It’s been two weeks, but there’s no doubt we’ve all learned a few things already, and I’m not talking about Swahili slang or idiomatic expressions, although we do look pretty cool walking down the streets saying, “what’s up?,” “just chilling,” and “crazy like banana.” Sadly for me, that’s the extent of my Swahili knowledge. I’m sure if I had another week I’d be fluent.

There are, however, more important things we’ve learned, such as how to open a coconut. The next time we’re in a tropical, coconut-growing region, I’ll be the really cool kid that knows how to open the coconut. It’s kind of like a guitar player around a fire…but without the guitar or fire…and with coconuts. I digress.

Africa has taught us a great deal of patience. Everything we’ve done here, from daily routines to working on projects, involves learning how to be patient. (My parents are so excited reading this right now.) For example, all six of us sleep in one room, so we’ve learned to be accepting of my snoring and Pinky’s sleep talking. It’s also not the easiest thing sharing a bathroom with five others, four of which are girls. Gentlemen reading, sympathize.

With respect to project work, saying we’ve been patient would be an understatement. Take the water project for example. We had an initial plan, got the required parts and installed the system. It didn’t work. So, we drew up another plan, got those parts and gave it a go. Attempt two wasn’t successful either. We sat down, thought out some alternatives, purchased the materials and set them up. We still hadn’t satisfied our desires for the project. See a pattern? I hope so, because I’m running out of ways of saying the same thing. Regardless, the ‘idea, purchase, install, fail’ pattern went on for a week. At times, we wanted to snap the filter in half and rip out the piping, but we didn’t…well we did break a filter, but it wasn’t intentional. No worries, we bought two, and you all know the end result: we eventually got the thing to work.

One must also realize that no matter where we go we have no idea what people are saying. The language barrier is frustrating, especially when you are trying to do a research project. After asking twelve people for directions, we finally arrive at a store. After ‘speaking’ with a shopkeeper for a few minutes (in other words, asking a question in broken Swahili, getting a blank look, getting a response in broken English, and then mimicking their initial blank look) we realize we aren’t at the right place. When we get to the right store, we encounter a shopkeeper with no knowledge of the English language, so we search for someone who can translate for us. Twenty minutes later, we discover the store doesn’t have the thing we need, and that we need to travel to Mwenge to get it. To make matters worse, getting to Mwenge involves an hour and a half ride on a dala dala, a Kelso-like van made to seat 18, but typically holds 30. Oh, and the seats are like plane seats, but with no recline option, less leg room, no seatbelt, let alone a safety pamphlet, no audio plug-ins, and half the size. So really, nothing like a plane seat, but you get the idea.

All in all, we’re a persistent bunch, but if the internet fails or the power goes out ONE MORE TIME…

Talk to you soon,
Mathew Baptista

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There is a constant rhythm in Tanzania. There is something about the culture that must strike everyone as unique, and it isn’t the fact that every person here knows how to play the drums better than Travis Barker. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little; only children above the age of 8 can compete with him.

The most incredible thing I’ve seen thus far is the impact music plays on the lives of the Tanzanian people. Upon our arrival at the airport we were greeted by Abid, Pinky, and 4 Bagamoyo locals – Dickson, Eesa, Dowe, and James. When we finally arrived at our house, I pulled out a guitar and let Dickson take it for a spin. Abid had told me that Dickson was a guitar player and that he had had his guitar stolen from his home one year ago. Our intention coming into the trip was to leave the guitar with him, but we weren’t sure as to when we’d drop the line. After seeing Dickson play, we thought it was best to let him know. We told him it was his. Kodak moment. He lit up like the 1^st of July. (I’m aware of the saying, but come on, we’re Canadian.) The 4 guys jumped up and hugged each one of us, thanking us repeatedly. Abid later told me that in all his time knowing Dickson, he had never seen him so happy. I, however, hadn’t even had a taste of what was to come – I knew nothing of the role music plays in their lives.

Spending time with Dickson and the gang at Mtoto Mchoraji (Drawing Children) Arts Centre really helped to shed light on this aspect of their lives. For some background information on Dickson, he graduated from the Bagamoyo College of Arts and started up Mtoto Mchoraji, a place where he and his friends teach children how to dance, play music, craft jewelry and paint/draw, free of charge. Although there are always people at Mtoto Mchoraji, the centre lights up the most at night, when everyone comes out to play. The culture here has a very inclusive, united, welcoming family feel to it. Everyone hangs out with everyone, regardless of age. For example, at 4 o’clock, roughly 3 times a week, friends aged from 6 to 30 gather to choreograph & practice. People from the surrounding community gather to watch the live performance. At one of the practices we joined, we had a crowd of 30 people standing at the sidelines watching on. Chizi com ndizi! (Crazy like banana!)

As the sky gets dark, the guitar is brought out, and everyone drums along, sings, dances, and freestyles.

Tunacheza ngoma (we’re all dancing) to the beat of the drums…
…provided the drummer is talented enough.

Catch you later,
Mathew Baptista

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Africa. It feels weird knowing that I’m going to be there in just over a month’s time. It definitely wasn’t a place I pictured myself being before the age of 20, but am I ever glad to have this opportunity.

I am fortunate enough to have already travelled to various parts of the world, visiting almost everywhere in Canada, numerous places in Europe, several States, and a touch of the Caribbean. Now it’s time for me to taste another continent, and Tanzania, Kenya, & Lesotho are on the menu.

Although I’m excited, I do have to admit I’m quite nervous as well. First, there are the “selfish” nerves, the ones that make me question my own safety. Sure, I have more than 50 flights under my belt, but never has one of my trips come with a side of life-threatening diseases (aside from plane food), nor have I had to deal with half a suitcase full of prescriptions and medications…and that’s after all the needles. Second, are the nerves of “culture shock;” apparently I won’t have readily access to wireless. Talk about an adjustment! On a more serious note, as a boy born and raised in the fast-paced city of Toronto, I can’t say I’m accustomed to mud huts half the size of my room to accommodate a family of 4. In addition, I’ve never had any real-life exposure to malnutrition, poverty, starvation, disease, and dysfunctional governments. (Alright, maybe the latter). The idea is that this is new for me, and I don’t know what to expect. I’ve seen pictures, I’ve listened to speeches, I’ve watched videos, I’ve heard stories and I’ve dreamt about my stay, but by no means does that indicate that I know what it will be like.

Having this trip planned so far in advance, however, has provided me with the opportunity to set out some goals. Rather than boring my readers with a list of ideas and descriptions in a flow diagram with hundreds of arrows, a legend, short-forms that don’t make sense, and tiny pictures that never resemble the real image, I feel a quick summary would do the trick. I can already see the smiles on the faces of the people SRI will be coming in contact with: the Kenyans, Tanzanians, and Basotho. That isn’t to say, however, that I’d be able to look back proudly on this trip if I knew these smiles were only temporary. I refuse to be the selfish Westerner who travels to Africa just for the experience. It’s not about the charity, it’s about providing the less fortunate with genuine opportunities to better themselves, their families, and their communities.

The true African experience, sadly so foreign to Westerners, is about to become my reality. Wish me luck, I’m looking forward to keeping you all posted.

Mathew Baptista
“Just Watch Us”

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