August 3^rd, 2011 ~ from Ariel

Yesterday our work was delayed because Rosie, Anna’s daughter, needed to go to the Arusha hospital due to a severe ear infection. As Anna and Rosie waited for many hours in the hospital (they are exceedingly crowded) the rest of us used the time as an excuse to catch up with emails, journaling, and miscellaneous errands.

Today started off with our now familiar routine: wake up to the roosters, take Malerone (prescription anti-malaria medicine), drink chai or coffee, and gobble up a quick breakfast. Our first stop along the bumpy roads is Cradle of Love, an orphanage for babies ranging from newborns to toddlers around the age of three. They have small huts on site available to rent that Alyse, Arianna, and I will stay at from the 7^th-12^th. The money raised from rent goes directly towards feeding, clothing, and caring for the orphans. We arrive and are greeted by a smiling young woman, Claire, from Great Britain. She explains that she has been volunteering here on and off for the past two years and that her passion is providing a safe, loving environments for children who’s mothers’ have passed away and family is unable to provide for them. She gives us a tour of the orphanage and I am immediately impressed. Although it is painful that these young babies have no mother to care for them, they are most likely better off than many other one-year olds across the country, with three meals a day, nurses on site, and a clean bed to sleep in. It hits me how awful it is to compare such suffering; both are beyond anything I could ever fathom experiencing.

After playing with toddlers on the playground we pile back into Mistembo and make our journey to the Nambala primary school were we examine the Rain Harvesting System that was built in 2008. We meet with the head teacher (her name has slipped my memory) and she kindly seats us in her modest office while peering at us from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Wisdom seems to be seeping out of her pores–she immediately has my undivided attention. She explains that it has been an unusually dry year, with a disproportionately small amount of rain during the wet season, resulting in an empty tank for the first time in six years. When asked how they provide the school with water when the tank is empty, she goes on to explain how there is a nearby pipe where they gather water. Although the pipe water is contaminated, they are able to provide students with clean drinking water by passing it through a filter gifted to every head teacher in the district by Save the Rain. Although it is only a temporary solution, it is better than nothing. I look up to the sky, begging for just a small storm to pull Nambala through the remaining dry season.

After speaking to the school president I chat outside with two women who have been teaching at the Nambala primary school for the past six years. After the lengthy introduction and the banter of greetings (How are you? Good, and you? How was your sleep? Oh, yes-peaceful sleep, good dreams. How is the family? In good health? And on…), I ask them what changes they have seen since the systems were built. One simply says, “The children are better. More health, more attention.” The other describes how the health and attendance of the teachers themselves have improved with access to clean drinking water. “Less sickness everywhere. And my skin is softer!” she exclaims exuberantly. We laugh quietly while watching the students in their white and blue uniforms. Candice has her
camera set up and they line up to wave into the lens. I imagine the footage of these children being shown back in the United States. I wonder if people will be able to feel the life force of these smiling faces oozing out from their screens. I shake my head. It seems impossible to capture the energy here, but one must try.

Back at the farm Anna puts us to work cutting carrots, onions, tomatoes, and baby eggplant. We sit outside in the waning light chopping while Anna pounds a variety of spices into a fine dust with her wooden mortar. She explains that she is making ‘Pilou,’ a dish where vegetables, meat, and spices are slowly stewed together and then rice is added to cook in the saucy mixture. The smell wafting from the boiling pot makes my stomach growl, drawing my attention to my sudden, extreme hunger. Anna’s cooking has a way of doing that.

The light quickly turns to darkness around us and the sounds of Nambala fill my ears–the soft shuffling of the goats in the pens, the neighborhood’s dogs barking at a passerby, the wind rustling through the trees, the birds sweetly calling out to one another–joining together in harmony, creating a melodic lullaby for our delicious meal. I have to remind myself that I am not dreaming; this is real life. Beautiful life.

August 4^th, 2011

I slept in today, relaxing deep into my pillow and blocking out the light with the blankets pulled far over my head. Anna comes into our room laughing, “No more lala (sleep) Ariel!” I smile knowingly and roll out of bed.

Today there are three items on our agenda: visit a residential system that is close to completion, visit Oldves (a school being assessed for an upcoming Rain Harvesting System), and check in on the progress at Miembeni. In the morning I imagine us completing these tasks quickly, but everything seems to take twice as long here. Tanzanian time just works differently. I guess the unpaved roads may have something to do with that.

We load up and wave goodbye to Rosie and Moses until they are just two small dots in the distance. The bumpy car ride gives me time to think, process, and take in the countryside. I always get lost in all that I see; the fields, baby goats (so cute!), gorgeous kangas, snarly old trees making striking silhouettes against the blue gray sky. We soon approach the Maweni Village and Anna explains to us how the malaria rates here are very high. We dab bug repellant on our exposed skin before going outside to greet Eliamulika Efata, a participant in Save the Rain’s Women’s Water Initiative (WWI). The WWI is a microfinance program that provides women the materials and education for a residential Rain Harvesting System and assists them in the construction of the tanks. The women then enlist five other women into the program, as they repay the costs of the building materials other systems are funded. They watch as the cycle continues.

Eliamulika is an elderly woman who lives in a small one-roomed house. There are beautiful lines etched deeply across her face and her dark eyes hold years of stories. She has spent many, many, many precious hours of her life walking for water and is anxiously anticipating the luxury of having clean water accessible at her fingertips! Her system is near completion but the day when Eliamulika doesn’t have to walk more than three feet for her water, couldn’t come sooner. We give each other kisses on the cheeks goodbye. It is strange to meet so many people, knowing the likely reality of never ever seeing them again…

Oldves is our next stop; a primary school of 1176 students that is number three on the list of schools to receive systems. Their uniforms are mustard yellow and white, creating a striking contrast to their dark skin. They look beautiful. I introduce myself to Bakari Mfinanga, the head teacher of the school, and we sit outside in the shade to discuss the current situation at Oldves. With Joseph’s translation, a picture of student life here begins to unfold. Through Bakari’s estimation, approximately 50% of the student body is sick at any given moment with typhoid, worms, diarrhea, or malaria. He explains how there are two hours designated in the morning for water collection from a nearby stream. Two hours every day are being taken out of their education for water collection, yet still there is no water provided by the latrine pits for washing. In the beginning of the school year they had enough beans and corn to provide students with a meal at lunch, but their supply quickly dwindled out and now the students will go from breakfast to evening with no food. I grimly jot down the information. As the interview closes, I turn to him and say, “Barkari, my heart goes out to you and all the students under your care. Thank you for sharing this painful reality with me and I await the day when a completed Rain Harvesting System brings clean water to this school.” Joseph translates my words. He nods and thanks the work of Save the Rain, then we earnestly shake hands and say goodbye. Another gracious encounter has come and gone–brutally raw, yet consequentially beautiful.

The day has already felt chockfull, but the check in at Miembeni still awaits us. We arrive to a cloud of dust erupting from the workers digging up the earth for the foundations of the tanks. They have progressed quickly in the past three days, and two of three foundations have already been dug out, the clean cuts into the earth looking sharp and perfected. The workers themselves are covered in dust, yet are tirelessly pouring their sweat into this land, trusting in the fruits that it will soon provide. I again seek out the head teacher (principal) Godlove Kirasi, to get a more detailed picture of student life here at the Miembeni primary school. His estimations about student’s sickness are similar to Bakari’s; approximately 50-60% sick. Like Oldves, Miembeni has a designated time during school when students are obliged to collect water, taking time out of the education to provide their school with a basic necessity. Miembeni has the required two hours in the morning, plus an extra hour in the evening for water collection. He tells me that the water is used for cleaning and drinking. When asked whether or not the students are fed a meal, he responds, “Not for the past year. Last year the parents came together and each pitched in money to provide their children with food at school, but there were not enough parents with the money this year.” Again, I see the pain this causes him rush across his face as we lock eyes. He must see the reflection of sadness in my own blue eyes for he continues, “I know, its crazy.” “No,” I respond, “it’s the world that’s crazy.” Its easier to say goodbye to Godlove, knowing that within the next six weeks Miembeni will have a completed system.

As we step outside we are greeted by hundreds of children who have just been let out of school. I walk over to where Ari, Alyse, and Candice are surrounded by a throng of uniformed seven through fourteen year olds. As I approach the group, I am immediately enveloped by my own paparazzi, with maybe thirty kids making a circle around me, staring, giggling, touching my hair, pushing over each other to get closer. I feel uncomfortable with all the attention and turn around in circles trying to wave and look at everyone’s faces. It is simply too much to take in at one time. At first I don’t know how to interact with them after my first few phrases of Swahili are used up (Whats your name? How old are you? What’s up? Give me five!), so I ask them to teach me more Swahili. They laugh as I start pointing at the sky, the dust, my pants, hair, nose, stomach, watch. They quickly tell me the Swahili word for it and then ask for it in English. We go back-and-forth, each time learning just one more word and laughing all the while. They then notice my arm hair and apparently have never seen blonde arm hair before, because they immediately start pointing, running up to touch it, and laugh hysterically. I stand there stupidly. I guess it is pretty funny.

After Joseph has finished talking and checking in with the workers he calls for us to head out. We wave goodbye, give another hundred high fives, and call it a day. I feel spent, but optimistic. Everyone I met today will have clean drinking water within the year: Eliamulika, the Oldves primary school, and all the faces still flashing through my head from Miembeni. Yes, it was a good day.

August 5^th, 2011

It is now Friday, marking the end of a long week. We are approaching our two-week mark. Two weeks of riding this Tanzanian rollercoaster. We went into Arushu today, with Joseph placing an order at Aim Steel and Anna leading us through the market place to locate the best kangas. She holds my hand and guides us through the crowds of people, honking cars, carts pushed by young boys, staring faces, and beckoning hands. The store at which we finally arrive is dark; the electricity must be out. We hold up fabric to the light from the door, trying to pick and choose among the hundreds of options lining the walls. Polite salespersons encourage us, “Yes that one has beautiful color. Perfect!” I am entranced by the patterns, but seem unable to make up my mind. We wonder outside, but make sure not to go anywhere alone. I feel young again, constantly checking to make sure I haven’t accidently left my mother’s side.

Back in the car, we make our way through the traffic towards the Kilimanjaro Airport where we will pick up Guy Allen, a new Save the Rain employee. Guy is a UC Berkeley Masters graduate in civil engineering and will be assisting Save the Rain revise and assess the system construction to ensure the best use of materials, time, and energy. He has already spent time in Tanzania this past March and has become a fond friend of Anna and Joseph –they seem to have been anticipating his arrival. At the airport we greet a man who smiles enthusiastically, walks confidently, has a firm handshake (this is something I notice in people) and has packed lightly for his next six months in Tanzania. He makes Joseph laugh and is easy to engage in conversation. These are all good things. I am pleased to meet him and have him join Save the Rain.

We spend the evening planning out our final week while cooking another delicious meal. We nibble on fresh fruit and Moses entertains us, running around, making faces, climbing up on our backs, giving us kisses on the cheek, and overall just looking adorable. Rosie is quieter, helping her mother with simple tasks, but beaming brightly whenever I catch her eye. Her face resembles Joseph, with big wide eyes and a smile that lights up her entire face. This family is beautiful beyond belief. Gracious, diligent, and simply beautiful. We are indeed a powerful team.

Time to rest my sleepy eyes. Ndodo ngeme (sweet dreams).

We have one more angel on this trip, a woman who has so seamlessly blended right into the Save the Rain family. Her name is Candice Soave. She is photographing and filming the project and lending her amazing strength and spirit to the work.

These incredible women are shouldering the responsibility of creating more solutions to this crisis. We honor their courage, their tenacity and their amazing grace. We are eternally thankful for their surrogacy.

Enjoy their adventure …

From Ariel ~

We left yesterday morning, July 25^th from the San Francisco International Airport. We checked in for our flight to Amsterdam with nervous butterflies dancing around in our stomachs. It was actually happening. This was it. We were on our way!  So many cells in my body were still screaming in disbelief, putting me into a daze-like state where my actions became almost robotic; hand  the woman in uniform my passport, board the plane, sit down, wait for water, etc. It wasn’t until we took off from Amsterdam on a plane headed for Kilimanjaro that the reality finally hit me. We would be in Tanzania in less than eight hours. I was about to arrive at the country I had heard so much about for the past four  years, spent months preparing for, and countless  hours envisioning.

We were greeted at the airport by long visa lines and fingerprint scanners, and then the beautiful smiling faces of Anna, Joseph, and their adopted sun Moses. They embrace us and shower us with warm welcomes then lead us to Mistembo (Save the Rain’s sturdy vehicle named ‘Baby Elephant’) and we’re off, heading for the Serena Mountain Village Hotel, were we will stay for the first four/five days. As we drive through the darkness I look out the window and gaze up at star lit sky, reminding myself that although the sky seems different (it is my first time examining the Southern Hemisphere’s constellations), that I have most definitely looked up at these stars before. Being able to see the stars is strangely grounding, as if reminding me that I am indeed on the same planet. The world is beautiful like that, connecting us across space and time by these universal qualities; the sunshine, stars, laughter.

Ari, Alyse and I now each lie on top of our beds, resting from the twenty-two hours of travel time and let our surroundings sink in. Tomorrow Anna will meet us in the morning to take us to the market place. One day of rest and recuperation before the village meeting on Thursday….

Lala Salama (peaceful sleep) everyone!

-Ariel

July 27^th, 2011 10:45 p.m.

Smiling faces, crowded streets, piles of dried fish, a chorus of voices screaming out the vowels in unison, “a, e, i, o, u…” Today was a day of orientation, visiting a few of the surrounding sites while overcoming the extreme exhaustion that often accompanies long travel.

Our first stop was Patandi, an urban primary school with a completed rainwater system and classes full of smiling kids in white and blue crisp uniforms. They welcome us with waves and shrieks, laughing and gathering at the window to greet us; we definitely were disrupting class-time. We walked around the school grounds, examining the four sturdy rainwater tanks and extensive gutter system. The children and who attend this government public school, along with their families, now have access to clean drinking water. From our brief twenty-minute visit it was clear that these were healthy, strong, and vibrant growing children, learning how to read and write with enthusiasm, and smile with unwavering clarity.

We hopped back into Mistembo, with Joseph in the drivers seat, and made  our way to Arusha, the closest big city where we would pay Aim Steel for the steel gutters and exchange our dollars into Tanzanian Shillings.  The driving thus far has been nerve-racking, not only because the drivers and roads and opposite of streets in the U.S., but because of the immense congestion once we entered the city. Bicycles, motorcycles, cars, and throngs of people fill the streets, all coming within inches of each other as they hurry along to their destinations. Countless times I gasp, holding my breath waiting to hear the crash or scream, only to be pleasantly surprised by the continued flow of motion. The errands go smoothly, with the four of us practicing our extremely broken Swahili and newly learned phrases. “Asanti sana!” (Thank you very much!), and “Tutaonana badai!” (See you later!). People respond with smiles and look pleased that we are making an effort to learn the language. It feels tremendously important to speak as much Swahili as possible, not simply as a matter of communication, but as a sign of respect to the people, as if to say, “We feel honored to be guests in your country and we want to speak the language of your people.” Or at least that’s the message I hope is getting across…

Our final destination for the day is the market place (sokoni) where Anna warns us not to bring any cameras. “They don’t like being photographed. They get very angry.” Which makes perfect sense. Why should they enjoy being photographed again and again by tourists, being viewed as objects rather than being treated as human beings? But as soon as we step outside I understand people’s desire (and I admit my own as well) to take a picture for this world we have just entered is dramatically different than anything else I have ever witnessed.

People line the dirt roads with goods displayed in front of them, some selling a random assortment of batteries, baby clothes, toys, and flip flops, while others have an impressive collection of the most beautiful fabric I have ever seen, each pattern distinct and thoughtful. I kneel down and gently rub the conga in-between my thumb and forefinger and am immediately met by a woman wrapped the in stunning material herself, quickly opening the conga I just touched saying, “Yes hello friend! You want to purchase?” “Hapana asanti, hapana asanti.” (No thank you, no thank you.), I reply and follow Anna towards the food. Melons, huge avocados, bananas, mangos, onions, okra, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, oranges, papaya, and piles of tiny dried fish are out on display, with hundreds of people selling the exact same things.

My pale skin is in stark contrast to their beautiful chocolate color and it hits me in waves how separate I am. Separate from their lives, separate from their culture, separate from this entire continent. I feel lost. How do I bridge the gap, ease the stark inequality that plagues our globe? I walk away feeling exhausted, overwhelmed by the immensity and complexity of the current situation in this country. There is so much beyond my understanding. There is so much that needs attention. Yet one thing I do know is that everyone needs water, its one of those universal needs that weaves itself through all of life. Water, yes, water. I trust that tomorrow’s village meeting where we conduct interviews and discuss the construction of a new system will provide a few answers to the sea of questions I am currently swimming in. I must trust and move forward….and sleep.

Tutaonana asubuhi (see you in the morning).

-Ariel

July 28^th, 2011

Today was beautiful and emotionally taxing. We went to the village meeting for the Mikungani and Miembeni primary schools, approximately a 40 minute drive down a bumpy dirt road away from the hotel. We went deep into the bush, and as we drove by many faces stopped and turned our way, looking to see who was passing. “Mzungu!” they would shout and children would run after our car. They smiled widely when we waved. Mzungu literally translates to European traveler. It has become the common name used to address white people. It is not meant in disrespect but always weighs heavy on the heart.

We drove in silence, all of us completely absorbed by our surroundings; the thin cows, the clotheslines stretching from house to house, the many faces that turned and stared. We drove further and further into rural Tanzania and further and further into an entirely different world. We passed three or four schools with rainwater tanks already in place.

I am swimming in a sea of emotions, unable to decipher any clear thoughts or assumptions. This is a way of life completely different than I grew up with, but yet there are parts of it that feel very familiar, perhaps from my time in Kosova –the cows and goats passing on the roads, the gardens, the women kneeling outside of their homes with busy hands…

We finally arrive at the meeting and approximately 125 villagers are gathered around, most of them sitting on the ground patiently awaiting our arrival. They have set up the meeting in a circle, with a few chairs and tables at one end for the Save the Rain staff (Anna, Joseph, Candice, Alyse, Ari, a few translators, and myself) and I immediately feel uncomfortable by the honored position. I hastily sit down, saying ‘thank you very much’ to everyone around (asanti sana!).

The meeting quickly commences, with the chief speaking first, introducing each of us and then calling Anna to the center. I do not understand her rapid Swahili as she addresses the crowd, so instead I observe the faces of the women and men. They watch her every move, nodding at times and laughing occasionally. I ask Caroline (Joseph’s cousin who will help us translate) what Anna has just said. “She is talking about catching the rain. She is saying how we must work together to fix the problem of not having water.” She answers in beautifully broken English. It is now Joseph’s turn to speak and the villagers again devour his words, just as they did Anna’s, looking to them- not us, as their leaders. It is beautiful and feels entirely important to have both of them introduce the organization and speak to the people about a solution they have witnessed time and time again. After all, they are leading this project. We are only there as their helpers.

After a few more jokes that fly over our English-speaking heads (we laugh anyway, just to feel included) we begin the water surveys/interviews.

It will be from these interviews that six households will be chosen to have a residential rainwater system built on their house. The survey is designed to assess the socio-economic and health profile of the community. It addresses family size, recent sicknesses, water sources, etc.I immediately am frustrated at my inability to effectively communicate! I want to hold their hand and tell them my heart goes out to them, to ease the hierarchy that is automatically created with me questioning them, to tell them that their conga is beautiful and their smile holds the beauty of the sky. Instead, all I am able to do is greet them as kindly and get the information down as clearly as possible.

And the information is not good. Many of their family members have recently suffered from malaria, typhoid, worms, and/or diarrhea. A fair amount of families have wells near their homes, but from the information we gathered about their overall health, they are most definitely contaminated. Other families are walking 2-3 per day to the local river for their drinking water, or spending whatever little money they have to buy it from a market. It pains me imagining that only a handful of the faces I have seen today will be given a residential system; the need is immense.

The interviews seem to go on for ever, with a new face swooping into the chair as soon as the previous one has finished shaking my hand. After many hours, and a quick homemade chapati lunch break (homemade by Anna-delicious!), we say our lengthy goodbyes, full of hugs and handshakes, kisses on the cheek and my newest Swahili phrase – Ninafurahi kukufuham (it was a pleasure meeting you).

Our next stop is the Miembeni school where Joseph will take a few measurements. We arrive to a greeting I am slowly getting used to (MZUNGU!) and hop out of Mistembo to a thick layer dust coating the earth below us, and when I say thick I am referring to a layer about four or five inches thick. Everything is covered in it. In an empty field near by some kids are playing soccer and it looks like they are kicking up a dust storm in their wake as they run, kick, pass, and score. Some younger kids, obviously not old enough to be included in the game, come over to stare at us. I tentatively walk over and try another one of my few phrases, “Nipe tanu!” (give me five!). They laugh and take turns slapping my hands. As they come closer I see the dirt caking their feet and legs, and see their eyes oozing with something that is attracting flies. We swat them away and continue to play, trying out different handshakes and them laughing at my poor Swahili.

My heart feels heavy as we leave, knowing that these children are not well. The construction of the system begins soon….lets hope the rains follow.

Sleepy beyond belief.

Tutaonana badai (see you later),

-Ariel

Jorn, the man in charge of Ranger Safari’s fleet said one set of parting words to me as I drove off in Miss Tembo. He said,” I’ll be hearing from you tomorrow. There is always something wrong with the car on your first day out.”  He did not mean to say I was a pain or a complainer but still I wagged my finger at him in jest. He replied that it was fine because this was the only way we got to talk to each other.

The following morning, I was ready to go, we were loading into the car, bags were packed, cooler filled with ice for water samples, paper work ready for school assessments, my big binder in place to lift me off the seat so that my feet could reach the petals, and Boom!

Starter turns over, turns over again, then – makes the saddest sound and then silence.

Nothing.

“You are kidding me!” I yelled. “Today, of all days!” At this point it is three days before I have to leave and the western connection to time and this idea that it is running out, was making its way into my consciousness.

I called Jorn and blamed him. I told him that he cursed me and he laughed his deep, big, hearty red headed laugh.

He said he would have a mechanic to me in about an hour. I needed to be in Mbuguni in an hour and we had other schools we needed to assess on the way.

I sat down in the dirt in the parking lot, on the brink of allowing this incident to choke the enthusiasm out of me.

A voice in my head cried, “No! Get up!”

I listened and went back into the front desk to ask for the keys to Remtula. Remtula is the name of the house Abbas was prepared to rent to us. I figured I could use the time to see if it was a match for our office needs. I also assumed I could walk there.

“It is far.” Glory said, a beautiful woman who works at the hotel.

“Far?” I replied – I thought it was just around the corner from the farm house.

“Not so much.” She said.

I paused and vacillated back to the solar panel idea at Anna and Joseph’s house. Right at that moment, Anna called and was returning from the market with the food for the men at Manyatta. The taxi driver was unloading the food. I figured the meter was running – not really, there are no meters in this part of the world – so why not use the time to go and check out Remtula.

Remtula was nothing that I had expected it to be. I actually felt a lot of peace there. It is surrounded by nothing but rolling hills and beautiful views of both Mount Meru and Kilimanjaro. Kili came out to say hello while we were there and that in itself is a rare treat.

The house needs a ton of cleaning – I mean a ton – but I had my potential glasses on and the potential was great.

Anna was quiet though and I took note. On the way back from Remtula, I asked her what she felt. She admitted – which she does rarely – that she was a little afraid to walk to the house alone. The forest was thick and there was nothing else around. That kind of sealed the deal for me. The last thing I want to do is commit to something to support her work becoming more efficient and then somehow have it harm her along the way. So solar panels it is for now. Joseph and Anna already have two panels on their roof so adding more will be easy. Joseph admitted, with his deep chuckle, that he did the electrical – which means a professional will need to come in and do it properly for the office.

Truthfully all of this adds up to less money than it would cost to rent Remtula anyway. So solar and home office is the way it will be.

When the mechanics arrived we were lucky. It was just the wiring to the battery - nothing major. Within 5 minutes of their arrival, we were back on the road. But time had passed – more than an hour or so and we were late. So Anna called the head teachers and asked them to wait for us. Mbuguni would need to be our first stop. It also happens to be the farthest away.

Water tests from Mbuguni - all clean!

When we arrived at Mbuguni, it was such a treat. The kids were healthy and hydrated. The tanks were almost full and you could see the substantial improvement in less than a year. When Jeremiah was interviewed, his results paralleled the other schools: Amazing improvement in health, attendance and scholastic performance. Not that I expected less from him – he is a 6’7” angel. The children are his life and helping them is his passion. He had arranged for me to meet a man named Deos. I took note of the meaning of his name. He has an NGO called the Maisha Project. Maisha means life in Swahili. He and his partner saw my name in the visitor’s book and wanted to meet me. He is Tanzanian with a pseudo Brooklyn accent. We spoke for a bit and I got to know his history and his plans for the future. He is working on a compostable latrine pit system. He has also worked for an organization called SIC. We worked with them in Kikwe and Mstombogo. Their work revolves around HIV. They test at home – which is awesome – and they help those who are infected get medication and ARVs. When we went to leave Mbuguni, I offered Deos a ride back to town.

Joseph (left) and Jeremiah (right) at one of the Mbuguni tanks

“As long as you don’t mind a bunch of stops along the way?” I said

“Not at all, where is your driver?” he asked.

“I don’t have one.” I replied.

“WOW!” was his response.

As we travelled through the different villages and assessed schools and homes, Deos got quieter and quieter.

“Are you okay?” I asked as we got to the last school.

“In all my years of reviewing NGO’s and trying to determine what works and doesn’t, I have yet to see anyone who has done what you have done and in the way you have done it. If it were my right to be proud of you, I would.”

I have never had anyone say that to me – not in five years of doing this. At that moment, standing there in Kikwe, the sky turned into one of those heavenly lit moments. I thought of all the support we have been given and all the faith that people have bestowed in us. I took his comment to be one from his name sake and thanked him humbly.

Once we returned to the hotel, the pendulum swung deeply to the other side. Anna and I set up shop in the lounge. Moses was busy drinking pineapple juice and eating banana chips. Choosing lottery winners was the task at hand. Nothing about this task is light. You have to read and reread through all the parental interviews to determine who is the most in need. We usually choose 4 lottery winners to receive residential rainwater harvesting systems. There are hundreds of interviews and we can only give four families this life changing gift. It is excruciating and deeply painful to sit in this position – to look over some families and choose others. I recently wrote about the journey in this selection process:

“Who are we to decide who we help next and who will have to wait – essentially who will be one step closer to life and who will be one step closer to death. I am often stripped of hope and find myself swimming in a sea of helplessness during this process. Tears flow like tidal waves and a weight comes down upon you that feels sinking. But an amazing thing comes in the moments that follow and they are nothing of what you think they will be. It is a consciousness of choice. It is a firm fight that swells up and calls the helplessness into the ring and into the corner. It says,’I dare you to stop me from trying. We may not get to them all, but damn it, we will die trying.’ It is the zero place and it is where my faith germinates from a seed and begins to take root.”

And that is what happened here as well. We started with a pile of 58 families that we had put into the ‘maybe’ pile. It took us hours to whittle it down to 5. We deliberated for over an hour and in the end, I did what I always do. I said, “No, I am not going to leave one family out. We’ll find the money. I know we will.”

And so we decided that 5 families would be lottery winners instead of four. At that very moment, a classic old eighties song came over the radio. “I catch the rain down in Africa” rang out over our head. We knew we had made the right choice.

On Friday, it was confirmed that we had made the right decision. We photographed the children whose families were lottery winners. Their eyes were sunken and their skin was graying. They were so thin and something in their eyes, regardless of the fact that they were so young, had already died. Anna and I took each other’s hand. She said: “Thank Mr. God that you are stubborn and that we chose all of these families.”  I laughed and agreed.

We left Manyatta after arranging to meet the parents the next day. Off we were to do what you ask?  I am giggling as I write this… to put our down payment on Miss Tembo. Wahooooooooooooooooo – Save the Rain now owns a car! A little tank actually that will not only move the team but move all the materials for the Women’s Water Initiative.

In the end after the bank and a last visit to Aim Steel, we headed home. We were both very aware that we were in that moment breaking one of Save the Rain cardinal laws. No driving at night. But Miss Tembo proved to be a mighty chariot and got us home – regardless of the handful of little scares – safe and sound.

The following morning my “left to do before you leave” list was long. I was worried; everything required a lot of detail. Somehow time bent itself in my favor. One by one, things got scratched off the list. It was another 20 hour day but worth every one of the moments.

Kelly with the lottery winners

When we arrived at Manyatta to meet the parents, there were six present instead of five. When all the dust settled and the story became clear, it was determined that a little boy named Oldevent who lived with his grandmother  until last week, went home and told his mother that she had won the lottery. But Oldevent’s cousin – Angel, whose mother died and is now being raised by that same grandmother, went home and told her grandmother that she had won the lottery. Oldevent’s mother had fled from her husband and left her son with his grandmother. She had just returned and had reclaimed her son.

There it was, right in my face. The pressure hit me like a punching bag. I looked deeply into the eyes of both women. The grandmother had been selected as the lottery winner but how could I allow this error – an error done in such innocence – determine whether this women and her child had this life changing leg up. Joseph took me outside. While we were discussing it, the mother felt it only right to leave. Joseph offered to work for free to provide this family with help. There we were – standing in front of each other, mirroring these enormous hearts back at one another. Two hearts that formed such a deep partnership, such a capacity to move through this painful and enlightening work together. He offered and I refused. But I love him more deeply for it. Again for the second time in 48 hours, I muttered, “We’ll find the money. I know we will.”

Within a split second of the words falling from the lips, I deeply expected “I catch the rain down in Africa” to thunder from the heavens. Instead, thunder came and opened the sky. Down came the rain, and we did actually catch it.

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation visit our website at www.savetherain.org

On Tuesday, Anna and I moved through the villages and assessed past projects. It felt good to be out of Arusha and out on the open and back breaking roads of Tanzania. I don’t know if it has some cellular memory of being in utero, but the jiggling and bouncing feels like home to me. At each school, the visuals were so exquisite. One has to look carefully, past the still obvious poverty, to the children. They were shiny, silky chocolate with clear eyes and healthy laughter. The schools had all done it again - in each and every school the numbers are 99.9% and 100% of students who have passed the national exam and are continuing on to secondary school! I cried. It was not some random fluke – the work is really working!! Year after year, child after child. All of the teachers are stating that the percentages of health, attendance and enrollment are through the roof. All of the schools are doing their maintenance and governance, pulling their communities together.

Teacher meeting at Maweni

The last village we assessed was Maweni. And it was awesome. The teachers were ecstatic, the children were giggling. After the assessment, we had a meeting with the women who had signed up for the Women’s Water Initiative. Now that we were beginning the project in a new village, we were able to tighten the design of the program and offer more. Women were offered three tank sizes – a 3500 liter tank, a 5000 liter tank and a 7000 liter tank. When the question of repayment was revisited, instead of staying with the original 18 month terms, they chose 12. More than half of them chose the largest tank size! They were brilliant in their ideas and questions and buoyant in their energy. When we left it was close to 7pm but we have a schedule for the first 14 systems to start in 3 weeks.

Moses had the flu and Anna caught it from him. She had some lethargy all day. One could not blame her. The temperatures were in the high nineties and her nose and chest were completely congested. Plus I had given her a half dose of Nyquil the night before – so she was a mess. The moment we got into the meeting with the women, her power came roaring up and she was on fire. Both her body and her spirit forgot she was sick. She led the meeting and the women straight out of hell and into a new beautiful way of living. Watching her was like witnessing the very moment when a spark becomes a flame and then the flame enlightens the room. I cried a little quietly because it was so beautiful.

As I got back to the hotel and started to wash up, my phone rang. It was the front desk telling me that I had a guest looking for me. I could not even imagine who that would be. I walked up to the main area of the hotel and saw Lucas, the hotel tour guide waving to me. He was sitting with a man who he had just given a tour to and he wanted to talk to me. I had given Lucas our information the day before. Clearly it had such an impact on him that he had shared it with this guest. The man was American and asked if I would distribute some gifts for children he had brought with him and then made a vow to invest in some projects. I looked at Lucas who was beaming. He is young and Tanzanian and so committed to rising up out of his current position so that he can better serve the children of his country. He was so joyful that he had built a bridge that connected this man to work that would inevitably help these children. When Lucas and I left the man, we agreed to meet the next day so that I could show him some of the projects. He held my hand and thanked me. I thanked him for taking the information in so clearly and for being such a good advocate.

I feel like this trip should be titled Fire Flies. I feel like I am caught in this most beautiful rain storm of fireflies, igniting the darkness and showing others the way.

Kelly at Patandi

Wednesday can really only be described in one way – Power Ranger! Lucas, Anna and I went to Patandi. I walked Lucas around and watched as his brain connected all the pieces like Legos snapping into place. It was colorful and brilliant to watch his light turn on to this ancient concept of harvesting the rain. The children held my arms as we walked through the school. It was amazing to see how healthy they look. It was also exhausting because I inevitably had hundreds of kids hanging on me and I felt a little like cattle pulling a cart! When Lucas had fully grasped the project, we left Patandi and went to town. I had to drop the last bit of my residency visa application off to Mr. Kalfan. It was bitter sweet. I was sad that this would be the last time I would sit with this Buddha for a while. But I was elated as we are one step further ahead in our growth. I think we both felt a moment of sadness. Our time together was reflective and enlightening for both of us. I dropped any pretenses that I might have of professionalism and threw my arms around him to hug him before I left.

We then went straight to the Rotary Meeting – I was excited to see Abbas. I have not seen him in almost a year. When we greeted I threw my arms around his barrel of a belly (he is very tall and that is the only place I can reach) – so grateful to this angel who protects me in the field and protects our mission in the world. I gave the Rotary Club a report on Patandi and we all raised a glass to the success. When we left the meeting, we had time scheduled with Abbas. I was excited for this one. Our time together would be about our growth and all of the places Ranger Safari and Abbas could help.

Tembo

And so … drum roll please… I am proud to announce that quite soon Save the Rain Tanzania will be the proud owners of one slightly old and sagging but completely rocking and awesome Nissan Patrole! We call her Tembo which means elephant in Swahili. She received her name because her snorkel curls up and out like an elephant about to reach for a branch. She has a v6 engine, she is way easier to drive than the Land Rovers and I love her. She shakes her booty like nobody’s business as we barrel down the road. Ranger will provide a maintenance plan and we will stop paying to move materials in the Women’s Water Initiative. Tembo will pay for herself in 58 residential rain water tanks for the WWI. She is olive green and as soon as the organization’s registration is complete, we will finalize the deal.

Abbas also generously offered us the option to rent one of his smaller houses for less than we pay for electricity at home. We went to visit it today and though it is not like the farm house, it feels peaceful, has electricity, security and four dogs that live there. Little do the dogs know that if we change our plans and take this space for the office, they will undoubtedly become the fattest and happiest dogs in Africa.

As per usual, more to be revealed…

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation visit our website at www.savetherain.org

The Tauk tour group

Monday did not end until the wee hours of the morning and started before 6am. In the morning, we gave our first presentation to the Tauk safari group. It was amazing. We decided not to do a PowerPoint presentation but instead gave them some information and then took them to an actual system. God bless Abbas for knowing that we needed a system that was as close as the Patandi School. He was brilliant to know that we would need it to be an example that people could touch. And touched they were. No one can open hearts quite the special needs students of Patandi. A little girl named Lightness was the welcoming committee. She hugged everyone in the way that only special needs kids do – with no awareness of boundaries and every awareness of giving love. She brought all of the women to tears and all of the men to their hearts. She was the perfect hostess for our very first safari party – a deliverer of love and she lived up to her name completely!

Once we presented the system and introduced the group to the first graders, we bid the Tauk tour goodbye and set off for our meeting with the Department of Education. I am still a little bleary eyed from the meeting – maybe teary eyed too. They have officially submitted a letter to Save the Rain asking that we provide a rainwater harvesting system to every school in the country. They have requested that we begin with the 109 schools in their district. Their letter of request spoke our kindred commitment to the plight of these children and our desire to help. Jeremiah – the head teacher from Mbuguni – was at the meeting. His wings were spread widely, making all the right gestures on behalf of the children we jointly defend. The department’s requests acknowledge that no greater effort has been made to ensure Tanzanian children’s future quite like ours.

I feel a little outside of myself. It is like stepping outside of yourself and witnessing the very moment you grow an inch taller. In less than a week, there has been a domino effect of growth. It is moving in a way that I am little at a loss for breath. It is exciting and a little scary all at the same time. I feel like now more than ever our humility will be the very trunk on which the branches of our tree grow. My excitement melted into my consciousness as I now have the knowledge of 85,000 children who are waiting for our help. I can feel them and I simply hope that they have enough of a reserve to survive while we figure out how to get to them all. We left the Department of Education with a promise of a large detailed map showing every community and the location of the primary schools as well as a translated letter in English. I am hoping that the letter will act as a catalyst for money that we would not have normally been considered for back home. More to be revealed…

Musa

After the meeting, we stopped at Cradle of Love so that I could give Davona the rest of Musa’s tuition. For those of you who don’t know, I met Musa at the same time I met Moses. Musa is HIV positive and one of the truly most delicious, strong, and brilliant babies of all times. Davona knew how I felt about him and after informing me of his adoption with Batilda, Cradle of Love’s nurse, asked if I might want to help support his education. I met with Batilda, took one look at her and burst into tears. Not only did she take Musa but she took Rahma, both of whom are HIV positive. She also took Vivian who has Cerebral Palsy and is confined to a wheel chair. Her sainthood could be felt everywhere. I hugged her and could not let go. I have overwhelming gratitude for her giving, for her selflessness, for her commitment, and for her love. I apologized for being a big cry baby and Davona touched my shoulder and reminded me that the frequency of my tears is simply a reflection of the size of my heart. When I finally pulled it together, we left Batilda. We moved on to discuss Moses and the best way to move forward with his schooling. She gave me some brilliant ideas and we concluded that Moses will be attending the same school as his brother and sister, Rose and Kelvin – just not as a boarder.

We left Cradle of Love and went on to town to see Mr. Kalfan to submit all of our paper work. I was excited to see him and to be in the presence of such a truth teller. Our conversation moved all over the board. We spoke about purity, relinquishing the idea that when something goes wrong with someone else, we should not instantly assume it is our fault. It was almost as if he was looking into the window of my being and knew exactly where there were messes that needed to be cleaned. Our conversation wove its way into a place that truly left me feeling as if I were transparent.

He said, “When someone else fails to rise to the occasion that we offer them, what makes you think that you have not done enough or that it is your fault?”

Were my scars that visible?

I answered: “Guilt?”

“No,” he replied, at first chuckling and then quite seriously, “Not guilt. It is your desire for them to be on the same page as you. It is your desire for them to see life the way you do. You blame yourself because you don’t you want to acknowledge that the world has plenty of people who are nothing like you at all.”

Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in hopelessness, to feel like you are the only one feeling all of this pain. I know that is far from the truth. I just have to look at all the people who give to Save the Rain, who act in kindness and with compassion, to know that the loneliness is a perfect way to cement my feet and stop me from moving forward. I never want to judge and try to always give someone the benefit of the doubt. When something goes wrong, I am fully at fault of faulting myself first. It is simply easier. Whether it is healthier, is something I will have to contemplate.

We went on to talked about first born children and how they feel entitled to all the space in the room. Also, how the last born tends to be the most practical. I thought of my own life, my own family and where I fit in that idea. He asked whether or not we had children and I shared a little.

He said: “You are not like most Kelly. God has called you to the world. You have answered the call purely. No child may have grown in your womb but that does not mean you have no children. You have 170,000 children you care for and another 85,000 who are waiting for your love. You are unique – clear without sharpness, warm with completeness.”

He has so much generosity in his wisdom and he saw me with such light, I felt so deeply moved and honored.

Upon leaving Mr. Kalfan’s office, we bumped into another man at his door. He happens to run the solar place in Arusha. We chatted briefly and I got a better picture of what a home office at Anna and Joseph’s would cost. It was more than I thought it would be but certainly far less than the alternative. I knew that eventually the exact right thing would present itself and guide us as to where we were meant to lay our roots for our office.

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation visit our website at www.savetherain.org

The Moringa tree pods, that when crushed can actually clean bacteria out of water

Today was a day of complete celebration. Our little tiny organization took some giant leaps and managed to witness some incredible miracles. We paid a visit to the ARVDC which is a seed distribution organization. They helped start us on the Moringa tree reforestation program. Today they have agreed to provide us with the educational literature we need to train each of our teachers in the Women’s Water Initiative. The educators will then teach the recipient women in the program. They are also going to provide us with more seeds next week and the seed beds we need to grow them.

We met with a most incredible man named Mr. Kalfan. I met him through Abbas and he will be the vehicle through which the organization will be registered here in Tanzania. He is an accountant and maybe the most peaceful enlightened man I have ever met. He reminds me of Gandhi. He told me a story about a man he is helping whose inlaws had him tossed in Jail because they found out the state department made a clerical error on his passport. I shook my head and asked how it was possible that cruelty comes so easily to some. He asked me if I believe in the powers of light and dark. I replied that I do but that sometimes I worry that we aren’t winning - that as the moral fiber of man continues to decay, the power of the light might continue to fade. I looked at him deeply and asked him if he understood. He took my hand. He placed the other hand on my shoulder. He said,” You have nothing to worry about. We are winning.”

I asked how he knew. He said that no matter what, that which is out of integrity cannot succeed. It is the universal law. I said that I wondered if that idea hinged on one’s own definition of success. He replied that it is only in our foolishness that we think we can define success.  Success has nothing to do with money or position and everything to do with who we serve. It was truly one of those God moments - when the place and the people that surround you disappear and all that is left is the incredible messenger and the truth itself.

Anna and Joseph's Tank

The meeting with Mr. Kalfan brought me to another realization – one on which I am still marinating. But truthfully as the time passes, it is beginning to taste better and better. Renting a space in Tanzania is turning out to be more expensive than renting one in the US. Just the cost of security and electricity is twice what we would pay for a house at home. Mr. Kalfan will be handling all the taxes and audits. He will also be setting up the accounting system. Anna and Joseph will report to me. I will report to him and he will report to the government. I remembered something that Mom once told me. She said every great venture begins in someone’s garage. So our very first address on our registration is Anna and Joseph’s sitting room – Africa’s version of the home office. 5 years ago, their farm was where we started. It feels quite appropriate that in this next step, we go back to the beginning. We are going to investigate getting them some solar panels and some fencing for security. They just did an addition on their sitting room and it is a perfect place to set up a desk and an office. We are a humble organization and this is another step in our humble beginnings. One awesome perk in this option is now when we have our web meetings, we can all be in our pajamas! But really it also helps Moses because when he comes home from school, Anna will be there. This solution is a macrocosmic cake with microcosmic icing.

When I got back to the hotel, I met with Gerald, the general manager. The last time I was here, he and I spoke about putting information about the organization in all of the hotel rooms. I gave him the brochure to read over. I spoke to him about how the west has taken a turn in how they spend their money. People want to know that businesses are eco-friendly with a philanthropic soul. He not only loved the brochure but he has arranged for me to train Lucas, the hotel’s own tour guide, to be able to give guests a tour of the Patandi Project up the road. Gerald also offered us the acreage at the front of the hotel as a space to grow our moringa trees. So by the time I leave, not only will Tauk tours have a Save the Rain presentation at the beginning of all their Tanzanian safaris, but Serena Mountain Village will have our brochures in every room for every guest that stays here.

As I left dinner tonight, another African bending of time took place. I had just been thinking of this new partnership with Tauk and how I had to figure out how to connect with the tour operator. As I was walking out of the restaurant, I walked right into her! So on Monday, Save the Rain will give our first presentation to our first Safari Group.

I also got one step closer to finding our truck today. The head of Ranger Safari vehicle department has become a friend and confidant. His name is Jorn. He advised me on four options for car purchases. I reviewed two of them today and will talk to Ranger about the other’s next week. The idea of an office and transportation makes me giggle with excitement.

Pendo and Anna

I thought it only appropriate that I end this long winded tale with the best miracle of all. In September, at a visit to Cradle of Love, the orphanage that Moses came from, a child was surrendered that was 2 years old and weighed 11 pounds. Her name is Pendo and it means love. We shared pictures of her and her story. An amazing group of Women in Long Island, New York, a group I refer to as the Prayer Prowess, started to pray for some of Cradle’s Children – especially Pendo. Today, when I visited the orphanage I saw a miracle. I would not have recognized her if someone had not said her name. I cried deeply with joy. It is a true miracle of miracles. I was told that she has a thing about shoes – a true diva. She will only wear pretty ones and throws a fit if someone tries to put frumpy ones on her. Kori said she takes after her Mama’s in NY. My gratitude to the Cradle of love team for their ability to manifest miracles and my gratitude to Long Island’s Prayer Prowess for giving Cradle the wind they need to help them fly.

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation visit our website at www.savetherain.org

On Wednesday morning I was stopped in my tracks by some trouble in Arusha. Last week, a riot broke out in town after a new political party requested a forum for a political rally. They were denied by the long standing party of 50 years but went forward with it anyway. The police and military were called in. Shots were fired and tear gas released. Two people were killed and many were hospitalized. On the day I was headed into town, the funerals were taking place. Thankfully, I spoke with Abbas this morning and he told me to stay out of Arusha today just to be on the safe side. I did so gladly and introduced Anna and Joseph to the wonderful world of paperwork. After a grueling 12 hour day of creating processes and protocols, they have learned a brand new meaning for exhaustion. Joseph said he never knew his brain could be so tired.

Alfred and Moses

Arusha has quieted down and it appears as if all peace has been restored. All of our instincts and guardian angels told us that for the next couple of days we should hire a driver. So we have hired an old friend named Alfred. I have worked with him before and he is wonderful. Honestly with so little sleep, I welcomed a break from driving. It was especially nice as the car we have has a clutch that is to tight it requires Popeye sized muscles just to shift gears. When I get home, my left leg maybe twice as muscular as my right. I contemplated attaching a brick to my left shoe in order to be more gentle in my shifting. I have named the car Whiz as he makes this lovely sound when we barrel down the road. Regardless of the fact that he farts black smoke and has some electrical issues with the oil light and a faulty gas gauge, I feel safe and at home.

In the middle of a meeting today, Alfred interjected that he was officially naming me Mama watoto – Mother to all children. He said, “Mama watoto will never drive a fancy car, or spend money in unnecessary ways. She will probably never wear fancy clothes. She will always wear a tshirt and will always put our children first.” I had no idea where any of that came from – even though it was all true. It made me pause and think. My gratitude to everyone who has ever lent their love, support and effort to Save the Rain deepened in such a substantial way. I am always grateful for our supporters and for the good fortune to do what I love. But this was different, I realized that I get to deliver other people’s love to these children. I don’t know what could be better than that. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for allowing me to do that job.

I had the grueling task of calculating the true picture of Manyatta. Unfortunately it is so completely opposite from the spirit of this village. The Manyatta Primary School has 321 children. The attendance records show that each day, classrooms are only 65% full because children are ill with diarrhea and cannot attend. The head teacher reports show most days at least 82% of the student body is sick with water borne illnesses. Manyatta sits in between rivers so 100% of the village drinks river water as there are currently no alternatives. Only 3% of them boil the water before consumption. The school does not boil water before the students drink it either. Each day the students walk 1 mile to fetch water for the schools use. 26% live close enough to the river where the daily walk for water is only an hour. 56% walk 3 hours a day and 18% of them are walking between 6 and 12 hours a day to collect their water needs. 84% of the village is currently sick with either malaria, typhoid, diarrhea, kidney issues or worms. 22% of the village has lost more than one child in the last 5 years due to water related illnesses. My heart breaks and I always cry when I have to do these calculations. When I look at these numbers, I see only faces – the people whose hands I have held, whose eyes I have looked into – maybe that is all it takes for someone to own a piece of my heart. These

excavation for one of the tanks

numbers are all it takes to break it.

So that’s all the bad news. Thankfully it is also the news of the past. The excavation is well on its way and Joseph believes he can have the 144,000 liter rainwater harvesting system done in just  4 weeks! Wow did I smile when he said that! He is learning how to manage the team and his time so beautifully. When I look at him, it is hard for me to believe the journey we have walked together over the last 5 years.

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation go to www.savetherain.org

Check out a brief overview of this village at www.savetherain.org/manyatta.htm

We are so happy to inform you that our Operating Director, Kelly has landed safe and sound in Tanzania once again. Our team has begun the construction process on a rainwater harvesting system for the village of Manyatta, Tanzania.  Be sure to check back in regularly as we will be posting more updates from Kelly on this project. Enjoy this first update!

Kelly writes:

So the beginning of this trip was physically uneventful – thank God – so far no black eyes and falling luggage.  8 hours after leaving home, I had made it as far as Portland… out of harm’s way sitting in the sky lounge watching the people go by.  I watched the people roll on by on moving sidewalks, with wheeled carry-on’s and the infamous knowledge that there is always a toilet nearby that will flush for you. I felt caught in the time between here and there. Not only is day-night and night-day but the hours that separate us are simply reflections of what we constitute as essential. In this moment, my phone and my computer are the lifelines to my loved ones at home. After 48 hours of travel, I will be reminded of what a lifeline really looks and taste like.  The beginning and the end of each trip are always the hardest. Layovers make you miss your husband and family and pets. Leaving Africa makes you question if you have done enough, if you have worked hard enough, helped enough people with the time and energy you had available. There is a world between the seat I occupy right now and the one I will in 16 days from now – when I find myself back in this sky lounge waiting for the flight home.

This far into it – with this many trips under my belt, you might think it would be second nature. But the day the suffering caused by this crisis becomes second nature is the day I will have to rethink the commitment I have made. The seriousness has begun to wash over me. It is different in the field- laughter is a defribulator. It is essential in reviving your spirit in the face of all the hardships. Along with the seriousness, the sleeplessness came to me as well. I left home on the 8^th, three days later, I have slept fewer hours than the fingers I have on one hand. All pretty normal stuff. But to my greatest delight was the sweet smell of the rain.  It rained as I walked down the stairs off of the plane, rained as I lay sleepless the first night. It rained on the way to Manyatta. My biggest smile came when I realized that not only were our rainwater tanks filling in that very moment, but the road to Manyatta was perfect – even in the rain. Wow – that was truly a first for me.

On my first day in the field, we had the village meeting in Manyatta. It is an incredible and intensely spiritual community and place. With Meru in the distance, the energy of the village meeting was so high. I have never been to a village meeting where the word God was used so often. It was amazing to see what the school has done in just 3 short months. An American sponsor who bares a similar name to me, a Mrs. Calman, donated the money needed to build a new school building – 2 more classrooms and an office – and replace the roof on the older building. The masons have just finished laying a new walkway and setting in the facia board and roofing sheets. We will work simultaneously while they build the new building.

The village meeting was awesome. So many excited faces! So many questions and none that related to personal advancement or greed. There were no gender issues pushed, no politics, and no unnecessary blah blah – amazingly there was only love. A man stood up and told everyone that they should mark this day on their calendar – 01.11.2011. He said they should remember it as the day that God answered their call, sent them the greatest gift and delivered an angel to help. I replied that though I appreciated being called a gift and an angel, we needed to remember that it is their children who are the angels and deserve nothing short of us working as hard for them as we do for God. The village leader cried out that they were hungry for clean water. The head teacher (for the third time) fell to his knees with tears of gratitude. The head of the school committee apologized that there were only 150 parents present. He explained that there was a funeral in the village today and that he was told to send us the apologies of those who could not make it.

The people cheered at the description of the project, the women applauded and giggled at the lottery, everyone asked intelligent questions about the women’s project but best of all, I sat back and allowed our crew to do most of the work. It was the best, not because I did not have to work hard. It was the best because they did it with so much grace and independence. It was another moment of being witness to sustainability taking root.

I will admit that equally as delicious as watching people take their power gracefully, was that I was able to witness it with Moses on my lap. His laughter is like breath to me. I could simply drink it in. The day before I arrived, he was jumping rope and fell on his face. He has scabs all over his nose and upper lip and an egg size bump on his forehead. As I put Neosporin on his wounds, he placed his hands on my head, kissed my cheek and said thank you. I am once again so deeply honored that this child chose me. I looked him in the eye, in those awe inspiring sparklers, and said, “No Moses, thank you.” He giggled this deliriously hysterical laugh and we fell on the floor together.

But the sweet moments are always followed by the awakenings. The interviews were heartbreaking. 100% of the community gets their water from the two rivers that line the village. Their spiritual wealth is as obvious as their physical starvation. I held so many women’s hands as they told me of their sick children. I held the hand of a 17 year old, who is now the head of her household. She has 5 siblings younger than her and both of her parents have died from water related illnesses. She is barely old enough to know herself, let alone know how to raise 5 children. But she is a monument to responsibility. She boils her water regularly and is working to keep her brothers and sisters healthy. During another interview with one of the mothers, I realized that we had arrived just in time. All of her children have been deeply sick with Typhoid and stomach problems. She lost her husband to stomach illness and has scars on her soul from loneliness. You can see it in her eyes. But when she speaks of her children, her love emanates and she is strengthened. Her name is Maria and she is angelic.

Julius, the head teacher told me he feels like he is the luckiest man in the world. Imagine, a man with so little, believing himself to be so lucky. But he is one of the luckiest men as he truly believes his prayers have been heard and answered. He shepherds this community and has prayed regularly for help for his students. They have been answered in spades. Not only will he have a new school, his school will have clean water for his whole community. So starting on Thursday, we will begin building a 144,000 liter rainwater harvesting system.

We stayed at the school until every parent had been interviewed. By the time we left, it was close to 8pm. We all felt honored driving home. We each recapped stories of amazing survival and inspiration. Moses fell asleep on Joseph’s lap in the back seat. His little snore was precious and his very presence is a constant reminder of why we do what we do.

For more information on Save the Rain or to make a donation go to www.savetherain.org

We are so excited to share that Save the Rain won a landslide vote by the students from Montessori schools around the country to adopt Save the Rain as their organization of choice to support next year!

The program that they will be adopting at their school is a simple:
W.A.D.A. – Water Awareness Day Alliance
In 2006, Mount Shasta High School approached Save the Rain about creating an awareness week around the global water crisis. Motivated by the fact that it only costs $15 to save someone from this fatal predicament, the students felt a call to action. Four years later, Mount Shasta High School’s W.A.D.A., the program we co-created, has helped Save the Rain bring clean water to over 60,000 people. It is now being initiated in schools across the country.

How it works: The Rain Runs and The Rain Dances!
We give American students a glimpse into the lives of African children struggling to survive the water crisis. They are then paired with a school in Africa. They then host a sponsored “Rain Run” where they show their dedication to the cause by completing a certain amount of sponsored laps around the school track / gym or block of streets that surround the school. Each sponsored lap costs $15. This means 1 lap = 1 life. American students harvest funds so that African students can harvest rain. American students spend one lunch hour walking for water so that African children never have to walk for it again.
Once the Rain Runs, then the Rain Dances.
American Students then host a Rain Dance, a party that not only celebrates their eff orts but gives them the chance to raise more funds and call in the rain! Save the Rain creates venues for the two schools to communicate with each other. ]]> http://www.savetherain.org/blog/?feed=rss2&p=378 66