Remarkable Stories

I'm getting a bit sidetracked with things that pop up as I flick through my old diary.

From time to time you hear stories that seem to be incredible or too good to be true and I try to write what I know to be true but there will appear the odd thing that makes me shake my head and just wonder about it all.

Big E never ceased to amaze me - some of the things he got up to, and the way things turned out!

He came to me one day to ask me to participate in a special meeting. So I threw on a tidy shirt and a pair of trousers and went to Big E's quarters.
He and six other men sat at the table and I had to introduce myself and shake their hands, then they each introduced themselves. Next to me sat a young man in western clothing - Emanuel, then there was this big fellow - a radio announcer who was dressed in flowing white robes. This guy was an advocate/best man for the next man (dressed in western clothes) who worked for the National Parks (Tanapa)- I think from Nigeria. Then a wide-nosed man who wore a fez type hat and robes of red, gold and black - this guy was an accountant with the National Parks. There John, Big E's brother and the other fellow I knew was a retired vet. John and he wore western clothes.
They asked me to tell them a little about New Zealand.

Big E then told me that he had been elected head of the (wider) family and that the Nigerian man wanted to marry into it. They we lobbying and negotiating bride price and the wedding arrangements, meaning of course who was to pay for what. Each side had their advocate who did the talking and there was soon agreement as the negotiations went smoothly.
Food was brought out and I noted that there were pork chops - the garb of some suggested they were of the Islam faith and I knew that the vet was. I heard him ask Big E what the meat was and his bland reply was 'mutton'. Most avoided it.
After the meal, Big E announced that the formalities were over and beer was brought out - the bride emerged with Mama B and Mags arrived as well so we toasted the happy, engaged couple.

I wrote to recap the day.
The groom had arrived in a flash,new Mercedes and he will be a tribal chief some day. Chieftainship runs in the family and he remembers his grandfather's death. They are buried sitting in their favorite chair! Apparently his grandfather was stiff with rigor mortise so they could not sit him properly and he would not fit into the grave properly, so they chopped off his legs with an axe to make him fit! Then with him they bury - alive - three or four young, fit, bright people of the village to keep him company! This is a great honour to be buried with your chief! This practice continues (according to him).

Mr Wide-nose with his neat hat and gold braided robe told me that the King of Sudan became king at the age of 17 while he was still at Oxford University and is now in his 20's and is proud of his tribal traditions. This guy takes a new wife each year and all the eligible young women dance naked before him in the hope they will be chosen. According to this guy, this tradition goes on.

I have no way of authenticating these stories but I wanted to share them.

Glory's Brother's Confirmation

Most people who visit Tanzania (or perhaps Africa) are invited to a wedding or confirmation or both. This is the willingness of the people to share and the very real idea that a guest in fact a blessing. The cynics may say it the 'prestige' of having a white person there - well that's just plain bunkum. Or perhaps it is the chance to receive another gift - that too is bunkum! It is a simple case of the more the merrier.

I want to write about this one because it was our first and reading it in my diary shows a freshness that I want to share - and it was 1995 and such ceremonies have moved on to some extent.

We expected that the 'day' would in fact take all day would in fact take all day, so I needed to irrigate the nursery early but Big E had the hose filling a 1000 litre tank for a friend of his, so I had to cool my heels until he had finished. I had arranged to pick up Missy at 9:15 so I was a bit conscious of time. I operated two watering cans at once (filling one while emptying the other) and did manage to get it done expeditiously despite several people wanting to have a word with me and Mama B insisting I eat pieces of roasted meat she had prepared as part of the celebrations. It was a big day because Thaday's mother was Big E's senior sister.

I picked up Missy on time, but on our return Baraka was concerned.
"There is a problem," he said, "There are nine of us to go with you."
"The Maruti is a small car," I replied, " it only hold six." But I had known I was part of the transport arrangements.
Mags piped up that after all, three were kids! Nai, Monika and the cheeky Joseph.
It is not unusual to be well-loaded and once everyone was in, I set off with a stop at Naabi Hills Bar to collect a crate of soda and a newspaper wrapped bottle - Big E's contribution to the event.
The Maruti was low on her springs - Mama B sat in front with me and the rest jammed in the rear - Mags, Missy, Baraka, Daniel, Nai, Monika and Joseph.

The church at Ilboru was near Mo & Jo's house, so I dropped my passengers and parked the Maruti in the shade within their compound. I walked back to the church and joined the throng of people trying to squeeze in. I had no idea where Mags and Co were but a wave showed me their location. I had to clamber over people and squeeze among others to reach my saved seat and once there I could look around.
The church was was actually still being built, which is typical - building progresses when funds become available and most building are erected in phases. This was an ambitious project and would be a grand church.

The place was jam-packed! Our invitation says a 9:30 start, but it seemed to mean 'start to arrive'! The service began a little after 10:00 and people were still arriving at 11:15! And wanting a seat. You know we never really became used to these late starts because we always seemed to arrive at everything - early and accepted the delays.
There were two ushers - one in particular, a gaunt, slightly stooped man, dressed in a white suit, that was decorated with a red rose posy, roamed up and down the isles like some demented vulture eyeing and swooping on the slightest gap on a pew so he could fill it with one of the standing guests. He would pick on children too and remove them to be replaced by an adult.

For a long time the kids with us evaded vulture man's eagle eye, but at about 11:00 he tapped them on the shoulder and they had to move out, but we did not 'banana' enough for his liking and he hit Mag's shoulder with his hymn book to show who was boss her, so we squeezed in again like a bunch of bananas.

The service was of course in Swahili and seemed to us to be similar to a confirmation in our part of the world - save for the language. Three choirs sang beautifully as Tanzanian choirs do and their talents we applauded.
There were 50 kids to be processed - mainly girls all dressed up in their finery; white, with frills, bonnets, gloves and the trimmings - I guesses their parents had parted with a lot of money.

Despite the tight throng of people celebrating the occasion, the church made sure the revenue gathering process went smoothly, and it always does with the congregation lining up to pace the offering under the watchful eye of the pastor. The after to service the throng unpacked to form chaos outside because it was then parent place colourful leis around the necks of their offspring.

We again piled into the Maruti - this time no quite so orderly - and Baraka directed me through a rabbit warren of tracks and banana plantations to the bumpy, dusty rough road that led to Glory's house.
Everyone was happy to disembark!

Oops couldn't quite line these picks up!

A scrim shelter had been erected for the High Table to protect the occupant from the hot sun.
The High Table was decorated and laid out with the best of the soda and eating gear. The kangas were tied like huge butterflies very colourful and what else would you expect for such an occasion?
The top photo is of the High Table and the decoration, the middle pic is the people sitting there - and we were elevated into it. The other is of a singing group encouraging guests to bring up their gifts.
Because we were first there because many would have to travel on transport of a larger kind, and we also took a water melon there to be served out. While we waited,we sat on some forms near the back but in the shade. But we were not allowed to sit there for long as we were ushered in to the High Table.
We heard the the Landrover [that Josiah had borrowed to transport guests] arrive and the women trilled in greeting 'piga vigaligali' a sound of joy! Thaday was with them. Poor guy had to sit on his own in the shelter with us and had none of his mates with him. He looked lonely and on his big day! Naturally enough he was shy to us.
Mama Baraka and some other women (all Aunties) took him into the shelter.
Throughout the ceremony Thaday sat stoically, not smiling - I think this is to honour the parents.
Shortly after the main ceremony, Thaday went inside and changed into a flash suit and had the lei of Christmas decorations draped around his neck by his parents.
A young man performed Grace and after water was brought to nawa, wash hands, food was brought out. Spoons were issued to us but is more usual for people to use their fingers - and later it was more usual for us. At the High Table, the food was in large dishes for us to ladle out ourselves, but the rest were given platefuls.
The menu was rice, pilau, tokosa (stewed meat and veges with soup), salad (made from cooked cabbage rather than lettuce) and roast banana to be swilled down with a soda - or two or three!

The cake (keki) was marched in accompanied by singing women [often keki is actually a goat, sort of spit roasted but no doubt the boy requested the sponge cake - after all these are the meat-loving Maasai]. The cake was cut and the boy fed his parents with some them family members and anyone else of even remote importance - we qualified.
We were full but 'pudding' consisted of another couple of roasted bananas, roasted meat and some roasted spuds.
Then the young women came out singing:-
Ni zawadi kwa mtoto ni zawadi eh,
hata kama ni kidogo ni zawadi eh.
Translated:-
Its a gift for the child
even if its small, it's still a [important] gift.
We all joined in the line to give the lad his gift and the young women sang all the time - I thought this was fun and enjoyed the experience.
I spotted three old Maasai guys sitting together, they each ate another three plates of food and to boot cleaned up some unfinished plates left by guests! Hollow legs!
Glory wanted us to take a photo and we were delayed a bit from making our exit. We noticed some whispering and so inside we were ushered into Glory's bedroom. I sat on a bed next to Mama B and she enjoyed the bounce I gave her (laughing).
We were each given a bottle of Safari Larger and Mama B received a bottle of Konyagi as well! There was no bottle opener and there was a murmur of approval when I flicked off the top the way that was usual in forestry circles.
Young Daniel brought in a half glass of raspberry with him, and I though 'good lad', but Mama B filled the glass with Konyagi! Gradually his eyes turned inward and he became quiet - his chin rested on his chest!
Just why we had to all cram into the bedroom, I will never know, but when I managed to finally push all my passengers into the Maruti we headed back down the road for home where I dropped off everyone before taking Missy back to her house.
At home there was no electricity and no water, but I did not particularly care.

An event at the Post Office

Very often I looked at my time in Tanzania as an adventure -even small events. It is easy to fall into the trap that all these Africans are out to rip off all all the white people and that somehow all Africans are hopeless.
In general people have to feed their families - including large extended families and so they go about their business doing their best to that end. Sometime that thing corruption rears its head and sometimes things get interpreted as corruption.
The thing I personally enjoyed was the contact with people and the negotiation. Things usually worked out - sometimes you have to be serious, others just human.

From my diary:-
I walked to the end of the road with Missy and then down to the Post Office where there was mail by the mile (a lot of it) and 3 parcels to be collected (they leave you a chit in the box). Two parcels were to be collected from Mr Boa (the mail handler) and the other was from the customs man. I really needed ID but by now Mr Boa knew me, so it was ok. For the parcels from him the nominal cost was 200/- each and I had to go to window 10 to collect the other.

Well for this guy, my driver's license was not enough, although it had my photo and 4 official stamps across it, nor was the fact Mr Boa knew me - I recited my passport number to him and that was ok.
He brought out this big package and said the customs duty was 3000/-. That was a lot for the time and I did not have that much with me, but I didn't tell him. I said that everything in there would not be worth that much and suggested he just keep the lot.
He decided to open it up to see what was inside. It was from our friends K&T and he went trough it all unwrapping each item but was neat about it. I said that it was all personal stuff for my wife and myself.
The guy kept punching in some perceived value of the items on to a calculator and applied a percent value. It kept coming down each time. In the end I told him I had only 600/- with me, so I offered it to him plus a pen that was in the parcel. He agreed and I was on my way.
Back at home we enjoyed the mail and the little things sent to us.

It must be noted that when people sent us parcels the value has to put on it. Now Tanzanian customs only see the value and think it is in US dollars. TRhey find it difficult to believe that a NZ dollar has only half the value.

Oh I had added - Coming down the Sanawari road I passed a bike that had been rigged to ring its bell all the time! I hoped it would not become a trend. Thankfully it didn't!

Another Bibi

Here is another Bibi - Mama Joyce. She is an example of the tough life some of the rural Tanzania people have.
Mama Joyce is from the Arusha tribe and her husband from the Chugga. That does not necessarily present problems, but I think it did for Mama Joyce.
Her husband had had another wife who lived at Moshi - occasionally he went there to be with her and I guess he took some of their financial resources with him. I never knew what problems this made for her.

I had (& have) a great respect for Mama Joyce and she has been a very hard worker and her husband was a severe man. Few liked him, but he was tough (as in hardy) and I had no problem with him.
I used to give him a lift into town and once I transported his rice harvest from his Usa River farm.
One night at about 9:30pm, I was pulled out of bed by a tearful woman at the gate. It was Joyce, but I did not recognize her because she wore a kanga over her head. She was pleading me to take her father to hospital. I refused because there were bandits about at the time and it was just plain dangerous to take the risk. But then she took her kanga off and I recognised her and agreed to take him.

The old guy came down and was in considerable pain. He told me that he could not urinate and that he had not passed a drop since 2:30 that afternoon. (I had picked him from town then).
We of course I knew this was prostate problems for him and told him so. He was in absolute agony! We stopped a Kilala and Joyce ran in to tell someone of what was happening and tried to get that person to accompany us - he refused saying it was too dangerous. I too was anxious because a vehicle stopped is a much easier target for majambazi.

We took the guy to Tengeru Hospital and I waited for Joyce to come back to tell me he was ok. She did and she stayed with him. Actually he wasn't ok, he was not attended to until the next day at 10:30 am! Had I known, I would have paid to have him looked at sooner!
I went home on my own and was happy to reach there!
The old had an operation later at KCMC hospital and made a full recovery - he died just last year.

Mama Joyce had a relative (more like of the old guy's) who (we suspected) was HIV positive and she nursed her for 14 months - they raised funds (250 000/-) for drugs and apparently she has made a recovery.

Joyce had Neema who I have written a little about (the Herpes story). Neema's father never lived with Joyce but he provided some assistance. Unfortunately he happened too close to a knife and that was the end of him!
So Joyce teamed with another guy who fathered another child and Joyce moved in with him. However he refused to have Neema in the house - so Mama Joyce must care for her.
Neema is a handful and hard work for the old Bibi. She is too young to be really helpful.
It is a long, steep walk for water and the old woman has to carry the daily needs from the river. Firewood too must be collected. Children traditionally do these tasks for their mother, but when the kids move out the old people are often left to carry out the tasks for themselves. A bit sad really.

I took the photo recently and had a good talk to her. Later I gave Upendo 10 000/- to take to her. It was little but the woman has no income now and lives on whatever she can scrape together. There is a son and Joyce does help out sometimes but this is an example of the difficulties faced by some. Pole Mama Joyce!

Circumcision

Part of journey to manhood for most Tanzanian males (female is another story for another time) is circumcision.
My first encounter with this was at Sanawari - ex my diary.
"There was a bit of activity early this morning in Big E's household, and even later there seemed to be a rush. It turned out that that Big E took his son, Heri be circumcised! At 18! Anyway at about 11:00am Big E arrived in the Suzuki and Heri hopped in looking grave. There was a doctor too! [how I knew he was a doctor came later]. Big E called me over to tell me that Heri had been circumcised and was bleeding - I had the impression that they were going to hospital.
On their return, Big E told me that the doctor was very experienced in circumcising boys, but had mistakenly cut and almost castrated the boy!
Don't let doctors with knives near me!"

Heri survived and was treated as a hero and his older brother gave him a fimbo - stick (walking/carrying). They fed him well and his recovery was swift.

While this is a Maasai family, this ritual was very different to what would happen traditionally. I have not witnessed the actual operation in the traditional sense but have been told of several things.
Maasai are 'done' in age groups and beforehand walk about in small groups wearing black robes and with white painted faces. One group charged me at the village of Valeska once! They were only wanting to discuss trees with me. Nothing threatening.

Josiah told me that each boy/youth has his own knife sharped especially. This is because the greeting these young men share afterward is 'How did you stand up to the knife?' And the reply is 'With bravery!'

One day we went to the village of Mkonoo without Josiah, and lost our way because the maize was too high to see out of. We stopped at a Maasai boma to ask direction and the man insisted we take tea. Mags wanted to take his photo and at that time used her limited Swahili. 'Nipe picha.' she asked - but that means give me a picture. The poor guy was a perfect host and had only pictures of his son's circumcision ceremony and he insisted that she take those. Of course we did not know the pictures of the traditional clothing was that. Josiah told us later.

Recently in Meru, gangs of guys were going around the villages at night asking the men in each house to show their willies. If they were not circumcised, they were taken away to be done! 'We are tired of our women catching disease from uncircumcised men' they said.

Mbise told me that the ritual was a bit different in Meru. A small hut was built and after the operation was complete, the lad would be locked inside and force fed - even beaten if he didn't eat. This was to give him strength and help the healing.

I have no comment on the rights or wrongs of any of this. It is not my right to have such opinions.

Bibi

Bibi is Swahili for Grandmother and I came to know many grandmothers whom I remember with great affection. There are many who come to mind and they will appear in my writings from time to time.

This Bibi lived with Mama Veronica, our close neighbor. They were a poor family and struggled to find sustenance. This old Bibi (whose name I never knew) came regularly to Mama Baraka who would help with food and be a negotiator to ask us for assistance. We would take tea together and she would struggle to communicate because her Swahili was limited and she was from a distant tribe, so I could not understand her. But we had fun together and she enjoyed music and old as she was, she still had that African Rhythm. On occasion I would dance with her in my hobnailed boot way. She shyly joined in.

The above picture shows her lifting the trunk of a banana 'tree'. Once the bananas are harvested the plant carrying it dies and another shoot sprouts from the root. The trunk is heavy as it is full of water, but Bibi cut it to manageable size (no actually she would ask me to do the cutting with a panga - bush knife). She would make a pad for her head and carry it off on her head. On occasion she would proudly show her well-kept milking cow to me in its well-kept banda.

This is the life many elderly people have in Tanzania - continuing to contribute as they age; and I must say, in general Tanzanians age gracefully and with dignity.