‘Day in the life’: Volunteer, Arnie, helps create a safer future in Tanzania
We have been working in Tanzania since 2015, providing accessible veterinary care, including spay and neuter surgeries and rabies vaccinations, in collaboration with our partner charity Mbwa Wa Africa Animal Rescue.
Rabies places a heavy burden on the country and communities within Tanzania. Over the past nine years, we have worked to deliver mass vaccination drives across the Meru district in the North-East of Tanzania. In September, we expanded our volunteer work in Meru, to complete a vaccination drive in the nearby Arusha district from 27th September to 8th October 2025.
Our vaccination teams were made up of ten international volunteers and local team members. A total of 5,500 dogs were vaccinated against rabies, with a 73% vaccination coverage achieved, protecting dogs and the people they live alongside.
Long-term supporter and volunteer, Arnold Plotnick, joined us for our vaccination campaign in Tanzania. Hear from him about his time in Tanzania as he takes you through ‘a day in the life’ on a vaccination campaign.
Saturday 27 September
“Breakfast, as usual, didn’t disappoint. Everyone was buzzing with first-day energy. We ate quickly and headed to the room where our supplies were stacked in neat piles labelled with each team’s name. Elsa and I are “Team Katavi,” named for one of Tanzania’s national parks. Our pile held vaccine coolers, syringes and needles, vaccination cards, brochures, our team banner, a megaphone, and a marker. Elsa grabbed the most important item: our lunch boxes.
The 40-minute drive to our village site took us down dusty roads lined with fields, the occasional cow, dogs darting across, small shops selling anything and everything, hair salons, pharmacies, and women walking gracefully with baskets balanced on their heads. This is authentic, unvarnished Tanzania, and to me, it never gets old.
When we pulled up, there were already kids waiting, some with dogs in tow. We hung our banner on the front of what looked like a grain storage building and set up shop. Syringes were filled, brochures stacked, our crayon ready to mark foreheads. Then the line began.
Owners — usually kids between eight and fourteen — brought their dogs forward. We showed them how to hold their animals properly: straddle like a horse, grip the head or neck from behind. One new piece of equipment in our supply box this year was a laminated photo of a kid holding a dog exactly the way we recommend. That little photo turned out to be one of our most-used tools.
By the end of the day, we’d vaccinated seventy dogs. Not a huge number — some teams topped 150. I’d love to say it’s about quality, not quantity, but let’s be honest: in rabies work, size does matter. Our consolation is that the tally depends entirely on the area. Remote villages mean fewer animals, and today, that was our fate, so we just shrugged it off.
Dinner back at base was the usual mix of good food and lively storytelling, each team trading tales from the day. Tomorrow, we head out again — another day, another village, another round of dogs waiting.
Tuesday 30 September
Whew. Just got back from another exhausting day of roaming. Roaming means piling into the van, blasting our announcement through the megaphone, then pulling over to see which dogs appear. Word travels fast here — kids shout, neighbours tell neighbours — and soon enough, the doggies arrive.
The day began, as always: an excellent breakfast, loading the van with supplies, and Jens’s morning pep talk. The first two days of the campaign had sky-high vaccination numbers. Yesterday, with teams either roaming or going door-to-door, the totals dipped — not surprising, but a little deflating. Jens reminded us that low numbers here often mean the opposite of failure: residents had already taken their dogs to the static clinics. Sure enough, the D2D teams kept hearing, “Already vaccinated.” The goal, Jens said, isn’t high numbers just so you can brag about it. The goal is zero rabies. That put the whole thing in perspective and lifted the mood.
What struck me instead was how much Swahili I’ve picked up. At one stop, two young men showed up separately with their dogs. I pointed to the first and said, “Walete” (“bring it here”), and he came forward. I showed him the laminated photo of how to straddle and hold a dog properly and said “Mshike vizuri.” He adjusted his stance perfectly. Elsa gave the vaccine, I marked the dog’s head, and boom — done. “Tayari,” I said. Finished. Even our local teammates were impressed.
By lunchtime, Noel had driven us to a spot that felt straight out of a postcard: a pine forest carpeted with purple flowers, the scent of eucalyptus in the air, Mount Meru looming in the distance. Quiet, serene, perfect. I didn’t want lunch to end.
The afternoon brought one of those Mission Rabies rites of passage: the basket of puppies. In our case, it was an orange bucket holding five ridiculously cute four-month-old tan little fluffballs.
We wrapped up with around 65 dogs and three cats — an excellent tally for a roaming team.
Sunday 5 October
This is my third Mission Rabies Tanzania vaccination campaign. Each campaign lasts two weeks — so, six weeks total. Each week includes two static clinics, which makes today my twelfth static-clinic shift. Never, in any of them, have I experienced such an absolute bombardment of dogs as I did today.
Out in the parking lot, Jens greeted us with good news: we’re on pace to vaccinate more dogs than last year. Even better, the percentage of dogs we’re seeing that were previously vaccinated has jumped from 12% to 36%. And the big one — we’re not just hitting the 70% target; we’re surpassing it. Some areas are hitting around 72%, others as high as 79%. This campaign is working.
When we dropped off Team Gombe, their site was already buzzing: kids, dogs, and the beginnings of cheerful chaos. Their consolation prize was a lovely setting — a static clinic under a blooming jacaranda tree, purple petals scattered across the ground.
Twenty more minutes in the van and we were in Sambasha — and my fears were justified. A swarm awaited us: I’d guess fifty dogs, and triple that in children.
We hung our banner, grabbed the cooler, frantically loaded syringes, and dove in.
We had no choice but to improvise: pre-lunch, I’d vaccinate, Elsa would mark. After lunch, we’d switch. Soon we had a rhythm: call the kid forward, restrain the dog, poke it, mark it, and done. “Walete – mshike – tayari.” Rinse, lather, repeat.
Sixty dogs later, we’d really found our groove. The only interruptions were syringe reloads — and the occasional “uncooperative” dog. Not aggressive, just wary. With all the noise and yelps, they could tell something was up. I had to deploy my “sneak-up-and-jab-the-thigh” technique. It was mayhem, but a manageable kind.
By lunchtime, we’d vaccinated 120 dogs. It was one of my best tallies ever, and the day was only half over.
We ran out of vaccination cards, and Team Gombe had to send us half of theirs, delivered by a local guy on a motorcycle. Running out of vaccination cards is usually a sign that you’re really hitting high numbers.
By day’s end, we’d vaccinated 172 animals — the highest total of any team that day, and the one-day record for the entire campaign so far. A personal best for me. Jens sent the daily group tally just before dinner: 1,027 animals vaccinated in a single day. Incredible.
Tomorrow it’s back to the physically tougher stuff: roaming static clinics and door-to-door work. Fewer numbers, more sweat, but equally important.”
Adventure of a lifetime: volunteer with us in 2026:
We have lots of exciting volunteering opportunities in 2026. Register your interest and be the first to hear when applications open for our vaccination drives!
