A Recalcitrant Eucalyptus

Went to Mikumi Park again,
cute teenaged giraffe.

On a normal day, daladalas are like ticks about to burst, so perhaps I should have thought twice, even thrice, before traveling to Morogoro on the last day of Ramadan (which precedes the first day of Idd). So two huge Islamic holy days, and there I am in town with a big stupid grin on my face, looking for books. Morogoro has a very large Muslim population, so anyone wearing a kofia or a burqa was either in town, or trying to get there.

Why did the elephant cross the road? 

At that size, what does 

it matter? I wanted to back up for a closer shot 

but the driver was a sissy. 

And maybe I was a dope. Take your pick.

Knowing this, albeit a little late, I  crammed myself onto a coaster, which is size-wise halfway between a daladala and a bus. I tried to grab the overhead bar so I wouldn't fall when the coaster lurched, which I could only assume it would, but hamna shida, we were packed too tightly to move, much less fall. A tin of sardines would have been more spacious, and as a sardine has no armpits I would have been spared that particular human experience.


There was a family of nine waiting at a bus stop, minding their own business, enjoying the day. Two kids under three were sitting in the dirt, plus a few mid sized kiddies and assorted adults. They seemed as though they were planning to board another, less crowded car, good luck with that. But they were standing at a bus stop, so the condo (loads people and takes money) hopped off, plucked the watoto from the ground, and handed them through the windows to random Africans in the front seats . Then they shepherded the mid sized kids in, after which the adults had no option but to climb on. This happens all the time, it's happened to me.The babysitters don't seem to mind, and the parents haven't got much choice after the kids have been shanghaied. I tell you, condos have power.

Re power, the upper body on the average condo is spectacular, lean and strong with biceps to die for. But then, biceps are all that stand between them and certain death as they hang out the side of the bus calling to potential passengers. It's the hand of Allah (remember the holy days) no one has lost an arm or been decapitated by a passing truck. Bado kidogo.
Last week we returned to Chagongwe to finish some business regarding the Humanure project and the checkechea. My memory of the road is like labor pains, you forget about it when it's finished, only to remember again, acutely, the next time. It's a migraine of a road, the pictures don't do it justice. We almost made it down before dark, it's bad enough in the daylight, but we turned a corner and came upon a tree crossing the road that wasn't there on the way up.

Everyone standing around looking

 at the tree that crossed the road. 

A chicken would have been easier to move.  

Why did the tree cross the road? Loggers come up to the mountains to cut down eucalyptus trees, which are enormous and provide mbao mengi. If you cut them correctly, they fall where you want them to fall. If you don't, they fall across the road. The only road. I know this because I asked.

Here's the story: they tried to cut it so it would fall in one direction but inakataa (it refused) and fell the other way. Scary that guys with chainsaws can't outsmart a tree. They knew they had made a mistake and were thinking about running away. Again, as there's only so many loggers on the mountain, the tree is still ahead on points. We saw the guy holding the chainsaw, but he said it didn't work. This was starting to take on all the earmarks of a classic TIA moment. TIA being This is Africa. If you've been here, you know what I mean.

 A goddess walks among us, 

possibly a goddess with a sore 

neck, but a goddess nonetheless.

So finally, the guy decided the saw actually did work, and they got busy hacking loose branches and clearing away debris. They measured the height of the car against the clearance under the tree with an old bent stick, so I was more than a little concerned about our passage. We managed to squeeze under the tree, but it was a squeaker. THEN, after we got through, they asked us for money. 





Why, I asked, and they said because they helped us. I reminded them that it was their fault to begin with, but they said it wasn't, the tree refused to fall in the right direction. And, they stayed to help instead of running away, which was bullmavi because but for our untimely arrival they would have disappeared into the woods like a bunch of elves. I refused, much like the tree, but Ruth gave in and slipped them 2,000 /-, about $1.50. In the end, they proved smarter than us, if not the tree.

Water hole in a village called Mnafu, 

where will set up someprojects. 

This is how deep the women need to go to get maji. 

The one in the hole will pass the buckets up.

Folks here have lots of creative ways to make money, recall the ten dollar cat from a few months ago. We were in Dar this past weekend, just an overnighter to get my work permit. I'm legal in Africa, by the way. At last. Up until now I've been painting illegally. Tz considers volunteer work as work, so requires a permit. It's taken eight months, but ninayo work permit. 

Water hole thankfully not being used for humans,

 but for brick making. Not that the other 

water is much better.

The fact is, I could have been in a pile of shida if Immigration had caught me painting. I haven't always walked the straight and narrow road, but imagine going to jail for painting the ABCs on a preschool wall. The other inmates would ridicule me and take my food.I digress.



 We're breaking in a new driver, Abdallah, my student and former daladala driver, so were cruising around Dar learning the town. We came upon an old guy standing in the middle of the road, next to a hastily filled hole. He stopped us and asked for money, because he filled the hole. We never saw him fill the hole, it could have been filled days ago, by another old guy, but that was irrelevant. Also irrelevant was that he was standing on a pristine portion of the road, and had he moved three feet in any direction, we could have driven right through. But he wasn't moving, so Abdallah gave him some change. Geezer probably spends all day standing in front of recently filled holes, taking advantage of anyone too polite to run him over.
This is why I love Africa. 

Dead water hole. 

A friend once told me she wouldn't visit me here because she feared the unknown. l fear the known. Things get too normal I get antsy, so Africa is the perfect place for me. Nothing is too normal, and many things are downright bizarre.




The kids are good, moving along just like they should. Gairo, a village about an hour away, wants us to board their chekechea kids. It's good folks are finding out about us, but not so good to board babies. Even worse that the schools here are generally bad enough that folks actually consider, and do, board their preschoolers. Won't go into the state of the schools here, I've done that time and time again, but I just got three new evening class students and all three are in upper level classes and have almost no English. Our chekechea kids speak better. But then they still pee in their pants sometimes, so it's six of one and half a dozen of the other.

Chameleon crawling up my leg in Mbeya. 

Locals are afraid of these, won't touch them,

 much lesslet them walk up their jeans. 

This, plus the python, has cemented

 my weirdness with my friends and

neighbors.

The breakfast program is going well, the kids like it, and they come to class on time now. We read stories while they eat their ugi (porridge), then start the day. The library is catching on slowly, the only problem is no one, I repeat no one, returns their books on time, not even close. Wanarudisha chelewa sana. But everyone lives close, so I can hunt them down when someone else wants the book.

If you look hard you can see a cat in this tree. 

That's Mr. Greenwell attempting a rescue. The 

cat was in the tree for 3 days, screaming at us.

This one didn't cost me anything.

I love the smallness of the village. Anyone I need I can find, and they can find me. Everyone says hi, kids play in the street, and people sit out on the stoops so if you want to visit, there they are. If it wasn't for poverty, oppression and repression of women, bad schools, corruption, and limited access to just about anything, this place would be perfect.


Nakupenda