Maua Mazuri

How quickly time passes!  Two years (precisely to the day) passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye.  I am typing this, not from my balcony surrounded by bananas and coffee in the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, but from my sun-soaked, bursting-with-blooms backyard in Michigan, USA.  My final year of service passed me by surprise, each day filled with new opportunities and unique challenges.  These days, unfortunately, did not provide me with ample time (or internet access) to sit down, reflect, and update this blog.  So, we will save the reflection for another day.  For now, enjoy a backlog of stories about my incredible two year journey.

Singing what quickly became their theme song -
"Wanawake na Maendeleo," or Women of Development

Today, we will explore from start to finish one of the most fulfilling projects of my service: Maua Mazuri.  "Maua Mazuri" is Kiswahili for Beautiful Flowers - an educational program created by Peace Corps Volunteers to help adolescent girls harness their inner beauty and confidence.







As a young girl growing up in the USA, I was always told, "You can, you can, you can."  You CAN achieve your dreams.  And, I found that, with perseverance, I actually was able to accomplish virtually anything I put my young mind to.  In 24 years, I have yet to feel limited by any sort of glass ceiling, and am confident I can break through it if I ever feel it in front of me.


Girls in Tanzania face quite a different reality.  In some tribes, men boast pridefully about beating their wives and abusing them verbally.  In others, Female Genital Mutilation is still expected and widespread.  My village, set in the famed Machame region at the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, has villagers who pride themselves on being different.  Their tribe, the Chagga, were happy to send their daughters to school.  Many were happy to allow them to study, and our school often saw 7 - 8 female students in the "Top 10" of every form.

Learning about storytelling through dance -
this original dance depicts a young girl "dancing"
with too many partners and becoming infected with HIV.

However, the whole story was not apparent in one glance.  Once young, unmarried girls finished high school, where did they go?  Were they in the corn fields?  No.  Carrying water?  A few times a day, at most.  Cheering at village football matches?  Far from it.  They were hidden behind four mud walls, boxed into smoky fireboxes at the perimeter of village lots.  They had children at their hips, and laundry at their hands.  Their hands, rough and wrinkled before their time, would place shiny dishes of porridge and sauces on lace cloths in the living room, and then retreat back to smokebox for a solitary meal.

A woman in Tanzania is expected to "kubali" - to agree without protest.  "Sawa" is the Kiswahili word for, "Ok," or "Sure, I'll do it."  Tell a young girl to prepare breakfast?  Sawa.  Tell her to sweep and mop the entire house?  Sawa.  Tell her to dig from point A to point B in the farm?  Sawa.  Tell a young girl that it's time to get married and have kids?  Sawa.  

Even in the most progressive parts of Tanzania, young girls need to be told, over and over again, that they do chart the course of their own futures.  This is what the Maua Mazuri program aims to do.  Through the arts - creative writing, poetry, songwriting, dancing, drawing, and painting - the lessons teach girls about self-expression and often focus on HIV/AIDS.

"Move Your Body" - learning self-expression through the best way
possible - dancing to Beyonce!

At Uroki Secondary School, Maua Mazuri began in October 2015.  My counterpart, Agnes Mkulago, and I, had chosen 20 girls based on essays written in Kiswahili about the importance of art.  We recruited girls from the Form I and Form III classes to get a decent mix of abilities and ages.

Left: Younger and older girls interviewing and drawing each other,
Right: Some of the girls showing off their face drawings.

The first few months were challenging!  Most Tanzanians do not see the value in extracurricular activities, and Uroki was no different.  Our meetings were set to happen every Thursday at 4 pm, but invariably, a surprise assembly would be held, and the entire school sent to clean the school grounds or cut grasses.  Maybe a teacher would keep the students late, and then another might need to enter for an "announcement" that would take until dusk.  Maybe the students would face a surprise inspection of their hair, their toenails, their school uniforms, and each of them would be thrashed with a stick to the point of tears, and far past the point where any singing and dancing would be possible.  However, we eventually learned to take firm ownership of our girls, and the other teachers began to understand that they could do absolutely nothing to deter Agnes and I from holding these weekly sessions with the girls.

Self-Portraits! These confident, beautiful girls told me,
"Madam, Sisi ni Mishale!"
(Mishale means arrows. But basically, "Madam we are BEAUTIFUL!")

Most of the time, visible results were few and far between.  I do remember one conversation with a teacher about a particular girl - a girl in Form II who kept her hair covered in a white ushungi (hijab).  Her sparkling eyes always said more than her timid mouth.  However, this teacher was marveling at the fact that she, although previously silent began to answer questions in class over the past few weeks.  I smiled and said that she must have been getting the extra confidence from somewhere :)

Learning to make beats using their bodies!

Two girls leading a lesson about STDs for 500 youth
from Uroki and Neema Secondary Schools.

How did Maua Mazuri girls actively challenge the status quo set for them?  I think looking at a few of their accomplishments gives you a good idea.  They were strong leaders, and took ownership of every project I gave them.  While their peers were still teasing them for the group's seemingly silly name, the girls gave me secret smiles and carried on with what they were doing.  They were leaders and my main helpers for the Huru empowerment seminars, a 3-week intervention that reached 500 youth in Uswaa.  Whether I needed them to sing and dance, act, or even teach lessons, they proved to me that they were capable, goal-oriented young women.

Singing their original song

Do you need more examples?  On May 31, 2016, the girls had reached the end of the Maua Mazuri program - and the day had finally arrived to show the entire school the fruits of their labor.  Their first number was an original a capella song called, "Kusema Hapana ni Muhimu" (Saying No is Important).  They took the stage more timidly than I expected.  The "drums" started amid chatter and laughing in the audience, the first singers faltered in their entrance, and the "guitars" came in reedily at first.  Then, all of a sudden, they looked at each other and smiled.  Melody, harmony, and rhythm blended together beautifully, and their peers only stopped and stared. The lyrics, which stemmed from a songwriting session last year, are below.  The Kiswahili original is on the left, and a rough English translation on the right.  (It doesn't quite have the same ring in English).

After this, they sang, danced, and acted their hearts out.  The youngest and smallest ones fearlessly stood in front of their peers to explain their drawings and paintings, something that would have been unheard of eight months ago.  I don't know that I had ever been as fiercely proud of anyone.

Maua Mazuri's last skit

Performing their storytelling through dance -
HIV infection and progression of the disease through AIDS and death.

They explained the mural that they had been working so hard on throughout May 2016, titled, "Wanawake na Maendeleo" (Women of Development), after the song by Vicky Kamata that had become their mantra.

Some pictures of progress on the mural - with big thanks to Madam Karishma, our guest all the way from America who you can see working hard in top center amid the maua mazuri (beautiful flowers)

The Final Product!
The young woman, depicted in her graduation gown while holding a doctoral diploma, has our own Mount Kilimanjaro and farmlands around her as she heads off into the world.

Their final number was "Move Your Body" - a dance we had adapted from Beyonce's famous music video.  They had been up until late in the night perfecting their dougie, salsa, and sashay. Any of them, previously timid and shy, danced unabashedly with all of their hearts.  More than anything, their faces were filled with joy that they would have been so embarrassed to show a year ago.  The entire school erupted with cheers.

"Move Your Body," Beyonce

Exhausted and giggling, they finished their performances and settled down, as always, on the pink mat in my living room.  They had adopted to do a no-frills, all-fun graduation celebration in my living room.  There were no guests of honor and no formal speeches.  Agness and I both expressed a word of thanks to the girls.  Then, their word of thanks, prepared by one of the quietest and youngest girls, Dorcas, brought me almost to tears.  Luckily, as my students tell me, I've become hardened by two years in Africa and don't cry nearly as much any more.  We cut cake (our labor of the previous night), drank soda, and danced some more.  Instead of formalities when handing out certificates, we distributed them all facedown with every girl instructed not to look at the certificate.  We began by telling one girl to open the certificate in her hand, announce her fellows name, and name specific talents that she had brought to the group, and particular days when she had made the group successful.  Throughout the program, giving positive feedback was an important part of each lesson, and the graduation celebration was no different.  Each girl left with a smile on her face and a spark unwilling to leave her eyes.