So, why are you here?

I have a not-so-closet confession to make. I don’t know why I’m here.

Let me take a moment to explain my struggle for purpose. First off, I’m an “mzungu”. What this means is I am a white person in a clearly not white land facing the constant impending question of, “why are you here?” Now, this question is never asked with a harsh tone and people are so excited to talk to the American, stammering in broken Swahili, wide-eyed and spewing “asante sana”. However, the question has left me overwhelmed as I lack the linguistic capacity to bare my soul.

So you’re a tourist? (Mtalii)

No, definitely not. The idea of casually passing through this land without understanding the culture or the people makes me shudder with fear that I’ll receive the guest treatment. It’s bad enough that our understanding of East Africa is limited to Tanzanite and the Serengetti. It’s even worse if I play the role of tourist refusing to learn about more than the scenic wonders of this land.

So you’re a volunteer? (Mwenye Hiari)

While my program does have some elements of human rights development and service learning, it’s absolutely imperative to establish that I am not a volunteer. While volunteers are highly valuable and appreciated by the local community, I hope my contribution to this community looks more like active participation in a community I now call my own. In theory, this allows me a greater understanding of my role and my realistic impact, still to be determined.

So you’re a student? (Mwanafunzi)

Yes. I’m here to learn and to learn only. I’m often struck with the question of what motives my host family might have had for welcoming the strange American with soft hair that never eats and talks to the baby goats. This isn’t one of those national park moments where I take only pictures and leave only footprints. It’s important to realize I’m suddenly an active participant of this community, living and breathing this society as if it were my own. I do care about the bickering of political parties. I do care about social classes and accessibility of clean water. I do care about unacceptable standards of living and the effects of tourism on Tanzania. I may be a transplant, but it doesn’t take long for a new organ to accept the blood flow and work effectively to build the body.

So you’re a transplant?

Yes. My real question then: how might the life of a transplant positively contribute to the lives and society of a temporary environment, rather than simply my personal self-betterment? Any suggestions?