Lollies, dogs and the evil eye

We are very lucky to be living where we do, for we are surrounded by young people. Tanzania is a country full of young people, partly because people of my age tend to die. In church, young people from about four years old, sit silently for two hours. In school, the youngsters I teach are so well behaved, I often think they are just under-fed. They often seem listless. At home, on campus, children play, but have no toys, no games, no bicycles. My little friend, Salumu, was seen playing with a broken electric plug the other day and his friend Wange, can be seen sometimes with a plastic lid from a bucket.

For less than a pound, we can buy a bag of lollipops, (fruity ones on a stick that doubles as a whistle). We wanted to have something to respond to the regular requests for something. We were conscious of what this looks like- white couple giving out sweets to African children- it doesn’t get more patronising, but then we thought,

“No. They’re children and they love lollies.”

So every evening now, a steady stream of little ones comes to our door with a “Hodi,” and all around campus you can hear breathy whistles from these plastic sticks. There is no particular age limit as to who calls for a lolly or who gets one. Two teen-age girls (we never see teen-age boys, so I don’t know where they go!) often come to the door, sometimes to borrow a bicycle and other times for a toffee.  But yesterday, when Tatu, the Deputy Principal’s wife, came for her English tutorial, embarrassment left my skin crawling, as Caroline tried to give her a lolly. Tatu smiled graciously.

The kindergarten for those lucky children who get to go, is something of an oasis in what would otherwise be a desert of stimuli for children’s development; however, even this Montessori nursery on Fridays succumbs to the African way. Children, no matter what age, are expected to do their duties – cleaning, sweeping, litter-picking. Children have to bring their own fagia  (besom) to complete their duties.

Before the secondary school boys can play their football match this afternoon, they have to cut the grass which has grown rapidly in the recent rains. As I write this, a line of thirty boys, armed with scythes, are slashing their way down the length of the pitch. Teachers tell me that this is the African way. It teaches a sense of responsibility, a sense of duty of care for the environment. I’m not convinced. They get beaten if they don’t do it.

I suspect campus can be a dangerous place; in fact, Mtwara after dark, is generally not a place to walk around. This is not for fear of muggers, although they do happen, but the greater risk of being attacked by the dogs that people keep to protect themselves from burglars. Lucia, the other morning at 5.30, crept out of her house where she’s lived for fourteen years, and sneaked around to meet us and our taxi.

“Don’t come here, please Adrian. The dogs will bite you.”

They are kept inside during daylight hours, but are let out as a pack after about 11.00pm. As we lay awake last night at 3.00am, listening to two dogs howling at each other outside our bedroom, I wondered what would happen if I did have to venture out.  I realised why the rats like living in houses – they risk being eaten by dogs if they venture outside.

A few days ago, I wrote about traditional beliefs and the fact that 60% of the population still believes in juju. Today, I read headlines describing how a Lutheran Pastor has discovered the cure for AIDS in the root of a ‘special’ tree. Neema, my colleague who is expecting a baby, spoke of her sadness that I did not believe the story about Pastor Masapila. She went on to claim that AIDS is spread partly because America and Europe have dumped faulty condoms on Africa. Reading about it on some wacky website is one thing, but when my colleague reports this as fact, then the true horror of the poverty which has bred superstition and ignorance hits home.

Of course, another reason for young people’s good behaviour and deference towards wazee (older people) is that they fear being cursed by us should they cross us. If it’s true, it’s quite an awesome power. I thought Salumu and Wange were nice to us because we gave them lollies. Maybe not.