Habari za Ngombe? News of the Cow? a photo reflection by Nathan Hsieh

When we were taking Kiswahili lessons, we began by learning greetings. “Shikamoo” for elders, “mambo” for youngsters, “salama,” “umelalaje?,” and much, much more. We learned questions to ask, statements to say, and responses to offer to all of these greetings. Every morning we would greet our teachers extensively, and exchange news of our lives. Godson, one of our Kiswahili teachers, stressed the importance of greetings in Tanzania. “Tanzanians greet even the cows,” he joked.


I have never greeted as frequently and as fiercely as I have for the past two months here in Tanzania. Walking around the city center, we often were greeted by strangers on the street. Every time we met someone new, each one of us exhausted our list of Kiswahili greetings in cordial conversation. Upon entering a Tanzanian class room, our arrival was always greeted with a slow, strong chorus of children’s voices:

“Good morning Teachers!”

“Good morning! How are you?”

“We are fine, and how are you too?”


This part of Tanzanian culture has taught me much about how to teach and serve in the local community. It places emphasis on relationships and human connection; strangers, friends, students, teachers begin every conversation with a pleasant exchange. Similarly, I have come to see that while some of our work can be quantified and measured, much of it is intangible. Apart from the projects that are completed during the lessons and workshops, we cannot see how our teaching has impacted the teachers and students. We cannot know the future of LTP in Tanzanian schools, or how it might affect Tanzanian education in the long run. However, we can trust in the relationships that we have built with the teachers, with the students, and with the schools. It has been an exchange every time we’ve entered a classroom – our experiences for theirs, their knowledge for ours. Because of the time we spent with the local community members, and because of the experiences we shared, we can attribute any lasting impact more to the human connections we made than to visual aids we helped create. Cameras, printers, and paper are transient, while inspiration and impactful interactions are sustained.


After being immersed in Tanzanian culture and experiencing Tanzanian community, I am seeing the importance of the unseen, and trusting in the power of the relationships we have built.

Kwaheri–reflections on saying goodbye, by Natalia Gallo, Helen Liu and Dish Lamichhane

We’ve been saying different goodbyes every week. By the end of our eight weeks here, we will only have worked at eight schools and have led four teacher workshops in five cities.


This is great because it means we’ve been able to reinforce the LTP methodology in places other than Arusha. Selfishly, I’ve also loved exploring different, more remote, parts Tanzania by car and because of this I’ve learned more about the culture as a whole.


However, this means that every single week we’ve been working with a new group of kids and saying goodbye only three or four days after meeting them.Because I go into the week knowing the schedule and the end date, saying goodbye is bearable. It’s always something that I knew was coming. Subconsciously, I probably don’t let myself get as attached as I usually would. For the kids, though, it’s different. The hardest part of every Friday when we’re about to leave after having worked an entire week somewhere is when someone inevitably asks, “Teachers, will you come tomorrow?” One of us usually answers something along the lines of, “You don’t have school tomorrow!” in an attempt to avoid the question: “What about Monday?”


Seeing the way their faces fall when they learn that our time teaching them has ended is one of the things I dread the most. I don’t want to make it sound like we are coming in and changing their lives through one simple workshop. Their lives probably won’t be split into two: before the Duke students and after the Duke students. However, our time with them at the very least means they take a break from seeing a teacher in front of a blackboard and can have more agency in their own education by thinking creatively through pictures and play. Through LTP, they can link their least favorite subject with a fun game that might change the way they view it. They’re given a chance to answer questions open-endedly and there is no pressure to reach a pre-determined correct response.


The goodbye I’m dreading the most, though, happens tomorrow when we will visit our after school students at Arusha School for the last time. Every single day that we’ve been in Arusha I’ve spent my afternoons with a small group of students (15 regularly come and there are another 10 or so drifters) who I’ve grown to love. They call me “Ciñorita Natalia” and they wait for me by the school’s gate at 4:30 and as soon as they see me they run as fast as they can to give me the first hug. They take my backpack and anything I may be holding from me and, holding hands, we walk to our favorite patch of grass to begin our lesson. This is easily the highlight of my day and is the best cure for any sleepiness or any bad mood. No matter how tired I am, after spending ten minutes with my “chiquitos” I am renewed. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so much consistent, limitless love in my life, and this is not a failure on my family and friends’ part, but rather a reflection of how affectionate the kids are. They’re a boundless source of energy. Saying that I’m going to miss them is a huge understatement and now, on this Friday morning, it’s my turn to ask, “What about Monday?”



I’m not 100% sure why I love this photo so much, but I think it has to do with how candid it is and how easily I can imagine the conversation taking place here. It reminds me of how well I’ve gotten to know the students in my afterschool art class at Arusha School. I can’t believe that it’s already been two months, and in just a few days we will be leaving the continent featured behind my girls.

The photo also displays the personality of these four perfectly – Dorcas (top right), forever distracted; Lilian (top left), always looking out for others (here I imagine she’s observing what the other girls are doing); Dora (bottom left), ever curious; Florence (bottom right), always chatty. As soon I notice myself noticing these details, I feel immensely grateful for the privilege of getting to know these kids well enough to be able to recognize these qualities. Having a small group—around 16 students—has allowed me to truly share in their lives.


This particular photo was taken after our second-to-last art class by students who had already finished early. I was somewhere between frustrated and endeared and amused—as always, attempting to keep my still-working students in the cafeteria on task and the ones giggling and taking photos outside careful and gentle with the camera. I remember being tired, but in a content way, after spending over an hour flitting from student to student, hoping to offer some guidance or advice. This photo brings to mind a tired-lovely sort of feeling that makes me want to roll my eyes and laugh at the same time. I think memories of teaching in Arusha will always conjure this feeling, which is why this imperfect, awkwardly framed photo feels important and valuable to me.


Normally we are so busy teaching and attempting to assess results that a photo like this might pass by unnoticed. As I searched my students’ photos in order to choose one to write about in this reflection, I caught myself trying to find some other more ‘professional’ photos–maybe one with more even lighting, with subjects doing something recognizable, with a sharp focus, a photo that revealed clever symbolism or the creativity of the photographer. It was as if I were looking for proof that we DukeEngage students had really done something with our time here. But then I realized I don’t need that sort of reassurance. Somehow I keep coming back to this photo, with its cropped version of Africa and four girls in their uniforms dusted in afternoon light and who knows what else. None of them paying attention, some of them moving, all of them in middle of being their lovely selves. It makes me smile.



I have always had trouble with saying goodbye to people. I think this stems from losing both of my grandfathers, to whom I was very close, during high school. Something about knowing that I may never see someone again tears me apart, especially that person is integrated into my daily life. When I spend two hours every weekday for two months with kids that have so much affection, of course I am going to get really attached to them. The boys in my afterschool group at Arusha School are always either smiling or laughing or playing or saying “Teacha can I have the ball?” But on my last day with them, all I saw were frowns and tears ready to roll down their cheeks. That feeling can only be described as heartbreaking.


And of course I am thankful for them. But I wish I wasn’t so loyal to them whenever we worked at other schools. I wish I could have given and received as much love when working with kids at Meru Primary and Swifts and Shalom and everywhere else we went. Sure, it would be much more difficult to say goodbye to this country if I had gotten as attached to every kid at every school that I worked with, but maybe I could have given them something more. Maybe I could have given more hugs and high fives and asked a few more questions.


Of course there will always be “Maybe…” and “What if?”, but as I sit and reflect six hours before my flight back to the States, I am filled with so many different emotions. Sadness—because I miss my boys. Regret for not missing the other kids as much. I get to see my parents soon, but I am leaving my kids behind. I may be going home, but I am also leaving home. Amidst all the emotions I feel, hope is a surprisingly strong one. Hope that I will always remember what my Arusha kids have given me. Hope that they will remember what I have given them. Hope that I can make up for not loving the other kids as much. Hope that I will maintain all the connections that I have made here. Hope that I will be able to find the same kind of happiness I have found here again. But most of all, hope that I will one day be able to come back to this beautiful country I have called home for two months. For now, kwaheri Tanzania.

Kiss Before Open, a letter home: week 5, by Katie Ellis

Strange title, you think? Not for the students of Arusha School. On a few lucky afternoons throughout our weeks here in Arusha, Tanzania, we DukeEngage students have been honored to receive notes of affection from our afterschool students on which are scribbled the words, “Kiss before open”. At first, we didn’t really know how to translate this into our college humor centered English dialogue. We didn’t know if it was a physical recognition of gratitude, like an unspoken thank you, that we should abide by or simply an unrecognized statement of endearment to serve as a precursor to what was inside. Now, with five weeks of experience working with the students of Arusha School after school, and after this past week working with them in their regular classrooms on LTP lessons, I think I’ve finally decoded it.


It’s been a rather dramatic week here amidst the standard LTP commotion we cause when entering schools. Without fail, our arrival always means an impromptu moving around of teachers’ schedules, and shaking up the usual classroom teaching techniques. This past Monday, we started our week by observing a standard 6 Math class at Arusha School. As soon as we walked in, we were greeted with uncontainable excitement from the class, particularly those students in our individual afterschool programs. We sat in the back and watched as a typical lesson in geometry unfolded in an efficient and uneventful fashion. Nothing to report here, I thought.


Next we decided to supplement the blackboard lesson with our own LTP take on math: “geometry of the face”. The students measured their face diameter from ear to ear and did the calculations to show the area of their faces, as if they were perfect circles. We took pictures of their faces with rulers to scale, and pasted them onto the paper with the calculations. Giggles could be heard from across the campus as each student received his or her picture and was allowed to draw a circle on top of a two-dimensional face.


Later, in the other Standard 6 class, we arranged word maps related to Tanzania’s cooperation with various countries around East Africa. The students conjured up some extremely relevant connections including barter trade, tourism and diplomacy to wrap up the afternoon.


We continued our lessons at Arusha school on Tuesday, with the Standard 5 classes, teaching about adjectives in English and animal environments in Science. As any faithful Biology major would, I leapt into the science lesson with energy and focus. Seeing kids act out different animals and interact as different species is one of my favorite ways of using LTP (which in this case can be interpreted as Learning Through Play rather than Pictures). To my dismay, the students in Standard 5 surpassed me with energy and fell below par with their own ability to focus. It was a hectic morning trying to get the students to adhere to the lesson plan, but some wonderful pictures and projects were produced nonetheless—along with some uncanny lion impressions. Though I was not present for the English lesson, Zuhura, one of my afterschool girls, met me later that day bright eyed and eager to tell me the story she made up in her 5A English class. All in all, Tuesday ended as a tired success.



Wednesday proved to be the turning point of week five. We spent the day with the Standard 3 classes working on their use of prepositions and comparisons in English. As can be expected from the youngest students of LTP, class 3A (where I stood on a chair attempting to govern the madness that unfolded below me) presented itself with ups and downs. It came to our attention that, contrary to our expectations, the Standard 3 students didn’t know what adjectives were, let alone how to compare them. After much aimless teaching, both comparisons and prepositions turned out to be well conveyed through games played outside in which students would run to, around, behind various objects and dance “slower” or “faster” or (to my dismay), “better” than me.


The week’s turning point came not in regards to LTP activities during the school day, but in terms of my own responsibilities as both a student and a teacher here in Arusha. My group of afterschool students came to Superstars (the name they chosen for our afterschool classes) ready to talk about injustices they’ve experienced. Working with a small, all-girls group, my hope has been that my students would talk openly—even about topics otherwise unaddressed in primary schools. I spent about a month trying to create a place where they can say, feel, and think anything, and employ a creative license on all the work we produce. Wednesday’s injustice lesson was proof that my group of girls can certainly say anything, and they feel absolutely everything.


Wednesday afternoon I became privy to some information that made me shudder and question the lens through which I’m seeing students and teachers in my time here. As our hour together unfolded, I felt like a trusted recipient of information they hadn’t shared before. Now let me confess; by the time this Wednesday came around, I had barely felt comfortable with the title ‘teacher.’ Suddenly, I was not only their respected teacher, but also their confidante with whom a secret rested. Inside the accustomed realm of my normal life, I can keep secrets. I can be trusted. That’s step one. What I was and still am struggling with is the next impending step, step two—the call to action. It’s a vague, grey area outlining my place in this matter. Do I capitalize on my title as teacher and launch into defense mode in order to help? Or do I fall into the shadows of my role as the constant mzungu outsider simply observing a different culture for a transient time period soon to expire?


Though I still haven’t found the surest of footing in my stance among this issue, these are the things that I know:
These girls mean the world to me.
They trust me with their safety.
They are twelve.
They want me to “kiss” before opening a letter and reading what’s inside.


And I’ll do anything they ask me to.


Kiss before open—Now I know. All they request is a sign of acknowledgement. A simple gesture of affection reassuring those who give you their words and feelings at their own discretion. Just a little something to reciprocate the amicable feelings in an exchange of love and vulnerability. Though I may not know my place in the echelons of power that teachers hold here, I know that the only thing I can do for now is return my amazing girls’ gesture of confidence in me with that same compassion and affection they seek when they write those words on the outside of their notes. So here I go, with ethics and cultural mores in mind, planning out my return “kiss” before opening a new week and a new course of action. It might not be tactful, or smart, or any of the adjectives we taught the Standard five students, but it’s all they ask of me, and all I can give them.

A photo reflection by Natalia Gallo

Three weeks into DukeEngage we’ve read pictures, mapped images, created picture alphabets, taken self-portraits, photographed professions, and thought out lesson plans. Throughout this process I’ve learned about LTP, creativity, language barriers, improvisation, and a lot about the art of teaching. Our hard work has been rewarding, for we’ve seen encouraging results both from the teachers and students.


However, the most impactful activity we’ve led so far for me has been the “Slave Trade Alphabet” with the teachers from different Pangani schools. We chose this topic because the city of Pangani was deeply affected by the slave trade, for it is from there that Arabs loaded people into boats to take them to Zanzibar, where they would be sold at slave markets.


Through LTP, I studied slavery in Durham by visiting Historic Stagville, a former slave plantation just 10 minutes away from Duke, and helped Durham 5th graders write narratives from the perspective of a slave owner and a slave. Although the activities would be different, in both cases interacting with powerful historic sites set a serious tone for the activity and I was sure our work would be meaningful.


To create a visual alphabet, you must first brainstorm different words for each letter and then pick one to photograph, print, and write about. We began with the word “A” and the first word that came to my head was “Abolition.” Theirs was “Africa.” A trend started, for as I thought of “Buying,” “Civil War,” “Danger,” the teachers thought of “Boat,” “Culture,” and “Death.” However, it was only when we got to the letter G and my DukeEngage partner Katie and I offered “Guilt” that the difference between our words really hit me, for the teachers looked at us quizzically and suggested “Gate” instead. I realized I had been unintentionally imposing the way that I learned about slavery as a white person in the Americas on people who experienced the other side of it. The other words they chose included “Oppression,” “Resistance,” “Torture,” and “Violence,” revealing a tragic, brutal history. This was difficult to absorb as these raw words evoked so much pain and suffering I had never been directly acquainted with. With the word “guilt” still in my mind, it was surprising to see how openly the teachers threw around these words. I was instantly humbled; arrogantly, I had been expecting to teach them and I was grateful to be having such an intense, impromptu history lesson.


When we walked to town to take the pictures the teachers paused to photograph an old stone building in front of River Pangani. They explained that this was the old customs building where the captured waited for the boats that took them to Zanzibar. We learned there was underground tunnel connecting the building to the river so that the slaves would have no idea where they were being taken.


Standing on the coast looking up at that building I felt as I did in Durham when we visited Historic Stagville: awed, helpless, vulnerable, and deeply touched.

Weak for Tanzania, by Dish Lamichhane

“I didn’t die!” I yelled as we made it back to Arusha home successfully after a one week trip to Pangani. That had become a motto of the trip for me after I survived a treacherous three hour boat ride on the River Pangani (My lack of ability to swim made this quite the feat for me). It was nice to be home. And it was nice to call those cozy Kundayo Apartments home after only three weeks. That’s where my kitchen was—the one in which I learned how to cook good pasta for the first time. That’s where my toaster was with which I made PBJs every morning for breakfast. That’s where my Horcrux Mikey, the cutest, fattest one and a half year-old toddler in all of Tanzania, was. That’s where my real bed was, and oh man did my body realize it after the one I’d slept on for a week. I needed the entirety of Monday to be able to bend my back properly again (and more importantly continue with LTP committee work), before embarking a few hours inland to Babati for a two-day teacher’s workshop starting Tuesday.

In Babati, we worked with about 35 primary school teachers who taught around the area. The teachers were divided into 8 groups, with each group doing half of a visual alphabet on the topics of vocational skills, mathematics, science, and sports. The teachers in my group taught sports at their respective schools, so they were eager to adopt a new teaching method … until they found out I was 19, the age of some of their youngest children. It was frustrating to deal with a lack of participation from some teachers, but I have tried to accept that the age hierarchy is a cultural barrier that is hard to overcome. Regardless of the gap, the teachers came up with some great pictures of sports.

A relatively easy Thursday and Friday back in Arusha were much needed after an unusually tiring time in Babati. On Thursday, we were at Arusha School during the school day for the first time, which was amazing because I worked with some of my after-school kids, and I also did not need to establish leadership because I was already well-respected by them. This made for a stress free day in a familiar environment. On Friday, we observed two classes at Shalom School, a very organized, private school in Arusha where we will be working in a couple of weeks. I realized that Shalom was the first time that I really got to see how classes were typically taught in Tanzania – the students have classwork, practice problems, and homework, and quizzes and tests just as I did growing up. The teachers were kind, the students were respectful, and the atmosphere made me eager to teach there.


Saturday was the extremely anticipated Mt. Kilimanjaro base hike. “Mt. Kilimanjaro”. “Hike”. The most we hiked at Kili was from the bathroom to the bat caves, which were at a lower elevation than the bathrooms. We sneaked in a quick picture with the Kili sign and our Duke flag though so maybe we can tell our friends and family that Kili was majestic, whereas the truth will be that we did not even see the peak because of the clouds. However, we did visit two waterfalls that provided for an exciting (but still scary because again, I cannot swim) time.

On Sunday, we had the lucky opportunity to learn how to cook at one of the most delicious home-cooked-esque restaurants in Arusha, Mirapot Restaurant. We made chapatti, coconut rice, beans, pumpkin leaves, and some other foods that I should have written the names of to remember. Of course the food was delicious, but what I really enjoyed about this activity was the memories it brought because as a kid – let’s be real I’m still a kid – as a pre-teen, I used to make chapatti with my mom all the time and she would always say I was doing a great job no matter how rectangular my chapatti looked. I miss her. And my dad. It was his birthday on Saturday, and the rest of my Duke Engage crew came up with the idea to sing him happy birthday in front of the Kili sign. Unluckily for him, I am lazy and forgetful, so the video did not happen. Luckily for him, I will make it up to him with a video of my Arusha School kids singing instead (sorry crew, they’re cuter).


I have now been in Tanzania for four weeks, which marks the halfway point of this trip. It is crazy to think that in just under a month, I will be back home in Colorado. Time has gone by too fast, but at the same time I feel like I have been here forever. I have learned enough Swahili to carry out a short conversation, bought kangas, eaten Tanzanian food, embraced the idea of LTP, befriended locals, and formed so many bonds with so many children which were all goals I had coming in. And to think, I still have four more weeks to feel weak for Tanzania.

Week Three Letter Home: An Overview and Reflection on “Signals, not noise,” by Helen Liu

“If you could hear this photograph, what would it sound like, smell like…?”

Invoking the five senses is one of my favorite LTP questions to toss out. The students always look at me like I’m a crazy person at first, but soon they’re excitedly discussing various sounds and not being scared to say something silly.


So, what are the five senses like for this third week of DukeEngage Arusha?

  River Pangani


Blue-green – for the never-ending sky and trees. Scarlet for kangas on the street. Magenta for rouge on a mwalimu’s cheeks – opaque in the sunlight, which lit Pangani alive, so bright that even dust shimmered like diamonds. I hearthe constant thunder of waves, the crisp chirping of birds hiding among thick leaves, and the bubbly giggles of children towing their pet crabs on string leashes. The smells of gasoline and coconuts are in the air. To our surprise, we’re lucky enough to taste a few – fresh off the tree! Everything is humidity and heat, combined to make a thick blanket of butter melting over the top of the land, sizzling into our skin.


We spent this last week teaching LTP workshops to both walimu and wanafunzi, teachers and students. After brilliant navigating by Kassim and Bakari, our loveable drivers, we’ve touched ground at both Tanga and Pangani, eight hours on the road each way. We worked with the teachers to create vocabulary related to the Oman-Pangani slave trade, posters relevant to the subjects they taught, word clouds based on example photographs, and more. As for the students, we learned about reading photographs and self-portraits through photography, complete with pictures of students doing everything from beatboxing to playing football (soccer). See photos below for examples.


  Emily and Pangani teachers taking photographs for the vocabulary word “coconuts”,  which were carried by slaves during the Arab slave trade.





 DukeEngagers with students after our workshop.


In addition to LTP workshops, we had the privilege of participating in several local activities. We visited the Pangani education ministry, where the woman in charge spoke about her work in the education field both in Pangani and in Denver, Colorado, where she worked with FastTrack Kids. We also learned about the slave trade from hundreds of years ago, where free men in Pangani and the surrounding region were captured and taken to Oman via the Indian Ocean. Finally, we experimented with beautiful henna patterns and spent our evenings along the Pangani River and Indian Ocean, where I spent equal amounts of time losing in various sports to other beach-goers, accidentally swallowing sea water, and being wowed by the sea’s inhabitants – tiny orange crabs, multi-colored sea dollars, and purple seaweed so thick that it’s an ocean of its own.


River Pangani.


What stands out most from this week to me, however, is a very specific group of walimu. In Tanga, fellow Duke student Nate and I worked with five geography and civics teachers. One of them was a feisty woman – young, well-groomed, and the designated group writer. She was relentless in her questions about LTP. It turns out, she was uncertain about the costs, its similarity to drawing, the lack of resources in local schools, and the time commitment compared with just lecturing at her students. At first I was intimidated with being interrogated, but I soon realized that her fervor showed not only skepticism, but also hope and curiosity and dedication to her students. Being interrogated also forced me to truly put my thoughts together on why LTP is so valuable. Having to defend it gave me a better perspective on how it looks from the eyes of the walimu and what points we need to emphasize – the higher level of understanding and application it enforces, the creativity it fosters, and the interactivity with students. The walimu’s uncertainty reminds us of just how new, how foreign of a method it is to teachers here. We still have a ways to go – but I think all of us knew that.


Uncertain doesn’t mean bad, however. Back to the five senses question – specifically, the sense of hearing. On our way back to Arusha, I spent my hours buried in a book on uncertainty and its necessity to creating something original and worthwhile. The author says that the point is to create “signals, not noise”. It occurs to me how much of education, here and elsewhere, sadly just feels like creating noise. I remember zoning out during high school classes, trying to avoid monitoring the clock’s ever-so-slow travels. Noise. Students at Duke in large lecture halls blindly scribbling notes or gossiping with friends – noise. Wanafunzi here responding to questions from “Where is the photographer standing?” to “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with “Yes” – noise.

Only a slight exaggeration of my primary school experience. 


Nevertheless, perhaps the few signals we transmit are strong enough to last past DukeEngage summers. This week, a few teachers inquire curiously about the costs of LTP equipment, hoping to be able to use them in their classrooms – a signal. Some students get extremely creative with their photos, defending a football goal from an imaginary player – a signal. 


  Teachers taking a photograph to represent “Reunion” during an activity focused on the slave trade.


Throughout our weeks, there’s always lots of ups and downs in terms of how successful we feel with LTP. But perhaps when we’re doing something uncertain (read: something original and worthwhile), we have to create quite a bit of noise for every signal. But I think that’s worth it. And I hope, if we could hear it, that’s what this week sounded like.

from Tanzania, a letter home about week two, from Nathan Hsieh

Today marks the end of our second week in Arusha. Things have become much more comfortable as we have overcome jet lag and fallen into a routine: Swahili lessons with Godson and Beatrice in the morning, LTP classes with Meru Primary School students through the afternoon, and after school programs with Arusha School students into the evening.

Learning Swahili while we have been here has been incredibly useful to us, as both teachers and guests of Tanzania. Godson reminded us daily that “language is culture,” and being able to speak the language of Arusha has allowed us entrance to the heart of the city. Besides being able to better communicate with the teachers and students that we work with, being slightly competent in Swahili has enabled us to greet the locals that we come in contact with, hold basic conversations, and even bargain for the week’s groceries at the local fruit and vegetable market. But most importantly, learning Swahili has begun to transform us from a group of wazungu (foreigners) into a group of teachers and learners, ready to dive into the culture of Tanzania and willing to meet the Tanzanian people where they are.

Initially, working with the Class 6 students at Meru Primary School proved to be a bit challenging. Some of the students knew very little English and we had not learned enough vocabulary to perfectly explain LTP techniques in Swahili. However, through repetition and patience, we introduced both groups of Class 6 students to basic LTP concepts and techniques, and had them imagine and photograph professions and alphabets. The students worked quickly and excitedly; they loved both taking the photographs and being in the pictures as well. The novelty of the camera as well as the encouragement to be boundlessly creative seemed to give the students an energetic drive. They would take multiple pictures of each scene with different students taking turns being the photographer and the subject of the photograph. To enrich their photographs, the students went all throughout the school grounds and pulled out seemingly every resource the school had to offer.

At the Arusha School, we continued our afterschool programs that we had been holding for the boarding students. These students stay pretty much consistent throughout our time here in Tanzania, and we will be meeting with them almost every day that we are in Arusha. The constancy is crucial to relationship building, and building relationships with the students has made the sessions much more effective. As teachers, we get excited when we see daily improvement in our students, pushing us to come up with bigger and better lessons for our students. The students have come to expect us daily as well, and they have an insatiable hunger and incredible capacity to learn new things. In the span of two weeks, we have watched them learn new languages, new songs, new dances, and much more. But the students of Arusha School are not the only ones who are learning; the students of Duke University are learning as well, about the culture and lifestyle of Tanzania, about bridging the gap between two different worlds. The students of Arusha have graciously welcomed us to their home, and simply by allowing us to share our experiences and culture with them, they have expanded our vision and knowledge of the world.