• About the Prize
• Essay Prize Competition
• Travel Fellowship
• |
• Past Fellowships
• The Library

• 2023
• 2020
• 2019
• 2018
• 2017
• 2016
• 2015
• 2014
• 2013
• 2012
• 2011
• 2010
• 2009
• 2008
• 2007
• 2006
• 2005
• 2004

Aarushi Sharma Travel Fellowship Report

Tanzania and Portugal Summer 2017

Acknowledgements

The following essay is a personal account of my volunteering experience in Tanzania and Portugal. I’m eternally grateful to my parents for their vested efforts and support. I thank Prof. Saurabh Popli for being a mentor and a friend, Shanya Gupta for her delightful partnership in the Berkeley Prize Essay Competition, my friends and siblings for their love and faith.

In Tanzania I volunteered to design a school for the Maasai tribe. The trip concentrated on documentation and research work in a village. I thank Prof. Manjusha Misra for the opportunity, and for her constant encouragement and faith in me. I thank Mr. Mosses Ndiyane, Director of Esupat Education Program, and his team for the warm welcome and hospitality in Tanzania.

The next one month, I volunteered to refurbish the home of a family in need in Portugal, and learnt hands-on skills and team coordination. I thank Ar. Samuel Kalika, Director of Critical Concrete and curator of the Sustainable & Social Architecture Summer School for the enriching experience. I also thank Nipun Prabhakar for acquainting me with the program.

Lastly, I thank the Berkeley Prize for deeming me worthy of the Fellowship that led to life-altering experiences.

Wishful Thinking No More

Emotional, ecstatic, melancholic, cheery, hopeful, hysteric, invincible, unsure, scared, strong, strange, sensible, senseless, sporting, reserved, reassured- in a span of eight weeks I felt a myriad of emotions and the aforementioned are just a fraction of them. The story is a bit drawn out just as early morning walks and late night conversations are – long but indulging. I appreciate the time that you’re investing in reading it and hope that it stirs up some thoughts.  

July ’17

2 am on the Delhi roads was eerily alive on that late summer night of July. The red and yellow lights flashing from the cars, and the unapologetic honking of the over-night trucks, seemed to blur into each other as I drove along the familiar road, never before with such acknowledged anxiety. The journey from home to airport seemed unusually stretched, but once I reached I lost myself in the monotony of immigration lines and security checks. The thing about airports is that there is an all-pervasive mesmerism, almost palpable in the rush of people and the humdrum routine, and I’ve always felt like everyone is missing the main point there – a bunch of people are going to ‘fly’ in a carriage of sorts to another land- over the seas and forests, ‘through the clouds’, over the horizon. No, I’m not stuck in early 20^th century, this is just the childish charm I’ve associated air travel with since I was a kid, and it hasn’t worn off.

I sat down finally, ready to board the flight in a half hour, observing – the mother of two toddlers telling on her husband, the cozy young couple, the group of teenage boys in a frenzy- they were probably running late, the old lady chanting silently on her rosary, the bunch of kids hopping on the travellator- making a game out of it, business men sipping on their Starbucks cups- heads drowned in their tablets – I sat there imagining how each one was on an odyssey, their individual stories present under the same roof as I, innate and kept to oneself guarded like secrets. Now, you must excuse me for romanticising this scene, for I was on an odyssey of my own – I was alone and nothing had prepared me for the wonders I was about to witness. Three flights and two layovers later, I finally landed on the pristine land of the wild and the beautiful- Tanzania. This African country was set to break stereotypes, slowly, one day at a time…

Impressions

The clear blue sky with cotton-ball clouds hovering as in time-lapse movies made for a dramatic touchdown at the Kilimanjaro Airport. It’s a humble structure, modest in scale. I was received by the welcoming smiles of Mr Mosses Ndiyane- who heads the Esupat Education Program and Mr Lemra who was to help me with my village stay. They were accompanied by the chairman of Engaresero village who had agreed to drive and show me around the village and nearby areas, and help me meet the Gov. authorities. We were on the road for the next 1 hour and the far-reaching east-African landscape panned itself out. The colossal majesty of Mt Kilimanjaro in its snow-peaked glory towered over fields upon fields of Sunflowers and Maize, the golden and yellow glistening alternatingly in the crimson glow of the late-afternoon sun. As we moved towards the city, settlements started showing up. Women in bright dresses sat along the roads, selling bananas, corn and tribal paintings. Reiterating introductions, awkward smiles and small talk turned into more comfortable conversation as the evening went by. We arrived in Arusha city at sun down and I settled in my lodge to get ready for dinner. My host were very generous and took me to an Indian eatery just a couple of streets away to me feel homely. I sat down on one of the rickety chairs on the side of the road, my plate full of savouries and flat bread, the aroma of kebabs and shwarmas wafted through the whole street, the resounding evening azaan from the Mosque strikingly blared from the speakers – orchestrating a surreal image which remains in my memory. The next morning, we drove around Arusha and I saw it in a different light. The streetscape sprang to life- the chaos of new constructions, the roadside vendors selling groundnuts and toffees, the para-transit adding to traffic woes- it was all too familiar. The harmony of ordinary life in a developing city could be clearly sensed. The roads were clean, with peripheral wilderness of national parks and state owned forests, the intersections indicated with landmarks of wild animal replicas and victory monuments, the post-colonial banal architecture of public buildings like banks and offices mocked the nature’s bounty in this remarkable slow beautiful city. We visited a traditional vegetable market, and I stocked up on grocery for the next two weeks. Later in the afternoon, I sipped on my ginger tea as I prepared myself for what I call the field trip. We left that afternoon for the village.

Uncharted Waters

A hint of change could be sensed all along the way. The asphalt road gradually turned into makeshift roads which are not suitable for walking, let alone driving. The advertisement hoardings had disappeared. The electricity poles were soon out of sight, so were the small roadside amenities and shops. The subtle cues of the changing cultural scape were becoming bold as the sun set. We would encounter a vehicle once every thirty minutes, sometimes it took longer. It was pitch dark outside. We were in the middle of nowhere; dust from the surrounding fields filled our nostrils and clinged to our clothes.  I didn’t know where we were, and there was nothing but darkness to be seen out of the window. There was no network on my phone, and the uncertainty of the situation made me reconsider every decision I had made until now. I was not sure of where this was leading me. Suddenly, the chairman slowed the vehicle down, pointing to my left.

The white reflected from their bodies the light from the headlights, a dazzle of zebras calmly stood under the Acacia trees. The sight was miraculous and worth every bump encountered during the ride! Spellbound, I turned and saw a group of men with spears in their hands- their maroon attires strikingly distinguishable in the night. I had entered the land of the Maasai. My five hour gruelling and uncomfortable ride came with streaks of surprises and ended for good. After traveling 250 km I finally reached Engaresero.

Figure 1: River cascading the road, Engaresero village

Maasai: Lifestyle and Social Structure

Home to the warrior tribe, Engaresero is a tribal village with a population of approximately 400. Maasai are a tribe of the fierce and the loving. The pastoralist tribe holds strong beliefs and believes in the strength of family and friendship. They are simple amicable people who love to meet and greet and welcome tourists with earnest smiles and no inhibitions. The women are adorned with intricate bead jewellery; they design and sell them for income generation. Cattle-keeping is the main occupation of men and they are nomadic for a small duration of the year (summer) when they take their cattle for grazing and to trade to nearby villages and the Kenya border. Their income is meagre but their propensity for the rustic life defies what the urban-dwellers call the ‘rough life’. They wake up when the sun rises and sleep when the sun goes down, they walk to their fields, they eat the meat of their goats or cows for meals, they sit around in the afternoon to play indigenous games, they dance and make merry on festivals like coming of age of their sons and daughters, they play music on their mobile phones and radios for entertainment and charge their devices at a shop that has a solar panel, they cope with the harsh climate with reverence towards nature. The only vehicle in the village was the one provided to me; safari jeeps arrived from time to time. A fondness for the idyllic village and its bucolic lifestyle was growing inside me. 

Figure 2: Maasai woman selling vegetables

The settlement is not concentrated in one place. Clusters, called Bomas, are scattered throughout the village, each Boma consists of one family lineage. The boundary of these Bomas are beautifully demarcated with dead branches stuck in a circle on the ground creatively enhancing the anatomy of a tree- ordinary yet powerful.  The scarce thorny foliage of  Acacia trees decorate the dry sandy landscape of the village which is flanked by Lake Natron, a salt water flamingo-breeding lake on one side and Ol Doinyo Lengai (active volcano) on the other side. These propel tourist activity in the village- about 15-20 tourists per week in the peak season of winters. There is an average of ten huts in each Boma. The walls are made of cow dung and branches in a circular plan and the roof is thatched. Inside the hut is dingy with only a hole as wide as three inches in diameter acting as a window. There is a stove with firewood in the central sleeping/resting/living area; cow hide is used as beds. The interior is bereft of unnecessary decorations or objects and there is room only for utilitarian things. The poor lighting and ventilation inside the hut has caused breathing and eyesight problems in the village women and elderly. 

Figure 3: The traditional construction materials

I walked around the meandering village streets and tried to converse in whatever broken English the people spoke (because of the tourist inflow). People smiled and stopped, asked about my work and made me feel welcome with a ‘Mambo’ (hello!) every now and then. I would sit at Mr Lemra’s house in the afternoons as his wife (lovingly called Mamabitte) prepared lunch for me. They served me happily, and within a few days, I came to belong there. I embraced their day to day lives, learning a few words here there in Maasai language; their faces would light up even at my attempts of speaking Maasai. At dinner time, his family and some of his friends gathered in their living room dimly lit by the solar lamp and the fluorescent light from the T.V. A simple dinner was served that comprised some of the following – the staple rice, boiled spaghetti, boiled kidney beans, carrots, tomatoes in coconut milk, green beans, salad, potato chips, beef or goat meat. The Maasai relish the simple tastes of their limited culinary spread; and it may not have taught me much about food but has taught me to savour the little pleasures of life.

“I was a pebble. I was a leaf. I was the jagged branch of a tree. I was nothing to them and they were everything to me.”

- Cheryl Strayed, Wild

Life in Engaresero broke me down each day, humbled me and crushed my ego. Some nights I would sit outside my tent, in the darkness, as the millions of star twinkled above me. It was a riot in the sky, and there was no way I could experience that in a city. With my neck craned and chin up, I tried hard to memorise the view, as if someone had precariously sprayed white paint with a brush over a black canvas. The chirping of the crickets was a symphony that composed this incredible presence- and there in the wildest set up I’ve ever been I felt the most humane. I walked along giraffes and zebras, saw hundreds of ivory and pink flamingos take a flight together, and waded in rocky waters to see a waterfall. Some evenings I felt the peace I had only read about in books, like the universe was teaching me to breathe and to listen. I lived like a Maasai and I closely understood the reason behind their content lifestyle. This was not a way of life I could add value to, in truth this was the only way to live.

Figure 4: Mr Lemra outside his mother’s hut surrounded by his family members from the Boma, the children help their mothers with selling the white beads jewelery

Field Work

The field work was divided in three phases-

1. Learning about the Maasai culture
2. Case study visits
3. Site survey, context study and analysis

I spent the first day meeting the Gov. Authorities, to acknowledge their contribution and seek their further help for the project. They employed two surveyors to the task of measuring the site extent, elevations etc. Before the surveyors arrived, I carried on with my research and case studies for the next few days. For an efficient and enriching design, I believe the most important step is to understand the stakeholders. So I decided to speak to the village children and visit the existing schools. There are two schools in the village, a kindergarten and a primary (till 7^th grade) school, and a higher secondary boarding school about 50 km from the village. The kindergarten was a room of 5mx6m (approx.) comprising 80 children between the ages of 1.5-5 yrs. Except for a black board and chalks, there were no facilities whatsoever. An older girl about my age taught them alphabet and numbers in the official Kiswahili language. The primary school had relatively better infrastructure, nonetheless ineffectual and counterproductive. A series of brick and cement structures stood in a depressing barren landscape. I spoke to children of all age groups. The younger kids (grades 2 and 3) felt the need for a playground and better meals, the older kids (grades 6 and 7) wanted more textbooks and desks. Four children share one textbook, crammed together on one bench which is meant for two or three. Under the heated tin roof, a hundred children sit together uncomfortably due to lack of classrooms, dust through the broken windows fills their desks, notebooks and lungs. The girls complained about the broken doors in the toilets, lack of a library and laboratories. In the secondary school too, the students were facing similar infrastructural and management problems. The dormitories were small and about three children shared one bed.

In the village schools, the children come from as far as 11 km on foot. The quality of education and nutrition provided to these kids is hardly a compensation for the long distances they travel and the harsh backgrounds they come from. While education is free for the tribal kids, a majority of families cannot afford books and uniforms, and most kids dropout after 7^th grade because the parents cannot afford boarding expenses and there is no nearby secondary school in the village. Visiting these schools was an emotional and heart-breaking experience, to see motivated children under duress and struggling with the most basic human right of education. They are aware of their financial condition, and have hopes from potential donors when the tourists visit their schools and click pictures with them. The mere act of existing as indigenous people has exposed innocent minds to the fanciful exploiting pleasures of the visitors. It is upsetting and damaging to have a community think that people from outside are going to come and make things right for them. While the older generation understands the reality, the younger naïve one experiences otherwise in the tourist interactions.

Figure 5: Children of Grade 7, primary school

Site

From a higher perspective, the site is not discernible from the surrounding wilderness. The invincible wild of thorny bushes and scanty trees extends far to the pink hued shoreline of the salt water lake, the high grasslands cupping the expanse in an exquisite valley.

The survey took us four days to complete. The heat and lack of any networking system whatsoever made the task difficult. The site (24 acres) is adjacent to a small Boma, close to the village dispensary. I frequented the site as often as I could and documented the soil type and the rocks, and the vegetation. There is a river flowing close by from which water can be channelled. The soil is loose and sandy, and stone is abundant on site. Based on my observation in the village, I tried to understand the material availability and scarcity, the architectural style and the settlement pattern. I documented daily activities of the villagers to connect with them spatially.

Figure 6: Cows grazing on the site allocated for the school

At the end of what had been a little over two weeks, drenched in new experiences, stocked with food for thought and with a bounty of memories, I left for the city of Arusha. I spent the next one week in the city, lodging close to an office where I was offered a space to work and brainstorm. Mr Frank Mchuma is a Tanzanian architect who is assisting the project. I discussed my ideas, sketches and observations with him. He explained some of his projects to me. Each afternoon we gathered for lunch and the conversations ranged from Tanzanian architecture to Indian spices to faith and education to philosophies he wanted me to explore. He enriched my stay in the city and his family was the homely company I sometimes craved for. In those seven days I worked on design ideas about the first phase of the project – the primary school and volunteers’ lodge. Currently, I’m in the process of developing the drawings for the same.  I spent a lot of time strolling on the streets, visiting museums and markets, buying souvenirs and keepsakes, and sipping on the ginger tea in the café across my lodge. They played a lot of Swahili news and T.V. shows which I didn’t understand. It was pleasant.

I owe my three and a half week African sojourn to the momentary friendships with strangers whom I will never see again, and the strangers who have come to be loving friends and colleagues and I wish to see soon.

August’17

The second part of my fellowship awaited and in the first week of August I left for Portugal. After fifteen hours of flight, I reached the coastal city of Porto. With tiresome effort, I looked for the means to reach my accommodation and unknowingly chose the picturesque metro rail ride for the same. The journey through the old districts of Porto, overlooking the country neighbourhoods and the orange country roof tiles was a spectacular one. I reached a couple of days prior to the summer school and spent the first day settling down in the apartment. I met with two co-participants of the summer school who had also chosen the same accommodation. I walked around the area and explored the local market. The next day three of us headed to a beach, rented a small shack and spent the day by the sand and the sea. Wherever you are in Porto, there is always a beach close to you that can be reached in about 15 minutes. Beautiful rustic cafes with antique artwork, colourful flower pots and brazen wooden furniture lined parallel to the beach. We were all curious, and talked for hours before returning. We had to prepare for the first day of the summer school.

Figure 7: Praca da Batalha- square in front of my apartment, Cathedral with Azulejo (tilework)

Figure 8: The family house before intervention

Critical Concrete held this three week workshop aimed at social reform of an impoverished family with the help of the Gov. authorities, local social workers and volunteers. The next day we went to visit the site, a house in Ramalde district, which a group of forty two volunteers from all over the world were to refurbish under the guidance of mentors and architects. The house belongs to Zeferino and Marilia, an old couple, their daughter Marcia lives in the front part of the house with her two children Diana and Gonçalo, her partner Augusta and her son Raphael. The two women (Marcia and Augusta, the stakeholders) have been going through rough times lately and have been forced to live in unsuitable conditions. The household is stricken with health problems. While the grandmother has epilepsy, one of the women has a condition of Lupus and other an eye problem, one of the boys has diabetes and hyperactivity, while the other has asthma and Asperger’s. The grand daughter and grandfather are the only healthy members. The project was to repair/renovate/remodel the front part of the house for the family to have comfortable and hygienic living conditions. The back of the house is inhabited by the grandparents (owners). Diana had to move-in with them due to lack of space. The upper floor was in a shabby condition. The house had many fundamental issues which needed stern attention. The kitchen in the house was not functioning and the family used the grandparents’ kitchen. The light and ventilation was poor, which added to the health problems and gave a psychological impression of a run-down dilapidated house. The rooms were uncomfortable in summers and chilly in winters. Lack of personal space made it difficult for the children to study or do their homework. Leakage during rain is a major problem, so is lack of storage space.

After the site visit, we returned to the production house where all the volunteers split into groups of seven/ eight and came forward with their inferences and initial ideas. After a session of brainstorming we all agreed on the action plan. We incorporated the family in the discussion, and based on their requirements we devised a demolition plan. The next two days, our faces covered with masks, heads with helmets, and the rest of the safety gear in place, we demolished the unnecessary partitions and walls and removed uneven flooring material using crowbars, mallets and other tools. We removed all the debris from the house and collected the reusable material like scrap metal, timber and glass. After the demolition phase, the new plan was implemented. For the next two and a half weeks each group worked on specific tasks. The stone walls were evened out by filling mortar, and then insulated using Rockwool which was stapled on ply boards, which were later drilled on timber frames. The ceilings were insulated in a similar manner as the walls and then packed with ply boards. The tiling work on the roof had already started before the workshop. The beam structure was weak and tricky at places and took relatively longer to fix. The walls around the stairs were torn down to allow light in the living area and the structure of the stairs was stabilised. A group was dedicated to the furniture work and they built new steps to be added to the staircase. They also worked on new windows and refurbished old doors. One group worked on the plumbing and one other on electricity. Charred timber panels gave an aesthetic look to the front façade and made the surface water proof. On the upper floor insulation work done and the bathroom fixtures and pipe joints were changed and the water system was made functioning. Every afternoon food arrived from the production centre and we seated us on the pavements on the road. Lunch was the highlight of each day. Every day after work we set off to the production centre for the guest lectures, which were planned for the three weeks on a variety of topics. The volunteers toiled from morning to dusk, five days a week. Weekends were reserved for exploring the city.

Figure 9: The tools and raw materials were collected in the workshop above

Figure 10: Work in progress- 2nd week, structure for wall insulation and door frames installation

“Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy and peaceful.”

- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Porto is a balmy tranquil city, and one is urged to visit again. And stay. It sits beautifully on the western coast of the country.  Built along the hills overlooking the northern banks of River Douro, the undulating landscape of the city offers awe-inspiring views of the settlement. Red, maroon, ochre, blue, teal, orange, yellow, green- houses painted in sprightly colours are huddled together on the hills, spires and domes rise from the numerous cathedrals and churches and from a high pedestrian bridge, one can literally point to the historic landmarks around, and in my case also the apartment where I was staying. Ferries and boats afloat in the Douro are dreamlike scenery. Ambling along the medieval river side, through the narrow streets shaded by classical buildings, the aura of a bustling European city consumes the visitor. The walks were timeless, marked with beauty at every nook and corner. On most building facades one can find the remarkable Azulejo illustrations- hand painted tin-glazed ceramic tile work.  The cobbled pathway that I walked on was part of the historic city centre with a UNESCO World Heritage Status. Porto is the land of Port wine and the visiting the wine cellars was an exquisite experience. The mornings were placid and quiet, the afternoons busy, the nights iridescent with life. The immense plazas held plentiful bars serving Port, some were snug and intimate, some open and loud. The atmosphere of cheerful gaiety at 1 a.m. in the morning lulled into warm conversations at 3 a.m. and the night was coloured with shades between euphoria and forlornness. Innumerable souvenir stalls with cork artefacts decorated the streets. I spent most weekends either visiting the historical buildings, cathedrals, libraries and the super markets or by the beach.

Figure 11: Rebeira- the riverside of Porto

The thing about hands-on work is that the tangible results are right in front of you, and the instant gratification that I received as an individual and an architect has been by far the most satisfied and happy I have ever been in my field of academic and professional work. In the last week of the workshop, the finishing work was in full swing. Walls were being painted, flooring with insulation being laid out, furniture being installed and doors being fixed. On the last day we cleaned the space and gave the final touches.  With a small tree planted in the central courtyard, we concluded the workshop. The house was inaugurated and handed over to the family in the evening. Later we had a certificate ceremony and a cozy house party to celebrate a successful summer school.

Figure 12: Before and After- the previously kid’s room turned into living area by opening the stair structure and removing the walls

Figure 13: Before and After- two small rooms on the right side of the house were transformed

Certainly, the only place I wanted to spend my last day in Porto was by the sea. My friend and I caught a bus to Matasinhos famous for its breath taking sea-side gardens and walkways. We walked the whole afternoon, till the mouth of the Atlantic sea embraced the Douro River and narrowed down calmly. There was a murky gloominess in the atmosphere that day, the weather was cold and the sea smelt briny- like sulphur- as it always does, and the seagulls soared high above the grey waters in a pulsating cacophony- as they always do, and the sombreness grew in me- maybe it wasn’t the weather, it was me.

I left for Lisbon the next day, and caught a flight for home the day after. My somatic journey had ended but my inner one had just begun.

References:

1. http://www.maasai.center/
2. http://criticalconcrete.com/