10 January - Home at last!

In the end, we flew down from Dar to Mtwara. All the garish tales of buses breaking down and impassable roads were irrelevant, as we waited, early Saturday morning, with half a dozen other wazungo in the domestic departures lounge. We arrived an hour later in the middle of a torrential downpour, called in at the shops on the way home and by ten o’clock our neighbours were popping round to see photos and listen to our stories from Zanzibar.

At first, it was almost an anti-climax, the journey on the bus had become so lurid in our minds; but we slipped smoothly into the Mtwara pace of life and our comfortable routine once again - a comfortable routine, that is, of no water, save the stuff that had been sitting in dustbins for four weeks, and no electricity. We really did not mind. It felt reassuring to be in our own rat-free home, washing floors, sorting out laundry and chatting with neighbours.

This morning has been a hectic start to the week. First of all, having seen the photos of the Bursar’s wedding, we then went to the bank with my first cheque. He had not explained to me previously that I could present a cheque at the bank for cash without having a bank account. I was too polite to ask why it had taken three months for this option to be presented to me. Still, the queues at the bank were serpentine, so we decided to abort and return later. Imagine the scenes in Europe if customers had to queue for up to two hours to pay in or take out their own money.

Next, to the house. Francis was on fire this morning. We had given him some marshmallows from Pontefract as a New Years gift and after we had explained that they are sweets he became animated and tackled the deputy bursar with my list of household jobs zealously. An hour later, five wiry, muscle-clad students set to work dismantling the wardrobe that had been home to Ratty for so long. They had no tools and were amazed when I presented them with my multi-tool with a screwdriver. They were polite, tried it, then graciously handed it back before setting to work with the hammer and panga again.

The flame-tree outside our back door has grown over the last few weeks and the giant seed pods which look and feel like old leather scabbards have started scraping the tin roof of our house so that, at night, in the wind, the house is filled with the sound of a large bus with rusty brakes. Hamis, armed with a panga from next door, clambered and leapt barefoot to the overhanging branch and in minutes had hacked it off. He then directed the other students as they removed the broken wardrobe. They dumped it outside our back door,

“Please don’t leave it there,” I said, “You should place these in the tip and I’ll burn it later.”

“Yes,” they said, smiling, then walked away.

Later, the Bursar, the Deputy Bursar and an assistant arrived in a Landcruiser, the College Landcruiser. They loaded the broken wardrobe into the back of the Landcruiser and, eventually, I had to ask,

“Mariki. Why are you doing this? Where are you going?”

“This wood will not be burned, Mr Strain. It will become a house for a dog.”
A Landcruiser, three men, in the middle of the working day, to move six large pieces of smelling, rotten timber, so that it might be used to build a kennel. I did not say what I was thinking.

Returning to College has been a moving and quite humbling experience. Each of my fellow tutors greeted me with,
“Habari za safari,” (How were your travels?) and I was reminded of something that Philbert had said to us before Christmas. He had told us of Nyerere’s plan to unite the nation, by engineering integration, by forcing large sections of the population to move around the country to be educated. This large-scale ‘bussing’ scheme had the desired effect of eroding prejudice between tribes, but it led to generations of people spending large chunks of their lives travelling home for holidays or back to college. People do not travel for pleasure. That would be an indulgence few can afford; hence, the polite but incredulous question from my colleagues.

So people in Tanzania, generally are too poor to travel for pleasure but they have enough time to move scrap timber around to build a kennel for their dog. Few things are wasted here, except time.