Awhile ago (December, actually), I decided I would post more about my TZ experiences after I got home. I believe this will allow for more honest and thorough stories, and will serve as a great processing device once I am back on the Pacific coast.
It might sound silly, but I believe I will be able to describe and retell the scents, sounds, tastes, feels, images, pain, laughter, struggles, victories better once I am stateside rather than while I am here. You see, long ago most aspects of my life in Tanzania became normal, so it's harder to fully and adequately write about them. It's a challenge to write about everyday things, especially when, once I'm back in California, they will be so much more than everyday things. The life I have created here is invaluable to me, and I want to honor it in a way it deserves. This means writing about it later, not logging it live.
There are three weeks left until I board the plane out of Julius K. Nyerere International Airport. The anticipation of departure weighs heavy on my heart. I force myself to think about what I'm excited about back home, but the first things I came up with are actually quite lame: Shopping. Food. A bigger, comfier bed. Yes, these are nice things, but it just makes me feel so superficial, and dare I say a tad bit like an ugly American.
In an effort to push through such trivialities and gain momentum in my excitement, I've started identifying personal interests I'll want to be disciplined about when I get home: Spending time outdoors daily. Jogging, dancing, bike riding. Walking places and using public transit. Being present with others. Meeting new people. Being more diverse in recreational choices. Pursuing my passion for global development and all the angles it entails.
One regret I have continually struggled with is not being involved with a nonprofit here. My dream job is to work for Camfed and the Camfed Tanzania office is only a 20-minute bajaj ride away. What is wrong with me? To be fair, my first month here I sent out numerous emails to a few agencies hoping to hear some response to my I-want-to-volunteer-and-I'll-do-anything offer. Never heard anything from any of them. Most addresses listed on their websites are P.O. boxes, so, for the most part, I'm not able find an actual office location to just show up at.
Still, the more I think about it, the more it all just sounds like excuses in my mind and a hugely wasted opportunity. I keep trying to believe that what I've done with my time here is exactly what God wanted of me. But I really struggle with that. It's especially inconceivable because I know I am called to international development. My life after Dar will take me into it. I know it. Those are His plans for me, somehow. So that is why it's confusing as to why I wasn't more hands-on with it here, why there weren't more open doors and less red tape. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I don't think I tried hard enough.
My 2010-2011 time in Dar is almost over. I can't go back or gain more of it. And feeling this way will eventually be detrimental to the overall joy of my memories here. I must remember the bigger picture.
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| Sisters at William's village, May 2011 |
Yesterday, like most Saturday mornings since I've been here, I went to William's village. As we drove away in the bajaj, bumping and bouncing like mad along the rough dirt road, I finally realized that I had gotten involved. I had been a part of something that will forever have a place in my heart. I suspect that what I have been filled with from William's village is the equivalent of what I
So I must look at the bigger picture of it all, and to me that is change and sustainability. Improved lives with lasting effects. Perhaps loving on those children week after week wasn't the most grand of sustainable gestures, but showing them that they matter, planting a seed of self-worth and value in them, will hopefully endure even after I am half a world away. Development must start somewhere, I keep telling myself, and I am reminded of this through one of my favorite quotes:
"Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little." —Edmund Burke
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