28 October - at the tailors

We are fast becoming a feature of the small district of Mtwara where we live – Bema. Bema is the crossroads of two small shopping streets, predominantly Indian owned. The more substantial buildings date back to the 1950s, when Mtwara was being developed by the British as a ground-nut export base with a deep water port. Today’s mission included the hairdresser, tailor, more household items for washing clothes and water. At least two of the shop-owners smile and say “habari”. I’m sure they wonder what on earth we could be doing with all these cheap plastic household goods. Our kitchen is beginning to resemble a Betaware catalogue.

We were looking for tailors. We walked past three. We could tell they were tailors because they were sitting on the pavement at their sewing machines. Francis asked for patience. He wanted to take us to a good one. When we got there, he was indeed a good tailor. His pavement had the advantage of shade. We waited while he sewed a loop in a pair of bedroom curtains and hemmed a pair of my trousers. Francis started discussing prices and the tailor’s face fell. I asked for translation. Francis told me that the tailor wanted 2000 shillings and he was trying to get him to accept 1000 shillings. I paid the tailor 3000 shillings (£1.25) and explained to Francis that we might need a good tailor again and that it was worth paying an inflated price. Francis sighed and said, “You are right.”

Later we went on our first tour around College. I met the other (!) English tutor, a warm lady called Lucia who explained to me in very simple terms the Tanzanian education system and how the College functioned. She explained that the academic tutor would need to assign me first an office and then some classes – this order of proceedings seemed important.

At 2.00pm the College has finished for the day, students are sitting in the shade of large trees, eating ugali ( a bit like polenta) cooked in the cavernous kitchen at the back of the main hall and some tutors are standing chatting. The classrooms and the library are empty. The place has the feel of a run-down high school in the UK rather than a college and I begin to feel nervous about my ability to make a contribution. Mama Ngonyani (Lucia) assuages all concerns by reminding me that I first must have an office and that she will call for me shortly before 7.30am so that I can sign the attendance register in good time. In time for what, she did not say.

Later, before sundown, we sat on the terrace of the Southern Cross hotel, drinking cold beer and nibbling cashews; we watched the dhous tacking their way back to port for the evening fish market and thought ourselves very lucky indeed. This might become a place of respite. We both feel that we’ve taken a lot on.