A Walk with Binti

One of the hardest things we had to do when saying “yes” to becoming Maryknoll Lay Missioners was saying “goodbye” to our pets. I’m the kind of person that considers my pets to be a part of the family. I’m not fanatical (no – I do not believe my pets are my children and I certainly try not to project human emotions onto them, though I admit at times this is easy and convenient to do), but I do love our family pets and feel a fierce loyalty to them. Afterall, we made the decision to adopt them into our family and commit to their well-being. And so, one of the hardest parts of joining Maryknoll was recognizing that no – our 2 dogs and cat could not go on mission with us. And I understood the reasoning behind it. But it was still incredibly difficult to kiss our beloved pets goodbye. My parents took our dachshund Jack, a dear friend that considered our other dog as his own adopted Dunkin, and our cat Wally ended up with an elderly-lady that had just lost her pet and needed the love of new furry friend (the last photo I saw of Wally he looked fat, happy, and contented with his new life). The kids were incredibly brave through this “finding-homes-for-our-pets” process. I hated every second of it but admit I have finally found some peace with it – mostly through admiring how our pets have continued bringing joy into the lives of others.

All that said, I had no desire to accept another animal into our life anytime soon; it would feel like too much of a betrayal to the pets we had just rehomed. But people make plans, and God laughs – or so the saying goes. After a short 6 weeks in country, we ended up with a 7-month old Tanzanian rescue dog. A group of children had been throwing rocks at some abandoned puppies; one was killed. The other was rescued by a gardener and brought into the safety of a friend’s property. She named her Puppy and raised her with her other 4 dogs – hoping eventually to find some soft-hearted, easy-to-persuade (pushover?) family to take her in. She didn’t have to wait long. We showed up several month later and adopted Puppy. (We renamed her “Binti” – which means “daughter” in Swahili.)

The first time I clipped a leash on Binti she snapped at it with her teeth, flailing around on the ground trying to get it off. We didn’t go on a walk that day. Instead, I let the leash drag around behind her and rewarded her with treats. We did this for several days. When she finally decided the leash was acceptable, we ventured outside our gate. She hated it. Children and motorcycles terrified her. Every movement made her jump and try to run home. Every day we ventured a little further out. I rewarded her with treats whenever a motorcycle or person walked by and within a few weeks – we were walking!

Now we walk almost every morning. Walking a dog in Tanzania is … a thing. A thing that almost nobody does. So, when someone does do it, it is amusing, curious, and interesting to everyone watching. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m quite the introvert and definitely don’t like standing out in a crowd. While this is impossible for me to achieve in Tanzania (I clearly stand out here and there’s not much I can do about that) – I stand out even more now that I am walking a dog. I’m a spectacle. That much is obvious. But Binti is blissfully unaware of the attention we draw. She is happy as can be and has learned to enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells of our walk through the Bwiru neighborhood.

After a month of walking, we are getting to know the area better. We are even getting to know some of the people – and they are getting to know us. There is the lady at the end of our road, near the school, that sells her bananas, oranges, and onions. We greet each other warmly now each morning as she is setting up her make-shift shop for the day. We pass Mwanza Brewing Company and make our way to the edge of Lake Victoria, passing women and men carrying large plastic containers – and I’m always reminded of how so many of the people here must walk a great distance just to access clean water (there is a water filling station by the brewery where many locals come to fill their containers throughout the day). I’m greeted by young adults walking in small groups on their way to classes at a university near the lake; I see determination and hope written across their faces. I wonder if they know the same statistics I know about university graduates in Tanzania – that many will graduate only to not be able to find a job. I wonder if they know those same statistics,and are willing to try anyways. Binti tugs at the leash to investigate the many birds we stumble upon – waterfowl, song birds, birds of prey. I’m always amazed at the diversity of birds here in Mwanza. I imagine at one time the United States was filled with birds like East Africa is now; it seems that loss of wildlife goes hand in hand with human “progress.” Can Tanzania break that cycle? Can they learn from the West’s mistakes and somehow protect the wildlife that is still thriving here? I think of the young students I just passed on their way to university, hopeful that perhaps one of them will discover the answer. Together, we skirt mud puddles and jump small ravines made by the rains. Shikamoo. Hujambo. Habari za asubuhi. Mambo. Kwema. The greetings are many; I’m learning the correct responses to each. And so we make our way home, through the neighborhoods with electrified fences, high walls, and manicured lawns – the ones that sit right next to the mud brick houses where women cook over charcoal stoves in their yard (and I think of how perhaps not so different the US is from this extreme, sometimes obscene, contrast of haves and have-nots). It’s only been an hour. But it’s been an hour in East Africa. And Africa always seems to have something to teach me – when I choose to listen.

And, so, while I do miss our pets back home immensely – just like I miss my family and friends that we also hugged and kissed goodbye – I am also grateful. Grateful for the here and now. Grateful for this opportunity to be in Africa. Grateful for time together as a family to learn how to be together in new ways. Grateful for increasing faith that, even on the hard days, carries me through. And yes, I’m grateful for Binti, the golden-eyed East African dog that made her way into our lives sooner than expected and is already introducing me to so much of her home: the people and land of Mwanza; the people and land of Tanzania.