About the Assignment

I had the title 'Environmental Co-cordinator' which could mean a whole raft of things and I had thorough job specifications but that implied there was a level of funding available, but there wasn't.

Once we had moved into our house - that is the joint one with Big E and his family - there was a lot to organise before we could start anything. One of those things was to learn Swahili, or as anyone who speaks the language, Kiswahili. Using that word shows you have a knowledge of the language - a sort of in-house cut above those who are less familiar with the language.

We were given 30 hours of lessons by Mr Kimaro - one on one teaching. Mr Kimaro is still a good friend and we were given extra lessons by him later. These days there are more formal lessons given at the Danish Centre - expensive and perhaps better - but by not learning from Mr Kimaro, something is lost!

We were not good students, which is no reflection on Mr Kimaro! We were establishing the nursery and trying to fit into the local, Sanawari culture, talk to Big E's kids and much more, so our attention span with Mr Kimaro was limited.

He gave us print-outs and Mags made coffee as much to keep us awake as being a good host to him, but also the act of making the coffee gave her a spell.

Mr Kimaro would trudge up the road, dusting off his shoes before shouting 'Hodi!' You don't knock on doors, you call out 'Hodi, hodi!' and receive the welcome 'Karibu'. Joshia actually taught us that in Maasai villages you should call out three times, and if the 'Karibu' is not said in reply the third time, you do should go in - something delicate might be happening.
He would be sweating because he would have been late and had hurried up the hill to be on time. Mr Kimaro was interested in us and we talked about all manner of things, each learning from the other. Importantly, he taught us about manners and the display of respect/affinity that is so vital if you want to become a part of the community!

After our 30 hours of lessons, I guesshe may have been a little disappointed about our progress but later on he would have found that I did a reasonable grasp ot the language. Some two years later we received another 40 hours lessons from him. Later again he raised money to start his own primary schools - from modest beginnings and I was indeed proud to visit the school, conduct an environmental seminar and supply trees for planting in the school grounds. He in turn celebrated my Kiswahili. This man had a tough row to hoe, and he has achieved his dream to educate the rural poor of Tanzania - if you have a few dollars in your pocket, he will use them well!

Mostly though, I taught myself Kiswahili by studying the dictionary, listing to usage and emulating what I heard - I had decided for myself that I actuall wanted to be able to use the language. Maua, Mama B's daughter, Maua used simple language to help and much later Mama Upendo wanted me to teach her daughter English - I gained most of my Kiswahili during those lessons!

So at least in those early days, I had a struggle with the local language. Big E and his secretary, Round L spoke good English and I had little choice but to take advice from them. A young American woman came to ask if she could work with me, and I never regretted my decision to have her on board. Missy fitted in so well, was only with us for a year, but later came back to stay with us, write up a thesis for her Masterate, return for holidays and eventually working in a similar field providing assistance to various counties including Tanzania. In some small way, I think I inspired her into that direction. But I believe she has turned out to be a valuable outcome to our assignment in Tanzania.

Big E and Round L were very keen for us to come up with ideas for income generation for the NGO Hifadhi Mazingira. Big E had a job (attending there seldom) with the Municipality, and he was sure that he would be given land on which to establishes tree nurseries - they wanted three of them. Basically they wanted us to grow trees for sale, and pocket the rewards. They had also written up a large proposal to establish Car Wash Bays, selling hot food, and raking in the money! We were expected to evaluate this proposal and find the funds to establish the project.

Well we never did any of those things! I didn't think the car wash bays was a goer because there were boys washing cars in the river and from buckets. I was wrong; for three years later the bays did begin to spring up and washing in the river outlawed. And later as a large project generated by central government, most of the roadsides in Arusha had trees nurseries on them - but most faded away because they could not make money; so my instincts were right about that!

Big E and Round L were busy with final construction of a bar, Naabi Hills, named after the Gateway into the Serengeti but with the initials of their first born daughters. Actually this bar was funded out of project money that had been granted for what should have been 'our' project.

Of course we we unaware of this at the time, and now I suspect that our presence was a bit of an embarrassment to them. Likewise, Josiha was not available to us because he was attending an 'upskilling course' which, he revealed later to be French lessons, because he did not trust Big E and co, so took the lessons in the event of him becoming a safari driver! From the point of view of Hifadhi Mazingira, it was good that Josiha was away because they did not need to pay him!

Missy and I usually forced the issue of having regular Monday morning meetings with Big E and Round L to plan out what we were doing, but it was always difficult to get past the issues of a lack of finance and income generation. I often raised the issue of the donated second hand computer that Round L operated which was situated in our living quarters. Round L would go in there while we were away and I was not comfortable with the security of that situation.

All along, I had known that I would be growing trees in a nursery situation and I had had a good look around my own environment - our back

A start in the Nursery

yard. I could see that there had been the remnants of an old nursery behind the house, and asked Big E's youngest boy, Ole about the area. Mchongoma is a thorny hedge plant that is very popular as a security fence and the kids had grown them to make some money - in the event, Big E sold them and pocketed the money!

So I asked Big E if we could revive the area and establish a nursery. He agreed, and showed us some rolls of polythene tubing and a store of various seeds - so he had been thinking about things!

These rolls of polythene were actually a long tube of plastic, flattened and rolled up. Cut into sections of perhaps 100mm long, then opened out to make a plant pot with no bottom. It was of course a bit tricky to fill them, you had to pack the soil solidly on the bottom so the bum did not fall out of it!

In clearing the grass and weeds, we found some other pots with trees in them, so we cleaned them up too - they were mainly Madras Thorn more suitable to the Dar es Salaam climate, but if they could be established, they make a very useful tree.

We made good progress clearing the site and it became time to start filling pots and growing seedlings. The nursery jargon is potting media, and I asked what was used - 'just dig soil out of the ground'. We had saved some soil from the discarded pots, and Ole helped me scrape up some more. I scrounged a piece if chicken netting to make a screen so I could sieve the soil, but I found the texture to be too tight for good plant growth. I asked Big E for some sawdust (to add in) and he brought some for me in the wee Suzuki. But fertility was a problem too, (I later used dry, rotted cow manure but had no access to it at this time) so I tried to make compost.

Pots set out and shaded area

There were no worms! Siafu probably kept the population low. Termites took the vegetative matter away, so compost as I knew it was not possible. I collected fresh cow manure from Mama B's cow and watered it down using it as a liquid fertiliser.

There were no tools available, Ole borrowed a wheelbarrow from a neighbor - a miss-shapen thing but adequate - and a short handled shovel; well the blade was flat and the handle made out of piece cut from a sapling, but it worked for me!

I could see that the tree roots would soon go through the bottom of the pot into the soil below, so to avoid cutting them, I asked Big E to buy me some plastic sheeting to use as a 'floor'. New car tyres were wrapped in strips of thin, pink plastic sheeting and Big E had them sewn together to make sheets! Cheap but effective enough!

The seed was labelled wrongly and the Dovyalis (Mchongoma) was old. I was learning and reading a lot. Dovyalis needed to be fresh, almost straight from the apple, dried and sown. Viability of seed was often very short except the hard seeds like Acacia and Leuceana. So I began to collect seed myself.

I found that growing seed in a seedbed and pricking out was not a good way because the small seeds needed to be watered and shaded. If water became a constraint, then the seedling did not survive. I found it better to direct sow, and thin out seedlings, maybe if water was available prick out the extra seedlings.

I did all this to emulate what could be done in the more severe conditions encountered in the villages. I hit upon an idea - direct sow and cover the seed with a thin layer of sawdust - this hold moisture and keeps down any weeds. Cover the sawdust with chips of marram (volcanic ash) to stop it washing when watering - with a can. There was a small supply of marram there, but Big E removed it to the bar once he twigged on that I was using it - and gave me instead a handcart filled with stones from the river. When that ran out I talked him into supplying marram because it was much better!

So this is how the nursery started and how we became established - there is much more to it, but this is a long enough read for now. I will continue it on next.

Mama Roger's Sequel

Mama B brought Mama Roger and Roger to meet us. Mama Roger was a strong, wellbuilt woman of the Chugga tribe. Young Roger was a bright, friendly lad and he bowed his head in greeting in the Maasai way. (Bowed head and saying shikamoo and I was required to place my right hand on his head and reply marahaba. This was respectful and normal and actuall Mama Roger greeted Big E in the same way.)

As I have said, Mama B was one in a million and she was showing wisom and offering help to Mama Roger, for she knew the situation, while we did not! We sat together and drank tea and chatted generally. Mama B told us who Mama Roger was and how difficult life no was for this young widow.

Mama Roger suggested that we might like to buy some books from her as they were written in English and were of no use to her. They were field guide books to birds and mammals that her husband had used. The Chagga people are well known for their business expertise and this was showing through. We agreed to look at the books. She had them with her.

The books were dog-eared, but in good shape, and in fact I had thought of purchasing them at Kase Bookshop in Arusha.

Mama Roger had her price which was slightly inflated on the new price. We agreed to pay the price, but in our way of security, told her to come back tomorrow after we had found the cash.

She wrote in the books Zawadi kutoka Mama Roger. A gift from Mama Roger. I think now Roger would like them back, and I will be trying.

This was the wisdom of Mama B though - no doubt Mama Roger had asked her to facilitate a meeting, and Mama B had protected us by staying there and making sure she did not ask straight out for money. I think the money was for food.

By now Mama B trusted us and confided that there was trouble for Mama Roger. Her mother in law did not like her and did not want her to inherit the house she shared with her husband. The woman wanted the house for herself! Further, Roger was a rightful heir but Mama Roger would benefit should the house go to him. I noticed that Mama Roger and Roger spent a lot of time with Mama B much to the chagrin of Big E. In fact when he arrived home unexpectedly, they would hide - sometimes at our house!

One day Mama Roger came crying to me 'They have tried to kill Roger, I must get him away!' She had come to ask for money to send him away. Mama B confirmed that the story was true, he had gone to school and someone had tried to poison him! I gave her some money, and he was whisked away.

Later we were asked for more money because Mama Roger wanted him to go to boarding school somewhere by Manyara National Park. During school holidays, Mama B would protect him under her roof - Big E argued against that because we heard him, bit Mama was strong in her love for the boy!

Mama was a regular visitor to us, and we enjoyed her company. One day she asked us for more money. She had decided to fight for her house. She was determined and strong, telling us that Big E had promised her husband that he would protect her and help her, but that was not happening.

Village disputes are often heard before the village chairman, perhaps with the mtendaje and with a few village elders. Mama Roger needed to entice them by providing nyama choma - grilled meat and beer. So she needed the money to do pay for it. Well they ate the meat and drank the beer, but other issues cause a postponement, and the next week she had to ask us to help her buy more meat and beer. They listened to her and to her step mother but could not resolve the matter, suggesting she file a case in the primary court.

With no resources, Mama Roger asked us to to help pay for a lawyer, which we did. Meantime her mother became ill and was in hospital but the medical staff could find nothing ailing her. One Sunday afternoom Mama Roger asked us to to and see her mother in hospital. Relatives care for the daily needs of patients and hospital are not what we have in New Zealand. The woman was quite frail because she was not eating and Mama Roger was worried. With no medical cause fir her ailment, the conclusion was a hex had been put on her! The removal of a hex was through prayer, powerful prayer, but this had not worked. An Indian preacher arrived and prayed with and she sat up in the bed and spoke in fluent Hindi! She did not know the language! But she was cured~ take that as you may.

The lawyer proved costly and the summary the first hearing was before the primary court magistrate. Later as Mama Roger returned home, she saw the magistrate eating and drinking with Big E at his bar.

There was more cost for the lawyer, and I suggested to Mama Roger that she was not going to win - but she would not give up. Tearfully she returned with the printed judgement - she had lost the case, and the court documents read that she was denied the right to speak, and that none of her witnesses were allowed to speak. It was a costly sham!

Mama Roger later found a small corner area of land a built a small single roomed house - wattle and daub, and we helped with the roofing iron which she found second hand. When it was finished she asked us for a meal there with Mama B.

Mama Roger began a business trading in beans and in her Chugga way, she was successful. We continued to watch Roger whenever he returned home - he is a fine young fellow!

Mama Roger's father, who owned a bar took ill and she gave up he business to run the bar and nurse her father. I think she is doing just fine now!

Our First Funeral

Before I start on this episode, I should say that the main focus of my assignment was environmental education, and I will get to that.

I also remember the words of my good friend Ndosi, the General Secretary of the Diocese of Meru. Tell people about the good things. There are plenty of bad things, but tell of the good.

Of course the bad things make the most interesting reading, but I do feel bound to be sensitive.

I kept a full, daily diary and readingwhat I have said especially as in this funeral, I was off track a bit, and I came to understand Tanzanian people better. For this I will use more from my diary.
Big E had told us that his cousin had died, and the day of the funeral, Josiah told us that he would be going, emphasising the word respect. I got the message that it was appropriate that we should go. This is so because shows that you want to be part of the local community, but as Mbise told me much later; you go to a funeral to be with them at a sad time - to identify with them, to give them 'pole' (a word meaning much more than 'sorry'). His personal take was that you go to a funeral because you don't want to be alone at your own!

Bid E's oldest son, Mwiba escorted us on the short walk to the funeral site. As is most usual the burial was to be on the property of the diseased. The women were sitting on the ground separate from the men who mostly (especially the elders, wazee) sat on some boards that were resting on bricks or rocks. The women were spectacularly colorful in their kangas (a wrap around the waist and another the same as a shawl over the head, or at least around the shoulders). The colors and patterns of kangas and more expensive kitenge are limitless and it us unusual to see two women wearing the same, unless it is intended so.
The men generally dressed in western type clothes, some very well dressed while others looked like they had just been working on the farm. Perhaps 10% wore traditional Maasai robes.

There is some ranking shown among the wazee, the oldest ones come a bit late to show their importance and are given a seat by a younger person vacating it in deference to the older man.

Mwiba sat me down and retreated, as he was young and this was planned, for Big E appeared and spoke in Maasai to the man next to me. Obviously he told him to keep by me and explain things to me. This man spoke very good English!

There seemed to be a delay, and I looked about me. 'One very old guy dressed in what had been a padded jacket, but now in tatters, sat with his eyes closed. He regularly coughed deeply and slowly and without spitting, he allowed phlegm to drop from his lips to the dust between his feet. Then he would cover it with his fimbo, a stick carried by men. Don't think bad of this guy - he was probably very sick and handkerchiefs were not around much then - much less tissues. He was coping with his problem in the best way he knew.'

'The thing about Tanzanians that I find hard to get used to is that they do not mind body contact! They will press against you or hold your hand - they don't mind pressing together so of course you can smell body odor and bad breath. My guide was continually belching (with real eruptions) not loud, but smelly!' This is true enough, we NZers like our space, but after a while you get past this type and simply accept it. I'm a bit embarrassed now that I wrote it!

We were in a small compound sitting under banana 'trees' and the area, as always, had been swept clean. There was no dust just hard clay. My guide asked me the usual questions; if I spoke Kiswahili - kidogo, was I a Christian - ndiyo, what sect - sijui.

He produced his hymn book and asked if I could read Kiswahili - well even after seven years, my reading was too slow to keep up with the singing!
There was no music, but hymn after hymn was sung and most people did not seem to need a hymn book, more, they seemed to know what number each was in the hymn book! During a lull, my guide asked me if I wanted to sing (actually not my strong point) and took a hymn book from his coat pocket again. I was in the middle of a trio, for the guy on the other side of me joined in too! Yep me! and we led the others off singing again and others took hymn books from their pockets.
After a while, a ute arrived (ex mortuary) with the casket (body within). The women set up a loud 'yip,yip, yip', as some ten or so young men carried the casket past them as they carried it into the house. Close family members followed the casket inside and my guide told me they would view the body and come to terms with the death.
We just kept on singing. And singing. And singing!
My guide conveyed the news to me that the Pastor had not arrived to perform, the service. We could see the wazee council talking, trying to work out what should be done. An hour of singing and quiet passed and during the conversation, it transpired that my guide was in fact an Evangelist - sort of lay preacher! I suggested to him that he could conduct the service. Well he did not have his regalia and he did not want to step onto another's turf. But the delay lengthened and I cajoled him until finally he decided he would approach the wazee.
The casket was brought out of the house and set up ready for the service and everyone stood, crowding close to the casket. At that very moment the Pastor arrived - he had forgotten that he was required. My guide returned to me - happy!
I did not understand the Swahili, but the service was a typical Christian one, and I realised when the eulogy was spoken.
After the benediction, the women first filed past the casket to pay last respects. There were wailing cries and 'yip, yips' and a few broke down completely. Then it was the men's turn and I was in the file, first noticing the Grevillea timber which was unvarnished. The upper third of the lid was open to the corpse's neck and there was a black cross draped over the casket. He had cotton wool in his mouth which gave an impression of a smile.
The grave was perhaps 50 metres away and was surrounded by banana trees. I could not actually see the interment, but there was a short prayer and most of the young men took a turn to cover the casket. Some young girls and women paced flowers, mainly bougainvillea, on the grave. A large wooden cross was placed at the head.
We felt sombre, even though we did not know the diseased, and on our walk home, we met with Big E to whom we offered our 'pole' and he appreciated out presence there.

There is a sequel to this. The widow, Mama Roger became a very good friend and her son, Roger (perhaps 4 at the time) liked to be with me. For a time Mama Roger fell on hard times and we found that her husband had died of AIDS. He had been a safari driver and she sold us his guide books so she and Roger could eat! There is much more to this and I will continue - labda!

Racism

Maybe at first this subject is one for my soap box; but not so! We had a little game in Tanzania!

Racism is a sorry, sad thing but it has been in existence for as long as man has trod this Earth. I guess broadly without racism, there would have been fewer wars.

It's not for me to judge if I am racist or not but by commenting about my experiences, some may see new light. I am of European extraction living in New Zealand and consider myself a New Zealander. My skin is what is called 'white', but I remember my art teacher helping me mix a colour that is approximately mine. We agreed the colour to start with was yellow!

The indigenous people of New Zealand are Maori; some would dispute the term because they too travelled here rather than being a seed that grew here. Such debated can go on and on but is not what I am about.

Every race has is different, and within each race there are tribes and conflict between tribes may arise through racism - viz Rwanda. And there are complications like the Crusades, where religion was the flux, but racism the reason.

But that's not what I'm on about either!

Scientists have tested DNA and found that we all come from the one mother! I guess that is had to believe for some, but it is very interesting. And for racists, a good lesson - but anyway they are unlikely to believe it. As a layman, I don't have any way of knowing if this true or a scientist theory yet to proved!

Well let me tell you about a game my wife and I played on our travels.

We called it Match the Person. I once saw a movie in Greymouth where some indigenous warrior looked exactly like my friend Mick! Not only in looks, but in habit as well.

In the boredom of sitting in various airports, we looked at people and thought they looked like people we knew at home. They looked alike even though they were of a different race! The only difference was their colour! So, one of us would spot someone and whisper the persons name for the other to locate. There were a lot of people who looked like folk we know.

We expanded this in Tanzania because we came to know people who were carbon copies of people back home - except for colour and other minor differences.

But it was not only looks - Malakai was just like Hughey in habit and personality.

Of course there were many more and I don't need to quote them. But it is proof to me that the DNA thing is on the right track.

I am happy that Maori are different to me and that they have an interesting culture. I wouldn't like to live with the Maasai, but my experience of their culture is a treasured memory.

Of course we are all different; I expect the English to different to me, and the Americans, but rather than denigrate each other; wouldn't it be worthwhile to celebrate each other's differences?

Arrival in Tanzania

The Agency had selected me for the lofty position of Environmental Co-ordinator, to work for Big E's NGO he and his team called Hifadhi (literally: preserve, conserve). My wife Mags, had the equally lofty title of Unassigned Spouse!

The Agency arranged our travel plans, gave us a sound briefing, paid for all our inoculations, and were to pay us a modest living allowance during the period of my two year assignment. Our time in Tanzania actually blew out to seven years, but all that was unknown to us at the time.

Our unaccompanied luggage allowance was just 25kg, which compared to a Lutheran Pastor we met there, who took a shipping container full of stuff he probably never used! Another couple even took their grand piano with them! For us the 25kg allowance was perfectly sufficient because it is possible to purchase most things in Arusha, and doing so helps the local economy, as well as going towards dispelling the ‘wealthy colonialist’ image.

Tanzania is a long way from little old New Zealand and we took the roundabout route because back then the only international carrier flying into the poorly maintained Kilimanjaro airport was KLM, flying out of Amsterdam. The actual total flying time was around thirty six hours, which is a long time to be sitting on your bum!

Departing Auckland was less than auspicious because our connecting flight from Christchurch had been delayed, and the airport computer system said we were booked on the return flight to Christchurch! The airport staff were in a dither and had to refer to the computer manual to correct the mistake, so we had a guided run through the airport to the waiting aircraft!

We were not much impressed with LA Airport, or the service there, but it just was a stopover of four hours and something to forget – or not, there were two people I’m not likely to forget!

We did enjoy our couple of nights in Amsterdam. Our budget accommodation had been double booked so we were bundled off to another hotel within their franchise, which was over-the-top accommodation and altogether too posh for us! The hoot was that we were not allowed to breakfast with the posh! Anyway who wants to wear a tie to breakfast!

The eight hour flight down to Kilimanjaro was awesome for me because I could plainly see the Mediterranean and a little later the vastness of the Sahara. I once had the ambition to revegetate the Sahara but somehow leftie logic prevailed and I did not pursue the matter!

On the flight tracking monitor, we could see that we had begun to circle around Arusha and I noticed the engine pitch was fluctuating between power and throttling off. I was a little puzzled but did not want to say anything because Mags is not too keen on flying at the best of times! Soon there was an announcement.

"There is a power cut at Kilimanjaro Airport and there are no landing lights, we are circling, waiting for them to start the generators."

Beads of sweat appeared on Mags’ upper lip.

"It's ok," a hostess assured someone, "we have enough fuel to reach Johannesburg!"

Once we had touched down and were taxiing to the terminal, I could see that many of the runway lights were not glowing at all, it looked like half the bulbs had blown and not been replaced!

During subsequent events we came to know that the airport was in a sorry state, and in need of an upgrade but these days an appropriate standard is maintained and many airlines land there.

As I stepped onto the tarmac, the warm tropical air was my first tangible hint that we had arrived!

The generators did not feed electricity into the terminal building and the only light inside was those old fashioned kerosene storm lanterns. I was reminded of government building of the fifties by the drab polished plywood linings of the immigration area. But the lack of adequate made it a doddle to pass through immigration and customs. Our briefing had warned us about these guys, so we were perhaps overly cautious and apprehensive of them.

From Amsterdam we had travelled with our Agency’s field reps, who became good friends and we were met by other Agency people already located in the Arusha environs. We squeezed into two vehicles and drove through the dark along roads that later I was to know very well. I peered through the window trying to see something of the life outside, spotting from time to time little shops with either candles or storm lanterns making pinholes of light in the dark. The power cut did not affect them, they were not connected.

The road was dusty and in the headlights I could see banana 'trees' grey with a thick layer the stuff. It wafted through the vehicle with ease. The road was in the process of being remade and village people built speed bumps during the night to slow the traffic down. The dust invaded their homes, coating food and clothing; it was just awful for people living there and a dangerous health risk!

I had used my old trick to be last into the vehicle, which gave me a window seat but still, in the dark I could not really see where we were going but I felt the change of direction when turned up the Ilboru road.

Soon we reached our field reps’ house where we had a meal by the light of the Tilly lamp. Conversation did not flow because the combination of food, beer and exhaustion lulled us to sleep, despite the adrenaline coursing through our veins.

Our stay at Mo and Jo's house was prolonged because Big E did not fulfil his responsibilities to have our accommodation ready for us. Nor my assignment for that matter, but more of that another time! The lack of action gave us the time to settle in a little and to become familiar with our new surroundings. Mama Alfred was the first African village person I met; she was Mo and Jo’s housegirl. I sort of associated Housegirl as a colonialist term, just a step up from slavery, but in this case I had the kacky-end of the stick! Mama Alfred did some house cleaning and made tea or coffee or prepared a meal, but it was her only chance for employment and to provide extra things for her family. Mo and Jo didn’t need a housegirl and usually she went home early because there was nothing else for her to do. Nevertheless, I was not wrong, there is plenty of evidence that housegirls are treated badly!

During the down time I accompanied Mo to negotiate with customs over the importation of our unaccompanied luggage. This experience reinforced in me the need for patience and diplomacy if I was to make my assignment work successfully. We also meet and had a few lessons from our Swahili teacher, Mr Kimaro. We had a miserly allowance of forty hours tuition.

Big E had a good, if misguided, reputation with the Agency stemming from something I won't go into here, but Mo and Jo had found that he was slow at keeping his promises, and was economical with the truth. They obviously did not completely trust him.

For my assignment he had been funded to the tune of $US25 000 and had been sold an ex Agency Suzuki at a very cheap purchase price, which was supposed to be used to support me in my work. Hifadhi had also been given a second-hand computer by the Agency, again to support my assignment but I never ever used it. Big E had used some of the funding to build an office, which the High Commissioner had officially opened, he was also in the process of building a small flat which was supposed to become our accommodation. The flat was within his own house complex.

Each time we went there to check, no progress had been made, but I did notice his attention was more focused on building something else down the Sanawari road. It turned out to be a Bar-cum-restaurant and guess how he was funding it?

Mo and Jo had other visitors at their house, and because I wanted to get on with my assignment, I offered to help to finish off the flat, but no, Big E told us that at a family meeting, they had decided to move out of their house and into the unfinished flat! We were to move into their house! I objected because our role was certainly not to tip people out of their home, but he assured me that it was all his wife, Mama Baraka’s idea! Remember what I said about economical with the truth? He told us that we could do some painting to freshen the house and that his sons, Baraka and Heri would help. The next weekend saw us carrying out the painting work and we moved in on the following Monday.

First though, to ‘officially’ welcome us, we were to have a meal with the family on the Sunday afternoon! Mama Baraka welcomed us as tradition demands, but her body language told a very different story!  Big E kept coming and going and would not settle down, so his welcome was less than warm as well!

A table was set outside under a big Norfolk Island Pine, but I eyed this big fat dog turd right beside the table so I warned Mags not to step on it! I took the opportunity when Big E next passed by to indicate that the turd was not a welcome condiment! He got the message and had Heri remove it with something resembling a shovel.

Mama Baraka had prepared a pork chop for each of us with vegetables and rice, but we ate alone! I asked her to join us but she simply indicated that she was coming, but she never did! Big E finally arrived with a bottle of wine and he sat with us until it was empty. There was not much conversation and I made the excuse that we needed to go back to our painting, which brought the meal to an overly hasty conclusion.

The air seemed thick, and Big E's attempt to be open and friendly did not really come off. It was plain Mama Baraka was not too happy.

And that was our introduction to life in Africa!

Celebration to honor Big E's mother.

Big E was the director of the NGO I was working for during the first two years of my assignment. There is a need to be a bit vague here because in fact the guy's name was not Big E and it turned out that the man was not quite as straight as he might have been. His wife Mama B was however one of God's great gifts to this Earth and later there will be more about them all. (haven't figured out what to name them yet - maybe after trees!)
For the record The Agency placed us with the organisation and we remain very happy with The Agency.

We lived in the same house as Big E and his family, with just a dividing wall so we became close to the family, and while there became huge issues between Big E and I, we remain to this day, good friends.

Big E's mother attained the age of 70 years, and to honor that occasion, he invited me to partake in his ritual celebration of the event. Now I am not sure about the tradition of this - more like it was Big E's take on the tradition.

A large ram was slaughtered; the fatty tail and the neck piece were given to Big E's mother - what she did with it, I do not know but probably it was made to a stew like makonde. Mama B was given some of the innards, but not what we call the 'offal'.

The rest of the carcase was was cooked slowly over embers, watched over by a young man (kijana) who I did not know. While the meat cooked, Big E, his brother Big J and I slowly drank beer and talked.
As the 'honored' guest, I was the first to sample one of the choice cuts - a rib. The kijana had cut it off and handed it to me, the others watching until I had eaten all the meat off it and even stripped of the thin skin that had protected the inside of the rib cage.
Once I had eaten the rib, each person was given a rib until they were all consumed - the banes were thrown into a pile beside the fire embers.
The kijana cut a piece of meat off - a mouthful at a time and fed us one by one using a fork. Slowly the three of us devoured the carcase, washing it down with beer; sips for me, gulps for the others.

Then the heart was divided in the same way and fed to us, one by one. And again the kidneys and liver. Now I am a bit partial to tripe - for the uninitiated, this is the stomach lining, which is usually cleaned thoroughly, often with a weak solution of sulphuric acid. This had been washed in water - once I think! We were fed our portions, roughly cut into squares and the only taste was of semi decomposed grass. However, I kept up with the others with little difficulty. The lungs did not seem to be well cooked and seemed tasteless but it was like biting into warm polystyrene!
Finally came the testicles! They had been lying there beside the fire, not cooked, and every now and then I eyed them willing them to disappear! After all else had been devoured, the kijana picked up the testicles and tossed them onto the embers. They swelled slightly and morbidly I watched and suddenly -poof, they burst just like popcorn! All white and creamy! A fork-full of the stuff appeared before my nose, and I just couldn't! I put may finger to my lips and said, "Asante, nimeshiba!" Thank you I am satisfied!
They seemed to think none the less of me and finished up their delicacy.
I was astounded, it took us most of the day but the three of us, with some help from the kijana, had eated a whole, huge ram!

I recall, I did not need my evening meal!

With the Maasai

During my first assignment in Tanzania, I was working with Maasai and Arusha people in rural villages, mostly but not always with school kids.  Both are proud, traditional tribes and it was a privilege to work among them.

Tanzania is not so well known, and many people struggle to locate it easily on a map. Here in New Zealand, because we have a sporting association with South Africa, people assume that’s where we worked. Tanzania is actually part of East Africa, the country south of Kenya, and with Lake Victoria to the north. Across the lake is Uganda, better known for Idi Amin as well as its gorilla population, and to the northwest is Rwanda famous for gorillas and infamous for the genocide and Burundi as infamous for genocide.  

History is important so will indulge in some: Tanzania gained Independence (Uhuru - meaning freedom) from the British in 1964 and became Tanzania by the joining of Tanganyika and Zanzibar. Julius Nyerere, the first president remembered reverently as The Father of the Nation, made some changes post Britain that he deemed were necessary.

Under his villagisation program the nomadic way of life was to cease and people were grouped into newly formed village areas where there was to be schooling, health services and churches. In some cases, soldiers forced people to settle and again sometimes the villages were not situated in the best environment. The only building materials these new village people had available came from the local vegetation, and so environmental degradation was accelerated.

It was natural the tribal peoples joined with their kin in these villages, and while today there is intermingling of tribes within villages, very often there may be only the one tribe. This is especially so within the more remote rural villages.

It is perhaps confusing to the uninitiated that ‘our’ main city was Arusha and there is tribe that is ‘Arusha’. The names were not made for the convenience of English speakers, in Swahili the plural suffix for people is Wa, so the tribes people are WaMaasai and WaArusha. [Even now I’m not sure that the second capital letter should be used, but for me it is a mark of respect.]

Around Arusha and beyond the Maasai have grouped mainly in the less arable land, for after all the Maasai were not traditionally arable farmers - though many are today. Thus as herders they lived in the drier areas.

The Maasai culture is much more traditional compared to most of the other tribes and the Arusha tribe is less so but in many respects they are similar. Other tribes see them as backward, because they keep to their tradition rather than accepting modernity, but that is perhaps intertribal banter. As far as clever, wise and forward thinking goes, the Maasai and the Arusha people are no different to any other people on this planet.

They simply love their culture and thrive within their traditions. I knew kids from my work in a primary school and on a later visit to bomas, I would meet the same kids who could not wait to take off their school uniform to don their traditional dress.

Close to the village of Kisongo, we picked up a young woman, dressed up in her traditional regalia, she had a shaved head, circular burns on her cheeks and was nothing short of beautiful! She spoke perfect English and had studied in Germany. She was back to marry a Maasai and live in a boma because, in her words, ‘It is a much better way of life!’

My co-worker for two years was a young Maasai fellow who had trained in forestry and this was his first forestry-related job. His training had been excellent and his knowledge was extensive. Joshia and I had planned that our first village visit would be to the village of Likamba, but first we would have to meet the village chairman, the Mtendaje (village executive officer), and the village elders. Joshia told me that the elders would be the toughest nuts to crack and final approval, or not, would come from them!

I had hatched a plan, but I needed to practice some Swahili to put it across, so I asked my host family to help.

One of the key environmental problems is erosion caused by wind and rain. The Swahili word for erosion is mmomonyoko, a word that rolls off the tongue!

At the meeting we all introduced ourselves and after each name an 'oyay' was called out by all! Put me in mind of an old-time union meeting!  Josiah whispered to me that they has decided to use only Swahili, so I would know what was said – Maasai have their own tribal language that  they enjoy using. I picked up some and asked Josiah to translate what I thought was important. I could tell all was not going too well and some complained that the trees attracted birds and other wildlife, which caused damage to the wheat crops grown there.

Josiah was asked to speak and he received respect and was listened to, but obviously he had not won the majority of them over. He took his seat and the chairman asked me to speak.

I had not warned Josiah what I intended to do, so I stood up, greeted them all and told them that all living things were part of nature and to remove one part out may jeopardize another. My advice was to respect the birds and other wildlife. I reminded them that the road into Likamba was damaged by erosion and that dust that choked them and blew across their land was fertility disappearing forever. Erosion was also those channels the rains gouged, so deeply that if a cow fell in there, it would be last.

I called one of the elders to join me at the front, and asked him his name. After he told me, I said that his name was now soil, a part of a farm. He laughed, embarrassed. The meeting was hushed. I told him that a farmer had cultivated him (the soil) for sowing and went to town for some special, expensive seed.

Next I asked him if he knew my name, but he could not remember, which embarrassed him in front of his fellows. I told him that my name was wind, and all there laughed, probably thinking I had muffed my Swahili!  I told him that the wind’s job was play gently and I pushed him lightly. He smiled back at me, not too sure about the manhandling. Then I said that the wind can become strong (the Swahili word is the same as angry) and I gave him a firm push! Surprised, he nearly fell over, taking some quick steps to right himself making his fellows laugh, nudging each other. I told him this was erosion and all their good top soil (fertility) was blowing away to Kenya!

I then called three more of the elders up and introduced each as the name of a tree and told them that their hands and arms were the roots of the trees. I asked them to hold firmly to the 'soil'. They gripped the man. Again I was the wind and of course they held the man firmly when I pushed gently. When I pushed hard, putting effort into my face without actually using it, the tree roots held the soil firmly. They did not want to show any weakness, Maasai don’t have any!

In the face of strong wind, the 'soil' held firm and I said that the trees had done their job protecting the soil and the farm from erosion.

There was back-slapping and handshakes, as well as laughter, the players had become heroes! The elders embraced our project and offered us their support.

News travels swiftly and the surrounding villages soon heard about the role play. We had instant access even to areas we had not expected to go.

Later I used this role play in all the villages and schools, especially the schools because the kids love to perform. It was one of those small things that worked well and was always fun to do.

Except for one remote village where I had chosen a little girl as the 'soil'. Always I picked boys, because I did not like the idea of pushing girls around. I chose this girl by mistake, and her teacher later told me she had a slight mental disability.

Anyway, the role play started well, but when I said 'the wind became strong' the literal translation is and then I become angry - the poor girl thought I was for real and took fright, running off to hide.

Of course the other kids laughed at her misfortune, but it embarrassed me! On the brighter side of this experience, I was able to console her to some extent with a tee-shirt that I was carrying as a prize for best tree planting.