A Genuine Story: Finding Faith
The one thing that you have complete control over, is your faith and what you believe in.
What you feel in your mind, in your soul and even in your bones can all be guided through your beliefs. This, I learnt, can be a very conflicting and confusing position to be in.
Whilst studying the A.C.E programme the orphanage had expanded and moved away from Sonu to a large town in Bomang’ombe in the Hai district. Here, there were more children and the buildings were much bigger. Many of us were studying the A.C.E programme together.
A family from England visited the home and effectively took over the teaching for quite some time. Clive McLaren and his wife, Chris, became almost like parents for us children. They were compassionate, caring, and considerate. I started to see their children; four girls called Faith, Abi, Kirsty and Sarah and a boy called Harry, as my siblings.
We were told at the orphanage not to form too close bonds with visitors, but they taught me Christian values and things about family that I would never forget.
The McLarens were practical people who were generous with kindness, advice, and time. All were luxuries, and things that I aspired to share as much as possible in my life. They were my saving grace. I knew it then, and I know it now.
Unfortunately, the McLarens’ time at the orphanage came to an end. We continued to learn from another volunteer named Laura. Her three children studied with us and she managed the educational elements of the home. She taught us about how to stay safe sexually, which was particularly important as many lives in Tanzania were taken by the HIV-AIDS epidemic.
However, I was generally a very sad child. My worries would steal all my time and leave none of it for joy. Laura used to tell say; “Smile, Genuine!” and I eternalised her voice and use a physical display of a smile as a shield of armour to this day when I feel tense or stressed.
The value of our actions was a key discussion point in our studies, and we were taught to put God first, others second and ourselves last. This has become a pillar for how I choose to live my life. Based on my past experiences, I could have entered survival mode, but this would have been too easy. Instead, I choose to be selfless and do what I can for others as they did for me.
Unfortunately, my home-schooling was cut short before I was able to complete the programme. The orphanage ultimately decides how long you can stay for, and there is nothing that you can do to change it. They simply drive you to a nearby town and leave you to fend for yourself. There are no welfare checks, and nobody knows what happens next to these children.
I found myself back on the streets. This time, I was in Moshi. It is the closest town to Sonu and base for those climbing Kilimanjaro. It is a peaceful, people-friendly place that captures the spirit of the Chaga people who enjoy running hospitable businesses and greeting new visitors.
However, for local people who live on the street, it is a constant struggle. Those with bad intentions often target children to work as pickpockets and drug moles. Here, I looked to my faith and continued to work honestly on the markets. Though, I always kept an eye for the return of those who I declined.
For a period, I worked with an elderly woman called Mrs Lemunge. She ran a flower selling business and taught me to wash and tie bunches. I became a regular worker and a familiar face for her customers. She let me keep tips and take responsibility of the business when she was too frail to work.
Despite this, I worried desperately for who I was, who I was to become and how I was going to get there. I wondered about and wished for answers. Is my mother okay? Would it be safe for me to return to my birth home? Is it okay for me to contact my family? I feared rejection and endangerment. My self-confidence was at an all-time low. I was exhausted from the short-lived highs of good fortune in my life that quickly collapsed with a crash in front of me.
“I gave up. The world was overwhelming and scary.”
Plagued by suicidal thoughts, all I wanted was to rid the pain that I felt. Though, it was my Christian faith that initially put me off from acting. My mind was arguing with itself.
The shops in the town had verandas that became my home. I’d lose days wandering around before returning to the veranda to rest. Each had a watchman to protect the stores.
One evening, I sourced poisons to drown the suicidal thoughts. However, as I bought it to my lips, a watchman shooed and shouted; “Not on my watch!” moving me along. They were more concerned about the extra work a suicide would add to their shift, than my own wellbeing. This is a common scene across Tanzania and desperation is a taboo despite its widespread.
The World Health Organisation reported in 2019 that suicide was the second leading cause of death among young people aged 15 – 29 years globally, after road traffic accidents. In Tanzania, there were 3,001 deaths by suicide in 2016. Roughly two-thirds were males.
Despite this, Tanzania widely does not approach mental health with humanity, dignity, respect, or empathy. Illnesses are received with judgement, rejection and stigma that has been deeply rooted in society and the law itself. There is a brutalist approach towards suicide. If your attempts fail, you will be charged for trying to kill yourself. The method of punishment over help is largely unhelpful. It is written into the Tanzania Penal Code under section 216 and 217 that “Any person who attempts to kill himself is guilty of a misdemeanour.”
This anti-suicide law means that those who attempt suicide but are unsuccessful are typically arrested and turned over to the courts, facing imprisonment.
Trying to find internal peace, I ran away from the town toward the Rau river. I was partly pleased with how blissfully quiet and secluded the area was for enjoyment, but part of me thought how it was perfect to take my own life. In my mind, I hatched a plan. I would take a rope, climb a tree, tie a noose, and by the time I was found it would be over.
I toyed with this idea for about three months.
On the day that I returned to the river. I took a rope, I climbed a tree, and I tied a noose.
Then, I heard a voice.
“Help!” somebody shouted, “I can see you in the tree.”
Across the river, I noticed a man had become trapped under the weight of a heavy banana tree. He spoke directly to me, pleading; “Please come down and help me.”
He broke my nerve. “What you’re doing will happen to me, but your fate is a choice and mine is not.”
This struck a chord. I had a choice in this situation. The scene is vivid in my memory and it’s something that I refer to every day.
The man continued; “I’ve got kids to take care of! You can help me and then go back to do what you want to do.” He convinced me to complete what may have been a final act of good will.
I climbed down and pulled the banana tree off him. It was in that moment that I realised that he may have pulled the stunt deliberately to talk to me, and hopefully convince me to think about what I had planned to do.
He didn’t pressure me or show any anger at all. Once saved, he simply asked; “Are you hungry?” Together we walked to his farm. I ate, I ate and I ate. I learned his name as Mr Sangawe.
“People can be very strong and destined for great things, but they encounter challenges. These challenges should not kill them, but they should help them find their greatness. You should not confuse these challenges with threat and try to run away.”
Some people kill themselves. Others turn to crime. Some neglect themselves and their morals. All because they are too afraid to be who they are supposed to be.
Mr Sangawe told me his story. When he was conceived, his father had refused him and ran away. He was raised by his mother alongside his brothers. As he grew older, his wealth was invested in farmland and animals, and he lived a happy life with a family of his own. When his father had become old and frail, the man was the one to take him into the hospital where he took his last breath.
He said, he had a choice of living under the shame of his neglect but instead he rose above it and forgave him. He was the greater man between he and his father.
The experiences that we go through are not necessarily what shape you. Instead, it is what you take from those experiences. How you choose to react and the lessons that you learn are the parts that shape and build your character.
I left the man very confused, asking myself “am I great?” and allowed my legs to carry me back to Moshi. I never returned to the river.
Looking to my faith, I read verses about the plans that He had for me and looked to passages referring to sin. I tried to focus more on the long-term consequences of my actions rather than short-term fixes. Readings about strength assured me that one day I would be rescued and allowed me to remain grounded.
Back living under the shop verandas, begging for food, and working the markets. Each day I would think about my next move and when I could find the opportunity to take it.
Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder.