The West Wing

The West Wing? Well, not exactly.

But just inside the gate to the Moshono campus. which is guarded by men who look conspicuously like Masai with their red sarongs around their shoulders and their menacing sticks, and just alongside the driveway, is the lodging for the Westerners. My room is at the top of the stairs, and my window overlooks the courtyard, which is quiet, except when avocados fall from the largest avocado tree that I have ever seen (and I am from Southern California, so I have seen a few avocado trees) and land with a sharp thunk on the tin roof of the building. My window faces the sunrise, and the morning sounds remind me that I am not at home. I hear the crowing of roosters, the moo of cows, the barking of dogs, and the call to prayer from the neighborhood mosque.

The Western volunteers at St. Jude come mainly from Australia. But there are couples from New Zealand, England, and The Netherlands. There are two Canadians-from Vancouver Island and Toronto-and a German. Until yesterday, I was the only one from the United States, but a woman from Northern California returned from home leave. The volunteers fill the positions of mentor teachers, art teacher, PE teacher, and librarians. The other volunteers work in the office with sponsorship and development, facilities management, budgeting and IT.

I joined the Red Kitchen crew, and now belong to the "kitty." We pool our money, and once a week go into town to shop, stopping at the bustling central market, a butcher shop, the "fruit mamas" and various small stores. I went last week as a trainee, and I am nervously thinking of volunteering to be the shopper this week. One person cooks the dinners on a rotating schedule, and when it was my turn, I made spaghetti. I figured that was safe. Our lunches at school are tasty and filling, consisting of rice, beans, cooked vegetables, ugali, and pilau, with a spicy salsa always available. We fend for ourselves on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. Arusha is about a twenty minute drive from campus, and if one is clever, it is possible to hitch a ride on a school bus. I have successfully called for a taxi, and taken a dala-dala, a small van that travels along a route, stopping when requested. One of the main landmarks of Arusha is the Clock Tower roundabout, and rumor has it that it is halfway between Cairo and Cape Town. I wonder?

Only two volunteer couples live on the newer Usa River campus, including the librarian whom I am working with. So, each morning, I ride the early bus, which picks up students and staff all along the route. The commute is about the same as my drive at home, and even more scenic. At home, the Pacific Ocean glimmers alongside the highway. Here, we drive about half the route on a dirt road, then drive along the main Arusha-Moshi highway, turning off on the tree-lined road that leads to Mt. Meru park. We drive through and alongside the lush fields of banana, coffee and maize, and I look across at the foothills and up to Mt. Meru. We cross bridges spanning deep ravines, where rivers flow down from the mountains. We pass several towns, crowded with dala-dala stops and shops and markets.

The volunteers here work hard, spending long hours at work. The Red Kitchen gang is mostly the same age as I am, and have given up careers and jobs, packed up their belongings, rented out their homes, and come to Africa to do something for others. The younger vols are offering their talents as well. All have been welcoming and generous with advice and concern.

I am fortunate, any way you look at it. Fortunate to be in such a beautiful part of the world, fortunate to have supportive colleagues here and there, and fortunate to be able to give a bit of my time to this effort to educate some of Africa's poorest, brightest children.