Busy Little Beavers...

(This entry was written by Gina)

It’s been difficult to blog this last week, as so many little things have been happening rather than one large event or story. Kristie (from OIT in New York) came last Saturday to crack the whip on us interns… or, rather, to bring us chocolate and take us to dinner :). She is getting a lot done with Luka and Justas in terms of paperwork and official registration as an NGO, meeting with the KAFAO Board of Directors, etc.

We also had a pretty awesome HIV/AIDS info session for caregivers, wherein a woman living with HIV who volunteers at a local NGO, which Luka had a contact with, came to speak. I couldn’t understand a word she said, but you could tell the audience was riveted, and she kept people laughing and engaged. We had several comments about how much people enjoyed it after, and one caregiver approached the speaker to ask her to potentially pay a support visit to a neighbor of hers’ who has recently been diagnosed and is not doing well. We are hoping to get many of the kids and caregivers tested soon, as so few have been despite the high risks.

Our other recent activity has been school visits, where we are gathering info about our individual students, and also about conditions of schools. My first question to the first teacher I spoke with had a shocking answer. I asked how many kids were in her class, and she replied “93.” I said “Do you mean in the whole grade or just the one class?” She said “Just my class.” While this did prove to be uncharacteristically high, the average class size here is about 50-60. There are any number of other disturbing statistics I discovered, like toilet to student ratio being about 1:100 (and these are pits, not flushing toilets). But rather than dwell on this, I just want to focus on the fact that the sorts of problems we discovered in the schools are exactly what we are seeking to give support to the children for. Like the classroom I visited today, where the teacher of our orphan said she was an average student, but quite confidently asserted that if she received more support, she would be one of the best in the class. I really look forward to seeing the improvements in grades and behavioral indicators next year, when the kids have been getting some extra tutoring and families are getting support from OI sponsors.

We've also been continuing with teaching english, cooking lessons, and lots of other projects, so we’ve been busy, despite the lack of blogging! We’ll keep trying our best to keep ya’ll updated!

The Price of Health

(This entry was written by Gina)

Yesterday I had the interesting experience of accompanying one of the orphans and his grandmother to the hospital. This child, who is two years old and absolutely adorable, has a chronic breathing problem for which he has already undergone an operation. This operation did not work, however, as his grandmother can not afford the “good” hospital, and had to take him to a local clinic. He therefore rarely sleeps for more than an hour or so at a time, because no matter what position they put him in or how they prop him up, he can’t breathe while asleep unless he is literally strapped to his grandmothers back in an upright position (women here carry children in what I call “baby back-packs,” which involves laying the child across their back, then wrapping it tightly in a large piece of cloth which they tie around themselves). His grandmother, therefore, does not sleep either. You can’t help but notice how tired this woman always is, but she is the sole provider for this child, which means she works everyday to make teacakes, which she sells for an estimated income of 500 Tanzanian Shillings a day (about 50 cents). Last week his breathing got so bad that in desperation she borrowed the 3000 shillings she needed from a friend to take him to the clinic, and he was given three shots and a prescription she could not afford to buy.

Thankfully her grandson is with KAFAO, and Luka was able to get some money donated from a friend to take this child to the “good” hospital, and pay back her friend. So we went and were at first told we had to come back the next day for the public clinic, which is one of those deals where you sit in a waiting room all day and may or may not be seen, and were also informed that if we did this, the child would not be able to receive his operation until September. Somehow it was figured out that if we paid 10,000 shillings—the “full price” of about 10 dollars—we could be seen that day, and potentially have his operation done very soon. That was the chosen option, and we saw the doctor who ordered an x-ray, and told us to come back for a consultation on Wednesday.

I want to point out that I am not criticizing the hospital. I have no doubt they do all they can for their patients, but the fact is healthcare costs money, in this or any country. My point is such a small amount of money in relative terms has made a huge difference to the health and well being of the child and his grandmother. Hopefully the consultation will go well, and he will now receive the treatment he needs, thus enabling both he and his grandma to get a good night’s sleep.

Oobleck is a Staple Food

Do you remember oobleck? You probably made it in elementary school science classes. Essentially, it's flour and water mixed together... and it's super fun to play with! I'm sure it comes in plenty of variations for kids having fun learning in US classrooms-- maybe different colors, consistencies and concentrations, to spice things up and keep us entertained and excited about learning. Kids here make oobleck, too.

But for them, it's not a science experiment. It has nothing to do with "having fun learning", in fact, not all of the kids who make it get the chance to go to school "learn" at all... and many who do probably don't even go to school in "classrooms" as we know them. Here, oobleck is a staple food, and it's called "ugali."

During my first week here (as you can read in earlier posts), we worked to complete Family Needs Assessment forms for the orphans and their foster families, that we are working with here. The purpose of these forms was to help our organization determine the conditions and needs of the children and their families. As Gina mentioned, we were trying to establish basic information-- age and education level of the children, income of their (often single) parents, daily food consumption. Pretty much every family responded "ugali" to the question of "what foods does your family eat on a daily basis?" For some families, "ugali" was the only response. For many, there is only one meal per day.

This is to say that on a daily basis, children here are (literally) living off of this concoction of flour and water. If they are lucky, they'll get a banana in there, too. Maybe some rice. Probably no meat, probably few vegetables, probably no fruit other than that banana.

That is ridiculous, and incredibly hard for me to comprehend (I don't, and can't understand what that would be like). Maybe on a rough day, we'll be running late and skimp on breakfast, eat a small lunch, and come home famished. But the difference between us and these kids is not only that we had a breakfast and lunch in the first place, but that if we got really desperate, we could buy something so frivelous as a candy bar at one of the many stands on the way home, reach out to one of the many fruit vendors walking the streets offering delicious fruits for under 20 US cents, or raid the pantry when we came home. To us "wazungu" (white people, foreigners), there is food everywhere here (I KNOW this is not the case throughout Tanzania, where there is a SERIOUS food shortage... but in urbanized Moshitown, even on the outskirts, there is no shortage of food, provided you have the money to buy it). Our walk to and from work every day entails passing numerous food stands, general stores, a market, and dozens of women carrying buckets and branches of fruit in and out of town. It seems very possible that, were I simply one of the hundreds of tourists that flood this area, I would never realize that behind the tourist-driven economy of Moshi, there are hundreds of people starving in a country that has an alarmingly high rate of malnutrition among children (and adults).

With that said, I think back on the families that have invited us to cook with them-- preparing veritable feasts, even by my American standards (there was always WAY more food than I could eat!). This "oobleck" realization makes the generosity of these families stand out to me, even more. It also makes me think, and worry, about the families that can't, won't, and can't invite us to cook with them. It makes me think about our Saturday gathering a few weeks ago, where we debated and wondered about whether or not to provide food and, when we decided to provide something, what foods and how much we would provide. It is very possible that for some of our guests that day, our mandazi (donuts), vitumbua (teacakes) and soda were not only the most EXCITING foods they'd had in awhile, but maybe the only foods--besides flour and water-- that they ate that day.

Definitely, as soon as we get this program up, food support and supplements will be an IMMENSE help to these families, and the nutrition (and futures) of these children.

(This was posted by Molly)

Join our Facebook Group!

( This entry was written by Gina)

This is just a quick ad for our new "Orphans International, Tanzania" Facebook group. Since we have trouble uploading photos onto this blog, feel free to join us there and see some. If you are not on Facebook, we will be able to post pictures when Molly and I return to the States at the end of August.

Things They Don't Teach In Statistics Class

(This entry was written by Gina)

In my statistics class last semester, we learned about he various kinds of data; how to calculate it, enter it into statistical programs, make determinations about frequencies and standard deviations, determine levels of significance, etc. The thing was, we were using fake data created by our instructors so we would come to certain conclusions for testing purposes. The hard part, which they can’t really teach, is step one—determining how best to enter the data. For future statistical analysis, which OIT will need to prove effectiveness of the program, I have been quantifying data about the orphans who we have been assessing these last few weeks.

Age, birth-date, and number of people living in your house seem, from an American perspective, like easy numbers to enter. But in Africa, where no one knows how old they are because that’s just not that important here, or a “house” can mean any number of things, figuring these things out and accurately quantifying them presents unique challenges. How does one decide what number to enter when a four-year-old girl has had malaria so many times her care-giver can’t count them (one of which is at the moment she is being interviewed)? Is chronic neglect a major or minor medical issue? Do bananas qualify as a food group when no other fruits or vegetables are being consumed? Does the seven-year-old girl whose illiterate mother is only 20, and whose father disappeared, really not count as an orphan? These are interesting determinations to make. Most difficult is the determining why I feel, or anyone feels, that we are somehow capable of making these choices.

But we make our best estimates, consult with our counterparts, and hope that all this confusion will somehow come together, and the work we are doing now means that next year, it can be said with confidence that each child consumes four food groups regularly, has been tested for HIV (and is receiving any necessary treatment), and was able to go to school.

Community... and cooking

Domina is very pregnant-- with twins. When you ask her how many kids she hopes to have, she holds her (very large) belly and laughs, saying "basi! basi!" (enough!). With these two, she'll be up to seven.

Domina invited us to cook last week. We learned the art of making makande, a traditional bean and maize dish that lots of the families we work with claim to eat on a regular basis. I definitely approached this cooking lesson with a western mindset-- thinking, sure, we'll be back in a couple of hours, after we make this. WRONG. Makande takes at minimum 4 hours to cook. It involved lots of chopping, dicing, shredding... much to the amusement of everyone there (especially the kids), I was a highly-inefficient coconut-shredder, who nevertheless insisted on shredding the coconut with no help, and who couldn't lift her arms all the way for the two days following.

By mid-afternoon, a veritable feast had been created. We sat at a table in Domina's one-room apartment, sharing a delicious meal of local foods with the women that had taught us how to cook them, children popping their heads in, requesting more photos to be taken, more candy, and grabbing at handfuls of food until they were finally allowed to eat (after we had all been served).

The cooking lesson was a success, and was, in fact, repeated yesterday with a different family (more women, more children this time), as we learned how to make chapati (which are like tortillas), pilau (rice wity meat and vegetables), cooked bananas, and mishikaki (meat-sticks). We have a standing invitation to make vitumbua (tea cakes) with one of the children's grandmothers next week.

The beginning of cooking lessons happened to coincide with our decision to begin free English classes for the caregivers. Domina, along with Suzana (who cooked with us yesterday) came to both of the two classes we have so far taught. Monday was our first class, and I greeted three students, who by the end of the class asked if our scheduled bi-weekly classes could be tri-weekly. Word must have spread, because upwards of 10 students showed up yesterday (with neighbors and children dropping by as they pleased... some of them staying to copy the notes from the board after class ended). Bahati (our three-year-old avocado-loving neighbor and common lunch guest), was in and out of our outdoor classroom, while Agnes (Suzana's four year-old daughter, whose thick braids are a precursor to the dreadlocks she tells her mother she wants) drew quitely by her mother for two and a half hours. Some of the men who work in the shop next door came by in the end, and this morning, I was greeted with a hearty "how are you?"

A conversation about witch-doctors last week evolved into a discussion about AIDS education in the villages. Luka told me some of the rumors he had heard, like that Westerners were putting AIDS in condoms. In light of our success with the english classes, and our increasing popularity in the community (or, at least our acceptance...) we have been talking about starting informational classes for the caregivers and older children, especially about HIV/AIDS (this is also in light of certain responses to the family needs assessment surveys we completed my first week here). Even though it would be well in the future, Luka and I ave been talking about how great it would be to branch out with these classes into the local, smaller villages in the area (many of these orphaned or abandoned children came from villages, and are now living with family members in the Moshi area).

"WORK" has been happening, too. Gina and Luka have been pouring over Excel spreadsheets every morning, and we are starting to compile and quantify the responses/results from the family needs assessments we completed earlier. But what I find most exciting, most interesting, these days, is the way that this community of caregivers has opened to us, invited us into their homes, shared with us, and responded to us-- whether by coming to English classes, dropping by the office to say hi, or confiding to us about what we can do to really help their families. Not only am I excited about the way I feel like I am bonding with these women, but I'm also excited by the way I see them working together, helping each other, and encouraging each other. Having a "community" among the participating families will make bringing support to them a lot easier, and definitely, a lot more enjoyable.