Traditional Tanzanian Medicine is Hard to Swallow

Again, I apologize for my tardiness. Yet, this time, I needed to wait for a conclusion to what has been happening here before I posted the whole story. I have been back and forth several times as to how much of the following story I will actually post. I have made the decision to tell you everything, yet I need you to understand that I do not need to be lectured on how to be safe in a foreign country, and you need not worry about me. I would not have changed my actions if I were put in the exact same situation again; I acted as I chose because it is who I am and what I stand for. That being said, here is an explanation of my last couple days:

As I indicated in the previous post, the organization I am volunteering with sponsors several local orphans for school. It came to our attention, on what seemed like the most normal of mornings, that one of the orphans that we had sponsored, lets call her Sally, had not been attending school for the past month. The accountant from the organization, who does a lot more than accounting, told us that the word on the street was that Sally had been kidnapped by the local Witch Doctor and was likely being drugged and used as a sex slave. Sally's story was that her father had passed away a couple years prior and her mother was unable to work due to her progressing case of AIDS. Essentially, she is a street child.

So, the accountant, two other volunteers, and myself set out to Sally's house to talk to her mother. After walking for a couple hours to try and find this house, we were greeted by an elderly woman (Sally's mother) and welcomed in to sit down. We sat clueless for a while as the accountant and the mother engaged in a conversation in Swahili that was far past anything we have learned to comprehend. We were told by the accountant upon departure that the mother was denying Sally's abduction. She told the accountant that Sally was simply at the hospital for the day because she was a little sick and that is why she was not home. We knew this was not true, as she had not been to school in a very long time. What we did not know, was why a mother would like about such a thing when her daughter was in clear danger.

We then went to the Witch Doctor's house, where the whole situation went from being something of oddity to that of reality. At the house we did not find the Witch Doctor or Sally, what we did find was another girl. She told the accountant that Sally was in fact staying with the Witch Doctor, but they were not home. She also told the accountant that her brother had been staying there before, yet hadn't been seen for a week. The boy was around 5. We needed to contact the Witch Doctor so the accountant could try and reason with him to get Sally back to safety and to school. So, I left my phone number, with an alias, and told the Witch Doctor in a note that I was a tourist who wanted to recieve one of the tours he conducts of his forest. It was the plan that when he called me I would set up a meeting with him, where the accountant would meet him. Sketchy, I know.

When we were leaving the Witch Doctor's we asked the accountant what she thought had happened to the boy, to which she replied, in a shockingly calm way, "I think he has given him to the ancestors." Meaning she thought the Witch Doctor had murdered this boy. I had just set up a sting operation with a child abductor, probable rapist, and possible murderer. That is how that day ended - awaiting a phone call.

What was frustrating during this day was the organization's reluctance to contact the authorities with the information they had. I am quite aware that the police in a first world country are significantly different than those of the third world, yet this was escalating into a situation far beyond my maturity level. This day was essentially The Hardy Boys, yet written in the style of Chuck Pahlnuck.

Day 2: We started this day by going to seek advice from a human rights lawyer. We explained the situation thus far and she told us that we needed to present the case to the police. (Duh?) But, first, we needed to go see the mother and tell her we were going to the police with the evidence we had in an effort to try and get her to admit what was truly going on, so that she too could advocate for police intervention. We set out for the mothers house, yet this time we were not greeted by the elderly woman - we were greeted by Sally's brother. He was far more co-operative. He told us that not only was Sally living with the Witch Doctor, but so was Sally's mother, in secrecy. He said that he too thought that Sally was being used as a sex slave, but told us of another, equally as scary situation. Days before, Sally had presented her brother with a letter which required his signature. Apparently the letter stated that the Witch Doctor knew an American man who was going to take Sally to the U.S. and provide her with an education, all that needed to be signed was a form of parental consent. We learned that Sally had never met this American.

I can not begin to explain what I was feeling at this time and what was going through my head. There is this girl, who is being raped by the 60 year old Witch Doctor, who has promised her a way out - a way out that does not exist. It is quite obvious to us that a simple letter does not suffice as adequate documentation to bring someone from Tanzania to go the school in the United States. There was no American. This was the Witch Doctor's way of having Sally's family believe that she was safe, yet they would never see her again. At this point, we got scared.

We rushed to the police station, with the brother, and presented the case. We were told by the human rights lawyer to ask for a specific cop who was supposed to be very good. He was drunk. We talked to another man, who from what I could tell was quite high up. He explained to us that under Tanzanian law, if the mother said it was okay for Sally to be there, there was little they could do, as she was still a minor. Yet, they agreed to check out the situation, as we reiterated that it is not legal for Sally to be withheld from school, and the situation of the missing boy is very scary. They then proceeded to ask for money to carry out the investigation. URGH! This day was my culture shock. There is a girl who is being used as a sex slave, who is being fed a made up story about an American who is going to take her away, and there is a boy who is missing, yet no one seemed to care. Everyone was thinking about number one. The one thing we had going for us, was that there were three white volunteers present. The police were afraid that if we were not satisfied with the action they had taken that we would use our power of influence to create a situation that was not favourable for them. They told us to meet them back at the police station at 6:30.

They wanted us to go with them on the police raid to the Witch Doctor's house. I am not a cop. I do not know the language, and I do not know my way around the Witch Doctor's village. I should not have been going along. Yet, he enlies the problem. If I did not go, there was no guarantee at all that action would be taken. There was no guarantee that anything would be done to help Sally, or this little boy.

At 7 o'clock, The accountant and I, as well as the other volunteers who insisted I was not going alone, pilled into the back of a police truck with six police officers, equipt with AK-47s. The truck was the kind that we envision to be used for smuggling illegal immigrants into the US, the one with a tarp covering the back. It was dark, and I was in the middle of a police raid in Africa.

We arrived at the house to find Sally, the missing boy, Sally's mother, but no Witch Doctor. I spent the entire time that we were in the house, when heated Swahili was exchanged between those present and the police, talking to the little boy with what basic Swahili I knew. I was scared, yet I cannot even fathom the thought of being 5 years old and having the place at which you stay swarmed by men carrying automatic weapons. Sally was taken for questioning.

On the way back, I sat beside Sally in the back of the truck. Nothing was said, no acknowledgement was made. I felt as though I should have said something, even hello, but I couldn't manage anything.

We hung around the police station long enough to find out that Sally would not co-operate. She would not admit to staying at the Witch Doctor's, saying only that she was visiting for the night. She said that her brother and her did not get along and that he was only trying to get her in trouble. She said that she was fine. She denied that any promise of America had been made. There was a girl that was in grave danger, she was being used as a sex slave, and manipulated, yet no one cared. Not even the girl.

Sally remained at the police station overnight, awaiting bail. It is illegal not to attend school in Tanzania. She was released on the condition that she live at home and that she attend school.

I went to Sally's school today. She was not in attendance.

I have never felt more frustration. I struggled with things I should not have been exposed to in an effort to provide this girl with safety, to even provide her with opportunity, to tell her this American was not real. For what? nothing. You cannot force someone to change. You cannot force a country to change. I know I did everything I could have done, and certainly more than I should have done. I saw no change. I saw no reward of having helped someone. Sally will continue to live with the Witch Doctor; she will not go to school; who knows what will happen to her in the end when 'the American' takes her away. There is nothing I can do.

Someone very close to me once said "help the people you can, and learn from the ones you can't."

I am awaiting my realization. I am waiting for some greater lesson to be taken from this experience.