Two years in Tanzania

When people find out I spent nearly two years working in Tanzania (well, 22 months and four days, to be exact), they generally ask me, "so, how was it?" I know they mean well and are genuinely interested, but I struggle with the answer. Even now, more than six months later, I'm not always certain what to say. As a journalist, I've never met a word limit I couldn't break (including this one), but with my own story, I'm often at a loss for words.

A lot of things happened during that time. The banality of life was punctuated by remarkable experiences that brought a smile to my face or a tear to my eye. Likewise, the lives of my loved ones in Canada continued to roll forward.

In July 2006, I found what I considered to be the perfect volunteer placement with a Canadian organization. I applied and was delighted to be offered a position working with a regional HIV/AIDS network in Arusha, Tanzania.

Landing in Arusha, I was full of anticipation and high on the adrenaline of finally touching African soil. I still remember the sweetness of the air as I descended the roll-away steps onto the tarmac–a fragrant blend of humidity and the succulence of the region's abundant fruit-bearing trees. I was there to contribute to a global cause in which I believed and I was ready to embark on an experience I expected would promote an exchange of ideas, skills and cultures.

Unfortunately, the year I spent at the AIDS network didn't turn out as I had expected. My host organization and I had divergent views on office dynamics and the contributions of volunteers. I worked to the best of my abilities and completed a few notable projects, including a marketing strategy and a media kit, but I also experienced some disappointing obstacles during this period.

Flexibility is key when working in an international context. I was prepared for changes in my job description and responsibilities, and I was ready to take on some of the menial administrative tasks that keep an organization afloat, but I looked forward to making robust, concrete contributions to a regional dialogue on HIV/AIDS.

I made mistakes. I wasn't a flawless employee and I remained an outsider in my office. I also learned some vital lessons. My colleagues were my unintended teachers and in my current position, I continue to contemplate the year I spent at the network. I know the challenges I faced now make me a stronger member of the office team.

A New Job

I made it through this difficult assignment and, determined to contribute in a meaningful way, I accepted a new 10-month contract with another agency. In my new position, I was tasked with establishing an alliance that will address the effects of climate change in Tanzania's pastoral lands. Research activities, networking with NGOs and field missions allowed me to become more closely acquainted with Tanzania–the country, the people, their challenges and their deep well of humanity.

My new job reinvigorated me. I worked from home and awoke each morning to the sound of enthusiastic children singing before class in a nearby school. Each day, it made me smile.

I also worked part-time as a freelance journalist. I sold stories to media outlets in Canada and the United States; I filed columns with one of my hometown newspapers and I worked relentlessly on photo essays.

I was occasionally frustrated when trying to work out the mechanics of reporting in a different cultural environment. Tanzanians certainly haven't embraced e-mail the way we have in Canada, making the whole process more laborious and time-consuming. Each time I made a phone call, I wished I'd paid more attention during my Swahili lessons.

Relying on interpreters reminded me of the trust games I played in high school–the one where you fall backwards into the waiting arms of your classmates–and arranging interviews proved to be an on-going exercise in patience and persistence. But it was worth it. I'm proud of the stories I wrote and I hope I've helped raise awareness about some of the issues facing the people of eastern Africa. When I enrolled in the journalism program at Cambrian College, I remember writing something about wanting to facilitate the empowerment of those whose voices haven't been heard. My contribution to the global dialogue is minute, but I hope it has elicited, at the very least, a whisper.

I learned how to find new angles that appeal to audiences an ocean away, to doggedly pursue leads (I found people to be wary of reporters), to deconstruct situations and to put the puzzle back together. It was all about work, work, work . . . and doing it because I really loved it. I worked full-time during the day setting up the alliance, but I spent nearly every evening sitting at my computer, researching new story ideas and seeking out new venues for my work.

I learned how to coax shy subjects into conversation. I remember interviewing two grandmothers caring for a soccer team's worth of grandkids whose parents had died. The women were quiet at first, unsure of what I wanted or why I was interested in their stories, but I spoke with the children–beautiful, spirited children who sat at attention in a row, like eager students. Only once were they naughty, but a stern (and loving) glance from one granny quickly put an end to the pranks.

I gained the grandmothers' trust and then they opened up to reveal stories of utter dignity and strength. They'd lost their own children–to car accidents and illness–but they remained undaunted by the prospect of raising their grandkids. I was moved by the breadth of love. Finally, I understood the importance of family in Tanzania. We are born into our families and made human by those bonds.

Effortless Humanity

During my first year in Tanzania, I lived with two roommates; but in May 2008, I moved into my own house. I hired a woman, whom I know only as Mama Derek, to wash my laundry once a week. She nearly always brought her toddler (the aforementioned Derek) with her. I spoke only a little Swahili, and she no English, but we managed. She shared Derek's milestones with me–his first steps, his first teeth–and always went out of her way to do a little extra around my home. I never had to ask for help and she never asked for extra money. Mama Derek just seemed keenly attuned to my housekeeping needs.

When Derek cried, she hauled him up onto her back and strapped him into his carrier while she washed my sheets–bent over a large tub, scrubbing and rubbing by hand. When I served breakfast, she always made sure to feed the baby first, before she'd even take a bite. I was moved by her love for her child. Perhaps that kind of love is universal and indicative of the sacrifices parents make, but I was continuously struck by those tender moments. I feel lucky to have partaken in a few months of Mama Derek's life with her child. Again, I was an eager witness to displays of unquenchable love, effortless humanity and familial bonds that seemed stronger than Kevlar.

Falling in love with Tanzania while on the back of a motorbike

I was lucky to live in the shadow of Mount Meru, Tanzania's second-highest peak and the belly of Maasai country. Twice, a friend and I borrowed a motorbike and headed out of town.

We spent one afternoon well off the beaten path exploring the semi-arid savannahs of the Maasai lands, visiting with members of East Africa's best-known tribe and wandering the expansive spaces. We traveled off-road, over gently rolling, scrub-covered hills, under infinite skies. It was an afternoon embodied by serendipity and the waywardness of the breezes.

We also headed into the foothills of Mount Meru one afternoon. We climbed the dirt tracks leading to small farm plots and late in the day, we reached the pine forests of a village on the slopes of the mountain. The air was cool and clean, and the canopy soared overhead for several hundred feet. The fern leaves scattered across the ground were half as big as my body and, in a pinch, could have easily doubled as a cradle.

The trees were so fragrant and so familiar that for a moment I forgot where I was. I thought I was back in Canada, at Wasaga Beach on the shores of Lake Huron. I spent childhood summers at Wasaga, in a small, spartan cabin adjacent to great swaths of pine trees. That afternoon, in Africa, I smelled my childhood and I saw, once again, the great summertime thunderstorms of the Great Lakes . . . Sublime.

Getting out of the city and into the hills and savannahs really cemented my love for Tanzania. It made me feel connected to the country and to my life there. As an expatriate, I look for unique experiences that embody my new surroundings, which, consequently, remind me of my roots in and admiration for Canada.

Coming Home

Returning from an overseas placement can be difficult. Friends and family have been moving forward, as have I, and there may be some awkwardness while getting re-acquainted. Much like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard, these moments pass quickly and leave no real trauma, but they can be tricky to navigate and excruciating at the time. I know I've been changed because of my experiences overseas and, at times, I have trouble recognizing that my new values and practices may be foreign, or even contradictory, to my loved ones in Canada.

I returned to Canada on December 19, 2008. Now, in June 2009, I reflect on the first few weeks I was home and I believe I was a little shell-shocked. For one thing, I'd forgotten just how cold northern Ontario winters can be. When I boarded the plane in Arusha, it was about 30 degrees Celsius; when I disembarked at the local Sudbury airport at about 1 a.m., it was nearly -35 degrees.

I spent the winter in hibernation. But more profound than the sunken temperature was my shift in perspective. I remain realistically optimistic. From time to time, I toss aside the rose-tinted glasses, but they remain undamaged.

In January 2009, I attended a returned volunteer weekend. It was like a homecoming event. Over the course of the weekend, I met others who'd spent time in sub-Saharan Africa. Sharing stories about successes and challenges helped me digest my own experiences. It felt good to know I wasn't alone in feeling bewildered and nostalgic for the place I'd called home for nearly two years. It provided closure for many of my frustrations and disappointments, and it gave me the opportunity to share my successes with other volunteers.

When people ask me, "how was Tanzania?" I can answer truthfully that it was a special place offering unforgettable moments. They weren't all great, but I'm learning to reminisce fondly, and I'm beginning to embrace the ways I've been changed and the indelible lessons I've learned along the way. For that, I must thank those who challenged me, as well as those who bestowed their humanity on me in the gentlest ways. After all, they were all my teachers.

I owe my continued love affair with journalism, which borders on effervescence, to the work I did in Tanzania. I believe in international development, now likely more than before I left for Tanzania. I've chosen this career path and I accept the package deal, with its challenges and rewards. I suspect peaks and valleys exist in most fields, but the rewards proffered by an international career can be truly inspirational and–for me–add momentum to my endeavours. I hope to continue contributing to a global paradigm–one that promotes justice and equality for 6.7 billion and counting.

Additional Learning

http://www.marykkeown.blogspot.com
http://www.allafrica.com
http://www.carbontanzania.com
http://www.unaids.org
http://www.tanzaniatouristboard.com