Emory Report

September 14, 1998

Volume 51, No. 4

First Person: In Africa Addorisio finds revitalized perspective A bus travels quickly down a single lane highway. The driver leans heavily on his horn--it blares through the tranquil countryside and square mud huts. People scurry off the road, a biker nearly collides with a tree. For the present time I am still traveling on pavement, however, that will all change quickly when we undertake the last leg of the journey. By the time I reach the mission house in the village of Pommern where I will be living, my lungs will have accumulated approximately 2 liters of dust and my hair will be a curious shade of red. A step back in time. That was how I felt this summer when I began my eight weeks of volunteering and gathering research data in the southern highlands of Tanzania. I was awarded an International Scholarship from Emory to do medical research. I went with an organization called Global Volunteers, and the work I did consisted of helping to dig and lay the foundation of a new dining hall for the secondary school. Through this project I acquired many new skills such as clearing land by hand, planing wood and holding onto the welded frame of a lorry (truck). We conducted several expeditions to collect stones, bricks and sand for the construction site. As we lifted the stones pole pole (little by little) onto the back of the lorry, we inhaled thick clouds of bluish-gray exhaust amidst much laughter and many smiles. There are very few good car batteries in Tanzania, and jump-starting a truck on the side of a hill is not advised. The research data I gathered at the dispensary consisted of determining how many people traveled within a certain radius to the dispensary. What illnesses did they expect to be treated for there? How far will a person travel for a specific type of treatment, and how much money do they have to spend on that treatment? I wanted to see if there was a way to provide more effective and efficient care for patients. But I soon learned that it is hard to think of efficiency when the dispensary is located three hours from the nearest hospital, and travel is dependent on dirt roads with trenches running through them. A patient would have to have the money to get to the hospital, the money to stay--and be able to survive the drive. Here in a rural village on the other side of the world, death is as strongly felt as life. I saw a baby born and die on the same day. Yes, the child would have survived in the States, hooked up to respirators and every imaginable machine in the neonatal intensive care unit. Here we just waited for the baby to die. Death impacts the way you view life, and almost every statement I heard about future plans--tomorrow included--was followed by the phrase "God willing." It caused me to stop and pause. Yet this was never stated in a depressing way; death, as painful as it is, is part of the cycle of life. Relationships there are viewed as much more important than any type of work. People will put down whatever it is they are doing to speak with you. What difference does it make if a project is finished in one or two years, because once finished there probably will not be any other employment. From some perspectives this could be viewed as extremely negative, a lack of drive and ambition. However, that tree will be cut down, whether it takes two hours today or 10 tomorrow, but you may not always be there to talk to. If you measure the quality of life materialistically, then Tanzania would seem to be a very depressing, dismal place considering that the average villager makes $60 to $100 a year. The normal diet consists of ugali (corn flour and water) and Chinese spinach. Even rice is considered celebration food. However, the quality of life should not be reduced to pages of numerical calculations. Any Tanzanian will tell you that the most important thing in anything--even an effective team--is love. Maybe that is why a child can still flash a gorgeous, white smile beneath several layers of dirt. And why anyone you meet will invite you to share their dinner. During my entire stay in Tanzania the only time I ever heard a baby cry was when a shot was given or a baby was temporarily taken out of a mother's arms to be weighed at the well-baby clinic. As soon as this "wrong" was righted, the child was quiet again. I do have to add that every baby I saw was artfully slung in a konga cloth on the back of a mother or sibling. This is one of the many beautiful images I have brought back with me, along with a new, revitalized perspective on life. As the Tanzanians would say: "Be free." Michelle Addorisio is a senior at Emory College majoring in classical studies. She plans to attend medical school. Return to Sept. 14, 1998, contents page