‘If you’d told 16-year-old me that I’d build a life in Tanzania, I’d have laughed’

Life thereafter became noisy, and my mind turned to more pressing and immediate goals. I began my final year of high school and set my sights towards university, knowing I’d need a qualification to support my desire to one day work abroad. I didn’t think too often about The School of St Jude or Gemma Sisia. For a time, I forgot the names of the place and person. But my desire to work in education, poverty alleviation and with marginalised communities never waned.

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So how did I get there?

I was nudged by coincidence twice more in its direction after I completed high school. The second time I heard of St Jude’s, it landed on my doorstep near the end of 2016.

I had flung open my front door, and myself through it, in a rush to catch the bus to university. To my surprise, I nearly collided with a young woman who was just about to knock. She was of African descent, door-knocking on behalf of a charity, and she had one of the most radiant smiles I’d ever seen.

We conversed for several minutes, learning that we were at the same university. She told me she was from Arusha, Tanzania. My mind raced.

“Isn’t there a school that was started by an Australian in Arusha?”

“Yes! The School of St Jude!” She beamed from ear to ear.

I was transported back to Ms Boylan’s classroom, and a chill ran down my spine.

Several weeks later, I was nudged again. Mum phoned and told me to turn on the television – there was a woman on 60 Minutes I must watch.

Of course, it was Gemma Sisia.

The same chill washed over me. With trembling hands, I opened my laptop and searched for St Jude’s website.

I checked its “current vacancies” tab – they were looking for a writer to work in Tanzania for 18 months.

I called Mum back and told her I was going to apply.

“I’m right behind you, Maddie,” Mum assured me.

Thank goodness she was, because within just a few months I’d be peeling myself out of her arms and lining up to present my boarding pass for the first leg of my journey to Kilimanjaro International Airport. I initially committed to two years at St Jude’s, and ended up staying for more than five.

As I queued to board the plane, I was terrified I’d made a mistake, and over the course of the journey to Tanzania, my mind explored some worrying scenarios. What if I was disliked? Lonely? What if I got sick?

I see signs of my former life everywhere. I once heard someone speaking Swahili across the mall and wanted to run over and strike up conversation.

I quickly realised that such fears, while natural, are not worth dwelling on. And this is how I realised what my friends and family meant when they alleged I was “brave”.

I felt the fear and pushed through it by turning the negative spiral of thoughts upside down. Within my first few weeks at the school, navigating a new culture, community and workplace in which I didn’t feel frightened but saw a lot of joy, I was instead thinking, “What if these people become lifelong friends?” And what if I lived St Jude’s school motto: “Challenge yourself”?

Within my first two years in Tanzania, I was toughened up by a range of life-altering challenges; there were high highs and low lows. I’d also experienced the exhilaration and sheer joy of St Jude’s special ceremonies.

There is nothing like Uniform Day, when the school’s newest students parade out of its gates and jump into their proud parents’ arms. The parents’ moment of comprehension: “My child got into The School of St Jude!”

I also experienced deep grief, losing a close family member in Australia to cancer. I felt racked with guilt and sucked into deep sadness for not having been a presence during her toughest days. But I still didn’t feel ready to go “home”. I was starting to build a life in Tanzania, which was becoming a second home.

Living among and working with St Jude’s community helped me to put my own struggles in perspective. I was surrounded by stories of sheer determination and hope. The first students from when the school opened in 2002 are now professionals in their 20s, working in fields including medicine, education, STEM (science, technology, engineering, mathematics), finance and trades. Some are on scholarships, studying internationally.

My work at St Jude’s, especially while writing The School That Hope Built, introduced me to many people whose lives have been changed by Gemma Sisia’s work in Tanzania. White saviour, she is not: Gemma has built a sustainable organisation that is now predominantly led by Tanzanians lifting their communities out of poverty.

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Once I completed the first draft of the book, I realised the time had come for me to return to Australia. I felt the need to reconnect with my own family, which had changed in size
and dynamic since I left in 2017. But the decision to part ways with my Tanzanian colleagues and friends, who had become like family, was one of the hardest I’ve ever had to make.

Every day back in Australia is a joy, but it’s often painfully frustrating. Leaving Tanzania caused me grief that’s impossible to articulate.

I see signs of my former life everywhere. I once heard someone speaking Swahili across the mall and wanted to run over and strike up conversation. I cannot get used to shopping centres or big supermarkets, often freezing in an aisle trying to select a loaf of bread, before giving up and walking out. I don’t feel I know how to “be” here any more, but I am learning.

If you’d told 16-year-old me, sitting in that classroom watching Australian Story, that before reaching 30 I’d live and work with these people on the screen – and built a life in Tanzania – I’d have laughed in disbelief. I’d probably have paused a moment and said, “Can I really be that brave?”

What I’d have told myself next was this: “Challenge yourself. When you get to Tanzania, you’ll meet the bravest people you’ll ever know.”

The School That Hope Built (Allen & Unwin) by Madeleine Kelly is out now.

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