Mud, Mr Mkunga and the movies.

We’re legally resident here. The piece of paper giving us permission to reside here has been issued. It is an Exemption Certificate and with it we can open a bank account, get a driving license and travel in and out of the country at will – pretty much everything that a Tanzanian resident could do. I had not understood why this had taken so long. I know everyone says, “Well you know Adrian. This is Africa.” But I sometimes think that Africans get the blame for things which are not necessarily their fault.

Earlier this week we had lunch with Pieter, a Flemish man who has been the administrator of the Benedictine hospital at Ndanda for the past six years. Before that he was with the Benedictines in Namibia for eight years, so his experience of Africa is significant. He told us of the saga of his work permit in Namibia, where the Archbishop, concerned that Europeans without the right paperwork were being arrested and thrown in gaol, went to see the President.

“You have come to see me about a work permit, your worship? Really! ”

And he picked up the telephone and barked at his Immigration Minister to make sure the paperwork was arranged.

“Excellent,” I said to Pieter, ”That’s OK if you can call on the President personally.”

“You don’t understand, Adrian. It took another four months from that phone call before I received my work permit.”

What is being done with ferocious efficiency is the closing of informal paths and tracks across college grounds. The college has extensive grounds from which, over the years, have evolved a network of paths and tracks which criss-cross according to human convenience. The college – who precisely, is unclear, but my suspicions rest with Mr Mkunga – has decided that, for reasons of safety and security, all these paths must be closed. Accordingly, students have been dispatched to hack down trees and shrubs, dig crude trenches and in whatever way they can, block the route of the paths; this at a time when roads are thick with mud and Landcruisers speed past, splashing anyone unfortunate enough not to heed their blaring horns. As a result, small children on their way to kindergarten, students to and from secondary school and tutors going to church, now pick their way gingerly, or after rain, traipse miserably, along a route, three times longer and thick with mud, rather than take a five minute stroll through the baobob trees.

As far as I can tell, no serious research has been undertaken to establish whether these paths do actually constitute a risk to safety and security and even less work could have been done to determine that by closing them the safety and security of local people has been enhanced. It certainly hasn’t improved mine and Caroline’s safety, nor the little ones who live nearby, who usually walk unaccompanied to kindergarten. Little four-year old Salumu, on his way to kindergarten alone this morning, was turned back by an armed guard, and made to walk the long muddy way round.

What is really galling is that it is students who, in return for the tsh150,000 they pay annually for their education, are deployed rather like soldiers on a charge, to do this unpaid manual work. If the college paid 150,000 shillings a month it could build a marked path through the woods and police it. I don’t think Mr Mkungo has made that calculation yet, but I’m going to speak to him.

The issue of students and discipline we find strange. Young men and women, generally in their early twenties, are made to wear uniform, prevented from socialising around town, made to do manual work, punished by removal from class for failure to attend class, and this morning, expelled for having an ‘unsuitable’ hairstyle. What I think I learn from all this is that the college, if this is evidence of a trait in Tanzanian public life, is strong on visible signs of strength. Lacking so much capacity for real change; instead, it falls back on more visible and comforting signs of strength and purpose – parade, discipline, punishment and pointless rules. Significantly, at the private Catholic University along the road where we take lunch, there are no such outward signs. Students dress casually, sit and chat at leisure, and a small discrete sign advises students not to wear shorts or slippers at mealtimes.

I have found a data projector in college and plan to put on Film Nights for students. The Deputy Principal wants to vet any film I screen, especially when he saw the ‘12’ certificate and noted scenes of strong language and violence. I asked my good friend Pascal what choice of film might students prefer.

“Something about the life of Jesus, ” he said.

“How about Mamma Mia?” I said.

There might be something of a cultural chasm to bridge in the days ahead.