One Last Tanzanian Thought
It’s Saturday night here in Wyoming which means it’s Sunday morning in Tanzania – one last day before the first day of school at Orkeeswa. Tomorrow morning here will be Sunday night there and Sunday night here will be the first morning of the first day of school for a new form three, form two, and form one. I recall roughly this time last year – days before the first day of school, when Scott and I stood next to Peter as he announced our arrival to the group of students. I recall Isaack’s face and applause, although at the time I had no clue his name was Isaack. And then when Peter announced the return of Thomas, everyone, including Issack, broke out into greater cheer. That was just the beginning. The MIT group was there. Scott and I had zero clue what the rest of the year would bring, what we would bring. Neither did anyone else. Peter, the students, Scott and I – we were all betting on each other and somehow, some way, it worked out.
And now we’re here, days away from beginning another bet, another roll of die.
Being with the students at Orkeeswa and opening up their lives to new experiences made things more real, more weighty, more true. As if, if they could see it – a plane land, a movie in a theater, a national park – then we’d be allowed to. Their lives made ours more substantial. And I know that now – one year later, a world away.
How on earth did we get so lucky as to have met them? How, for instance, did my life get to cross with Hosea’s? How was I so fortunate to have had a window into his life, his world – to know that when his parents died, one after the other, that he truly thought that he was next. That now – alive – he feels lonely without them. The students’ words collided with mine, as I retold what I had read. How Edward would run and hide and sleep in the woods for a whole night in order to avoid getting beat by his father. And despite all of that, I was able to witness them laughing and playing and loving and living.
I’m learning what happiness is. And I don’t necessarily believe in 96% – the percent of people in Bhutan who say they are happy; I don’t know if I’ll ever find happier students than the ones at Orkeeswa, happier people.
We don’t like to admit it, but Scott and I did betray a trust by leaving them, by abandoning, by seeking our own happiness. No matter what, Scott and I live up to our American-ness – we are selfish at heart.
At Michael’s house the week after school ended, Mbayana was in disbelief when Jane and I were trying to explain how we gain so much from the students, way more than we give. That we learn from them. He didn’t believe, understand. It’s because Mbayana doesn’t know true selfishness to the levels of the western world, or the western version of emptiness. He’ll never understand that it was us who needed to be fulfilled, who sought something greater, that by teaching and volunteering, it was us who were taking. I will always remember Mbayana’s face of disbelief, the innocence, like we were telling him a sweet lie.
I like to believe I left something behind, that my time there mattered. That I left seeds of confidence which I, at their age, never grew into. That, in them, a very small piece, sees me.
And now we’re here, days away from beginning another bet, another roll of die.
Being with the students at Orkeeswa and opening up their lives to new experiences made things more real, more weighty, more true. As if, if they could see it – a plane land, a movie in a theater, a national park – then we’d be allowed to. Their lives made ours more substantial. And I know that now – one year later, a world away.
How on earth did we get so lucky as to have met them? How, for instance, did my life get to cross with Hosea’s? How was I so fortunate to have had a window into his life, his world – to know that when his parents died, one after the other, that he truly thought that he was next. That now – alive – he feels lonely without them. The students’ words collided with mine, as I retold what I had read. How Edward would run and hide and sleep in the woods for a whole night in order to avoid getting beat by his father. And despite all of that, I was able to witness them laughing and playing and loving and living.
I’m learning what happiness is. And I don’t necessarily believe in 96% – the percent of people in Bhutan who say they are happy; I don’t know if I’ll ever find happier students than the ones at Orkeeswa, happier people.
We don’t like to admit it, but Scott and I did betray a trust by leaving them, by abandoning, by seeking our own happiness. No matter what, Scott and I live up to our American-ness – we are selfish at heart.
At Michael’s house the week after school ended, Mbayana was in disbelief when Jane and I were trying to explain how we gain so much from the students, way more than we give. That we learn from them. He didn’t believe, understand. It’s because Mbayana doesn’t know true selfishness to the levels of the western world, or the western version of emptiness. He’ll never understand that it was us who needed to be fulfilled, who sought something greater, that by teaching and volunteering, it was us who were taking. I will always remember Mbayana’s face of disbelief, the innocence, like we were telling him a sweet lie.
I like to believe I left something behind, that my time there mattered. That I left seeds of confidence which I, at their age, never grew into. That, in them, a very small piece, sees me.
posted by Siapiau | 11:13 PM
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