Amidst the busy final days here in Tanzania, Pinky and I had the opportunity today to simply chat with some of the children from IMUMA. We video taped some interviews – but one stands out in my mind. I knew this boy was great in English and loved his geography. I started by asking him who was the first president of Tanzania. Then, the second. Then, the current. Each he answered with a bold sense of pride. I asked, do you want to be president on day? He responded with no – he wants to be a movie actor. Certainly, for he sure knows how to command a camera’s attention.

We continued to interview and I came to my question about school. I asked him why he wants to go to secondary school. He responded by saying he wants to go to secondary school because he wants to help his parents, he wants to help IMUMA and he wants to help his life. I saw Shariff, founder of IMUMA, smile big and hold his hangs together tightly. This young boy has it right.

Education is one’s greatest asset. This boy of fifteen knows that with education, he can help himself. But he doesn’t stop there – no – infact, helping himself came third when he listed it. He wants to help his parents and IMUMA. Why is it that at fifteen, this boy already lists others before himself? Who has taught him this lesson?

I often talk about those inspirational moments I’ve had in Africa – moments showing hope and potential. Still, we cannot forget that there are people who need a helping hand. Kassimu must see it everyday of his life and probably has since he was born. That must be while he lists himself third and not first. Since he is not listing himself first, I will put him first on my list along with the other children at IMUMA.

Ask yourself, who is first on my list?

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Seven pairs of hands, each pair joint by the palm. The dark sand-covered fingers overlapping each other. Fourteen thumbs slightly curved, tucked close and tight. The crossed fingers bent inwards at every joint, a bowl-like figure made naturally. A single stream of water shooting out, crystal clear, filling each pair of hands. Some water trickling down, excitement making it difficult to hold. The bend of elbows, neck stretch and graceful kiss-like motion all synchronized. The wet lips rising, separating and teeth shining between them. A twinkle in the eyes, a dimple and a crooked tooth.

Working here in Bagamoyo has been full of challenges. The water project, although progressing everyday, is proving to be more challenging than anticipated. Whether it’s a leaking pipe, broken elbow or lack of power, obstacles present themselves at every chance. Still, every time we reconnect the system and water begins flowing through taps, the children jump excitedly and crowd around for a sip. Our motivation to overcome obstacles is found at each of those moments.

Water is life.

I’ve heard this phrase before, more than a few times. I don’t know if I ever comprehended the true meaning of it. Sure, there are many statistics about how long an individual can live without water. There are also facts on how much of our body is actually made of water. Still, it was not until I saw children crowding around a tap to sip at water that I understood the true meaning.

How perfect and how natural it was to see seven children cup their hands to drink. Each of them unique, yet there was clearly unity amongst them. A group of friends with a drink of water. In all the lessons about why water is important, in each of the mass documents and reports, none of them actually mention water’s greatest power. These seven children smiled after their sips of water. Water is life, for life is defined by the moments of happiness. Water is life, for those seven smile’s were certainly what life is all about.

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I’ve always enjoyed and found fascination with the rain. Occasionally, I’ll have my spurts of fun in the rain, whether it’s running away from a storm with my stepbrother or finding cover under a shed at a friend’s birthday party. The other day, I added to the list of my experiences under the rain – dancing.

We took the kids to the beach, an exciting yet tiresome experience. On the beach, we sprinted and raced. Danced and sang. Some caught crabs and I, on the other hand, merely cringed at the sight of squirming legs coming towards my face. In the end, thirty-four children, a group of artists and some international volunteers shared a very fortunate number of smiles together.

We walked the children back to the centre, which was certainly an experience in itself. While I chatted with two boys, I occasionally kicked a soccer ball with two other boys and played catch with an athletic young girl. All the while, the group of us made sure that all the children were together, safe and behaving. Just as we were approaching the centre, the downpour began and all the kids quickly ran indoors when we arrived. I did initially join them, but my temptation was too strong. I thought to myself, my mom would tell me to dance if I felt like dancing. With a far away yet distinct and unique voice in my head, I did what I felt. I jumped outside and asked Pinky to put on some music.

I started dancing and slowly but surely, others joined. By the end of it, we had a dance party in the rain. The confidence of some of the children astounded me, not to mention their undeniable ability to dance to any sort of music. Let it be heard – they are my inspiration. I wish every child could be as free – dancing in the rain, with drops hitting off of them and onto the muddy ground below. Even the rain seemed inspired in some way, gracefully bouncing and rhythmically landing. It was the first time I had ever danced in the rain, justifiably a special one. Not because it was my first, it could have been my millionth – it was the children and their smiles that made it special.

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It has only been eleven days. Yesterday was as unique as every other. We started the day by doing yoga on the beach during sunrise. We then made breakfast, played checkers and had some story time. After a short nap, we headed to IMUMA.

There is a babygirl at IMUMA right now and her name is Adijia. The eight-month-old girl and her Mom were sitting and playing together when we arrived. I joined them and before soon, we were encouraging Adijia to take her first steps. She was able to stand on her feet without assistance quite well. By calling to her, she would lift her right foot. Sometimes, she leaned too much and stumbled, only to be caught by her Mom or me. Sometimes, she would put her foot back down exactly where she had lifted it, perhaps unsure of her own ability. Again and again, she tried. Again and again, she was so close. Finally, her mother and I laughed and decided, “hapana leo – not today.”

When I think about a baby taking first steps, it seems quite monumental. Still, I couldn’t help but to appreciate every attempt that Adijia made. Whenever she lifted her foot, even a little bit, I was excited for her. Each time she was willing to try again, I was a little bit proud of this girl I barely know. In fact, every time she smiled – I couldn’t help but to smile with her.

I thought to myself, I must get this from my father. Every time I dare to try something, I know my father is proud of me for trying. I know that if I am hurting, am in pain, am sad or upset, he feels it too. I used this think this was bad before, unfair for my father. He worries so much, cares so much, loves so much. Now I realize that this is why my Dad is the best father anybody could ask for. Sure, I may be across the world – he’s worried, maybe scared, probably even a little bored without our tea times – but he knows that I am happy. Just like I couldn’t help but to smile when Adijia smiled, I know my Dad is happy when I am happy.

This post is for him – I hope you know how happy I am Dad. There are challenges and obstacles, but I am so happy to be doing what I am doing. You have given me an incredible gift of being able to care. More so, you have shown me that there is no such thing as caring too much. I would probably be pursuing some sort of high-tech business future if it weren’t for this gift you have given me… You have shown me the path to what is perhaps not the most affluent future, but certainly the happiest one. We might joke about what we would do if we won the lottery, but I’m not oblivious to what I have. March 21^st, 1990 – you were the jackpot.

Thanks Dad – I Love You Lots – Happy Father’s Day!

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So it’s finally here, my last night in Canada for a long time… I thought I would make this one mainly video… Please comment -- thanks a ton!

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In exactly two weeks, I will step onto a plane and hold my breath. Two days later, I will exhale with relief. It has been just under a year since I left Africa, which means it has been just under a year that I have been waiting to return.

Last year, I tried to keep everyone updated with my travels. It was my own method of ‘home sickness therapy’. Perhaps many noticed that as the trip went on, I posted and blogged less often. The home sickness seemed to leave me overtime because the people in Africa made me feel very much at home. After receiving a shirt that says “Kaka Abedi” meaning Brother Abid in Swahili, I certainly felt at home in every way. In some ways, it even felt more at home. It was where I wanted to be and I was there… A hard thing to describe. Poverty and sickness but happiness and hope. Smiles that, to quote a good friend, “must be genetically bigger” than ours in North America.

In many ways, I feel that I am returning home on June 10th, the day I land in Dar Es Salaam. It will be exciting to see the children that I spent time with, to play checkers with the shop-owners and to sit on a beach drumming while others dance… Unfortunately, it’s not all excitement. Worry, anxiety, nervousness, concern and sincere joy all mixed together leave me, in many ways, unsure what to expect. Fortunately, whatever comes my way, I’ll be standing strong with the support of incredible friends by my side and hopefully some friends and family back home.

Below is a video that tells you all a little bit about IMUMA and even shows you a video of some of the kids singing. IMUMA (meaning Faith, Love and Hope in Swahili) is where I will spend my first eight weeks this summer. They all call me “Abedi” -- language phonetics make saying “Abid” a challenge! They are singing, “We are so unhappy, we are sorry to say goodbye.” I doubt they ever thought they would see me again.

Perhaps I should teach them a new song that says “See you later” because I know this won’t be the last time. SRI will work with IMUMA so that each of these children are well-nourished, healthy and in school. If you’re interested in helping, you can sport that necklace I showed in the video -- $5 and a worthy cause. Email info@student-reach.com.

Keep Reaching.

A.

*We’ll get better at the quality settings and such for the video blog after a couple tries!

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