You just gotta take the good with the bad

Don’t they say truth is stranger than fiction? Because the past few days have been some of the most bizarre in my recent memory. I'm on the mend from the recent attack on the mean streets of the Mosh. Going through bureaucratic hoops, filling in Police forms, required to have a Govt Hospital Doctor look at me (to verify amongst other things that I did not get injured while committing a crime..) etc I’m pretty upbeat about it all, stitches are healing nicely, no gangrene yet
;-) Everyone here, from staff, to people on the street have been really cool about it. Moshi is such a sleepy little town, it’s certainly not the norm. But I think some martial arts may be on the cards when I get home..

So anyway, before all that, wifey and I had planned to go chill with our kiwi volunteer peeps in Arusha. We decided to do the 6 hour trek from Arusha to Lake Natron near the Kenyan border. Lake Natron is home to thousands of flamingos. Plus we would get to see the (still active) volcano Ol Doinyo Lengai (Massai for ‘Mountain of God’).

After collecting camping gear and loading up the 4WD we set off early Saturday morning. Saw giraffe, zebra and gazelles on the drive. I was excited to be driving through the Great Rift Valley, we had the immense escarpment of the valley on our left as we headed towards the lake.

It’s pretty empty out there, especially once we passed the last sizeable Masaai village and were out alone in the wilderness.

Unfortunately sometimes things just go a bit haywire. Some kilometres past the village trying to avoid an animal and on loose gravel, our land rover fishtailed...which would have been okay but we had a culvert on our right side. We ending up rolling into the culvert. A few tense moments followed making sure everyone was okay and existing a vehicle on its side. We were all unhurt, bar a few cuts and bruises. The vehicle is diesel powered so no real risk of a fire, which is always a bonus. What was a concern was that we were in the middle of nowhere, with no cell phone reception on a road that was not heavily used by traffic. A nice Maasai tribeswoman who had seen the crash came up to give support.

We were ready to start hoofing it the long way back to the Maasai village when another vehicle turned up. It was a tour guide with a French guy who’d worked in Wellington for a year or so (he really liked Petone) whose career was in vehicle accident insurance. Like I say, you can’t make this stuff up. The next while was spent carefully unloading a teetering landrover and using the other vehicle to try and get it on its chassis.

Our vehicle soon was stuck on an angle on a rock and would not budge. More and more Maasai (including a lot of kids) were slowly leaving their herds in the distance to drift over and see what was going on. They were fascinated by our cameras and the blonde hair of one of the kiwis (‘Simba’ they said to each other about her lion locks). A Maasai woman fashioned a little ring out of a gold toe ring she was wearing for Franatee.

As fate would happen, two more vehicles turned up: a motorcycle and a carload of burly Tanzanians. Soon everyone was hacking away at rocks, grabbing rocks and pitching in. Lots of different languages-English, French, Swahili, Maasai-all flying around.

I noticed one of the Tanzanians stretched out his hands over the vehicle to pray and with one final push and pull we got it free. One side of the vehicle was pretty wasted but we were elated to get it (upright)on the road again.

We thanked everyone profusely (the Maasai loved all the food we gave them as a thank you, that we had taken to go camping). We set off in a convoy taking the damaged vehicle back to Arusha. I did like the Police roadblock that stopped one of our cars, while our-shall we say- less than roadworthy landrover trundled through!
So back in Arusha, cleaned up and the ‘Rift Valley Survivors Club’ had a drink. Or two. Yes, we dodged a bullet methinks, but that’s life. You move on, you learn, you adapt. I have been reflective about mortality and spirituality lately. And keen to chill out for a bit!

Not the best night, no

Writing this up in Arusha, off to hang out this weekend with the other kiwi volunteers. Long story short, guy tried to mug me last night as the wife and I (complacently) wandered home in the dark after a bite. He grabbed me from behind then, POW POW, hit me twice in the side of the face, I fell down, staggered around, managed to yell and hold onto my stuff and jostle him away. I think he put all his power into those 2 punches, cos as the wife yelled for help, his attempts to grab my bag were pretty feeble.

He made a last feeble grab at the wife and as I lurched towards him covered in blood (by now my brain over the intial shock and in fighting mode) and as another guy ran up to help us, the mugger realised it was all too much work and ran off into the bushes... I had a lot of blood on me shirt from a gash in my lip, we made it back to a taxi stand and got workmates to run us to an A and E...got 3 stitches in my chops...the guy must have had a ring on as he whacked me.

You're never ready for these things but (trying to be upbeat) at least, he didn't get anything, my wife was safe and I didn't get knocked out or more badly injured. And I now know I can take a few punches to the head and keep on moving forward for the final round. Talking subsequently to locals, apparently the area we were walking past is a bad one...doesn't surprise me, there was no lighting at all. As said, very glad it wasn't worse.

So, I've learnt a painful lesson about being sensible. Now to try and eat soft food, while having some fun this weekend to cheer me up with the kiwis. (waits on angry emails from parents)

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the LPG Gas Canister

Our organisation is contractually supposed to help us move into our new flat. Due to work pressures, the 'help' consisted of a twitchy guy and a small ute. He told us we got 'one trip, only one!' to move all the stuff in our flat. We loaded a mattress, bed, gas oven, fridge, mosquito net holder etc etc in a teetering tower on the back of the ute; mattress overhanging the cab's window. Fridge tipping precariously to the right. One piece of short rope used to tie it all. Of course the pièce de résistance was using our full LPG canister (for our gas oven) as the anchor for the whole sorry mess.

I so wish I had taken a picture.

Originally, the driver wanted me to ride in the back of the ute holding the fridge and gas canister in place...mke had a fit and said she did not want her husband to be blown up or squashed, or both. I was cool with a bit of a lark but, we deferred to her wisdom. We drove slowly to the new flat in a cold sweat, over bumpy roads while the fridge and gas canister bounced up and down . 'Very bad if Police see us' our driver intoned.

After a nailbiting quarter of an hour we got to the place, to find a host of workers fixing things in our new pad. They looked bemused at the terrified whiteys in the back of this moving tower of chattels. They were all cool about helping us unload. I like our new house. Pics to come. Still got some bits and pieces to run backwards and forwards, plus we have a long weekend tomorrow (end of Ramadan here) so might pop to Arusha for some fun.

But nice to ride a LPG bomb and survive.

Moving on up, to the east side (of Moshi)

Mke writes:

Manatee and I are scheduled to leave our current pad and head away about a kilometre to a new place early next week (hopefully). I'm pretty excited but at the same time sad to be leaving behind some of the cool stuff at our current place. I like lists so I've made up some pros and cons about the old place and the new place:

Old Place
Pros
Over the past week some Maasai guys a few doors down have started up an informal singing, dancing and high jumping troupe which we get to see on the way home every day.

The nice fruit and vege duka (shop stall thing) and the alcoholic drinks duka. The people who run these places are very nice and they know us well.

People asking us where our 'bicykeli' are whenever they see us walking. This morning, while biking to work someone even asked me for a lift. (Had to decline though as not sure if my tyres would have held out.)

The street chickens, chicks and goats (mbuzi). These plucky little characters always put a smile on our faces and the roosters are always proud to declare how important (and tasty-Manatee) they are.

Nice little children saying 'good morning, how are you' (this will probably be the same at the new place)

Cons
The sounds of exorcisms. We hear one guy who does this crazy syncopated hup, hup noise like a hiccupping jack-in-the-box while a woman (never any men for some reason) screams. The exorcisms have increased as of late. Must be peak season.

Having our boss live in a place attached to our place.

The most uncomfortable sofa and lounge chairs ever created in the history of man.

No properly installed curtain rails. We've attempted to put some up ourselves without a lot of success. Some have just fallen off but the bedroom curtains have been doing well. Just as well. Our security guard sees more of us than I would have liked. Nice of him to say "helllllo" though.

'Old leaky' the affectionate name for our toilet. Six months on and still leaking.

The increasing hot weather and the sad realisation that we no longer have a fan since our last one spontaneously combusted a short time ago (hmm, I did say it was the peak season for things to get possessed)

Street tough children saying 'give me money,' 'give me your mobile phone' etc (this will probably be the same at the new place)

New Place:
Pros
A decent landlord who also happens to own four lovely little dogs. One has a cute pink nose and I've decided that he will be my best animal friend for the remainder of my time here.

Not having our boss live in a place attached to our place. (makes domestics a spectator sport...Manatee)

A comfy looking sofa-bad and couch in the lounge as well as a coffee table and wall shelves!

Curtain rails and curtains in all the rooms!

Light sockets that look like they won't electrocute us.

A ceiling fan in the bedroom!

I can't see leaking around the new toilet.

A proper mirror in the bathroom (the first day of work in the old place I had to use our stainless steel water purifier as a mirror) and a big mirror in the bedroom so I can see how my clothes don't fit me properly anymore.

We will probably have nice little children saying 'good morning, how are you'

Cons
All the pros of the old place plus:

The smaller size,it's about half the size of the old place

The toilet shower combo (but I think that might be okay)

Of course as we've not moved in yet there could be a whole heap of other cool and not so cool stuff but I'll keep you posted!

Mke AKA Franatee

ps from Mume-at least a different bike route will mean I will not have to bike near that guy who blares Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' from his bike

Reflection at the Half Way mark

Well it’s been an interesting day of stress dealing with someone in authority who reminds me of Denzel Washington’s character in ‘Training Day’ and reminds my wife of Al Capone from ‘The Untouchables’....jeepers.

Anyway, yes, here we at the halfway mark of the assignment. We’ve gotten praise at a ½ way point meeting between our line manager and our NZ volunteer contact so we seem to be tracking okay. Small wins, big wins, small losses, big setbacks. People who matter have acknowledged that HIV/AIDS work isn’t the easiest of assignments, especially when sustainable outcomes are compressed into a year.

There were times I wasn’t sure if we were going to make 1 month let alone 6 months. Africa can be exhilarating but it can also be tiring, frustrating and alienating. I’ve made human connections with the very poor and the very sick. I have bashed my head against a brick-wall dealing with the apathetic, the stupid and the corrupt. I’ve gotten sick of dust, mozzies and tripping on uneven dirt road surfaces. I’ve stood in awe in the long grass watching lions and sat on white sand watching dhows plying the Indian Ocean. Mostly, I’ve shared a lot of laughs with all the different peoples I have met here.

A guy from Swaziland asked me recently ‘Why Africa? Why not go to India or Asia or other places you can do this work.’ I mumbled something into my beer about ‘I like the vastness of Africa, the people, the animals’. What I meant to say was I love the strangeness of this place. This continent seems to draw certain types of people to it-‘mercenaries, misfits and missionaries’ as one person put it. (I think I am a mix of all three of those...plus a product of too many comic books).

Perhaps, a simpler answer is that Africa feels more real to me in some ways than life back home. Back home, I watch films, surf the net, eat well. A comfortable, mediated existence. Here there is dirt and sweat, crazy drivers, lots of exercise and a real sense of community. I like how animals (from chickens, goats to hawks and snakes) all uneasily co-exist with people here. I like how lots of people recognise my wife and I on the streets from all our madcap cycling about.

However, every dream has a dark side. In my view, you cannot have the ‘authentic’ African experience without having a regard for both good, the bad and the ugly of the place. Most tourists (myself in South Africa included) don’t really get the time to really soak up what it is like to live in this context. For every martini you sip watching the sun go down over Mt Kilimanjaro, there is a woman sitting despairing on her dirt floor, wondering how she will feed her malnourished child. For every moment zipping along the plains on safari, with the wind in your hair, there is a warehouse full of medical supplies trapped in a cycle of petty politics. Heaven and Hell co-exist here. It is the madness, tedium and inhumanity of Africa that makes the beautiful parts more tragic and thus poignant.

Of course, the final answer from me is that I like Africa because it is all so much bigger than little ol me. The mountains, the endless rhythm of life on the plains; you realise just how transient our existence really is. That elephant ‘the very image of immense liberty’ staring at me from a few feet away in Ngorongoro was totally indifferent to me. It was getting on with what his species had been doing for thousands of years...so should he be. A lot of things we think are vitally important, really are not.

It’s hard. You cry, you sweat, you despair. But you know, not all life experience that is good for you necessarily is instantly pleasurable. I have gained a wealth of knowledge both self (I am more addicted to comfort than I realised) of wife (she constantly surprises me with her mix of sweetness and toughness) and of course, of living in the developing world. I’m under no illusions that I am rugged or self-sufficient enough to eke out a permanent living in Africa. But it’s nice to spend a time there.. It’s like a party that is tiring to be at but a lot of fun but one you cannot stay at forever, that you need to go home to your own bed.

It’s a strange world. Let’s keep it that way.

What progress requires inexorably of human beings and of continents is that they should renounce their strangeness, that they should break with mystery; and somewhere along that road is inscribed the end of the last elephant. The cultivated lands must encroach upon the forests, and the roads will bite more and more deeply into the quietude of the great herds. There will be less and less room for natural splendour.
Romain Gary “The Roots of Heaven” 1958

'Ebony and ebony, live together in perfect harmony'

Sigh, I just wanted a quiet drink at the pub with wifey, and a (new) American chum who has just come here from a year in Swaziland. After work, the wife and I headed down to the local dive and sat down with a beer at an outside table to await our friend. I was just in the middle of making a heated point to mke about HIV, when an African guy said in very good English that he was lonely and asked if he could join us. After a second, ah, why not, so he sat down. Turned out he was a male nurse from Swaziland here to work for a year. So when our American chum turned up, there was much discussion of life in Swaziland. The wife and I have toured there before, its a beautiful (if extremely poor) country. We talked about development a bit, and the mindset you need to work longterm in the field-'endurance and patience'.

Then it got odd.

Two table mates started arguing about whether people only go into medicine to make money, and our Swazi aquaintence started loudly extolling the values of white culture and cruise ships and lambasting Tanzanian's lack of education (shhh...keep it down man...)

I popped inside to play pool, leaving my wife and the Swazi guy chatting. I popped back out again to say hi, and the Swazi guy looked squeamish. He started talking about post-Aparteid South Africa, and how an Afrikanner ('Boers' he called them) had grabbed him around the throat for talking to a white woman. He said he did not want to be left alone with my wife...I tried to tell him this was not South Africa...anyway...thats when 3 big drunken Tanzanians (I guess after hearing his English and maybe some of his opinions about Tanzania) came up and tried to pick a fight with him because he was an African who could not speak Swahili at all (note-not all Africans speak Swahili!)

After a tense stand off,the Swazi guy and wife sidled inside...I'd had a beer or 2 so I thought 'what the heck' and went and sat at the table where the 3 angry Tanzanians sat glowering at me. (I tend to have a mutant gift of avoiding a beating while out and about on the turps.) At first they were suspicious (I think they thought I was a 'boer') but after speaking at length in Swahili with them, they seemed calmer. They were angry the Swazi guy didn't speak Swahili (I tried to explain he hadn't been here long..) and that he acted like an African-American (umm ok, I cant really comment on that...)They were just drunk and obnoxious, but I dont think they were violent.

Having left them, I went back inside, however the 3 big dudes soon followed and staunched out the Swazi guy. He wanted to leave and so I walked him in the dark to a dala dala stand. He was in 'South African' mode, talking about how he'd take them if one of them had a blade etc etc...I just wanted to go home.

Sigh, inter-African racial politics when I just wanted a beer.

White Men Can't Jump

A group of Maasai askari young men working as security guards have taken up residence in the vacated flat next door. I think they must provide security duties along the street, but they all like to hang out at the same place. Despite the annoyance their 3am outdoor cellphone calls cause (they must sleep really weird hours), they are always friendly when the wife and I get home panting pushing our bikes up to our gate. Lately, they have been performing (practising?) the traditional jumping dance of the young Maasai men just outside our house. It is a lot of fun to watch...I always wonder if they are gesturing me to practice my leaping with them, but there is a fine line between inter-cultural exchange and taking the pi$$, so I choose to be discrete. Besides, they can jump freakishly high, I'd be humiliated.