The Last Time?

Yesterday I drove to the nearest, well-stocked supermarket to where I am currently living (Embassy Supermarket, so called because of its proximity to the US Embassy in Kampala) to buy a few essential items to keep me going during my last week in Uganda.

I looked up at the shop as I was driving away and wondered if this would be the last time I would ever go there. And, with my flight home booked for this coming Friday, that set off a whole train of thought about my experience of living in Kampala over the last 6 months.

Will this be the last time I:

• Buy milk in plastic bags
• Get to disobey all the 'normal' rules of the road because those rules just don't seem to apply here and the only way to get anywhere is to drive like everyone else
• Look out on Lake Victoria, shimmering in the distant heat

• Be woken up at night by random car alarms, barking dogs, loud music from nearby bars and the early morning call to prayer
• Marvel at the spectacular force of an African rain storm

• Have my Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning accompanied by the singing of the local church choir, amplified through a poor quality PA system
• Eat the best avocados I've found anywhere in the world
• Wear shorts and a t-shirt in December
• Discover amazing birds as I walk to work in the morning

• See the people who have, in a short space of time, become my friends
• Spend time in this beautiful country?

I don't know the answer to these questions and leaving is always both hard and exciting. It's hard to leave behind all the people and places that have become so familiar but exciting to be going home to see family and friends again.

In the news

There have been two main topics of conversation around the lunch table at the office this week, both of which have also been the subject of international media attention.

It is unusual for local Ugandan news to be reported further afield but both of these stories involved young children and have highlighted two different aspects of life in Kampala.

The first story was the tragic death of a toddler, run over by a city council vehicle after his mother was arrested and taken to the council offices for illegally selling fruit on the streets. Street-sellers are an everyday part of life here, as they are in many cities across the world. It's not an easy life either sitting by the side of the road or walking up and down between the traffic at busy road junctions trying to sell your wares. For many people though it is the only way to make a living in order to be able to provide for their families. The selection of things for sale is always diverse: newspapers, scratchcards providing phone credit, chewing gum, toilet paper, fruit, nuts, phone chargers, memory sticks, belts, pirated DVDs, posters - the list goes on and on.

But Kampala Capital City Authority are trying to tidy up the city and have been clamping down on these hawkers. Depending on your point of view this child's death is either a consequence of this tough policy or just a tragic accident but it does highlight the difficult lives of many people in this growing city where jobs are hard to come by. The other victim of this story is the driver of the vehicle, who is now in prison and whose life has also been changed forever.

The second story was the horrific abuse of a small child by her nanny, which was filmed with hidden cameras and has shocked and shaken the country. This story involves a family whose lives are as far removed from those of the street-sellers as mine. They are part of the growing Ugandan middle-classes, who have received a good education and now have well-paid jobs and spend their leisure time at the modern shopping malls and restaurants that are springing up all over the city. They choose to continue with their careers after having children and can afford to pay for childcare, either in a day care centre or one-to-one in their own home. Unfortunately the demand for childcare is growing faster than the training and vetting of such staff. This story has highlighted the inadequacies and failings of the current system and has acted as a wake-up call to many parents and to the authorities.

These stories have mainly just left me feeling sad. I am sad for the people involved: for the parents whose child was killed, for the driver, for the little girl so badly beaten, for her parents who have to live with the consequences of their decisions and for the nanny who, although her actions cannot be condoned, is probably also a victim herself. I am also sad for this country: Uganda has so much about it and its people that is good and positive which never gets reported.

Unfortunately stories like these only serve to reinforce the stereo-typed view of the African continent that needs saving from itself rather than of an Africa that is diverse and vibrant and beautiful and is increasingly able to work through its problems and find its own solutions. 

My daily commute

Every morning from Monday to Friday I walk the 1 km from where I am currently living to the office where I work. Every evening I walk the same route back home again. It’s a part of the day I really enjoy. In the morning the air feels relatively clean and fresh before the sun gains its full strength and the pollution of the Kampala traffic tightens its grip on the city once again. In the evening, after a day spent sitting at a desk, I relish the opportunity to get the blood pumping through my legs again.

It’s not a quiet road by any means. There are always other people walking the same route as me; walking along the side of the road trying to dodge our way between the traffic – the bicycles, the boda-boda, the mini-bus taxis, the cars and the lorries. Kampala traffic is unpredictable and you can never be sure what a driver is going to do. Despite having to concentrate quite hard on what other road users are doing I enjoy the opportunity to just observe the sights and sounds of life being lived on one small stretch of road. 

• There is inevitably a man struggling to push a heavily laden bicycle. The things being transported may change – one day it could be crates of soda or beer stacked three or four high on the saddle, another day it might be enormous bags of charcoal, on a different day it could be several large bunches of matoke – and it will be a different man on a different day but it is always an effort and I marvel at how he manages it.
• There are numerous small kiosks, painted in the distinctive colours of the different mobile phone networks, offering ‘Mobile Money’. Sending money to family and friends through your mobile phone and paying utility bills in the same way has made life so much easier for people across Africa. Supporting your extended family financially is an accepted part of life and that money can now be sent easily to those living on the other side of the country. My favourite kiosk is the one that also sells pens, paper and envelopes. They advertise their wares with three words painted on the wall. It reads: ‘Stationary Mobile Money’. Surely a contradiction in terms!
• One kiosk I pass informs everyone in big black letters that it is NOT FOUR SALE.
• In the morning I walk past a lady setting up a small stall from which she sells fruit and vegetables. It’s a limited selection of tomatoes, onions, potatoes (called Irish here), sweet potatoes and matoke. She is still there in the evening and it always seems to me that she has hardly sold anything all day.
• In contrast, and a bit further up the street, there is a cage that in the morning is crammed full of scrawny and rather noisy chickens. Perhaps they know their fate and are taking a last opportunity to be heard as by evening the cage is inevitably empty – someone, somewhere not too far away, will be having ‘Chicken Tonight’!
• There are also chickens running free – either scratching around in the dirt or playing their own version of chicken as they weave in and out of the traffic. I had to do a double take this week when I saw a group of chicks all with bright purple feathers chasing after their mother.
• There’s no mistaking the line of business of ‘Unique Sounds – Music For Your Function’, as they blast loud music through the large speakers outside their shop. There is a certain irony to the fact that directly opposite their premises is ‘Peace Nursery School’.

Writing this makes me look forward to what I might see next week as I make my way to and from work. Two things I know already – it will not be predictable and it will not be dull.

A Cacophony of Sound

Sunday morning. The day of rest. The one day of the week when you can take things a bit easier. Don’t set the alarm. Take time to wake up. Enjoy a slower start. If only it worked like that here.

This is a big city, bustling with people all living in close proximity to one another and every day seems to start as soon as the sun rises over the horizon, bringing with it the first rays of light.

The call to prayer wakes me each morning between 5.30 and 6.00 a.m. This is not as early as in some places I have lived but I seem to be staying very close to a mosque so it is by far the loudest I have experienced. Fortunately this Imam is mercifully brief in his cry although once he has finished it is followed by the distant chorus of other Imams also calling their congregations to pray.

Within minutes Christian worship songs fill the air. A choir at a nearby church practised for several hours on Saturday afternoon but as I desperately try to cling to the last moments of sleepiness I cannot tell whether this is the choir singing or just a neighbour playing their favourite music.

The man-made sounds are replaced with birdsong. A beautiful and varied chorus which has the effect of relaxing me again and I start to fall back to sleep. And then the ibis joins in with its loud, shrill, monotonous call and I am wide awake once more.

The ibis - one of the noisiest birds I've ever heard.

My desire for sleep has been defeated by this auditory assault. Never has the saying ‘if you can’t beat them join them’ felt more applicable. Time to get up, make a cup of tea and start my day just like the rest of the inhabitants of this lively city.

Ebola

I returned to Uganda last Monday having spent five weeks in the UK. During those five weeks the world has finally woken up to the seriousness of the Ebola crisis affecting West Africa and the reality that contagious diseases are not held back by international borders.

Whilst the British media has a tendency to give more attention to the handful of cases in Europe and the USA than it gives to the thousands of cases in Africa this coverage does at least raise people’s level of awareness of the disease. Almost without exception everyone who heard that I am working in Uganda asked if it was safe and you could see that what many were really thinking was ‘am I going to get sick and die from talking to you?’. One person visibly recoiled at the very mention of Africa…

The reality is I am probably as safe from Ebola in Kampala as I was in Carlisle. Although I am slightly closer to the epicentre of the outbreak I am still over 3,000 miles away from the Liberian capital Monrovia.

Entebbe airport has been conducting health checks on all arriving passengers for several months now - something I experienced on Monday evening. As I arrived in the immigration hall a lady wearing a surgical mask and gloves was spraying disinfectant on everyone’s hands. Then we all had to complete a health declaration form. As well as our personal details there were questions about which countries you had visited in the last 21 days (the known incubation period for Ebola), whether you currently had any of the symptoms of the disease (headache, fever, vomiting, diarrhoea, uncontrolled bleeding, etc.) and whether you have had any contact with a person known to have contracted or died of Ebola within the last 21 days. All passengers then had to line up to be seen by a health worker (also wearing surgical mask and gloves) who checked the form and took your temperature before stamping your immigration form and allowing you to proceed to the visa counters.

There was a newly erected room in the corner of the immigration hall marked as the ‘Health Centre’, where presumably passengers were directed if they answered ‘Yes’ to any of the questions on the form or showed signs of a fever.

I am not sure how robust these checks are and although it is not possible to hide a raised body temperature you cannot stop people giving false answers on a form. Despite that I did feel somewhat reassured that the Ugandan authorities are trying hard to stop this outbreak of the disease from entering their country.

Wedding Day

Helen works in the Finance department and today she married Frank. This morning I heard that several of the team were going to the church service so, at the last minute, I decided to go too.

We were all to meet at the office at 12.00 noon in order to give ourselves time to get through the Kampala traffic to the church for the service, which was due to start at 1.00p.m. As with all good plans in Africa things didn't quite work out as originally intended - one person didn't arrive until nearly 12.30 p.m., the traffic was gridlocked in places and we realised we didn't know exactly where the church was. When we were in the general vicinity and after having gone round in a circle once we called someone to ask for directions. Modern technology is a wonderful thing and the person on the other end of the phone logged on to Google maps and directed us to where we needed to be.

It was gone one o'clock when we eventually arrived but we were still 'on time' as there was another wedding taking place inside the church and our bride was sitting patiently at the back along with her father and the bridesmaids. Apparently there are not many churches in the city that are licensed to perform the civil part of the marriage service and so it is not uncommon to have four or five weddings in a church on the same day. It did feel a little like a conveyor belt as one wedding finished and we were allowed to file into the church to take our places in preparation for Helen and Frank's ceremony.

It was a very simple service: very similar in format to a church wedding in the UK and with the same vows and commitments. The biggest difference was that each milestone in the service was greeted with enthusiastic clapping from the congregation and after the signing of the register we were all invited up to the front to greet the newly weds and to bring our monetary gifts. I don't know if this was a collection for the church or the happy couple but I went along with the crowd, as you so often do in these circumstances... The whole service was accompanied by music blasted from a PA system, which seemed to be entertaining a nearby kid's club. In the UK someone would have gone to ask them to turn the music down, whereas here no-one really seemed to notice...

The service lasted about an hour and at the end there were noticeably more people in the church then there had been at the beginning. I don't know if they were late-comers for this wedding or early arrivals for the next one - the next bride was already sitting waiting so it was probably a combination of both.

There was no shortage of photographers at the wedding. I counted at least five people who all had the air of being the 'official' photographer as they took pictures from every angle, not wanting to miss a moment of this special day. I managed to capture two shots before the battery on my camera died that will remind me of the day:

Frank and Helen.
Now husband and wife.

The bridesmaid's shoes.
Ugandan women love their shoes!

Refugees

This week we said goodbye to one of our colleagues who is leaving to move to the USA. 

When you work for international organisations and your colleagues come from all over the world these farewells are all to common. However, this relocation is a bit different as Fred and his family are moving as part of a UNHCR (UN High Commissioner for Refugees) resettlement programme.

In the late 1990's Fred, his wife and their young son had to leave their home in the Democratic Republic of Congo due to the on-going civil war in that country. Members of their immediate family had been killed and they feared for their own lives. They walked through the jungle and arrived in Uganda where they slept in the store room of a derelict school, stayed in a refugee camp and eventually ended up In Kampala.

They have built a life for themselves here. Fred has worked with MAF since 1998. They now have five children aged between 4 and 18. They have made friends and been part of the community here.

Some years ago they applied to the UNHCR for resettlement but heard nothing and then, two weeks ago and completely out-of-the-blue, they were told that they were being relocated to the USA. They have had about three weeks to close up their lives here and prepare for their new lives on the other side of the world.

They know they can never go back to DRC and this is a tremendous opportunity, particularly for the children. It is also a huge upheaval and a daunting prospect. Although they will be provided with somewhere to live, be guided through all aspects of life in America and get help finding work, when they board the plane in Entebbe this coming week their lives will never be the same again.

Harsh reality

A few nights ago I was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of a women screaming. It was a long terrifying scream: the sound of someone in fear for her life. Her screams went on for several minutes and with each passing second I felt her pain, her distress, her fear and my own helplessness to do anything about it, except to pray. I knew that as a 'mzungu' (white person) to get involved would not only put me in danger but also potentially increase her suffering.

The screams were then replaced by shouting: the angry shouting of other women and men. Ugandans are not afraid to get involved when they think a crime has been committed. If a bag is snatched in the street then passers-by will give chase to the perpetrator. If two vehicles collide then a crowd will quickly gather and everyone will have an opinion about who was at fault. My guess is that on hearing the screaming the neighbours did what I did not and got up out of bed and went to her rescue.

As part of my work this week I came across some statistics about gender-based violence in Ugandan and sadly it is all too common. One report suggested that 40% of women experienced violence and abuse at the hands of their partner on a regular basis and another said that 60% of women would experience such violence at some point. That means that out of every five Ugandan women I meet three of them will have been through an experience as terrifying to them as my neighbour went through this week.

Those screams brought home to me the harsh reality of life for many Ugandan women in a way that statistics never can.

Meetings

Part of the work I am doing in Uganda requires me to meet with people from different organisations. Arranging and attending these meetings has its own unique set of challenges so I'm sharing my experiences in this handy 8-point guide in case you ever find yourself in a similar position.

1) Expect it to take several days to actually make contact with the person you want to meet:

a. Your initial e-mail will go unanswered

b. The telephone number you have been given will be incorrect and will only enable you to talk to a random Ugandan man. He will now think that you are his friend and will send you a text message asking you to call him back...

c. When you eventually get the right number you will need to call multiple times before it is answered

d. You will get cut off several times mid-conversation before you find the exact spot in the office car park where you have to stand in order to get a consistent mobile signal

e. After explaining why you are calling you will be told that you need to speak to someone else (now repeat steps b. - d).

2) Ensure you have nothing else planned for that day. The idea of arranging a meeting several days in advance is largely an alien concept to a Ugandan and once you are sure you are speaking to the right person they will inevitably suggest that you meet the same day.

3) Establish that they are currently at their office in Kampala. If they say they are out of town but will be back later do not agree to meet them that day. They genuinely have every intention of getting back to meet you but inevitably they will not make it.

4) Allow plenty of time to get to the meeting. The traffic will be terrible and despite being told that 'you cannot miss' their office you will get lost.

5) Even if you are late you will still have to wait for the person you have come to see but this will give you the opportunity to chat to the other people in the reception area

6) You may think you are just meeting with one person but there could be two or three other people present. Don't be surprised if during the meeting another few people wander in and sit down. You will never know who these people are and they will not say anything until you get up to leave when they will shake you warmly by the hand and thank you for coming

7) This is your best opportunity to communicate so make the most of it. Make sure you get all the information you need before the meeting ends as making contact after the meeting will also be a challenge.

8) If the meeting isn't as successful or fruitful as you had hoped you can still feel a huge sense of achievement that it took place at all...

Sounds of the city

In the UK I live in a small village where the predominant sounds come from birds and sheep, occasionally interspersed with tractors and the neighbour's lawn mower.

In Uganda I am living in the capital city with all its accompanying sounds:

• The dawn chorus - the cockerels crowing, the stray dogs barking, the call to prayer from the local mosque

• The traffic - the revving of engines, the grinding of gears, the hooting of horns

• The neighbours - the random ring tones, the loud talking, the hammering and sawing as they seek to maintain and improve their homes

• The public address systems - the Friday lunchtime preaching from the mosque, the Sunday morning singing from the church, the indecipherable promotion from the back of a pick-up truck

• The nightlife - the music from the nearby bar, the shouting of people out having a good time, the scuttling and scurrying of animals in the ceiling above my bed.

When I wake up in the middle of the night it often takes a moment to realise that it is quiet - no traffic, no one talking, no other sounds of life being lived in the city. For a short time the world is silent. I turn over and go back to sleep knowing that in just a few hours the cockerel will crow and the sounds of the city will return for another day.

Three random things...

...I had forgotten about Uganda:

1. You have to greet everyone (even if they are a total stranger you are walking past in the street but you happen to catch their eye) with: "Hello. How are you today?"

2. If you buy yoghurt the person packing your shopping at the till will give you a straw (even if you are buying thick yoghurt that won't go through a straw).

3. Ugandans like to eat a lot of carbohydrates. To a Ugandan a meal is not complete without the staple food of 'matoke', which is a starchy banana that is steamed and then mashed. However, it is not uncommon to also have 'posho', which is a maize flour porridge also popular in Kenya and Tanzania, as well as rice, potatoes and maybe even a chapati.

And, by way of contrast, in Chad:

1. All the greetings are in French.

2. Yoghurt is hardly ever available to buy and when it is it's ridiculously expensive.

3. Chadians like to eat camel meat...

Ch..ch..ch..changes (or maybe not)

It has been three years since I was last in Kampala working with MAF and as I returned this week I wondered what changes I would find. On my first morning I walked the short distance from the house where I am staying to the MAF office and while it didn't quite feel like 'coming home' it did all seem very familiar.

As I walked along the side of the road (no pavements here) I had to watch out for on-coming boda-boda (the local motorcycle taxis) as they weaved around the road trying to avoid the pot holes and speed bumps. It would probably be safer for me to walk on the other side of the road but getting across the non-stop traffic seemed like it would be more dangerous!

I was pleased to see that Coffee at Last - the local coffee shop and cafe - is still in business. It's a great place to get coffee or something to eat. I'll obviously need to check that they still sell their delicious brownies...

The American Recreation Association - a popular place with ex-pats where you can play tennis, swim, go to the gym, get a drink or a meal or enjoy one of their regular social events - has changed hands and is now the Makindye Country Club. The entrance has had a colourful makeover and now that it is no longer affiliated to the US Embassy the large concrete slabs that were placed in front of the building for increased security have disappeared. From the outside it looks like a friendlier, more welcoming place.

The boda-boda riders still wait at their usual spot, hoping someone will come by who is looking for a ride. As a mzungu (white person) you can't walk by without at least one of them calling out to you 'Madam, you want to go somewhere?'.

The collection of little shops that are on both sides of the road look pretty much the same. As before I wonder how they manage to make a living as they compete for customers to buy their eclectic collection of goods - essential groceries like bread, Nido milk powder, Blue Band margarine, Omo washing powder, sodas, phone credit, bananas, tomatoes, onions.

It's good to see that the 'Jesus is the Alpha and Omega Delicious Chapatis' stall is still in the same place, making and selling their wares from their small white and blue painted stand.

The abandoned and partially derelict petrol station on the corner looks largely unchanged from three years ago and there has been no progress on the building site behind it. The concrete shell still stands as a reminder to someone's dream before they had to give up the project for reasons unknown but probably due to a lack of money or the right permissions.

And then I arrive at the office where there are many familiar faces and also some new ones who have joined the team as it has grown and changed over the last three years.

As I start work I experience a real sense of deja vu as I am again working on improving access to the remote communities who live on the many islands in Lake Victoria. They are some of the poorest and most under-served people in Uganda with very limited access to healthcare, clean water, sanitation and education. Rather than building airstrips on the islands (something, that despite my efforts three years ago to get all the required permissions, just proved too complex) we are now looking at the possibilities of introducing an amphibian aircraft to the fleet. Landing on water gives the potential to reach many more villages more quickly than traditional airstrips and also opens up access to other bodies of water in the region.

It's a project that is not going to be without challenges but it is good to be back.

Time in Tunisia

I've just returned from a two-week holiday in Tunisia. It was my first visit to a country that I'd describe as Greece meeting the Arabic world, with a bit of French thrown in for good measure!

It was a lovely relaxing time, mostly spent on the beach enjoying the warm Mediterranean sea or reading and sleeping in the sun. We did take a coach tour; travelling over 1,000 km in two-days. It wouldn't normally be my first choice of how to travel but it was a great way to learn a bit about the history and geography of the country from a very knowledgeable local guide who seemed to speak multiple languages (Arabic, French, English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian) with ease!

We went to El Jem, the 3rd largest remaining Roman Coliseum in the world and also where scenes from the movie 'Gladiator' were filmed.

We drove through the harsh mountainous landscape, where scenes from 'Star Wars' were filmed.

We visited the home of a Berber family, carved out of the mountainside. Although many families have relocated to more conventional homes in towns or villages about 600 families still live in these cave homes, which remain cool during the daytime and provide warmth at night.

The first day ended with a camel ride in the Sahara Desert to watch the sun set.

The second day started at 5.00 a.m. with a sunrise drive across a huge salt lake.

We visited a desert date palm oasis before travelling on to the edge of the Atlas Mountains to see a mountain oasis fed by water springing up from underground and bringing life to an incredibly hot and dry place.

The tour ended with a visit to Kairouan; the fourth most holy city in the Muslim world, with a mosque dating back to the 7th century.

And then it was back to the beach.

I really should do this holiday thing more often...

Different Worlds

I have just returned from another short assignment in Tanzania, working again with the Finance Team of the German-funded development project.

Despite the number of times I have done it I am still amazed at how quickly modern air travel enables us to move between different worlds. On Friday morning I woke up in a remote region of southern Tanzania to the sounds of the cockerel crowing and the mullah's early morning call to prayer. Within a few hours I was at the nearby airstrip waiting for the MAF plane that was to take me on the first leg of my journey.

After a two hour flight in the small 12-seater light aircraft (a journey that would have taken at least 12 hours by road) we landed in Dar Es Salaam, where the warm sunny weather of the south had been replaced by the heat and humidity of this busy coastal city. Two hours after arriving in Dar I was boarding a Boeing 777, with 200+ other people and heading for Dubai.

For me Dubai Airport epitomizes opulence and excess with its modern architecture and endless shops. It is all designed to lure us into buying things we could easily live without  and as I walked through the airport to catch my next flight I wondered what the folk I have left behind in Tanzania would make of it all. I think it is a world they could barely imagine.

Seven hours later I arrived in Newcastle, where it was dull and drizzly and for the first time in nearly three weeks I needed to wear several layers of clothing to keep warm. In less than 24 hours I had been in three continents and encountered fellow travellers from many countries. Even after only a short time away, and despite its familiarity, it still takes a while to adjust to being home: to get used to living in this very different world.

Back to School

One evening last week as I was walking back from the office I stopped to talk to a man who was walking in the opposite direction (it is very important here that you stop and greet people as you meet them - shaking them by the hand and asking them how they are). He spoke very good English and I quickly found out that he is one of the English teachers at the secondary school here.

A few days later I met him again and he asked me if I would be willing to come and talk to some of his students. He was keen for them to hear English spoken ‘properly’ by someone for whom it is their mother-tongue. I agreed to help out and we arranged that I would go to the school on Monday morning.

I arrived just as they were starting their week. All the pupils were gathered around the flag pole, standing in neat blocks and rows according to which year and form they are in. They were lead through a short piece of ‘drill’ by one of the older boys, which involved standing to attention, being at ease and doing some about-turns. Then three boys marched forward to the flag pole and as they reached their designated places some of the girls started the singing of the National Anthem of Tanzania, accompanied by some very determined drumming. As the singing continued the Tanzanian flag was raised and everyone then started singing the school song. Once this ceremony was completed the Head Master stepped forward and greeted the students and encouraged them to work hard in their studies this week.

The students were then sent off to their lessons and I was taken to one of the classrooms to meet my class. There were about 40 pupils, sitting in rows of desks facing the blackboard, and they all stood up and said ‘Good Morning Madam’ as I entered the room. Prior to meeting them I really wasn’t sure what their level of English would be. For most of them it is their third language after their local language and the national language of Kiswahili and although all secondary education in Tanzania is conducted in English in reality they have little opportunity to practice it and hear it outside of the classroom.

I told them a little bit about myself – where I come from and why I am in Tanzania – and we played a short game in which I gave them some simple instructions to follow. I also wanted to try and encourage them to speak English and so I asked them if they had any questions they wanted to ask me. After a hesitant start the questions came thick and fast (each one prefaced very politely with ‘Yes Madam. I have a question for you’):

What sort of lifestyle do people in Britain lead?

How many chairs do I have in my house?

What is the weather like in Britain?

Are there any Muslims in Britain?

Do people shop in markets or supermarkets?

How do you elect your leaders?

Is their political instability in your country?

Do tourists come to Britain and what do they come to see?

How does the education system compare to Tanzania?

How can I become a British citizen?

Is the cost of living more expensive than in Tanzania?

As in any class some of the children were more vocal and confident than others and some just sat looking totally bewildered. I think they could have gone on asking questions all morning if the teacher hadn’t intervened and pointed out that the first lesson of the day was due to end.

I don’t think my short time with them will have dramatically transformed their understanding of spoken English but maybe it encouraged some of them in their studies and gave them a new enthusiasm for the language. I guess I’ll never know…

Meal Times

I am often asked what I eat when I am in Africa. The answer to that depends on where I am living and whether I am cooking for myself.

In most of the capital cities I have lived in there is sufficient variety in the shops that you can almost eat like you do at home, provided you are prepared to pay the sometimes exorbitant prices for some of the imported goods (and mostly I’m not!). There are always things you can’t get but with some adaptation you can eat pretty well.

When I am living in a situation where someone else prepares the meals then my diet is usually a lot more limited. I am is such a situation at the moment and what the food lacks in imagination it makes up for in quantity.

Breakfast is bread, which is freshly baked and served occasionally with eggs but mostly with jam. Flavours of jam on offer have included apricot, mango, strawberry and banana.

Lunch and the evening meal are always a variation on three main ingredients: 

• a carbohydrate of either rice, spaghetti or potatoes (usually boiled but occasionally there have been chips),
• meat, which is either beef, chicken, goat or fish and it is either boiled, stewed fried or minced, and
• a vegetable, which is either beans (think baked beans but without the tomato sauce) or an unidentifiable green vegetable (that was probably originally some sort of leaf), which has been boiled to a pulp but somehow still seems to have bits of grit in it…

Occasionally there is a banana for dessert but only when the person responsible remembers to go to the market.

Although it cannot be described as the most varied diet I have ever had it is generally quite tasty and I am grateful that someone else is doing all the hard work for me. The only place to buy anything in the surrounding area is in the village market and if I had to shop and cook for myself then I think I would be living on a diet of tomatoes, onions and bananas.

Sunday Morning

I asked what time church started on Sunday and with a shrug of the shoulders I was told that I would know when it was starting because I would hear it. First of all I heard the church bell being chimed and as I looked out of my window I could see small groups of people starting to make their way towards the church. Then the singing began and so, not wanting to be late, I headed off to join the service. I need not have worried as the large church was practically empty.

As the choir continued to sing and dance at the front of the church more and more people arrived. The youngest children sat in the front pews, dressed in their smartest clothes and behind them sat the older children from the school and the adults. Four different choirs came up to the stage, one after the other, to sing the songs they had been practising all week. The choirs had between 5 and 10 members each and as they sang they also danced and the congregation joined in.

These songs were interspersed with Bible readings and prayers and with different people coming to the front to speak. Wherever in the world you go to church there is always a collection and in this church that involves people walking up the aisle to a table at the front and placing their offering in a plastic bowl that is covered by a piece of material. This was followed by the sermon and, like the rest of the service, it was in Swahili so I have no idea what was said…

The service had lasted for nearly three hours and after a final prayer, and accompanied by one of the choirs singing a final song, the leader of the service and the preacher got up to walk to the main door of the church. Several of the adults sitting around me got up from their seats and beckoned for me to follow them. As we got to the door we shook hands with the leader and preacher and then before I knew what was happening I found myself as part of a growing line of people shaking hands with everyone as they left the church – it was a lot of hands to shake!

One of the choirs

The congregation

A Sad Day

Last Monday morning we woke up to the news that there had been a death in the community. We were first told it was the wife of one of the members of the church choir and then later in the day it emerged that she was also a nurse at the hospital. She was 37 years old and although she had previously been unwell she had recovered and was back at work. She worked a normal shift on Sunday and then died suddenly during the night. No one I spoke to seemed to know the exact cause of death.

At 2.00 p.m. on Monday afternoon people gathered in the church for a memorial service before the body was taken to her home village for burial. Many people, young and old, came for the service. Inevitably it started late and there was a time of hymn singing and prayers before the family arrived. I recognised the husband from the previous day’s church service as he walked in with his three small children the oldest of whom is probably about 10 years old. The coffin (which had been made that morning) was then carried into the church and placed on a table at the front and covered in a white cloth.

There were more hymns and prayers, a bible reading and a short-sermon before people were invited to file past the coffin to pay their respects. The women had all come with a ‘kanga’ (a typical East-African piece of material) draped around their shoulders, which I figured was a sign of respect and mourning, as they do not normally dress like that. Some were overcome with grief and used the kanga to cover their heads as they cried and wailed.

As the coffin was carried out of the church one of the ladies began singing a mournful song, which the other ladies echoed. They continued singing as everyone filed out of the church and stood quietly and respectfully outside as the coffin was lifted into one vehicle with the close family and the mourners who were going for the burial got into a second vehicle. As we stood there a light rain started to fall, which somehow seemed appropriate given the mood of the community. Once the vehicles had driven away the singing came to an end and people drifted away to go about their ‘normal’ daily tasks. 

I have blogged before about the fragility of life in Africa and this was another stark reminder of how death is such a part of life on this continent and of how one family’s life can be changed forever in a moment.

The First Week

Since leaving the UK for Tanzania there has been a whirlwind of activity and adjustments as I have got used to living and working in this unique community. It is good to be back in East Africa again and I am enjoying a beautiful part of the continent and being involved in a grassroots project that is really impacting people’s lives.

I am in the far south of Tanzania in a very remote and consequently very poor region. The improvements to the road infrastructure that have been made in the more populated areas of the country have not happened here and a journey of less than 100km can take over 4 hours by road. The people are therefore quite ‘cut off’ but this project is providing services and training that would otherwise not be available to them.

The main activity is a secondary school with about 800 pupils (exact numbers seem hard to come by…). There is also a 100 bed hospital, which serves the local community and people come from all over the region to receive treatment. There is a nursing school, which is currently training about 100 students and there is a vocational training school providing training to about 250 students in tailoring, carpentry, metal work, welding (I’m not sure how that differs from metal work) or car mechanics. All of the students and most of the staff live on-site and so all the infrastructure to support a community (electricity, water, food, accommodation, etc.) is also present. 

Here are some photos to give a bit of a flavour of my first week here: 

The team I came out with - two South Africans, five Germans and me!

Flying over the local area

Dr Matamora - the Director of the project

The new Finance Office - constructed out of 3 shipping containers...

...but still a work in progress

Training with the Finance Department

Food being prepared for all the students

New Year: New Assignment. Next Stop Tanzania

It's been nearly two months since I left Chad and the time has come for me to head off on my travels again. On Wednesday of this week I leave for Tanzania, initially just for 3 weeks but with the possibility of returning for a longer period of time later in the year.

I had several possible assignments to choose from but this one appealed to me the most. I was approached by a former MAF pilot, who is now working for a German organisation (Wort und Tat or Word and Deed), who support a number of community-based projects in different parts of the world. One of these projects is in the Tunduru District in southern Tanzania, where they run a health clinic and a secondary school and work to improve agriculture and increase access to safe drinking water for the local community. You can read more about their work here.

I have been asked to help with the financial aspects of this project: to work with the local staff in building a budget and ensuring their systems for recording income and expenditure are robust. Although I am not an accountant I have been involved in managing and overseeing finances in a number of my previous assignments in Africa. I hope this is sufficient experience to be able to make a positive impact...

I am looking forward to returning to Tanzania (I worked there for about 3 months in 2009) and to being a bit more involved at the 'grass-roots' level of a community development project. Despite being in a fairly remote part of Africa I am told that there is access to the internet. I hope it will be good enough to enable me to update this blog over the course of the next few weeks, so watch this space!