Some of you I’m sure had given up. Some of you, faithfully encouraged us to take our time and share when the time felt right.

My friends, nine months later the time is now!

Please join us Sunday May 1, 2011 as we  share through photos and discussion about our life-changing year in Moshi, Tanzania. A family-friendly event, all are welcome. Tell your friends!

First Church/First United Methodist Church of Seattle, 180 Denny Way (Denny and 2nd Ave.), 4:00pm-5:30pm

Hand crafted items for sale by Joyce, Friends of Paraplegia client . Donations accepted to support the efforts of Friends of Paraplegia.

Before we left Moshi, Anders was given a very important task.

During the P6 Exhibition (see previous post “P6 Exhibition 2010″) the students, faculty, and audience  created over two hundred red handprints symbolizing their disapproval of human trafficking. Of the 230 countries in the world, sixty-one have not signed the United Nations treaty to stop it. Anders’s class elected to send their sentiments to a neighboring non-participant, more specifically, Zimbabwe’s representative to the United Nations. His teacher chose him to be the courier.

So, after hauling a stack of 200 handprints from Moshi to Paris, then to Munich, then to Gig Harbor, and finally to Seattle, we made the trek to our neighborhood post office today. Mission accomplished!

A few moments have stood out for me in the current phase I call, “transcendental acclimatization”:

1. After dropping a years worth of baggage onto our living room floor and checking out the renters, we were welcomed home by a gaggle of champagne-bearing neighbors. We crossed the street and dined with friends who so thoughtfully served all the things we missed: smoked salmon, cheese, seafood pasta, and chocolate cake with fresh raspberries.

2. As I heard the drop of a package on the front porch, I opened the screen door and yelled “Thanks!” to the backside of an anonymous, brown UPS uniform. He turned around, smiled and said, “Hey, you’re back. Welcome home.”

I recognized him as the same UPS guy who’s had the neighborhood route for years, but had no idea he recognized me or knew we’d been away. “Thanks,” I gushed. “What’s your name?”

“Mohammed,” he replied.

“I’m Diane. It’s good to be home,” I said as he scurried back to the big, brown truck and drove away.

3. Due to an achin’ back, I asked the kids if they would make a run to the nearby Trader Joes for a few groceries in the midst of unpacking. When they returned with two heavy bags and a large bouquet, I was touched one of my very own children had thought to bring me flowers.

“Mom,” Lena said, “These are from the woman at Trader Joes. She asked us if we were doing the shopping for our Mom today and when I told her your back was hurting so we were helping, she told us to go pick out some flowers and she paid for them with her very own money! She told us to tell you she hopes you feel better soon.”

4. I picked up Anders at a friend’s house after a sleepover. As I entered the front door, the younger brother was sitting at the computer.

“Hi Balloch,” I said in a very loud voice, hoping to get his attention. “How are you? How was your year?”

“Oh hi,” he said, looking up from the screen and then down again. “Heeyy,” he said slowly, looking back up at me. “You’ve grown.”

“Really? How exactly?” I said, nervous to hear his out-of-the-mouths-of-babes answer.

“You’re taller!” he said.

As I write this, we sit in a small Parisian apartment watching the World Cup on a flat screen TV, accompanied by a big bowl of chocolate macadamia nut Haagen Daaz ice cream. The high speed internet works like a dream. I can hardly breathe after my delicious dinner in an outdoor cafe, or maybe it’s because I ate way too much cheese yesterday when we arrived.  We’re not in Moshi anymore. 

Leaving was tough and I’ll continue posts about Tanzanian experiences, just not in real time. For now, we’re trying to ease back in to things and process what just happened. The cheese definitely helps.

Thinking of Tanzania atop the Eiffel Tower

Joyce was given the opportunity to live at Usa River Rehabilitation Center where she learned how to sew. She graduated but had no access to a sewing machine or a place to live.  Things were tough.

Joyce’s luck changed when she met Zachariah, another paraplegic who started his own NGO, Friends of Paraplegia,  to help spinal cord injured persons in the Kilimanjaro area. In addition to the tangible support from F of P, she was offered a room in a hostel in exchange for work in the gift shop and minor sewing jobs.

One day, Joyce met a woman at Zachariah’s house who was futilely trying to learn Swahili. When the woman heard her story she thought, “This is crazy. Imagine what this woman could do if she had the means to do it!”

The woman told Joyce’s story to everybody she knew. People wanted to help and sent money so Joyce could start her own business. The donations she received from complete strangers paid for fabric and a sewing machine. The woman watched as Joyce graciously received consultation about what to sew, and how to make the products better. The woman noticed Joyce’s confidence increase and her depression lift.

Soon, the woman had to return to where she came from. But, before she left, she was able to see Joyce sell her products to the enthusiastic owner of a lovely hotel near Mt. Kilimanjaro. The woman believed this was just the beginning for Joyce.

And she lived productively, and happily ever after.

Joyce works at her very own sewing machine

Joyce meets with a hotel owner to sell her products

Finished product