11 November - Valentine

Adrian has been in college today. He’s made a few new friends and this afternoon was left invigilating 100 students in an English exam. I went off to nursery as usual, and, as usual, the children were practising for the graduation ceremony.

Half way through the morning, a man brought in a tortoise for the children to see. I thought at first it was a bit gruesome, as I thought he’d brought a headless tortoise, and then I realised that its head was in its shell. I felt stupid. Fortunately, I hadn’t admitted to this in swahili and Angela’s English isn’t that good yet. Valentine was entertaining us all as usual, girating his hips and trying very hard to keep in time. I don’t know what the words to the song mean, but I wonder if they’re rude because if Deonicia could blush, I’d swear she was blushing today. Valentine’s girating hips (he’s three years old) led me to ask Angela if she was a fan of Elvis. She didn’t know what I was talking about. I tried to explain, mentioned Jailhouse Rock, but still her face was smiling, but blank. I’ll sing one of his better known songs to her tomorrow.

We needed an umbrella today. It rained nearly all day. I regretted leaving Elizabeth’s (Holdsworth) umbrella behind as it’s far too warm for cagoules, but the rain is heavy and it drenches you in seconds. I know we’ve said previously that this is quite a comfortable district, but that doesn’t mean that all the children at this nursery are from comfortable homes. Sister Tadea had explained that some parents pay their fees ‘in kind’ by doing odd jobs around the church and the school. I’ve decided it is a very worthwhile project and when I hear Sr Tadea talk of parental commitment to building a Montessori primary school with their own cement and their own hands, I feel quite humble.

The Sisters also run a dispensary – a common African term for a social welfare service – feeding children, elderly and the sick, arranging for nurses to visit the homes of the sick and housebound, and dispensing medicines to those in greatest need. They spend about Tsh500,000 a week (about £220) on food, wages and equipment, but could spend much, much more than that if they had it.

It rained all afternoon and most of the evening. We went for fish curry in town and sat in the darkness of a power cut wondering if food would arrive. It did, surprisingly quickly. We walked home down unlit, busy streets, avoiding pot holes filled with muddy water where we could, and playing Russian roulette with the motorcyclists who tooted assuming that we would leap into the gutter rather than cause them to veer from their chosen course. We stood our ground and are here to tell the tale.

When we got home I got stuck in to once-melted chocolate, NICE biscuits and tea, read Time magazine and got ready for bed.