The Dogodogo Centre

For the past few weeks I have been spending a few hours every day at the Dogodogo Centre for Street Children in Kigogo, a suburb of Dar. Most schools have been having a 2 week “spring break”, and activities were organized all day long for the children. My English class was one optional activity, and it was open to any boys who wanted to come. Most days there were between 30 and 40 boys there, although it is difficult for me to know how many of them came every day.

The Dogodogo Centre was established in 1995 by Sister Jean, an American nun, who I actually met at a Canadian gathering last October. She has been living in Tanzania for 40 years – came the same time Lars did, so they bonded over a few comparisons. No one knows how many children are on the street in Tanzania, but they are very obvious when you are stopped at an intersection – they are the ones who dump dirty water on your windshield and then try to mop it off, the more professional ones using an old wiper blade.  60 boys live at the Dogodogo Centre now and they all attend primary school in the neighbourhood. They range in age from 9 to 17, and most of them don’t speak a word of English.

Up until the past 2 weeks, I have been coming once a week to help the oldest ones prepare for their Standard 7 exam, which is one of the most important exams they will ever write. It will determine whether they can proceed to secondary school or not. Whatever happens, they will move next year into the sister home in Benju, where if they don’t pass their exam, they will get 2 more years of vocational training, and if they do, they will attend local secondary schools. “My boys” (13 of them) have a little English and are very keen to learn. They also love to draw, and I gave them unlined notebooks, thinking they could be journals, but they have really turned into sketch books.

I don’t have much idea about the backgrounds of the boys, although I believe that many of them have run away from abusive situations. They are not necessarily orphans, and the Centre makes attempts to reunite them with their families, or at least allow them to visit from time to time. Some of them are AIDs orphans, whose relatives were unable to look after them (some grandparents are simply overwhelmed by the number of grandchildren left in their care). Many of the boys come from remote parts of the country, and getting to Dar has been quite an adventure for them. They seem to love to draw their villages, and one boy told me his father is in New York. I think some of the boys have never been to school – at least a few cannot even write their own names. And girls? When I asked about why there are no girls, the answer is that they just don’t last on the streets – they either get taken on as domestics in situations similar to slavery, or are inducted into the sex trade.

Note the Uhuru (freedom) Flame atop Mt.Kilimanjaro - 2 of the most potent symbols of Tanzania

The Centre itself is located in a shabby neighbourhood, and appears a bit down-at-heel physically. However the boys are well fed (I come in at the tail end of lunch, and they are all eating heaping plates of ugali, beans, spinach and sometimes meat), they sleep in bunk beds (8 to a room) and there are many adults including social workers to keep track of them.  There is a bus which ferries them to afterschool activities at the Tanzania Cigarette Corporation everyday, and they seem to go on outings from time to time. But the big thing is that they have a chance at an education and a vocation! I met an “old boy” who is now at boarding school in Dodoma – quite an achievement for a street child!

I am so impressed with the work that goes on here, and how they manage with very little funding. The volunteer board spends a lot of time looking for sources of funding, and recently the local government has reduced its share…changing priorities. I have heard of several orphanages who have had to close because they can’t afford to feed the children,  it seems that Dogodogo has reached a sustainable way to operate.

So we have been reading stories, singing songs,  practicing and performing a “rap”, playing games (Simon Says is a big favourite) and sometimes I squeak in a little actual teaching. We made a movie (more a slide show) with their pictures and a voice over based on a story we had read. I wish I had more time with them – my one regret is that I didn’t discover this place until quite recently, and now I have to go!

I haven’t really had a lot of time to get to know the other staff, and really find out what goes on at the Centre because every day when it is time to leave, the smaller boys pack up my stuff and fight over who gets to carry the basket to the car. I thought they just loved me until one day a boy carefully put the basket on the front seat of the car, and then leaned over and whispered confidentially, “Give me 200!” (shillings). Old habits!

Just goofing around with my camera!

But I did drive “Brother Nicholas”, one of the social workers, part way home one day, and had an interesting chat with him. He told me that everyday, one of the 3 social workers goes to one of the places where street children hang-out (the Ubungo bus terminal, the fish market) and takes food hoping to make contact with boys who might be possibilities for the centre. I didn’t quite get as far as finding out what the criteria for entry are, but I know that the boys need to show readiness for living in a structured situation and going to school…not all of them are ready. But Brother Nicholas also is the one who, apropros of the question “How many children do you have?” (not “Do you have children? – Tanzanians never phrase it like that), expressed surprise when I gave my stock answer (5 children) and said, “We are not used to Wazungu (foreigners) having such big families”. So I felt I should level with him, and told him that actually 2 of the children were mine, and 3 were my husband’s originally. Whereupon he said, “Your husband married you with 2 children? That would never happen in Tanzania!” 

When I leave Tanzania, the faces of these boys and their eagerness to learn will probably be the most enduring memory I will take with me. 


Thanks Rita, Mum and friends for all the books and school supplies - as you can see, they are well appreciated!