A touch of reality

Until now, Tanzania has been pretty exciting. The discomfort has been unusual, but knowing that we have only to put up with this for a year, makes it easy to tolerate and is humbling, as we see our colleagues, who live in much harsher circumstances year in, year out, tolerate these conditions without much complaint. Today however, it’s starting to get under my skin.

I have had a niggling, gastric problem for the past two days which has left me weaker than usual. I drink water, but nothing else, and I find sleep even more difficult as I’m plagued with stomach cramps. I got up this morning, thinking that the worst had passed and dressed to go over to the staff room for the start of term staff meeting.

Mama Eliwaja, the Principal, directed Francis to be my interpreter. Francis is willing, but he is much too involved in the meeting to be an effective interpreter, so that every time I asked in a stage whisper, what had been said, he ‘shushed’ me and scribbled an illegible note. Eventually, rather like a persistent child, tugging at his sleeve, I managed to get from him the gist of what was being discussed. All the tutors were sitting with grave faces and with absolute concentration on the speaker.

“She is suggesting that something needs to be done about students’ hairstyles,” Francis whispered, impatiently.

“Hairstyles?” I said. Had I heard correctly?
“Yes. This discussion concerns students’ behaviour.”

A moment later, some tutors were laughing.

“What now Francis?”
“The Deputy Principal has reminded us that all of us – even you Mr Adrian – if we find students off campus at night, must take responsibility for punishing them.”

“And what is he saying about his shirt?”

Muscat, a dapper man generally, stands about five feet four and weighs about fifteen stones. He stood to show the cut of his shirt.
“He is reminding us that we must dress correctly. Some shirts require their tails to be tucked in trousers. Others should be worn - like this – with the tails over the trousers.”

Eventually, the Principal spoke gravely but in a reassuring tone, so that I knew she was drawing the meeting to a close. Everyone had been able to say their piece. One tutor complained about colleagues speaking about them behind their back. Another complained that the Principal had shown undue favouritism to some. Everyone was listened to politely and attentively. No disagreement was voiced and nothing was agreed. No decision was taken.

After the meeting had closed, I asked the Academic Tutor whether I could now have a copy of the timetable. I was aware that the only other English tutor has gone away on a course and will not be back until the week after next.

“Ah no. Mr Adrian. College opens next week and you will see the timetable then.”

I have English Club to look forward to because I have already met a number of students who are looking forward to practising their conversational English. And I have the Primary School football coaching to work at with Muscat, the Deputy Principal. I also have teaching at the Secondary School to occupy me, as that school still has only one English teacher and approximately 400 students. As for teaching in College, the job I came here to do, well we’ll have to wait and see.

On a more positive note, we have had new mosquito mesh fitted to the house. We are the only ones to have been offered this improvement. Apparently there is no money in the budget for other tutors’ houses, so although we are the only residents using an anti-malarial prophylactic, we are also the only ones to have our house protected.

Two men spent two days with a hammer and a broken screwdriver, prising off old beading, fitting lurid green nylon mesh and then re-fitting the old beading. New beading would have cost too much. They arrived with a homemade ladder on a bicycle and worked barefoot all day. At least it’s good for the local economy, if it doesn’t keep the mosquitos away.

As for the rats, we are now convinced that there is a growing family living in the roof space. They are noisy at night, scurrying and squeaking on the hardboard ceiling. I tried to suggest to Francis that they might be mice, or perhaps bats;

“No. Mr Adrian. They are rats. We all have them. You must put all your food away at night and hope you don’t see them.”

Well I’ve fixed the catch on the bedroom door, the holes in the ceiling have been plastered over and so unless it’s desperate – or one of us has a small gastric problem - we won’t be going looking for them.