Sophia

First, the Colors:

Yellow-clad evenings. Sandy roads. Proud baobab trees. Bright fruits carefully placed on cheerful cloths. The warm glow of the dark skin of the people. The deep green palm fronds swaying in the wind. The scent of fiery red Pili Pili in the air. The delicate light blue waves tirelessly lapping against the shore. The golden light of the sun as it disappears on the horizon.

You might be wondering what an unusual way this is to start a text. What’s missing? Of course—a proper introduction. Where has my good manners gone? I could introduce myself formally, but that’s not necessary.

Because this is more about a place, far away. Nestled in the heart of Africa. You know, when I close my eyes, I still hear the heartbeat of Africa. Steady and powerful, pulsing.

Some people say that people are the music they listen to, the books they read, the places they’ve been, the people they’ve met. Perhaps that’s why one leaves a piece of their heart in so many places on Earth.

I want to share a few memories from that place in Tanzania.

Yes, She Can:

Julia’s dream is coming to life; sewing machines, brave women, chalks, a stack of ideas, sugar cane sticks, papaya trees, and even more dreams.

A Few Pictures of the New Center:

The trees are covered in blankets of green foliage. There is a huge garden, eagerly waiting to be planted with fruit trees, herb spirals, and vegetable gardens. Majestic baobab trees surround the newly built buildings. Classrooms stand ready, barely able to wait to welcome diligent students. The kitchen awaits. The dormitory does too.

A beautiful place! Yet, one day, it will be the girls who will bring this place to life.

They are admirable; honestly! They wear wide, colorful dresses; and sometimes elaborate hairstyles and have lively spirits.

The helping hands create magnificent batik cloths, stamp, knot, braid, and tirelessly weave and stitch. They transform a chunk of fabric and some industrious sewing machines into bags, dresses, aprons, and more and more…

Then there are the heads that laugh and joke around, look ahead and ponder, strive to improve; even trying to understand my chaotic drawings and sentences on the blackboard.

Moreover, they are very enthusiastic about learning new things. The Pamoja project is not just a sewing school; it also strives to bring attention to other issues.

One day, we walked to the beach to fish some trash and nets out of the beloved sea. Crumpled bags turned into trash containers. Broken fishing nets were pulled from the sandy bottom. Plastic lids were picked from the sand. I, a makeshift English teacher with somewhat scribbled sketches and occasionally outlandish ideas, tried to incorporate a few English vocabulary words. A wild dip in the cool waves was part of it!

But not only that! Even outside the project, on the roads to Dar Es Salaam, I diligently gathered impressions and pictures.

Contributors:

Colorful dresses, a monkey stealing books, the humid air of Dar Es Salaam; many, many human faces.

I almost burst with curiosity. Every time it’s the same when heading into the wilderness towards Dar Es Salaam. I continuously wish for at least five more eyes to absorb all the excitement. The road is dusty. Everything that can move does move. Among them, the most rickety vehicles. On the sandy edges of the road, children trudge on their way to school. People of all ages trade fruits, vegetables, cashew nuts, slippers, fabrics, clothes, spices. Sky-blue hippie buses cross the path. People cling to each other inside. Wild mango trees. Small houses, a handful of rooms, covered by a flat roof. Women cooking over open fires. Young guys on motos, with their youthful recklessness, startling the occasional temperament. Colorful markets.

I encounter many, many faces. So many faces. Happy faces. Tired faces. I swing between fascination and pity. So many people who cannot take advantage of all the opportunities I have.

I always thought of myself as quite grateful. After all, I thanked anyone who held the door open for me or did something nice. But I had never truly understood what a privilege it is to have a meal on the table every day, to go to the hospital or school “just like that,” until now.

Why? You know, I often ask myself that. Why doesn’t the same apply to everyone? Why do some people have the opportunity to make something great out of their lives while others can barely finish primary school? I am confused; I can’t find an explanation or sense.

I watch the school children as they march in line towards a crowded classroom. So much potential. So many dreams. So much hope. Yet, they often remain forever fruit vendors on the street. Trapped in the crust of their bodies and their environment.

And yet—I can’t stop finding the lives of African people incredibly fascinating and astonishing. I am thrilled whenever I see something unusual. Surprised by the world so foreign and yet so similar.

I took so much with me on my journey home. The words, the memories, the music, the colors, the smells, the thoughts, the rhythm of Africa.

Much love, Sophia