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tobias serving ugali |
In the US we are constantly bombarded with news about
layoffs and budget cuts to our public school systems yet we still have certain
expectations of our educational institutions. State board certified
instructors, electricity, and running water are bare minimums but let’s be
honest, we expect a lot more than just a safe sanitary environment. In Tanzania
the picture is much bleaker. It is not uncommon to have a classroom filled with
fifty or more students and often times those classrooms go unattended by an
adult. Can you imagine the uproar by American parents if a class of nine year
olds were left unattended for even one hour? I can hear Matt Lauer reporting
the news story already. As for running water and electricity – they don’t get
those luxuries either. Their unscreened windows are left wide open so they can receive
as much sunlight as possible. When it rains the water soaks the dirt floors
creating a muddy mess while the children and their desks get wet too. And their
lunch program? Well, they aren’t concerned with serving leafy greens and 2% milk.
These kids are lucky to get a meal. Every day they stand in line holding a bowl
brought from home. They hand their bowl to Tobias, the Mbahe version of the
lunch lady, and he serves them a small scoop of ugali, a maize based porridge.
They make their way down the “lunch line” which consists of two students who serve
each peer one scoop of beans and one scoop of bean juice –the cooking water from
the beans which provides a bit more protein. Oh, and lucky Tobias gets to cook
everything in giant kettles over an open fire because there is no kitchen in
which to prepare the meal. The kids sit in the weedy grass and atop granite
boulders eating this soupy concoction with their bare hands. In the States I
have seen temper tantrums over a broken cookie but as I looked around at these
children eating lunch they all wore glowing smiles on their beautiful faces.
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school cafeteria |
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getting out of the rain |
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calling for birds |
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a perfect model |
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i was kissed by this cow |
At the end of the day we walked back to the farm kissed by
Kilimanjaro rain and escorted by our benevolent guide Felix. Mbahe Farm sits on
15 acres of rich volcanic soil and is completely self-sustainable. They grow
and raise everything on the grounds from avocado, pumpkin, sweet potato, and
papaya, to honey, coffee, mulberries, and (yikes!) bacon. The nutrient dense
soil and flowing mountain stream enables an abundant organic growing opportunity
and allows guests to enjoy five star and five course meals.
Although I was grateful for and enjoyed every bite I also
felt quite conflicted. Moments before partaking in this feast I watched
hundreds of children eat an incredibly meager meal and here we were being served
a multiple course meal for lunch. Flashbacks to an eight year old girl absorbed in cartoons hedonistically eating her bowl of sugar laden cereal passed through my mind. How could I reconcile, or more likely rationalize, this dichotomy - such
abundance steps away from such scarcity? The reality is that this exact same
experience surrounds me every day in the US but for some reason it seemed so
much more evident here. Is it because of the number affected is so much greater
or perhaps the contrast between the haves and have-nots is less severe? I
travel through underprivileged communities on a regular basis and more often
than not I see the population chatting on cell phones and walking into
Starbucks. I know there are so many in need in the US just as in Africa and yet
what have I done to make a difference in my own town?
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oranges with green rinds |
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one of the many waterfalls |
Feeling the effects of a sleepless night on a broken down
airplane and an emotionally charged day at the school my travel companions
headed to their cottages for an afternoon nap. Knowing I would have trouble
sleeping that night if I opted to sleep I decided to forgo the nap. Felix volunteered
to take me on a hike through the village and I jumped at the chance to explore
the peculiar landscape. We hiked up and down hills, through streams, past
waterfalls, under trees filled with handcrafted hollow log beehives, into
clearings with views of Mount Kilimanjaro, past rustic houses and on to the
main trail just in time for what I considered to be rush hour.
As we hiked past several villagers making their way to and fro I asked Felix about the economy and how people make a living in Mbahe. He explained that a good number of the men work for various expedition companies as guides or porters. The work is rigorous, the conditions austere, and the pay is often times paltry. Most stay home and work their land growing crops to provide food for their families and selling the excess to make a little money. They live a much simpler life and tread lightly on the earth. “But how do they pay for electricity?” I inquired. “Some of these houses have satellite television and I keep hearing music coming from some of these houses. It obviously takes electricity to power electronics. How does that work? How much is an average electric bill?” He patiently answered saying that an electric bill runs on average $30 per month and that to get on the grid costs around $2,000. With the cost being so steep most families don’t have electricity but those that do take advantage and enjoy the comfort it provides.
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one of kili's peaks |
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felix leading the way |
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felix showing me the coffee bean berries |
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rush hour |
We reached Felix’s family’s property and he gave me a tour.
We made a stop at the neighborhood watering hole his brother owns. Although the
bar has satellite TV and serves up beer and liquor to the locals it is a far
cry from Cheers. It consists of one very
small room with no tables or chairs and the television sits on a wooden shelf
that looks like it is going to give way at any moment. We headed past Felix’s newly
built house and through his flourishing gardens which also include pig pens and
a chicken coop then past a house, tucked in a corner, which seemed dark and
empty. Felix told me it used to be the residence of one of his brothers who
died a few years ago from HIV. It is hard to find someone in Africa who has not
been touched by this disease.
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hot water heater |
We arrived back at the farm to the pungent smell of
eucalyptus burning in the boiler and the sound of coffee being ground for
breakfast the next morning. I must ask: do you ever enjoy a cup of freshly
brewed coffee? If so, as you hold your venti carmel-machia-whatever in your
hand do you ever think about the process that went into making your cup of
java? Can you imagine the soils that nourished the crop and envision the faces
and hands of the workers that helped to care for and harvest the beans? Mbahe
Farm it is a multiple step process and does not include the use of an electric
coffee grinder. Farmhands manually pick the coffee berries and must hand shell
the beans from two outer layers. The prepared beans are dried then roasted then
placed in a large wooden mortar. They crush the beans to a fine powder and sift
the dust through a sieve. The particles that remain in the sieve are placed
back in the mortar to be crushed again until they all flow through the sieve. The
workers are focused and determined but what struck me about this labor
intensive process was that each worker did his job with a smile on his face. They
are proud of their work and the end product. But how was it that every person I
came in contact with – from young to old -seemed not just content but genuinely
happy?
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grinding |
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sifting |
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storing for the morning |
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our guide anton, joan, and patricia |
After spending two days working with the kids at Mbahe
Primary School it was time to head for Huruma Hospital located in Ibukoni
village. Father Aloyce, who formerly
presided over Huruma Hospital, arrived in his pickup truck and eight adults piled
into the cab and bed for an hour long drive to town. This man of the cloth has
an infectious dimple framed smile and overflows with love, warmth, kindness, purity,
and enthusiasm. He told us that the hospital is owned by the Moshi Diocese and serves
a population of almost 247,000 from the Rombo District of Tanzania. It is
responsible for all obstetrical and child health services for the entire area which
is an incredibly daunting undertaking for both the overworked medical staff as
well as the remotely located district residents that have to find transport to
and from the hospital. In addition to staffing and medical supply shortages the
hospital is faced with government health mandates but receive no government funds
or subsidies for implementation. In Tanzania an expectant mother can check into
a hospital at anytime to receive care and services. Many women who are lacking
economic resources come to the hospital months before their due date where they
are served two meals a day. The meals not only provide much needed nourishment
but also supply caloric energy so the women have the necessary strength to go
through the birthing process.
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cesarean baby |
Upon our arrival we were privileged to meet a tiny baby that
had just been delivered via cesarean section. The last time I saw a brand new
baby was when I witnessed the birth of my niece, Lauren, two years ago. Time
passes quickly and the memory of how small and helpless these lives are fades
into hues of sepia. Looking at this
precious bundle I was transported back to Lauren’s birthday and to Sharp
Hospital in San Diego. The contrast between Huruma Hospital and any hospital in
the US is staggering and I tried to grasp the fortitude needed to give birth in
a third world country. Until recently
they did not even have proper lighting to perform an episiotomy and I can tell
you that these women are not receiving an epidural let alone pain relievers. Can
you imagine not even having access to a Tylenol after an ordeal like
childbirth?
Lisa, one of the
women in our group is a kindergarten teacher in San Diego and she and her
students made blankets for the babies at the hospital. As we walked through the
wards presenting new mothers with blankets it was deeply touching to watch them
smile as they lovingly wrapped their baby in downy softness. They held their
babies up proudly and posed for pictures while we snapped away. Glancing around
at the American paparazzi it struck me that these women will most likely never
have a photograph of their child. I asked a nurse about the logistics of
sending copies and though she said we are welcome to send them due to resource limitation
it would be nearly impossible to get the photos to the mothers. This is a world
with issues far greater than treasuring a keepsake and I know that photographs
are only material – a mere snapshot of a moment in time - but what better
moment to capture than the start of a life?
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cribs |
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father aloyce and sister doctor receiving medical supplies |
Father Aloyce is a wealth of knowledge and our drive into
town was an education. It is estimated that there are 3 million orphans in
Tanzania, 16,000 in the Rombo District, and approximately half of all orphans
have lost a parent due to HIV. Often times when parents die they leave behind
several children. Adoption is frowned upon here and the government has made it
increasingly difficult to adopt a Tanzanian child. Historically extended family
members would take these children in but with the increasing number of deaths
due to HIV it has become more difficult for the family that remains to provide
for so many. Father Aloyce oversees 1600 of these children. By offering monthly
rations of maize and beans and free medical care when needed he has successfully
encouraged many extended family members to participate in the upbringing of
these precious souls.
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father aloyce and the children |
We had the opportunity to meet a group of these courageous
and cheerful children. They welcomed us with song and jumped for joy when they
saw Father Aloyce. It is clear that there is mutual love and respect between
the two and it was reassuring to know that these kids are well cared for and
loved. Patricia, one of the members of our group actually funded the building
and stocking of two silos to store maize and beans. She spoke to the children
and told them how much she cared for and loved them. Tears flowed as she shared
her thoughts and feelings with the kids and not a dry eye was found when she
said, “I want you to know that since I met you two years ago not a day goes by
that I don’t think about you”. I know she spoke the truth because I have yet to
make it through a day without reflecting on those children and the
circumstances they face.
Our visit to the hospital and orphanage coincided with Ash
Wednesday and before our departure we were each blessed by Father. I did not
grow up Catholic but I thought it was a beautiful way to end our day and felt
it an honor to be have been given such a blessing. The ride back to the farm was
quiet and contemplative as we each reflected on our day’s experiences – or in
my case dozed. When we said our goodbyes to Father Aloyce and he told us that
he is grateful we made our journey and he will pray every day for the success
of our families. There is no doubt in my mind that he meant it and I believe
that my loved ones have someone in Africa praying for them.
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standing in front of silos patricia (in pink) funded after being blessed |
Thursday was our last full day at the school and we had an
overwhelming number of projects and lessons to manage. Due to time constraints
we decided to divide and conquer rather than to go into each classroom as a
team and we were able to accomplish all that was needed. As an expression of
gratitude for our time the teachers prepared an elaborate meal and we had the chance
to get to know more about each other. I learned that the monthly salary of a
teacher ranges from $60 to $180 which is considered a low wage for full time
employment. Can you imagine getting paid $60 a month and having half of that
going to your electric bill? Perspective is eye opening isn’t it?
Friday morning we packed our bags and said goodbye to the
farm, the workers, and the children. The school held an assembly filled with
song and beautiful speeches of appreciation and love. We were each presented
with a traditional Tanzanian wrap, called a kanga, and we took a few last pictures with the teachers
and students. I was surprised at my reluctance to leave and as one of the
mischievous boys coyly hit my arm to get my attention on my way out of the
school my heart broke. He had warmed up to us and clearly wanted to play. I had
but a minute which disappeared far too quickly.
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one last goodbye |
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mama lynn with one of her children |
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child at light in africa |
Gerald, our driver and safari guide, was waiting for us outside
of the school in his Range Rover. We all climbed in and headed on to our next stop
at Light In Africa. This orphanage was founded by Mama Lynn in 1999. She is a
British expatriate who went to Tanzania and was horrified at what she found –
hundreds of unwanted, uncared for, and neglected children. They were living on
the streets without any to care for themselves and many of them were dying from
AIDS. Knowing she could make an impact she went back home, packed her bags, and
moved to Tanzania bringing her 10 year old son along. She found a rundown
orphanage, began renovations, and created a loving environment for children who
do not have family to care for them. Over the past 13 years she has built 5
children’s homes (Mama Lynn refuses to use the word orphan or orphanage) and
has serviced over 25,000 children and families with various provisions
including food, medical assistance, and advanced vocational training for older
children.
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kathryn and one of mama lynn's children |
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marty and baby |
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marty and mama lynn |
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the children receiving dolls made by my friend elaine |
Mama Lynn shared many heart wrenching and tragic stories
with us about how these kids came to live at Light In Africa; each one more
disturbing and sobering than the next. There are far too many to write about
here so I will share a poignant story about two sisters. Albinos live in
constant fear as shaman will pay $4000 a head. These “medicine men” believe
albinos have special healing properties and use their organs in rituals,
ceremonies, and potions. Some even believe that they can cure HIV so often
times they are attacked and raped. A young Tanzanian mother had two albino
girls. One night bandits invaded her home searching for the girls to kidnap and
sell. She was able to conceal them just before the bandits broke through the
door and she successfully saved their lives. Sadly she realized that she could
no longer protect them so she brought them to the Mama Lynn and asked her to
raise and guard them. These girls are alive and well today. We held their
hands, enjoyed their voices, and had our hearts melt from their bright smiles. As
you talk and play with these children you forget they have lost their families
and if you hadn’t been told you would never know the horrors they have had to
face at such a young age. Their resilience is astounding and their joyful spirit
contagious.
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ndarakwai camp |
As evening approached we hugged Mama Lynn, climbed into the
Range Rover and headed to Ndarakwai Camp for a little rest and relaxation. We
arrived after dark and were greeted by our peppy camp manager, Ailsa. She is a fun
loving Brit who decided to chuck the grueling corporate world and embrace the
wilds of Tanzania. She showed us to our thatched roof tents which were more
luxury hotel than nylon dome tent. The camp is conscientious of their impact to
the environment and the surrounding communities. They locally sourced all
building materials and employed nearby villagers to assist in the construction
of the site. They grow all of their vegetables, use only trees that have been
felled by elephants as firewood, and power the camp via solar power.
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bush baby eating a slice of banana |
We settled in at the bar for a drink before dinner and Ailsa
pointed out some bush babies that hang out in the trees surrounding the bar and
dining area. She mentioned that if you hold out a piece of banana they will
take it from you but you should be cautious because they have sharp claws. That
was all the permission I needed. I grabbed several slices of banana and headed
to the fig trees. There he was, looking down at me with his round shiny eyes
and adorable bat ears. I held my arm high in the air and lured him in with a
piece of banana. He reached out his hand, snatched the banana, and leaped to a
branch ten feet away to enjoy his sweet snack. That. Was It. I. Was. Hooked. I
needed more bush baby. I held out another piece of banana and he realized he
had found a complete sucker. He jumped back toward me but this time I didn’t
give in so easily. I held the banana just inches out of his reach so he had to
come closer to me. He reached out his skinny primate arms, grasped my fingers
with his ridiculously cute E.T. fingers and firmly pulled my hand to his mouth.
I thought I had died and gone to bush baby heaven. Something bordering on
obsession started to kick in. Banana feeding round three was the beginning of a
whole new relationship; he held my hand and licked my fingers with his dainty tongue
as he lapped up the every last drop of banana.
At this point my dear friend Kathryn wanted in on the
action. I reluctantly let her take a turn. The bush baby, feeling much more
confident, came toward her reaching for the fruit. She shrieked and dropped the
morsel into the darkness below. “Are you
kidding
me?” I shook my head in disgust. She was certain she would be successful with
attempt number two but sadly the scene was repeated. I had to put a stop to
this madness before I lost the trust I had built with this creature. I quickly pushed
Kathryn aside and restarted the feeding frenzy stopping only when I was told
our table would not be served dinner until every member of the group was
present. It wouldn't have hurt me to skip a meal but I figured the rest of my
group wanted to eat so I tore myself away promising the bush baby that I would
be back the next night.
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gerald and giraffe skull |
We woke early, ate a hearty breakfast, and headed out to see
the wildlife. We spent the morning driving dusty trails under the warm African
sun. We watched baboons lazing on tree branches, a male waterbuck doting on a
female vexed at the presence of another male close by, giraffe snacking on
acacia leafs, and herds of zebra in every direction. We saw birds every color
of the rainbow, kudu and gazelle showing off their speed and grace, and water
buffalo grazing through the plains. As we drove through the reserve I finally
had some time to learn more about my companions and what compelled them to join
Joan on her annual outing. It was a much needed reprieve from our intense
schedule of weighty activities.
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grant's gazelle |
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zebra at watering hole |
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kori bustard |
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european roller |
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his hands were SO soft and strong! |
That evening after dinner had been served and bowls of fresh
fruit were sitting in front of us, I gathered handfuls of watermelon and banana
and set out to find my bush baby. Within minutes we picked up where we had left
off. Marty, another member of our group came along and served as photographer
and coconspirator. We decided to put the fruit in the crook of my arm to see if
he would actually be willing to walk across my hand and up my arm to get a
piece of fruit. He looked at us then at the fruit then back at us and decided
it was worth it. As he scurried up my arm I felt his warm soft belly against my
skin. He took hold of his prize and scurried back to the tree limb. I placed
another piece of fruit half way up my arm with the same result. This ritual
continued until the bush baby’s brisk scamper turned to a leaden saunter. He
sat on a branch looking down at us. I reached my hand high in the air holding
out a juicy piece of watermelon and his eyes seemed to say “Are you kidding me?
There is no possible way I could eat another bite of that luscious-y goodness.”
But the temptation was way more than he could resist. He made his way back down
the branch, looked at me and sighed, took the fruit and slowly ate it. I held
out another chunk of watermelon. He looked down at his belly and wondered if he
would be able look at himself in the morning. “One more bite. I’ll have just
one…more….bite,” he rationalized as he ambled back down the branch. He shoved
the succulent fruit in his mouth and begged me to stop.
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enticing him to walk down my hand and up my arm |
“Are you sure you don’t want anymore? “ I asked
nonchalantly.
“You can’t be serious. I am going to explode,” he moaned. In
the end he acquiesced devouring every last piece I had to offer.
Our last day in Tanzania we headed back to Light In Africa to pick up a group of children to take on safari. They were dressed in their Sunday best and very excited to be headed off on an outing. We split the group into two vehicles and drove to Arusha National Park. Along the way I became fast friends with Sarah, a beautiful girl with deep soulful eyes who loves giraffes. Sarah is reserved, fairly shy, and speaks in broken English. We managed to communicate and understand each other with the use of few words. She is very sharp, exceedingly observant and I was impressed at her quiet adeptness. She has had life experiences well beyond her years and taught me things about myself that I may have never learned without her help.
Halfway through the day we found a scenic setting near a lake to enjoy lunch. We made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and passed out a variety of fruit, crackers, and caramels to the kids. They expressed their appreciation every time we handed them something – quite different than children in the US. Another shocker - they ate every piece of food we gave them. Apples, bananas, and oranges disappeared bite by bite. I shudder to think of all of the apples my mom packed in my sack lunches - Granny Smiths, Braeburns, Fujis, I didn’t discriminate -they all shared a similar fate, the trash bin. As for the oranges she sent to school with me? The idea of having sticking fingers and acidic juice running down the lengths of my arms was far from appealing. Besides, all that time spent peeling the skin from a piece of fruit could be better spent on the playground. I had no comprehension of wastefulness.
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sarah and me |
By late afternoon the rhythmic sway of the car slowly rocked the kids to sleep one by one. Sarah rested her head on my shoulder then decided to make herself more comfortable by resting her head on my lap. It was a tropically muggy day and as she slept my pants slowly absorbed her perspiration. I wondered how she could sleep with the heat and moisture until I was taken back in time to when I was young and fell asleep on my mother’s lap. Sometimes I would wake perspiring with drool everywhere but I felt safe and loved and could sleep through anything. My heart ached knowing that Sarah would probably never experience the comfort of a mother’s embrace.
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sarah sleeping on my lap |
We reached the park’s exit where we were to say our final
goodbyes. I hugged Sarah and thanked her for spending the day with us. I wanted
her to know I enjoyed learning about her and told her that she would be in my
thoughts and prayers. I could barely look her in the eyes as we parted ways
knowing in a few short hours I would be headed back to the States. Back to a
life filled with family and friends and lots of love. We snapped a few last photos
and the kids piled into the van to take them back to the orphanage. I looked
through the van’s window and Sarah smiled a toothy grin. “Asante sana. Asante sana,” thank you very
much, she said waiving her hand back and forth as they pulled away.
There is a saying in Tanzania, “life is the best gift, the rest is extra”. In the short time Africa shared herself with me I learned a great deal about the human spirit and its resilience. Day after day I witnessed true happiness and was shown by example that life is in fact the greatest of all gifts. I am not sure of the impact I had on these children’s lives but they left an indelible imprint on mine. Some of my greatest life lessons were taught on the continent where mankind began, by unsuspected guides and teachers - lessons of appreciation, humility, contemplation, and reflection. In an effort to enrich others it was actually my own life that was affected. I know I haven’t solved the equation yet but you better believe I am signing up for Algebra 2.
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my last tanzanian sunset |