Merry Crater Christmas

We had made and confirmed our reservation at the Arusha Inn, but upon arriving we are told that there isn’t enough room. We giggle, exhausted after the Sai Baba debacle and struck by the irony of there being ‘no room at the (Arusha) Inn’ for the Christmas leg of our journey. After some negotiation and questioning the hotel staff, we discover that there is one room with a King bed where the 3 of us can sleep. We burst into laughter again when we hear the number ‘3’ and the word ‘king’ in the same sentence and hum ‘we 3 kings’ on our way upstairs to the room. 

The next day we start our 2-day safari and enter a national park where we spot a few animals and have some fun. We stay overnight in a town just outside of the Ngorongoro Area, which contains the Ngorongoro crater.

Christmas Eve at Sunset

Christmas eve we watch the sunset and hang out at the lodge. We eat diner and pop a bottle of champagne. None of us have spent Christmas away from our families and we are all feeling a bit raw and nostalgic. We pass the bottle around, drinking to family and close friends and talking about our family Christmas traditions while laughing and shedding a few tears. Later in the evening, a young local man comes to the lodge and we strike up conversation. He is incredibly bright and speaks frankly about the problems in the region and his proposed solutions. He says that there is incredibly high HIV prevalence due to the through traffic of safari tour guides and the resulting sex industry. He also tells us the heart-wrenching story of how both of his parents died of AIDS related illness.

We accept his invitation to meet some of his friends in town and sit outside as Tanzanian youth bustle around the small central area of the town of Mosquito (really it was called Mosquito!). We then see our not-so-young and married tour guide drive by. A few minutes later we see him drive the other way flanked by a young woman in the passenger seat.

Based on our recent conversation about tour guides, HIV and the sex industry, this kills the mood and we decide to call it a night. We spend the final hours of Christmas eve and the first few hours of Christmas morning in serious and sometimes agitated conversation. We can't make assumptions, but we discuss our discomfort with the potential financial support we were providing to fuel the grim reality of HIV in the town. We have a open conversation and debate our differing views around responsibility and harm reduction.

I feel paralyzed by the realization that my every action has a (sometimes negative) impact. My head spins and I feel completely lost – I know nothing

We sleep a few hours and wake up to the painfully loud call to prayer emanating from the local Mosque. Usually I am enchanted by its sound, but today is sounds loud and flat.

We trudge to breakfast where our guide is waiting. We say hello and feign normalcy as we try to enjoy the treats we had brought for Christmas day – Amarula for our coffee, cheese and chocolate (all expensive rarities in Malawi). We share with our tour guide and I give the girls each an African headscarf as a gift before we set off for the crater.

The Ngorongoro Crater, often called the ‘8^th Natural Wonder of the World’ and ‘Africa’s Eden’ is situated just South of the Serengeti in Tanzania. It is the world’s largest unbroken, unflooded volcanic caldera (if you are like me and didn’t know what a caldera is, Wikipedia describes it as ‘a cauldron-like volcanic feature usually formed by the collapse of land following a volcanic eruption). This particular crater was formed two to three million years ago by from the eruption of a massive volcano. It is estimated that, within the 2,000ft deep, 100 square mile crater, there are over 30,000 animals.

As we snake up the mountain towards the clouds, the upset of the night before fades away and excitement sets in. We decide to stop at a Maasai village to see how the Masaai people traditionally live. The Maasai are a semi-nomadic group of people that live in Northern Tanzania and Kenya. We meet the chief and negotiate a price before entering the village.

We leave and start descending into the crater. It looks absolutely stunning as the bright green plain welcomes us. The clouds hover gently on the edges of the crater – we are so high up that mountains touch their white softness.

As we descend it becomes quickly obvious that all isn’t well in paradise - something is wrong with our Safari vehicle. The guide can’t seem to shift very easily and we determine that there is a problem with the clutch. We make our way into the crater and he pulls over to fix the car. Not far from us is a herd of Zebras. We quietly open the door and sneak out to get a closer look. Someone makes a small noise and the guide spins around and while reprimanding us, chases us back towards the vehicle. As he yells at us to get back in, we giggle and try to stall to take a few more pictures.

He opens the roof of the vehicle to appease us and make sure we stay in the car. I climb through the opening and onto the roof. When he sees this, I receive another scolding before he clambers into the vehicle and we continue.

I have very few words to describe the experience of being in the crater. At this risk of sounding completely cliche, the best description I can offer is that I felt like I had stepped into Disney’s ‘the Lion King’.  We saw Elephants, Wildebeast, Warthogs, Lions, Hippos, Antelope, Buffalo, Monkeys and even the endangered black Rhino. There was even a rock that looked like pride rock!

Ostrich

Warthogs (aka Pumba)

Waterbuffalo

Lioness in the tree - can you spot her?

Lioness

Wildebeast

The crater was like an incredible animal soup, and one of the most beautiful things I ever seen. We leave, tired and content, after our day of excitement.

What a way to spend Christmas! We gush about all of the animals that we saw and note with mild disappointment that the only thing we didn’t see were Giraffes.

On the drive back to Arusha, we see a herd of the gentle yellow and brown creatures.

We get out to be closer to the gentle animals. Completely satisfied, we drive back to Arusha as the sun sets behind us and Christmas draws to a close. 

Sai Baba ‘Express’

I meet Holly and Elsa back on the mainland and we enjoy a meal atop the roof of a hotel, taking in the towering buildings of Dar Es Salaam before preparing for the next leg of our journey.

Elsa, Holly and I in Dar Es Salaam

The taxi picks us up before 5am and takes us to the bus station. Being just before Christmas, all the buses travelling from Dar to Arusha were booked, and we settle for a cheap commuter bus, the ‘Sai Baba Express’, which we are told, will take us to Arusha in 7 hours.

Onboard it is uncomfortably hot before 7am. As usual, the bus leaves late, after 8 am. Our saving grace is that although we are in a 3-seat row of small, uncomfortable chairs, we are in the front of the bus and have some extra space in front of us. We put our luggage there and take turns sitting on the floor so that our sweaty bodies aren’t pressing up uncomfortably close together.

 Elsa and I - a mere 2 hours in...

Holly taking her turn on the floor

Me taking my turn on the floor

The Sai Baba bumps along slowly, picking up people on the side of the road and stopping (seemingly randomly) to eject passengers. We squish into our seats as bags of random objects and people crowd in front of us. At one point I end up holding a baby – his mom looks incredibly uncomfortable sitting on the floor with him so I reach out my hands as a gesture that I can hold him if she’d like. She passes him to me, and the girls and I take turns holding him. After a substantial length of time, I offer to pass him back to her. She shakes her head and avoids eye contact to prolong her break.

En route to Arusha - view from the window

Tusker (beer) ad - from the bus windown

The first 6 hours of the bus ride are ok, but things become a bit suspect when, after 8 hours we stop for our ‘half-way’ break. We pile out, stretch and buy food from a roadside cafeteria-style restaurant. I agree to watch Holly and Elsa’s food while they go to the washroom. Suddenly, I notice that the restaurant has all but emptied out. A wonky honk emerges from the bus. It’s going to leave without us! All of our luggage is on that bus! I run towards it as it lurches forward. I yell at it to stop. It moves forward again.

I have no choice – I can’t get on the bus and leave my friends, but I can’t allow the bus to leave. I stand a few metres in front of it, turn sideways and spread my legs to sturdy my standing position. I extend my arm out in front of me towards the bus and spread my fingers in a ‘STOP – don’t move any further!!!’ sign.

The bus moves forward a bit more and I’m forced to retreat. I move back but hold the same, ridiculous, defiant position. Holly and Elsa come into view and I yell at them to hurry to the bus. We get on and everyone is laughing. Someone quips ‘You think we could miss you?’ and someone else jokes ‘Do you really think we would leave without you?’. I look around and see that we are the only white people on the bus. They were just having fun with us. We laugh and get ready for the rest of the journey.

5 hours later, Kilimanjaro comes into view. It looks spectacularly big, but it is tough to see because of the clouds and setting sun. At this point we’ve been on this hellish bus for thirteen hours with only one stop. We tell ourselves that we are almost there, but it is another 2 hours before we arrive in Arusha. A passenger says that this is the longest time the bus has ever taken (due to bad traffic and frequent stops).

Later in our travels, we recount the story to a Tanzanian man. He rolls his eyes and knowingly says ‘you didn’t take Sai Baba did you?!’

Apparently the Sai Baba Express is infamous for being hellish. Holly, Elsa and I laugh and agree that from herein we will ‘Sai No to Sai Baba!'.

Sai No to Sai Baba

Zanzibar

I arrive in Dar Es Salaam after midnight, find a cheap hostel, and wake up early to board the ferry to Zanzibar. I perch myself cross-legged on a box atop the deck and happily gaze at the bright blue horizon for the two hours it takes for Zanzibar to display herself.

I fight my way off the boat and through the crowd of vendors, tour guides and taxi drivers. The sight is immediately stunning: turquoise water, wooden dhows (traditional boats) and a mixture of women and men dressed in both modern clothes and traditional Swahili coast dress.

Streets of Stowntown

Traditional Style Door, Stonetown

Stone town, the capital of Zanzibar is a labrynth of narrow, twisty pedestrian streets. I get lost immediately and finally pay a taxi driver to walk me to my hostel. I’m pleasantly surprised with the hostel after the YWCA in Dar. Named for it’s incredibly steep steps, ‘Pyramids’ is very reasonable but has some real Zanzibar charm.

Pyramids

Zanzibar Bed - Pyramids

I drop off my things in the room that my friends Elsa and Holly are already occupying. It has 3 zanzibar style beds, and an old Arab-style chandelier.

Too excited to stay put, I set out for a meander around town and am enchanted by the beautiful colours, smells and architecture. I have never seen a place like this before! I barely mind the constant hassling as vendors, tour operators and beach boys call ‘Jambo’ at me and try to engage me in conversation so that they can then make their sales pitch.

I head back to the hostel after a few hours of exploring and meet Holly and Elsa. These two wonderful Canadian women, (a gender specialist and nutritionist respectively) also volunteer in Lilongwe and kindly agreed to let me tag along with them on their holiday adventure.

We enjoy a sundowner at a nearby hotel and set off in the morning with a group of Canadian volunteers for the beach house we rented on Jambiani, on the South-East coast of Zanzibar.

Fairytale Beach house, Jambiani

Jambiani Beach

Canadian Crew at the Beach House

Sunrise Over Jambiani Beach

We spend the next few days in beach paradise, overindulging in delicious food and drink and enjoying the beautiful scenery. After 2 days, I leave them to do a spice tour (Zanzibar is the spice capital of the world and the tour takes you through a spice farm – showing you different spices as they appear in the jungle) and visit a cave where slaves used to be hidden before being shipped north to Arabia. 

Spice Tour

Spice Tour

Spice Tour

Spice Tour

A fascinating but exhausting day, I head back to Stone Town by myself. I wasn’t yet ready to stop exploring and wanted to soak up as much of this mystical place as possible before starting the next leg of our journey. 

I shower, get dressed up and take myself out for dinner. I stop first at a delicious vegetarian restaurant for a glass of wine and appetizer before continuing to one of the most ornate and decadent Indian restaurants that I have ever been to. Everyone is exceptionally friendly and the waiter comes frequently to the table to check how I am and chat. I savour my meal and surroundings as one can only do when dining alone. When a warm bubbling starts in my chest, I can’t help but allow it to push upwards as a broad, dorky smile stretches across my face. I also can’t help but indulge my craziness by writing a short ode to my meal:

***

Dear spiced coconut vegetable curry

Thank you for the lingering heat that you have imparted –

On the slug-like expanse that is my tongue and

The shingled roof of my palate

***

I then continue to a beach side bar and words pour out of my pen and into my notebook as I sip on a rum and coke and listen to the waves lapping against the shore.

I enjoy a conversation with an eclectic group of locals before going home. 

In the moments before I fall asleep, there is no where that I would rather be on earth.

As I drift off I reflect on how Zanzibar is a strikingly obvious mélange of worlds joined by an ocean-

An unmistakably bantu Africa base, flavoured with Indian and infused by Arabic influences.

Where some of the deepest hues of culture are found - a perfectly spiced recipe

Stirred in the warm, salty and vastly expansive bowl that is the Indian Ocean.  

An African Love Affair…

….with Jomo Kenyatta International Airport

I was pretty upset about the prospect of spending Christmas away from my family and decided that if I couldn’t be with them, I should at least be in paradise.

In the weeks leading up to the Christmas holiday, I had been feeling very fuzzy, apathetic and out of it. I thought that it was a side effect of the Malaria pills. I would worry about how I was feeling, but then just forget about it because I was feeling so fuzzy.

My aunt Pat and uncle Max had given me a very generous financial gift before I left which I decided to use on a plane ticket to paradise (a.k.a Zanzibar) for the Christmas Holidays.

To get to Zanzibar from Malawi, you must first make your way to Nairobi then Dar Es Salaam, from where you can take a ferry or fly to the island. 

I waited at the Lilongwe airport for a long time – the flight was delayed by over two hours. I boarded exhausted, having not slept the night before due to a friend’s goodbye party and hurried packing. The flight was incredibly turbulent – my butt left my seat for one very terrifying moment. The Irish woman beside me could tell I was on the verge of hyperventilating and told me to ‘close your eyes and pretend like you’re on a rollercoaster’. That didn’t work too well. All in all, I arrived at my stopover in Nairobi exhausted with frayed nerves . I wasn’t looking forward to 6 hour stopover in Jomo Kenyatta Airport before continuing on to Dar Es Salaam.

And then I stepped off the plane and into the airport –

Almost immediately, I spotted a bookstore! I rush in, feeling suddenly excited and energized. I had been craving a bookstore and Lilongwe has little to offer in terms of books. I spent close to an hour in the store, picking up books, touching their pages, reading the back covers and beginnings (try not to judge me but I may have actually smelled one or two – I love books!). The woman behind the counter was incredibly friendly and had impeccable English – she recommended some reputable African literature and smiled as she handed me my bag full of book and magazine purchases. I paid on credit card! (The idea of using plastic to pay for anything in Malawi is pretty foreign. I had to pay for my plane ticket in cash – it took me two days to withdrawal the cash that I needed)

I bounced out of the bookstore feeling more awake and stimulated than I had in quite a while. I floated down the corridor (Nairobi airport is pretty much one long corridor) stopping in shops. There was an incredible variety of stores selling chocolate, jewelry, textiles, make-up…. One store even had cover-up for white people! Even though my stock has yet to run out, I almost bought it – just because I could.

At the end of the corridor there was a restaurant (with a piece of art on the wall!). I was seated at a table with a random man who was also by himself. He avoided eye contact while I beamed at him. I was pleased to see that the menu had many vegetarian options and I ordered a bean burrito. A waitress delivered a delicious looking, frothy coffee beverage to the woman at the table beside me – it was served in a clear, tall mug. I waved her down urgently and asked for one of whatever it was. Minutes later, I was sipping on a latte, devouring my new economist (the bookstore sold the economist! Not available in Malawi) and enjoying my spicy bean burrito. I was so completely and utterly happy that I couldn’t stop smiling. People looked up from their food and gave me questioning looks as I beamed back at them. I have rarely felt so buoyant and elated.

The next hours are a blur as I used the fast-ish internet at the post office, enjoyed washing my hands with the SOAP in the bathrooms, and generally just meandering around on cloud #9.

I boarded the flight to Dar feeling simultaneously satisfied and stimulated – ready for the next leg of my adventure.

I will post later about the following 3 weeks of travel through Tanzania and Zambia, save for a conversation that I had with a Canadian volunteer who I met in Zanzibar:

He listened intently while I raved about Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. When I was finished, he gently said ‘You know Lesley, the Nairobi airport is an absolute dive’.

After my initial confusion, a slow realization crept over me. It was the first time that I had fully allowed myself to acknowledge how poorly developed Malawi is. For want of being optimistic and happy in my new reality, I hadn’t allowed myself to admit how tough a time I was having adjusting. My break from the fuzziness came at the exact same time I left Lilongwe – I had been numbing myself so I as not to have to come to terms with the struggles I was facing. Realizing this has allowed me to move to a happier, more balanced place.

That airport may or may not be a bit of a dive by some standards, but I will always think fondly of my first encounter with JKIA. 

H20 Electric

I wake up in the middle of the night and stumble half asleep to the bathroom. As per usual, I look in the toilet for snakes (for more info, click here). Although I am pleased to report that I didn’t have any slithering, legless visitors in the bowl, there were a number of dead mosquitos in there. I turn on the tap and wonder if I slept oddly because I feel pins and needles in my hands as I wash them. Shrugging it off as another potential side effect of my anti-malarial medication, I make my way - crusty eyed and incoherent, back to bed.

In the morning, I wake up and go for a run. I am embarrassed to say the extent of the messy state that I was in upon returning – lets just it was a very vigorous workout on a particularly muggy Malawian morning. I need a shower.

I go into the washroom, turn on the sink and put my hands under the running water. The same thing happens as the night before and I am awake enough to acknowledge that it really hurts! I go to the kitchen to see if the same thing is happening. Dven touching the metal knob sends a sharp shock up my arm and through my body. I’m being electrocuted!

I seek out one of the buckets of water that we keep close for outages. Grabbing a mug, I decide to circumvent the issue with a bucket bath. I get in the shower, metal mug in hand and pour the first water onto the floor. I GET ELECTROCUTED AGAIN!!!! The shock moved up through the metal drain, through the water, through the metal mug and into my hand.

Now, I have become used to the fact that electricity and water are both a scarcity here and adjusted to frequent outages of both. However, this joint power-water combo is something completely new. In some cruel conspiracy, have the power and water both decided to work at the same time but joined forces to physically hurt me?!

After reporting the incident to the staff and learning that this is happening to other people (one poor backpacker actually got right into the shower before realizing it was electric water – I hope she choose to enter the stream with a leg or arm and not a more tender body part).

I switch the metal mug for a plastic scoop and opt to use the bathtub instead. Standing as far away from the drain, I drip water on myself so as not to create a steady stream. This works reasonably well and I manage to avoid being shocked.

Now for the part I have been dreading: I have to go pee.

I wonder if the toilet water or ceramic could conduct electricity upstream in the same way the drain did via the metal mug. Stakes are high here, but I really have to go. I ask my roommate Tyler if he thinks it is possible… he laughs and tells me that he thinks an electrocution of the worst form is improbable. I use my high-squat technique, honed by the snake incident.

I emerged triumphant based on my morning learning that a staccotoed stream does not conduct like a steady one – and the assumption that a ceramic bowl is a less likely conductor than the water contained within.

Later that day an electrician fixed the situation– electricity had somehow been ‘leaking’ into the water supply. After experiencing the endemic power and water outages, I thought I was prepared for anything Malawi could throw at me with regards to H20 and electricity. Well, that morning proved me wrong!

Lessons:

·      Never get too confident that you have mastered the art of living in a new place.

·      Expect the unexpected and keep a plastic scoop close by.

The Politics of Pants

A very upsetting and unfortunate incident occurred in Malawi on Tuesday. A number of women wearing pants and ‘miniskirts’ (in Malawi, a skirt just below the knee is considered a miniskirt) were attacked on the street in certain areas of Lilongwe. News of these attacks spurred similar attacks in Blantyre and Mzuzu, the other 2 largest cities in the country.

Women were held down and forcibly stripped in broad daylight by street vendors who claimed they were dressed provocatively.  These attacks were to send a message to Malawian women about how they should dress ‘appropriately’.

I can’t believe that this is happening in 2012. I remember listening in disbelief when my mother recounted the tale of her elementary school changing its policy to allow girls to wear pants when she was in Grade 8.  The concept of being unable to wear pants seemed completely foreign and distant. In Malawi, women were unable to wear pants until 1994 at the end of the 33 year rule of former President Hastings Kamuzu Banda.

The strippings have caused a public outcry with women and some supportive men from across the country arranging advocacy activities including:

-A campaign called ‘Vendor, Lero Ndikugule Mawa Undivule?’ (translates as ‘Vendors - today we buy from you, tomorrow you strip us?’. There has been wide acceptance of this campaign with many people, including myself, boycotting purchases from male street vendors.  

-A peaceful sit-in is happening today in Blantyre, including speakers on Women’s Rights.

-A march is currently happening near the Parliament building in Lilongwe.

-People are being encouraged to wear white in a sign of peaceful protest. Today I donned my white t-shirt and saw some people doing the same. It was tough to tell if this was deliberate or coincidental.

I have felt very angry and upset about the public strippings. These events were a gross contravention of women’s rights and have shone light on some lingering negative societal attitudes. I cannot get over how cruel a violation it is to forcibly strip someone in public.My thoughts go out to the women who were assaulted and those who do not feel free to dress as they choose.

I believe that these assaults erupted in part because of a very tense economic and political situation and hope that these horrific events don't overshadow other major problems that Malawi is facing. 

Getting dressed in the morning has never felt like a political act until this week. I wavered for a very long time at my clothing rack on Wednesday morning. On one hand, almost all Malawian woman were wearing long skirts for safety reasons and it had been recommended that I follow suit. I was also worried that if I wore pants and anything happened, media attention would detract from the real problems the country is facing. I also continue to be conscious of my role as an outsider with regards to taking on issues that are not my own. On the other hand, I am aware that I enjoy a significant amount of privilege by nature of being an upper-middle class white skinned Westerner. It is very important for me that I use my privilege to ally with those less privileged. Women’s rights implicate everyone and it is an honour to champion them in any small way that I can. 

I wore a long dress on Wednesday and felt wrong about it all day. After a conversation with two gender specialist friends,  I put on my pants – one leg at a time - on Thursday and set out for work (pepper spray in hand).

I received a heckling from a man on my walk to work, but a thumbs up from a young woman in a long skirt. The thumbs up far cancelled out the heckling. I am happy with my decision – I am wearing pants today and will continue to do so in support of women's rights.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-16645594

International Volunteer Day - December 5, 2011

Training of TUSEME ('Let us Speak Out' Club) at School in Malili

‘Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.’ -Margaret Mead

Monday (December 5, 2011) was International Volunteer Day. To celebrate, the UNDP in Malawi put together an event for volunteer organizations and volunteers in Malawi.

The ceremony included some speeches and the launch of the UN Report on Volunteering. The thing that impressed me about the event was the acknowledgement of the important work of domestic volunteers.

Oftentimes, I feel like there is a misconception that volunteers in Malawi are well-wishing westerns that fly in from cold countries then leave. It is true that there are many foreigners volunteering here. It makes sense that one of the least developed countries in the world would attract resources and support from other, more developed nations. I have had the privilege of meeting many very dedicated and passionate foreign volunteers here.

Mother Group Training

That said, the term volunteering has become synonymous in some people’s books with azungu (foreigners/white people). This undermines and fails to acknowledge the resources that many Malawians pour into their communities and country. I think of the Mother Groups – women who donate their time to promote the importance of educating girls in their communities. I also think of the selflessness with which Malawians take care of their extended family and members in their communities. Of course, this is in addition to the many Malawians who volunteer on the side with non-government organizations and dedicate their time to unpaid internships. I believe that this is the case in many other places, although the stories we often hear in the west are of westerners volunteering in developing countries.

In the case of disaster relief, ‘Ninety percent of the people saved are saved by their neighbours and family, 10 percent by people who rush in from round and about, and about 0.01% of people who come in from the other side of the world.’ (Tony Vaux, author of the Selfish Altruist).

I recently attended a Mother Group Training in Malili, a rural area just outside of Lilongwe. FAWEMA was concurrently training a TUSEME (Kiswahili for ‘Let us Speak Out’) club with learners from the same school (the pictures from this entry are of the volunteer training). This school was comprised of a few small buildings and has approximately 800 regular students (although 1100 are officially registered). The energy and enthusiasm of both the Mother Groups and children was amazing, especially given that they are giving up their personal time for something that they believe in. 

Mother Group Training, Malili

TUSEME Club Members in Training (Classroom), Malili

Group Work - TUSEME Club Training

At the risk of sounding cliché, volunteering is one of those activities and passions that overcomes barriers of language and culture and connects people from around the globe. 

TUSEME Club Training

I think of the energy and commitment of the Mother Groups and am reminded of my mentors Angela and Julie from the Rotary Club of Ottawa… my former volunteer board colleagues at the AIDS Committee of Ottawa… the Rotarians that have played an integral role at coming close to eradicating polio in India … community volunteers in HIV/AIDS in the townships of South Africa… my family helping to raise a guide dog… my church community supporting a local shelter… the Malawian mother groups and TUSEME clubs… and the myriad of other volunteers of all different demographics everywhere in the world. 

I am incredibly excited by the knowledge that there are people speckled across the globe who dedicate their time and resources for the sole purpose of wanting to make a positive impact, to touch something or someone, to leave the world a slightly better place. My deepest gratitude to all of the volunteers that I have had the privilege to know.

In one of my favourite books, Touch the Dragon, Karen Connelly writes:

‘I'd like to believe--and I sometimes do--that every boundary between people can be crossed, that we are connected to each other by invisible bonds that override distance. My skin stretches over the earth.’

I think that volunteering may just be one of those bonds. 

Some New TUSEME Club Members
with gifts from Christ Church, Mississauga

Mother Group and Trainers - Malili