"The wrong doing of another does not cancel out the blessings you brought"

I rarely post blogs two days in a row, but I just have something to say.
Yesterday, I posted a blog expressing some negative feelings.
I mean like, sit-in-a-dark-room-listening-to-Sarah-McLachlan kind of feelings.
(You should go read that before you read this, or you'll be totes confused)
Within the past twenty-four hours, the responses I have received have been overwhelming.
Knowing my precious friends and family, I expected people to try to encourage me.
I never expected the heart felt, honest responses which I got to my post.

When I was in Tanzania, every time I posted a blog I had people telling me how proud they were and how "awesome" I am. That makes me a little uncomfortable. It's super nice and I know that the people who wrote those things meant them, but that's not why I do what I do.
And I would trade every compliment and "atta girl" I've ever received, just to know that Rosie will walk one day, or that my students don't go to sleep hungry.
But that's not a thing. You don't get to trade.

After I posted my blog yesterday, I almost deleted it. For two reasons. (1) I thought it was too whiny. (2) I didn't think anyone would truly understand, and I feared people would think I was just plain-old being too hard on myself.
Rarely in my life have I felt so understood.
I have gotten responses from friends who were in Africa with me, friends who have done similar things in different places, and friends who have never experienced what I went through.
And every single one of them gave me hope.
While I was gone, I shared a lot of my experiences on facebook and my blog, so while my friends know a lot of what I went through, they weren't there. They didn't experience it with me, but many of them felt it with me.
But I learned today, that the struggle is universal.
You don't have to be an international wanderer to feel inconsequential.
At some point, we all feel like a grain of sand on a massive beach.

In the past day, I have had people both encourage me, and berate me. Both in a good way.
I've been encouraged to keep my head up, and I've been berated for doubting myself and the power of Love.
I have had people say the most honest, loving things to me, making me feel that it truly is worth it.
Am I still sad? Yes. I wish that I could know full well that Rosie's future is bright.
I don't know that. But I do know that Rosie is bright. I do know that I put my heart into my time with her and no one, including her own mother, has permission to take that away from me.
I learned that from my friend Lauren. She said to me, "The wrongdoing of another does not cancel out the blessings you brought." She's so smart. And she even has an English accent, which makes her sound even smarter.
From my friend Rachel, I learned that I have no idea what "could have been" and I just need to rest in the peace of knowing that I truly did what I could.
From my friend Noraa, I learned that my actions are significant, and that I have no right to blame myself for issues that have existed since the dawn of time.
From my friends Katie and Juliette and Emily, I learned that I have a support system and friends who are willing to understand me.
From my friend Michelle, I learned what the word dichotomy means.
From Rosie, I learned that we don't choose what we get in this life. But we have the power to choose what we do with what we get.
And do you know what I got in this life? I got a hell of a lot more than I could ever possibly deserve. Not only did I get financial blessings and a first-world life, but I got a heart that hurts for others.
Until yesterday, I've always seen this as a curse. I am so glad that my heart is not okay with complacency. I got a family and friends who stand beside me and hold me up when I cannot stand on my own two feet. I have learned that I am a tiny part of this huge, beautiful, awesome, scary, ugly, terrifying, amazing thing called humanity.
And I am so blessed by that.
So to my friends and family, to my roommates and house mates from Tanzania, to Rosie, to her Mother:
Thank you.
It hurts. But thank you for teaching me.

This isn't funny. Just kind of real.

Today, I had a lovely Skype session with my dear friend Megan.
She was my roommate in Tanzania and has just returned to spend a month there.
When she arrived, I asked her to check on Rosie.  (The little girl with Spina Bifida, she's adorable, cute cheeks, wheel chair, watched her stand up for the first time. Refer to 80% of my blog posts)
Today, Megan told me that Rosie is no longer attending school at Hill Crest.
Her mother was taking the money intended to bring Rosie to rehab, and using it to buy a shop.  So Rosie is also no longer attending rehab.
My heart sank.
I think it sank even deeper because I wasn't surprised to hear this news.
Taking care of Rosie was something I felt I was meant to do.
But what was it worth?

My mom once told me a story from when she was a kid.
(At least this is how I remember the story, my mom will probably read this and then inform me that I told it wrong. But here's how it goes as best as I can recall)
Her mom, my granny, saw some stray puppies on the side of the road.
She brought them home, gave them a bath, de-fleed them, fed them, and let the kids play with them.
And then she put them back on the side of the  road.
For a day, the puppies had a home.
But then they returned to their inevitable fate.
Now, don't go getting angry at Granny, this was the 60's and she just wanted to bring her kids some joy. And she thought she was doing right by the puppies by giving them a meal.

Everything looks different in retrospect.
I look back on my time with Rosie, and I wonder if I treated her like she was a stray puppy. Did I just delay the inevitable? After standing up for the first time at 5 years old, and finally getting leg braces, will she now just live her life as a person with no use of her legs? Did I help her or did I hurt her?

I have the sweetest friends and family. I am constantly being encouraged and supported. I appreciate that. But I am anticipating that when I post this, I will have people commenting on it, blindly saying, "no, you did the right thing!"  And that is so nice, but I truly don't know if I did. Before I left Tanzania, I was talking to my friend Melissa, whom I greatly respect. She said, "you know, what we're doing here is really mean. We come here for a few months , and we love these kids. And we let them love us. And then we leave. We tell them we care and we leave. That sucks." She was right. That does suck.

And I don't actually expect to come to any conclusions here. And I don't even have some poignant philosophical thought. And my heart hasn't changed. I still miss those kids. I'm still so glad I went. I still want to go back.
But it's all selfishly.
It's all selfish.
I spent the most amazing months of my life on Tanzania, living with little and loving my kids.
Now I am sitting on my couch writing this on my iPhone.
I drove to work in my brand new car, and I got myself Starbucks this morning.
And it is in these moments that I hate myself.
Just a little.
Just the tiniest bit.
And not in a self loathing, I-really-hate-myself kind of way.

I just hate that I am more of a product than a human being.
I hate that Rosie's life has returned to even worse than what it was when I got there. At least she was  in school before I met her. If I hadn't tried to help her, she  might still be there.
I hate that I haven't changed the world, like I planned to.
And more than anything, I hate that the world has changed me.  

We'll see where the wind takes me.

For so long, my life has been "Africa"
Months before I left, Africa was all that I spoke about, all that I thought about. I spent all my time preparing and getting ready.
Now that I'm home, everyone has been asking me how it was, what I did, if I miss it, everything.
I've been home a month and a half now, and the questions are coming less frequently, but the flashbacks are not.
I think of my home in Tanzania almost constantly.
I look through the pictures of my kids every chance I get, and not a night has gone by where i haven't dreamed of at least one of my wonderful housemates.
My suitcase still sits on my floor, waiting to be emptied.
I understand that is ridiculous, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. Emptying my suitcase is the final step to completely transitioning into life here. (Symbolically, that is. Realistically, it's just a mess in my room.)
The difficulty I am faced with right now is that, for the past year or so, my life has revolved around Africa, and now it doesn't.
The most common question I get asked is, "what next?"
My response is, "Well, next, I'm going to PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE for asking me questions I cant answer!" ...I mean "Oh, I don't know yet, we'll see where the wind takes me."
There are very few things I know for sure in this life.
Those things include:
1. God watches over me and I am never left hanging for long.
2. Yelling at a person is never the best option.
3. If you get too adventurous with the toaster oven, it will start a fire.

Everything else is a maybe.
Hopefully I'll see my kids again, hopefully I'll be back in Africa soon.
Those are the things I'm planning for, but I have learned to see where life takes me. And I've learned to trust life. So far, it has taken me to some pretty incredible places.

For now, I am just biding my time, working, cultivating my wonderful friendships, watching Downton Abbey, taking pictures of my dog, and training for a half marathon.

We'll see where the wind takes me.

Somebody call the WAHmbulance.

I've spent the past week and a half avoiding writing this, because I don't want to face the fact that this part of my journey is over and I am actually in New Jersey.

I cannot believe it was almost two weeks ago that I got into that taxi and drove away from the place I've come to call home.
After the countless times that I've watched other people leave Arusha, I was completely unprepared for my own departure.
My housemates were incredible and sweet, and made me feel so loved.
The cab ride to the airport felt like a dream. Like a really weird dream where you know you're dreaming and you're trying so hard to wake up but you just can't.
Holy crap, I didn't think I would get this emotional writing this.
But there is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina who would not be surprised at all that I'm sobbing.
There is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina whom I just want to hug and sit on the porch with and talk about our days and play stupid pranks with.

Time moves so strangely here. I feel like I just got home, and in some ways, I feel like I've been home for months. But I do not feel like I never left. I will never feel that way.
There are things that changed in my heart that are irreversible.
Never again will I be the same girl I was six months ago.
I came home with a lot of scars.
46 bug bite scars.
scars on my legs, on my knees, elbows, arms, face, and multiple bruises I have no explanation for.

But the real scars are the ones inside of me.
The ones that formed on my heart when I walked away from my kids.
The ones that represent all the memories I made, and the hard times I went through with my friends by my side.

My dear friend and room mate, Mane, wrote me a letter, and in it, she said;
      "I believe scars are the marks life leaves behind to help us remember what we have learned and lived, to remind us that we are strong and can overcome anything. They are the marks people we meet leave when they walk away, and help to remind us how important it is that they were present in that time."

She is so right.
I have scars.
All over my body.
And I also have a scar on the inside for ever single child that I love and every single mzungu I lived with who became like family to me.
I am so grateful for these scars.
They say all scars have a story, right?
I got a lot of stories.

This will be a process, living at home.
It is not easy to leave Africa and live in New Jersey.
It's weird.
That's the only word I can think of. I've been feeling weird since I got here.
But weird's not bad, and I know I'll be okay.
I have all my scars to get me through it.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M LEAVING TOMORROW?!

It is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to the children who have become mine.

This is so difficult, and unknowingly, they make it even harder for me by loving me back.
On Monday, I said goodbye to my kids at Cheti, and my Angel.
The kids sang me a song and gave me a gift and said thank you, and I cried.
I met Angel's family, and told her I would not see her for a while, and I cried.
She asked me when I was coming back, and I told her it would probably be at least a year, and I cried.
She got sad and said, "Okay, Teacha, I love you" and kissed me on the cheek, and I cried.
Then she called me "Mama" and I SOBBED.

Today, I said goodbye to my kids who live at the Hope Orphanage.
I brought them books and vitamins, and told them I loved them, and I cried.
We played games, and I read them stories, and I cried.
I couldn't handle it, so I walked to the back of the building, and I cried.
They all followed me to see if I was okay and give me hugs, and I cried.
We folded their laundry and sang songs, and I cried.
They told me not to go home, and I cried.
I kissed them all on the head, told them I loved them, and I cried.
I waved to them, walked out the gate, shut the door, and I cried.
Then they all ran out the gate after me to hug me one more time, and I SOBBED.

I cried on the ride home, I cried when I walked in the door, I cried when I looked at the pictures we took today, I am currently crying.

I have to do this again twice tomorrow.
I have to say goodbye to my students tomorrow morning, and I have to say goodbye to my housemates, who have become my friends and family tomorrow evening.
I hate goodbyes.

I am so happy to see my friends and family in the states, but my heart is being torn to shreds.
I cannot believe this is my last night in Africa.
It flew by.

Where did half a year go?
It went into the cracks and crevices in the rocks that line the dirt path I walk every morning.
It went into every laugh, every smile, and every tear experienced over the past five months.
It went into the hearts of all the children I have fallen in love with and who have become mine.
It went into every pang I felt in my heart when one of my kids told me they loved me for the first time.
It went into every loud night staying up laughing with my room mates.
It went into every breath expelled during meaningful conversations with my house mates about how we can possibly change the world.
It went into the heart of every wonderful person I've lived with and become friends with in this house.

I've said goodbye to a lot of my fellow volunteers over the past few months, and that was always hard.
But to look into the eyes of my babies, and tell them I'm leaving them, that I won't be back for a while, that I love them, but I have another family, that I let them love me and now I'm going away...
I have experienced very few pains greater than this.

It is with a heavy heart that I say "kwaheri".

It's a bitter sweet symphony

My life is one giant contradiction.
I am so exhausted, and so happy.
I am dreading leaving Africa, and so excited to be with my friends and family.
I am frustrated, and fulfilled.

Life in Africa is a giant contradiction.
It is the most frustrating place on Earth (except maybe the DMV) and also the most beautiful place on Earth.
This weekend, my friends and I took a last minute trip to a beach town called Tanga.
You drive through the slums, through the vast countryside, which is beautiful and looks like you're driving through the Lion King, through some more slums, and come out in a beautiful African Paradise.

It was an incredible weekend. But getting to and from Tanga by bus is a Hell I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
Picture a greyhound bus, with teeny tiny seats, where your knees don't fit at all, even if you're short like me, fill it to the brim with people in every seat, people on laps, people standing, kids throwing up, crying babies, make it 100 degrees Fahrenheit, add the fact that most people on this bus have never worn deodorant, and do that for over eight hours.
It's worth it for the incredible weekend break in Tanga, but it's freaking frustrating.
But then, also put in that bus, your wonderful friends whom you have grown to love with your whole heart.
And put in a little slap-happiness, and you can turn this aggravating trek into a great memory.
Today, on the ride home, I sat in a three-seater with my friend Lauren, and we just  did not have the patience to be cramped in the seat, so we took a blanket, rolled it up, put it on the seat between us, and pretended it was a baby. Every time someone came by to sit in the seat we would pet the blanket, and say, "Shhh, it's okay, Freddie, don't cry." We named the baby Freddie Prinze the Third. We definitely had cabin fever. Somehow, we got away with it, and we basically just laughed at our baby for eight hours straight.

Bare with my weird story, I'm still over-exhausted.
What I'm trying to say in a very round-about way, is that I have learned to turn frustrating situations into good memories.
Five months ago, if you had put me on that bus, I would have screamed the entire time.
Now, I just turn bedding into babies, and go with the flow.

I got here at the end of November, and I was often frustrated with many things I saw and experienced around Tanzania.
The education system, the cultural norms, the men, the food-service industry, the public transportation, everything.
Now, these are my norms, this is my life.
I don't know what I'll do when I go "home". It now feels weird to call America home.
I don't know what I'll do when I go out to eat, and food comes in less than two hours, when people are on time, when guys are respectful to me around town, when everyone is in a rush, when I always have to be somewhere NOW.

My friend Samantha is here for my last two weeks, which has made me so happy, but I can't help but laugh every time she gets frustrated. When she says "How freakin long does it take to make a pizza?" and I reply, "could take all day, this is Africa."

These things that used to make me so angry, are now normal, I'm used to them, and I actually kind of relish them. This is part of life in Africa.
I'm sure it will be nice for a while to have people be on time and have things be quick, and not having twelve kids hanging all over me all the time, but I will miss it.

Someone once told me, "In America, you've got clocks, but in Africa, we've got time."
This is so true.
We've got time.
But, I actually don't have much time left now.
I'll be leaving my home in one weeks and four days.
I might puke.
Do not get me wrong, I am so excited and ready to be back in the familiar with my loved ones, but I now have a new familiar. A new normal.
My heart is being torn in two at the moment.
The closer it gets to the 2nd of May, the more excited I get about going back to the States, and the more upset I get at the prospect of leaving Africa, and my kids.
This is just a rant, and like I said, I am extremely exhausted, but these are my thoughts, and that's that.
Have a great day, everyone, and don't let the little things getcha down.

Babies, babies, every where!

I want to tell you about three incredible people.

I met them all today, and each of them has inspired me beyond belief. 

They are all babies.

I went to Cradle of Love baby orphanage today with my friends Jenn and Matt to visit.

It is an awesome establishment! They take care of babies under 3 years old if they are abandoned, or sick beyond their family's ability to handle, or just orphaned.

The first baby I met was a little albino baby boy named Jackson. 

He was so freaking cute! 

In Tanzania, being albino is sort of taboo. 

There is a lot of superstition in the culture here, and much of it has to do with albino people. 

It is widely believed that the blood of an albino person will cure you of AIDS. 

Clearly, this is not true, but albino people are often hunted, because they are thought to be magical in the way of healing people with blood and body parts.

Albino limbs are sold to witch doctors to make potions.

This is sick.

I don't know the full story of how Jackson ended up at the orphanage. Maybe his family abandoned him because he was albino, maybe they placed him in the orphanage because he was not safe at home.

Jackson does not have AIDS-curing blood.

He is not magic.

But what he is, is a beautiful, sweet baby boy with big blue eyes, who loves to play.

He is such a happy little baby, and I hope that he will have a future where he can grow up into an incredible man. I love Tanzania, but these old superstitions are disgusting and need to end.

Another baby I met was called Jerry.

Jerry was so cute and giggly, and is just learning to walk.

I fed him lunch, and then we just walked for like fifteen minutes.

He is not very steady on his feet, and he had a death-grip on my thumbs as we took teeny tiny, faltering steps all around the orphanage.

Watching his determination while trying to walk was so cool and inspiring! 

He was concentrating so hard, and was determined to take the next step, and the next.

Jerry has HIV.

He is a baby. And he is HIV positive.

It is not fair.

Jerry's only worry is whether he will stay upright to take the next step.

Jerry is a fighter. 

Jerry inspires me.

The last baby I want to tell you about is called Gift.

He is approximately two months old, they are not sure exactly when he was born.

He was found in March in a pit-toilet.

These toilets are just huge holes in the ground with an outhouse over them, and they are often 40ft deep or so.

Someone, most likely his mother, threw him in this pit.

He was found by a man who was able, with much difficulty, to rescue him from this hole.

He had sores all over him and was very sick.

But he was alive!

What an incredible feat!

He is so tiny, his little hands are like minuscule butterflies, and he loves to hold on to your fingers.

He had some difficulty breathing, but his sores are gone, and he is definitely on the mend.

This tiny person, who is about the size of my head, inspired me so much.

An infant, thrown down a deep hole, into human waste for God knows how long.

And he survived.

I cannot wait to see what this baby does in his life, because I know there was a reason that he survived.

All of these situations are sad, but these babies are now being taken care of.

They'll be okay.

These three itty-bitty people gave me so much hope.

They are Braver than they Believe.