JL | journal

I have been home (Hong Kong) for more than a week now. Africa seems really far away. The sharing of the experience have become very concise. The braided hair is a past. Six hours a day in front of the computer is again the routine. Meeting up with family and friends, working for jobs that pop up the night before is already enough to occupy all my time. The attempt to organize my life is hindered by the current disorganization.

I am looking for a job, but the truth is there’s more than enough on my plate already. At least that’s what I thought. My friend Regina told me since I have already come this far, I might as well try to run two parallel lives. Telling myself that I am already fully occupied, thus not looking for a full time job, is probably opting for the easier option.

The influence of Africa to me is a higher expectation for myself. I might have thought that I was making a sacrifice, going to Africa and all, but I clearly see that experience as an extension of my luxuries, although some may not choose this sort of experience as their luxury. Since I have convinced myself that many of the people seeking help over there could actually do better than that, I must also act upon myself to do better than this. This is what I was looking for when I chose to go to Africa: a new attitude.

I do plan to finish my travel journal about Tanzania, but the soup has already gone cold, and still I am not able to find a night with enough energy and creativity to write. The smell of that place is already leaking out of me. The water pressure here is too strong, the shower can rinse anything out. I fear the six months will be just like a dream very soon.

Africa, red dirt, inconsistent electricity, mismatched slippers, ugali, tasteless bananas… are all really far away.

After the 10-hour torture on the front end of the bus where the steaming heat of the hauling engine penetrates right through our seats, we got off at Rombo, some kilometers before Dar Es Salaam.

Benja, our travel companion, has a sister who lives in Rombo. That day she graduated from the University of Dar Es Salaam, and so we visited her home to congratulate her. At one point she pulled out a very fancy DSLR, which I was quite surprised (as the cost of that camera is quite comparable to the cost of the building they’re living in). Turns out, it was our friend David’s camera. David was kind enough to lend his tool of trade out for this special occasion. David lives in Arusha, so the camera came all the way from there.

At the end of the night, she passed the camera to Stephen* asking him to bring it back to Arusha to David with him. Of course, things went wrong, and the camera, in the mist of transferring vehicles and searching for a place to stay for the night, was left behind in a taxi. By the time, it was too late to have anything done about it.
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I have known that I have Psoriasis since a young age. It is believed to be inherited - both my father’s parents had it, my father has it, and some of my cousins on my father’s side, too. But that is all I know about Psoriasis – that I never had a chance to avoid it, it is simply bad luck (in Swahili we say Bahati Mbaya) that I am the only one among us three siblings to have inherited it.

At least that was how I felt when I first got those shiny white patches all over my back during primary school age.
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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.

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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.

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.”

Today is the day.

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

Maji ya Chai - in Swahili Water of Tea, which describes the milkish water that flows through the village - is a peaceful, tranquil, harmonious place.

It is home to the original CCF center. When German founder Peter Cool used to carry supplies on his head six-foot six above ground, walking up the hill on rocky paths, this new home was a promising new hope for many street children. When Peter departed from this country, and soon after, this world, so have much of his hopes for this organization which he so dedicatedly founded.
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