Family Far from Home

by India Childs (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Tanzania

In October last year I embarked on a journey that would truly change my life. I volunteered with VSO and got on a plane for the very first time, on my way to spend the next two and a half months in the rural village of Kamachumu, Tanzania. I hadn’t anticipated the friendships I would forge from this trip, nor the bond I developed with my host family who I stayed with for the duration of my volunteering. Colourful and beaming, often muttering songs under her breath that hung in the air afterwards and followed me as I would leave the house each morning- Mama, a joyous, all embracing sort of woman who welcomed me into her home with such excitement and enthusiasm. I’d initially felt some terror at establishing a relationship with her as we couldn’t speak the same language, but over time we broke through that barrier and she treated me like her own daughter. I cooked with her, danced with her in the evenings, and showed her pictures from back home of my own family and friends, who she always was eager to say hello to whenever they video called. In the community I was working in two government schools, and I’d get up early to attend my sessions and organise my work for the coming day with lesson plans for the children. She would always without fault prepare something for me to eat, even walking down to the centre of town with me to meet the other volunteers. She helped me thrive and feel at peace with my surroundings, Kamachumu slowly starting to feel almost like home. The week before I was due to leave, I got very sick and was unable to eat properly, and she looked after me and nursed me when I returned from the hospital. I took to the market on sundays and would always do my best to find her the best plantain, the nicest pineapple just so I could be the one responsible for making her smile, even though it was a gift she bestowed so willingly and frequently. Inspite of the challenges I faced trying to communicate with Mama, these were often dismissed with the help of Rugabela, her son, my Kaka. Ruga had successfully completed school and university, and had returned to the village to help document the changes in town and the people. He spoke English quite well, though stuttered on longer words and often paused thoughtfully mid sentence. He was eager to learn, eager to be taught, and was ecstatic when I bought some card games with me and showed him how to play. He would often tease me about my role in the local schools and share his own stories from growing up in Kamachumu. He let me in to his life, let me in to see through his eyes, and I couldn’t thank him enough for how much easier he made it walking to Kamachumu each day knowing he would be around and all the unknowns I was still discovering would not be so ominous with him leading the way. One evening just before I was to leave to come home, my Tanzanian counterpart Petrine took me on a walk to the private school up the hill. The students were older, all more competent in English and reading because they’d had opportunities that hadn’t been extended to the children I worked with in the government schools, but they were still just as eager and in no way conceited; they held dancing competitions to which the whole school would attend with teachers, dancing, fellow students jeering and getting up on stage to give the performers money and to show support. Ruga had an old camera he was using to film them, and met us at the school to show us the dancing. I was in awe, in awe that in this small village tucked away from the rest of the work I was witness to such power, the dancing, the joy, the communal involvement. Here my host brother was with a beaten up camera capturing spectacular things, and sharing them with me. I was honoured. Privileged that my journey meant I met such extraordinary people.