It takes a village

            The electricity is out again. The family had brought in a woman trained in the art to lead the ceremony. With the help of the house girls, they all surround Catie, my young host sister of 6, carefully picking at her head but still cautious not to block the candle light. Every few seconds, the two blades of the scissors come together with a resounding “click”. I sitting a few meters away on the couch, trying to eat dinner. As the steam rises off of my meal, I am mystified. I had wondered about the actual actions, but this was my first time witnessing anyone getting extensions.

            My first day walking the streets, I was a little shocked to see that almost every single child under the age of 10 had a very short buzz. My only clue to the sex of the kids is their school uniforms: shorts for a boy, a skirt for a girl. Slightly puzzled to why the girls have short hair I tried to come up with an explanation. Only later did one of the other Cornellians explain that everyone keeps their hair very short so they do not get lice. To make up for the lack of natural hair, a lot of the women and girls get extensions or put their natural hair in tight braids that run along their scalps in varying directions.

            What captivated my attention the most from the extensions process was the way in which everyone chipped in to help. Although the house girls could have spent this choice amount of free time relaxing, they both decided to help the woman with Catie’s hair. This helping sentiment seems to be prominent throughout Moshi.

            Lincoln, the 1 year old, can be a handful at times. However, this doesn’t stop the whole household from taking care of him. And by whole family, I mean the two house girls, the parents, young daughter, and even the guard. I would expect, and hope, that a child’s immediate family would take care of their blood, but I wouldn’t really expect this of a man whose sole job is to watch the property for thieves. This Saturday, when I came back from town, I was greeted by the guard who was bouncing Lincoln on his knee.

            I was trying to express how everyone in the house cares for Lincoln when one of my peers in Tanzania stated that the same thing happened in her house with a young child named Ibu. I have met Ibu before and he looks like a 2 year old version of Jay-Z (Brenna has a picture of him with her sunglasses on and he looks incredible). Initially I thought that Ibu was another child of Brenna and Kathy’s house mom, but it turns out that Ibu is living with his grandmother, who resides in the house directly behind Brenna and Kathy’s. Although Ibu isn’t directly related to their host mom, Mamma Grace, this doesn’t stop her from feeding and taking care of him. I would expect the same from an American mother who has a neighbor roughly the same age as one of her children, but Ibu is 5 years younger then the youngest in Mama Grace’s family.  

            I wonder if it is the hardships these people go through that draw them closer, or they are just generally nicer and more caring people. Whatever the cause, I’m happy that there are multiple sets of eyes looking over Lincoln and Ibu so that one day, they can become the next leaders of Tanzania. Hopefully then, they won’t have to live their lives continually contracting malaria, an infection that my house father and Brenna and Kathy’s host father have contracted over the last few weeks.