Touched

Today, I saw Tanzania's raw beauty as well as its nasty unfairness.  A few friends and I set out to hike to a waterfall.  None of us aware of difficulty level of the hike, we figured it would be an adventure.  We hired a taxi to drive us to the furthest point.  On the way, we drove through a typical Tanzanian village, with mud huts and children playing with trash as toys.  As we got close, we drove down a narrow dirt (with the rain it was mud) road, with 5 feet high dirt/grass banks to keep us in our little alley.  We literally skidded our "bumper car" to our destination.  We did get stuck in the mud a couple of times, but there was nothing to worry about.  Literally, the village children wait around this part of the neighborhood for the taxis to get stuck, then they push the car out and ask for a much-deserved tip after.  It was incredible to see this informal system at work.

When the car stopped and we were told that it was time to start the hike, we got out and were greeted by a little army of about 8 street kids, most of which were handling machetes like a pro and all children were wearing ripped, mud-splattered and smelly clothes.  Shoes were optional.  One of the kids knew one of my friends from a mentoring situation, so we were immediately at ease with this group of children.  But the interesting thing was that even though they physically were children, we quickly figured out they were anything but infants.  Many of them had run away from home at one point or another and had lived on the streets.

One of the smallest, Alexi, immediately buddied up with me and stuck with me the entire day.  He's 8 years old, but had the confidence of a young man.  At first, I have to admit, while I knew we were safe with these children with machetes, I didn't trust they were altruistic in their want to be helpful.  A lot of interactions in Tanzania between foreigners and Tanzanians involve the Tanzanians with their hand out (figuratively or literally) and the foreigner either giving out of pity or resisting it.  Living here for 2 years, I have seen what giving into this "hand out" mentality has done to the culture and refuse to take part in it.

So as the kids helped us climb down slippery, muddy slopes, I was wondering when the time was going to come when they started asking me for something.  But as time went on, and Alexi steadily held my hand and saved me from falling multiple times by either shielding me with his own little body or telling me where to step or even just using his own amazing strength to keep me balanced, he never asked for anything.  Throughout the hike, I could tell he didn't view our relationship as buddies.  He took care of me.  He seemed to like that role, so I let him.  Holding my hand the entire time, I knew he needed the kind touch of an adult to a child as much as I needed his stabilizing on the rocks and mud.  We definitely had a significant language barrier, but we taught each other words in our respective languages (he was bilingual, knowing Kiswahili and Kimaasai).

As we continued our journey to the waterfall, I decided to see what songs Alexi knew.  Not many, apparently.  He claims that he goes to school where they only speak English, but he can only sing his alphabet correctly until "g."  The public schools (where they still need to pay for school fees and bring their own jug of water to keep the gardens alive) are abysmal.  Anyway, I decided to teach him a few songs, and in those moments in song, I saw the age-appropriate, eager child inside.  That was the only time that he was truly an 8 year old.  The rest of the time, he was far too grown up for his age. Towards the end of the hike, he asked if I had children.  I said "no."  He was very confused because he considered me "very old" to not have children.  I told him that I didn't want children.  He asked "why," to which I answered that I enjoyed my freedom.  He then went to tell me all of the reasons I should have children, including the fact that they will do my dishes and wash my clothes for me.  Clearly, this was his reality with his family, and a typical reality for many Tanzanian children.

As we said our goodbyes, I was sad to leave my "too grown up" friend.  I tried to give him a hug, Tanzania being a handshake culture, with semi-successful results.  As we drove away, I chatted with one of my friends about these boys' living conditions and situations.  They most likely work more than they go to school and there's no system in place advocating for their right to get an education and be protected as children.  It saddened us to really understand the unfairness of the conditions the boys were born into and just how little influence we had over the situation but we were also touched by our experiences with these young, yet incredibly strong, boys with swords.