LTP in South Korea, a reflection by Michelle Jeon

Jumi made this picture pretending to be a photographer. She used to be very quiet but over our summer together she always asked me for the camera, and would follow me around whenever I had my DSLR.

With the development of social media and smart phones, we incorporate photography into our everyday lives—even in rural underdeveloped parts of the world. I spent the summer of 2013 immersed in teaching rural South Korean children about photography. Kyungryul Jeong, a journalist who studied at Duke’s Center for Documentary Studies, has been developing an LTP-inspired program called Photography in Education in South Korea and last spring he invited Katie Hyde and Wendy Ewald to lead an LTP workshop in Seoul. My project, based in Eumseong-gun, Choongcheong North Province, was the first rural South Korean LTP project. In such an area, a US-educated student coming to a children’s welfare center to teach photography was a rare sight; back home the countryside is often a forgotten area, one that young people leave in hope of making it in the big Seoul city. Even my parents were skeptical about the value of my work in Eumseong, in lieu of a summer internship at a fancy-name company or bank as an intern. But despite the doubt of my parents, I am certain that this summer presented an invaluable experience that no corporate internship could offer.

In spite of the oddities of a photography program in such a place, it was a perfect fit. My students fell in love with the camera, and took tens of thousands of photos throughout my summer stay at their center. I saw how my students identified with the camera and how their photos were a source of communication and expression. Children, some of whom had been silenced by an oppressive culture and/or unfortunate living environments, seemed to find an opening through their fascination with taking pictures. 

These were among the rare pictures I took over the summer because my students seldom let go of my camera. I wanted to show their individual faces and hoped they’d see they were all beautiful the way they were. The children selected their portraits, and requested a reshoot if they did not like the ones I initially took. Through this process I think they learned to appreciate their smiles. One of the instructions I gave when asking the children to pose was to take pictures that represent themselves the best. I was happy that the children thought they looked better smiling, a contrast from where they started, when a good number smiled awkwardly or refused to smile. 

While working with these children I conducted community-based research to study the influence of arts education, specifically the LTP methodology, on children’s sense of security, confidence, and creativity.  My project was supported by Duke University’s Service Opportunities in Learning (SOL) under the Duke Hart Leadership Program. My post-session survey revealed that the students identified themselves as photographers, and a handful demonstrated an elevated level of happiness associated with their involvement with photography. I also found that LTP’s methodology and philosophy reflect the notion of “adaptive leadership,” a core concept SOL students learn during their Fall semester coursework at Duke. In Leadership Without Easy Answers Ronald Heifetz discusses the intense learning process “required to address conflicts in the values people hold, or to diminish the gap between the values people stand for and the reality they face.” Creativity plays an essential role in this type of adaptive work.

I found that LTP fosters creativity and reflection. During our time together I saw students, including some whom teachers and some parents had given up on, explore their lives and question their identity. The children believed they were “real” photographers and identified as such. This identification process touched upon the issues of confidence, self-awareness and self-esteem. I found this particularly fascinating when students diagnosed with behavioral, learning or emotional disorders explored and expressed themselves through the camera in a way that allowed teachers, parents and me to connect with them. The camera brought all of us together in one tightknit community and provided a tool for true heartfelt communication, sometimes revealing what the raw human eye could not detect. Every student, regardless of learning or emotional struggles, was a prized photographer.

Sunghoon, a student with ADHD intentionally blurred his photographs to show how he views the world. (He expressed frustration when the camera’s shutter was so fast that he couldn’t blur the photographs!) His choices about what to photograph, and his choice to blur some objects but not others presented a window for seeing his point of view in a non-ADHD person’s lens.

Photography constantly pushes us to be creative and test the boundaries. My students’ photographs raised questions and allowed us to reflect. During our summer program the camera opened eyes, connected us, instilled a sense of purpose, and provided a means of raw, nonjudgmental communication. 


I asked the children to make self-portraits by taking selfies as well as pictures that reflect themselves in other ways. This selfie was made by Yumi, a student whose confidence enhanced significantly and who learned to smile in front of the camera through LTP classes. 


Jinkyung made this photo because she liked the words on the screen door behind. In Korean, they say “let us travel.” I asked her if it was coincidental, but she said she intentionally captured the photo that way because she liked the words and the meaning. I looked through her other images and discovered many in which she was standing with words behind her. I was amazed by her careful work and the deep, thoughtful meaning of her photographs.



This picture expresses a student’s favorite color, blue. His teachers commented to me the picture was an accurate description of his personality, that he like to keep a frame around himself.

Stories from Stagville

 This posts showcases work made by 5th grade students in Lisa Lord’s classroom at Club Boulevard Humanities Magnet School in Durham, North Carolina. Last spring the fifth graders worked with Duke undergraduate interns in Literacy Through Photography,a class at the Center for Documentary Studies taught by Katie Hyde.

The collaboration built on the Durham students’ yearlong study of Historic Stagville, which contains the remnants of one of the South’s largest pre-Civil War plantations. The Bennehan-Cameron families’ Stagville plantation holdings included nearly 30,000 acres and 900 enslaved men, women and children. 

In addition to multiple visits to Historic Stagville in Durham, the Club Blvd students studied primary historical documents including the personal letters of the Bennehan and Cameron families, photographs and interviews with surviving ex-slaves collected in the 1930’s by the Federal Writers’ Project of the Works Progress Administration (WPA).

Based on their careful reading of these visual and written materials, each Durham student wrote about the life of one enslaved person through multiple perspectives—that of the enslaved person him or herself, that of a friend, and the perspective of a slave owner. Duke interns helped students video-record their performances as they spoke their historical fiction. Teams of students then edited and sequenced their material to create iMovies. Students’ iMovie stills and original writing, as well as archival materials were exhibited at Duke University’s Lilly Library.  The students’ powerful expressions and poignant writings illustrate their complex questions and discoveries. 

Work credits

1. Video still featuring Daijon McCathern.
iMovie made by  Daijon McCathern, Javae Pollard, Takayla Harris, Tristan Lopez and William Jackson.

2.Drawing and writing by Javae Pollard, William Jackson and Daijon McCathern.

3. Video still featuring William Jackson.

iMovie made by William Jackson, Daijon McCathern, Javae Pollard, Takayla Harris and Tristan Lopez.

4. Writing by William Jackson.

5. Video still featuring Melanie Hernandez Soria.
Archival photograph of Harriet Peaks Justice and daughter.
Writing by Matthew Sullivan.

6. Video still and writing by Daeza Brown.
iMovie made by Daeza Brown, Abraham Gonzalez Brindis, Jonathon Nunez Diaz and Hannah Lambeth.

7. Video still and writing by Estephani Sanchez Recendiz.
iMovie made by Estephani Sanchez Recendiz, Kelley Weeks Baines, Tony Davis and  Isabel Jernigan.

8. Video still featuring and writing by Carlos Carmona Ortega
iMovie made by Carlos Carmona Ortega, Lucy Trejo Fernandez, Travis Williams, Denella Ghebrehiwet.

9. Archival photograph of Doc Edwards.
Writing by Jessica Shaw.

10. Video still (top) featuring Nallely Garcia Delgado.
iMovie made by Nallely Garcia Delgado, Olivia Chapman, Rossember Merlos Campos

11. Portion of an interview transcript with Doc Edwards.
Interview conducted by the Federal Writers’ Project of the Works Progress Administration (WPA).

12. Video still and writing by Hannah Lambeth.
iMovie made by Hannah Lambeth, Jonathon Nunez Diaz,  Abraham Gonzalez Brindis and Daeza Brown.

13. Video still and writing by Jonathon Nunez Diaz.
iMovie made by Jonathon Nunez Diaz, Abraham Gonzalez Brindis, Daeza Brown and Hannah Lambeth.

Final thoughts about LTP Arusha 2012 by Meaghan Li


I was barely five years old – a clumsy and timid child of recent immigrants – gripping the hand of my grandmother as I led her up the classroom stairs. The teacher ushered us to her desk, where she extracted a pencil rendering of a flower vase from a stack of paper sheets.

‘Meaghan drew this; very good!’ she articulated slowly, pointing at the sketch while my grandmother feigned comprehension.

I remember this moment with extraordinary clarity because, I believe, this was the first moment that I felt a sense of pride and achievement as a student. My teacher had acknowledged my drawing, and, in the process, acknowledged me as an individual with distinct strengths, weaknesses, and characteristics. From then on, a passion for art and drawing became engrained within my identity, and I believe that this moment had a transformative effect upon my development as a student.

Leilani Doktor, a fellow student who led the after-school Drawing Class at Arusha School, wrote that: ‘In the end, the best part is when a student holds up their portrait and thinks, “This is me. I did this, and I’m proud of it.”’ The educational philosophy of Literacy Through Photography follows this intent by encouraging creativity and self-expression as a means of recognizing the value of each individual student and their distinctive contribution to the classroom community.

The activities and methods that we introduced to the students, teachers, and administrators over the past two months were incredibly diverse, ranging from reading photographs and self-portraits to charades and commerce games. What was comparable between these activities, however, was their ability to create a personalized experience for each student, thus connecting the academic curriculum to their daily lives and experiences.

All too often, children are taught that their value as a student is strictly dependent upon their degree of academic achievement. This is a conviction that is entrenched within national schooling systems worldwide, thus nurturing a generation of students who practice memorization and rote-retention more often than critical thinking and academic enquiry. LTP activities do not reward the mindless absorption of unquestionable facts; instead, they encourage students to be creative problem-solvers who are perceptive of the world around them and assertive about the value of their own voice and opinion.

These past two months have taught me that the most insightful and praiseworthy students are those who are curious, innovative, and perceptive. I now understand that achievement is not strictly a branch of academia, that student success cannot be accurately represented by traditional assessment methods, and that a child’s self-worth is all too often correlated with an unbudging red ink mark on a piece of paper.


‘To Miss Hanna.

Thank you for teaching us dance. Before your class, I did not think that I was special enough for people to look at me. I was so happy to hear everyone cheering for me during our dance.

I will not forget that feeling.’

In an educational environment that isolates the teacher as an agent of authority, discipline, and unquestionable knowledge, it is difficult for us to grasp the impact and impression that we made upon the students of Arusha School through this summer’s after-school programs.

It is difficult to ascertain just why the students of Arusha School left such a deep indent upon us. Some of us rediscovered a passion for a hobby that we had misplaced amongst the fast-paced commotion of college life. Some of us realized that we needed neither wealth nor fame nor power to make an impact upon the lives of others. Some experienced the sense of fulfillment that can only result from knowing that we contributed to something bigger than ourselves.

I watched the students of the Arusha School Theatre Club transform and blossom over a period of two months. What had started as a cluster of clumsy and meek children grew into a troupe of confident and creative artists who had developed a sense of unity and pride. A defining moment for me was watching the students bow before their peers after their first performance; fifteen minutes of script, blocking, and choreography had been memorized within three weeks and executed with humbling brilliance. The students ran backstage beaming and shrieking, their bodies flooded with the post-performance ecstasy and exhilaration that me and my collaborator, Jenny Sherman, could recognize all too easily.

Katie Hyde, our program director, mentioned that she had difficulty remembering the provisional teachers who came and went during her childhood years. Last Friday morning, when the students of Arusha School farewelled us with an emotional display of grief and gratitude, I still could not shake the feeling that the students were too young, too forgetful, and too carefree to truly comprehend the way in which they had touched and changed our lives.

Even if the students forget us, they will not forget the accomplishments and experiences that we sought to provide them with: the contentment and fulfillment as you look upon a piece of artwork you completed, the sensation of your heart thumping against your ribcage as you stood upon a lighted stage, the rush of adrenaline as you strike a football to the symphony of your classmates cheering your name. We hope we’ve offered these students a moment of pride. It may have been fleeting, undisclosed and intangible, but it is the most valuable, rewarding, and transformative gift that one could give to any student.


I am two hours away from Hong Kong as I sit next to a man named Dario. He has high, angular cheekbones and a curly brown mass that frames his temples. He surreptitiously claims that he works in the ‘modeling-slash-acting industry’ and boasts that he has travelled to twenty-something countries.

‘You should visit Africa,’ I say.

‘Isn’t it a bit…’ he pauses discretely, ‘…messy there?’

‘You’d be pleasantly surprised.’

‘I’d rather not take the risk,’ he replies.

My eyes narrow until I realized that I shared this very same perspective before I embarked on my trip to Tanzania. I always envisaged Africa as a war-torn confine for the impoverished, malnourished, and corrupt. I amalgamated its individual nations into one blank, vapid mass; embellished CNN reports and Hollywood blockbusters taught me that Africa was bountiful in nothing but need.

I eventually discovered that this popular depiction of Africa was, in fact, a projection of the first world’s own fears and prejudices. I realized that my original conception of ‘poverty’ was skewed; whilst statistics such as Tanzania’s GDP and employment rate paints a paltry picture, this nation certainly is not impoverished. Never before have I been immersed within a culture that abounds in such limitless amounts of resourcefulness, compassion, selflessness, and human spirit.

The 2012 DukeEngage team will remember Tanzania as a nation of white sand, crystalline waters, untamed fauna, and pallid mountain peaks. We will remember the humbling warmth and generosity offered by all its inhabitants, be it the unwavering patience and compassion of Pelle (the local LTP leader), the shopkeepers who greeted us at every street corner with a singsong reverberation of ‘Karibu!’, or the students who absorbed our teaching with curiosity, respect and enthusiasm.

In Swahili, there is no direct translation for the expression of ‘missing’ someone. Instead, when Tanzanians grant their farewells and adieus, they say: ‘nitakukumbuka:’ I will remember you. This is a fitting cultural appropriation; whilst ‘missing’ evokes the notions of yearning, grief, and loss, ‘remembering’ asserts that you have been endowed with memories and impressions that you can always recall with fondness and warmth. Whilst our two-month visit was momentary, the insights, experiences, and relationships that it has provided us with will last a lifetime.

“Mother,” a photo reflection by Jenny Sherman


I didn’t take this photo. I wasn’t even there when it was taken. I saw it for the first time yesterday, actually, at our final exhibition for all the LTP work that’s been done this summer. It was in the middle of an alphabet project that some of the teachers at Meru School had made with Yvonne. Can you guess the word this photo is showing and the letter of the alphabet it represents?

Choosing a photo for this reflection was a daunting task. Looking back on literally thousands of photos from this trip, how could I choose just one moment, one of the many things I’ve learned here, to talk about? I decided to start with a photo I loved. So here it is. Out of two months worth of photos, this is the one I love.

This photo stopped me in my tracks because I recognized it. Even though I had never seen it before, I instantly understood it. I know the feeling of being held exactly like that. I’ve seen that look on the faces of my aunts and my mom. I used to hold my little sister like that, my legs stretched out at just that angle, not wanting to move even though my legs were slowly going numb.

In the midst of the crowds looking at the projects at the exhibition, every so often I’d hear the excited yells of people finding themselves in a photo or identifying a photo they had taken. I overheard one little girl joyfully explaining to her friend: “Mimi hapa. Wewe hapa. Na mimi hapa!” I’m here. You’re here. And I’m here. The girl was maybe seven years old, which explains why I was able to understand her Swahili.  But I think she was on to something. Recognizing yourself where you expect only strangeness is an amazing feeling. Looking at all their LTP work, the kids—and even the teachers—were seeing themselves as part of something that’s always been kept separate from and above them: their education.

In another area of the exhibition, Anneliese’s after school group of young inventors had hung posters of their designs for new inventions. One girl who had invented a more affordable alternative to shoe polish wrote about how she had been making this polish for her shoes long before she ever came to the inventing club. But when she got there and her teacher started talking about inventions, she realized that she was, in fact, an inventor. She had joined the ranks of all the famous and lofty inventors she was learning about in that moment when she couldn’t afford shoe polish and decided to do something about it. In that moment, her inner world and her education came together.

In most schools in Tanzania, students are not learning to be creative. But most children in Tanzania are incredibly creative—the way they play, dance, doodle and solve their own problems shows extraordinary imagination. But they see these two worlds—the worlds outside and inside the classroom—as irreconcilably divided. When we ask kids to use their imaginations to solve problems creatively in the classroom, we are hoping to bring these two worlds together, to show that you can be your creative, playful and innovative self as you go through your education.

In my own life and in the lives of the students here, we’re constantly given images of what we should be or what our education should look like. But what if those images were our images? The pictures in our heads, our dreams, the things we see each day, the things we recognize: what if those were in the textbooks or hanging up in the classroom for all to learn from? And what if we saw ourselves in the images of others, saw that we had the same fears and hopes? And after seeing what we have in common, maybe we would be able to understand the differences a little better.

For me, LTP is first and foremost about moments of recognition, of seeing yourself in the story of a great inventor or in the wary eyes of a child wrapped in a loving embrace.

M is for mother. Do you recognize this picture? Do you know it from your own life? Or from some outside idea of what “mother “means? Do you think this woman’s expression ever crosses your face? Does the child’s? When? What is different? What is the same?

In this photo, I see a late, hot night in footie pajamas, a hope for the future and a home waiting at the end of a long flight that leaves tomorrow.

What do you see?

Success, a photo reflection by Kyle Kunkle

As I reflect back on the last two months spent in Tanzania, I find myself trying to define success. With our LTP work, there is no big finished product that we built over time and our group really will never know if the teachers we taught embraced our method of learning or abandoned it to continue rote chalkboard ‘learning.’ Education has no scoreboard, there’s no number scale to calculate your impact as a teacher and no report back months or years later that automatically tells you how much of an influence you had on the students and teachers. Although tests are education’s judge of knowledge and understanding, they are not a grading scale for a teacher and how much success and influence teachers had on each individual. Tests can only give the answers to the questions you ask and for LTP and my Duke Engage experience, no matter how many tests I give out or questions I ask, I will never understand how meaningful it was for the students and teachers I taught, and I will never know exactly what they gained from our time together.

What is the full impact of the time I spent in Tanzania?

Although I leave Tanzania still wondering about the answer to this question, our final LTP exhibition reminded me of why LTP is such a unique teaching method and why it is so rewarding.

On our second to last day, I stood at Meru Primary School greeting over 600 students and teachers. Smiling faces walked past, accompanied by waves, hellos, handshakes, and hugs. With each person I struggled to connect a name with a face. Despite my lack of memory, this was still a moment of realization of the impact and success of my time in Tanzania. I realized I knew something more personal than the name of each individual. As people arrived to the exhibition, with each student and teacher, I saw a story, a memory, or a personality originating from their LTP project.

I remembered:
· A boy who dreamed of being a pilot
· The values of a Tanzanian proverb
· An artist who could draw a scene like you were actually there
· The ferocious look of a lion
· The memories of a home story
· Advice to prevent HIV
· And so many more.

LTP gave me the chance to see each person as an individual rather than another face in the blur of the crowd. Both my personal success and LTP’s success is brought to light by these memories. As a teacher these memories would have never been possible using only a chalkboard. Because of LTP I was able to learn more about students personally and create a memorable learning experience for both myself and the students.

Coming to Tanzania I knew I would not meet the end result of successfully integrating LTP into the Tanzanian school system. My goal from the start was, as a group, take LTP to the next level in Tanzania. I am proud I played a part in being a stepping stone for continued future progress and success, and I leave Tanzania confident our Duke Engage group left a positive impact on the teachers and students we worked with.

“If I were a heart…” a photo reflection by Yvonne Chan

心 (xin): Heart, Passion and Love

“If I were a heart, I will be loving people because we have to love each other so that we can’t have enemies. I love the word ‘heart’ [because] it means for us and if you don’t have heart how can you stay in the world[?] So I love heart and if you have heart, you will even love your parents, teachers, friends. So as I am love all of my friends, teachers, parents.”

- By Kabula from Arusha School

Out of all the students I have met in these two months, I build the strongest bond with my afterschool project students (they call themselves the Super Chinese Kids). Everyday from 4:30 to 5:30pm, I teach Beginner Chinese to 12 wonderful children. We started the journey with the basics of Chinese language: pingyin, phonetics, tones and strokes. Step by step, they began to acquire some basic vocabulary. Yesterday, at the end of our program, they performed four Chinese songs in front of 600 children and parents.

Having been working with LTP for the past two months, I tried to combine LTP with my Chinese class. One of the projects we did was the Chinese Pictogram Project. Pictogram (象形文字) is the earliest form of Chinese writing. These characters are stylized drawings of the objects they represent. In order to help my students better understand Chinese and have an easier time remembering Chinese characters, I decided to have them each pick a word with a pictogram origin. Then, they had to act out and use their body to represent the word they chose. Afterwards, I asked each student to write a story or a paragraph related to the word they chose. Without a doubt, my students enjoyed using their bodies to construct the word, but what I valued the most was the piece of writing they did.

As shown above, Kabula chose the word 心 (pinyin: xin) “heart.” Her writing doesn’t have the perfect grammar or fancy vocabulary, but it delivers such a strong message that one cannot ignore.

“We have to love each other so that we can’t have enemies”

What a thought that is needed in this unfriendly world! I am often pleasantly surprised when children are those who remind us grown-ups how the world should be. At the same time, this piece of writing reflects Tanzania’s peaceful culture-thanks to Tanzanian’s first president Julius Nyerere, who spread the ideology of peace, unity and family love in Tanzanian for 20 years. Some of the channels include education and the hip-hop culture – Nyerere encouraged rappers to include those ideas in their songs. It is not hard to see how his effort has eventually paid off now. Even though there is such diversity in the population, Tanzania remains to be one of the most peaceful countries in the Africa continent.

“… if you have heart, you will even love your parents, teachers, friends.”

Although we once had doubts about our children, all of us have grown to love and cherish our afterschool kids. We began to call them “my/our kids,” we began to know about each student’s personality, and we began to care for them as if they are our family. These kids found a position in our hearts. They were the anchors to my Arusha daily life and seeing them is what I l look forward to, no matter how terrible my day has been. They are the ones who introduced me to new Swahili words, to the school culture, to Tanzanian children games (“Mother in the Kitchen, cooking chapatti…”). At the same time, I was able to introduce a new language to them and provide them a haven to learn without worrying about exams and grades.

“… if you don’t have heart how can you stay in the world[?]”

In the end, we have given our hearts to each other. Like our favorite Arusha School teacher Mr. Rizone said at the closing ceremony today, “you all (the Duke students) gave your love [for different subjects] to us.” This afterschool experience helped me locate my heart for education, especially for teaching something I care about. At the same time, my students gave me their heart to learning Chinese. On the day we bid goodbye to our kids, my girls were all crying their hearts out. Although I was equally heartbroken, I find that morning very hopeful and calming. My children cried because they have made such a deep connection with the Chinese class, with me and with their classmates. It shows that they have devoted their heart to this class and that they have found someone they care a lot about. To me, I accomplished my mission here, knowing my kids have found something their heart would beat for.

With only 1 day left in Tanzania, how am I supposed to reconcile that I will have to leave all these loving children behind? My Super Chinese Kids, 你可以告訴老師嗎 (can you tell ‘teacher’)?

simmering down, a reflection on week seven by Leilani Doktor

“So next July when you come, we can do more projects like this?” Well, jeez we won’t be here next week, much less next July. As our last week of teaching boils down, the overwhelming feeling is out of control. No more lesson plans, no more out there ideas becoming afterschool activities, no more of our usual ‘hakuna matata routine’. Even as the most concrete form of our work—the final exhibition—comes together, our control over what we’ve set out to teach here for 7 weeks falls apart. We have no control over what people here take from our moments together, but in some ways that’s the beauty of teaching. You have no idea of what wonderful things could come out of your time spent.

photo: Students illustrate the word “doctor” in a visual alphabet about occupations.

So yes this may be our last Alphabet project with Class 3, and we may never get to do another Best Part of Me project with Meru students ever again, but who knows –there is always that possibility that some of us will be back here doing more LTP projects next July.

photo: Grace listens to a student’s story.

As the adrenaline rush from our brief Safari encounter with lions, elephants, and baboons, simmers down and we settle into those last moments in the classroom with our kids, we can’t help feeling the mounting anxiety that any goodbye brings. But we can also take pride in the enormous feeling of satisfaction that comes from knowing that we accomplished what we set out to do, and we did it well. I can take hope from the fact that the students are asking and expecting for more LTP, and I hope that they never stop expressing themselves.

photo: an aerial self-portrait

On Sunday we had our final LTP workshop with the Sakina Scholars, a program that provides scholarships to primary school students so that they may continue onto secondary school. Anneliese had worked with these students, who happened to be about the same age as us Duke students, for several years now and challenged us to come up with a fun and complex lesson plan. We decided to focus on the student’s personal knowledge by creating a ‘Book of Wisdom’. We spent our Sunday reflecting in the sun and sharing past events that changed us and then compiled these lessons and illustrative photographs into a book intended for future mentees. We laughed, we cried, but most of all we all were able to participate in an LTP project that empowered every participant, and we could not have asked for more.

photo: “The danger of drugs”

Over this week, I cannot help but relish every moment we have together whether it is the snorts of laughter while we sing “In the Jungle” Acapella style during car rides, our nearly religious reverence for chapatti, or our groggy and grumpy faces as we drag ourselves from our afternoon cat naps to our afterschool programs.

photo: Kyle and I strip pumpkin leaves.

We have finished our time as teachers in Tanzania and now it is time to tie up loose ends, its just too bad we didn’t get our cooking lesson until our last weekend here.

photo: Mama Mirambo teaches us how to make chapatti.

photo: The Sakina Scholars.