Mama Bustani

We were visiting Likamba village one hot day, contemplating the effects of erosion, which is not always caused by water.  I felt sorry for the Maasai women as they trudged down the dusty road because they were dressed up in their finery to go to the market at Ngaremtoni.  I was embarrassed that my little Maruti  kicked up a cloud of fine dust that coats everything and probably sticking to the oil (Vaseline) they rubbed into their skin to make it shine. The dust will dull any shine!

The dusty road into Likamba

At the village office, the Mtendaje (Village Executive Officer) told us that there was a woman in a remote part of the village who had a small tree nursery, and that she wanted us to give her some advice.

This woman, who's proper name, we never actually knew, was always referred to as Mama Bustani -  'bustani' meaning garden, a tree nursery is Bustani ya miti.

Mama Bustani holding an Avocado tree seedling. Mama Bustani's sister is in yellow.

Josiah looks on.

Mama Bustani had a very small compound and her tree nursery consisted of perhaps 100 trees that she had grown from seed she had collected around the village. The trees were not thriving very well and I knew immediately that they were suffering through lack of water.

I asked her where she collected water, and was told that she borrowed a donkey every third day and she went to Kisongo,  threes hours away to bring back two thirty litre drums of water. This water had to be divided between household use, including cooking, washing clothes, personal hygiene and the tree nursery. This is why the trees suffered.

When she irrigated her trees, most of the water simply went into the soil around her pots. This is because when soil dries out it the pot, it shrinks allowing water to pass freely between to pot wall and the soil block, so the tree gets very little water. What little water she could afford was being lost!

I advised Mama Bustani to shift her trees and make a 'basin' for them to sit in. I also told her I would bring her a sheet of plastic on my next trip. Deep down I don't think she  believed I would ever return, but Josiah assured her that the effort would be worthwhile. We returned the next week to find she had done exactly we we had advised, so we laid the plastic sheet in the basin and carefully placed the plants in their pots on it. Mama Bustani was pleased with the results and her eyes gleamed and she smiled broadly.

Her gratitude turned to tears when I produced the two 20 litre containers of water! We used about 10 litres to water the nursery and she was able to save the rest! She told us that our water was cleaner and sweeter than the stuff she collected. She was very happy indeed!

After that, whenever we went to Likamba, I always popped my two containers of water in the old Maruti and we would visit her. She was always grateful and the trees grew well. 

I asked her what she was going to do with the trees, and her reply was that half she would plant on her farm, the rest she would sell.

In the end, I bought her surplus trees, to add to those from our nursery at Sanawari, because it was her I paid a slightly inflated price by way of encouragement. Just for motivation.

As a footnote, after our projects had moved away from Likamba, Missy and I returned there to gather information for her Masters degree thesis. Mama Bustani was still using the techniques we had taught her, her forest was growing, and when Missy asked how she had used the money she had made, her reply was, 'My husband provides for me, what need do I have for money? I grow trees for my own interest so I gave him the money because he would know how to use it best!' This was a surprise to Missy who was studying woman's issues, but for my part, I was glad that extra trees were being planted in the area.

The World Water Crisis

 

While approximately two thirds of out planet is water, the largest proportion is salt water, and only some 3% is 'fresh' water. The availability of fresh water available to the world's population is is less than 0.007% of the world's total water.
This is serious indeed and anyone can do an Internet search to find the exact figures.
In England for example, if you take a glass of water from the tap, you do so knowing that the water has already passed through the bodies of seven people.
Here in New Zealand, dairy farming has put extra pressure on the water resource and the fecal count in waterways means that all drinking water needs to be treated. And again, the resource now has a limit on it, and therefore a value.
Within Footsteps NZ-TZ I will record some of my experiences relating to water and hope that somehow there will become a greater awareness of the need to conserve the finite resource that it is.

Humankind has contributed to the rapid decline of water quality, but some natural resources are polluted as well.
The water from the slopes of Mt Meru has contaminants of fluoride and other salts. This causes browning of teeth, and in some cases bone deformities.
People visiting this part of Tanzania often assume  people's teeth have been poorly looked after or are rotten from eating sugar cane. Not so, the cause is fluoride in the water!
Of course the local population is aware of the contaminants but they have no choice but to drink it.

To illustrate just how finite the water-for-consumption resource is, whenever or wherever water is consumed at least on molecule has passed through the body of Cleopatra!   

Neema

Neema with her mother and siblings

Neema with her mother & father

Sylvester and Paulina had moved out of their one-roomed cottage to be replaced by Sylvia, an unmarried woman of about 25 who worked on the farm, her greatest claim to fame being a member of the church choir.

I used to walk down to the farm to buy milk from my good friend Samweli, who was in charge of the milking. Samweli daily walked some 10km to and from his home, which was away up the slopes of Mt Meru!

It was in those old, wooden, ramshackled milking sheds that I first met little Neema. Well not really met, more like became aware of her. She was shy and hid behind the shed peeking out wide-eyed at the mzungu 'white guy'.

Each day I would just greet her, and gradually she plucked up more courage to formally greet me and shake my hand. "Shikamoo mzungu!' she would say.

I became aware that Neema had a hard life, Sylvia would go away to choir practice, leaving her alone in a house that in reality was remote. It gets dark there at 7:00pm and because of poverty, there is no artificial light, not even a candle. Neema was but 8 years old and had to cook her own ugali - usually with nothing else to add to the flavour. Ugali is a stiff porridge made from maize flour.

Sylvia had long been used to her life alone, and did not really think too much about looking after her young niece and probably didn't want to.

Old Samweli was good to the little girl though and gave her the job of filling the meal (pollard made in the process of making maize flour) at the head of the cow bale. It was he who told me of the problems Neema faced, and how hungry she had become, and how frightened she was when he left for home well after dark. In a way, I think he was looking for me to help her in some way. He told me that she particularly liked bread which was a bit of a luxury to rural Tanzanians.

Most evenings after that I would take a few slices of bread with me, or perhaps fruit or sometimes biscuits and Neema would always reward me with one of her bright smiles!

Samweli told me that Neema actually came from Ngarenanyuki where her parents had too many children to care for so had sent her to Sylvia to relieve their family situation.

I told Neema that I worked in the Ngarenanyuki area and asked where her parents lived.
'Across the river,' she replied, which is the vagueness of Tanzanian directions.

One day Neema asked me to take her to visit her parents. The request did not surprise me and I agreed without hesitation or thoughts of consequences.

I had enough authority to get Sylvia to fill a bag with maize [cobs] for it was in season, and I was well aware that she actually stole them from the farm, but it was a worthy donation of the farm in the scheme of things.

The day before we were to go, Neema was waiting for me on the side of the road, and when I stopped, she climbed on to the step of the Landrover and asked what time she should be ready. I think she could not really believe she was actually going with me.

'Usinidanganya, don't trick me.' she said to me hopefully.

Sure enough, she was waiting with her bag of maize at the roadside and she thought she was Christmas sitting in the front passenger seat! I stopped at Usa River to buy some sugar and tea to give to her parents as well.

We picked up Loti at Ngongongare and he was delighted to see the young girl - he did not even demand the front seat! Our journey took us through the Arusha National Park and Neema was excited to see the giraffe, warthogs and baboons, which made me realise that her only journey through the area was on the old Landrover 'buses' where people were packed in and a small child wouldn't be able to see much at all.

She had not met Loti so was very quiet and respectful towards him, even shy.

We questioned her as to where her parents lived but she was vague, repeating that it was across the river and 'up'. Tanzanian directions are always vague and we could not be sure where she meant. We both knew the area very well.

The were two river crossings; fords - one up to Mwakeny and Kisimiri, and the other a short cut to the Ngarenanyuki clinic and village beyond and then to Uwiro. The latter seemed unlikely. The other route crossed the same river but there were bridges and we expected that she would remember those. As it turned out that was a wrong assumption.

We crossed the ford to Mwakeny and she said she recognised the area but it was a  hopeful guess. At the village, she knew nobody and the village leaders we met did not know her or her parents. We continued up to Kisimiri and called at the primary school, again Neema did not recognise the area nor did the teachers know of her parents. Neema became anxious, I think because she did not know how long my patience would last.

Through Uwiro and Neema brightened saying that her older sister attended Ngarenanyuki Primary School, so we passed by there. Her sister did study there, but she was not at school this day, but we were told to go into the village where someone was sure to know her.

Loti's sister lived nearby, so many people knew him around there. We stopped in a dry creek bed where some people Loti recognised were standing. They in turn recognised Neema and told us that her parents lived up a difficult track beside the creek bed! Incredibly the village was called 'Kwa Iyani' which is the way Ian is often spelt - named after a long-gone settler in the area!

Neema was excited to see her grandfather sitting on a stool outside his house and when we stopped to greet him, kids from all directions converged upon us and soon Neema's mother arrived. The reunion was tearful and happy, so we left them and carried on with our own duties in the general area.

Back at the house, we were told we must have something to eat, and as we waited I looked around at their environment. They were obviously desperately poor and the small village of perhaps ten houses was perched on a dry, barren ridge. I judged it to one of the drier areas within the broad Ngarenanyuki region. They had a lot of kids!

Neema's father had been located and he had gone off to 'borrow' rice and kill the only chook I had seen there. As we ate, I asked if the kids could join us, but there simply was not enough to go around, so Loti and I ate while the rest went hungry!

As we prepared to leave, were were asked to take two other girls with us, a sister of Neema's and a smaller cousin. Victoria and Baati were excited about the expected trip, for they had never been beyond the first bridge! Loti was unconcerned, but I though Sylvia might not be too happy at all!

The journey back was a thrill because everything was new to these exuberant girls, they called out their greetings to the giraffe, warthogs, baboons, National Park Rangers, the tar sealed road, the brick buildings of Usa River, the lorries, the buses and anything else they had never seen before!

I was right; Sylvia was none too happy with the extra mouths to feed and I think she squarely cast the blame in my direction! However, Neema enjoyed the company and I received plenty of attention whenever I called for milk or manure. And of course I always had food!

After a month or so, Sylvia convinced me that it was time to return Victoria and Baati to their parents, and this time I used a donation from the Waianakarua Lions Club to buy a substantial amount of food to take with us.

I enjoyed the journey back because the girls sang most of the way - using a 'new' song Habari gani? Nzuri sana! How are you? I'm very good! A greeting but they made it out to greet everything and everyone they saw! Even Loti was called by his name rather than any respectful title he should have been given.

As we approached Kwa Iyani village they sang. "We have arrived eh! We have arrived, eh! We have arrived at Baba and Mama's [house].

Neema's parents were very grateful for the food, likely they would share it, and all were happy when we left there. From time to time we returned there with food from donations of relatives and friends and we know it was distributed around the whole village.

Neema was lonely again and Sylvia had taken up with this guy who had a violent facet within his character. Horrified, Samweli told me that Neema was witness to this guy pulling a knife on Sylvia! I am not sure, but I think Loti reacted to my expressions of concern resulting in Neema being removed back to Ngarenanyuki.

I next met Neema at Olkung'wado Primary School where she was a student - the school is in the same education district, so not too far away from her home. Her uncle was the Head Teacher there. So I was able to still take bread to her uncle's house because I also knew him  as well as his school which was part of our environmental project.

More often than not, Neema was at her uncle's house when I called there, so she was missing out on school, and I suspected that she was being used as a house girl. This saddened me but I kept quiet.

Neema's uncle was appointed as District Supervisor of Primary Schools in the Ngarenanyuki District and I noticed she was not at school, nor was she at home. I found out that she was actually working as a house girl for a relative in a far distant village. This is what happens when families are so poor that they are unable to provide for their children. Neema will have no more education but she will work for her keep. Sometimes these situations are good, sometimes not.

Now I have no idea where Neema is or how she is faring - I can only hope for the best.

World Food Shortage?

Stored Maize and Beans


Nursery workers with filled bags


Ngabobo distribution


Grateful kids at Ntuwe Primary School


Happy students at Valeska Primary School


Politicians have been meeting recently to discuss pending severe world food shortages. Sometimes there are political answers, sometimes not, but I have some experience in the field, and of course an opinion. If can lobby politicians maybe you can too.
The following is an event that happened and my personal reaction to it. The memory of it will linger in my mind.

Hunger in Meru

The Honorable Bishop of Meru, Paulo Akyoo a man I have the greatest respect for, called me into his office.

'There was a woman at Kolila village,' he told me, 'who's children came home from school saying that they were very hungry! The woman made a fire and put some stones in a pot of water to boil. She then went into her house and hung herself. She could not bear to see her children starve!

Mzee, [I was often called that] you are out in the field most of the time, can you collect some information and write a report on the issue of hunger?'

I felt a deal of shame because sure, I was out in the field and regularly working with school kids and thought I was close to them; yet I did not notice that they were indeed starving!

I did a sample of the schools, much the way I was taught to sample a crop of trees - random selection and taking accurate notes.

I sampled 20 of the schools I worked with, 35 pupils from each school in a range of ages.

Quickly I found that the school rolls were down by 20% because the younger children did not have the strength to walk to the school. Some of them had a seven kilometer trek. The teachers told me that kids were falling over at school through lack of stamina!

Each child sat beside me in the cab of my truck as I interviewed them. I noticed their hair had become ginger, their skin dry and cracked and some had developed the pot belly of malnutrition!

Tears still come to my eyes remembering their plaintive replies.

'Did you have breakfast this morning?' - 'Hapana (No).'

'Did you have breakfast yesterday?' - 'Hapana.'

'When did you last have breakfast?' - 'Siku nyingi! (Many days).'

I found that on average the kids were going 3 days without food, which means some went without for 5 days or more! The average meal was a mashed banana mixed in hot water with the ration being half a glass per child - that is every 3 days! Nothing else.

There were many tragic stories; parents would go to relatives in other areas to beg for assistance, leaving the oldest child to look after their younger siblings during the crisis.

A Maasai boy cried as he told me that his family had sold their last goat and he asked me what next they could do - he feared they would die.

All told of the pain associated with an empty stomach. And of course, the inference of my interview meant to them that I was going to help!

 I was numbed at the final school, Kisimiri, which was severely effected by the drought. The short rains often fail there these days and subsistence farming is very difficult.

I asked the Head Teacher to keep 35 students back for me to interview, because I before I interviewed then I had a pre-planned  seminar to conduct at the village office. 'No problem, the students will come to the office.' he said. I did not want that, I had the Landrover so was more mobile but sometimes you just can't argue!

In fact the children were made to run to the office - 4km on empty stomachs!

After the interviews, as we prepared to leave, the village chairman told us we could not leave without 'something' and ushered us inside.

There was an an oval table laden with food! But after those interviews, eating was the last thing on my mind! Politely, I spooned a small portion of rice on to my plate. The chairman elbowed me 'Mwaga tu!' He meant that I should just spill a large helping on my plate!.

Those kids were still waiting around outside - I had told them that I would ferry them home!

Back home I sat on the doorstep and told Mags about the days events -  I wept for those kids!

I wrote my report but agencies were not prepared to fund food aid because the Tanzanian government were not prepared to admit that there was a food crisis! I was determined I going to do something and told the Bishop that the church should lobby government!

Tanzania Breweries provided me with one tonne of corn starch which I distributed among the worst effected of the schools. This provided one meal of uji, a thin porridge, per child. The breweries offered me all the spent grain they produced but despite requests from scientists in NZ there was no way it could be effectively utilised. Spent grain can not be easily digested. I wanted the Agency to put their weight behind my request but they did not get the concept of spent grain.

One world-wide aid agency (I won't name) took my report and actually raised money in NZ, but we saw none of it! They told me that they had used it, and our methods, in another area, also badly effected. I have no way of knowing the truth of this, but it activated my skeptic button!

Through personal contacts, MFAT (NZ) provided $10 000 from its emergency relief fund, which allowed me to to utilise our friendship with Mama Lillian, who had a business in Arusha buying and selling maize and beans, sold me maize and beans at cost price and as a contribution towards the cause, she paid the freight to our house at Makumira.

At this time I must acknowledge the assistance of my good friend and dedicated co-worker Mzee Loti Nnko. He helped me negotiate the pitfalls for us to set the style of delivering the food aid. The village authorities, of course wanted to take control of the food which in some cases would mean it was sold and nepotism would likely become involved.

Because polygamy existed in some of the villages, feeding on a family basis was not entirely proper, so we would ask the oldest pupil from 'behind one door' to step forward and the siblings of that child line up behind. This scheme for allocation worked well.

I begged and sometimes bought plastic bags for the food and my nursery staff helped measure out each amount of food to be supplied, all carefully weighed and counted out. These were loaded into my truck and Loti and I delivered to the schools/villages. This way we fed the students of the fourteen worst effected primary schools.

The Ngarenanyuki trip was longer so I hired a lorry to help, and I remember one small child who could not understand why he didn't qualify for food. I was able to gather a bagful of spilt maize and beans from the floor of the truck and that boy happily headed home.

This food aid came at the right time because the new crops were just about to to be able to be harvested and the lean times coming to an end.

There is no doubt that while our actions were by no means an answer, we identified with the people and responded how we could.
All the schools knew that the aid came from New Zealand.

A Solution

Having lived in Tanzania for 7 years - in the villages and with the people, I have seen and helped with a good number of maize crops.

First though, maize is the staple diet of many African nations. The same food - ugali in Tanzania, sudsa in Zimbabwe is used to make a maize porridge.

Each year, new seed has to be purchased - I won't name the company, but it is a large American company that has the monopoly. The maize has been bred so keeping seed does not produce a viable crop the next season.

Then we have the maize plant itself - perhaps growing to 1.5 metres tall. Again it has been bred to have just one cob of maize per plant! So it stands to reason, if maize can be grown to produce two cobs you have effectively doubled production with no extra work/cost to the farmers.

We in the Forestry industry, especially in New Zealand, have been selectively growing Radiata Pine for years and have very different trees now to those at Monterey where initial seed came from.

I am sure maize can be bred so that the populations of Africa can double production with ease, and I question why the seed producers have not already done so!

Some years, crops are devastated by Army Worm (a caterpillar). I don't know if selective breeding can help here, but biological control or, (may I swear) GM maize produced so it is not susceptible to the pest.

One of the tragedies

The girl with me in mt profile picture is Paskalina showing off the sweater knitted by my sister.

This picture here is of Paulina and her family. Paskalina on the very left - Marguretta is third from left.

One of the tragedies of Africa is poverty and what it does to people.

Sylvester, the father of these kids used to milk cows at the Diocese Farm. There were around 30 cows and they were  milked by hand. The Diocese had not long come out of a war over it's very name and was suffered through a lack of funds, therefore the workers were paid irregularly (6 months was not an unusual wait). Trouble was Sylvester had a problem with booze and even at milking time he was far from sober. He ended up losing his job because of his insobriety!

Sylvester's wife was Paulina, who also worked on the Diocese Farm, picking coffee, sowing and harvesting maize, and other odd jobs as required. She too was put off because the farm shed staff due to financial troubles.

Between them they had seven kids! Marguretta is 'adopted' being a child of Paulina's sister.
Paulina popped them out close to Christmas, year after year, and was something of a legend because of it!
There are - Zachariah, Anna, Emanuel, Alibariki, Marguretta, Issac and Paskalina.

Sometime we were sent small amounts of money by friends or service groups such as the Waianakarua Lions Club and we would make up small food packages for people we knew needed something. Paulina's family were beneficiaries a few times.

Seldom would there be spare food available in Paulina's house, and if she was desperate, she would send some of her children to beg food from us. I had a soft spot for Marguretta, and Paulina knowing this, sent her most often!

The maize mill made flour for the staple food, ugali and when Paulina did not have money to mill her maize, the only way she could pay was with her body.

I used to go to the farm to collect dry cow manure as fertilizer for my nursery. Paulina's kids used to help me - wild and dirty, they worked to help me fill my truck - joking, laughing and teasing each other as they worked. There reward was a ride in the truck out to the road - Paskalina was always frightened and could not always be coaxed.
Dusty and dirty they would climb in the back seat, and in fun, I would order them to sit with arms folded and in the same spirit they would do so and we would sing as we drove out to the road. Once there, I would tell them to line up outside the vehicle, then I would shout 'Kimbea!' Run! and they would be off home as fast as their legs would carry them.

Those children knew that they would never leave our house empty-handed, even half a loaf of bread or a few mandarins were always greatly appreciated. Most usual was the request for sugar (the universal gift really) to make the milky, sweet tea which is an important part of the diet. They used to sit with me on our verandah and I would tell them stories - old stories that I badly translated into Swahili as I went.

Poverty does not always make unhappy kids.