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Getting to Uzima required enormous coordination and support from lots of people. The rinky-dink airline that I dubbed (Im)Presicion Air doesn’t allow anyone to book flights from outside the country. To add insult to injury, the flight left Dar es Salaam five hours late. Fortunately, I met a nun who was waiting for the same plane and of course she knew Sr. Raphaela and could assist with logistics. A car picked us up in Mtwara, which is a coastal town that I couldn’t even pronounce before I got there, and drove two hours to the convent where Sr Raphaela serves as Prioress. (Although almost 70 years of age, this is just one of Sr. Raphaela’s many duties. She also oversees medical care at the district hospital, provides leadership for a new Catholic high school, and helps run Uzima.) When I finally arrived, she greeted me with open arms. Then Sr. Raphaela and I chatted like old school-friends, late into the night. Finally she said. “It’s time for sleep. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Uzima and then we’ll go swimming.”
We set off early to meet the people involved. Uzima is a beautiful “child,” ably led on a day-to-day basis by local Tanzanian staff, a volunteer social worker from Switzerland, and Catholic AIDS Action’s first accountant, Piet Hein Meckmann, who followed Sr Raphaela to Tanzania three years ago. Like Catholic AIDS Action in Namibia (which is still going strong), Uzima provides care and support to local villagers who have been ravaged by poverty, AIDS, and other tragedies. Many of the principles we carved together in Namibia have been replicated: the organization trains and supervises local volunteers who visit the sick in their homes, provide counseling, make referrals to the local hospital or schools, distribute emergency assistance, and above all, offer hope. The same training curricula are used, as well (translated into the local language, of course) -- both for home-based care and HIV-prevention.
Uzima works in six local villages, relying on small donations from the Catholic Church to meet expenses. Yet many of the clients and almost half of the volunteers are Muslim. In working side by side, the volunteers don’t just care for the sick; they also nurture a fresh ecumenical spirit in the area. Thus, for group prayers, they switch off – one time Christian and the next time Moslem. Similarly, when they had to design a logo for Uzima, the volunteers opted against any religious symbol but agreed to the picture of the Catholic Church because, as they explained, the church represented their region and not just the Christian faith.
Sr Raphaela and I joined several volunteers on their supervision rounds. One difference for us is that we had the luxury of a car, but usually the volunteers must walk. They spend hours doing this work every day, without any monetary compensation. I find this incredible, knowing that most are just as poor as the clients they visit. So what is their motivation? Later in the day, I heard some reasons: “Our neighbors need us.” “I am grateful to God to do this work.” And “I appreciate the training I got, which gives me respect in the village.”
Uzima aims for the alleviation of suffering, human dignity, and the chance for a better life in the future. Yet these are difficult goals to achieve. In Tanzania, 17% of all children are considered “most vulnerable,” due to illness, the loss of one or both parents, child labor or abuse, disability, and/or grinding poverty. Okay, you may say, in a country where most people are needy, just how poor is poor? By way of one example, the national standard for the “adequate material well-being” of children is two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket. And shockingly, this remains far out-of-reach for most. According to the government own documents, less than 20% of all Tanzanian children currently meet this standard.[2]
At each home we visited, we met outside under a tree or on a grass-mat, as the mud-and-stray home of the patient was invariably small and unsuitable for visitors. One woman we visited had just started medical treatment for HIV the week before. Previously, she had lain bedridden for months, and had almost died. The volunteers were delighted to see her. “I’m feeling much stronger,” the patient explained. “I can already sit up for long periods of the day.” Then she looked at her elderly mother who sat on a straw mat few feet away, and who takes care of the patient’s children. The woman continued. “But we have a new problem… Now that I am on treatment, I am hungry. Our harvest failed last year and we don’t have enough to eat. My appetite means that either I don’t eat or else someone else in the family has to skip food for the day.” One of the volunteers checked the storage-baskets and saw that they were almost empty. “Uzima will allocate some maize-meal for the next few months,” the volunteer said. “Once you get stronger, you can start working the fields again.”
At another home, we met an eleven year old girl who had first come to the volunteer’s attention some months back. It turns out that this child had never gone to school, and instead functioned as the household servant. The mother, who was undergoing medical treatment, had also never received any formal education as a child and didn’t understand what was wrong. “This won’t do,” the volunteers said. “In Tanzania today, every child has the right to a primary education.” Then they arranged for tutoring so the youngster wouldn’t have to start at Grade One, and got the mother to agree that her child would be given sufficient time each day to attend classes and do homework. The day we visited, the eleven year old was very excited but also a little scared. She would start attending school for the first time in two days, beginning in Grade Three. “Don’t worry,” the volunteer comforted her. “Soon you will make new friends and then everything will work out fine. Next week, we’ll come back to see how you are doing.”
In yet another household, we met a small girl that the volunteers had never seen before. The child, around four years old, looked horribly malnourished and dirty, with many small scabs covering her skin and big bald-patches on her head. “Whose child is this?” they asked. “She’s the daughter of our neighbor who ran away to Dar es Salaam and left the girl behind,” came the answer. “We couldn’t let her die but we also don’t even have enough food for ourselves. Even the water needed to wash must be paid-for.” The family members added that they keep hoping a relative will come to claim the child, but so far no one has. The Uzima staff and volunteers quickly conferred with each other about the situation. Ideally, they need the involvement of a government social worker to find a temporary placement for this child and then track down the parent(s). But Tanzania’s social welfare system is so broken that this will likely prove impossible, and meanwhile the child’s condition will only worsen. Fortunately, Uzima has its own social worker who can access some immediate treatment and start to make inquiries in the area. “We’ll be back on Monday,” the staff said. “Then we’ll figure out the next step, together with you.”
Back at the office, I reviewed Uzima’s excellent accounting and data-base systems, and stopped next door at the parish hall. Here, 80 high-pitched voices chorused joyfully to the beat of a hand-made drum. Sr. Raphaela introduced me as a visitor who was born in America. “Do you know anything about America?,” she asked in KiSwahili. Half a dozen hands shot up. “Obama!” the children shouted. I was amazed by the recognition until I hit the roadway the next day, on my way back to Dar es Salaam. Every third fourth bus has a huge picture of Barack Obama plastered on the back, with messages of “Hongera” (“Congratulations!”) and more. Could anyone have imagined this level of pro-American imagery in the heart of Africa, nine or ten months ago?
In the afternoon, I joined Sr Raphaela for the best lake-swimming I have ever experienced, halfway up a nearby mountain on church property. (The lake is certified with pure spring-water that tastes like silk, and is sold in bottles as an income generating project for the parish.) The next day, before leaving the area, I also stopped to see the Catholic High School that Sr Raphaela is building. It started in 2005 but quickly floundered due to a lack of finances and good management. Then the Bishop asked Sr. Raphaela to take over. Today, 270 students attend, with the projection of doubling the number in two years’ time. Frantically, Sr Raphaela tries to raise scholarships for those who make the grades but can’t afford the school fees. In addition to academics, many life-skills are taught. On the brand-new campus, you can already see a half-dozen classroom blocks, the start of a girls’ dormitory, a science-laboratory and an IT room with 38 computers. Students often walk 90 minutes each day to school and back, so hot porridge is served daily – cooked outdoors on an open fire. Already, this is the best school in the area, with both Muslim and Christian families clamoring for their children to attend. This blew me away, once again: Muslim families choosing to send their children to a Catholic school because they know, deep down inside, that what really counts is the quality of the education and the moral values that their children will be taught. It seems that here in rural Tanzania, a whole new world order has begun.
Back in Dar es Salaam, a strange sensation rolled over me. I had already been in Tanzania for two weeks, conducting both research and training. That night, I spoke to Bernd on SKYPE. He told me that Kelev, our 13 year old shepherd dog, had contracted a massive infection and was possibly dying. When I hung up, I started bawling like a baby and felt depressed for two days. Not only because I loved this dog and will miss him terribly, but also because it felt preposterous to me that I was so upset about the passing of an old dog who, by anyone’s measure, had had a better life than most of the people in Tanzania. Fortunately, Bernd informed me later in the week that Kelev was making a remarkable recovery and would surely be around a little while longer. And yet, what does this teach us about the inequalities to which we have grown so accustomed?
Over and over, I kept thinking: Is it too much to expect that, at the very least, every child in this world should have access to basic food, health and education – let alone, two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket?
[1] See www.caa.org.na for more information
[2] Tanzania HIV/AIDS and Malaria Survey, 2007-2008
