The Great Debate

The weather has turned cooler. Each morning, we wrap up in a cotton sheet, as an early breeze keeps the mosquitos at bay and allows a luxurious lie-in – til 6.30 at least, when cocks crowing, prayers calling, students sweeping and basketballs bouncing, force us to rise and start the day. Often it’s a relief from a night of sticky sweat as howling dogs tear bits out of each other, not five yards from our bed. Frustratingly, when I try and find a neighbour to join in common cause and complaint I hear,

“Ah yes Mr Adrian. But you know, with the dogs we are safe from the robbers.”
“But are there robbers?”

“No. Of course not. Not when the dogs are out.”

Our armed guards are two young women, each shouldering guns that look like toys, who spend the night sheltering from the dogs and keeping close to college - not much deterrent for Maskat who has twice had bananas stolen from his back garden.  I had once foolishly left old sandals out to find them missing in the morning. The shoe and banana thieves are the same thieves that Mkonga wants to deter from crossing the open land between college and our church. This open space of shrub and bush, with baobab trees standing in massive isolation as dusty paths criss-cross their way between Shangani in the north and Mtwara town to the south, is a favourite haunt for every scoundrel in town – according to Maskat and Mkonga, that is. They’ve never caught anyone, but then Mkonga thinks that’s because they are deterred by the dogs at night and the tireless work of students to cut trees and dig ugly channels to block the shortcuts to school and church. Each Sunday, a small army of brightly clad men and women, pick their snake-like way round broken trees and bushes, jumping gingerly over thorns and sticks, thwarting Mkonga with every step. As a silent rebel, I drag the smaller branches to one side, a strong wave of chivalry surging through my veins, allowing worshipers to pick their way more easily,

“Do your worst, Mkonga. We shall not be moved,” I think. And I try to remember to tell him the next morning. When I do, he smiles, rubs those holes in his ears and for a moment, tries to look interested before returning to his lists.

It’s been a quiet very ordinary week-end. We went for an early morning swim on Saturday, having checked the tide tables and for an hour or so basked in a warm sea and then lounged on a deserted beach. We then set to work tidying the land around the house. There is a clear difference between we wazungu who aim to create order where there was natural growth and where there is natural growth, allow it, under controlled conditions and marked by white stones; and our African neighbours who, to deter snakes and inhibit mosquitoes, remove all natural growth close to the house. This morning there was an inspection by the Housing Committee, chaired by Maskat. He warned us yesterday, helpfully advising that no livestock should be allowed to live in the houses and that all poultry should be vaccinated. As if to prove a point, Caroline for the first time found hens in our shower this morning. The committee came by this morning as she was shooing them out and I was gathering stones to make neat borders,

“Do you think that these borders will deter snakes, Mr Adrian?”

“No, but then we have cleared our house of goats, chickens and cows.”

The highlight of my week was the inter-school debate at Shangani Secondary which I was invited to observe. When I got there they asked to be a judge and when I sat down to judge they asked me to be the “Overall Judge”, choosing winners one, two and three. Pupils from Masasi had travelled by bus all morning to do battle with Shangani – first with words and later at football and netball. It is one of the many innovations introduced into school by the dedicated headteacher, Mama Shaibu. She was not present but her assistants Kibakaya and Julius organised the day well.

My good friend Kelvin was one of the proposers, showing much presence and maturity as he took centre stage under the baobab tree, confidently putting his case. Another contributor from Masasi Secondary chose an American ghetto style of delivery, littering his argument with “mothers” and “brothers” and posing in a gangster stance, which went down well.

We’re feeling tetchy because we have had a week of sleepless nights. For the first half of the week, dogs howled and fought outside our bedroom. Philibert tells me that it is the mating season and dogs travel long distances in response to the howls of bitches. They all seem to meet outside our house and force Caroline and I to lie, angry and helpless, listening to nocturnal couplings for hour after hour. For the latter half of the week we have listened to the tedious beat of a rattling bass from a beery bar about half a mile away. I asked Mkonga the other day if anyone complained,

“Yes. They need permission.”
“And does the council ever refuse”
“Refuse permission to play music? No.”

And so this morning, as I read the morning paper at 4.30am, the music finally stopped. Today a huge PA has been erected on the field across from our house for a sports competition later this afternoon. For half an hour we listened to,

“Hallo, hallo, hallo, one two three, hallo, hallo, hallo.”  He’s just too far away for me to run over and pull his plugs out.