Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Volcanoes, markets and blue paint...
Just a brief update before heading off on safari early tomorrow morning.
As usual, I've had another very full and busy week. It was lovely to get Amy back after her week away with her parents. As it was her birthday last week, I baked her a banana cake which was presented to her after a meal out with the whole group.
Two main highlights this week: our daytrip on Thursday and work on the classrooms.
Mr Mashoto, our neighbour, began his teaching career in a Maasai school in the middle of nowhere. As he returns frequently, I asked if we might be able to come along too at some point. He and his friend (I feel dreadful, I can't remember his name, and he was so lovely!) organised a full day out for us, including a welcoming ceremony and tribal dance BUT we never got to the school...
We went by several Dalla Dallas, effectively travelling to the other side of Mount Meru. Part one of our day-trip was stopping at the foot of a hill with no explanation. "Today we climb" - ok then! Although it was not very tall, it turned out to be a dormant volcano called Kilimamoto. We puffed our way up and were greeted by the most enormous crater, which we scampered round. Mashoto looked liked a mountain goat, bizarrely dressed in his smart work clothes!
The plan was to wait at the bottom of the road for the next Dalla Dalla to take us to the Maasai village. We waited...and waited...and waited... After two hours, somebody came past and told us what was going on: law cannot extend into the rural parts of Africa, and so consequently no notice is taken of regulations. Dalla Dalla owners keep their vehicles on the road far beyond the point that is safe, and realised that they could charge whatever they wanted. Not so. Enraged Maasai would pull out their knives and sticks in objection to the extortionate fare, and when that didn't work, they came up with a new solution - a road block! Between us and the village, every Dalla Dalla was being stopped and passengers demanded to get off and say how much they had paid. If it was too much, they would have to wait by the side of the road until some kind soul offered them a lift, or walk all the way back to Ngaramtony (the nearest town). We had no choice but to do the same. I felt so sorry for the kids who'd prepared an elaborate welcome for us - perhaps we'll be able to go back.
The walk back to Ngaramtony was 5km on a dusty, rubbly road under construction in the blazing sun. Thankfully I had my 'lighter-than-air' walking boots that sped me on my way. Thursdays are market days, and so we were treated to be able to walk through the town that was entirely given over to people selling their goods. It was fantastic. There were sacks of grain, flower, tea leaves next to blankets with carrots piled in towers, next to a heap of pastic flip flops (the standard African footwear) and kangas (fabric ready sized to make clothing). As you walked through the little streets, you passed through smell after smell (tea leaves, spices, etc). It was well worth the walk! We got a legitimate Dalla Dalla home and went to our local bar for a thank you drink. A very memorable day.
We finished painting the outside of the classrooms yesterday (consequently I am drenched in paint that will only come off with kerosene!). It took roughly a day and a half to paint 3 walls 3/4 of the way up, as requested. Mr Mkosi was pretty insistent that it should be plain light blue, and as it is his school, we relinquished our grand artistic plans. It does, however, look very attractive and smart, so a good job done, methinks.
Right, must dash - internet time, you know! Next time I'll write, no doubt I will have tales of being ravished by lions or chased by cheetahs!
Lxxx
As usual, I've had another very full and busy week. It was lovely to get Amy back after her week away with her parents. As it was her birthday last week, I baked her a banana cake which was presented to her after a meal out with the whole group.
Two main highlights this week: our daytrip on Thursday and work on the classrooms.
Mr Mashoto, our neighbour, began his teaching career in a Maasai school in the middle of nowhere. As he returns frequently, I asked if we might be able to come along too at some point. He and his friend (I feel dreadful, I can't remember his name, and he was so lovely!) organised a full day out for us, including a welcoming ceremony and tribal dance BUT we never got to the school...
We went by several Dalla Dallas, effectively travelling to the other side of Mount Meru. Part one of our day-trip was stopping at the foot of a hill with no explanation. "Today we climb" - ok then! Although it was not very tall, it turned out to be a dormant volcano called Kilimamoto. We puffed our way up and were greeted by the most enormous crater, which we scampered round. Mashoto looked liked a mountain goat, bizarrely dressed in his smart work clothes!
The plan was to wait at the bottom of the road for the next Dalla Dalla to take us to the Maasai village. We waited...and waited...and waited... After two hours, somebody came past and told us what was going on: law cannot extend into the rural parts of Africa, and so consequently no notice is taken of regulations. Dalla Dalla owners keep their vehicles on the road far beyond the point that is safe, and realised that they could charge whatever they wanted. Not so. Enraged Maasai would pull out their knives and sticks in objection to the extortionate fare, and when that didn't work, they came up with a new solution - a road block! Between us and the village, every Dalla Dalla was being stopped and passengers demanded to get off and say how much they had paid. If it was too much, they would have to wait by the side of the road until some kind soul offered them a lift, or walk all the way back to Ngaramtony (the nearest town). We had no choice but to do the same. I felt so sorry for the kids who'd prepared an elaborate welcome for us - perhaps we'll be able to go back.
The walk back to Ngaramtony was 5km on a dusty, rubbly road under construction in the blazing sun. Thankfully I had my 'lighter-than-air' walking boots that sped me on my way. Thursdays are market days, and so we were treated to be able to walk through the town that was entirely given over to people selling their goods. It was fantastic. There were sacks of grain, flower, tea leaves next to blankets with carrots piled in towers, next to a heap of pastic flip flops (the standard African footwear) and kangas (fabric ready sized to make clothing). As you walked through the little streets, you passed through smell after smell (tea leaves, spices, etc). It was well worth the walk! We got a legitimate Dalla Dalla home and went to our local bar for a thank you drink. A very memorable day.
We finished painting the outside of the classrooms yesterday (consequently I am drenched in paint that will only come off with kerosene!). It took roughly a day and a half to paint 3 walls 3/4 of the way up, as requested. Mr Mkosi was pretty insistent that it should be plain light blue, and as it is his school, we relinquished our grand artistic plans. It does, however, look very attractive and smart, so a good job done, methinks.
Right, must dash - internet time, you know! Next time I'll write, no doubt I will have tales of being ravished by lions or chased by cheetahs!
Lxxx
Saturday, 28 March 2009
some videos
I am writing this from the home of some friends of a friend outside Arusha> Lucy and George must be the most lovely couple in all of Eastern Africa - we have been told to make ourselves at home pool-side and sat down to a huge lunch with...chocolate and raspberry gateau, heaven.
So I am making the most of their fast internet connection now that the electricity has come back on to post some of the numerous videos I have.
Enjoy! Lxxx
So I am making the most of their fast internet connection now that the electricity has come back on to post some of the numerous videos I have.
Enjoy! Lxxx
Friday, 27 March 2009
Musings...
I am attempting to write a series of short essays/articles about certain things that have got me thinking. I may send a few to the Arusha Times (who are keen to publish articles from volunteers) and maybe the local press might be interested to see the thoughts of a Kirkby girl.
Any, here is the first. Enjoy!
Kids are kids
I have the privilege of teaching 70 10-14 year olds in a Tanzanian Primary school for three months. Two months through and I feel as if I am just beginning to understand life here – as much as you ever can.
Carefully, I approached my time in Sekei with few expectations. As a white middle-class Western girl I have been part of the masses swept up by the preconception that every African child walks 3 miles to a mud hut school in rags and has only a few grains of rice to nibble on humbly. I am sure this is true of some places, but I could not imagine that this was true of an entire continent.
Our introduction to the pupils of Sekei Primary was gloriously stereotypical: hundreds of smiling, open faces cheering and clapping and clinging to our arms. A touch of the “oh, thank heavens you white people have come…”
Teaching begins and we soon learn that this is a practiced show to welcome the steady stream of eager ‘mzungus’ (white travelers). Our golden days soon wear off and we see the far more preferable everyday running of school-time lives, to which we are amusing accessories for a long while.
There are pupils in my class who have lost a parent, who have HIV, whose clothes are tattered, who wake up at 5.30 to clean the house before walking 2 kilometers to get to school. So far so very ‘charity campaign’. But these are the selfsame children who pass notes in class, snigger at biological diagrams, play the clown spurred on by their friends, and ask us to give them ‘biscuitees’ or the older ones rudely demand money. It does not seem too dissimilar to my comfortable, well equipped school days.
This leads me to consider if there are prescribed roles in society that are merely played by different actors. If I went to the Himalayas or the heart of New York, would I see the same?
I think the well-excercised ‘nature versus nurture’ debate comes into this. It appears to me from the little time I have spent in an African culture that ‘kids are kids’ wherever you are. There are, however, subtle differences that are shaped by nurture. These children do not know what a Playstation is, but tell them and they will want one. Ask them who their hero is and they will say “Rinaldo”. Their footballs are made from rags and string and their toys are cars made from plastic bottles. Do not get me wrong though, there are many households that can afford televisions and poor-quality DVDs, even if they do sit in a two roomed house. Parents in a profession can save to pay for school fees and some luxuries.
I asked the cheeky-chappy class joker, Daniel, whether money can make you happy. “yes” he says without a moment’s hesitation. “Really?” I challenge, expecting him to be thinking of the material gain, but he stops me in my tracks and restores my faith in human goodness. “No. When I go to America I will make lots of money and give it to people in Tanzania who have no mother or father. I will make a house for them and give the rest to the church.” How many children themselves in America (or indeed Britain) would say that they would spend their wealth on building an orphanage? Precious few, I would wager.
So what conclusions can I draw? I feel that there are characteristics that come to fluition in any form of society, but that there are small but significant differences in the expression of these formulae; one child might play on a Nintendo Wii, one child might draw a hopscotch in the dust. Once child might want to become rich to get a nice house and sports car, another might want to spend his money for the good of an impoverished society.
I have many happy, enthusiastic, warm-hearted children under my wing, but lurking among them is the little oick who stole an iPod from us! Kids are, fundamentally, kids, wherever you are.
Any, here is the first. Enjoy!
Kids are kids
I have the privilege of teaching 70 10-14 year olds in a Tanzanian Primary school for three months. Two months through and I feel as if I am just beginning to understand life here – as much as you ever can.
Carefully, I approached my time in Sekei with few expectations. As a white middle-class Western girl I have been part of the masses swept up by the preconception that every African child walks 3 miles to a mud hut school in rags and has only a few grains of rice to nibble on humbly. I am sure this is true of some places, but I could not imagine that this was true of an entire continent.
Our introduction to the pupils of Sekei Primary was gloriously stereotypical: hundreds of smiling, open faces cheering and clapping and clinging to our arms. A touch of the “oh, thank heavens you white people have come…”
Teaching begins and we soon learn that this is a practiced show to welcome the steady stream of eager ‘mzungus’ (white travelers). Our golden days soon wear off and we see the far more preferable everyday running of school-time lives, to which we are amusing accessories for a long while.
There are pupils in my class who have lost a parent, who have HIV, whose clothes are tattered, who wake up at 5.30 to clean the house before walking 2 kilometers to get to school. So far so very ‘charity campaign’. But these are the selfsame children who pass notes in class, snigger at biological diagrams, play the clown spurred on by their friends, and ask us to give them ‘biscuitees’ or the older ones rudely demand money. It does not seem too dissimilar to my comfortable, well equipped school days.
This leads me to consider if there are prescribed roles in society that are merely played by different actors. If I went to the Himalayas or the heart of New York, would I see the same?
I think the well-excercised ‘nature versus nurture’ debate comes into this. It appears to me from the little time I have spent in an African culture that ‘kids are kids’ wherever you are. There are, however, subtle differences that are shaped by nurture. These children do not know what a Playstation is, but tell them and they will want one. Ask them who their hero is and they will say “Rinaldo”. Their footballs are made from rags and string and their toys are cars made from plastic bottles. Do not get me wrong though, there are many households that can afford televisions and poor-quality DVDs, even if they do sit in a two roomed house. Parents in a profession can save to pay for school fees and some luxuries.
I asked the cheeky-chappy class joker, Daniel, whether money can make you happy. “yes” he says without a moment’s hesitation. “Really?” I challenge, expecting him to be thinking of the material gain, but he stops me in my tracks and restores my faith in human goodness. “No. When I go to America I will make lots of money and give it to people in Tanzania who have no mother or father. I will make a house for them and give the rest to the church.” How many children themselves in America (or indeed Britain) would say that they would spend their wealth on building an orphanage? Precious few, I would wager.
So what conclusions can I draw? I feel that there are characteristics that come to fluition in any form of society, but that there are small but significant differences in the expression of these formulae; one child might play on a Nintendo Wii, one child might draw a hopscotch in the dust. Once child might want to become rich to get a nice house and sports car, another might want to spend his money for the good of an impoverished society.
I have many happy, enthusiastic, warm-hearted children under my wing, but lurking among them is the little oick who stole an iPod from us! Kids are, fundamentally, kids, wherever you are.
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