Liz in Tanzania: A Little Bit Far

I've said before that Africans and Americans have ridiculously different concepts of distance. They walk everywhere, so nothing is too far. The other day Abdallah and Philipo went to Kilama to fetch wood for the desks, and I offered the company car. I thought I'd go along for the ride. I'm like the family dog, shake the keys and I jump in the car. I go on the assumption it's something to do and it might be interesting and I'm rarely disappointed.

Road to Kilama.

I teach in the afternoons, at 4pm, and both Abdallah and Philipo know this, as both are my students. So when they said we should leave at 1pm, I figured we'd be back in time. They said it was a little bit far, and like a dope I believed them. I fall for this every time. So who's the moron now?

Philipo collects wood up behind Berega, in the bush which surrounds us. Usually he uses a bike or a pikipiki. It's hard work so he was very happy for the use of the car. My reasons were less than altruistic. I need the desks and I need them now.

Further on down the road

So off we went. It's beautiful country, small villages, hills, farms. But it's been a week since Philipo arranged the pickup, and in that time the rains have arrived with a vengeance. The further up we got, the worse the roads got. After about an hour I asked Bado kidogo? which is the african version of are we there yet? I was badoed about six times before I realized that the wood was very, very far away. I asked if we'd be back for class and the guys just laughed. Abdallah said the roads are bad since the rain, and it's a little bit far. So no, we wouldn't be back for class. I tried to call some of my students, but there was no network. There is frequently no network.

This one was a tight squeeze.

Gold mining in Tanzania

We got to a tiny little village, more like a villagette, when A and P said we needed to stop to buy some rope. I was curious as to where we could do this, there didn't seem to be any likely looking rope stores, or anything else for that matter. He found a few small dukas, which had no rope. I did comment that Berega might have been a better place to buy rope because they actually do have rope, but A said Hamna shida mama.

If you look real hard you can see a speck of gold on his palm.

Rasta washing mud and sifting for the above pictured gold.

The camp.

We passed a gold mining camp about halfway up, which reminded me of stories about the old days, except for the colorful plastic buckets, and the lack of mules with straw hats. Other than that, it's primitive mining. It's also rain dependent, so it moves from place to place, as does the rain.

Sitting very quietly while I watch the birds.

We arrived at Kilama, where the wood was, and spent about a hour waiting for Philipo to conclude all the details, and for Abdullah to round up some rope. There's not much rope up there, as I found out, so we will return it the next time someone from Kilama comes to Berega for medical treatment. I spent my time meandering about and taking pictures of the kids who spent their time staring at me, pointing, giggling, murmuring mzungu mzungu.

Phone booth

I tried to call my other students to tell them not to come to class. Three of them live in Msalama, which is a 45 minute walk each way. But up in Kilama, there's not much network, you get a bar sometimes, mostly you get that No Network sign. But Abdallah walked around and talked to some guys who showed us where the locals use the phone.

We finally got through to Amon, who promised to tell every one else, so I felt better. We walked around the village, which didn't take long, and I found the school. I can sniff out a school blindfolded with a plastic bucket on my head. There's a preschool, and a Standard 1 thru 7. Which was a surprise as there didn't seem to be but three or four rooms. There's also only 3 teachers, because it's not easy finding teachers to work in the bush, and this is deep in the bush. But the preschool class is in good shape, and there's only 23 kids in the class. I'd like to paint it. With that small a class, it would be great. Saw the other classes, not paintable. Or even habitable for that matter.

Classroom that I will not be painting.

So a good time was had by all and we came down the mountain. As P was thanking me (sincerely and profusely) for the transport I was thinking that a man would have to be either nuts or desperate to bring wood home on a bike from that far away. And I know he's not nuts. Sometimes it stuns me how hard people work for so little. A pikipiki costs 10,000 tsh each way, so mostly he uses a bike, and as you can't put too much wood on a bike, a big job necessitates multiple trips. Ouch.
The next day I was talking to my adult class about my trip, and Pastor, who comes to class almost every day, told me that he was born in Kilama 64 years ago. There was no school then, so he got some schooling at the church. There also was no bikes, pikipikis, or phones. I asked what happened when someone got sick and he said they would transport the patient in his bed, with friends and family shouldering each corner like pallbearers. It took us almost 2 hours by car, each way. He said sometimes they'd walk all night.
That village life is supremely inconvenient is something they take as normal, I can't imagine hauling a sick person on a bed down a bad road with nothing but maybe a flashlight. I asked him what happened when the patient died in transit, he said they just turned around and went back to plan the funeral. See comment about pallbearers.

Inside that classroom

St. Mary's English Medium Preschool

and Standard One, minus

two kids sick with malaria.

School. We have started the lunch program, and the kids love it. Our cook, Mama Dani, makes lots of food, and they eat every morsel. Attendance is near perfect, and I'm no idiot, it's because of the food, but I don't care. I'm a results girl so why they come is irrelevant, that they come is important.

Morning ugi. Philipo is working on the new

tables so in a few

weeks there will be more room

It's astounding how much kids can not know, but equally astounding is how fast they can learn. The orphans are having a great time, lots of food, and people pay attention to them. Jackie can count from 1 to 10 already. Vicent can, but not every time. They're very pleased with themselves. I think Aidani is from another planet, but he's got his numbers from 1 to 10, and a letter or two. He's a bewildered looking kid, I don't think his father has told him why he's here.

Vicent and Jackie and their As.

We have class till 4pm now, which is ok for the first graders but too much for the little guys, so for the last 2 hours we mostly play, and I bring my computer in to watch animal movies or cartoons. Happy Feet was a hit, Horton Hears a Who was a little puzzling, but these kids are happy to watch anything. They like previews. But so far the favorite is Old Yeller, a 50 year old Disney classic. They watched it two days in a row.

Hope you can see how they've strung the twine to look like

wires. They did this from the road to the house.

These kids have made this truck, and the sticks are electricity

poles. They spent all afternoon digging the holes, putting them

in the ground, and stringing them.

Monday I plan to de-worm the kids. The two boy orphans, Jackie and Vicent, look pretty wormy to me, actually they look flat out neglected. But then so do lots of kids here. Mostly it's a matter of culture, we are different in out attitudes towards kids, animals, lots of stuff. Two or three year old kids meander about unattended, and five year olds watch babies. But it would be hard for it to be different, there's just not enough parents to go around. Which is one reason they want their kids in school till 4pm. I will say that parents who can do better, definitely do.
It's a full day, lots of kids, lots of noise, but it's a village so it's not like there's loads to do. I have time.

Nakupenda