The Experience of a Lifetime- By Robyn Vandenhoek

I am small. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since coming to Tanzania: it’s that. Just the other day my aunt was asking about the Tanzanian flag and I asked my cousin: “What’s the flag of Africa?” She just looked at me and said: “Robyn, does North America have a flag?” “But Africa is a country....wait, no it’s not.” I had always understood that continents are not countries and vise versa, but for some reason Africa was smaller than it actually is in my mind. I had condensed an entire continent into “that third-world place”. In reality, Africa is made up of 53 countries including islands, each sporting their own flag and featuring their own landscapes, languages, and even cultures.

As for the culture shock, I’m not sure what “shock” is supposed to feel like, but so far I haven’t found myself living in a constant state of shock. The culture is definitely different, but I was mildly disappointed to discover that yes, they have billboards and roads and intersections just like in Canada. People are much pushier about you buying things, and the streets are much louder, but in general a market in Arusha resembles and serves the same purpose market in Calgary.

One glaringly obvious difference, however, is the perception of time. It is perfectly acceptable to sit in your shop all day and not lift a finger unless someone asks about something. Coming from North America, where it is normal to have every minute of your day planned out, I did not understand this. I felt hopelessly bored and useless: like I wasn’t fulfilling my purpose in coming here. And then I asked myself: what purpose? Did I really think that as an uneducated seventeen-year-old white girl who does not understand the language or culture of these people I was going to somehow improve their lives? It would be an incredible blessing if I manage to touch at least one life, but in reality, unless I have a valuable skill set, or a lot of money and power, or, I suppose, my own army, I am not really going to solve Africa’s problems.

After I realized this, I stopped checking the time every five minutes. That nagging voice that complained because I wasn’t having a phenomenal, life-changing “experience of a lifetime” disappeared. Don’t get me wrong, I am. Being immersed in a culture that is not my own has filled me with a knowledge that I did not have before. It is not a knowledge that is learned from being in a classroom or reading a textbook. It is an experiential understanding that the world really is so much bigger, richer, and more beautiful than I ever imagined. It is being recognized as “Robyn” and not “Mzungu,” as a child I didn’t know existed three weeks ago runs up to give me a hug. It is seeing logos that I recognize from Canada in this country and realizing that although this is a completely different country, the world is a global village. That’s the experience of a lifetime. I learned to be content in the present, and I can say that I truly understand what Thoreau meant when he said: “Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…” The cliché about ‘happiness being a journey, not a destination’ finally became my experience.  

I also discovered that Africa is not a foreign land so much as I am a foreign to the land. When I first came here and tried to communicate with one of the mama’s at the centre who does not speak English, she simply doubled over in laughter. At first I was slightly offended. Why would she be laughing at me? Then I realized that in this country, I am the different one. In their eyes, I am the one with a strange accent, weird facial features, and a funny language. The cultural barrier makes communicating with people so much more difficult, but also so much more beautiful when you break through it. I have been here for just over a month now and the suspicious looks I have been receiving are being replaced with a cheerful, “Mambo!” The kids are finally getting used to the fact that I am a girl with what is a name used only for boys in their country, and use it gleefully. As the landscapes, the language, and the culture become more and more familiar I am learning, slowly, that perhaps Africa didn’t need me as much as I needed Africa. And I’m okay with that.