JL | journal

Deserve (v.)
—do something or have or show qualities worthy of (reward or punishment)

Last night, most of the volunteers were told by the director of OHS that they do not deserve to be here. I was not present at the meeting, but only heard about it through second-hand account. Had I been, I would most likely belong to the not-deserving group. Either way, I think it raised a worthy question.

What happened was that a few of the ex-street boys-who now have apartments paid for by OHS-were voluntarily working on our construction site, shoveling and wheel-barreling dirt for around 4 hours in the morning yesterday. During that whole time, all but 2 volunteers helped out with their effort. Moreover, most of the daily chores were not performed, or only by a few volunteers. Some were already consuming alcohol in the morning.

The situation was observed by the director, and, in the evening meeting, some distaste was shared.

As young and immature and unprofessional as we are, we are all coming out here, investing great amount of time, money and effort, trying to solve a situation which is only so slightly and indirectly connected to our lives back home. I find the use of the word ‘deserve’ quite unintelligible.

I believe what the director meant by here is not east Africa, or Tanzania, I think he meant the OHS site in Mateves. Maybe he meant they should have picked ‘better’ volunteers, more worthy ones to be on the sacred piece of 2.5 acres OHS site which, of course, is bought and with houses erected with the volunteers’ money.

Read the rest of this entry »

As I graduated from university in June this year, I embarked onto a six months adventure to east Africa. One of the objective of such an adventure was to be able to find my destiny for the career ahead of me.

To a certain extent, so far, the search was unsuccessful.

In my five months being here, I have established myself as, besides a pseudo-volunteer (which shall not be my career), many other things. I have designed websites for free rooms and free Safari trip, made short films for free cultural tours, and took architectural photographs for a four-digit paycheck(in USD). Along the way, I have also, slowly but surely, established myself as home of many parasites.

Don’t be grossed out just yet. It’s a rather common thing. Your body is a gigantic biosphere. Most of us have some foreign organisms living in us now and then here and there. Malaria is just one more famous one.

And that brings me to my hypothesis that I am actually immune to Malaria. I have taken Malaria tests multiple times now and none of them turned out positive. Almost every single person around me has gotten it at least once. Certainly some of the mosquitoes that surrounds me, and bite me, carry the parasite. Yet I am still Malaria free. Now I am thinking about getting a serious test about this hypothesis and I wonder if there’s anything significance if it turns out that my hypothesis is true (although you may doubt it, now.)

On the other hand, just this week, I’ve gotten myself something in my toe known locally as Jigger. When the doctor poked through my skin trying to dig it out of my toe, a mass of white eggs flowed out of my toe. People lose their toe when enough of these ‘fleas’ eat through their flesh.

I also now have a chronic weekly severe tiredness syndrome, along with headaches and sore throats and fevers etc. Not malaria, again. Something is sucking my energy from within…

In Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel, he suggests that one reason that the Africa continent is invaded by Europeans only 400 years after the Americas, while being geographically more easily accessible by the europeans, is because of the germs that acted as natural barriers for the foreigners. In other cases, germs are also powerful weapon of conquer. So to be able to expose oneself to germs is, in a long term, great experiences.

In short, even my search for a passion is still in progress, I think I am, in many ways, becoming ever more powerful.

Extracted from NGOs and the victim industry, by Bernard Hours

“The ideology behind humanitarian aid depends on three principles. There must be universal human rights – a worthy premise, but problematic. You create victims whom you can save. Then you assert the right to have access to these victims.
Read the rest of this entry »

Read ^ this post first.

In one way or the other, we are all, with significantly less physical distress, victims of the media, too.

When a person is labeled as something long enough, it is easy for him/her to truly believe in the label. I am afraid we have already labeled Africans as the victim for long enough that they have accepted that as fact. Some of them believe their saviors lie somewhere out there.

“I will not work.” said Meki, a 19-year-old street kid orphaned 3 years ago, who has come to Arusha and been living on the streets since then. “I want education. Someone is going to sponsor me, I know it. Some foreigners!”

“Of the seven years that I have been on the street,” Mohammed recalled, “there was only one time that a foreigner dropped me a hundred US dollar bill.” Regretting becoming a street boy, “I am afraid the foreigners are not as generous as my friend who brought me to the streets told me.” Even though he suffers on the street, he doesn’t know any other way to make enough money to help his single mother.

Some kids make between 2 to 5 thousand shillings (roughly 2-5 dollars) a day, while a farmer on average makes about 3.

Poverty is a problem. But perhaps on our way to tackle that we have created an extra, tangible industry. An industry that does not require government intervention; in fact, it strives better as long as the government ignores the issue.

Here in Tanzania (reasonably the whole Africa) everyone endorses Obama. Kenya made the day after the election - Happy Obama Day - a public holiday. T-shirts with the word Obama floods the streets of Arusha.

The world, at least the one around me, celebrates this historical event. And of course, now we all look forward to what kind of change this next president of the United States could do…

Today, when I was driving down the street in Suzi, a police officer pulled us over. He ordered my passenger to get off the car, and climbed into it himself - a clear sign of bribe-seeking. He told me that Suzi’s hand break was not working, before he even examined it (and, to his disappointment, the hand break does work). He asked for my driver’s license, and I gave him my Californian one (for lacking an international one).

“Obama!” Cheered the police officer. A little handshake. “I can find other mistakes in your car if I want, but for Obama, I’ll let you go.”

Before entering his office in January, Barack Obama is already easing the corrupt situation of law-enforcing officials in East Africa.

Yes, we totally can.

“If you can’t beat them, join them.”

Once a upon a time, a boy named Bahati - blessing, or luck - lived on the streets of Arusha. He was invited into a program called Nafasi Nyingine - Another Chance. There he was taught English and fed food, three times a week.

One night Bahati was found on the street with a bleeding head. It was a friend of his whom he told he is not going to be friends with anymore that got angry and hit him with a rock. When found, he was taken to the hospital directly by a nice lady, and later to her home. They watched football together at home, and they bought some nice clothes together.

With his nicer clothes, he showed up at the Nafasi Nyingine with his chin high. The friend who hit him with a rock was still his friend, after all.

A week later, the nice lady decided to visit his home together with him. For all that time he told everybody that his home was in Moshi - a nearby town to Arusha. On the way to Moshi, he asked the lady where were they going.

“To your home, of course.” said the lady.

“My home is not in Moshi.” said Bahati, “It’s in Arusha.”

So they turned back and took him to his home in Arusha. Upon arrival, they see a nice cement house occupied by a couple. They were Bahati’s father and step-mum. They were really happy to see him, in fact, they have been sending people into the streets looking for him.

There’s a long burnt scar on Bahati’s thigh which he said was done by his abusive father.

“It wasn’t me, it was my brother. He was trying to punish him for stealing his money.” Said Bahati’s father. “I filed it to the police at the end and you could check the record to prove that it wasn’t me.”

Bahati’s step-mum is not Bahati’s favorite, not like his passed-away mother. Although she seems to care for him a lot, too.

“He keeps running away into the streets and we simply don’t know what to do anymore.” His parents admitted. “Perhaps we should just give you the custody of him if that is what he wants.”

No, that was not possible. He was to stay with his family. His picture was to be shared by police officers so they know where to take him when they ever find him on the streets again.

“His name is Solomon, by the way.” His parents pointed out, “Not Bahati.”

Good Samaritan - name of the orphanage that we visit every Tuesday and Thursday - has new meanings after reading the following passage from The Tipping Point: Read the rest of this entry »

Everyone’s got a different take on things.

Oh, did I mention that I reached the summit in a pair of Teva’s?

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Today is the day.

Look out for Stephen’s update, as well :-)