II. Hands of Mercy

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So we made it to Buswelu, the little town outside of Mwanza (Tanzania's second largest city, which really doesn't say much) where the Hands of Mercy Orphanage is located. We've been here for just over a week now, but we have learned so much and met so many people that it feels like we've been here for longer. I'm writing from an internet cafe in Mwanza, so I'll have to be a little less verbose than I was in India, but I'll do my best to get the important things across.

First the basics. We live in a small house with a couple of 26 year old newlyweds who also volunteer. Alex is an artist from White Plains, NY, and Fiona is a design teacher from Australia. About six other volunteers live nearby, all of them female and Australian. Some of them work at Hands of Mercy, and others work at Watoto, which is another orphanage close by. Watoto and Hands of Mercy are run by two brothers who don't speak to each other due to a falling out of some kind. There are plenty of orphans in the Mwanza area, and even the numerous area orphanages don't come close to having room for all of them. We cook on a little kerosene stove, we boil and then purify our water, and we buy local, fresh veggies. Meat is a little hard to come by, but you can always buy a chicken and slaughter it yourself (which I have yet to attempt). The Masai warriors who guard our house apparently slaughter goats from time to time and drink their blood, but unfortunately they had one of these goat slaying festivals just before I arrived, so it will probably be a while before they do it again.

Masai is a Swahili word which, as my extensive linguistic research tells me, translates roughly to the American "badass". Two of them, Laser and Jackson, are officially hired to guard our house, but their friends are always milling around outside just to keep them company (we don't know their names, so we call them "Marlon" and "Guy"). At a given moment we have anywhere from two to seven giant, spear wielding, bow and arrow toting, huge hole in the earlobing African warriors on duty, which should make our moms feel a bit more comfortable. Despite their intimidating appearance they are quite playful and even a little shy, and last night we played catch together using some cool velcro throw and catch kids toys that were on their way to the orphanage. They stay up all night to watch the house, and during the day they can be found spooning on our porch, taking their rest.

About the orphanage. Joel and Gloria Kirutu are in charge of Hands of Mercy, and they live there with their fifty odd progeny, treating the orphans (to the extent possible) like their own 4 children, one of whom is adopted. Their kids sleep, eat and play with the other orphans, but sometimes have the privilege of better schooling. For these children, public school means a room full of 150 kids of all ages, poorly organized and with no hope of individual attention. This is the education that is available to most orphans. The real prize for these kids, the hope for a brighter future, is a private school education, which costs about $300 for a year. This opportunity really opens up a new world for them, so if you have a hankering to help someone out, or if you want to ease a guilty, western, over-consumptive mind, or if you want a nice tax deduction, or if you just can't figure out what to do with those three pesky $100 bills that have been taking up valuable space in your ever-crowded wallet, just let me know. I'm sure I'll be hounding you more vigorously as I get more attached to these kids, and as I realize how important it is that they are properly educated.

About the kids... Before we arrived, Ayesha and I imagined that it might take a while to fit in, that we might need to break the ice somehow with these kids so different from ourselves. We also wondered what we really had to offer these kids, considering that neither of us is exactly qualified to teach English as a second language to kids of all ages. Well our questions were answered and our doubts dissipated when we arrived and were mobbed by about 20 unabashed, unafraid, fascinated, attention-hungry little orphans, who jumped on us and held our hands and plucked our arm hair and messed with our clothes and sunglasses saying "me baby, me baby" in an attempt to get us to pick them up. Not only the orphans, but the neighborhood kids all came trundling up to us from their houses, sticking their tiny hands out for a fist pound and saying "tano" which is Swahili for "five". These neighborhood kids are only two or three years old, but they are entirely unsupervised. They take our hands and walk us all the way to the orphanage sometimes, staring up at us with wonder and mischief in their smiles. So, what would be considered kidnapping in the U.S. is an everyday occurrence for us.

Some of the kids are shy, and it will take time to get to know them, but the welcoming committee of the bolder young ones was really wonderful, and made us feel comfortable right away. So far we've played with the younger ones, picking them up and putting them in water barrels, taking away the axe when they try to wield it, stopping them from running each other over in the vegetable carts that they wheel around etc. We've helped the older ones with some school work, and I've had to brush up on my algebra. I've also played a lot of soccer with them, and a little basketball too. It's a family of 50, so there's always something going on, but this is just the start for us, and I'm sure I'll have much more to tell in the days to come. There are orphans abandoned because of their gender, orphans whose parents died of AIDS, orphans whose mothers killed their fathers in self defense, a Kenyan refugee whose father was killed in battle and whose mother died of malaria, and even a little albino girl who is considered cursed by certain local people, and who is in danger from witch doctors who hunt albinos for their body parts. These are the disturbing and horrifying stories we have heard so far, but I'm sure we will hear a lot more before we leave the orphanage.

The orphanage experience promises to be heart-breaking, eye-opening, fulfilling, and just plain fun. Getting through to the older kids (some as old as 19) may be a challenge, and trying to meet the younger kids where they're at in terms of education will be another challenge. The language barrier is certainly there, though some of the kids speak English very well, and we will benefit from more Swahili study, but for now we are taking it one step at a time. We are very happy to be here, and so far we are safe and healthy. Volunteers come through often, so there are systems in place in case of any problems, health or otherwise.

Living in a tiny Tanzanian village is unlike any experience I've ever had, which can be a bit daunting, but it's also refreshing in many ways, and I think that over the course of our stay we will realize how little we need to live decent, healthy lives. And if we need a little shot in the arm of western culture we can always head into Mwanza and go to a restaurant or something with the other mzungus (white people, although Ayesha somehow falls into this category). Just last night we found a dvd of a bunch of bootlegged Nicholas Cage movies, and watched The Rock with some Kilimanjaro beers. I would have thought I was in the U.S.A. if not for the Masai by the windows with their spears. And one more thing, we have this really cool bug zapper that's basically an electrified badminton racket. It gives a satisfying sizzle when you catch one of those little malarial buggers in mid-flight. So, as you can see, rustic African living has many perks.
We miss you all, and we'll be sure to keep you updated in the weeks to come. In some ways, 2 months seems like a long time, but I can already tell that it's going to fly by.