Is it helping 1 or abandoning 39?

Luis.

How do you pick one child to give a future to, when you love all 40? How do you pick one child when you know the others can't afford education, when you know all they want is to learn?

I thought that by sponsoring one of my children it would help me transition back into the somewhat selfish life of a commercial television network employee when I return home. I thought it was a good way to keep part of myself in Tanzania, and keep giving back. But that mind frame in itself was selfish, because it's not about me. The truth is it has been such a heartbreaking experience.

I partly let my teachers choose for me, I explained that I wanted to sponsor one of the kids and send them to Intel School, a great private boarding school here in Arusha which has a really good sponsorship program, but I needed to know more about the kids home situation. I knew which were the brightest in the class and which had the biggest hearts, but I didn't know which would be ok without me. Almost all of them, they explained, would not be able to afford to go to a decent primary school.

My placement is at Shining Star Pre-Primary school, with children from 2 years old to 6 years old. I have the 6 year old class so all my kids will have to move schools next year. Shining Star is run by 3 generous women with enormous hearts who started as volunteers, teaching the local kids. The poorest kids can't pay, so the teachers turn a blind eye. That won't happen next year when the 6 year olds move schools.

Luis is the brightest in my class. I remember him clearly on the first day, he was the only child who wasn't excited by us being there. I noticed when I spoke to him he wouldn't look me in the eye, he looked frightened. He kept his head down, his eyes averted, and I couldn't help but wonder if his strange body language was a result of something which had happened to him in the past.

It took about a week to win him over but slowly I started getting little smiles, then high fives, and then one day he took my hand and held it, while giving me cutest little grin. Teacher Lucy suggested he would be the best to sponsor because he has so much potential and such a poor family. So I chose Luis.

I didn't tell him straight away, I waited until I was 100% sure it was going to be possible. And then once I had confirmed an available place with Intel School's director, I arranged  a meeting with Luis and his family to see what their thoughts were. Luis's dad arrived at school half an hour early, and he didn't wipe the smile off his face the whole time. He's young, looks like he's in his late 20s, early 30s. He said through a translator that he preferred boarding over a day student because that way Luis will get 3 meals a day, something they can't always offer him at home. He shook my hand about 8 times.

And then the meeting ended, Luis went and chatted to his friends, and a few came running over to me. I will never forget the look of hope in Ian's* eyes. (I've changed his name for reasons which will soon become apparent.) He tugged on my shirt, and looked up at me with these gorgeous big brown eyes, a half smile on his beautiful but dirty face and said, "Teacher, School?"

Ian* is also an incredibly bright student. He has a heart of gold, and wears the same torn clothes to school every day. He gets to school early and stays as late as he can before he has to walk home. I learnt recently it's because his father is an abusive drunk, most of his baby teeth are cracked. Ian* will not get to go to a decent school next year, because of a decision I made. He will stay in a horrible living situation because I could only pick one. And he's not unusual, all the kids have different stories and different living situations, all are incredibly poor with parents who can't give their children a proper education despite desperately wanting to.

After school today I took Luis for the afternoon to get him set up for his first day at his new school on Monday. We met one of the staff members from Intel school who took us to the local market and helped us get everything we needed. There was a long list of necessities, blue sheets, black school shoes, a towel, washing soap, a pillow, the list goes on. I was the only white person in the market and was extremely glad to have Godson with us (that's his name, to clear up any confusion). The aisles were narrow and dusty, the stalls overcrowded and filled with everything you can think of. We bought a suitcase first and then were ushered into another stall which had almost everything we needed. One of the workers brought me a chair, Luis sat on my lap wide eyed as Godson started handing out orders to the crowds of stall holders eager to cash in on the "Mzungu". We stayed in the one place as they brought everything to us. Cork screws? No! Socks? Yes, 5 pairs, tick that off the list. Plates and cups? No! Undies? Yes, 5 pairs, another tick off the list. Every time something was ticked off the list and dropped into the suitcase Luis turned around to me, stunned, and whispered in my ear, "Thank you teacher."

He needed a pair of black school shoes, runners for sport, and a pair of slip ons for around the boarding house. He looked at them all confused, then he counted in English for my benefit - "one, two, three," then pointing to his own shoes "four shoes?" Again he was stunned. All up they cost less than $35, what I'd happily spend on a casual Melbourne lunch. "Thank you teacher," he said somewhat breathless, and tears started rolling down my face. Awkward.

Had I been there on my own I would have had to fight to the death on every single price but Godson ensured we got local prices and weren't taken for a ride. The only thing I kicked up a fuss about was the grey track suit for sport with the "Adidass" label on it. No, that's not a typo, well at least not by me. The "fake copiers" didn't even know how to spell the brand name, and the was no chance I was paying the asking price for it. Even Godson didn't realise they weren't genuine Adidas trackies until I pointed it out to him. I eventually got them for half price. Winning.

I'd hired the use of our trusty driver Jimmy for the afternoon and it was finally time to load up the purchases and take Luis home. He directed Jimmy where to go in Swahili and I finally got to meet his mum and baby sister Catherine. Same name as my mum, it must be a sign.

Luis's mum was waiting for us at the end of a dirt road. The family lives in a few rooms with a tiny store set up through one of the windows for income. She didn't speak a word of English but she too shook my hand and smiled. Godson explained to her that we'll pick them all up on Monday to tour the school and support Luis for his first day. It will be just the three of them at home now. I asked through translation if they were sad that Luis wouldn't be living with them anymore, 6 is such a young age for boarding school. And they laughed.

Crazy angry white woman. Me.

Today was the first day I got seriously mad. I yelled at buff looking local welders and I kicked two kids out of class. Temporarily.

It all started with the desks.

3 weeks ago Jack and I ordered 15 new small desks for our students. They were supposed to be ready the following week. We went to check on their progress after a few days and while slightly behind, they looked good. The place was filthy, with welders sitting on the floor all around us with sparks flying everywhere, we just had to step over them. Some of them wore sunglasses, some had nothing protecting their eyes. The desk bases were strong, and the right size. Strength is the most important thing because the desks get thrown around and they break. I was optimistic, he said they would be ready the following Monday instead of that Thursday. I could cope with that.

On the Monday we had organised a car to pick them up but a last minute check in phone call confirmed they still weren't ready. "Tomorrow they will be finished." This happened time and time again for 2 more weeks. Teacher Rose went to check on them one day and they told her they needed more money to pay for materials, even though we'd already paid half in advance. She didn't want to tell us so she borrowed the money and I found out about it later. This morning again the desks were supposed to be ready so Jack and I walked there before school. We could see some of the bases lying around, unfinished, terribly made, they looked as if I could snap them in half. The workers don't speak any English but they knew what the crazy white lady was talking about. They could hear I was furious. They could see the difference between "strong, good!" And waving my hands frantically at the new ones saying "weak, bad!" They could see me pointing to the terrible joints, and put their heads down when I said "3 weeks! 3 weeks!" I rubbed my fingers together making the money signal and made it clear that we were going home soon. When we leave, our money leaves. This must be finished today! Heads still down they nodded, but I didn't trust them for a second. 3 quarters of the payment had already been handed over, the desks looked shocking, they still didn't have all the material necessary and they were more than 2 weeks late. I was furious.

I left feeling dejected and started the day on the wrong foot. The kids were even more disruptive than ever. They fought in the playground, hitting each other with closed fists. I turned around at one point to see one of the assistants wacking the naughty children with a large stick. I felt sick. How on earth can you teach a child not to be violent when their punishment from those who they respect is more violence? I don't blame the assistant, that is the culture here so that's what she has learnt. I try to never judge another culture as being right or wrong, but I can't help myself here. It's wrong.

I had the class to myself in the afternoon and the fighting continued. The bickering and poking and smacking escalated and I saw two of the kids again throwing fists. I yelled at them properly for the first time. "I will not have fighting in my classroom!" I don't know where it came from. My voice bellowed. I took the two responsible by the arms and dragged them out of the classroom, they didn't come willingly. I repeated myself, "I will not have fighting in my classroom!"

The rest of the class stopped, stunned. They were quiet and well behaved for the rest of the lesson. The two boys outside came back in after about 30 seconds and sat at their desks, heads down, silent. My dummy spit may have in fact been quite successful, and by the time school finished it was back to smiles and cuddles.

The morning's desk dummy spit was actually quite successful too. We went back there after work with Jimmy, our big strong local friend (and driver) who agreed to put the hard word on for us. To my surprise all the dodgy joints had been fixed and almost all of the 15 bases had been finished. Apparently we can pick them up tomorrow. I just want to see them at school before I leave.

From friendly to frightening in 3.5 seconds, and when power cuts turn magical.

From friendly to frighting in 3.5 seconds,

I had been warned about the tricks locals use to scam money from "Mzungus", but physically experiencing it was completely different, and if I'm being honest, a bit scary. A group of 7 of us girls were walking towards the Maasai Markets when a group of local men started being friendly. This isn't unusual, but my gut instinct started flashing red when 5 minutes later I saw they were still following us. Like clock work they surrounded the group. One in front, two behind, three walking on our left caging us in next to the fence. "You want Masai markets? We take you there." "No thank you, no thank you" we replied in perfect Swahili. but that just made them push even harder. "Yes we take you there. What you want to find? We find it for you." When we stopped with the formalities and said "No, go away and leave us alone," they started yelling and swearing, saying they hated us and threatening to hit us. They followed us all the way to the market and kept watching us as we shopped. The game is to trick people into into listening to their advice, then push them into paying a "guide" fee at the end. Our saviour came in the form of a bloke, a couple who we ran into who are friends with some girls in out group. As soon as there was a guy with us, they vanished. The bastards.

That aside, the Maasai markets were magical, intimidating, amazing, pushy, exhausting, overpriced and oh so cheap all at the same time. There is just so much stuff, and all of it is quite incredible but there's too much. Most stalls sell the same things, wooden hand crafted sculptures, jewellery, clothes, bowls, amazing hand made shoes, and paintings galore. Everything is so gorgeous, so local and so African, but most shops I couldn't even go into because the workers were too pushy. As I walked through the narrow overcrowded aisles, shop keepers would grab my arms and try to drag me into their stores. Personal space here doesn't exist like it does at home. In one shop I showed interest in some of the hand carved salad servers, decided against, and tried to leave. But the woman physically blocked me in and wouldn't let me go. She begged me to keep looking, keep looking, and I eventually had to use my whole body to push her out of the way so I could get out.

In one shop the worker was heavily pregnant and exhausted so she just sat in the corner and chatted. It was a huge relief so I spent most of my time in that stall, free to have a look without being forced to buy something.

I ended up buying two paintings, both different sizes but talked the prices down to 20 000 TSH each, about $15. A bit different to the 90 000 TSH they originally asked for. We've been advised that about a quarter of the original asking price is what we should pay, but bartering is just too exhausting. There were two amazing pairs of hand made shoes which in hindsight I should have bought, but the lady wouldn't go down past 45 000 for two pairs, while I knew other stores were selling them for 18 000 each. I eventually left not wanting to be "ripped off", only to later realise I'd walked out on an amazing purchase for the sake of about $3. It's easy to get caught up in the process, she needed that $3 more than me, and no amount of time in a third world country will take away my love for cool shoes. I might just have to go back. With a bloke.

I had a very entertaining conversation with the teachers on Monday, on the subject of dogs. Somehow it came up that we had dogs at home as pets. "So you keep dogs for security?" Lucy asked. No I explained, we keep dogs as pets, as part of the family. This seemed a bit confusing so she pressed on. "So what do they do for you?" She asked. I explained they keep us company and are good at cuddles, something she found hilarious. "So you buy dogs just to feed them and spend more money?" She asked. Do they have a room in the house? Are they allowed to use electricity? What happens when they sick, do you take them to the doctor? The concept just seemed completely insane to her. "Why don't you keep chickens and they give you eggs? Or why don't you keep goats and they give you milk?" She definitely had a point.

My dog (which I adore) lives in the comfort of heating and air conditioning, their school doesn't have electricity or water.

At around 11AM we have break and tea time. The kids have porridge (cornflour, sugar and water) and when the shops on our route to school are stocked we buy them bananas. The teachers have bread and butter and tea. Almost every tea time there are a few kids who come into the staff room / supply room where we eat. One of them chants this strange song in what I assumed was Swahili over and over again, constantly. Initially I thought it was cute until I noticed he didn't ever say anything else. When I asked the teachers about it they explained that it's good progress for him. When he started school 2 years ago he couldn't say a single word, not even mum or dad in the local language Swahili. He's now 4 and he's trying to talk, and making progress, but still can't communicate properly. The teachers say his chant doesn't mean anything in Swahili.

Little 2 and a half year old Calvin is another staff room regular, realistically he shouldn't be at school. He wants to be carried every second of every day, which I guess is quite normal for a toddler! For about a week I was really worried about him, he seemed sad all the time and cried whenever I'd put him down. When his brother came to pick him up one afternoon he clung onto me for dear life and bawled as soon as he was pulled away by his brother, who looks about 8. I thought he must have been sick so I spoke to the other teachers about it, they said he was acting. I was highly doubtful, those tears were so sad and so real. But then I started watching him when he couldn't see me. He was happy as Larry, playing, running and laughing with the other kids. As soon as I'd come into view he'd drop to the ground, stick out his bottom lip, pull on the tears and cry until I picked him up. Pretty funny actually, I'm just relieved he's not unwell! And who can blame a 2 and a half year old for wanting to be held.

Our teachers / school founders rent the 4 rooms that make up the Shining Star pre-primary school, but most of the children come from such poor families that they can't even buy them the basic exercise books and pencils, let alone school fees. So they rely on volunteers and donations to cover the rent. At the end of September, if the teachers couldn't come up with 100 000TSH ($65) the rooms would be rented to someone else and the school would no longer have a building. When I showed up to work this morning with 3 months rent in an envelope and the promise to contribute more when I leave next month, one of the teachers looked like she was on the edge of tears. Initially I decided I wouldn't donate anything in the form of cash because you never really know where it goes and it rarely ends up where you think it will but I'm a fairly sceptical person and yet I've learnt to trust my teachers 100%. I see how they stay back after school to teach older children who's parents don't let them go to school because they have to work, and I see them break up their bread at morning tea time and share it between the children so they don't go hungry. Plug: the more money I can raise, the more I can help them out and the more opportunities the children will have. We have new desks being picked up this week, a cupboard full of basic supplies they previously lacked and plans to take the kids on an excursion so they can experience something other than the class room, and it's all thanks to wonderful donations. I hope to cover 12 months rent and set up regular contributions. Here's the link to my fundraising page if anyone would like to help out.

http://www.gofundme.com/d5ttvc

The juxtapositions here are insane. Currently I'm sitting writing this in the dark because there's a power outage, something that is quite common here. Our showers are cold (most here don't have showers at all) our school has no electricity or water, and yet the taxis have in-built televisions pumping out modern pop film clips. While visiting the Maasai village, there was no toilets, not even holes in the ground, hydration came in the form of goats blood, and yet I had internet access though my local SIM card. Most people have mobile phones, even those begging on the streets for food.

There's such simple solutions for things here. When sharpeners go missing, you find something sharp and turn it into a sharpener. When the power goes out and the town is plunged into darkness as it is as I write this, you go outside, lay down and take in a magical sky filled with stars. Or you get out the battery powered speakers and turn the backyard into a starry dance party as we did tonight. You dance like you've never danced before because you know no one can see you. When you can't charge your phone you actually start getting to know people better. And when your hair is dirty and you can't wash it, you just cover it with a scarf and it feels clean again. You get to know yourself when you take out a torch and start writing a diary, or a blog, and realise how you actually feel about things, without being bombarded with hoards of other peoples opinions. How I feel is lucky. Lucky to have the opportunity to come here and lucky to meet so many incredible people; welcoming locals with new perspectives and ideas, children with a passion for learning and so much love to give, and volunteers with hearts of gold. I feel grateful to have grown up in with so many opportunities and grateful to my parents for working so hard for us. I'm grateful to the people here for letting me learn from them and grateful that I'm in a position of comparative wealth, so I can buy things for them. That may sound shallow but love is not enough when you can't buy food and shelter. I feel in love with this amazing country and culture and in love with a man back home who's supported me in every crazy decision I've made.

Hiking Kilimanjaro and meeting the Maasai tribe

Today marks a full week since I arrived in Tanzania, and it's been nothing short of incredible.

I guess I should start with updates from my last post: all housemates are now comparatively healthy again after a few trips to the hospital and one Ameba diagnosis, and our school cupboard is now looking beautifully full. I arrived at school on Wednesday to find teacher Rose proudly re-arranging the new supplies and beaming as she found space for everything. 15 new desks are currently under construction and should be ready to pick up sometime this week.

Everyday at a school became a little easier as I began to understand the processes and got a grasp on everyone's level of understanding. Every one of my little treasures has their own personality and I almost have the 15 names in my class memorised. Little Victor is just the most charming kid on the planet, his smile could melt an ice berg. He's a bit behind with maths and English but likes to sit on my lap and work on the exercises with me, waiting for praise and reassurance after every letter he writes down. Luis was originally very shy but has now warmed up, he's incredible at drawing! Queen needs special exercises and has a lower understanding than the other kids but has a gigantic heart and one of the cheesiest smiles I've ever seen, and Joseph is a 20 year old trapped in a 6 year old's body. He doesn't beg for cuddles like the other kids and is the first to get into a fist fight (yep, I'm talking about 6 year olds here...) but I've noticed that he has started responding to a bit of TLC and positive reinforcement, I think I saw him smile for the first time on Thursday and on Friday he held my hand all the way home. Glady is like a big sister to the other kids, very intelligent, respectful and graceful, and the first to put up her hand to answer a question on the black board. You can see her beaming with pride when she gets it right, which she always does!

After school we walk some of the kids home who are on a similar route to us. Sometimes it's just Rachel or Brian, other days like on Friday we had 4 kids. This was tricky because everyone HAS to hold our hands, and both of our hands ideally, which causes a fair bit of fighting. At one point on Friday we walked for 10 minutes joined in a complete circle. Rachel walked backwards, anything to avoid letting go. Two of them were tagging along for the first time and we had no idea where they lived, language barriers meant they couldn't tell us. The youngest was just two, but totally self sufficient. He too wouldn't let go of our hands and we were slightly concerned we were leading him in the wrong direction, but about half way home he let go and ran off into a house.

The kids here are far more street wise than any child at home and know all the short cuts. 6 year old Brian hears a car coming from a mile off and will herd us off the dusty bumpy road and into a safe place before we even realise there's a car approaching. To be honest I'm not sure who's walking who home.

I swear I've also seen the street dogs stop and look both ways before choosing a safe time to cross the road.

The trips home are such a colourful experience. If I opt for the Dala Dala it saves me a half hour walk but often requires standing in an overcrowded van hanging out the side or sitting on the lap of a local. Almost every time I pay I'm short changed, but the workers collecting money see it as a game - which Mzungu (White man) is silly enough not to notice. I can't help but laugh at the sheepish grins I receive when I count my change and put my hand out a second time, 200 more TSH please!

Walking down the streets there are people everywhere, many of them carrying water buckets, bananas, clothes baskets, crops, and everything else you can think of on their heads. Every second person waves or says "Mambo!" - white people are fairly uncommon around here so I stand out like a sore thumb. The typical response to Mambo is "Poa" - direct translation "how are you?" "Cool!" - but the latest phrase I've learnt is "Poa kichizi kama ndizi" which means "Crazy cool like a banana." It's guaranteed to get a laugh or a smile every time. It also tricks people into thinking I know Swahili, which can become a problem because then I have no idea what they're saying in response.

On Thursday we had our first "social night" where all the volunteers from the different houses have dinner together. I had no idea there was so many of us! There must be fifty all up. That night I had my first taste of the Arusha night life, we hit up "Via via", this great outdoor club with a live African music section, a huge DJ dance floor and a karaoke section. I planned to check it out then head home after an hour but there was no chance of that happening, the place was amazing and so much fun. The locals are incredible dancers and always seem keen to teach! Beers cost around $1.80AU and the was a 7000TSH entry fee, around $4.50. Unlike the rest of the town, around 50 per cent of the crowd were Mzungus. It's safe inside as long as we keep our bags and phones very close but were warned never walk or catch public taxis at night. Luckily IVHQ has around 4 incredibly loyal and trustworthy drivers who we can call up at any day or night, for about 10000TSK or $7.

They seem to never sleep. Jimmy and Valence are the two I've come to know so far, and they are so incredibly dedicated and proud of their work. They often work all day, take volunteers out at night and then hang out at that location until everyone is ready to go home, I don't know when they sleep. Jimmy has 4 children and he said he doesn't see them very often, but he loves his job and feels very lucky.

By the time the weekend came around I was ready to get out and see more of this incredible country I've found myself in. Yesterday a group of us took a trip to Mount Kilimanjaro where we spent the day hiking through the most amazing rain forest. The whole mountain takes most people 6 days, taking it slowly to acclimatise, but given the lack of time we had we just squeezed as much as we could into one day, covering around 18kms. The views were beautiful but unfortunately not as beautiful as they usually are given the low cloud covering the top of the mountain. I also had my first taste of African wildlife - monkeys and a mongoose - certainly not the big five but exciting none the less, and there's plenty of time for wildlife on safari next weekend!

Today we went and visited a traditional Maasai village which was amazing, about 3 hours from Arusha. Our security guard Zack who's a Maasai came with us and we  learnt along the way that we were actually going to his village, to meet his extended family. The Maasai tribe live a very traditional life, they live in mud and straw huts and farm the land for food, sometimes heading into town to buy supplies. Both men and women are circumcised when they reach puberty and men can have as many wives as they like. When the boys reach a certain age they receive Maasai burns, circular burns on their face and arms, and they're not allowed to show any sign of pain. They're then sent out into the world on their own for a month to see if they can survive.

We were greeted by a line of men, women and children in incredible bright outfits, they were draped in Massai cloth and had incredible jewellery around their necks, heads and hanging from the huge holes in their ears. They sung, chanted and danced for us and encouraged us to join in, jumping high into the air as if they were on springs. The village is fenced off with a straw fence and contains around 15 huts.  Dogs, chickens and goats roam free, including a baby goat which was born this morning, it still had its umbilical cord attached! Very cute. There are no toilets or anywhere to wash, that all happens in the surrounding dessert. We brought corn flour and rice as a gift which was warmly welcomed and then bought some of the jewellery they had made, some of which I plan to hang on my wall.

The children were very different to the kids at my school, they were very shy and seemed initially frightened of us. One little boy had flies all over his face, I bent down to say hi and gently "swooshed" them away and he burst into tears. I felt terrible. Overall it was very humbling experience.

It's amazing how quickly you learn to appreciate food. Today I had boiled eggs for breakfast, boiled eggs and a snickers for lunch, and mashed potato for dinner. And I'm just grateful that a) I'm going to bed feeling full and b) I packed my vitamin tablets.

Back to school tomorrow for the start of the new week, looking forward to seeing the little rascals again.

Tanzania Begins!

After 2 amazing weeks travelling through Europe I have finally made it to Tanzania. 

I've learnt that in Tanzania nothing is as you would expect, and time doesn't exist. 8am may as well mean midday and vice versa.

Coming though the border required a strict Ebola related questionnaire, staff in rubber gloves asking if we have any kind of fever, and an electronic scan of each of our 10 fingerprints. 

I arrived at the IVHQ volunteer house late yesterday morning to around 20 volunteers, all about to embark on new adventures at different placements around Arusha; hospitals and pharmacies, maternity wards, schools and orphanages. We were the newbies, a further 40-ish were already here and have been here for up to 6 months, staying at a number of different volunteer houses and home stays.

My house is surprisingly really great. We have running water (non drinking), electricity, and even wifi! The house fits around 30 volunteers with 6 girls in my room and a team of "mamas" are here to cook meals and get us out of any trouble we may find ourselves in. They're gorgeous. We have showers which are cold and just a trickle but better than I was expecting! They make washing the hair a little challenging as I discovered last night but I eventually worked out that head-over-the-sink is much more productive approach! Three alarm "distress" buttons are positioned around the house in case of extreme sickness (common), home invasions (hopefully not common) and fire. In the last 24 hours about 6 living in our house have been violently ill with some kind of tummy bug, one of them tonight was taken to hospital as a result, fingers crossed she'll be much better once re-hydrated. 

This morning one of the Mamas escorted myself and my new teaching buddy Jack to our placement at Shining Star. Despite being told it was an orphanage we quickly learnt it wasn't, it's a tiny and wonderful pre-primary school for 3-6 year old kids, most who come from extremely poor families. 

The school was started by three local women a few years ago who started as volunteers to help the local kids learn.

As soon as we arrived this morning we were greeted by squeals of delight and kids running from all directions and jumping all over us. They've had a few volunteer teachers in the past but not for the last few months. 

Jack and I have a class of 20 each, I have the older kids, 5-6 year olds. The teacher introduced me briefly, gave me an example of maths exercises to work on and then left me to it for a while. There was as a broken black board and no chalk, tiny desks for some of the students and none for others, each of the kids had one exercise book and one pencil. Luckily I'd brought a pen with me and managed to find a piece of chalk but I hadn't brought much with me that day, thinking I'd wait to see what they needed before I got it. I had no idea they would have so little. Straight away I had around 7 kids saying " Teacher sharpen! Teacher Sharpen!" A sharpener was not something I had brought with me so I had no way of sharpening the incredibly blunt and stumpy pencils, there were no spares so without it they couldn't write. I eventually discovered one of the kids had a pencil case with (hooray!) a sharpener, so I spent the next 20 minutes sharpening pencils. I gave the pencil case boy (OK so I haven't learnt everyone's names yet but I'm working on it!) two stickers to say thank you and promote the sharing attitude. Of course then, it was "Teacher sticker! Teacher sticker!" and I caved and gave one to everyone, with the exception of three boys who got into a full on violent fight on the floor. I couldn't physically stop them but once stickers started being handed out they stopped and waited patiently for theirs, which I didn't give them until they apologised and promised not to fight again. Let's see how long that lasts haha. I'm also not entirely sure they understood me. Oh well, worth a shot, at least it stopped them fighting until the end of the day! So our lesson instead was spent practicing addition with our fingers and a writing with stumpy pencils in ratty exercise books. Some of the kids are great at maths and got everything right, others are unable to copy simple addition questions from the board and think 7 comes after 4. Hopefully with a little one on one time I can start to improve that. Their English is pretty poor (with the exception of numbers as their maths is learnt in English) despite it being one of their two national languages, so I've since learnt some key words in Swahili - sit down, stand up and stop should make tomorrow a lot a easier! I brought my camera out at play time and they went MENTAL. There is apparently nothing more exciting than having your photo taken! So cute. 

At around 11.30 the kids are fed "porridge", a mushy thick liquid made from cornflour, sugar and water. Delish.

School starts at 8 and finishes at 12.30, and despite sounding early, I was well and truly ready for a break by then! My arms were also red raw from kids pulling me from every direction begging for attention or wizzy-dizzys or work-marking or sharpening or stickers or whatever else they needed right now, urgently! 

As we were leaving a number of older students started arriving. Teacher Rose (one of the founders) walked us to the main road so we didn't get lost and explained that some of the kids wanted to learn but weren't allowed to go to school because their parents made them work, so they'd come after work and the teachers would teach them for free.

One of the girls in my class Rachael lives near us so we walked her home, she wouldn't let go of both our hands the whole way back to her place. A seriously sweet little girl who barely speaks a word of English.

Once home we dumped our valuables and headed to the stationary store. For around 160 000 Tanzanian Shillings we bought 100 exercise books, 50 maths books, 100 pencils, pens for the teachers, chalk, sharpeners, erasers, skipping ropes and a soccer ball. It felt like a lot but when I converted it it cost just over $100AU for everything. Many friends and colleagues have already kindly donated to a fundraising page I set up for causes I come across on this trip so this has just highlighted how valuable even a small amount can be. Plug: I'm still raising money so for anyone else keen to help, here's the link! Our next project is desks for all the kids, we are going to be introduced to one of the local carpenters tomorrow and teacher Rose has promised to get us get local prices. 

http://www.gofundme.com/d5ttvc

Walking home from the stationary store I attempted to carry one of the two boxes on my head like a local. Turns out it's harder than it looks! Needless to say we got a few good laughs on the way back and a few Mambos! Eventually we decided to heard into a Dala Dala which is somewhere between a bus and a car, stopping whenever it wants and crowding up to 20 people into a 7 seater vehicle. Good way to get chummy with the locals. 

Tomorrow should be fun, now to come up with a few lesson ideas for exercises! Tomorrow is writing and English day, feel free to shoot through any fun ideas! 

Medical Marijuana. What I couldn't tell you in 1 minute 20 seconds.

I remember clearly the first time I met Cheri O'Connell. I approached the house in the rural town of Mia Mia last year filled with curiosity and a little skepticism. I had heard wild claims about a medicine made from cannabis that had cured her little girl of epilepsy. I was waiting for “the catch”.

What very quickly became apparent was much more incredible then I had imagined, and by the time I walked out, I had seen enough evidence to remove any doubt from my mind.

Tara, then 8 years old, had suffered from Dravet syndrome her whole life. It meant constant seizures, up to 200 a day. In 2012 Tara had to be resuscitated 8 times. Her IQ was so low it couldn't be measured, she couldn't walk without help, she couldn’t talk and she was frighteningly thin.

"65 seizures a day works out to 23 thousand a year. That was our life," Cheri said. 

"We didn't sleep more than an hour at a time before she would have another seizure. Basically it was like having a newborn in your house forever. She was drugged on 5 different medications, 3 of those were benzo(diazepine) drugs, which we don't give to adults unless there's a good reason because they're addictive."

But still none of those drugs stopped the seizures. Cheri and her husband David were planning a funeral when a friend suggested they give medical cannabis a try.

A few drops under the tongue, day and night. Changes were obvious within an hour and within 10 days Tara's seizures had stopped all together. On the 3^rd of September, she will be 17 months seizure free.

I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen the videos of Tara before she started taking the tincture. I've seen her medical records, and will never forget the words of a well known pediatrician from the Monash Children's hospital. He said Tara's response to medical marijuana had been "nothing short of miraculous." I’ve chosen not to name him without his permission.

That was last year. I've met Tara 3 times since and each time she's progressed further, so much so that to the naked eye, Tara looks just like any other happy healthy fun loving cheeky 9 year old.

But this drug, medical marijuana is illegal. It's illegal because it hasn't been thoroughly trialled in Australia and the possible negative long term side effects are unknown. But of course trials haven't been allowed to happen because the Commonwealth Government hasn't had the guts to allow certain growers to be licensed to cultivate the plant for the purpose of medical trials.

Tara could be drugged up to her eyeballs on addictive harmful drugs because at least those nasty side effects are known. She might die but at least we know why. Since starting on medical marijuana, Tara has stopped taking all other medications.

Why does it work? There are a number of documented explanations, mostly to do with brain signaling. I’m not going to pretend to understand any of them but what I know is that for Tara it does work, and Australian scientists need to be legally allowed to find out exactly why.

And then I met 3 year old Cooper Wallace.

A few months after first covering Tara's story, I received a phone call from Cassie Batten, Cooper's mum.

She had initially been afraid to tell her story for fear of persecution, but she quickly learnt that she needed public awareness and she needed legislative change, and she couldn't do that alone.

Cooper was born a healthy little bub, but at 4 weeks of age he caught a bacterial infection, which almost killed him. It left him brain damaged, suffering from cerebral palsy and severe epileptic fits, among a number of other conditions. No treatment was working, and doctors said he wouldn't survive. As a 3 year old he couldn’t do anything for himself, his father Rhett Wallace described his as just “a shell.”

A desperate Cassie and Rhett gave medical marijuana a try, a few drops into his bottle and he started responding within 20 minutes.

“We thought that hopefully this would keep him comfortable until the end but it turns out we got more than we bargained for,” Rhett said.

“He now sits by himself, he’s almost crawling, he’s no longer tube fed, he eats some solid foods, it’s just been a change that we could never have predicted.”

“He is a completely different child. We can actually have a life now with him at home,” Cassie said.

“Going into his bedroom in the morning and finding him blue isn’t nice for any parents to face and something simple as a few drops has stopped all of that where medications weren’t working.”

As a parent, what would you do?

Coopers seizures haven’t stopped all together, but they’ve reduced significantly. He’s now interacting with his brothers and sisters, which he couldn’t previously do, and he’s starting to develop skills which he should have been learning 2 years ago.

As a result of telling their story, the couple was arrested a few weeks ago by detectives from the Child Abuse Investigation squad.

They were formally interviewed, and medication was seized.

This is a family who adore their children. A family with a chaotic living room which reminded me of my own growing up, toys every where, kids giggling and running around, largely unaware of the serious and somber reason this stranger (me) was in their house. This is a family who will do anything to help their extremely sick little boy. This is a family who has just had their “mug shots” taken.

I know where these complaints came from. They came from a woman whose son died as a result of psychosis caused by marijuana use. This woman had seen Cooper's story. This woman is no doubt going through something incredibly traumatic and she has every right to fight against anything that will make it easier for “pot smokers” to access marijuana. As a recreational drug it can have heartbreaking consequences, often causing schizophrenia and other illnesses, especially in people with a predisposition to mental illness.

But that fear should not apply here.

Australia is more than capable of regulating the growth of the plant and the production of the medicine so that only those in true need can access it. Furthermore, by the time the medicine reaches its final stage, the majority of Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the mind altering component, is removed. So there is little reason drug addicts would want to access it and abuse it.

I should note that last comment applies to the Cannabinoid Tincture produced by Mullaways Medical Cannabis Pty Ltd used by Cooper and Tara - I don't know enough to comment about other forms of the medicine produced by other individuals and companies. Mullaways mails the medicine to the families free of charge. I understand there’s a waiting list of thousands of other families with sick children who also want help, who can’t access it.

http://www.mullawaysmedicalcannabis.com.au

I’ve focused on the impact medical cannabis can have on people who suffer from seizures because they’re the people I know, and the transformations I’ve witnessed.

But Medical experts like Dr Alex Wodak from the Australian Drug Law Reform Foundation, know the potential for medical marijuana goes far beyond seizure control.

In January he wrote:

“My colleagues and I published a paper on medical cannabis in the Medical Journal of Australia last month.

“We noted a recent German review which found for six different medical conditions 82 favourable controlled trials and only nine unfavourable controlled trials.

“Cannabis is a useful second line drug for relieving severe and distressing symptoms in a number of conditions where the first line drug all too often fails. These conditions include treatment refractory nausea and vomiting following cancer chemotherapy, severe weight loss in AIDS or cancer, some forms of multiple sclerosis and chronic non-cancer pain due to nerve damage.”

https://www.mja.com.au/journal/2013/199/11/reintroducing-medicinal-cannabis

As a journalist, I shouldn’t admit this. But I usually try to avoid covering politics. I find it all a bunch of he says – she says – mashed up with broken promises and big egos. The important policies are often buried behind speeches about how the opposing party is “grubby,” “out of touch,” and “needs to come clean” about whatever the topic of the day is.

But yesterday was different.

Yesterday Daniel Andews, leader of the Victorian state opposition, spoke about medical cannabis. He told Tara’s story without referring to notes, and it was clear he had spoken with Cheri and David to great lengths and genuinely understood the importance of the issue.

“There are many families who are having to go through that very difficult process of knowing that they are breaking the law, knowing that the law says they are doing the wrong thing when in fact they are doing what every parent should do. Fighting for the best interest, the wellbeing, the survival of their kids. I’m convinced that this law needs to be updated,” He said. 

Mr Andrews pledged to work with the Victorian Law Reform Commission to legalise the use of medical marijuana for people with life threatening conditions. If elected, of course. He also pledged to work with the experts to clear the way for thorough medical trials.

Regardless of which party leads next year, there are a few things that need to happen, on both State and Federal levels.

1)    Medical marijuana needs to be decriminalised for patients with life threatening conditions who have a note from their doctor. Right now. I’ve spoken to many people about this, and that can happen. This is up to the state government. It doesn’t solve local supply and regulation issues, but what it means is that Cassie and Rhett, and Cheri and David can look after their children without the threat of being charged with child abuse. The reality is, there are already people supplying medical marijuana. While Mullaways Medical Cannabis tincture currently hasn’t gone through the rigorous testing, what we know is that with it, some of these critically ill children improve. Without it, they die. There are international suppliers that have already gone through the process, a Dutch agricultural company Bedrocan BV, Canadian biotech company CanniMed, and Israli company Tikam-Olam. Let it be imported for patients who have permission from their doctors.

2)    Reputable local companies need to be granted tightly controlled licenses to start growing the plant for the purpose of medical trials, and eventually for medical supply. This requires the federal government to step up. The Australian Medical Association says there are people ready to go in Australia, to start testing this drug straight away, as soon as they are legally allowed to.

The process of gaining approval through the TGA is likely to take a lot longer, and I certainly understand that thorough local research and trials need to happen before it’s readily available in chemists via prescription. But start now. Not tomorrow, not next year.

Last night I had 1 minute and 20 seconds to tell this story on Seven News. My attempt to hijack the entire half hour bulletin through sweet talking was not surprisingly, unsuccessful. Here it is.

https://au.news.yahoo.com/vic/video/watch/24795686/vic-labor-will-legalise-marijuana-for-the-sick/

To Premier Denis Napthine and Health Minister David Davis, please give these families half an hour of your time, to understand the issue. I will gladly hand over their details.  

Dear drink drivers, it's not about you.

"I feel sad when I see other kids playing with their fathers. I miss playing with him. I loved my dad, he helped me with my homework.”

Those are the words of a 10 year old, one of the uncounted victims of the so called "road toll."

Standing tall in the Geelong County Court today, Mohammad read out his victim impact statement.

"He was teaching me how the world works and how to make decisions."

"It's hard to get motivated to study now because my dad used to make it so interesting for me."

Young Mohammad was one of the few in that courtroom whose eyes were still dry. But he had to stay strong because he is now the man of the family. He now feels the need to fill his fathers shoes because 38-year-old Anthony Davis from Hamlyn Heights decided to drive drunk on Christmas Day 2012.

Raza Hussein was a hard working taxi driver, but more than that he was a devoted husband and father to 5 children all under 10.

He left Pakistan looking for a better life and worked relentlessly to save for a house for his family. He had almost reached that goal.

On Christmas Day he had taken a few rare hours off work to play with his kids in the park. A friend Julie Riley later described that day, saying, "Something had changed, Raza and his wife were deeply and utterly in love. It was a day of hope for a bright future."

But all that changed in the hours that followed. Raza returned to work. He was sitting at a traffic light not far from home, stationary, when his life was taken from him.

Anthony Davis lost control of his car and smashed into the taxi, Raza didn't stand a chance.

I hadn't seen a police prosecutor break down in court before today. He was tasked with reading out statements from the other children.

"My dad loved me so much and I loved him even more. He was so busy because he drove a taxi all the time," one wrote.

From another, "My dad took me to places I Ioved like Luna Park, that was the best place I've ever been."

Raza's wife also stood tall in court describing the hell she and her family are living through.

"On Christmas Day, Raza was killed and my life was over."

"My love is gone. My children's father is gone. My income is gone. The children were crying, they were shocked and scared. I am only living for my children."

"He is dead because a stranger did not follow the rules of the road."

Another family of five was in the car next to Raza's taxi. They too were hit, but in a lucky and unlucky twist of fate their injuries were such that they, at least physically, were able to recover.

Today I heard a record of Davis's police interview and the moments he learnt he had killed someone. He stopped, first trying to understand what he had been told, and then he broke down crying.

This was not a murderer, but a man who made the enormous mistake of drink driving, which had murderous consequences. He had been too caught-up in his own relationship breakdown to consider the real consequences of getting behind the wheel. He was left devastated by what he had done but there was nothing he could do to fix it.

Next time you consider drink driving, remember it's not about you. You losing your license or you hurting or killing yourself is not the worst thing that can happen.

Anthony Davis is facing jail time, Raza received the death sentence, 5 children lost their dad, and a woman has lost the love of her life.