Tanzania Volunteer Teaching Trip | The Three Rafikis
Last August, I had nearly two weeks off and felt a deep itch for a different kind of solo adventure. I sat quietly with my thoughts and asked myself: is there somewhere I’ve always longed to go, but never quite found the time or courage to visit? Almost immediately, one answer came rushing in — volunteering in Africa.
Read my last article to see how I started my journey: Travelling from Hong Kong to Arusha (IVHQ Experience)
Day 1
Worried about missing my flight or delay, I arrived a day early. Day 0 was mostly about resting and wandering around, giving my body time to adjust to a completely different climate and rhythm. The real beginning came on the morning of Day 1 with the orientation session. The four-hour briefing covered a lot, but honestly, not much of it stuck with me.
Back in my room, I noticed a new roommate had arrived — an Indian girl from Sydney. We were around the same age. What started as small talk quickly turned into a genuine conversation. Strangely, we discovered overlaps in our upbringing, heartbreaking experiences with friendship, and even some of life’s deeper questions. She was an English teacher, also thinking about how to bring her teaching experience to Tanzanian students.
At breakfast, I met another girl from Toronto. Her parents were Greek, and she had a gentle, steady presence. She worked as a practice nurse and was studying to become a registered nurse. She then introduced me to our other roommate — a girl from Seychelles. Her parents were originally from Tanzania before moving to the island nation. I had never even heard of Seychelles before. At that moment, I didn’t say much; I simply felt how vast yet intimately connected the world can be.
What surprised me most was how these three girls would become so important in the days ahead. From strangers to close friends, it felt like the connection had always been there, waiting. It only took one breakfast for everything to fall into place.
First Steps Outside Arusha Town
Arusha is one of the more modest regions in Tanzania. The streets are dusty, and transport mainly consists of tuk-tuks, shared seven-seater vans, and motorcycles. You occasionally see very simple, everyday scenes of local life.
Many volunteers were shocked by these sights, but for me they brought a strange sense of familiarity. They reminded me of childhood summer holidays in my rural hometown in Huizhou. There was no running water, so we pumped groundwater; occasional power cuts meant walking unpaved roads with a torch to visit neighbours. The streets here still carried that underdeveloped feel, yet there was a pure, simple beauty in the daily life.
It made me realise that the distance between worlds is sometimes not as far as we imagine.
From today’s observations, ‘African poverty’ is no longer the complete deprivation shown in old NGO videos. There are supermarkets, internet, hotels, and a life that is clearly moving forward. It’s just developing at a slower pace — perhaps twenty or thirty years behind more developed countries.
I couldn’t help thinking that now might be the perfect time to experience this place, before it fully urbanises, while I could still witness its most authentic rhythms.
The volunteer programme had around one to two hundred participants, spread across different accommodations and projects in Arusha. I knew from the start that large volunteer organisations come with contradictions — the participants’ experience is carefully designed. Especially during summer holidays, many young people come with family paying all the money, turning volunteering into a 'special life lesson' that their parents want to teach their kids, or a selling point to stand out among other university applications.
The social activities, evening gatherings, and structured schedule all create a comfortable framework so participants feel good and leave positive reviews, helping the organisation attract more business.
Yet instead of feeling critical, I found myself with a more complex emotion: in the same space, vastly different destinies exist quietly side by side.
At one point, I couldn’t help wondering: if I had grown up here, what would my life look like now?
There was no answer, but the thought left me very quiet.
And precisely because of that, a deep sense of gratitude washed over me. I felt thankful that my parents had left their homes many years ago, facing uncertainty to come to Hong Kong, giving me the chance to see different worlds.
I had no sponsor for this trip. It was entirely paid by money I had saved from hard work, so I cherished every single moment. Before leaving Hong Kong, I specially bought some stationery to give to the local students. Being able to help others with my own resources felt strangely powerful — a kind of self-redemption. Returning to a place similar to where my parents grew up, I secretly hoped everyone could have a better life.
I imagined a parallel universe: if I had been born and raised in my parents’ hometown, what would my life be like today?
The four of us girls shared this resonance. We were all second-generation immigrants with similar struggles. This journey was something we each chose for ourselves, and meeting in Africa felt like destiny quietly arranging things.
First Social Night
That evening we went to Rafiki Bar for the social night. ‘Rafiki’ means ‘friend’ in Swahili.
The music was loud, the place was packed, and the atmosphere was energetic. I danced for about an hour before my body honestly reminded me that this wasn’t really for me.
Some kinds of lively energy belong to the young. I prefer watching the crowd flow and the lights shift.
That night I didn’t feel out of place; I simply experienced it in my own way. Together with two other girls, we chose a quiet corner, ate hot pizza, and talked about our day. That kind of social night suited me much better.
Maasai Market
In the afternoon, we visited the Maasai Market. The stalls were filled with similar handmade crafts, and every shop owner greeted us with warm enthusiasm: 'Come, my sister! Come to my shop!'
I didn’t buy much in the end, but when I left the market, my heart felt light — as if I had been gently wrapped in a brief moment of friendliness.
Almost every vendor who passed by would say to me, 'You are beautiful. Come to my shop!' Even though I knew these were just sales tactics, a small part of me still felt quietly flattered.
