"Oh what a sweet little goat," I said aloud as Petro, my student guide, led me past the animal that stood tied to a small tree a few yards behind the school. We ventured much further into the bush, thick now, using sticks to push aside the briar bushes that were covered with thorns and spines that could easily cut our bare arms and pant-covered legs. Petro looked at me and smiled. I quickly felt foolish for momentarily forgetting what we were here for.

Thankfully I chose boots today. I has been seriously contemplating sandals. I wanted to look nice for the celebration.  

After five minutes or so, we came to a large clearing where dozens of Maasai warriors, the morani, were crouched around a number of small fires. Blood-covered machetes lay thrown on the ground next to goat heads, yellow and white buckets overflowing with intestines and organs, and piles of testicles that were being gobbled up like peanuts. Pure, unfiltered testosterone.

Over each fire hung dozens of long strips of meat, each skewered on hearty branches.

   

The men were clearly surprised to see me, Petro's white "mzungu" lady friend. Some of them grunted greetings in Kimaa, while most continued with their business of slaughter and roasting. I worked hard not to faint and commended their hard work with my rudimentary Kiswahili.

I was thankful when Petro decided it was time to take me back to the school where now hundreds of villagers were gathering. In this sea of open bush land sprinkled with grasses, acacia, trees and shrubs as far as the eye can see 360 degrees around, where these people came from I will never know. But they were here. Twenty goats would die today, and everyone would eat. Some of these people hadn't eaten meat for days, others for weeks, even more for months or years. But we "wazungu" were providing a feast. No one would go hungry today.

The women came adorned in their finest attire. Multi-colored kangas and kikoys wrapped tightly around their thin bodies, tied up at the shoulders, chest and waist. Some carried babies on their backs, others wore elaborate while beaded headdresses, symbols of their readiness for marriage. They danced, undulated... their high-pitched guttural calls of joy permeating the air.

I could almost feel the earth move under the weight of their perfectly timed landings... jumping, jumping, jumping... higher, higher, higher. And now the men have joined them. The elder wazee, the warriors, the boys, the eligible brides, mamas and even grandmothers... all covered in beaded jewelry and red ochre designs, from their heads and necks to their hands, arms and ankles. Every color of the rainbow dancing, jumping, circling... Everyone is working themselves into a sheer frenzy.

The meat is here.

Today everyone shall eat.

Let the celebration begin.

Here, please find links to my first series on Africa.com. 

Changing the Future and Redefining Education for At-Risk Girls in Tanzania:
Part 1
Part II

I am currently working on a three-part series for Africa.com about the Jifundishe Free Community Library in Tanzania. It's the first of its kind -- going beyond the provision of books to provide a scholarship fund for girls and orphans seeking secondary education, daily classes of all kinds for all ages (including computers!), independent study groups for young people unable to attend school who want to study to pass the government QT exam (similar to our GED) and be eligible for university, income-generating knitting and beading clubs for the women, and occassional medical clinic days, net provision days, and so much more.

Run by a committed and talented Tanzanian board and founder American Deb Kelly and her team, Jifundishe is truly pioneering a new world of libraries and free educational centers in Tanzania. It is a joy to get to know this incredible team of dedicated individuals, and I look forward to sharing these articles with you as soon as they are complete. In the meantime you can learn more by visting www.jifundishe.org.

 

The girls laugh as they walk down the dusty path. Rose and Elizabeth hold hands, sing and play around -- relishing in their successful days work and pioneer achievements. They embrace this moment of peace and lightness as dusk transforms the landscape around them. They know they are going home to chores, fighting, badgering and taunts.

As the only educated children in thier families of 10 and 17 each, Elizabeth and Rose face a near-daily swing between admiration and support to jealousy, ridicule and judgement. They know their parents are proud of them, though they would never say it. Instead their demonstrated aptitude brings with it only harsher demands... pre-dawn multi-mile treks to hauls 50 lbs of water on their heads (their necks aching each day well through third period), fires to stoke, siblings to care for, bomas to patch and clean -- all before their 2 hour walk to school in time for 7:30 am tea. No matter how much work they are called to do each morning, each of the 100 students do everything they can to make morning tea -- often the only sustenance of their mornings.

The equatorial sun is going down fast now and the girls moods shift as they realize they are running too far behind, they lingered too long at their after-school journalism club meeting, wrapped up in the magic of seeing their words in type on a computer screen for the first time ever. They quickly embrace goodbye with promises to meet the next morning when the shadows point south, and they head separate ways for the last legs of their journeys home.

Elizabeth is nearly jogging now. She's worried that her mother will be angry with her, and she is thinking of her math test tomorrow for which she won't be able to study as the kerosene ran out four days ago. Her tummy rumbles and she ignores it, knowing there will be no dinner tonight. In her haste she pushes through an acacia bush that cuts into her left shin. She stops and picks a leaf to dab the blood, not wanting to stain her one pair of school socks.

It is in this moment he arrives. Whether he was stalking her or she is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, we will never know.

Elizabeth doesn't meet Rose the next morning for school. Or the next. It is days before Rose and others learn that their friend is not simply home tending to a build up of chores or a sick family member. Instead she is 15 miles north, laying on a hard board in a make-shift clinic where there is no medicine, no doctor, no nothing that can begin to heal the extent of her wounds.
*** 
200 miles south Patience, a 15-year-old student at the Sega Girls School, lays writhing on her back on the brick courtyard outside her classroom, her arms and legs flailing. Two students are standing over her, undulating with dramatic prayer, calling on God to destroy the demons that have possessed their friend. Chaos unfolds as other girls begin to drop, 2, 4, 7, each hitting the ground hard lost in her own demonic fit.

Days before, jealous villagers had paid a local witch doctor to cast a spell on the fortunate girls who have been chosen to attend Sega. Polly, the American founder and director of the school, promptly called in a priest to exercise the "demons" and try to mitigate the situation as fast as possible. The priest came, sprinkled holy water, burned herbs, chanted, prayed, talked in tongues and promised Polly that her school, and all of her Sega students, were officially cleansed. But today, again, the fits continue, and Polly is exasperated. She throws the girls in her truck and drives them to their home villages with instructions not to return to school until these "episodes" can stop for good. She is unsure how long they will be gone, who will ultimately return, and what this unexpected turn of event will mean for Sega's future.
***
Elizabeth is pregnant. And, as it goes, she is kicked out of school. Once the best and brightest in her class with aspirations of becoming an engineer, she is now a teenage, un-wed, soon-to-be mother of an unwanted child conceived in a vicious act of violence.
***
Elizabeth and Patience. Two bright girls from two of Tanzania's poorest families... chosen to receive Western-quality educations at two of the best new secondary schools in the country. Strong students and leaders in their respective clubs, their future was full of possibility. Or so it seemed.

The cultural norms and cultural practices are bigger and more powerful than any amount of money and good intention us Americans can provide. This is Africa... where the more you know, the more you know you don't know. Where smart, beautiful young girls are targets of violence, ridicule and sorcery. Where opportunity can be fleeting and hope fragile.

However, as we do -- simply because we can -- my partners carry on... yet now without Elizabeth and Patience. From New York City to Lashaine Village in the Monduli district of Tanzania, we all mourn their loss. And we wonder, what is to become of them? And who, possibly, will be next?

Note: This story is based on true events and all names have been changed to protect identities.  

I swipe my credit card, thank our taxi cab driver and step out on to 3rd Avenue. My team follows closely behind. We walk through the turnstile doors, our heels clicking the smooth tile floor. We check in with security, show our IDs, thank the men in uniform, and take the elevator to the 25th floor. My new friend is there to meet us. She greets me with a hug and my colleagues, whom she hasn't met before, with a handshake, and leads us down the long floor-to-ceiling-window-lined hallway to the board room. There we take three of the 18 recliner swivel seats and spread out our iphones, blackberries and notebooks on the long table before us. My friend re-emerges with a tray of Perrier, and we stand again to meet her team... Director of Communications, Director of Events, Director of Operations, Director of External Affairs... each of whom is dressed in a smart suit with colored heels and all the accessories of the day.

We spend the next hour discussing the work we are each doing to alleviate poverty and needless death and suffering in Tanzania.

As the meeting wraps up, we decide to meet again to brainstorm ways we can collaborate both here in the United States and in Africa. We exchange business cards and contact information of key referrals. And as we walk to the elevators the conversation turns to fashion, they admire my Ashe Maasai beaded jewelry, and we all relax in to the common female language of shoes, jewelry and style.

As the elevator doors close, my team and I look at each other... breathe, breathe, breathe... and then giggles. I don't have a moment for much else because as soon as the elevator doors open I am off, my role has now shifted again, and I am running for a taxi to get me to Grand Central. I have 7 minutes to catch a train. Back on 3rd I hail the closest cab, and once inside immedately take off my high heels, wishing I had remembered the Band Aids I knew I would need for the blisters that, as expected, are now covering my heels. I slip on my sneakers, unwrap my fancy scarf, and try to calm my growing anxiety that I will be late to my daughters' school pick up.

--
The last time this team and I were together, we stood in our sandal-clad, dust-covered feet at the corner of the Monduli road. Our truck had stopped to unload our youngest team member and her luggage as she was staying to work for the next six months at one of UNITE's partner schools, Orkeeswa. In the time it took for us to say our goodbyes, dozens of Maasai -- old and young -- came to crowd around us. They seemed to magically appear, flashes of color alongside vast herds of goats and cattle emerging from this endless sea of rugged plains. Some came to talk, others just to observe our bizarre spectacle. The air was warm, the wind soft, the peace palpable.

Sitting in my Metro North commuter train, squashed amongst dozens of professionals, almost all of whom are dressed in black and either working intently on laptops, texting on phones or with heads duried deep in newspapers, I wonder what is going on here. If this is all some big game, who is really winning?

During this last Tanzanian "women's empowerment" tour my team spent two weeks meeting with UNITE's partner schools, hospitals, and women's groups and conducting workshops and trainings for hundreds of people. We carried over a thousand pounds of supplies and medicines; we purchased and delivered hundreds of mosquito nets; we raised tens of thousands of dollars in funds... We did. And now I wonder, does it -- did it -- matter? 

I tell myself that we are working to "harness the power of good intention to impact positive change in Tanzania," and whew that's a mouthful. Blah blah blah. There's a lot of that... Blah blah blah... in luxurious board rooms around the country. The extremes can be hard to swallow, and I believe that I would be remiss not to ask... just what are we doing here? Do we matter? Who is really "helping" who?

While these questions may sound negative or even self sabotaging, I don't resist them. Instead, I embrace them... let them come. Perhaps they have no answers but they, the questions themselves, will ultimately be what keeps me afloat....

As my brain buzzes and the talk continues about methodology, metrics, programmatic impact, spreadsheets, transparency, and accountability... I allow myself to move down into my heart, where my true passion lies, where my life's purpose and meaning is 100% crystal clear -- and where nothing can by analyzed, compared, measured or neatly summed up in a single mission statement, elevator pitch or anything else. It is here, in the quiet of my soul -- a place so much easier for me to access from the bushlands of Tanzania than from streets of New York --  where I can find any and all the answers I will ever need.

(Photo credit, UNITEs Quinn Brady )  

Well I am happy to report that Unite's 2011 strategic planning meeting was a tremendous success. Our team spent the weekend in Little Compton, RI, evaluating, analysing, challenging, brainstorming, sharing, planning, etc... all with the shared goal of determining the most impactful path for UNITE -- and our new Ashe Collection -- to be of greatest service to our partners working to advance women's health, education and microfinance programs in Tanzania.  Here we are at the Sakonnet Vineyard , which is kindly hosting a weekend-long UNITE/Ashe Collection event this summer. Stay tuned for more specifics.


Left to right: Dr. Teresa Knight, Quinn Brady, Susan Cotter, me (Anne Wells),
Adrienne Brimacomb (a great friend to UNITE), Meg Domino and Kim Merriman

Sitting in the dirt, the red earth covering her bare, calloused feet and her long skinny legs spread straight out before her... her fingers move rapidly, seamlessly knotting wires between rows of beads so flawlessly that the breaks can barely be seen by the naked eye. All the while she chatters away in Kimaa, her tribal language, with her circle of friends. An infant clings to her breast as she cradles him in the crook of her arm. Children run through the circle, goats and chickens scavenge nearby for food, and young girls in the distance carry loads of firewood and buckets of water to their family bomas, circular semi-permanent homes made from dirt and dung with roofs of sticks, straw and grasses.

Rosa’s relaxed manner and engaged storytelling makes her appear detached from her hard working hands. Beading comes naturally to her, to all of these women. For centuries the Maasai have used wire and dyed, multi-colored beads to adorn themselves, to makes themselves attractive to potential mates, and to communicate their status within their communities. Today, these women – at work for the Tanzanian non-profit organization Maasai Women's Art (TMWA) – are using this same ancient art form to change their lives.

On the other side of the world, in the affluent New York suburb of Darien, Connecticut, Anne Wells, a 39-year-old mother of three, sits in her climate-controlled office in front of her computer managing orders that are coming in through her new online store, the Ashe Collection, (ashe is “thank you” in Kimaa), which she recently built with the advertising agency Milk to grow an international demand for TMWA jewelry.

"The Ashe Collection not only redefines where great fashion – and great artists – can come from," says Wells, founder and director of the social organization UNITE The World With Africa, "it 100% supports our women's health, education and microfinance programs throughout Tanzania."

Wells founded UNITE in January of 2010 to build "bridges of service and transformation" between Americans and Tanzanians. She regularly leads teams of Americans throughout the country to visit her partner NGOs (all of whom are committed either to women’s health, education and/or microfinance) to teach and learn, share and discover, give and receive – all to create connections that she hopes will "positively transform the lives of everyone involved."

The Ashe Collection is the most recent tool in her arsenal of connective tissues. "Not only does the money we spend buying these goods – as well as all profits we earn – invest directly in development programs, but every pair of earrings; every pair of sandals; every necklace, bracelet, belt, and sail bag... they are all seeds of potential discovery," says Wells. "Through them our buyers here in the West have the opportunity to connect – even in the tiniest of ways – with people living and working in some of the most remote and impoverished places on our planet. And hopefully that will inspire a deeper sense of respect, curiosity and appreciation."

For Ashe, Wells only sources product from groups such as TWMA that use funds from the sale of their products to actively support the artisans and their communities through either job provision, education programs, and/or healthcare. "Shopping our store will always be a win-win-win for everyone involved. Buyers can feel great not only because they look fabulous in unique, high-quality fashion; they are also doing something good... In their own small way, they are contributing to a solution."

 

It is doubtful that Rosa and her friends could possibly begin to imagine just where their jewelry goes after TMWA director Tati Oliver comes to inspect it and cart it back to town in her Suzuki, one of the few vehicles to visit their village each month. None of them has ventured far beyond the northern district, and few can read or write. Wells is excited to offer a glimpse next year when she takes her next group of Americans on a journey of “discovery” to meet the artists behind Ashe. "Our intention is to learn, commune, celebrate and, most importantly, serve," says Wells. "And of course we want to be able to embrace and say -- in person -- "ashe, ashe, ashe!"

I am grateful to report that our "Change Our World, Educate A World" event at The Darien Nature Center  last night was a huge success. It was standing room only, and we were finally kicked out (nicely) after our party extended far beyond our alloted time slot. All great news in my book!

The evening featured all of our gorgeous items from The Ashe Collection (this group loved our Indian Dhow sail bags  and our Maasai beaded sandals ... every audience is different)... a gourmet cheese board from Rosie, lots of wine and kid-friendly beverages and of course walls of African images and table tops with brochures, articles, business cards, donation envelopes, etc. 

Of course the most exciting part of the evening was hearing Polly present. Polly Dolan is the founder of The Sega Girls School in Morogoro, Tanzania. She first went to Africa with CARE in the mid-90s. She then met a guy (you know the story), fell in love and has been there ever since. During her time researching the plight of child laborers in Tanzania, she was so moved by the girls' desperation and overwhelming odds against them to continue their education that she decided to build a boarding/day school designed specifically for those who had been cast aside, for the "drop outs," orphaned and other marginalized girls... The stories of the Sega girls are ones that movies are made of. Visit Sega's website , watch their videos , and be inspired. You too can make a difference in the lives of girls a world away. And if you're not convinced that you should, watch The Girl Effect and all your questions will be answered.

Photo courtesy of The Sega Girls School and Nurturing Minds

A sat down with Sally Briggs of The Touch Foundation this week. She kindly reached out to me after reading an article about the launch of our new online store the ASHE' Collection at ROSIE  in New Canaan in January.  

Anyone interested in learning more about the healthcare situation in Tanzania needs to visit Touch . While most people know that healthcare in Tanzania leaves much to be desired, the reality is shocking. In a country of more than 40 million people, Tanzania has only 26,000 healthcare workers. (About 1 for every 15,350 people). Compare this to the United States where we have and 1 healthcare worker for every 25 people! (cdc.gov / census.gov) According the the World Health Organization, Tanzania needs more than 110,000 healthcare workers today in order to reach the minimum recommended 2.3 health workers for every 1,000 people to provide basic care.

The problem stems from a widespread lack of opportunities for medical education as well as a lack of equipped facilities and salaries for any trained healthcare workers. Patients often travel for days to reach clinics where there is no one to meet them.The scale of suffering and preventable loss of life is catastrophic.

To address the problem Touch , supported by McKinsey, built the Bugando University College of Health Sciences , which has grown from 10 students in 2003 to more than 900 students today. To provide an adequate number of faculty and teachers (which of course is lacking in Tanzania) Touch has partnered with Weill Cornell Medical College since 2004 to provide both permanent faculty and visiting residents.

Interested in getting involved? You too can be part of the solution. Touch has a "Young Leaders Take Action"  group in New York City and a "Who Cares..." campaign ... You are most welcome! KARIBU SANA
'

Freddie meets me at the airport. It is always such a delight to see his round face smiling at me and his bright sparkling eyes -- the whites contrasting against his black-as-night irises that blend seemlessly into his pupils. This visit I notice for the first time specks of white along the sides of his head, above his ears. He is graying too, I thought. Yet my pale, lacking-most-any-melanin skin has aged far more visibly. I pause for a moment with a tinge of embarrassment... Does he see it on me?

If he does, he doesn't let on. Instead he embraces me with his usual big warm hug and -- as if no time has passed at all -- we hop into his truck, load the baggage, and head West -- all the while sharing stories of family, friends, hardship... who had died, who has fallen ill, who has finished school, who is thriving.

The warm air, the dusty road, and the familiar sights engulf me... Women clad in multi-colored kangas trudge alongside the road balancing loads on their heads and babies on their backs. Herds of goats scamper to the sides as Freddie barrels his way through. And the children spot us, and come running... feet bare, bodies scantily clad, laughing, smiling, holding out their hands out with calls for sweets of any kind. I am glad I remembered the chocolates.

The first sight of the house sends a shiver down my spine... the excitement never fades.
 


Margaret emerges from the house, wiping her hands on her white apron that is tied around her blue and black kanga. She doesn't look a day older than when we first met 10 years ago. Her skin is smooth and wrinkle free... Her hair is all that's changed with a new style of tightly plaited rows against her perfectly oval head. She greets me with a big smile and loud, joyful laugh -- Welcome home Annie!

I dreamed of this place for years... I could see the slate foyer, sunken living room and oversized couches and chairs... the large open windows overlooking the garden filled with purple, pink, red and yellow flowers, and the guesthouse off to the side. That envisioned guest house is in reality more of a large bunk house, made to accomodate our revolving door of volunteers. 

Margaret runs the show here. She was so happy last year when finally we built a new stucture to serve as our office -- equipped with three computers, a high-speed internet line, and all the modern technical comforts of the West. The solar panels came from Germany and we even dug a bore hole to provide clean drinking water to our burgeoning little community.

I am finally able to spend more time here. My babies are grown up. While they still need me -- or so I tell myself -- they are not home very often so sype, email, and cell phones must do to keep us as closely connected as possible. Lila is working on the Okavango Delta with a lion researcher. Six feet tall, wide-set hazel eyes, long dirty blond hair and a chiseled jaw line, she's beautiful -- though she's so covered in dust most of the time she probably never takes a moment to notice. Harriett is in her first job out of university -- working with a hip hop label in New York. She can beat box like nobody's business... she can hit low and scratchy to high and shrill and every note and vibration in between. Her long white-blong hair falls to the curve in her slender back and her eyes, ice blue like the sky... She exudes a sex appeal that is palpable. I worry about this -- perhaps more than I should... And Katharine -- she is just turbo charge these, finishing her final year of college, playing lacrosse and -- as I know only through the grapevine -- having lots of fun at far too many parties. Secretly I want her to come to Tanzania to get some real experience running the business. But I can't tell her this because she'd surely roll her eyes and head the other direction. I've learned my lesson.

Margaret brings me back to present with my tea, which she places on the long wooded dining table before us. Freddie calls "goodbye for now" from the open door, and us girls sit down together to discuss the many events of late. Our next team arrives in three days and there are endless details to attend to.