Hali unasemaje?

On the 2nd of the month I held a teachers' meeting about the library to let them know it was open, decide on a possible rotation of teachers, and to teach them how to use the library. That's right, most well-educated Tanzanians have probably used a library less than the average American 1st grader. There are just not enough books or the needed resources for libraries in many schools. In Masasi (in case you've forgotten-the biggest town near me for a few hundred km) we have library: it's one room no bigger than half a typical American house with 5 or 6 bookshelves about 4 feet tall. It's pretty sad but that's the reality here. And most books are donated with a big 'DISCARD' stamp in the front. These books either have a little wear and tear or are very outdated.

So for these reasons I taught my teachers how to use the Dewey Decimal System, how books should be returned on the shelves, how students can check out books and all the necessary rules. We decided to offer each class one period in the library per week and 3 additional periods after school. The optional periods have been attended OK, about 40-60 students a day. But I hope this number will increase as students get more comfortable using the library, we offer more references like old tests, and we get new books relevant to East Africa. Most are still old and come from America or Britain.

Since I had been in my tiny village a little over 3 weeks I decided to bike through several other tiny villages to a slightly larger village and visit Steph in Ndwika. The bike ride takes a little over 3 hours and was...well, just relaxing a beautiful. Let me try and describe it to you.

The paths and rivers to Ndwika

The school is set pretty far back in the village so the mud huts of Chidya quickly become scattered, then disappear as you take the foot/bike path leading you further into the bush. Soon you are alone catching glimpses of the few workers tending their farms. Then even the farms vanish and the path takes a steep, rocky decline forcing you off your bike for a nice stroll under the trees. A few places allow a hop on the bike for a quick 100 meter dash. Just as you become accustomed to the sights and sounds of a tropical forest you hear it. A faint trickle of water. As you approach the Mwiti river you it grows louder but not too loud. It's no secret this is a gentle and welcoming river that won't go above your knees...unless you find one of its many sink holes while walking down or upstream.

After crossing the river it's a short walk up to the village Mwiti. Then it's back on the bike passing small mud huts and greeting villagers. Eventually you come to the primary school were local kids start screaming and yelling. If the village didn't know there was a white person passing through on an unusual looking bicycle (we are given American ones which just slightly stand out) wearing an unusual looking hat (helmet) they certainly know now. You may remember last time I took this path was with Steph in April of 2006 and we got lost. So I had a list of every village and wasn't shy to ask which direction the next one was in. It's pretty easy to reach Nakalola. Here you find traces of the colonial era. A road that once gave passage to many cars, a milling machine that once had a steady flow of electricity. Now, the colonist having pulled out with their belongings and know-how of operating such equipment, you find the villagers sitting around the abandoned and stripped warehouse and the electric poles bare as dead trees. It's sad but the villagers seem happy. They greet enthusiastically and ask me if I'm lost. 'No, but can you show me the way to Namwanga?' I ask. It turns out two villagers were heading there on one bike, a driver and his passenger, who has polio, on the bike rack. We hit the road now only a bike path, the rest overgrown. We pedal through heavy sand and their one speed bike becomes more difficult to control. Eventually they fall. Laughing they get up, I hold to squawking chickens by their legs (which are tied together), and they get back on. The passenger and I make small talk, he asks me where I'm going, I ask him what he's having for dinner. Ndwika. Two chickens.

We stop at a small village shop and he instructs me that I have to go off the main road towards the primary school and then I'll find another large road. And now I know where I led Steph and I astray almost a year ago. I would have never remembered to take this small foot path. I set off and leave the village behind, only gray sand and the few trees and grasses that can thrive in the soil. Eventually I see more mud huts and reach Nakachindu. A group of Wazee (respected old people) welcome me, we chat and they point me off towards Lusonje. This is when not only the village falls away but the trees also and you are all of the sudden in the presence of a magnificent view of the Makonde plateau. Yes, now's a good time to stop, take some water, grab a snack and just enjoy the view. But eventually it's back to riding. Then the path makes a sharp cut to the left and suddenly becomes steep. It's time to cross a river. But you won't be getting your feet wet. You must carry your bike over a few small gorges while the river breaks into several small streams and flows below you.

The last leg takes you through Lusonje on to Mkaseka. Between the two villages is a swamp and it's necessary to take off your shoes and enjoy the mud squeezing between your toes. Afterwards you climb a steep hill and then enjoy a warm breeze blowing across a small plain. You reach Mkaseka which runs into Lulindi which merges with Ndwika. And your at Steph's site to enjoy good company.

Once back at site I started both my Forms on new topics which we'd wrap up with group work. In Form IV we built 3-D models: prisms, pyramids, cylinders, and cones and then each group presented their object giving a description, a 2-D drawing, and finding the area. One student explains in English and another in Swahili. One class was well...boring. I really wish I wasn't saying that but it's true. Write on the board and read it. The other class had the presenters working together, they had the class participate and they made jokes. Even poked fun at me by using some of my common phrases. We had a lot of fun. Form II just started today and there English presentation are slow but they enjoying trying to speak the language and are generally having fun which the one stream of Form IV just seemed to be lacking. I've decided the next group work will incorporate some activity for the whole class so hopefully that will liven things up.

Other news? Rain storms. And one in particular was amazing. I heard the thunder off in the distance, got my rain jacket, and hurried to the spot I use my phone. (In case you've forgotten I've included a picture in this months section). It was absolutely beautiful. And it changed.

Storm beauty

As I walked, rogue drops of water scattered about. I reached the safety of 'shop'-a small outdoor area where our carpenter works with a high roof covered by corrugated tin. Suddenly the sky opened all it faucets dumping water that was picked out a hurled across the land by a swift, steady wind. Caught up in the excitement of a sudden downpour I turned to the Southwest and was stopped-of moving, breathing, and thought. 'My goodness,' I breathed aloud. The sky was gray-blue, the land green-gray. And the distant ridges were perfectly blurred. All edges soft, welcoming, beautiful and elusive-you just could not bring them into focus. Sheets of rain passed in a consistent rhythm and width at a gentle angle making you feel you were watching through a scrambled picture. But this was nature scrambling your vision and it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Then it was over...or so I thought. The clouds were relieved and moved on. I continued on my business of texting and then looked up. The distant peaks, proud and somehow vain refused to be overlooked. They now stood crisp as a fall, mountain morning. Off to the South a low, white cloud draped around a few peaks reminding me of melting snow. The sky remained in a haze, reluctant to wake up from its short nap. But the sun was busy painting the West in what can only be described as orange-pink sherbert ice cream. The sky woke up and slowly changed into a deep, crimson orange pink. I left inspired, amazed, and happy.

But it still wasn't over. Walking home the West was getting into bed, the North was a melancholy blue and purple, and the East was confused-trying to fight the inevitable exit of the sun by holding on to a light blue sky and big, billowy clouds. But the clouds wouldn't lie-they reflected the soft orange of a setting sun. Entering my backyard I turned to the Northeast and faced a blood red sky and...rainbow? Small but definitely there. I ran inside and took a picture. After a few minutes I returned inside, got my letters to go out that week, and started off to a fellow teacher's to give him the letters to mail. Now I faced West-the blood was spilling onto the deep, crimson orange and setting the sky on fire. Into the house, back out with a camera. Then the sun departed stealing all the color and leaving Chidya the pale light of a sliver of the moon. And me with the memory of a beautiful evening that only my words can try and pass on but that friends and family cannot share. My only sadness. Because when given this gift it's always more fun to share. I've done my best.

And the last day of the month? Another beautiful sunset, though no comparison to the above mentioned, and another storm. Although the storm is not here yet. Yes, I am writing to you on the evening of the 28th but you probably won't read this until late March. The sunset was common in the West, golden yellows and orange contrasted with thin, blue clouds stretching across the sky. But as you followed them South they ran into a mass of velvet blue. In the distance it's raining but distinguishing between the rain and clouds is impossible. The rain is so thick the distant ridges are hidden and waiting for their curtain call. Then a flash of light, the horizon given a crisp edge and detailed highlights...in a second, then it's gone. A distant rumble of thunder, the only evidence.

So now I'm off to cook. I await another storm...pitter, patter on the roof.

Justin