due to the possibility of getting lucky and getting rich. But for many, it is too hard of a life. Miners spend an average of 10 hours underground each day, with only Sunday off each week. There are two shifts per 24 hours, so there are always people working on the mine. Gear includes a jackhammer, ventilation tube, pick, dynamite… no hard hats, no masks – ten hours a day in a dark, dusty, and very warm and humid hole without any protection. People used to get injured or die frequently from explosions, Benson recalled, but that doesn’t happen as much anymore.

Still the expansive mining shantytown and the aged and wrinkled miners that don’t so easily ride around on their dirt bikes anymore, show that this industry is one that people won’t quit as long as there is money involved.

After two hours exploring the mine, looking at tanzanite veins and picking our other minerals and rocks that accompanied tanzanite, we emerged late in the afternoon to a case of much needed sodas that the owner had brought in for us. Like Benson, this man asked for no compensation, and seemed pleased to take four hours out of his day off to show us a glimpse into his life and that of his employees.

On the way back, we stopped again in town to walk around the streets and see the last traces of the mineral market that was apparently bustling earlier that day. Dirt alleys and streets diced up what seemed like a surreal ghost town, lacking the vibrant colors that have become associated with Africa, with all inhabitants focused on one goal; selling Tanzanite, real or fake. Like usual, locals crowded around us trying to sell what gems were in their pockets and to see the peculiar spectacle: 16 Americans walking through town and covered in black dirt. One old man in particular looked at us wide-eyed when we told him we had just trekked to the bottom of a real mine. I don’t think he ever thought he would see women in such a state.

– Kaia

* TanzaniteOne is a South African mining company that has a monopoly in the tanzanite industry. It is a vertically integrated company and owns a substantial mining area, buys from local miners, refines and cuts gems, and exports them. So far, there doesn’t seem to be too much  controversy over the company, despite its monopolistic manner and the newly sparked popularity of tanzanite driving up international market prices. The TanzaniteOne foundation actually claims to do quite a lot of community work in neighboring areas where their workers live, including providing housing, clean water, food and primary and secondary schooling. Their headquarters is the single largest building in the area and their mining buildings stand apart as the only modern construction in the actual mining hills. In terms of working conditions, local opinion claims that they are doing a decent job of conducting responsible business.

A month ago, we gave a loan to Lelito, a non-profit organization located in our neighborhood and that provides a free school for orphans and home based care for people with HIV/AIDS. Yesterday, we visited their organization for the first time to check up on their chicken project that they started from the initial investment of the loan. In a backyard coup, 150 broiler chicks (chickens for consumption, not eggs) have grown to midsize and in another two months will be ready to sell. From this investment, they project they will be able to earn a 3500 Tsh profit (close to $3) per chicken. Projects like these provide the financial support for their main programs as well as gain enough income to repay our loan.

Near the end of our visit, we dropped in on the day care and school yard where a group of children, and later women, surrounded us with song and dance. One girl, the top of her class, told us the story of the school. “We are orphans,” she said. “Our parents died of HIV/AIDS. Some of us are affected with HIV/AIDS… So visitors, please pray for us…”

Leslie, an Arusha Project volunteer, who brought an entire suitcase of toys to Arusha with her, handed out toys to all of the school children that day. The moment the toys came out of the bag, hands outstretched and smiles laced the room. A happy meal toy we would take for granted meant the world to each of them.

– Kaia

In the thick of a tropical hillside forest rests a sacred waterfall. Set in a beautiful and lush gorge, the site was traditionally used as a place of sacrifice and worship. On one side, a small fountain of water juts out of a rock wall – it is said to have healing powers, to be the water of God. At least that is what Tom says and this is practically his back yard.

Nearby is a little school, six humble rooms in total (but only three small ones are finished and useable) filled with old rickety benches. This school is Arusha Project Volunteer, James’ placement and in the mornings, he teaches the younger children English.

The school caters to students, age 4 to 30 who come from homes broken by HIV/AIDS. All have lost at least one parent to AIDS and some are living with single parents, grandparents or foster parents. They walk as far as five kilometers with their siblings to attend the free school because they have no way to pay to attend a public school in their home village. The teachers are all practically volunteers and only see a salary if enough funds come in that month. The simple building, the students, the teachers all give meaning to the name Hatuchoki, “we cannot tire.”

Tom, the founder of Hatuchoki, was fortunate enough to be able to attend school up through Standard 4 as well as additional tourism and art courses, so he’s quite well educated. A few years ago, a friend came to him and begged Tom to teach him and help him pass a required test to enter into secondary school and then college, and so Tom started teaching.

In Tanzania, the school system starts with primary school and continues on to secondary school provided students pass an standardized entrance test. Government primary school is taught in Kiswahili and secondary school is in English, however there are private primary schools taught in English that parents can pay to send their children to, so they will perform better when they enter secondary. After that children can take Standard 1-7, each lasting a year, and each more and more tailored to your profession of choice. Standard 7 is actually dedicated solely to learning the tourist industry. The last step is university, although it is a common perception that higher education doesn’t really result in a better life, that there aren’t enough jobs requiring an undergraduate or graduate diploma, and that just being able to negotiate the booming tourism industry is enough.

And so Tom started teaching. Gradually more and more people started asking Tom to teach their children. “When someone comes to you and tells you their story, you can’t say no,” remarks Tom. With a donated class room and a couple benches, Tom built what is now, three years later, the Hatuchoki schoolhouse. As long as children can find a seat in the room, they are welcome to come to school.

Profit, or a living wage is hard to come by here. Tom, a Tanzanite mining veteran of 15 years, gave up the job because it was too dangerous. At the bottom of the mine, Tom recalls, if the oxygen pump machines fail, you die. When he first started Hatuchoki, he still relied on mining to fund his work as a teacher, so when he needed money, he would leave his students for periods of time to go mining, and then return when he was able. Hs students would await his return to commence their studies. Now, Tom sells his art and occasionally works as a driver. He says life here is a day-by-day existence. Most people work very hard just to make enough for a meal. At Hatuchoki, if there is money, it’s used for new benches, desks, teachers’ salaries. If there isn’t any, improvements just don’t get made.

But Tom is a dreamer, and has a seemingly endless list of potential business ideas (like transporting cheap electronics from Dar es Salaam) that he’ll do if, and it is the notorious if, he gets the money to start something. With the projects, he claims, he’ll be able to fund a new schoolhouse and maybe even steady teachers’ salaries.

In the meantime, the school survives and so does Tom. He watches out for his students to whom he imparts his knowledge. He says one day, when he’s old and he can’t work anymore, his students will remember what he did and they will take care of him. Until then, he says to struggle is to gain the education you need to teach others, and it’s these messages of struggle and hard earned accomplishment and opportunity he can pass on to the youth.

-Kaia