I just checked the “widget” on my computer to see what the temperature is in Dar es
Salaam today.
Its 84 degrees in Tanzania and mostly sunny. I’m willing to bet that unless an errant
cloud passes over the sun, its mostly to all sunny. And 84 degrees.
While my family in Tanzania is enjoying what they would probably consider to be
a “balmy” day, I am indoors cursing the slush which numbed my toes early this morning.
Its a vastly different world this side of the pond, and every once in a while I need to do
something to remind me of what is occurring on the other side of the world.
Although its sunny and warm there, I know my family in Tanzania is encountering
challenges on a daily- maybe hourly- basis which make my slush-toes seem frivolous
and all too simple. Its all too easy for me to forget what its like to have undependable
electricity and limited access to clean water. On my day off, when I have time to do
things like clean my room or run errands, its easy to be annoyed by the suburban
Chicago traffic, and be exasperated that the wireless connection at this coffee shop is
patchy; I forget that it once took me hours to hand scrub my laundry, that a trip to buy
something as simple as a computer printer could take up to five hours on a hot day.
Its easy to wistfully smile over the clear digital pictures I took with my adorable students
at Fanaka and then to check out Facebook before heading off to my job, where I make
fancy sandwiches for people who can afford to spend at least ten dollars every day on
lunch. Its easier than all of the work required to help keep those students in school, to
expend the energy worrying over whether they are healthy, happy, clothed or even still
in school.
But then I do something like check the temperature today in Dar es Salaam, and all of
a sudden it all comes back: I can feel the dust from the road caking my sandals, I can
smell the burning garbage and see the naked kids with snot caked around their noses
and mouths. I can hear the chickens scratching in the dirt and see my students in their
uniforms, tattered bags slung around their shoulders or bouncing on their backs. I can
remember the terrific exhaustion of realizing that yet another teacher will leave if they
don’t get paid soon; another teacher who doesn’t show up for his classes because he
doesn’t care enough to do so.
And even though its so much easier for me to do what I do every day: jump in the
car, turn up my Prince cd as loud as I can bear and drive on well-kept roads to a
dinner which will cost me what sustains a family for a month in Tanzania... it takes so
much more energy to just think about what my family and students are doing today,
or tomorrow or next week back in Tanzania. It takes a certain amount of energy
to consider those things, and factor them into what I do today, but its necessary.
Its something extremely necessary for me, but also for anyone living somewhat
comfortably in the Midwest or elsewhere. Though it isn’t requisite for everyone to do
what I and countless other international volunteers have done in years past; you don’t
have to drop your life for a month or a year and fly oversees, it is important to just
consider things like this every once in a while.
Being aware of what happens in other places, knowing how people in other cultures
live and survive is the first step in breaking down the boundaries between us and those
millions of people living in poverty. Hopefully we will eventually take those more difficult
steps of donating time or money or resources, but in the meantime, we have to simply
remember- or even imagine.
Today I’m imagining how Babu, my adoptive grandfather, is spending his day. He
probably had breakfast and is visiting his cows, chickens, and pigs. He probably
had more than one rather lengthy discussion with a family member or friend, and he
probably will travel to visit one project or another; he will probably he give money he
can’t afford to give to his church or family or school. He will make sacrifices on a daily
basis without thinking- sacrifices which few people with as little money as he would
make where I live. The sun is shining on him as he does so, and its 84 degrees.
