May, 2018.
I decide to buy some thing for the kids using part of the money that Jeremiah gave to me. I buy colors pencils, sharpeners, two balls and two robes. I know that it does not look much but for them it means something.
I still have a few more days in Tanzania but I want to talk about my experience in general already because it involves the school and everything.
After my bad experience in Dodoma, I decide to give another chance to the country coming here, to Dar es Salaam. It is a village, far from town, in a school which really needs some help, so I thought I could leave more happy. But no really. Some people can be nice but the majority does not have manners or common sense at all. From all African countries I have been to, where as a white person you feel like the centre of attention on the streets, Tanzania is the one where I feel worse. People pointing at you, talk about you in front of you, they are always laughing on you, they do not respect you, plus sometimes they can be very rude. Going to the shops is a nightmare for me here! The food is quite normal with the Ugali been the most typical and different food. The rest of it is the same: rice, beans, vegetables, potatoes, sweet potatoes, chapati, a type of tortilla de batata but simply mixing some chips with eggs, and tea all the time. Oh, and in the morning, they are use to have a small lunch, like a fish or chicken soup with chapati and tea.
At the school, things go up and down all the time. Teaching kids in a small and poor community is nothing similar with the also poor schools but back in Brazil. The kids have a lot of love to give and they are quite smart. Their English is also not bad thanks to Mr. P. who introduced it since Nursery Classes. Still, when I am teaching them it is inevitable to think about my kids from Ireland and Spain and the other kids I have met somewhere else. They are so ahead of the kids from here. Even Sawsha’s daughter, back in Mauritania. Of course I know it is a system problem. The government is not doing a good thing for the education so the quality is quite low. But what also shocks me is the behavour of the teachers. I already told you before how weird it is to me the way which they treat the kids. When they make some mistake on the lesson, the way that they “correct” them it is horrible! It does not surprise me why the kids are so afraid to make mistakes and do not try to speak in English. There is no patience, understanding or love. OK, now I might just be to judgmental: maybe they like them, but is just the way that they demonstrate it… It might be cultural, but it is not right, I am sorry. Those kids are begging for being treated better and receive some real kindness and attention. It breaks my heart to know that most of the kids in Africa will never know what is to be loved and treated nice. It is a huge snowball.
Saturday night I felt the symptoms of fever. In the morning I was a little better but during the afternoon my whole body started to hurt, my head got weird and I definitely had fever. Unfortunately, Mr P. and Mama A. were in town and would stay there for the whole day. So when they came back, we decided I would go to the hospital Monday morning.
We leave the house around nine o’clock. I could not really know if I was OK or not. I have no appetizer though. And I have the worse public transportation experience until now: people arre not just struggling to get inside, they are actually punching and pushing really hard each other, kids and women, old people, they are climbing over each others. And when I could not contain my “Oh My God!”, I even have to hear some kind of judgement of a lady beside me (unfortunately I could not understand) but obviously she was criticizing my comment. Yes! In front of that horrible and grotesque (not) human being behavior, she was criticizing my comment. Luckily, Mr. P. talked with someone inside the bus who was already sat and I got a seat. I am very bad already and would not make it if I had to keep standing the whole way. Remember: the roads here are horrible and unpredictable.
After two hours, we arrive at the hospital. What supposed to be a simple test, ready in five minutes, takes two hours. At that time, I am already miserable. My migraine is killing me again, and after had taken already two pills during the night, I am afraid to take another one. Actually, my last one. And to make it worse, the result: I have got Malaria. I was so hoping I had not. I had this small hope inside me that I could pass through all the countries that I planned in Africa and not get it. But no. So now the problem is: since I never had Malaria before, the doctor suggests that I buy the European pills and not the one which all the locals take it. To do that, we have to go to the airport, where, supposedly, there is a bigger pharmacy and I could get the medicine there. Luckily, to take a dala-dala to there is not difficult and we even get an empty one. But even sitting at the window and trying to get some fresh air, I am feeling terrible!
At the airport, the pharmacist, an Asian old man, becomes my hero. By the opposite of the two doctors of the hospital (an old and a young ones) he knows so much about everything and is so honest that only his attitude itself makes me feel a little better. He tells me that both medicines are the same, with the same composition. There are only two differences: the price (the European one it costa ten thousand Xelins more) and the number of pills (the local one, you have to take four pills, twice a day per three days; the European ones are just two pills per time). And to make him looks even better at my eyes, he knows about my migraine medicine and have it over there.
Now, the only problem it is the time table: I have to take the pills after eat, other wise the side effects could be very bad. We leave the pharmacy a little before three o’clock, so I have to first reach home, have lunch (we had not eat anything until now) to then get the first shot of pills and, worse, the next one should be taken at one o’clock in the night, so I would have to wake up, eat something and then take it. He suggests to buy some corn flakes or fruits. I am so tired that I am not thinking clearly, so I just buy the cereal and some milk. Of course, later thinking, if I had just bought some fruits, would be much cheaper. Well, I missed having cereal anyway and also I could get some B12 again.
Coming back it is another nightmare. Again, people are violently struggling to get in the bus and Mr. P. does almost the same to get us some seats. Luckily, I am sitting between two nice old gentlemen and a nice girl. When we leave the bus, as in a miracle I am feeling better already. I think it was the first time that my migraine got a little better just like that.
Next morning I am already feeling better so I go to the school. I finish taking the pills in the three days but Mr. P. says he never saw someone recovering so fast from Malaria before.