R i c h a r d  A n d e r s o n
Travel Journal: Notes from Tanzania

I have always been amazed at the effect children have on me. Their innocence and pure joy for life are infectious. Children have an ability to live in the moment, to experience the world as it is in all its glory whether it be a beetle walking across the pavement, an army of ants marching along in single file, a gooey worm squirming along the ground, a beautiful flower in full bloom, a nest of robin eggs in a tree or any number of other simple ordinary things that adults have long since tuned out in favor of the worries associated with daily life and making a living. The child's ability to live fully in the moment is something we as adults long for and miss. When we experience it through a child, it has the immediate effect of lightening our load, and of bringing joy and energy to us.

I had the opportunity in May of this year to travel to Tanzania with my children, Erin, 20, Nathan, 17 and Jeremy 10 to work in a non-profit service organization. My son Nathan chose this as a service project through his high school. I became involved with him helping to set it up and before I knew it, I too was going along with my other children. Our purpose there was to work with children in grade school and high school, helping them with English, computers, sports and other activities. The director of the organization, Mohamed Yasin, stressed to us that we would receive as much or more than we gave. We talked together before leaving about what a great opportunity this was to serve those in need, impoverished people in the third world who had none of the benefits we take for granted every day.

I am a business man. I have spent the last 25 years of my life going to work every day, competing in the marketplace, trying to survive and thrive in what is often a dog-eat-dog world where scruples are in short supply. One can live a higher creed and "serve" those one is doing business with but the need to be constantly on your toes, to stay one step ahead of your competitor can create a level of stress that wears one down. In the work-a-day world of adults it is difficult to live in the moment, especially when away from work. The worries and cares about what must get done tomorrow, about flagging sales, about disgruntled employees, about the meeting with the boss, about the upcoming board meeting, etc., etc., can so captivate your thoughts that you often take little or no notice of what is happening around you. I have often for example driven all the way home and wondered how I got there.

And so I left this world, albeit temporarily, to go to Africa with my children to experience another culture, the third world, and to attempt to help. On arriving there, we were immediately confronted with the vast disparity in conditions as compared with Toledo, Ohio, our home. Few of the roads, even in Dar Es Salam, the Capital of Tanzania, were paved. The pot holes were so numerous and deep that speeds over 10 miles per hour were virtually impossible. Our hotel that evening, although one of the best in Dar, was unlike anything we had ever experienced. The electricity went out frequently. The water was impotable. We slept under mosquito nets lest we risk infection that, in spite of our precautions, could have life-threatening effects. The streets were crowded late into the night with people who seemed to have nowhere to go. Did they have homes? Was this a form of socializing in this culture? Should we be cautious about venturing out? These and many other thoughts played in our minds as we were bombarded by new sights, sounds and experiences.

The day after our arrival, my youngest son, Jeremy became deathly ill. We were traveling from Dar Es Salan to Tanga, some six hours by truck. As we traveled, Jeremy felt worse and worse finally vomiting all over the vehicle. My heart was aching for him. We were in rural Africa with no civilization to speak of in sight let alone a hospital. I had no idea what was ailing him but I was seized with a parent's concern for his safety knowing that I was in no position to avail him of the kind of care that is readily available in the States.

When we arrived in Tanga, we took up residence in a crude (by western standards) accommodation for volunteers. Jeremy's condition was getting worse. His vomiting continued. He had a fever and was becoming very dehydrated. Worst of all, he would not keep down his malaria medication, the only thing between him and potential infection. I got him into bed under his mosquito netting and stayed by his side. Somewhere around 3:00 in the morning he looked at me and said, "Dad, I want to go home!" I felt helpless, afraid for him and very alone.

The next morning, I was able to get some antibiotics that we had brought with us into him and he kept it down. After another few hours, he was feeling better. By that evening, he was back to his normal, chipper self, joking and playing with the other volunteers. I breathed a sigh of relief. After two days, I was emotionally and physically drained.

The next day, we went on our first assignment: to the school for disabled children. These were children who were orphaned and had either a mental of physical disability that rendered them vulnerable and totally dependent on the goodwill of others. Upon arriving there, we were greeting warmly by the staff and somewhat tentatively by the children as they had never met us before. In short order however, we were literally besieged by smiling faces, joyful shouts and embraces as the children warmed up to us.

Jeremy's job was to teach them how to play the piano. For this purpose, we had brought with us an electric piano that he could use to instruct them. Jeremy went somewhat sheepishly to the front of the class and began his instruction which was quickly translated into Swahili by a staff member. The children were enthralled and overjoyed when Jeremy played the first notes on the piano. Clearly, they had never heard or seen anything like it. Then each of them in turn was allowed to come up and play the instrument. Although none of them could play the first note, the act of depressing the keys and hearing the pure tones emerge created infectious excitement and energy in the room. It was all the staff could do to keep some semblance of order.

And then there was Simon...

Simon was one of the children who suffered with meningitis as a child. The ordeal caused him to lose much of his normal cerebral function. On top of this he had a club foot. Simon, in spite of his severe limitations, was one of the more exuberant, loving and demonstrative children I have ever met. For some reason, he took a shine to me. When we arrived at the school on the second day, Simon came running out the door towards our car as fast as his crooked leg would carry him. He was looking at me and shouting joyously, holding his arms out. I ran to him and embraced him as he literally squealed with glee. For the next two hours, Simon was seldom far away, coming back to shake my hand or wrap his arms around me. I was deeply moved by Simon and all of the children. Their love was like a balm after the many difficult experiences we had had since our arrival. I remember Mohamed's words, "you will get back more than you give." Truly this was the case. We had come from the richest country in the world to one of the lowliest from an economical standpoint. We had come to help. I never dreamed that we would be the ones who needed help, who needed to be welcomed and reassured of our place in their world. And I never suspected that this grace, this unconditional love would come from the most compromised segments of this society, just those who were the most needy from almost every vantage point.

When we left for good after the second day, there were several speeches made by the staff, the children and the volunteers. The children who spoke begged us to come back. These pleas pulled hard on all of our heart strings. The staff was very gracious for our help and yet I saw in them the real heros, young African adults who had dedicated themselves to serving those cast out by society. I was humbled in their presence. I too was asked to talk. I found myself thanking the children for the gift that they were to us, for their unabashed love and acceptance of us. I told them that we would not forget them.

On returning to the United States I became once again immersed in the work-a-day world. The experience I had with the children in Tanzania though has stayed with me. Their faces shine brightly out at me from my computer screen reminding me that true life comes through the power of experiencing the moment in all its richness and of giving freely of this power to all those we meet along the way.