17 January – A new term, a fresh start and a clean sweep.

Well I seem to be over my niggling little problem. With the help of some medical advice by email and a short course of anti-biotics, I seem to be ready just in time for the start of the new term. Self help is the order of the day. Caroline had to remove some stitches from my back this evening and although squeamish with a sterile knife, ‘needs must’ as they say, and she set to.

So at last, term starts. At 7.30, tutors gathered with “Habari?” “Happy New Year” and a review of the week-end’s football results. I waited. I waited for the academic tutor who had promised me a timetable. I waited for the Deputy Principal who was to lead the student body in their first assembly. And I waited for all the other tutors to arrive. Slowly, none of this happened. What did happen, was the methodical tidying of the whole campus by a well ordered army of students, equipped with plastic buckets, pangas and hoes and directed by student leaders, reporting to none other than my friend, Francis.

Yesterday evening, I’d been to watch the Merseyside derby in my local and on the way home, I noticed how the students’ return had transformed the neighbourhood. I had grown accustomed to the sleepy, shuffling pace of life and the students’ arrival, as students everywhere will, made the place look a bit messy, but much more interesting. This morning, those same students appeared in blue uniform, lined in serried rank for inspection and morning assembly - quite a transformation.

The College grounds are extensive. They include a large area of shrubland where grass needs cutting with a simple blade. Weeds in paths have grown over the summer holiday and need picking and cutting. Hedges and shrubs are pruned and trimmed, grass verges cleared of litter, rooms washed, chairs and tables straightened and tidied. All of this was done by a volunteer army of students, whilst tutors watched and waited.

Having noted my timetable, I walked the short, beautiful walk through the shrubs and between the baobob trees to the Shangani Secondary school. This morning, the place was a hive of activity also, as students buzzed in and out of classrooms, sweeping, swilling, and straightening furniture and blackboards. Weeds were picked, sandy ground swept, litter collected and floors washed. Teachers were copying out the timetable while the Deputy Principal was busy registering new students. We were proudly told that over one hundred and sixty Form I students had registered in the past few days. I doubt there will be much teaching this week, but people seem happy and excited to be back.

For those of you who might think this inefficient or ineffective, remember that this happens in a place without computers, without administrative support, without even very much paper. There are no support staff, other than those women working in a rustic kitchen preparing food for over seven hundred students. And in the secondary school, there are not even enough chairs and tables for teaching staff. Under the circumstances, what we witnessed this morning was a demonstration of huge commitment to sustainable education in a country that is aware of the need to develop, but can do so in its own way and with very limited resources.

Tanzania is full of young people. Caroline and I are amongst the oldest and in our early fifties and in a gentle, polite society like Mtwara, are met with “shikamoo” wherever we go. Where a cheeky child shouts at us, a stern look can quieten them or make them run. Usually, when youngsters, particularly the four and five year olds we pass on the street, shout “Hi wazungo”, they do so without malice.

Caroline, today, met for the first time, the new class of children at the Montessori nursery. Amongst them is Charlie, a five year old, who suffered a stroke at birth and is paralysed down the left side of his body. He held Caroline’s fingers as he counted from one to ten in Kiswahili and showed her the correct way to count.

The children are encouraged to look after each other, helping each other wash and tidy themselves. Cleaning the school and college grounds, or, at nursery, children washing their own cups and plates, is part and parcel of growing up. There are no assistants, no support mechanisms and where there are services, few can afford them, so people do things for themselves. Needs must, as they say.