At an orphanage

By Megan Zapanta
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

“Mambo,” I smiled nervously at the small child in a green striped shirt and protruding belly at the orphanage.

“Poa,” he smiled back.

Encouraged, I told him my name, ask him his, and within minutes forgot his name again.

I follow the other American volunteers inside a small room within the enclosed courtyard. I don’t see any other adults supervising, but one of the volunteers hands me a tiny boy, who clung to me for the next hour. Quickly small pockets of kids gathered around each volunteer. The kids asked us questions, taught us games and songs, and clamored to touch us, pet us, and sit in out laps. Some boys played with my friend, Jenny’s long black hair while she watched girls play hand games.

Two ten-year-old girls particularly clung to me, both had khangas draped around their wastes. One of them was albino. For some reason, Tanzania has the highest percentage of albinos in Africa. I saw three at Saba Saba. Albinism in Tanzania has lately received media attention because of President Kikwete’s efforts to stop killings of albinos, who are often believed to have magical properties. In the future, I want to watch her more carefully and see how she is treated by the other children and directors.

I had nothing interesting to say or do with them, but they each had me write my name on their hands and prided themselves on knowing me, calling me their friend. They taught me Swahili songs and Tanzanian hand games and I taught them “Down by the Banks,” but they were simply blissful to just see and touch the volunteers.

I’ve never volunteered with a more receptive population. I could teach them whatever silly kids game I wanted, talk to them about anything. They are simply grateful for attention. The people who run the orphanage seem nice; one pulled out a children’s Swahili book and tried to teach me Swahili. But I just don’t think there are enough resources and staff for all the kids. I’m definitely coming back regularly. Talking to the kids helped me practice my Swahili more than class ever does.

On a random note, people here pronounce “Megan” as “Mega.” My friend told the man who sells fruit at the cafeteria, that “Mega” means “kubwa sana” (very big). Now I can’t order fruits without him shouting “Mega Kubwa” at me. I’m glad that Big Megan wasn’t a childhood nickname or I would develop a complex.