Africa is a vast continent, consisting of 53 countries and a total population of over 1 billion people. I visited Tanzania, a country which lies on the east coast of the continent. Thanks to years of inefficient ruling, it is now one of the poorest, least developed and most aid-dependent countries in the world. Looking through the eyes of a visitor, I found this easy to believe but too many wealthy residents of Tanzania find it easy to ignore. I felt that the rich and poor divide, which is present across the world, was more noticeable in Dar Es Salaam than in any other town or country I have visited. Whilst Dodoma is the geographical capital of the country, Dar Es Salaam is its political and commercial capital. The city’s rapid expansion means that there is plenty of work, but sadly it’s a classic case of the rich getting richer whilst the poor get poorer.
Kibaha is a small village to the east of Dar Es Salaam. Here, World Islamic Propagation and Humanitarian Services (WIPAHS) has established an entire community with the intention of educating the youth whilst providing local residents with medical care and an opportunity for employment. On my first day, I was taken on a tour of the campus. As we passed the nursery and primary schools followed by secondary schools for girls and boys, I became increasingly impressed. The school buildings were large, relatively well equipped and it was clear that a lot of money, time and effort had been put into this project.
The biggest surprise for me came from the students. As I peered into one classroom, I saw the children listening attentively- no one was talking or staring out of the window. They all seemed captivated by the lesson. The moment I stepped into a primary class to be introduced, all the students stood up immediately and chanted ‘Salaam Alaykum Teacher’. (Salaam is both the Islamic way to greet someone and a general greeting in Tanzania). I had never seen such discipline before and I almost felt embarrassed at their politeness. Whilst walking down the corridor students would smile and greet me happily as though we were old friends although they had no idea who I was and I probably looked very out of place in my English clothing. In my primary school, such a visitor would only have received stares and whispers as she walked through the school.
There was also an orphanage on campus, for children aged 1-4. Although I’m not too sure what I had been expecting initially, I was surprised once more. As we approached the orphanage I could see around twenty small children playing near the entrance. As soon as they spotted us, they all cried ‘mageni!’ meaning guest in Kiswahili, and came running towards us. Each one made sure to shake my hand and greet me with ‘Salaam’ whilst the younger ones clamoured to be picked up and the older ones fought to hold my hand. As I soon learnt, this was their customary way of meeting people, and soon the sight of the young children running towards me was something I looked forward to every day. However, it simultaneously filled me with sadness because the fact was, these children were hungry for love and no other kids with a normal, loving family would run up to strangers and greet them so warmly.
When I began teaching, I noticed again how attentive the students were. All of them had a thirst for knowledge which was a stark contrast from students in England, some of whom only attend school to pass time and socialise. The scene in Kibaha was very different. Although the classes were far bigger, some with up to 43 students, the discipline was amazing. The students not only listened to and respected their teacher, but also each other. There was never any obvious bullying which made me realise once more how friendly everyone was.
The school was full boarding and for a fee equivalent to $2 dollars a day, the students were provided with education, accommodation and 3 meals a day. I was shocked to learn that the fees were so minimal but the bigger shock was that many of the students couldn’t afford it and their fees were heavily subsidised by the school. Compared to other schools in Tanzania, it was certainly one of the better equipped but it was not really comparable to the usual standard of English schools.
The most upsetting thing in all of this was the realisation of just how much we in the West take everything for granted. I have been paying thousands of pounds for my education since the age of six but I don’t think I have ever paid as much attention in a single lesson as the students in Tanzania. The role reversal is almost ironic- they want to learn but can’t afford it, whilst we almost have education thrown in our faces and yet turn it down, instead wasting our money on yet another pair of shoes or a night out that will be more harmful than helpful.
I soon realised that although many of the students in Kibaha were poor and some were also orphans, they were by no means at the harsh end of the ‘quality of life’ spectrum. My eyes really opened when I visited another orphanage in Dar Es Salaam. This one housed about forty young girls and boys ranging from four to 16 years old. Tiny bedrooms which were crammed with bunk beds and mattresses, were shared by around fifteen children each. One of the youngest girls there was called Fatima and the carers informed us that she had AIDS. Although she was being treated no precautions were being or indeed could be taken to prevent cross-infection. Besides sleeping, all other activities including meals, education and games took place outside in courtyard under the heat of the African sun. They shared this courtyard with goats, chickens and their excrements. On my first visit, a shelter had been put up to provide shade but I later learnt that this had been hired especially for the visitors and had cost the orphanage 25 000 shillings (£12.50); money which could have been far better spent on the children. When I returned to the orphanage at Kibaha, it looked like heaven in comparison.
There was also a medical centre on campus which treated students from schools across the region and local residents as well. There were two doctors, one of whom slept above the clinic and worked almost 24/7, often waking up in the middle of the night to receive and look after emergency cases. As he said to me, ‘I’m the doctor, nurse, sweeper and pharmacist here,’ since the centre did not have enough funds to hire adequate staff. In fact, the doctor often paid for patients’ medication out of his own meagre salary since neither they nor the government could afford it. However, as with the orphanage, I was to see far worse.
Ocean road is a long road in Dar Es Salaam which runs parallel to the ocean. Due to the magnificent views it’s a popular place to live for the wealthy residents of Tanzania. The road is lined with huge mansions, shiny cars parked in their driveways. But drive to the end of the road and tucked away in the corner you come to the cancer unit. A private clinic, the unit is hugely dependant on donations and help from volunteers as it receives minimal funding from the government. If they run out of cooking gas before the month is over, which they often do as they have to cook for over 200 patients, the government refuses to give them more and the kitchen workers must resort to using the outdoor coal stove.
The clinic takes in far more patients than it can cope with for there is nowhere else for them to go. Several cases are beyond treatment- the patients are simply waiting to die and you can see the acceptance of this fact in their eyes. There were men, women, young and old, some with tumours as big as fists, others with cases of skin cancer far worse than any I’ve seen in England. One woman who volunteered at the unit on a weekly basis introduced me to a young boy of 16 named Ali. When he was 14, Ali was diagnosed with cancer and travelled from Mwanza, hundreds of miles away, to Dar Es Salaam for treatment. He came to the cancer unit and was fortunate enough to have arrived in time to be cured.
However, the time the travelling and treatment took meant that Ali had missed out on a year of education and since he was an orphan, the doctors at the cancer unit offered to sponsor his education in Dar Es Salaam. Ali accepted but two years later, the clinic could no longer afford his education along with medication, sanitation and food for all the patients, so Ali was withdrawn from school. His final school year would cost £200, explained the volunteer. Here was an orphan boy, who could not even complete high school due to poverty, and up the road were people carrying around handbags worth far more that what Ali needed to finish his education and have a chance of a better life.
Many of the experiences I saw saddened and upset me. Some angered me- I questioned the justice of a world where money was so unevenly distributed and corruption ran through the government, crushing any chance of the situation improving. Yet amongst all the poverty, the death and destruction, there may not have been hope but there was happiness. No matter what situation the people of Tanzania were in, it was a rare moment to see them without a smile on their faces. Even if they had nothing, they were still willing to offer you whatever they could and their hospitality was unlike any other. I went to Africa to help people, but really they helped me. I went to teach, but instead I learnt. It wasn’t an experience that can be described in words but one thing I realised was that money definitely does not buy contentment and we in the West have completely forgotten what it’s like to be truly content.