Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #8

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal. Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

Tuesday, February 23
I brought the boys home to Halima after pre-school along with the 2 pineapples I purchased at the stand near her house for a little less than a dollar. I entered her courtyard and called out hodi, to alert the family I was coming in. The response is always karibu, welcome. Halima introduced me to her kaka (brother) and we all sat to share the pineapple. All the produce is locally grown and organic. The flavors are rich and intense. What a difference between the produce here and at home. It’s also seasonal and when the particular season is over there is no importing of produce. We are now at the end of mango and pineapple season much to my dismay. We were sitting in Halima’s backyard under the coconut palms when Halima pointed out to me the people scavenging in the dump behind her property. She shook her head and saidpole sana, very sorry that people are forced to live this way.

I left Halima’s and headed down the congested main road to the barber’s. The street is paved and very busy with every imaginable vehicle, motorized and not. The town’s only bank and gas station are on this road and also the bus terminal. There concrete V-shaped ditches on both sides of the street. They are about 4 feet deep. They are some sort of drainage ditch not for sewage but probably they are important in the rainy season which starts in April. They could easily swallow a car or a bus and you have to be alert so you don’t fall in yourself. There are little wooden bridges everywhere that cross the ditches to the many shops on the other side.

I arrived at the barber’s and the a/c was invigorating. It is the first time I’ve encountered a/c in Bagamoyo. There are 3 chairs and 3 barbers who were hanging out listening to reggae. It’s a clean, well lit space; a very pleasant atmosphere. I said “Nataka kukota nywele” (I’d like a haircut) and then added “fupi sana” (very short). The barber, a large man in a purple shirt and white beret, smiled and asked in English “Do you have money to pay?” That’s the first time I’ve been asked that. I laughed and said of course and he invited me to sit. He cut my hair, washed my head with shampoo and hot water. That was my first experience with hot water in a month. He then put a dab of some sort of hair product on my head. It was definitely overkill but it all felt great and for $1.40 you can beat the price. I think I’ll mention all this to Gordon, my barber in Provincetown.

I’m writing from the restaurant at the Millennium Hotel right on the beach. The sun is setting and the ocean is rough. The water is, a not very refreshing, 88 degrees. The water here is not the tropical blue you might expect but more of a brownish gray. The water is clean but color is due to a river which empties into the ocean not far from Bagamoyo. Very few adults swim here but the beach is always busy with people strolling and children splashing in the shallows. There are a few men hawking wooden carvings. They do not approach anyone but stand at a respectful distance waiting for a nod or shake of the head from their prospective customers.


Wednesday, February 24
It was very busy at the clinic today and we ran out of uji earlier than usual. Katie and I walked the 2 miles back to our respective guest houses and we realized it was a mistake. We both felt like we were suffering from heat exhaustion. It was the hottest day we have experienced and probably the most humid. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of a breeze. We were feeling nauseous. I was looking forward to a cool shower and then sitting under the powerful fan in my room. The shower was great but the power was out so I was hot and sweaty again in a few minutes. I prayed that the electricity came back on before I went to bed.

Terri and I are meeting with local representative of the Red Cross late this afternoon to discuss HIV testing in the villages. We’re both looking forward to this meeting and believe it’s a critical piece in curbing transmission of the virus.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #7

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal. Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

Friday, February 19
The trip to Dar was quick and uneventful. We hired a taxi and Terri’s favorite driver, Bwana Chu Chu. He’s a very good natured, large man with the patience of Job. It seems that nothing fazes him.

We arrived right on time for our meeting with Thomas Kipilingi. Thomas is about 35, well dressed and incredibly articulate. His command of the English language is impressive. Thomas has spent the last 9 years working with Rwandan refugees and has spent many hours in the camps. His office is on the top floor of a 3 story, glass building. It was also air conditioned. There are few high rises in Dar, most no more than 3 or 4 stories. He explained the grant process in detail and Terri and I felt that we made a very good impression. We will start writing our proposal when we return to Bagamoyo

Dar es Salaam is a sprawling city of approximately 4 million people located south of Bagamoyo on the Indian Ocean. It is chaotic and colorful with residents selling everything everywhere. The streets are mostly dirt with a few of the main roads paved. There are few traffic lights yet somehow getting around is no more problematic than driving in any major western city. There is mass transit, mostly buses which are always packed. Even here the roads are shared with goats, chickens and cattle. Here, as in Bagamoyo women balance large bundles or buckets of water on their head. There is a peninsula that juts out into a bay and it is here you will find large homes in gated neighborhoods sometimes with armed guards. This is also where you will see luxury shops and high end restaurants with US pricing. We had lunch at the Africafe, very upscale and very air conditioned.


Sunday, February 21
Terri and I took a ride to the center of town looking for a friend of hers. The Baobab Home jeep is perfect for the torn up dirt streets of Bagamoyo. It is a beat up, high clearance vehicle with a few dents and real safari charm. We found Terri’s friend who is a member of a nomadic tribe. She didn’t recognize him at first as it was the first time she had seen him in western dress. His tribe is very similar to the Maasai with the same ideas as to what is beautiful. Like the Maasai his two front lower teeth had been extracted, he had large holes in his earlobes and there is a distinct space between his two front upper teeth. Terri says at a young age reeds and then small pieces of wood are forced between those teeth to create a gap. He was reserved but friendly and he and Terri had a conversation in Swahili. His native language is tribal.

The “downtown” area of Bagamoyo is dusty with a low profile as most buildings are a single story. Most are unpainted cinder block with several older, traditional mud and stick dwellings. Dirt floors are the norm and kitchens are usually self contained and separate from the main dwellings. This makes perfect sense as the homes are already hot and almost everyone uses smoky charcoal or wood to cook. I think the only kitchen I’ve actually seen within a main dwelling is at Terri’s home.

We then went to check in with a woman, Assia, who was deathly ill with AIDS 2 years ago. Baobab had made sure she started HIV drug treatment and her health quickly improved, surprising everyone. Terri saw that she received job training and it was discovered she was entrepreneurial and her life improved immeasurably. Baobab built Assia a small home as they have for 8 other families in crisis. The houses are modest affairs but are life altering for the families. She married Bennard last year. He is also HIV+ and doing well on therapy. They are a most amazing couple. They have become Bagamoyo’s first public AIDS activists, determined to overcome the stigma the disease still carries here. Bennard has started an informal support group with monthly meetings for a membership approaching 500. He wears a t-shirt with the AIDS red ribbon and a slogan in Swahili, We Care. They travel to remote villages at their own expense and bring with them instant result, HIV test kits paid for by Baobab. They say, at times, they have met great resistance but have always found at least 5 people in each place willing to be tested. They are the most inspiring and determined people I have met here. They are also gracious and welcoming. Their home is clean and tidy with everything in its place. Bennard said he would like to call a special meeting of his support group in our honor. Terri and I may take him up on his offer as we would like to meet these courageous people and see if there is any way we can help. As we left they each took both my hands in theirs and said several times, Asante sana (thank you so much)

On Sunday Caroline, the Danish volunteer and Mugin and Ima, 2 former street boys and I traveled to Baobab’s shomba (farm). It’s a 15 minute drive from the current Baobab Home and a world away. As I mentioned in an earlier email within a few months all of Baobab’s operations will be moved there. Presently there are 3 buildings, the new expanded orphanage, an open air covered dining room and a small, traditional round building with a thatch roof which will be the office. There are 3 buildings yet to be built, a kitchen, a dormitory for the HIV camp (more on that in another email) and a home for Terri, Caito their son and a child on the way this April. The goal here is to expand services and become more self sufficient, growing their own crops and purchasing dairy cows. A by product of the cows will be bio fuel, reducing or eliminating the use of expensive propane or charcoal. As I mentioned previously the farm is sited on 15 acres and is situated perfectly to catch the strong breeze off the ocean. There are banana and orange trees along with mangoes. All the buildings were constructed using private donations and volunteer labor.

We came out to harvest a 1⁄4 acre of cassava, a starchy root similar to a potato. The leaves are edible and are often cooked with coconut juice. The smaller plants are pulled out by hand but even those are challenging. Caroline picked leaves while the rest of us pulled plants using hoes on the larger trees. It was hard, hot work but it felt great to be working outside in that strong breeze. The boys had much fun at my expense watching me handling the panga (machete). After 4 hours we had cleared the field and had quite a haul of cassava and leaves. We delivered everything to Baobab where the house mothers will prepare it. Needless to say I slept very well that night.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #6

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal. Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

This is a quote from a book I just finshed, "The Crocodile that Ate the Sun" about the ongoing tragedy in Zimbabwe. The author writes for National Geographic. I believe in light of Steve's death it is timely.

"In Africa, you do not view death from the auditorium of life, as a spectator, but from the edge of the stage, waiting only for your cue. You feel perishable, temporary, transient. You feel mortal. Maybe that is why you seem to live more vividly in Africa. The drama of life there is amplified by its constant proximity to death. That's what infuses it with tension. It is the essence of its tragedy too. People love harder there. Love is the way that life forgets that it is terminal. Love is life's alibi in the face of death." -Peter Godwin


Tuesday, February 16
It’s been 3 days since Steve’s funeral and I find going to Terri’s a little empty right now. I miss the greeting I received. No matter how poorly he was feeling I always got a huge smile and an invitation to play a computer game with him or watch a movie. His bed is empty and the painting he gave Terri and Caito is on the wall. It’s a traditional village scene with a large, hopeful sun with bright yellow rays emanating from it. He was not able to finish the painting he started for me and there is something unbearably sad about that.

Yesterday was clinic and there was a steady flow of HIV positive people into the courtyard where people sit on benches waiting to be called. Many of the women have walked miles to the clinic as they cannot afford even public transportation. They are all beautifully dressed in long colorful dresses and equally colorful scarves and headdresses. Several carry babies on their backs and some arrive with older children. One small girl was helping gather bowls after people had their fill of uji. Her name is Amina and she’s 8 years old. She was dressed in an ironed, pale pink dress and she had a pink book bag. Her smile was absolutely captivating. After helping she came to me and smiled and with my limited Swahili and well thumbed phrase book we engaged in what we both found to be a fun conversation. I gave her my pen and notebook and she started to draw maua (flowers) and many different animals such as tembo (elephant) and twiga (giraffe). I gave her my pen and several sheets of paper which she thanked me for and placed in her book bag. A name was called and she moved quickly to catch up with her mother who was approaching the nurse’s desk. I fully expected to see her mother get on the scale as everyone does before their check ups. It wasn’t her mother that stepped on the scale, it was Amina.

Terri and I have been working on public funding for Baobab as there is no possibility of expansion depending solely on private donations. We will be traveling to Dar yet again this Thursday to meet with the representative of an organization with available grant money. The organization, Rapid Funding Envelope, was recommended by Alison Ellis and I would like to thank her publicly in this forum for her assistance. Terri and I are both excited by the possibility and we are keeping our fingers crossed. We also have many other errands to run there so it will be a full day.

I have been wanting to make mention of the characters who are either in residence or spend time at Francescos or in William’s restaurant on the premises. First there is Ramone a 50ish Spanish national who claims to be an eye doctor. I’m a bit skeptical as I mentioned several diseases of the eye to him and nothing seemed to register and his English is good. It seems that he and his Tanzanian wife have run a few Ponzi schemes with some of the locals. According to Terri they have bilked the people of Bagamoyo out of thousands of dollars. His wife has been convicted and is now serving time in the local prison. Ramone is free at least for the time being. Then there is Sophia an Italian living here with her Tanzanian boyfriend and their child. They argue publicly constantly in Italian, Swahili and English. There is Bebeto the former manager of Francescos who is suing his former employer and Francesco has filed a counter suit yet Bebeto is here every day and evening. Bebeto’s wife runs the concession stand but she hasn’t spoken to Bebeto in months. There is William the cook who is pining away for Caroline, a Danish volunteer, who is blissfully unaware of his angst. The funniest part is he keeps asking me for advice and I’m just the one to ask with my vast experience of the opposite sex. Then there is Francesco himself who is 80 years old, walks around town with no shirt on (which is highly offensive to most of the women especially Muslim women) and when I asked him how much Swahili he speaks after spending at least 6 months a year here for 20 years he answered “not a word, it is a boring language” This is a man who speaks three other languages fluently. He is incredibly narcissistic and talks incessantly about his vast wealth while he pays his help a dollar or two a day. There is no escaping him and I may have to starting eating in my room to escaped him.

After dropping the boys off at Halima’s she invited me to spend some time with her. Her home consists of two, small cinder block buildings, one for sleeping for 7 people the other is an open 2 room building with a dirt floor. There are large window openings and no screens. She invited me to sit next to her on a board sitting on 2 cinder blocks. She then sliced a small watermelon and gave me the first slice. It was very sweet, warm and messy. She divided the rest among the children. She is so affectionate with the children and they adore her.

Halima weaves thin reeds into beautiful floor mats. She works on the ground, hunched over her work in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. She never complains and she seems to only take delight in everything she sees. I have grown quite fond of her. We went out to her shaded back yard where she unrolled one of her large mats. She lay back and invited me to rest next to her. We lay there together not speaking but both enjoying the shade, the breeze and the company. Sadly, Halima’s yard abuts a new garbage dump which looms over her yard and is only about 50 ft from her property line. She continues to fight the town wanting the dump closed but I fear she is fighting a losing battle. She worries about the health of the children. She is unconcerned for herself because she says she is ancient and by Tanzanian standards she very well may be ancient. The average life span is less than 50 years. Halima is 64.

One of the little boys Halima foster cares is the sweetest most loving child I have ever seen. I attribute this solely to Halima’s care. According to Terri, Habibu was malnourished when they found him and was developmentally challenged due to malnourishment and neglect. His family shunned him as they believed he was possessed by an evil spirit. They believed this because he is mentally much slower than children his age.When Terri went to his home to evaluate the situation she found him alone, in a dark corner, emaciated and naked. No adults in the home would go near him. He was 4 years old. When Terri approached him she said he howled in fear like a trapped animal. It is hard to imagine that scene when I am with Habibu today. He runs to me on school days and never lets go of my hand on the walk to school. He greets me in Swahili and right before we leave Halima makes sure every button is fastened and his shoes are tied and then she lifts him in the air, hugs and kisses him. She then holds his face in her hands and says baadaye, see you later followed by Ninapenda u Habibu, I love you Habibu.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #5

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal. Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

Thursday, February 11 and Friday, February 12
Yesterday was very slow at the clinic and we had a lot of uji left over. We decided to visit a few wards of the hospital and offer breakfast. The conditions inside the wards were deplorable. Desperately ill people lying on filthy sheets if they were lucky enough to have sheets. Most were lying on the sagging, plastic mattresses with no pillows. The smells were overpowering and all surfaces were covered in grime. Mangy, starving cats roamed the wards at will looking for scraps or even insects. There were no fans and no mosquito netting. The maternity ward was especially squalid with one nurse for 25 mothers and their babies.

You cannot imagine the gratitude expressed by the patients for a simple bowl of porridge. The hospital serves no food so the people depend on loved ones to feed them. As we handed food out the patients would touch our hands and thank us, several people said bless you in Swahili.

After the hospital I walked over to Traveller’s Lodge to eat lunch and to re-group. The lodge is a tranquil oasis that I escape to once or twice a week for its serenity and good food. I must admit it was strange to sit there after the hospital experience. The raised patio has a thatched roof at least 30 feet high which contains several fans. The patio looks out over the dense landscaping. You can hear the ocean just beyond the “jungle” in front of you.

While I am writing this Terri called to tell me Steve died at 10:15 this morning, 2:15am east coast time. He was 15. I must stop writing now.

Friday, February 12
Yesterday seems like a bad dream. I was at the clinic when Terri called and she asked me to arrange transport of Steve’s body. If not for the kindness of Dr. Ayam and her affection for Steve and the assistance of physician assistant, Rigobert I would have been lost. They were patient, compassionate and so helpful. They quickly arranged for an ambulance (no small task in Tanzania) and Rigobert , recognizing my obvious distress, rode with me in the back. Mama Ponda one of the HIV clinic nurses rode in the front with the driver.

It was a somber scene at Terri’s house where Steve has been living for the past 8 months. Terri was in tears and the street boys were milling about asking how they could help.

The street boys are 8 teenagers who were living on the streets of Bagamoyo fending for themselves with no families to care for them and if they did have families the boys were often subjected to physical abuse. Terri took them in several years ago and Baobab found them housing and sponsors to pay for schooling. They are amongst the sweetest, most thoughtful group of kids I have ever met. They live together as a family of brothers in a 3 room apartment paid for by Baobab. They are all progressing in school and they are always asking how they can help. They all loved Steve and their grief was evident in their eyes. 3 of the boys put on rubber gloves and got ready to transport Steve. I first went in and sat with Steve whose body was covered in a white sheet. I uncovered his face. He looked so peaceful all the pain and fear had left his face. After all his suffering he looked like a little boy, fast asleep. The boys carried Steve to the ambulance, several of them in tears. They had all been so good with Steve when he was ill, rubbing his back, fetching whatever he needed, bathing him. I rode in the back of the ambulance with Steve and Rigobert. 3 of the boys followed in Terri’s jeep. We arrived at the hospital morgue and the boys carried Steve in and gently placed him in the stainless steel drawer.

We went back to Terri’s and sat on the porch not speaking for several hours as is the tradition here. Then people started to depart.

I went to eat and check my email at the internet café. As I was sitting there a text came in from Rigobert. It said: “Brother Ken, you don’t need to think a lot about Stive (sp), we loved him but God loved him most. I know it’s painful but the boy is resting and it’s the way it’s supposed to be. We are together in this painful moment. Let’s pray for him. Thanks for the spirit of helping you showed to our young brother Stive” I just sat there with tears flowing down my face. He said one other thing that haunts me, “My friend remember, this is Africa” It is either a statement of resignation or a cry for help to the western world. I believe it is probably both. The people here know that Steve died because of the geography of his birth. They know if he was born in the west he would be alive and thriving right now. But because “this is Africa” he is dead at 15 his tiny body in a stainless steel drawer in a refrigerated morgue in this stifling African town.

Saturday, February 13
Steve’s funeral was yesterday in the hills outside of Dar es Salaam. Baobab rented a 30 seat bus and it was packed with employees and friends. Halima sat next to me and pointed to things on the road and told me their names in Swahili. She then had me repeat what she said which always got a smile from her. The road to Dar was packed and it took a little over 2 hours to get there. About 1⁄2 hour before we arrived everyone on the bus started singing traditional hymns for the dead. It was so sudden and the voices were so beautiful, in harmony with the pitch rising and falling, that I was incredibly moved. Terri said the words spoke of the loss of a child and the chorus was “we will be together again”.

We parked at the bottom of a steep hill and as we walked through a cool, wooded area the people continued to sing and more fervently as we approached Steve’s grandmother’s house. Their voices were greeted by the voices of the women mourners inside the home and as we got nearer all the voices blended and we were surrounded by a wall of angelic sound tinged with sadness. We paid our respects to Steve’s distraught grandmother who took both of my hands and thanked me in English for being a friend to her grandson. The women inside continued to sing many songs as other women prepared the meal for at least 100 people. The men sat separately which confused several people as this was a Christian service. Perhaps it was out of respect to the many Muslims there. I was greeted warmly by many people several of whom spoke to me in English. A man came by with a basin and a pitcher of water. It is the custom to wash your right hand or both hands before you eat but you may only eat with your right. It was a bit of a challenge being left handed but I was able to eat without making too big of a mess. The food was delicious, if a little heavy on starch.

After everyone ate, the minister, in a white robe, came out along with all the women in the house and gave his sermon in a strong, clear voice. More singing and then they brought a table outside with a lace cloth on it and several men brought out Steve’s coffin and placed in on the table. There was a simple, hand painted cross with Steve’s name and dates of birth 6/6/1994 and death 2/11/2010. The men opened the coffin and pulled the sheet away from Steve’s face. Oddly, there was cotton in Steve’s mouth and nostrils. No one seemed to know why. The minister then directed everyone to file past to say kwa heri, goodbye. So many people in tears.

The whole congregation walked in silence 1⁄4 mile to the cemetery. The grave had been freshly dug that morning by 3 of the street boys who spent the previous night with Steve’s grandmother. It took them 5 hours. They placed the coffin in the grave and then Steve’s grandmother threw a handful of dirt in the grave as the minister said “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” in Swahili. The cross was pushed into the ground at the head of the grave. Working in shifts several men quickly filled the grave, sweating heavily with the effort. It was nearing sunset and everyone was exhausted with the emotion of the day. Terri was in tears for much of the day as was her husband, Caito. Halima held my hand as we walked back to the bus.

The ride back was filled with quiet recollection of Steve and more than once when people on the bus and at the funeral spoke of his death they said “Africa killed Steve not AIDS” My Swahili teacher told me that’s a common response to an early or unexpected death in Tanzania. I understand completely.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #4

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal. Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

Monday, February 8
Yesterday was a free day but I checked in at Terri’s to see Steve. He looked remarkably better now that the oxygen was flowing properly. It took Terri 3 days to get the right parts for the oxygen tank and apparatus and then, missing the key that starts the oxygen flowing, she had to track down a technician and a key here in Bagamoyo at the local hospital.

Terri told me that the previous evening her son and 2 of his young friends took turns massaging Steve’s back. She had tears in her eyes recounting that sweet story.

Steve’s grandmother visited on Saturday and even though she was crying throughout her visit Steve seemed curiously detached. I suspect he feels abandoned by his grandmother as she had not been to visit in weeks. I sat with Steve for a while massaging his back. When I stopped momentarily he patted his back for me to continue.

Sunday afternoon I walked through the decaying but picturesque old town section of Bagamoyo. The name means “leave your heart”. Bagamoyo was a major slave trading port with slaves being transported for sale in Arab countries. Many of the buildings were actually prison cells and were the last thing the unfortunate people would ever see of Africa before being packed into the sweltering, stinking holds of the slave trader’s ships.

Tanzania was a German colony before being taken over by the British. Several buildings at the beach clinic are from the colonial period.

Today William was not in the kitchen as he was seeking relief for a bad toothache. He had little success getting treatment and will probably have to make his way to Dar es Salaam for proper care. That’s if he can afford it as dental is not part of the free health care provided to all Tanzanians. They gave him antibiotics and said to come back in a week. I have given him advil for the pain but I don’t think it’s making a dent in his discomfort..

After a quiet morning at the clinic I spent several hours with Caroline a 19 year old volunteer from Denmark. Such a poised and charming young woman who speaks unaccented English. She is teaching English and also working with Baobab’s infants. We went to the produce market and I purchased a pineapple for $1 and a bunch of bananas for 30 cents. The market is packed with local organic produce and is filled with women shoppers in colorful, traditional clothing. It’s a visual feast. We talked about trying to find a way to take the street boys that Baobab has educated to a national park about 2 hours north of Bagamoyo. If we can work out the details it would be an excursion the boys have never taken. They have never seen the amazing wildlife that Africa is famous for world wide.

Tuesday, February 9
Watched a movie on my lap top last night called “The White Maasai” based on a true story about a Swiss woman marrying a Maasai man and living with his people. The culture clash was extreme and ultimately she took her daughter back to Switzerland and never saw her husband again.

There are many Maasai in Bagamoyo. They are generally employed as guards or night watchmen. They wear their traditional garb and have such regal bearing. They are extremely polite and reserved. The men have their 2 front lower teeth extracted (I have yet to find the reason why) and they have ritual scarring on their faces.

I take back what I said about the heat and humidity not being overly oppressive. The first four days there was a strong, steady breeze now the air is still. It’s been this way for the last 5 days. It feels like you’re swimming when you walk and your clothes are sopping wet by 9am. The locals must feel the heat also as they all carry handkerchiefs to mop their brows.

After dropping Shobani and Habibu at pre-school Terri phoned. It seems the oxygen machine stopped working and Steve had a rough night. He woke up demanding to be taken to his grandmother so she could take him to the witch doctor. This is what the locals call healers. Terri said he has been to this traditional healer before. He cuts Steve’s arms with unsterilized razor blades and rubs the open cuts with a mixture of herbs. I’m sure there is value in this if only because Steve truly believes in the efficacy of the treatment. But we all know AIDS is a different matter altogether. When the previous president of South Africa, Thabo Mbeki, made a speech telling those with HIV to reject western medicine and seek only traditional care the death toll skyrocketed.

In the early afternoon I took Steve to the clinic here in town. Steve was petulant and uncooperative. The doctor wanted to admit him to administer oxygen until Terri returns from Dar tonight. Steve flatly refused. He is frightened and angry and I get it completely. They gave me meds for his urinary infection and his mood brightened considerably as soon as we got back to Terri’s. I spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies with him and he seemed happy to have the company.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #3

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal.
Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January …

Wednesday, February 3

Total chaos at the clinic breakfast this morning! The children, their mothers and a few male prisoners all waiting for uji, the mixed grain porridge, Our cook at the clinic who prepares the uji was a little behind this morning. It took him a while to get the wood fire going in the clinic kitchen. It is straight out of medieval times. A huge vat of porridge that he stirs with a giant wooden spoon and the smoke is so dense you can’t spend more than a few minutes with the cook. He is incredibly good natured and helpful but has no sense of time. I carried the heavy bucket 100 yards to the clinic and Katie, the other volunteer, carried the huge basket of plastic cups. We were immediately surrounded by children and their mothers and we were ladling furiously and working up a sweat in the humid 90 degree weather. In all the chaos no one forgot to say Asante, thank you. Several mothers helped distribute the uji and we quickly ran out the first batch and returned to the kitchen for the second batch. The pace was much slower and I spoke to one of the manacled prisoner. He was in an orange jump suit with a white tag sewn to the front. The tag had the date of his incarceration and of his release. I asked him why he was serving 3 years and he said in broken English “trouble with wife” which was incredibly disturbing. I then spotted Halima (I wrote about her in my previous email) She literally ran over to greet me with a huge smile and a burst of rapid fire Swahili that left me looking at her with a stunned expression. She realized I understood nothing and started laughing which of course got me laughing. I told her pole, pole (slowly, slowly) and I figured out that her 3 foster sons were excited that I will be escorting them to pre-school and that Terri had called her to say I would be at the clinic and she was looking forward to seeing me. She was there escorting a sick friend. There is such joy and kindness in this woman. People are drawn to her as they were at the clinic. I am drawn to her also and there is something else that just occurred to me, she reminds me of my own grandmother.

I took Katie to lunch after the clinic to the nicest hotel in Bagamoyo, The Traveller’s Lodge; yes they spell it with two Ls. It was a nice chance to relax and have a healthy lunch, talk about our hectic morning and get out our emails. The Australian manager, Nicholas, had kindly invited us to use the wireless connection at the hotel for no charge. A very generous offer in Bagamoyo. I sent an email to my HIV doc in Boston inquiring as to whether he knows if it’s possible to somehow get Steve to the US for treatment. He will not live long with what the Tanzanian medical system has to offer. Each day I spend with this beautiful child reveals another layer of his personality, his intelligence and his off beat sense of humor. Today I joked with him and asked him to please climb up Terri’s coconut tree to get me a coconut as I was very hungry. He looked at me and with a huge grin he gestured for me to climb the tree and get one for him to drink because he was thirsty. We both started laughing and he reached out to hold my hand and we just sat quietly enjoying the moment.

I will be sending a separate email with photos to everyone. Unfortunately I don’t know how to re-size my pics and the camera only lets me choose large or small format. A lot of you are not getting the photos because your mailboxes are too small. Sorry about that.

Thursday, February 4
The day started with a great deal of promise and ended with uncertainty. I walked to Halima’s to pick up her 3 foster sons, Shaboni, Habibu and Arthumani. These little guys are break your heart cute. Halima greeted me in her usual open arms fashion. There was picture taking, a lot of smiles and Asantes (thank yous). It was already hot and humid at 8am with no breeze and we had a mile walk on a very busy road. The boys stayed close as the road is intimidating and I delivered them safely to the school yard. Of course there is no getting away easily from a group of school children here as they always come running over to practice their English.

On to have 6 more passport photos taken for my volunteer visa. It was $100 for the tourist visa at the airport and $120 for the volunteer visa. It’s a real scam. After the photographer positioned me for the pics she gave me a sly smile, walked away, came back and handed me a comb. The second I started laughing so did she.

When I delivered the photos to Terri it was obvious Steve was struggling to breathe and he was crying in pain. Terri called a taxi and we were off to the Ocean Road Cancer Institute in Dar es Salaam, about 1 1⁄2 hours away. An x-ray showed a marked deterioration in his lung capacity and his respiration rate was about 60/minute. We met with the oncologist, Trish Scanlon from Canada a woman of great determination and compassion. She said it appears that Steve has systemic KS (Kaposi sarcoma) and his prognosis is very poor. He was so weak I had to carry him back to the car. Pain meds helped as did an ice cream cone. We are working on finding portable oxygen to be administered at home. His blood oxygen level is 73% and should be 95-99%.
I’m so glad I’m here for Terri as Steve is like a son to her and I can see the toll this is taking. Early to bed as there is a 5am wake up call and back to Dar with Steve for an 8am lymph node biopsy.

Friday, February 5
A storm blew in last night around 10pm. For one hour the skies opened up. The rain on the tin roof was deafening and soothing at the same time. It was accompanied by continuous lightning and booming thunder. The lightning lit up the blue mbu (mosquito) net over my bed. The temperature dropped by at least 10 degrees and it was the first time since I arrived that I pulled the sheet over me.

We were on our way to Dar, watching the sun rise over the verdant landscape. Closer to Dar traffic was at standstill and we had a firm 8am appointment at the hospital. We still had 3 or 4 miles to go so Terri, Steve and I jumped out of the cab and flagged down a bejudgee, a 3 wheeled, enclosed motorcycle with a seat for 3 behind the driver. They are ubiquitous in the city. The next 20 minutes we flew down the unpaved, badly rutted shoulder of the road in a mad cap, white knuckled ride where it felt like the vehicle was going to tip over at any moment. The young driver was honking wildly and we were weaving back and forth between the shoulder and the road. Steve was between the 2 terrified adults and slept through the whole ordeal. We were shaky but laughing when we exited the cab and grateful to be back on solid ground. We carried Steve in. He was terrified but stoic and he did very well. The results of the biopsy are due next week. If it’s KS he will not be subjected to anymore poking and prodding and we will move on to palliative care. If it’s lymphoma a decision has to be made around a course of chemotherapy and unless Steve was insistent Terri and I do not want to see him go through it.

We are finally delivering on a week old promise to see Avatar and he is subdued but excited nonetheless. Again, he has so much gratitude for such a small thing.

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #2

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal.
Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January ...

Hamjambo! Hello Everyone!

Monday, February 1
After the clinic breakfast we took a dalla dalla (van bus) back to the orphanage. We had a vegetarian lunch there and after playing with the children I headed off on my own to find William, the cook at Francesco’s. Everyone you meet (and you literally see hundreds of people no matter where you walk) you are greeted with Habari (hello) or Mambo(less formal) and smiles. The streets are dusty and goats and chickens compete with piki pikis (motorcycles) pedestrians, dalla dallas and the occasional herd of cows. I rendezvoused with William at the massive Monday market. He took me to see his home which was a cinder block room near the market with a poster of a Caribbean beach scene on the wall. It had one tiny window and even though I found it dark and depressing I enthused about it because he was so proud of his space. We took off to find mangos and a knife which we found with no problem and then walked to the beach. William is 28 and was a cook for a safari company near the Serengeti. He was also a guide for hikes to the summit of Kilimanjaro. His dream is to have his own safari company and I believe he will. We arrived at the beach where we shared the 2 most delectable mangos I have ever eaten just as the sun was setting. He walked me to Terri’s where I borrowed her son Justis to help me order dinner. Justis is 4 years old and is fluently bi-lingual in English and Swahili. The people at the restaurant all know and love him and it was so much fun to have him as my interpreter. Back to the guesthouse and a well needed cold water shower.

Wednesday, February 3
Yesterday Terri and I visited a woman who is bed ridden with an inoperable tumor on her spine. She lives in a traditional mud and stick hut with a palm frond roof. No plumbing, no electricity, and she shares about 100 sq. ft with her mother, sister and her sister’s two children. The floor is dirt and there is light in the room only when the door is open. It was surprisingly cool inside while it was 92 outside. She greeted us warmly with karibu (welcome) and a huge smile. She has a home made wheelchair which is a white plastic lawn chair with 2 bicycle tires. She and Terri had a 15 minute conversation in Swahili and I was able to pick up bits and pieces. Terri said woman never complained and was most interested in her family and mine. As we were leaving she said we cannot leave her home without a gift. She gave each of us a hard boiled egg. The whole family waved goodbye and said baadaye which means we will see you soon.

Later that day we met Halima a large, handsome grandmother who has worked in conjunction with Baobab Home as a foster parent. She has had an incredibly full and interesting life. Halima fought in the resistance against Idi Amin in Uganda and was also a police woman in Bagamoyo. She is now a spirited environmentalist and is working to have a garbage dump near her home closed. She now has 3 small boys who are developmentally challenged due to malnutrition and the boys be tested soon for HIV. They were in their school uniforms (even in pre-school they wear uniforms) pressed white shirts and blue trousers. They obviously love her and she is incredibly affectionate with them. I will be walking them to school and back on the days that I’m not working at the clinic. I will send a picture of the boys and Halima in my next email. They are the sweetest little kids and they are so excited to be spending time with a very tall and very old (they have great respect for the elderly by the way) Mzungu (white person).

Today at the clinic is children’s day and there are approx. 150 children of all ages. Some will be tested for HIV, others will have t-cell counts done and all will receive medicine for the month. I have brought art supplies and games as they may have a long wait. We (Katie another volunteer) and I will serve them a multi-grain porridge with honey. The number of children infected at birth is staggering as is the number of children who have lost both parents to AIDS.

Kwa heri (Goodbye)

Ken

Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #1

Ken Russo is spending three months this winter volunteering at The Baobab Home, an orphanage in Bagamoyo, Tanzania that provides care for children with HIV/AIDS. He is documenting his fascinating experiences and sends us periodic updates from his journal.
Here is his latest entry. Read about his whole journey starting back at the end of January ...

Monday, February 1
It’s my fifth day here and starting to get into the much slower rhythm of African life. The town is stunningly poor and yet there seems to be an overall joy that I seldom see at home. I have breakfast at the guest house and the cook has sat with me the last 3 days. He’s an ambitious young man who works 16 hours a day 6 days a week. His father teaches economics and he wants to make his father proud. Today we spoke of the AIDS crisis and the lack of prevention education. His English is amazing and he’s also helping me with my Swahili.

Yesterday we went out to the farm with several of the children from the orphanage. It is 15 acres about 15 minutes from town but a world away. Lush rolling hills, fruit trees everywhere. A strong breeze kept everyone comfortable. It was truly idyllic. The orphanage and Terri will be moved out there permanently later this year as they are about halfway through construction. Earlier yesterday I met Prudenciana, my tutor, for a 2 hour Swahili lesson she’s young, smart and is a teacher at a Montessori school in Dar es Salaam . I will have classes Sat and Sun every week. Tuesday I take Steve to Dar es Salaam to see the oncologist and then if he’s feeling up to it we’ll see a movie, hopefully in English. Steve is 15, weighs 53 lbs and is very sick with AIDS. We have really bonded. He’s even painting a picture for me and he’s really quite good.

Last night I went to a huge outdoor sports bar with Caito, Terri’s husband. It was the soccer championship of Africa and it was packed under the stars with a huge screen. The Tanzanians are huge soccer fans so the night was exciting and Caito’s friends were incredibly welcoming. It was an amazing night.

This morning was the first day of the breakfast program at the clinic for people with HIV. Got up at 6 and walked 2 miles to the clinic in the beautiful African morning always with the ocean in view. The clinic is on the Indian Ocean and the 100 people we served were so gracious and grateful and had many laughs when I spoke my rudimentary Swahili.

I gave George the clothes I brought him and he was so excited he tried everything on and ran into the living room of Baobab Home to show us how he looked. I was relieved to see that everything fit. He can now start school and feel more confident. Such a small thing has such a huge impact here.

The heat is not as oppressive as I expected and even though it is hot and humid there has been a good breeze each day off the ocean which is only a couple hundred yards from the guesthouse. My room is spartan but clean and neat with a private bath and cold water shower which is very welcome twice a day.

The people have been very welcoming and helpful especially with my Swahili. There is a real feeling of community here. Everyone seems to look out for each other’s children. It really does take a village.