my granddaughter and john hope

I am now an official grandmother and of course have lost my mind over this beautiful little girl who has entered the lives of her parents and mine. I was always told that you lose your mind when you become a grandmother, but I didn't believe it-yet, it is true. You look at this incredible innocence and you just want to protect it. The little baby's very elderly (hmm 28) year old auntie has decided that it is time to train her to understand and say the word "monkey", and is currently working on flash cards. She does have beautiful long toes and fingers, so she may be able to find her agile way out of many scrapes and over the edges of hedges and crib sides. But at this time she is just lovely. Here are just a few pictures. We also must correct the notion that she has no eyebrows, they are lovely.!
Mom and baby, very happy (with eyebrows)
Baby's feet perfect for climbing
Mom teaching monkey talk
Mom laughing with Chrissy on phone regarding monkey training

The grandmas!
Grandpa is obviously as sleepy as baby girl

The sad part of the day-or rather the thoughtful part of the day, was when the news arrived that John Hope Franklin died today. My friends and family know that John Hope and My father often referred to themselves as "twins". They had known and loved one another for a very long time. My dad's respect for John Hope and his devout friendship lasted for decades. When dad died, John Hope simply replied, "I already know. You always know when your twin has died. " Therefore, I was not surprised that I would have dreamed about John Hope last night and felt that I would not see this gentle giant again in this life. For many people, he was the great African American Historian, or the great American Historian. For others, he was an amazing orchid gardener and beloved mentor. For some, a fierce warrior who fought racism and wrongful acts against anyone. For others a sort of terrifying man who believed that you have to work hard, and harder to earn your success, and that there are no excuses for poor outcomes if you don't work as hard as you can. And then, there were some of us who put all those things together, but just loved him because he was kind, fair, and tolerant-forgiving of our lack of knowledge or a little uneasy of being around such greatness. I had many memories of John Hope-My youngest daughter interviewed him for a history project, and he told her about growing up in the Jim Crow violent South, but did it with gentle humor so that her 7th grade heart wouldn't break. His wife was in the early stages of Alzhimers and he gently guided her into the living room so that she could be part of the interview. I remember some of his speeches. I remember he and dad together talking, and mother and Aurelia shaking their heads at the "twins" as they talked about new works, new events. I remember how Bouna, John Hope's African son invited John Hope and Dad to be on his show one father's day, and to talk about what it was like to be a father. Dad loved it, and I know that John Hope did, too. I remember stories of his and Jesse Jackson's relationship and how much he enjoyed visits from Reverend Jackson. I remember him coming to Chrissy's Syringa Tree and being overwhelmed at her acting and at the show. I remember him telling my brother and his wife, "let's not talk history, let's talk orchids". I remember running into him as he was riding Southwest to see his son and a grand opening of a Smithsonian showing and how we got to ride together and talk all the way to DC. I remember him coming to dad's memorial service and how much I wanted to have him bring dad back just for a moment. I loved his story of going to Timbuktu with his son and the crazy dash to the overcrowded airplane. I remember the story of the surreal trip he made to our beloved Tanzania (Tanganyika at the time) for the first presidential innauguration in Zanzibar, just a few days after JFK's assassination. Sometimes, when I read about all the things that happened to him or heard him tell about them, it just didn't seem possible that they could have happened to this gentle giant, this kind soul who seemed to have transcended the hatred and violence that was directed against him just because of the color of his skin. But, then you would feel the warmth behind him, but also the fierce championship for the rights of all people for equal opportunity regardless of their wealth or color of their skin.

Somehow, if there were a line or two for the history books and John Hope Franklin, I hope they remember his humanity, his individual love towards people despite all the terrible things that happened to him during his life. He won so many awards and met every famous person, but above all he was so thoughtful, so human and so kind, and such a loyal friend.
John Hope and his orchid
John Hope and Chrissy after Syringa Tree
John Hope, my brother and me

John Hope and me
Hope Aurelia, dad and mother are there waiting.

Jacinta and girls

Today I visited a 14 year old girl named Jacinta. When I first
met her, she had come to KIWAKKUKI in tears because her living and
schooling situation was dire. When she finished primary school (in Mwanza, Tz) her grandfather decided that primary was far enough for her to go and that he would marry her to an old man of the village. The old man had money and paid a nice dowry for her. (Both her parents had died of AIDS and the grandfather had taken her in.) She told him that she wanted to continue in school but he said that girls were not worth enough to be allowed to go to secondary school, he had accepted the money, he wanted her out. This girl ran away and managed to get to Moshi where some relative of hers had previously lived (it is a very long way from the Lake Region to Moshi). She found a lady who had been a friend
to this long dead relative and she agreed to take her in if she could get school
sponsorship. She came to KIWAKKUKI before I left. She was in tears because she had failed to find funding thus far and was afraid that she would be forced back to the marriage and Mwanza. KIWAKKUKI helped her to apply to
Government Schools ($150) and a friend of mine agreed to provide sponsorship. The government decided that since she was from Mwanza, that they would support a government school but only in Mwanza! So, she would have to go back. The girl was desperate and found a school in Moshi Rural The Kiruwa Secondary School. It would be fees of $250 because it is a village operated school and doesn't receive government funding. We managed to pay the fees last year. I had the opportunity to speak to the principal last year, and thought he was a kind man.
I went to the school yesterday. It is bare, but in a beautiful location. The children had gone to a funeral of a teacher. The headmaster was about to leave.
But he sat down to talk to Verynice Monyo (our orphan support leader)
and I asked about Jacinta. He said that she was bright and had showed progress in school. Because he found her so unusual, he had taken her to his own home with his wife and 2 children so that she could be with his girls and learn how to grow up in a "normal" family. For no extra money, he is raising her as if she were his own daughter. He said that he had done this before with younger children, but had not brought someone as old as his own girls to the home. He said she is fitting in very well, and that she isn't quiet anymore, but laughs and talks with his
girls, is very neat and tidy and seems to be happy. He invited us to meet again at the funeral, and we drove up the long windy road to the small corn field and church where the funeral was taking place.
Since we were worried about Jacinta feeling stigma with a "mzungu" arriving at the church, we asked that she be brought to us on the road.
Here was a girl I nearly didn't recognize. She was happy and bright. She had gained weight. She hugged me and Verynice and held the Principal's hand, saying Baba (Daddy) thank you. And then she asked politely to return to the funeral. Even though I have not supported this young girl, but rather my friend, I felt as if I were seeing a miracle. It seems to me that only rarely do have such an opportunity.


Here are pictures of the principal, Verynice and a picture of the school.

Here are pictures of the view from the school and the map of the world on the school building.

The rule of the school.



Can you read this poem?

"Eat more fruit!" the slogans say

"More fish, more beef, more bread!"

But I'm on my unemployment-pay

My third year now, and wed.

And so I wonder when I'll see

The slogan when I pass

The only one that would suit me,

"Eat more bloody grass"

Can you imagine this being the chosen poem to analyse. Yet, when
Chrissy and I looked at poem books, they were all very similar to
this. How sad!



The interesting thing about girls is that they are so different from boys.
And in this culture, learning to be brave seems to be more of a
function of our orphan girls than of the ex pat girls. A tragedy
occurred at ISM last week. My best friend here's horse died
suddenly and sadly. He happened to also be the favorite riding
horse for all the children. Everyone was devestated. Terrie
understood that girls especially have to put their feelings on the
table, and thus, she had a service of remembrance for Moscow. She
made chocolate horses, she brought non-alcoholic champaign and
she invited the girls to bring poems. She brought the groom who
had taken care of Moscow since he had come to the stable. It was
an emotional scene there at the grave. Each girl said something,
they all cried and comforted one another. Terrie played her
saxaphone, and even the groom spoke. Each girl pounded 2 or 3
times the grave marker in to the ground. Their tears over Moscow
were no different than these young girls who are trying to get school
fees, and yet so different. The grief is the same, and felt
deeply. The girls will go on to think about college, most of the
orphans will just try to make it. Mostly, the orphans have no one to comfort them, while these children freely comforted the other. But somehow, it is all the
same.

Facing Leaving Moshi

The Ides of March
Two Friday the 13ths in a row. How interesting is that? Pretty interesting especially if you are in ....Tanzania.... where witchcraft is still very much a part of every day life. We are facing down our last week here in Moshi until July. The time spent has been full, busy and fine. Problems
are in all probability waiting around the corner as the world economy
continues to spiral and people are grasping at what can be done. But here, life goes on. NGO’s
don’t seem to have an idea that there may be big problems with ongoing
funding and for that we are very worried as the country’s GNP is based
largely on AID.
But many good things have been uncovered. The
AIDS rate has decreased to 5.2%. One of the most outstanding areas of
improvement is the Kilimanjaro which in the 2004-2006 prevalence data 4^th highest, and now is one of the lowest at 1.9%. People are worried that the new reporting system might not be quite right, but this is the data that we have. We continue to find that patients
are growing and that many needs are unmet, but surely prevention methods have
been at least moderately successful.
Sadly, the orphans are still here and most live very grim lives indeed. The
grandmothers grow older, the family structure in many areas is
completely demolished, and if indeed, there is no family, then in
African society life becomes a series of complicated difficult
situations to traverse especially for a young girl.


Thus funeral processions are part of every day life
here. Usually these are processions from
KCMC to the church, or possibly from the church to the family home where burial is the most common. Almost always the lead car videos the whole procession as the body makes its way to its final resting point.
Though very busy with our incredible social life here, we had some fun moments. We
actually went shopping yesterday, and I quickly decided that the face
of the man that I talk about in blogs related to Albinos. Here is Mr. Shah with John and in the background his wonderful assistant manager and
artist.


This photo is Unique Batik Mama Lida’s auntie Margaret who runs the shop. Doesn’t she look great. She also spoke hardly any English when I first met her, and now she is doing very very well.

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Again some wonderful places-The Hot bread shop



<> A spruced up downtown bus stand and the new Coach Shop and an accomodation that caters to those who want what they offer!

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And finally our safe little A-5. I call Paulis creation on the huge termite mound, "Mt. Mehru".












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