For The Explorer

As soon as I walked into the airport of Dar es Salaam, I felt overwhelmed; I was the complete opposite of everyone around me. I was wearing long gray pants and a blouse, my blonde hair in a perky high ponytail. The locals, in contrast, were wrapped in volumes of colorful material, some carrying baskets on their heads, others had their hair stuffed under turbans. Everyone was speaking Swahili; actually, everyone seemed to be shouting. The Tanzanians were just as fascinated with me as I was with them, judging from the number of photos they were taking. As I was anxiously waiting at the airport, I tried to distract myself. I thought back to the year I raised money for my trip that included radio interviews, countless speeches, and hours spent begging business owners for fundraisers.

After a four-hour bus ride and an hour hike on a dusty dirt road in the sweltering African sun, I finally arrived at the colorful and enigmatic Maasai village, where I was assigned to live for the weekend with the Masaai tribe, a Nilotic ethnic group. The male members of the tribe, adorned in red and blue cloth with silver jewelry, surrounded me while grunting and hopping. Meanwhile, the female members of the tribe crowned me with jewelry and persuaded me to dance. Even though I was completely out of my comfort zone, I joined in on the welcoming festivities. The Masaai members made me feel alive and free. After the traditional welcoming dance, I dropped my luggage off at my assigned hut and joined the children who were eager to meet the exotic stranger. The children ran as fast as their frail legs could and grabbed my waist, while shouting “I love you”, one of the only English phrases they knew. Then, two of the older children gripped on to each of my hands and took me to find their ball made of rope and plastic bags, with which we played a game of “soka”, or soccer. I have played soccer since I was three, but the children played with a passion that I had never experienced before. While in the Masaai village, I experienced freedom, love, and passion: the epitome of human life.

On Monday a bus took twenty people hailing from nearly as many countries to Morogoro Regional Referral Hospital, where we would spend the fourteen days meeting with patients and even helping with surgeries. During my first night shift in obstetrics, I met a Tanzanian woman who spoke some English and she shared her excitement over her soon-to-be first born. After about twenty minutes of taking notes from “Daktari” (Doctor) Wakiska, the woman went into labor with a breech baby. My excitement had transformed into heart break when I discovered that the baby was anencephalic, born with an underdeveloped brain and deformed head which resulted in his death. The mother’s almost inaudible, high-pitched cries of anguish will never escape my memory. While spending time at the hospital, I experienced death, heartbreak, and disappointment: the epitome of human suffering.