beautiful beautiful children

       As a mzungu (white person) in Africa, to the children, I am often the greatest source of wonder and entertainment imaginable.  They stand and solemnly stare in amazement with their gorgeous eyes wide open, until I acknowledge their piercing looks with a huge grin and a wave of my hand.  Startled, they suddenly burst into the biggest smile, and wave back.  I say the easiest greeting for the children, "Mambo?" How's it going? To which the standard reply is, "Poa" It's cool.  They giggle because I know some Kiswahili, and always wave to me again.  This process seems to happen every single time.  With the tiniest of children though, their wonder includes shyness.  They don't know what to think of a white person, much less one sho is speaking directly to them.  They never get the nerve to wave and smile, but simply continue staring.  I mambo them and their little mouths automatically form the the word poa, but no sound can be uttered from their fearful throats.  To me, it's adorable.  I always wave again to let them know everything is ok.  Most children just want to touch white skin and see if it feels the same, or run their fingers through our long, soft hair.  One little girl even rubbed my toenails, which were shiny and smooth because they were polished.  (Obviously this was early on in my journey because once that polish came off there was no more.)
       It is rare to see a temper tantrum, or hear a baby cry in Africa.  They are silent observers studying their world intently.  Some of their quietness may have to do with being malnourished.  I have often seen small young boys that I thought were ten years old only to find out they were sixteen or eighteen, their growth stunted by poor nutrition.  At some point around three or four years of age the children gain their voice, but it is only for their peers and teachers, for other than that they are supposed to speak when spoken to.  They grow up quickly here with real responsibilities such as looking after younger siblings, tending animals, gathering water or wood for cooking, which could be a walk of several miles.  The fortunate ones can be seen at the crack of dawn, in their uniforms, walking to school, which could also be a long hike.  Even young children make it by themselves back and forth, except for rainy days.  When it rains the mud is a slippery mess and no one attempts to get to school.  It's like a snow day in the US.
       Once at school, most children are excited to learn, even with meager resources, and too few teachers available.  The children are given a cup of porridge, and for some this could be their only meal of the day.  If they are given a pencil they break it in half to share it with a friend.  They sharpen their pencils with a razor blade which they keep in their pocket. (!) Some volunteers take makeshift first aid kits to school because the children are always slicing themselves.  They wonder why CCS didn't tell them to bring pencil sharpeners.  At the end of the day, if you collect the pencils, some children cry.  It's heartbreaking, but what is a teacher to do? If the children take them home there will be no pencil for tomorrow.  Kiswahili is taught in the primary school because the government wants to preserve the language, which is a good idea, but secondary school is taught in English.  Many kids fall by the wayside in high school if they were not able to get English lessons as a child.
       Despite these hardships the young children seem unbelievably happy.  They play and laugh all the time.  They are children, though, and sometimes they tease and are mean to each other, but for the most part they genuinely care.  Somewhere along the way, the reality of their life begins to set in and the older children become pensive.  Very pensive. The smile fades and you can see it on their faces.  The boys will hopefully stay in school and scrap out a living for their families.  The girls will drop out of school at a young age to marry, have babies and keep house.  Marriage is their only option because they have no other means for a roof over their heads and food.  If they are not married by age twenty or so, then it is considered too late, and men will say, "something must be wrong with her". Volunteers try to talk to the girls, and be a role model themselves.  They say, "I stayed in school, I am twenty-four, I live by myself, I make my own money, and I didn't have to ask my father's permission to come here.  Stay in school and you can do the same."  They hope their influence gets through to at least a few.
      Randi, a fellow volunteer, and I were discussing the wonderful, caring nature of the children we'd met in Moshi. She said she could sum it up in one story for me:  While she was teaching at an orphanage, Randi decided to hold a spelling bee as a way for the students to practice English.  The teenagers were so excited, and as the bee went on, people were eliminated.  It came down to two girls.   One girl got stuck trying to spell her word, and the other whispered the answer into her ear.  Randi asked the girl,
       "Why are you helping her, don't you want to win?"
       The girl seemed a little surprised at the question and said,
       "But she is my friend.  Why would I not want to help her?"

uh oh

I think maybe this one sums it up as well


Thanks again to Sarah and Jennifer for sharing some of these photo's.