It may be the cooler weather or my own insatiable appetite for the orange-fleshed tubers, but I liked this video from the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation about a Tanzanian farmer building a better livelihood with a new crop—sweet potatoes.
by Amy Carter
“I am going to Tanzania to learn.”
That’s what I told people who asked about my upcoming trip. I explained that Heifer International’s study tours are unique educational experiences. I hoped that I would be positively changed in some way, so that my time on the African continent would not be wasted. To be merely a tourist would be tragic; to be only an observer would be cause for shame.
My purpose was to be a student, as much as possible to be a tactile participant of a culture that had enamored me since I was a young girl asking Santa Claus for a globe, please. When it stopped spinning, gracing my fingertip was Africa.
Now, after having connected my flesh-and-blood feet with its earth — finally outside the boundaries of my imagination, a good book, or a film — I haven’t let go.
The landscape changed from green to orange and back to green within the span of an hour. The outdoor markets were filled with red bananas, yellow bananas, green bananas. The smiles were wide and welcoming, but there were also eyes that quickly turned away or avoided us completely.
It was the latter that made me sad, but I could only speculate at what could help provide a solution. The airplane that brought me to Tanzania was filled with mostly foreign faces. How many of them arrived to tour the land on safari, having been dropped in and later lifted out without appreciating the people who lay claim to the mysteries of the lakes, mountains and animals?
Although the objective of the study group was to engage with Heifer’s project partners, one morning we embarked on a game drive at the Ngorongoro Crater, the world’s largest caldera. Soon after our arrival into the crater, we spotted a pride of lions crouching in the grasses as two Maasai men herded their cattle toward them. The cattle clearly sensed the lions’ presence and ran in the opposite direction, disappointing the drama. The Maasai men held their spears quietly but aggressively against the threat hiding in the lion-colored grass, and we were protected spectators who were reminded, in that moment, that our leisure was someone else’s life.
It was a difficult line to distinguish, that demarcation between genuine interest and insensitivity. I continually found myself in this conflict, trying to remain grounded in respect when, for the price of a scowl, I could capture an image that would help to illustrate what I’ve seen and heard. One of the women’s groups encouraged us to practice the art of carrying bananas on our head. This was fun, and it whetted my curiosity, but have I also made light of a way-of-life?
That was never the intention. I returned home with many reminders of my visit in the form of photographs; a few pieces of artwork and jewelry; and gifts for friends and family. If only I could have also brought home with me the sense of community, rich cultural traditions, resourcefulness and connection to the land. Only then could I have given gifts of true value, found within the roots of a country I had the deep honor of experiencing for a brief time.
Those are qualities that I feel are in large part lost in my own culture, and it was these things that I tried to absorb by gazing at a strong woman carrying luggage atop her head with a baby wrapped against her back. I admired the man who pulled his cart of fruit that was covered not by a sheet of wasteful plastic, but by a mosaic of leaves and grasses.
Our group met a stingless-bee farmer, highly educated and renowned in his science, very friendly with an ever-present smile. His home was modest but indicated a relative financial success we hadn’t witnessed at other farms. He grew his own crops and managed some livestock. He was questioned about why he doesn’t market more of his honey and accumulate more wealth.
His tone indicated that the answer was obvious. I gathered that it must be the secret to his seeming peace and contentedness:
“Why, I am a simple man. I have everything here that I could need.”
His few, profound words embodied my study-tour experience. As my favorite journalism professor would say, it was my “take-away,” and it was achieved by listening to the rhythms and words of people living different but equal lives. I did not keep at a distance, nose pressed against glass peering at the stunning surface. Instead, I was given a view of the richness that lies below.
Amy Carter is a research and communications specialist at Heifer International. She recently completed a study tour of Heifer projects in Tanzania. You can read the previous posts of her travelogue here.
Maasai and cows in Ngorongoro Crater
Maasai roasting goat to share with Heifer study tour participants
Mama Didas and her 17-year-old son who is disabledby Amy Carter
During this trip I have spent many frustrating minutes trying to learn pieces of Swahili.
Our driver named Jonathan taught me, “Tafadhali naomba kupiga picha,” – May I please take your picture – and this is the phrase that kept me awake from 4am to 6am on Monday morning.
“Jambo,” or “hello,” is pretty easy, but I have a difficult time remembering “Habari ghani,” which means “How are you doing?” (Although judging by the competency of my fellow tour participants, I am alone in my deficiency.)
However, what I realized today is that all I have really needed to learn is the Swahili word for “beautiful.”
Sister Alexandra, a nun we met in the city of Moshi who is responsible for 199 families receiving pigs, radiates peace. Mama Didas, the mother of a 17-year-old boy who cannot speak or get out of bed, is strong as she cares for her disabled son.
“All of her other children left her,” Ansila, a neighbor, told me. “So she suffers alone.”
They are beautiful.
Sixty-five-year-old Joseph Lui Massawe cares for his three grandchildren whose parents died of AIDS. His immaculately constructed goat pen illustrates the pride he must feel for his animal, his land, himself, and his family.
His wise face is beautiful.
Bernadina Michael is a 56-year-old widow who lost her husband to AIDS and now lives with the illness. She has a family of five children and showed us her goat pen with a smile, beaming even more brightly when we asked her daughter, who has completed a secondary education, what she wants to do for an occupation. “I want to go into tourism,” she said, shy but happy.
There is tragedy, but there is also hope. There is beauty.
Amy Carter is a research and communications specialist at Heifer International. She recently completed a study tour of Heifer projects in Tanzania. You can read the previous posts of her travelogue here.
Maasai perform a traditional dance in Tanzaniaby Amy Carter
We met our first Maasai families on Tuesday morning in the village of Losikito. Many of the children, upon seeing the eager faces of mzungu, or “white man,” ran from us in tears. One of our tour leaders explained with a laugh that we looked like lions to them. It’s likely he was telling the truth, because one baby in particular did not care for my smile.
But other children – particularly the boys – wanted their photos taken and then asked to serve as photographer. I happily obliged, handing over my camera and glad to show them a bit of my world.
The children followed us to our new location within the village. A group of Maasai men and women adorned in their traditional reds, blues and purples stood in single-file lines. They bent their knees up and down in a gentle, graceful bounce, as the beads of their jewelry clinked together, like glass againt glass or rain landing on the tops of banana trees. But their voices held the intensity of a warrior, reminding us that the Maasai’s history is a nomadic one. High, athletic leaps tell us that we are in the presence of a people whose spirit is powerful and intense. We are showered with flower petals, and I think about gentleness as a kind of strength as well.
After the dancing the group gathers into a circle in seats as we sit beside them, prepared to observe them in a self-evaluation of their project. A Heifer Tanzania staff member asks them to call out Heifer’s 12 Cornerstones, the principles on which our work is based. “Pass on the Gift” is the first to be written on the sheet of flipchart paper pinned to a goat shed. This group knows how to pass on the gift well, as it has collectively passed on 13 cattle since April 2008. They move through the list of Cornerstones, finishing the exercise with Gender Equity.
Next they discuss indicators that will help them evaluate whether or not they effectively embody each Cornerstone. Behind us, a group of village children watches captivated behind a fence. We learn that men and women increasingly share workloads and that women vote as well. Their village council is comprised of half women and half men. However, the women spoke less than did the men during the open discussion – perhaps out of shyness, maybe because they had an unexpected audience, or possibly because they are still developing their dreams.
But as the meeting came to a close, one of the women thanked Heifer and blessed us with these words: “Now we are empowered and can stand in front of anyone in our country and speak out.”
During final goodbyes and hugs, a man said, “Don’t forget Losikito.”
I don’t think we will.
Amy Carter is a research and communications specialist at Heifer International. She recently joined a study tour of Heifer projects in Tanzania. You can read the previous posts of her travelogue here.
An elderly Maasai woman in Tanzania
by Amy Carter
part 2 of 2
From the Kitomari home we traveled more than one very bumpy hour in Land Cruisers up the slope of a dormant volcano named Mount Meru. At an elevation of 6,000 feet above sea level, we were still only at the base of the mountain. As our bodies bounced and swayed up the windy, dirt road, we passed many women, men and children walking down. The women carried baskets of avocadoes on top of their heads and children waved at us with smiles that lured out our cameras. It is impossible to not smile in response to even the sight of these children, who nearly always turn their eyes to stare at our own. For many of us missing our own children, every day it is tempting to wrap each of them into a hug and kiss their dust-covered faces.
When we finally arrived at our destination, we were greeted by Mama Anna, a short, round woman with the personality of a natural entertainer. She and the other women in her group welcome us with a song and undulation, their tongues trilling in a way that none of our group are able to accurately mimic. Afterward we introduced ourselves, each of us labeling ourselves “Mama” and “Baba” followed by our oldest child’s first name. I was “Mama Owen,” and I don’t know that I’ve introduced myself as proudly as in that moment.
“Ubuntu” is an African term meaning, roughly, “I am because you are.” As we stood in the circle, chanting in Swahili — I, however, not managing much more than the commonly used greeting “jambo” — and sharing our lives, we weren’t separated by geography, economics or gender. We instead were united as parents, children and individuals earnestly seeking to learn more about one another and celebrating our humanity, successes and challenges. We shared a lunchtime meal of chapati, stew, rice, fruit and tea prepared by their hands. Mama Anna and her husband Ishmael then told us about the Heifer training he had attended in 1992 that taught him how to build a cow shed and how one year later they passed on one of their cows to another family in need. In 1997 they began producing award-winning cheese, and now people in the community travel to their home to purchase the cheese and other produce. One of their children has gone to university and they have contributed to the building of a school.
“I am thankful,” Mama Anna said. “All things have happened because of Heifer.”
Each member of the group participated in churning butter as the women danced and sang around us. Even I, rhythmically challenged, was glad to take one of their hands after I finished turning the heavy blue cylinder. They gladly taught us how to transport their luggage — bananas, in this case — on top of our heads, and we helped to smash coffee beans in a large mortar. Three of the women demonstrated by alternately lowering and lifting their pestles in what — for them — became an easy, graceful dance. Ishmael joined us around the mortar, throwing his grandson into the air, the giggles of a little boy joining in our song.
We were family that afternoon, discovering joy, blessings and unity at the base of Mount Meru.
Amy Carter is a research and communications specialist at Heifer International. This week she joins a study tour of Heifer projects in Tanzania. You can read part 1 of this post here.
Amy Carter (center) practices the art of carrying bananas.
by Amy Carter
part 1 of 2
Ndeianiswa Kitomari stands tall and silent. She has just arrived home from church on this Sunday, striking in a blue two-piece dress suit, purple sweater and floral head scarf.
But few people know that her real name is Ndeianiswa. She known widely as “Mama Nana,” a designation that announces she is the mother of eldest born Nama.
She is the first matriarch met by my group of Tanzania Study Tour participants, 14 individuals from across the United States journeying around the city of Arusha, its countrysides and mountain slopes to learn more about the ways in which Heifer International partners with resource-poor people to help them lift themselves out of hunger and poverty.
Mama Nana’s husband is named Zadock. He speaks to us in Swahili explaining that he was loaned fish, training and then goats by Heifer several years ago as part of the Northeast Tanzania International Livestock Assistance Project. Since then he has become what our team called a “master farmer.” Not only has the passed on the gift of animals to others in his community, but he is a model for other farmers and leads them in training to pass on the knowledge that he has gained as a result of his partnership with Heifer.
His voice is steady but soft, and his eyes are averted out of what seems to be a sort of shyness and humility — but the occasional laughter and smile indicate a kind heart. Mama Nana looks at him with pride as he explains the intricacies of cultivating a “kitchen garden,” the patience of growing vanilla beans — Mama Nana immediately brings us a photograph of him with the vanilla plant — and the science behind mixing the perfect blend of compost and soil.
Two hours later we walk to the four carefully constructed ponds where he farms tilapia fish, and he and son Nana roll up their pant legs and walk into the water with a large net spanning the pond’s width, bringing up with it a dozen fish into its folds. How often do you gather the fish for personal cooking? he is asked. “Whenever Mama says,” is the response.
“Asante sana,” I say to Mama, thanking her very much for welcoming us into her home, her garden and her world. She smiled and responded in kind — sharing with me a bit of the brightness and life that I know must sustain her husband, her family and her land.
Amy Carter is a research and communications specialist at Heifer International. This week she joins a study tour of Heifer projects in Tanzania. Read part two of her post here.
Theodore Dalrymple, British author and former physician, has an article, “Sympathy Deformed,” in the spring 2010 issue of City Journal. In it, Dalrymple, a social conservative and critic of the so-called welfare state, looks at modern approaches to poverty, specifically at how we define and then measure poverty. It is basically an argument against the redistributionist approach–that poverty is determined in relation to median national income (for example, a household making below 60 percent of the median) and the way to eliminate poverty is to redistribute resources.
“This definition, of course, has odd logical consequences: for example, that in a society of billionaires, multimillionaires would be poor. A society in which every single person grew richer could also be one in which poverty became more widespread than before; and one in which everybody grew poorer might be one in which there was less poverty than before. More important, however, is that the redistributionist way of thinking denies agency to the poor. By destroying people’s self-reliance, it encourages dependency and corruption—not only in Britain, but everywhere in the world where it is held.”
Dalrymple goes on to argue against state-run systems of all stripes from his experience as a doctor on a remote Pacific island, in Tanzania and in poor parts of England. While his easy dismissal of these systems and his subsistence-is-the-best-life implications only serve to further his own philosophical stance, Dalrymple’s article raises a few questions.
It seems sensible that, in order to alleviate poverty, we should first define it. Dalrymple seems to argue for including not only economic but also other “various kinds of squalor—moral, familial, psychological, social, educational, and cultural.” But who would determine what moral or familial poverty is? I have the feeling Dalrymple would be happy with that assignment.
At the very least, we should establish a baseline of who is poor and who isn’t. But how should we determine poverty if not as a percentage of median national income? And once we can establish who is poor and who isn’t, what then? What is the best approach to alleviating poverty? What part should governments play?
Photos and video by Dave Anderson
Photo by Donna Stokes
Photo by Dave Anderson
“A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles.”
