21 April 2013
Today I was asking a friend about a certain gentleman whose lorry I will be riding to a nearby village to speak to the head master about
teaching health topics to his secondary students. I wanted to know how he was doing being that
his son passed away 2 months ago from a sudden illness whose funeral I
attended. It was a big event as the father and son were well respected as they
have contributed much to their respective communities.
My friend told me that recently there was another funeral…another
member of this gentleman’s family had passed away. Sad to learn that not only
did he buried his son not long ago, but whom else did he have to bury again? I
was told it was his granddaughter. My eyes widened and I gasped in disbelief, “Christa?!!?!?” My friend didn’t know the
child’s name but I gave every description about Christa hoping my friend would adamantly
respond “NO”. After confirming my
answers, my heart sunk when I learned it was indeed she. Here is the story of how
I met Christa.
One late afternoon after finished teaching, I was walking on
the end of my street to go hunt for food as a friend told me that cabbages could
be found in that direction in a shack store. If I don’t find food, then I
really had not much to eat for dinner so I was on a mission not to starve that
evening. As I am walking, I see no cabbages or really anything for sale at
shack stores except tomatoes and onions. I continued walking and at the same
time, I wanted to find and visit Pesa Mbili’s store. He is a “well known” old
man who has a lorry where people pay him to take them into town to buy bulk sodas,
dried goods and whatever mumbo jumbo they can sell back at our village. He has
a timber production and a shack store selling petrol in addition so I’d venture
to say he probably has money
according to the villagers’ standard. I entered his store, not knowing it was
the store I wanted to visit, and discovered there was nothing special but a lot
of kangas for sale. I asked him, at the time not knowing he is Pesa Mbili,
where I can buy cabbages as I was told there was some for sale in his area. He
directed me to the house in front of his store. I thanked him but doubtful,
because I saw nothing. I entered a house and a young man tells me there is no
cabbage for sale. Frustrated and confused, I returned to the old man and asked
again where these cabbages are. He took me to the same young man and we were
told again that he had none to sell. This old man, feeling sorry for me and
knowing that the white person has no farm to live off of, has a heart and asked
his wife to go fetch me some pumpkin leaves. I was grateful for his kindness
and I followed his wife and a young girl tagged along. As we walked together to
their field, I am making chitchat. The young girl confidently said to me, “ If
you want, you can speak English”. Surprised, I turned around to look down at
the child. My thought was “why yes, my Swahili sucks ….and who are you?
It was right there and then I first took noticed of this young
girl as I was speaking to her grandmother and hadn’t paid attention to her
following us. So we began to talk and shortly I discovered it was her father
who had died. With empathy, I told her my father passed away too when I was 12
years old just like her. Instantly, I saw her eyes light up and with delight,
as there was comfort in her dark eyes suggesting that she is not alone. Certainly,
it made her feel good to know a complete stranger, maybe a foreigner, could
relate to her. We immediately bonded once we shared this common tragedy. We
exchanged names and I will always remember her telling me that she liked my
name, Wendy. What was remarkable
about Christa was her maturity and strength. She was in my village to attend her
father’s funeral, she was resilient and in a million years, one would never
have guessed that this child just buried a parent. She spoke in a very
matter-of-fact fashion and was wise beyond her 12 years of life. She spoke
highly of her father and given that this kid had a very good command of the
English language, her father did a wonderful job raising her, as he was the one
who taught her English. The father had a good profession and understood the
importance of education and speaking English well. I told Christa that her
father must have been a good man and father.
Christa revealed that she did see me at her father’s funeral. That is when
I found out that her grandfather is Pesa Mbili.
I was impressed with this young girl’s confidence and knew
she would go far in life if she chose to. I invited her to my home. Moreover, I
think she needed a friend in this time of mourning. The next morning, 3
visitors woke me up from my sleep: Pesa Mbili, his grandson, and granddaughter,
Christa. They briefly stopped inside my house to inform me that Christa will
visit me alone in the afternoon after grandpa takes his grandkids to the next
village to eat meat.
Mid afternoon, Christa came and coincidently another friend arrived
at the same time for a visit. I was hoping to be alone with Christa because my
friend does not speak English and for her to sit in our conversation may be
boring …but whatever, welcome to my house
everyone. When in Tanzania…karibu! As I am conversing with Christa, I
discovered how ambitious she was. I dare say it’s not everyday in Tanzania I
will meet a 12 years old girl who thinks of becoming a lawyer of international
law. Her English was better than the teachers in my two primary schools or the
secondary schools I’ve visited. I can totally imagine that her father must have
been extremely proud of his daughter for she was a smart cookie who was
articulate and precocious. I offered her every snack food that existed in my
home ie little bags of popcorn and cookies and gave her whatever I could scrounge…box
of new crayons and pens as souvenirs of our acquaintance.
We met again the next day because I rode in her
grandfather’s lorry to go into town. I sat next to Christa in front of the
lorry and as we stopped at the next village, I see a teenage girl who came
unexpectedly to my home the week before. I called the girl over who was
standing on the street. “Christa, ask
this girl who she is and why she came to my house. I didn’t understand what she
was saying to me when she came over.” I was not happy that this teenager
who now sees me pretended not to know me. Christa translated my question and
this teenager’s answers were totally illogical. I think she’s a mental case: a
hungry 14 years old that knows a foreigner lives in the house and just wanted
to check her out, the house out, and especially the kitchen out! Karibu, I guess…I did offer her popcorn as
the beans I was cooking was not ready. She must have wanted food as she kept
inquiring the whereabouts of my kitchen and asked couple times to see it and
wanted to know what I was cooking.
That was the last I saw of Christa…arriving into town. I had
even thought of inviting her to join me in my running of errands. I needed to
go to bank, post office, and buy food…these chores are easier done alone and
wouldn’t be terribly exciting for a kid so I never bothered asking. Although, why did she come into town? She
knew I was going to ride the lorry and maybe this was her way to indirectly
hang with me again? She would have to also run errands with the driver and my
errands are more interesting than his…surely. At least she could practice
speaking English with a foreigner, which may be somewhat fun for her. I went my way and thought we would ride
together again on our way back to my village. I knew she would be returning to
her town in northern Tanzania in couple days. She missed a week of school to
come to my village to bury her father who didn’t live in my village either. His
body was transported from his town. When my plan changed that I didn’t take the
lorry back into town, I missed the opportunity to see Christa again.
It is sad that Christa is no longer around…for I believe her
family, friends, community and perhaps even Tanzania have lost a potentially shining
star. I’m confident she would have been a successful person where she would be
an inspiration to young women in Tanzania as gender equality is still not up to
par.
Tomorrow I may or may not see Pesa Mbili. I truly don’t
know what to say to this man. He has lost his son and granddaughter in a span
of only 2 months.
The good die young.
Oh, you may be wondering what Christa died from. She
suffered tuberculosis. Yes, it is amazing that we are in the 21st
century and people can still die from this disease. Well, I am a Peace Corps Health
Extension Worker stationed in Africa to teach health and prevention. I will
dedicate my teaching of health topics to Christa…Rest in peace, little angel.
22 April 2013
This morning I boarded the lorry and soon shortly, Christa’s
grandfather sat next to me. He was holding a little girl, his other
granddaughter, I am assuming. I asked
him how he was and how was Christa…hoping he would either lie to me or tell me
someone else died. His reply to me while giving me a big wide smile was “alikufa!” (She died) I looked into his
eyes for a while to see if there was real happiness behind that wide grin or him
pretending not to be sad just to appease me since he knew I was fond of his
granddaughter. I saw peaceful acceptance. I asked him how. He spoke and what I
took away from his explanation was that she missed her father too much.
Rest in Peace, little angel…you are now with your beloved
father.
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