I treasure moments of unexpected kindness, when someone offers you their help without any expectation of reciprocity, any agenda.
Today I was very much alone, and my heart escaped to an encounter in faraway Morogoro. I've written about this before but today I felt it so strong, this everlasting impression just one real meeting of souls can bring. This one of mine was one lonely night in the middle of literally nowhere, Tanzanian countryside.
Today I was very much alone, and my heart escaped to an encounter in faraway Morogoro. I've written about this before but today I felt it so strong, this everlasting impression just one real meeting of souls can bring. This one of mine was one lonely night in the middle of literally nowhere, Tanzanian countryside.
That night, I was given a standard of hospitality and kindness I've held as benchmark ever since.
My team, such an interesting combination of cultures and experiences, had arrived to a new town late in the evening and it took me forever to set up our office (I was an assistant in a World Bank project during my studies) . As I finally finished I found myself abandoned by everyone else who'd gone off searching for dinner somewhere. The only street in town was lit by nothing but stars. I was simply too exhausted to brave the scorpions, snakes and other creepy-crawly surprises alone. My room had no light either... I couldn't sleep. I opted for our hotel's ragged bar and tried to kill time and hunger with a few crackers. Telephone didn't work outside the capital, I had no books to read, no newspapers.
Suddenly I felt very small and very much alone.
Until - a sweet looking young woman came to my table, shyly asking if I'd like to join her for a cup of tea. It turned out that Agnes - a delightful 23-year-old schoolteacher - and her husband - had seen me sitting there all alone feeling sorry for myself, and felt bad for me. Agnes had sent her husband off for a while, thinking it might be easier for me to join another woman alone. How very thoughtful. They didn't even let me pay for my own cup of tea. In their culture it simply was sad for a person to sit in a bar or restaurant alone.
We had so much fun together that evening... And when our team returned to the capital Dar es Salaam a month later, Agnes came to our hotel to meet me again. She wanted to check up on me, that I wasn't lonely. Who does that to someone, practically a stranger...
And this I am forever thankful for, she wanted to show me a place that left an everlasting impression on me.
Off we went by a loud, crowded, shabby bus filled with animals and people up to the roof, to a location unmarked by any tourist guide or map. Well, the bus route was marked as a place not to go to. On the bus, I felt why.
This was a location where slaves had been gathered. Remains of tiny windowless huts filled by heavy rusty shackles on the way to oceanfront. Haunting as Auschwitz.
There we sat in silence for a long time, Agnes and I. We didn't speak at all upon our return to Dar. It felt somehow inappropriate. We hugged, and I never saw her again. But I'll never forget her kindness, and the unity we felt sitting next to those shackles.
There's such beauty, such kindness, such suffering... Such deep life everywhere. If you only dare to get out of your comfort zone and open your eyes.
In Morogoro, Agnes opened mine.
~*♥*~
My team, such an interesting combination of cultures and experiences, had arrived to a new town late in the evening and it took me forever to set up our office (I was an assistant in a World Bank project during my studies) . As I finally finished I found myself abandoned by everyone else who'd gone off searching for dinner somewhere. The only street in town was lit by nothing but stars. I was simply too exhausted to brave the scorpions, snakes and other creepy-crawly surprises alone. My room had no light either... I couldn't sleep. I opted for our hotel's ragged bar and tried to kill time and hunger with a few crackers. Telephone didn't work outside the capital, I had no books to read, no newspapers.
Suddenly I felt very small and very much alone.
Until - a sweet looking young woman came to my table, shyly asking if I'd like to join her for a cup of tea. It turned out that Agnes - a delightful 23-year-old schoolteacher - and her husband - had seen me sitting there all alone feeling sorry for myself, and felt bad for me. Agnes had sent her husband off for a while, thinking it might be easier for me to join another woman alone. How very thoughtful. They didn't even let me pay for my own cup of tea. In their culture it simply was sad for a person to sit in a bar or restaurant alone.
We had so much fun together that evening... And when our team returned to the capital Dar es Salaam a month later, Agnes came to our hotel to meet me again. She wanted to check up on me, that I wasn't lonely. Who does that to someone, practically a stranger...
And this I am forever thankful for, she wanted to show me a place that left an everlasting impression on me.
Off we went by a loud, crowded, shabby bus filled with animals and people up to the roof, to a location unmarked by any tourist guide or map. Well, the bus route was marked as a place not to go to. On the bus, I felt why.
This was a location where slaves had been gathered. Remains of tiny windowless huts filled by heavy rusty shackles on the way to oceanfront. Haunting as Auschwitz.
There we sat in silence for a long time, Agnes and I. We didn't speak at all upon our return to Dar. It felt somehow inappropriate. We hugged, and I never saw her again. But I'll never forget her kindness, and the unity we felt sitting next to those shackles.
There's such beauty, such kindness, such suffering... Such deep life everywhere. If you only dare to get out of your comfort zone and open your eyes.
In Morogoro, Agnes opened mine.
~*♥*~
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