Is it a con?

Thursday November 29^th

Many weeks ago I uploaded a video of the students singing a song they do regularly about their love for Tanzania.  This morning I asked them to do the other song they do, The Tanzanian National Anthem.  If you have Flash Player installed the video should work but my apologies for the last few seconds.  I have no video editing software out here so you end up with a lovely view of the ground.

Today I was due for my return journey to Mr and Mrs Masui’s for ‘breakfast’ so the first thing I did when I got to school was to paste the two photos of baby Debora, that are on yesterday’s post, onto a word file and printed them out on the school printer.  I had one sheet of card left so I used that and as usual Mrs Masui was delighted with my offering.  Pictures are by no means a rarity here because of the advent of mobile phone cameras, but hard copy seems still to be unusual and the reaction I have received to my little gifts has always been very positive.

Mr Masui’s Form IV nephew was there at breakfast so I asked to look at the phone that he was playing with.  I wanted to check what time system he used on his phone as wrist watches seem to be another rarity.  (To see my favourite Masai, Malele, reach inside his cloak and pull out his mobile phone to check the time still brings a smile to my face.) When I saw that the time was set for 10:26 and not 4:26, I joked that all the talk of Tanzanian time was just a ‘wind up’ (oooh!) to poke fun at mzungus and really they used the same system as everybody else.  I will have to get a look at Malele’s phone the next time he is round, although, to be fair, the 6 to 6 system is supposed to be mainly a coastal thing and Arusha is a long way from the sea.

After breakfast I had a little walk around the site.  Outside the boys’ dormitories their washing was already out, fluttering in what breeze there was.  I’d not really looked before but as I came close I realised why the items were able to stay on the line without the use of pegs; the washing line was ‘barbed wire’!  A good job I don’t cycle that way as I would have to remember to duck to avoid a rather nasty injury.

I asked Mr Mmari today when the students would be leaving as the exams were now over and there were to be no more lessons.  He explained that there was the cleaning and site maintenance to be done and the girls would most likely leave on Tuesday, with the boys following on Wednesday.  Obviously I asked, “Why the difference?”  Mr Mmari replied, “To prevent indiscipline.”  I don’t know what he expects to happen if boys and girls were allowed to mix unsupervised at the bottom of THE HILL, whilst waiting for transport to all points north, but certainly even having a cuddle on the back seat of a Daladala would require a contortionist.

Baadaye

‘Breakfast’ at the Masui’s

Wednesday November 28^th

 I woke as the fan started working again after over twenty four hours without electricity.  A glance at my phone told me it was 4:00 am but ‘strike while the iron is hot’, so I got up threw a bucket of water over my head and used the time to catch up with some of my Internet work. Vodacom speed seemed better as well so perhaps a lot of people in Tanga don’t get up at that time to surf.

Work done and my usual good breakfast inside me and it was time for the cycle to work and knock one more off the countdown of journeys up …….  As I pushed my bike along, once again I was torn between reporting my experiences accurately and invading people’s privacy. In the end I’ve come to a compromise.  Outside one of the house on the right as I walk, a house proud lady was using one of the hand brushes I’ve shown before to sweep dust and leaves away from the front of her property.  To have such pride when all the elements and environment seem against you speaks volumes.  I realised the problem even more when, on arriving at school, I printed a thank you card and covered it with a clean sheet of A4 paper to press down the fold.  As I pressed down and moved my hand I left a brown trail all across the white paper, and all I’d done since having my shower was cycle to work.  Below is a picture of her house that I took later in the day when she was not around.

The Boza house.  The red earth gets everywhere

After assembly, I started invigilating another examination but had to leave Mr Mmari to it at 10:20 as Mr Masui came to collect me for breakfast at his house.  He ushered me in and set a chair by the table and invited me to dine from the dishes there.  I didn’t know what to do.  There was soup, chicken, chapattis, fried bananas, orange halves, chai or coffee, and this after my usual big breakfast at the Y.M.  Before we could start Mrs Masui arrived and I stood to be introduced.  I was taken aback when, as I held my hand out to shake hers, she took my hand and curtsied.  I don’t know if it was my size, my whiteness or my age but for a second she was obviously  a little overcome and I quickly pointed out that I was just an old ‘Babu’ and not worth any fuss. 

As seems to be the norm here, Mr Masui has two cows, numerous goats and chickens, a banana tree in his back garden and a Pawpaw in his front. He also has a vegetable patch where he grows carrots, cabbage etc, so ‘all in all’, with a house provided by the school, he is very much self-sufficient.  He is also, like Mr Mmari, slowly building a house across the road in Boza village so is planning well for his future too.

Once again I came upon the Tanzanian wider family and struggled to get my head round it.  Soon after I sat down, a young girl who I had seen in Form II before they finished, brought a jug of water and a bowl and poured water over my hands to clean them.  She, it appears, is the daughter of Mr Masui’s sister and lives with him and his wife.  Then Happiness appeared and I asked if she wanted me or Mr Masui to which she replied that she was so happy that I was having breakfast at her house.  Another niece.  Then there was the wife of one of his son’s, who teaches in Moshi and her baby Debora (with emphasis on the ‘or’, pronounced like iron ore).  In another building he looks after the son of his deceased brother and his own youngest son.  It got very confusing.

Eventually, having taken a couple of baby shots, it was time to get back to my invigilation, so I left with a request from Mrs Masui, relayed  through her husband as she has no English, that I come again tomorrow.

Mrs Masui and Debora

Debora, Mr Masui's grand-daughter

Invigilation again in the afternoon, ‘Kiswahili’ this time and the first of the exam papers that I couldn’t actually read.  One thing that amused me was the way the register for examinations is taken.  A sheet is passed round the students with two columns ruled on the paper, one for their name and one for their signature.  As I saw them filling this in it was once again a case of ‘kids are kids the world over’ as I looked at the flowery signatures and scribbles that were produced.  It took me back to the signature that I designed when I was twelve, that still haunts me as it appears on so many banking and legal documents.  I felt like saying to them, “Keep it simple, you might be stuck with it.”

Back to the YMCA and surprisingly Mama Gladness decided to join me in my cooling off swim.  Like Vicky, sitting in knee deep water is about as far as she will go, but at least it was company with my swimming companion, Deo, on home leave.

Baadaye

The break up starts

Tuesday November 27^th

I woke to a raging thunderstorm which started over Tanga (1 mile for 1 second, I still remember from my youth) and gradually came closer until it moved inland.  The only trouble is that I am used to a storm clearing the air and leaving it fresh but no chance of that here.  The thunder went, the rain stopped and the heat and humidity immediately returned. 

Thankfully the storm had abated before I mounted my bike for the much chronicled journey to school, but when I reached my shop for my daily bottle of ‘maji baridi kumbwa’ the keep fit brigade from Boza elementary started passing by.  I’m standing their gently perspiring (Yes. As if.) and suddenly groups of about twenty children start running out of the village, past the entrance to the secondary school, past the shop, before turning back into the village.  They are all chanting the Swahili equivalent of “I don’t know but I’ve been told…..” like a group of US army draftees, and as soon as one group disappears the next one turns onto the road.  I did try to photograph them once, earlier in my visit, but they dissolved into laughter and scattered in all directions so this time I took the photo practically facing the counter of the shop.   Perhaps they too believe, like the women who cleaned the YMCA for the opening of the hall, that ‘muzungus’ take photographs to take back to the west and sell, presumably to ‘National Geographical’.

I arrived at school and finished my reports, handed the marked papers back to the students before flattening the battery on both laptops trying to do some work.  Last night the electricity was so poor it wouldn’t even ‘spark up’ the long life bulbs in my room and I had to rely on an orange glow from the old filament style bulb in the bathroom.  By ten o’clock it had given up completely and then stayed off for the next twenty hours. 

I had shown Mr Masui a sheet with all the various details needed for the reports and my comments ready to copy on, so when he asked me to follow him into his office I wondered what gaff I had committed. In fact he wanted to ask if I would join him, and his wife, for breakfast the next day.  As I normally get to school for 7:30 am, I wondered what time I would have to set off now, but I needn’t have worried, the invitation was for 10:00 am. For some reason I had failed to ‘pick up on’ the fact that the break in lessons from 10:40 until 11:10 is for breakfast, not the mid-morning snack that it is for me.  I accepted the invitation and made a mental note to make sure I had my best bib and tucker on tomorrow morning.  Talking about food; you’ve already seen the lady who normally prepares my chapatti at break but I haven’t yet shown you a picture of the main cook, who can be seen below chopping some wood for the cooking stove.  Thankfully the students eat after I have left at 2:40pm.

My goodbyes started today at the YMCA.  Eva left this afternoon for her month’s annual leave so I will be gone by the time she returns.  One of the YMCA pick-ups had come down to do a job and was returning to Moshi, so she took the opportunity of a lift and Deo also jumped on board for a chance to see his wife and children for a couple of days before returning on Sunday.  I used MS Publisher to make a thank you card for her with a picture of the pair of us on the front and it was very gratifying to see that she seemed even more pleased about the card than the offering inside.

Two of the Masai guards from next door came round in the evening and as they were not likely to be doing the Masai leap I risked having a photo taken between them. John is on my right and Melale on my left.  They are both real characters and delight in encouraging me to attempt conversations in Swahili, nodding and saying ‘ndyo’ (yes), every time I actually say a sentence that makes sense.  I still have to tactfully find my bottle of water and pretend that it is the best drink in the world, whenever they offer me a beer though.  They are very generous, but I now know the cost of this generosity so as long as I don’t offend them I am quite willing to do a little ‘ducking and diving’.

Baadaye

An advert

Monday November 26^th

Regular readers of this blog might like to skip this post because there will be nothing new in it.  The reason? When I decided to come to Pangani and Denis first suggested the YMCA as somewhere to stay, I must admit I didn’t immediately leap up and say, “Yes. Just what I want.”  I decided to do what tends to be ‘the norm’ these days and I went on the Internet, opened Google, and typed in Pangani YMCA.  The information that I then received was, to say the least, mixed and very much out of date, so this is my opportunity to put the record straight so that any future travelers at least have a shortened version of my experiences.  There are some small negatives but I will summarise those at the end.

To start with I’d better get the address down so that it appears on the relevant search engines  –

YMCA
Edenkoben House
Mkoma Bay
PO Box 84
Pangani
Tanga
Tanzania

Tel  +255 seven 3620476two(I have a thing about Netbots)

View from the grounds

How to get here.  The only real way by public transport is to get a bus to Tanga, or if coming from Dar es Salaam get the 8:00am Shillingi VIP bus from Dar straight through to Pangani. At the time of writing the prices are Dar to Tanga – Tsh 12 000,  Dar to Pangani – TSh 14 000. Once in Tanga you have a choice of getting a Daladala (minibus) or the occasional big bus to travel the unmetaled road to Pangani.  The price for this is Tsh 2 000.  You need to tell the conductor you want Mkoma Bay and he should then drop you at the end of a track that splits with the right going to the YMCA and left going to Mkoma Bay tented lodge.  The YMCA is about 300m down this track.

If you are lucky enough to have your own transport the centre is about 5km from Pangani on the Tanga road.  Coming from Pangani you will pass a road junction on your left with a raised barrier used by the police, and about 2km later there are signs on both sides of the road advertising YMCA and Mkoma Bay.  Turn right into the track.  If approaching from Tanga you will pass a village called Choba where an international school is clearly advertised.  About 1km later look for the signs.  If you get to the road barrier and road junction just mentioned, you have overshot.

December 2012 the price for bed and breakfast per night is Tsh 20 000 for one person or Tsh 30 000 for a couple sharing a room.  (Tsh 20 000 is about £8, 10€ or $13 )   The cost includes temporary membership of the Tanzanian YMCA and no, you don’t need to be young, male or a Christian. During my second week here a Muslim young lady spent a night in the room next to mine.  Dinner will cost an extra Tsh 7000. The price compares with the rates next door at the tourist camp of Tsh 120 000 per night (incl evening meal). 

Before I go further, is it worth the trouble?  Well, I have just finished 11 weeks of a 13 week stay here and it has been idyllic.  The centre has its own path leading down to Mkoma Bay beach and most times when you go down there you find acres of sand without another single occupant.  The sea is easily accessible and the slope of the shore means that the swimmer can quickly get to swimming depth whilst the non-swimmer should have no worries about getting out of their depth.  The views from the front of the centre are beautiful and have certainly been a restful way of unwinding after a day’s teaching.

Mkoma Bay, as busy as it usually gets

The first thing you see on entering the site is the large community hall on the left.  This has just been completed and is, as it says, for community use and weddings etc.  The main building and office are straight ahead but are usually approached from the seaward side through the veranda lounge where some of the locals gather in the late afternoon/evening for a beer, coke, etc  all well priced.

The centre has five rooms, all capable of accommodating two people; two circular Bandas and a new rectangular block of three rooms.  The rooms are clean and basic.  When the local water supply doesn’t let you down, every room has a wet-room with toilet, wash basin and shower and the new block has working ceiling fans.  Bed linen and towels are changed every two days and the general standard of cleanliness is excellent.

My room, behind me two chairs and a table

Breakfast is basically eggs, in whatever form you like them, bread or toast, coffee or tea, and a piece of fruit.  The evening meal, which you have to order, can be beef, fish or chicken with chips or rice and salad or cabbage.  No menu, you say what you want and if they’ve got it, they’ll cook it.  Certainly, if you are a fish fan, you are in for a treat as the fisherman usually comes up the path from the beach, meets one of the staff, who select what they want, weigh it and pay for it there and then.

The centre offer a washing and ironing service with socks starting at Tsh 400 up to a pair of trousers at Tsh 1000.  No Comfort or Lenor I’m afraid but spotless and well pressed.

Is it popular?  At the moment surprisingly not.  Apart from weekends, during my 80 days here I have been the only occupant for much of that time.  This does not mean that word won’t spread, as a group of four backpackers this weekend were toying with the idea of scrapping there pre-paid bus tickets out of Tanga to extend their stay here.

Although not providing any ‘touristy’ things itself, some residents have paid and joined boat trips and snorkeling trips with the Tented Lodge next door.  I haven’t tried this myself yet, though I have been round a couple of times for a meal by way of a change (Tsh 25 000).

Internet.  Very important to me, so I will mention it.  From my experience the best modem dongle is Vodacom although I understand that Tiga are extending their 3G network sometime in the near future. Airtel also works, but at the YMCA the best signal was Vodacom.  Make sure you buy an Internet bundle though as indiscriminate use can turn out expensive.

I promised you the negatives.  Here goes.

 If you have no transport Pangani is a bit of a dead end with the road to and from Tanga as its only link.  Pangani itself is about 5km away so if you are looking for a pub showing premier league football you have a good walk when the match is finished.  Even ‘Shangri La’ could get boring after a while so if you are looking for a centre for a long stay, be ready for a quiet peaceful time. 

The food, although good, can get repetitive if your stay is longer than a few days.

Don’t expect the white sands of Zanzibar.  The sand is the usual light tan and does tend to hold in suspension in the water so, certainly near the shore, visibility under the water is poor.  The water is clean though and there is no effluent discharge anywhere in the bay or around.  If you are happy just to use swimming to ‘chill’ and don’t expect more then it is fine.  The sand above the high water mark is very dark in a strip about 3 metres wide at the bottom of the path which means that return trips to your room really mean a foot bath.

Apart from the usual problems that are an ever present in Tanzania of continuity of electricity, which can also lead to water pumping stations not operating as well, that’s it. 

Would I return?  At the drop of a hat; but the length of my stay would depend upon the reason for me being here in the first place.  As a centre to return to after a day’s teaching coupled with relaxing weekends, it is ideal.  As a centre for a two week holiday without transport, it has its drawbacks.

If you’ve googled this, I hope it has been useful.

Baadaye

A good arm

Sunday November 25^th

Cliff’s stay, although very welcome, was short, so after a YMCA breakfast he and Karim were ready to set off soon after 10 am.  I realised that Taxi was another page in my ‘I Spy’ book and decided to get a lift into town when they went.  This only leaves the page with ‘Back of a lorry’ on so I live in hope.  I pointed out the height of the school way above us as we went past the junction, and then we entered Pangani.   At least I would be able to get some of the jobs done that my canine companion had prevented me doing yesterday.

Me, Cliff and Karim

As we rounded the corner that lead to the ferry we were met by a policeman walking in front of a parade of Muslims surrounding a car with loudspeakers mounted on the roof and spread completely across the road, as they approached us.  The policeman said that it was a demonstration and we took a quick detour down a side street to the river.  I asked my students the following day and they informed me that it was in fact a procession to mark some historical date relating to Mohammed and the policeman’s information had obviously lost something in translation.

I got out of the car, as Cliff went to buy the tickets they needed for the river crossing, and thankfully checked my pockets before I left them to find that I had rushed out without my wallet.  I blanched at the thought of how my bruised feet would have coped with another walk home if I hadn’t realised my omission, and ‘borrowed’  a 10 000 shillingi note from Cliff.

I needed to buy a new phone, which was now no longer in the frame, but at least I would be able to get my hair cut so that it would have some chance of recovery before I saw Chez in a fortnight.  I limped up to the stationers and sat on the, now familiar, niche in his wall for a breather and then finally entered the market square. 

A hair cut for Tsh 2 000 and I had plenty left for a bottle of water and, thankfully a Daladala home.  Incidentally I have found out from my colleague at school, Mr Ndetele, the origin of the name given to these minibuses.  There is a Tsh 50 coin in circulation that, in size, looks like our old 3d bit but has the curved heptagon shape of the 50p piece.  This, I am told, was nicknamed a ‘dala’ and in Dar es Salaam used to be the standard fare for a journey on one of these buses.  The conductor, as the bus stopped to pick up passengers, would call out ‘dala dala’, implying that if you’ve got the money, on you get. “Not many people know that.”

As I arrived home I finally get to the reason for the title of today’s offering.  In the grounds of the YMCA we have quite a few mango trees.  In the picture below you can possibly make out some fruits hanging just above the spike of the smaller sapling.

If we can keep the monkeys off them, which Deo achieves with a catapult  (‘manati’) and a supply of pebbles, these are an excellent addition at the end of either breakfast or dinner.  A large one had just fallen so Eva collected this to wash and prepare for my dessert and then saw another, still hanging, that was obviously large enough to be quite ripe.  With no more ado, she bent, picked up a small rock and, from about 10m away, brought  the fruit down with one throw.  She can be in my rounders’ team any day. An excellent shot!

Having joined Cliff and Karim the previous evening in what I was told was an excellent meal of freshly caught fish, tonight was my night for ‘kuku’ which certainly went down well with juicy mango for afters.

   Baadaye

That blessed dog

Saturday November 24^th

What a day.  Having nearly exhausted the motorised transport options for my weekly trip to Pangani, I decided that today I would actually walk.  I set off about 9:00 am and, as the tide was out, decided to walk along the sands and navigate round the end of the headland.  Already the sun was very hot and, for the first time during my visits to town, I had decided to wear shorts, so I applied a liberal dose of Factor 50 to all surfaces and packed the bottle in my rucksack for regular ‘topping up’.

All went well as I strolled along, once again an isolated figure on acres of sand, until I turned and looked behind me and realised I was not alone.  Behind me was my ever present shadow, Chita, who had decided that I would need company for my stroll.  I turned and pointed back towards the YMCA and shouted ‘rudi’ (return) and she shamefacedly turned around and took three steps back the way she had come, before looking back.  I shouted again and it eventually looked as if she was going back so I turned to continue my journey, only for Chita to turn moments later and continue her pursuit.  This went on for some time, me shouting, her backtracking and then status quo, before I finally reached the Southern end of Mkoma Bay.  I even resorted to throwing a rock, pitched to fall well short I add, but nothing would sway her resolve.   At the end of the bay I found a large cave had been dug out of the limestone cliff by the tidal action and thought of a new plan. 

I retraced my steps and ensured that she too was heading back in the direction of home, before I quickly did an about turn and disappeared into the cave.  ‘Out of sight, out of mind’, I thought, and all I had to do was wait a couple of minutes before she got bored.  That was until I saw a little head appear around the corner of the cave, as if to say, ”What are you doing in there, Babu?”

Our journey continued in a similar form until I reached the end of the next bay and was met by a 100m stretch of pitted limestone that needed all my concentration to avoid turning an ankle with holes in the rock that could easily break a dog’s leg.  Even on here I found time to look back occasionally and, wonder to behold, the coast looked clear.  I eventually cleared the obstacle, rounded the corner, and found myself on sand again – with a shadow behind me.  Whether she had climbed to the top and down the other side, or swum round, or risked life and limb crossing the plateau, I don’t know, but there she was.  If nothing else I am a man who can admit when he is beaten so I went down on my haunches, called her over and fussed her, before we continued our journey, now as man and dog, rather than as prey and stalker.

As we rounded the inlet onto the banks of the Pangani river, we passed the fishermen who were drying their catch of ‘Dagaa’ in the sun.  Dagaa are a small whitebait type fish that are popular in Tanzania and certainly in Dar es Salaam command high prices.  With the sight of all this potential food I thought it better to find some way of controlling Chita, so by dint of pointing and sign language, I managed to find a fisherman who gave me a length of twine.  I offered to pay for this but he insisted that he didn’t want any shillingi, so, with an improvised lead, we continued our way into the town. 

A visit to the stationers, who once again had to be phoned to come down and open up, a little shopping and I was ready to return.  I was going to have my haircut but didn’t think my friendly barber would appreciate dog hair about his establishment, so I stopped to consider my situation.  My original plan had been to walk to Pangani and get a Daladala back, but that was before I had acquired a four legged friend.  There was no way a Daladala would allow a dog on board, so how was I to get home.  The stationer had suggested getting on a PikiPiki and Chita run along behind, but the heat was really up by now and I didn’t think it fair.  In the end we walked.  Not by the beach, as the  tide had now turned, but down the knobbly, dusty road which exposed a fact that I had failed to notice before that the sole of my left trainer had worn very thin.  With frequent stops as Chita dragged me under the shade of a nearby tree to lie and pant furiously, Chita that is, not me, we eventually made it to the Boza turn off and sat under a tree to talk to Joseph and I was able to get some water for Chita.  As I knew from experience that she had been this far before when she followed me to school, I released her from the rope and the pair of us limped home hot and tired.  If I attempt that again a certain dog will be well and truly tied up before I leave.

The day was not over though as I was about to receive the most pleasant surprise of my trip.  I chilled for a couple of hours to get back my energy and then decided that the only way I was going to completely relax was in the ocean, so I changed and went down to the beach.  Imagine my shock when I surfaced from one of my forays to the sea bed to see Cliff ploughing through the waves towards me.  The client that Karim had told Denis about was Cliff and they had driven up the coast to spend the night with me at the YM before returning to Dar tomorrow, so we enjoyed a good evening drinking, eating, and comparing notes about our experiences.  Cliff flies out to Myanmar on Tuesday so it will most likely be many months before we see each other again which made his visit even more special.  Both of us are coming to the end of long separations as I have not seen Chez now for eleven weeks and it has nearly been as long since Jane saw Cliff so in our own way we will leave Tanzania with happiness tinged with a touch of sadness.

I finally turned in, a little later than usual, a little more alcohol than usual, a little more foot weary than usual, but also happier than usual.

Baadaye

     

Invigilation

Friday November 23^rd

Not a lot to report today as I spent much of the day sat, and stood, doing one of the most boring jobs invented for man; invigilation.  I have been very lucky over the years, because for most of my life I have done a job that interests me; a job that on occasions can challenge, excite, exasperate, depress, and many other verbs but very rarely bore.  That is until you are asked to watch a group of students for three hours who are doing an examination. Time stands still!

I did see Mr Mari as I rode to school though.  He was on the back of a pikipiki, or rather he was sat on the luggage rack of a motorbike, whilst his wife sat between him and the rider who was controlling the bike.  His wife, I now find, had a hysterectomy during the birth of their last child and now has developed septicaemia, so is on a course of anti-biotics; hardly the ‘Holby City’ way of transporting a sick lady down to see the doctor at the local hospital.    Certainly the transport infra-structure in Tanzania is a major cause of problems.  I joke about the pikipikis, daladalas and the basi, but if this is your regular life it can have a profound effect.  You know that getting a job 100 miles away from home will most likely mean you do not see your family more than once every two or three months. You know that for your 14 year old child to have a chance of a better education you might not see them for three months at a time.  And as I have said above, you know that a trip to the local hospital or, as in Mrs Mmari’s  case, a trip to the regional hospital at Tanga because the local ultra sound scanner has stopped working, means a four hour round trip on sub standard transport and roads. 

The day ended, as usual, with a drink and chat to Denis and the other friends that I have made at the YMCA and whilst we were talking Denis got a phone call from Karim to ask about the direct road up the coast to Pangani.  It appears he has to bring a party to Pangani and as his taxi is a standard Toyota saloon, he wondered how suitable was the single track unmade road through the Sadan National Park.  This cuts nearly 100km off the journey from Dar as you don’t have to go North to Tanga, only to turn round and come South to Pangani.  Whichever way he comes I hope he finds chance to call in at the YMCA.

Baadaye

Over the mountain

Thursday November 22^nd

I must be demob happy.  This morning I woke up and without prompting started singing a song that I can’t remember hearing for nearly sixty years.  Where it came from I have no idea but the song which as I remember was called ’I see the sun’ or something similar, has a chorus that goes –

Over the mountain over the sea
Back where my heart is longing to be
Please let the light that shines on me
Shine on the one I love

The trouble is that the tune is one of those like ‘It’s a small world after all’, that gets into your head and stays there, which can be so annoying, so it has been with me all day.  I’ll see what tomorrow brings.

I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that we are grooming Deo for the 2016 Olympics in Brazil.  His swimming comes on in leaps and bounds, which doesn’t sound a sensible analogy, but you know what I mean.  The latest additions though to our swimming parties are both real shocks.  Denis, who swore never to let the ocean wet his toes, has joined us on a number of occasions and, with some success, is attempting to move through the water without actually walking and Vicky has entered the water for the first time in her life.  I don’t know her age but she has grown up children in Moshi but before this week had never even been in a swimming pool before.  She did seem to think that swimming involved throwing yourself to the ground once the water passed your ankle bone, but we managed to walk her a little further in. 

Deo is another Tanzanian that shows that life itself throws up enough challenges to remove the need for Gymnasia and Personal Trainers.  He is very much the workman around the place as the pictures show. Incidentally I realised the first week that using the head as a beast of burden was not confined to women, as one of our students, returning a little late after the August break, preceded me up THE HILL with his suitcase perfectly balanced on top.  Another case where to use the camera feels intrusive otherwise I’d have photos of locals carrying 15 litre cans,  crates of bananas, sacks of cement, vacuum wrapped packs of large water bottles, the frame of a bed, the list is endless.

A refill run to Pangani.  I din't have my camera the day he took 5 crates.

At school the end of year examinations for Form I and III started today with my examinations in Basic Mathematics being the first ones.  At least it means that I have got plenty of time to mark them and complete the reports (?).  Thankfully these also owe much to education history with one sheet for each pupil and once you have entered the various marks and grades there is room for a one or two word comment.  I don’t know what Ofqual would make of the standard of invigilation though?

Baadaye

Apologies

Wednesday November 21st

First some apologies.

One thing I’ve not found time for at all, whilst I have been here, is to keep up with local UK news.  I occasionally look at the world news, although to be honest, it was two days after the election before I found out that Barack Obama had been re-elected, when one of the locals asked me what I thought about the result.  Thus it was left to Cliff to bring to my attention that my post for Saturday had an unfortunate reference to a late northern DJ and his chair.  I knew nothing of his fall from grace and the accusations levelled against him, so apologies and I have since edited the blog.

Secondly apologies for missing out three days’ worth of blogs.  Sunday, as you know nothing much happens anyway and after two full days spent travelling to Dar and back I was really tired and ready for a rest. Monday I woke up with a fierce headache which seemed to last all day.  When I still had the headache on Tuesday, I started to worry a little as both for my students and for Vicky and Denis, when it has affected them, a fierce headache has proved to be the first symptom of malaria.  I am not usually a man that sees a sniffle as the first sign of ‘man flue’ but I knew that the tablets I take do not claim to be totally preventative and was understandably concerned.  Thankfully this morning the pain was much eased and I can only think it might have something to do with the excessive heat and humidity which I am finding quite draining.  Certainly for 48 hours I 'lost my bounce'.

For obvious reasons the next story is not accompanied by a picture as it involves one of my students breaking with the traditions of her religion.  In the previous paragraph I comment on the heat and humidity and if anything it seems to affect the students even more than it does me.  Yesterday I walked into the Form III classroom and did a ‘double take’ as I saw a brand new student sat at the back of the classroom.  Even after a closer look, without actually staring, I couldn’t work out why someone should join the class with only one week to go to the end of term.  It was only when the person smiled that I realised that it was in fact Asha who had gone to the extreme of removing her ‘hijabu’ and was sitting bare headed to cool herself down.  I hadn’t realised how different she would look and it was quite a shock.

Lessons this week have consisted of individual revision with me providing ‘msaada’ as required.  The lessons have been quite productive but have illustrated even more the limitations of the educational methods.  For example, to answer a simple question of working out the cost of a DVD player costing Tsh200 000 after a discount of 10%,  they will first write down the formula that %age Discount = Discount/Original Price X 100.  They will enter the two values they know and then rearrange the formula to solve for the actual Discount.  They then write down the formula that Discount = Original Price – Price Paid, and once again put in the two known value and solve for the third.  It works, but shows little understanding of what the process involves.  Sorry to bore you with maths, but the maths text books which accompany this methodology, love to provide opportunities to test over and over again the student’s abilities at the four rules. An exercise on the area of a circle will start with a circle of radius 5.43 so that most of the time is not spent practising the method by doing a number of problems, but in calculating  5.43 X 5.43 X 22 / 7 at the back of their book.  The National Examination in Basic Mathematics actually says at the bottom of instructions, “No Mobile Phones or Calculators allowed in the examination”.  I realise that this is a very poor country and resources are limited but this day and age you could equip a class of 60 with a basic calculator for Tsh30 000 if not less.  Rant over.

Memories of a holiday I had with school friends when 16, came flooding back today.  We went cycling in Devon and Cornwall, staying at Youth Hostels along the way and as we cycled over Dartmoor, many of the hills had ‘Engage Low Gear’ signs at the top.  This was our signal to get into the middle of the road and with head down, showing all the lack of imagination that can be found in the young, vied with each other as to who could overtake most cars until the levelling out at the bottom meant that these same cars would accelerate away.  You can guess what brought this to mind as I cycled down THE HILL on the way home this afternoon, as usual with both my brakes clamped on, to see Entuja, one of my Form I students, career past at great pace.  It wasn’t until I saw him, further down THE HILL, raise his leg and jam his foot between the forks, on top of the front wheel, that I realised that this breakneck speed was on a bike that had no brakes.  Oh the foolhardiness of youth.

Disaster.  Eva goes on her annual leave next Tuesday, for a month with her sister in Moshi in the Kilimanjaro National Park, so my main support will be missing for the last ten days of my stay.  Thankfully the YMCA runs a college in Moshi which trains young people for various trades, including the catering and hotel industry.  When we had the official opening of the hall, a young man in full Chef gear turned up to do the cooking and a couple of others waited on tables.  I say thankfully because as Eva’s replacement, one of the students, called Susi is on a month’s work experience at Mkoma Bay and will be taking over Eva’s responsibilities.  It’s a hard life for me out here, but I suppose somebody has to do it.

Baadaye

A pen portrait of Ubungo

Saturday November 18^th

I’ve tried to take the advice given by ‘Bread’, or Telly Savalas depending on your tastes, by including as many pictures as possible in this blog, but Ubungo is not a place to start flashing a camera at 5am so, as that visit to ‘Q’ is still on hold, I’ll try to draw some pictures with words to give you some idea of Ubungo Bus Station, Dar es Salaam.  I know I mentioned it very early in my blog but believe me I didn’t do it justice.

It’s 5:10, we’ve left the hotel in Mikochenie B, gone down Coca Cola Road and are approaching the city down Sam Nujoma Road.  Even at this early hour the traffic is starting to build up and the queues for the city equivalent of Daladalas are forming along the roadside.  As we turn onto Morgoro Road a collection of Taxis, Coaches and private vehicles cram the inside lane as they wait to turn into Ubungo.  You realise yet again the size of the place. The bus park holds upwards of 200 ‘coaches’ and with many of these holding over 60 passengers, the throng is gathering.  Karim, as ever my guide and mentor, deflects the ‘helpers’, although I’m getting quite adept at this myself now, and only after I’m settled in the Simba Mtoto (Lion Cub) coach, does he finally leave me and return home to the bed that he had only used for four hours last night. As I was one of the first passengers on I did take a quick snap of the inside.

I sit back in my seat, slide the window open as the A/C has not been switched on yet, and survey the scene.  Hundreds upon hundreds of people being harangued by the various individuals who earn a living at Ubungo. 

The ‘Barrow boys’ with their two wheeled luggage trollies, carefully watching every car as it comes in to drop off, and with practiced eye calculating which is the one to race after and offer their services, shouting through the window as they race next to the car that, now it has left the bottleneck of the entrance, is accelerating towards the parking bays. 

The ticket sellers looking like ‘on course’ bookmakers, with their clip boards in hand and pen tucked behind their ear, vying with each other for custom, sometimes arguing with rival company representatives near them and in one case, my first sight of any violence in Tanzania, the finger stabs into the chest almost leading to real blows but for the restraining colleagues around them.

To continue the analogy, the bookie's runners whose job is to grab as many wayward souls as possible and lead them to their main man, constantly shouting out Tanga or Dadoma or Kilimanjaro or any other of the destinations available.

The food, water, newspaper, lighter and general  souvenir sellers moving between the buses with their wares perched on top of their heads, taking in an average person’s lifetime intake of carbon monoxide in the time I watched them, as the vehicles, still with over thirty minutes to go to departure, start revving their engines.  The customers lean down from their perches on high, receive their purchases from the seller, also at full stretch, and having shown their money, wait to receive their change before handing down the larger denomination note.  The customer is in a fixed place; the vendor isn’t, and many an innocent traveller has seen the bus station disappearing through the back window as the seller ‘searches’ for change from a colleague.

An imperious man in pristine creased cream trousers and white shirt, with what could pass for a regimental tie, moves around the area, with a measured stride and posture that also hints at an army background.  His shaven black head glistens in the street lights and his whole demeanour points him out as a person of authority, much more than the identity badge clipped on his breast pocket.  Too far away to see the title, but everything else shouts - boss.

The incongruous sight of a Masai, in his usual attire of full gear right down to the large knife strapped to his thigh, walking past, trundling a ‘carry on’ suitcase behind him. 

As my window is open there is no smoked glass to hide behind and the sight of a ‘mzungu’ is still enough to get a glance from many off the passers-by, but even a quick inclination of my head is enough to get a smile and a raised hand of salute.  Even at 5.45 in Ubungo the inherent friendliness of the Tanzanian cannot be dampened.  I look all over to see if I can see an example of the too friendly inhabitants who are supposed to inhabit the area, willing to put friendly hands into friendly pockets, so that you walk around with paranoiac tapping of each pocket in turn, but they must be too quick for me, or it isn’t crowded enough where I am watching.

And finally the noise. The vehicles  revving up and the noise of the engines plus the shouts of all the different groups of people described above leads to a cacophonous noise.

 Eventually 6:00 arrives; my ticket says 12:00 and, although I’ve explained that one already, I wonder how many ‘newbies’ will miss a bus by six hours today.  The bus starts to move; all of two metres.  We now have the task of discharging over 200 buses into a bottleneck that is one bus width, that leads out onto a road that is already congested with the traffic arriving for the daily grind.  The drivers start their game of ‘chicken’ to see whose nerve is going to crack first, as they swing their billion shillingi vehicles millimetres away from each other.  Leaving Featherstone Rovers car park doesn’t come within a million miles!

It’s 6:30, we’ve moved 30 metres, that’s a hard fought metre every minute, but finally we’re in the main stream with the exit in sight and, as long as we can ensure that we drop behind the coach in front by no more than half a metre, we should be on our way.

As we drive down this last section there is time to stop and admire (?) the livery of the various coaches that we pass, all waiting their chance to ‘nip in’, given the chance.  There must be an annual award for the most garish coachwork as we move past the vivid colours, coupled so often with religious messages – Only God can provide - on the windscreen and back mudguard.  Others look as if one of the local East African graffiti artists has been employed to add their ‘tag’ to the coach. 

It’s light now and work has started for many other people.  One poor delivery man will have to wait quite a bit longer to get across this road though, unless he can squeeze his load onto its side through the gap between one rear bumper and the front of the one behind.

Eventually the cavalcade is on the road.  Coaches to, Dadome, Tanga, Moshi, Arusha, Mombassa  etc are waved through the junction I had rounded over ninety minutes before, on to the road west out of Dar, only to grind to a halt.  They are building a new road out of Dar and whilst the middle of the area is taken up by the road works, the coaches and lorries have to drive on the rough dirt track on either side. 

7:00 am, we have made three kilometres from Umbungo and with five hours journey ahead we are finally in moving traffic and the journey is under way.

I have covered at length the delights of the road to Tanga so will not repeat this, except to say that, as on the way down, the extra £1.20 is money well spent.  Everything went well until we were four hours into our journey and we ground, yet again, to a halt.  A collision between two cars had happened not long before we got there and the road was blocked, and remained so for nearly the next two hours.  The coach might have A/C, reclining seats and all other mod cons but the most important need at this time was not there and a steady stream of ladies and gentlemen hopped off the coach to visit the ‘bush toilet’. 

We eventually got moving again and upon arrival in Tanga I went my usual round of the shops including, thankfully, picking up my laptop with a new screen fitted.  I had phoned to explain about the hold up only to find that the shop closed at 1:00 pm, which was too late for me, but the owner kindly said that if I rang his private number when I arrived he would come out and bring me my laptop. He not only met me at Barclays ATM with the computer, he took me to a supermarket and then back to the bus stands in his car. (Try getting that at PC World)

I decided to wait for Shillingi VIP to catch up and use this for the journey back to Pangani so went inside a bar by the square to have a Fanta, and whilst in there saw a counter for a new bus service. New in Tanga but apparently well established in Kenya and Uganda, this one is Mombassa to Tanga to Dar and the poster for the company shows the coach has three classes within the one vehicle.  Economy class at the back, which still looked good, business class in the middle, which looked better, and four individual VIP class seats at the front of the coach. Economy cost Tsh13 000 (1 000 over standard basi), business class 16 000 and the seats at the front Tsh 23 000. Below is a picture of what £9 would buy you for the six hour journey to Dar. Hang on, that’s all of £4 more than the juddering, hot, dusty, ever stopping, crammed experience I had on my first journey north.  Can I afford it?  Too true I can! So I am now the proud possessor of the first ticket sold for the ‘Modern Coast Express’ flyer leaving Tanga at 10:30am on Saturday December 8^th.  I'll let you know how it feels to travel VIP.

I arrived home to an ecstatic welcome from Chita, but to find that Pola has a badly bitten foot.  No one knows how it happened, but he is limping around fairly happily. Having had two nights and two coach journeys with A/C I am busily re-adapting but, it’s ok, I still don’t expect sympathy.

Going back to my first paragraph, if I could have taken two more pictures I could have saved you all this reading!

Baadaye

A proper basi

Friday November 16^th

I rose at 5am this morning, in Tanga, as I had purchased a ticket on the ‘Simba Mtoto’ high class coach that left at 6am.  I did approach this with a little trepidation as I had ‘googled’ Simba Mtoto, earlier in the week, to see if I could find a telephone number and the top two entries on the Internet were both from news reports.  One was 24^th July 2012 and was headed ‘Dar Express and Simba Mtoto collide face to face’, and the other from 28^th August 2011 headed ‘Five killed and several injured as bus hits lorry and overturns’  as an old hand now on the Tanga Dar run, I could well understand both incidents as the rules of the road as I understand them don’t really apply over here.

In fact, after Bob, bless him, had got up to run me to the bus stands for 5:45 am, I boarded the bus from heaven.  It cost 120p more than the standard fare but for this you got A/C, curtains at the windows, reclining seats, TV at front and also half way down the bus and, wait for it, the best of all, after people were seated and had stowed their luggage in the overhead lockers, the person in the aisle seat could press a button and their seat moved sideways about 10cm to create a gap between the two seats.  And to assuage my fears, there were seat belts on all seats.  

After an uneventful journey, I arrived well rested at Ubungo at 11:30 am to find the reliable Karim ready to whisk me sway from the maddening hoards.  I had planned to go back on Shillingi tomorrow, but on finding that Simba do a coach going  the other way at 6:00 am from Dar, I booked a ticket and will, if necessary, mooch around in Tanga for two or three hours and catch the Shillingi from there, when it catches up.

The clinic were as efficient and professional as last time with my blood test so I was in and out in 20 minutes and Karim took me to the hotel.  When I arrived to find the hotel bar, ‘The Oldies’ you might remember is now the ‘Past Onnies” as it is in the process of being demolished, in fact the ‘bed sheet’ big screen was one of the few things left standing.

Lack of electricity and internet had meant that I was way behind with everything so I found an Internet café and added the sparse entries for the last two days.  I did have a bit of a problem with my blog because Netscape Navigator was not one of its supported browsers!!  For those not in the know, that's the same as switching on TV and finding that Coronation Street has Ena Sharples in it.

 A lonely meal at a local Chinese restaurant on my ‘Jack Jones’ and an early night with another 4 am start to get to Ubungo on time in the morning.

Baadaye

A record broken

Thursday November 16th

This weekend I go to Dar es Salaam  to have another blood test, so to ensure I arrive in the city in good time to complete this in one day, I am staying the night in Tanga to facilitate an early start.  I mentioned the offer I had received from a couple who lived and worked in Tanga, who had joined me for dinner a couple of weeks ago, well I decided to pursue it.

This morning I taught my lessons as normal until 12:30 and then shot home on my bike to shower, change, and be ready for a lift with Denis down to Pangani at 1pm.   No afternoon Basi I am afraid so another trip in a Daladala.  I managed to get onto the back seat with my overnight case in the ‘boot’ and settled for the usual journey.  I was soon joined by a couple of lads who were Tanzanian but had lived in Capetown for ten years and had dual papers.  It certainly past the time hearing about their adventures out there and their reasons for leaving Tanzania.  Gradually the Daladala filled and one of them stood and offered his seat to an old lady who had boarded. Still the minibus kept stopping and extra bodies were crammed on until we broke my record and there were twenty six of us on a vehicle designed for fifteen.  They then opened the back door to suggest that the standing passengers   moved even further back.  They rely on the general good nature of the Tanzanian people to overcrowd these vehicles but they reckoned without my two South African friends.  The one who was standing started on a tirade down the bus which I realised was directed at the driver and conductor and when finished, he turned to me and said that he had pointed out that they would both be there when he got off and if they crammed anymore on he would beat the pair of them on our arrival in Tanga.  You obviously learn a new way of life in the South African townships.

Upon arrival at Tanga I did my usual round of the bank and shops, before hailing a Bajaj and asking to be taken to the Yacht  Club as Bob had said their house was just down a road next it.  “Yacht club, elfu mbili” says I (that’s Tsh 2000).  “Yes’, says he, “The Yatch Club.”  Not initially understanding what he had said I repeated, “The Yacht Club!”  “Yes,” says he more slowly this time, “The Yatch club”.  I finally understood that we were talking about the same place and boarded for my journey.  It was only later in the evening when I told the tale to Bob that he informed me that all the Indians and Tanzanians call it Yatch, which rhymes with hatch, and in fact an advert, for a large hotel on the same road, had appeared in the local paper with ‘Near the Yatch Club’ as directions.  Mind you Yacht is a fairly stupid spelling anyway.

Bob and Jill live in a walled compound of four houses and it was strange to be able to wear shorts in the evening as we sat in the A.C. cooled house with not a mosquito in sight.  A delicious meal with chicken, mashed potato, carrots and cauliflower (!!) followed by mango and yoghurt , accompanied once again with good conversation and I set my phone to wake me up for an early start in the morning.

Baadaye

The Economy

rereWednesday November 14th

 It appears I might actually get a week’s holiday at the end of my stint.  The plan is now to close the school and send the students home on December 2nd.  Why? It seems there is not enough money left in the kitty to feed them all for the last week of term.    The main reason for this is not poor housekeeping but the fact that many of the parents still haven’t completed paying for their fees for the year.  I suppose the solution in future would be to insist upon these being paid ‘up front’ but I feel that if that was the case the result might be a drop in numbers, as hard pressed parents decide education isn’t perhaps as high up the list of priorities as they thought.

 Another of Cliff’s questions concerned the local economy and where people were employed.  In the villages there seems to be quite a lot of subsistence farming where enough is grown, plant and animal, to survive on but little more.  There are quite a few fishing dhows in Pangani and one offshoot of the electricity cut the other evening was that, without any light pollution, there was clear view out to sea towards what looked like a string of pearls spreading completely across the horizon.  These were the lights on the fishing boats  which for some reason were not dotted about all over the place as you would expect but in a straight evenly spaced line.  I will have to investigate why this is.  Tourism is obviously a means of employment as there are a small number of hotels and camps around.  This is one of my contributions to the local economy as for most of the time I am the only guest at the YMCA and am then responsible for the wages for five people.  There are a number of rock breakers as I pictured back in September but there isn’t though a large employer as such.  The nearest sisal plantations are a good distance away and there minimal labour needs are covered by the surrounding villages.  The other main source of employment can be lumped together into service industries, from operating a sewing machine or cutting hair through the countless small shops/outhouses selling hot and cold food, to the local army personnel, police etc and of course Daladala conductors.  I suppose as there is no reliance on a large firm that could ‘pull up roots’ at any time and move on, there is a certain stability in the local community.

Time for packing now as I will have a quick turn round tomorrow, as after school I am going straight off to Tanga to prepare for my trip to Dar.

Baadaye

Down on the farm

Tuesday November 13^th

A standard day at school today except for a little bit of African ingenuity.  I am doing constructions with Form I, which is proving difficult because including mine the compasses pan out at about one between three.  That was why I was pleased when Niato turned up with the one shown below that he had cobbled together from a broken pair that he had found.  You’ve got to admire initiative.

As I’ve said before, I was born in a city and whilst not actually being totally removed from the countryside I had a very urban upbringing.  Certainly I knew what humans got up to long before I worked out what the birds and the bees did.  It has therefore been an education when I arrive home from school to sit outside my room and watch the hens do their laps around the various buildings.  I’d be the first to admit that as my eyes blur a little, I am like Marty’s friend Alex in the film Madagascar and only really see drumsticks running past, but I do take an interest in the ‘pecking order’ (ouch).  We now have two cockerels, four hens and a small number of chicks and the ‘Alpha Male’ is very much my insomniacal ‘friend’ who puffs his chest and inflates his neck feathers at the drop of a hat.  (Incidentally I realise now how people can live under the Heathrow Flight Path or next to the main Basingstoke railway line, as his night time crows are by no means as intrusive as they were.) The problem is the other poor male.  He obviously fancies one of the hens like mad as he is constantly sidling close to her when no one else is watching but if he dares to make that final approach there is a flash of talons a mighty peck and he is ‘seen off’ by ‘King Kong’ as they race off across the grass.  Honour is assumed to be satisfied and the master returns to his harem, only for the adventurous suitor to soon appear from another direction and risk life and limb for the sake of love, once again.

We did have fourteen chicks, but I don’t know if it’s down to Charles Darwin, an over aggressive father or simply poor husbandry on our part, but we are now down to four who are guarded fiercely by Momma especially when the young pretender decides that possible she will do as second prize.

A fairly ordinary day today so possibly time to address another of the questions posed by Caroline.  I hope you are not sitting down to a meal whilst checking the blog but the question concerns effluent.  Is this a problem?  Pangani does not have a sewerage system as such.  Most homes, and the school, seem to have a ‘long drop’ toilet, which is a very deep hole with squatting feet rests at the top, very similar to what you find in France. The sewerage then soaks away naturally.  The YMCA, which has flush toilets, has a septic tank which also disappears naturally although I am told that similar tanks in Boza village do sometimes need emptying and the contents are used as fertilizer in the surrounding forest.  So there you are; no pipes out into the sea so the beaches are blue flag graded.

And finally.  I am sure I have heard this name somewhere before.  Maybe they are a subsidiary of Fosters

Baadaye

Life after school

Monday November 12^th

It is all too easy to look at how local travel restrictions affect me and forget about the locals who will be here long after I have left.  I know I have mentioned the walk that some pupils have coming to school, but this morning the problems were brought home with a bang.  As I cycled to school I met Mr Mmari going in the opposite direction and he informed me that he was walking to Pangani.  I’ve already explained how far this is, so you will not be surprised that I got off my bike and offered it to him to speed his journey.  He declined my offer though because his wife was just in front with a friend.   It appears that their last child was born by Caesarean Section and there have been complications with her recovery from the operation.  Thus, they were walking to the hospital in Pangani so that she could be seen by the doctor!  I saw him later and the news did not sound particularly good but this did not prevent the pair of them having to walk home as well! 

By incidents such as the one described above, I am constantly being reminded that there is so much that is different in Tanzania but yet, there is so much that is the same.  I stand and talk to a group of students in the school and for all the total differences in their experiences and environment to a similar group in the UK, I so often find how similar they are in their fears and aspirations for the future.  Form III, once again today had no ‘Ticha’, which to be honest is too common an occurrence, so at the end of the maths lesson I stayed with them and we talked about what life held for them after Boza.  Every one of them hoped and expected to continue in education after their Form IV National Examination next year by going to other schools around Tanzania.  There, some would do vocational qualifications such as secretarial skills whilst most wanted to continue by doing the equivalent of A levels, and of these, most of them hoped to go to University.  The jobs that they saw themselves in varied from secretary to accountant, journalist,  a few doctors etc, whilst the Tanzanian equivalent to “Do you want large fries with that”, is the ‘conductor’ on a Daladala, which was the job they suggested for my miscreant Mogomba.  The ‘conductor’ signals for the driver to stop or start by slapping his hand on the side of the minibus as he leans out and when I asked Mogomba what he hoped to do there were howls of laughter as they duplicated this signal. A discussion in Carleton would have followed very similar lines, the main difference being that many here were thus committing themselves to education whilst already being eighteen plus.

I learnt today that my expressed concerns at the falling roles at Boza didn’t take into consideration the Form II national tests.  It appears that at some of the local schools the pass rate at this stage of their education is very low and parents are then left with the option of letting their child repeat Form II at the same school, as they are not allowed to progress further without a pass, or looking towards smaller classes and a better opportunity at a school like Boza. Although Form I is very small this year, it could well be bolstered by a new intake when the results come out in January.

When I got home after school I was reminded of a book I read many years ago set on a submarine. (Stay with me.  It does make sense, eventually).  The sub was sailing on the surface across the Pacific when it suddenly started raining and everyone who was not on duty grabbed some soap and shot up on deck.  The story is about a new recruit who followed the mass exit and stripped off in the same way and luxuriated in the downpour.  He couldn’t understand why everyone was frenetically washing until suddenly, as quick as the rain had started, it stopped and he was the only one standing with soap suds baking on to his skin.  Both rain and electricity are a little like that in Tanzania.  The power, having gone off at noon at school was still off at 7:30 as I settled down to dinner by oil lamp light.  At 8:00 the power came back on and like the new recruit I leisurely finished my beer, had a talk to a couple of the evening visitors and it was nearly 9:30 when I powered up my laptop, connected to the internet, and settled down, just as the power went off again.  I’m informed that by 11:00 we had power again but by that time my eyes were glued shut and I never noticed my fan start revolving.  Thankfully it lasted through the night so when I did get up about 5:00 I could continue with my work.  Hopefully things will improve.

Baadaye