Food Aid Update: Feedback from the Widows of Neruo
I decided to do something I’ve never done before and publish a guest post, you will see why.
I decided to do something I’ve never done before and publish a guest post. This was originally written by Living Maro, the mastermind behind our project helping widows in the Kilimanjaro region village of Neruo. Living is a motorbike taxi driver born and raised in Neruo, Tanzania. I’m blown away with the work he’s doing and grateful to be supporting it. My dad, Andy Cohen, has generously sponsored our October food distribution.
Living’s post describes an idea directly from Neruo to form a cooperative that provides a long-term sustainable source of income to the families of the widows. One widow proposed a plan involving a 10mTsh or $3663USD seed investment. This is a huge amount of money by Tanzanian standards, and I’m blown away by her bold ambition. I told Living on the spot, “Let’s make it happen!” Next step is to find funding. “When you know the why, you can figure out any how.”
Finally, I’m excited to announce that our project has been incorporated into my friend Rocky’s local NGO, the Kilimanjaro Aid Project (KAP), so we are officially legally operating as a charity in Tanzania. KAP has agreed to handle all international donations, provide advice, and send an experienced volunteer to assist Living on all future food and cash distributions.
Click here for Living’s original post, published on his blog on September 21, 2024.
September Neruo Widows Update by Living Maro
It was a beautiful morning as I set out to follow up with the widows we’re supporting in Neruo Village. On August 9, we distributed 311kg of food to seven widows, and today I wanted to hear their feedback.
As I rode my motorcycle toward the widows' homes, I encountered a man named Alfred Kway. He congratulated me on our food distribution and urged me to consider organizing a development project for the widows. I told him I had been thinking along the same lines. Our conversation motivated me to gather more thoughts from the widows.
My first visit was to Scholastica Bernard. I found her outside, washing clothes under a cloudy sky. She greeted me warmly and invited me to sit on her porch. We started discussing the meals we had provided. Scholastica shared that she was now enjoying three meals a day, a significant improvement from the one or two she used to manage.
I asked how long the food lasted, and she smiled, saying it sustained her for 35 days. I inquired about any changes she had noticed since our last distribution. She expressed gratitude, highlighting that the food allowed her to afford better nutrition.
Curious about her plans for generating more income, I asked what she envisioned. Scholastica sat on her porch, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and sadness as she spoke to me. "Before my husband passed away, we dreamed of raising broiler chickens together, a venture that would have cost us around 1,700,000 Tshs. I had experience in it, but after his death, everything changed. The weight of grief and financial strain has made it almost impossible to start. I’ve tried to gather funds, but it feels like every day brings new challenges. I miss our plans and the joy we found in working together, but I still hope to make this dream a reality, not just for myself but in his memory." When I asked about the advantages of working as a team versus alone, she emphasized that collaboration could yield better results. Working alone, she explained, often suffers from limited labor and experience.
Her insights prompted me to suggest we gather all the widows to discuss potential development projects that could improve their livelihoods. Scholastica agreed enthusiastically, and we parted with warm farewells.
Next, I visited Ermelinda Njau, a widow living in near Scolastica Bernard’s home. When I arrived, I found her in the fields, gathering grass for her cattle. She approached with her machete and a bundle of grass, greeting me warmly, “Habari mwanangu.” I replied, “Nzuri mama.”
She quickly fetched a chair for me, and as I settled in, her smile radiated warmth, “Karibu mwanangu.” (“Welcome my son”).
I asked about the food distribution, “Did you finish the food we brought last month?” She told me, “Yes, it ran out about a week ago.” I inquired how long it had lasted, and she explained it sustained her family for around 32 days.
“How are things now?” I probed, sensing the challenges she faced. “We’re still struggling. My business isn’t growing, and we’re starting to suffer from a lack of food,” she admitted, her tone heavy with concern.
“What do you think could help you generate more income?” I asked. She told me her idea to raise pigs for commercial purposes. “That sounds like a good plan,” I encouraged her, and suggested she look into the budget needed for this project. “Would you be open to working as part of a team on this?” I inquired. “Definitely,” she replied, “Working together is a great idea; it could bring better results.”
Lastly, I asked her thoughts on the food aid project. She expressed her gratitude, saying, “I thank God for your help, and I will pray that He blesses you and returns what you have given.”
Next, I visited Felista Temba. She was seated outside with her daughter, enjoying machalari (banana stew) and chai. As I approached, Felista welcomed me with a warm smile, though her eyes reflected concern.
“Your daughter is sick,” she said, referring to her own child, who was struggling with a cough and fever. I expressed my sympathy and noted the recent changes in climate, suggesting that the dust and heat might be to blame. I shared that I, too, was on antibiotics for a persistent cough.
Once we settled into our conversation, I got to the purpose of my visit: to gather feedback on the food distribution we had organized last month. Felista nodded, encouraging me to ask my questions.
“How did you find the food aid? Do you have any feedback on the service?”
“I can only offer my heartfelt thanks to those who help the widows,” she replied. Her gratitude was palpable. “The service has been a blessing. Before the distribution, my daughter was suffering from hunger, but now she is much happier and healthier.”
I felt a surge of joy at her words. “How long did the food last you?” I asked. “It lasted about 38 days, and I still have a small portion left,” she answered, a smile creeping onto her face. I was pleased to hear that she had managed the supplies so effectively.
Curious about her dreams, I asked, “What are your plans for generating more income?” Felista’s eyes lit up. “I often think about it. I used to work for others, helping them achieve great results, but I’ve struggled with poverty myself. If I could get some capital, I’d love to start my own business.”
“What kind of business?” I probed. “I want to raise pigs—maybe even two,” she said with determination. “I have the experience and knowledge. There’s a man in the village, Posiani, who has become wealthy from raising pigs and chickens. I worked for him for years, taking care of his cattle. I know I can do this.”
Her passion was infectious. “Where would you raise the pigs?” I asked, intrigued. “I’m thinking of collaborating with a friend next year,” she replied, her tone becoming more somber. “But I feel hopeless at times. I’ve only saved about 300,000 Tsh, and life has so many challenges.”
I admired her resolve. “That’s a great start! Keep it up, and things will get better,” I encouraged her. I felt inspired by Felista’s resilience and determination. Despite her struggles, her dreams of a better life shone brightly. I left her home with a strong sense of purpose, knowing that small acts of kindness could make a significant difference in lives like hers.
Next, I visited Luciana Mosha. She is a lovely woman, known for her caring nature towards the children in our village. As I walked down the road, I spotted her coming from church, her smile brightening the afternoon.
“Good afternoon, Luciana!” I greeted her. “Welcome! Please, come to my home,” she replied warmly. We settled outside under the shade of a large tree, where she offered me some freshly cut sugarcane. I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to take some back for my daughter, Lucresia. Luciana smiled and encouraged me to do just that.
I brought up the food we had delivered last month. “Did you finish the food?” She said, “Not yet! I still have 8 kg left.” I was surprised. “I’ve been managing it well, mixing it with potatoes and bananas,” she explained, a proud glint in her eye.
Her resourcefulness impressed me. “That’s wonderful! You’ve budgeted well,” I explained. “What differences have you noticed since we started this charity?” She replied, “There’s a huge difference.” “Before, we often had just one meal a day. Now, we enjoy three meals. I’m so grateful.”
Curious about her aspirations, I asked, “What are your dreams?” She said, “I’m thinking about selling second-hand clothes. If I can get enough capital, I believe I could succeed.” I inquired, “How much would it take to start a shop?” After thinking, she replied, “About 1,000,000 Tsh.”
“Have you considered any other development projects?” I asked. “Yes, I’d like to keep chickens for eggs,” she said. I thought that was a practical idea. “Can you work well in a team?” I probed further. “Definitely!” she answered with enthusiasm. As our conversation drew to a close, I felt a deep sense of admiration for her strength and vision. I said, “Goodbye, Luciana. Keep dreaming and working hard.” She smiled.
I rode my motorcycle towards Flomena Mashoko's home, the sun shining brightly on the dirt path ahead. As I approached, I spotted her outside, busily preparing food for her cattle. “Shikamoo, mama,” I greeted her, and she responded warmly, “Marahaba, mwanangu.”
She welcomed me with a smile, saying “Karibu,” and I replied, “Asante, mama.” I asked how life was treating her.
“I’m happy and energetic,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve been working hard, and just a few hours ago, I was at church, thanking God for everything.” I asked about the food we had distributed last month. Her face lit up, “God bless you! I still have a small portion left.”
I encouraged her to share feedback or thoughts on our charity work. “You’ve done a nice job,” she said, then paused, “I have an idea, and I hope we can work on it together.” Intrigued, I asked, “What’s the idea?”
“I was thinking,” she began, “if you could help us start a community-based project. It could really change our lives.” I asked, “What kind of project?” She explained enthusiastically, “We could raise chickens, start a vegetable garden, and even raise pigs.”
“That sounds good! So what are you thinking?” I asked, eager to understand her vision. Flomena explained that they could work as a team, but they needed capital to get started. “How much do you think it would cost?” I probed further.
She chuckled softly. “It’s quite a bit of money—maybe you need support from your friend, muzungu, too.” I pressed, “How much are we talking about?”
“About ten million,” she replied.
“Wow! That’s a significant amount,” I said, processing her words. “But I promise, mama, I will work with you on this idea.” Her eyes sparkled with hope, and I knew that together, we could turn this vision into reality.
After I finished visiting the widows, I reflected on our conversations. Two were missing, but the five I met shared their resilience and hope. Each widow had a clear vision for her life, yet they faced a common barrier: insufficient funds to realize their dreams. Our discussions made me more convinced than ever that, while they each had individual ambitions, they can achieve so much more by working together. Some had ideas for small businesses, but alone, they struggled to make long-term progress. I’m most thrilled that some widows independently expressed a desire to develop community projects.
Now, I’m envisioning a cooperative that will unite them as a team, allowing them to pool their resources and talents. To start, we can create workshops where they will learn from each other, share best practices, and develop plans collectively.
I also have personal reasons for transitioning from food distributions to a sustainable cooperative that provides a stable source of income to the widows. Back in 2020, I had been personally supporting widows and orphans in my village, donating extra clothes, supplies, and money when I could. Then, in February 2021, I got in a major motorcycle crash that left me bedridden for over two years. The community support dried up, as I lost my income and used my savings to pay medical bills and keep my own family afloat. I felt like I’d abandoned my village, but there was nothing I could do. A cooperative will help the widows independent of me or even donations from abroad.