This
is Part 4 of a 7 part series on my experiences in Tanzania while volunteering
with a U.S. based NGO to build a library and community resource center in the
village of Nyegina, near the shores of Lake Victoria. To read other parts of
this series, please use the term “Tanzania” in this site’s search function.
Father Leo arrived in his pick-up
truck just as the long boat was motoring up to shore outside of Epheta’s beach
side gate. He hired the boat to take me and the other volunteers to two islands
about an hour south and west across Lake Victoria. He agreed to go with us not
only to serve as our guide but to also visit the people in the islands’ small
villages and outposts, for they were a part of his parish. He also wanted
us to see and understand the depths of poverty in which this portion of the
world lives.
The boat was ancient. Peeling and
splintered wooden planks spanned its 40 foot length. The name Shaara Invest was
painted white against the faded blue background. It had a rather smallish 40
horsepower engine given the size of the boat and the growing swells and waves
out on the lake. We were hesitant at first to get on since there were no life
preservers. That and the slowly rising water sloshing around on the floor of
the boat gave us great pause. With blind faith and some effort, we reluctantly
climbed aboard. We have a priest with us. What could possible go wrong?
While underway we sat on split logs
loosely fitted between the gunwales. Thankfully, there was a wooden covering
over the sitting area that kept the equatorial sun and heat off of us. The
boat's wooden ribbing was just high enough off of the plank floor so that our
feet had a place to keep from getting wet due to the rising water. Two men were
at the front of the boat. They were bare footed and wore blue jeans with the
pant cuffs rolled up to their knees. They took turns bailing the water using
old cut up plastic motor oil containers, one as the scoop and the other as a
bucket to throw the water overboard. We all turned to face each other with a
WTF-are-we-doing look in our eyes as we occasionally helped with the bailing for
the duration of the trip.
We passed many fishing boats. The men
in the boats would yell to our tiller man, asking who we had on board.
"Father Leo," he would yell
across the water.
"Hello Father Leo!" they
would yell back while frantically waving their hands.
This man is known everywhere.
After an hour of this, we made our
first stop at Iriga Island. Crowds of people gathered at the dock waiting for
our arrival. To see white faces that were now in their midst must be a rare
event. Rickety shanties made of driftwood and straw lined the shoreline. Squalor
and filth was everywhere. These poor people and their living conditions were at
the lowest of the low. The overall abject poverty was like a punch in the face.
It is unlikely that even National Geographic themselves have ever visited
this place. Even they would blanch at the conditions.
All of the people here are squatters,
illegally living on this remote island. According to Dr. Kurt, the government
wants to establish this island as a wildlife and bird sanctuary.
Success is doubtful. The population of 600 people continues to grow and
expand into the breeding grounds. There are no sanitary facilities. The nearest
rock or bush serves that purpose. Cattle and livestock have also been illegally
transported to the island causing further degradation to the environment.
Relocating these people is a difficult
option. It costs money which the government does not have. Even if
they did, there is no place where they can be moved to. And no one
wants them. Father Leo told us the population is rife with AIDS and other
diseases. Prostitution and drug use is rampant. Besides, they would likely not
survive on the mainland for fishing is their way of life. And to fish, one
needs to be where the fish are. Since there are no viable or practical
solutions, the government is frozen with indecision. The living conditions are
ignored. These peoples' plight, the health issues they have, and the environmental
consequences they are causing continue to go unaddressed and untreated.
Rukuba Island, another hour away, was
only a little better with conditions being a bit more civilized. There are
primitive facilities and an unfinished church building in which Father Leo
holds mass once or twice a month. Father Leo, it seems, provides hope in
this part of the world where there is little of it. Here too, though, are
the same AIDS, disease, drug use, and prostitution problems. A bright
point was the smiles and the joyful laughs and giggles of the little kids. Many
wanted to take our hands as they led us through the shantytowns.
We talked as lunch was served in a
walled off room inside the unfinished church. We hoped that our work and the
work of other NGOs will help get these kids the education they deserve. When
these kids get older, some of them will be transported by boat to the mainland
to live with relatives. They will attend school in Nyegina and will learn and
study in the library we are building for them.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder how
much of a difference we and others were making. Would these kids break out of
this cycle of poverty? Or would they be trapped into lives no better off than
the ones their parents were raising them in? It may take generations to find
out, but hopefully, the lives of these and many other children were being made
better by the constant attention and assistance, direct or indirect, we and
others were giving them.
We returned to the boat on a dirt path
that served as the main street through the core of this the shantytown. You
could spread out your arms and nearly touch the walls of the buildings on
either side. We sidestepped children lying on the path, playing in the dirt at
their feet. Women were cooking simple meals over an open flame, too dangerous
and too hot to do so inside their straw-walled huts. Men played billiards on a beat
up, red felt pool table in a place that passed as a bar and restaurant. Voices
of women were heard behind the thin walls of the huts yelling to us words that
were undecipherable. Father Leo would say something in return. Perhaps it was a
blessing of some sort.
The smell of fish drying on the sand
or on the flat edges of large boulders permeated the air. Mixed in were the
odors of dust and dirt, rotting garbage, burning or smoldering trash piles,
animal dung, and human body odor. We were relieved to get back on the boat and to
the fresh air of the lake breezes.
Ugh. The wretchedness of the day was emotionally overwhelming.
Ugh. The wretchedness of the day was emotionally overwhelming.
A video of this island visit is at the following link:
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