The alarm goes off at 6.45am, time to get up and get going.
I put my solar lights outside to recharge then head to the kitchen to cook my
porridge. As I eat I continue to read Genesis and ponder the life of Joseph. I
turn on the tap to wash up but there isn’t any water, and there hasn’t been any
since yesterday afternoon. Hopefully someone will fix that problem today. I get
in my Toyota Prado ready to head to the village to pick up my colleague, Amani.
As I’m about to turn on the engine I find a text message from Amani telling me
he isn’t able to come to town today, he’s elsewhere. Frustrated with the
constant change in plans I decide to head to town anyhow, to meet with my other
colleague, John.
As I head along the dirt road, I pass through a check-point
and a lady asks for a lift. She gets in the car and I show her how to fasten
her seatbelt. She is a Safwa lady, so I play the book of Ruth in the Safwa
language for her to listen to, which she obviously enjoys by the various
affirmative sounds she makes! I negotiate my way through the morning bustle
around the cattle market, where men in blood-stained white coats are milling around
to buy and butcher animals, and up the pot-holed street past vendors selling
potatoes and other vegetables on their road-side stands.
I arrive at our Safwa office, on the grounds of a garage run
by a Swiss mission, where people are trained to fix cars. John has already
arrived and we greet each other, “Mwagona!” We report back on the activities of
the previous week and discuss plans for the coming months and a question that
John had from his reading of Genesis (we are all working our way through this
book). My morning drinks have gone through me so I head to the toilet, a nice
hole in the ground. The bucket of water for flushing is empty, so I find a
nearby tap and fill it up.
John heads off to visit some people and sell Safwa books. I
remain behind to continue with computer work, taking advantage of having
electricity and a fairly good internet connection while in town. The room gets
warmer and warmer as the day heats up.
At lunchtime I lock the office padlock
and head out to find some food. I stroll up the dusty road and down a
passageway littered with plastic bags. A vendor selling oranges tries to
persuade me to buy some, a child calls out “mzungu” (referring to me, a white
foreigner) and I squeeze past a mother carrying her baby on her back. I walk
through the market where all kinds of wares are available, from kitchen
equipment to shoes to food, and before I get totally lost in the maze I ask a
lady where I can find somewhere to eat. She shows me to a room, with a grubby
lace curtain for a door. On entering I recognised the table, I’ve eaten here
before with my colleagues. The owner brings me a plate piled high with rice and
with small portions of greens, meat and beans on the side. I get talking with
the other people at the table, sharing about our work. I turn on my phone for
them to listen to the Bible in their language and get into conversation about
churches in Tanzania and the lack of faith in England.
It’s time to head back to the office, so I pay up (about
50p) and take a cocktail stick to get the bits of meat out from between my
teeth that are the inevitable result of eating tough (but flavoursome) beef. On
the way back I buy a five litre container so I can get some more petrol for my
generator, which seems to guzzle fuel. I don’t know what the container used to
hold, maybe soap or cooking oil. Someone has washed it out thoroughly and now
it’s available to buy for a mere 50p. I also pick up some tomatoes, buying four
for 10p. Back in the office I settle back down in front of my laptop to
continue with emails, finance issues and other administrative things that have built
up while I have been busy teaching over the past couple of weeks. A man knocks
on the door and enters. He is looking for my colleague. We get into
conversation and I show him the Safwa books and explain to him why the
translation process is so long and thorough. He is a pastor. He takes my
colleague’s phone number – maybe he will get in touch to invite us to speak at
his church.
The office is hot, it’s hard to focus, but it’s not long until
hometime. John has returned and we finish the day by praying together. I drive
to the petrol station to get fuel for the generator before heading home,
driving past the school children returning from a day of studies, slowing down
to skirt round a herd of cows being driven down the road, and overtaking
motorbikes, which are the most common form of public transport off the main
roads.
On arriving home I unload the car and get changed ready for
a walk in the slightly cooler evening air. I decide to head to the river for a
paddle in the cold mountain water. It’s a beautiful spot and I watch the
butterflies fluttering around. I spy a rock and some plants that look black,
but on closer inspection discover they are simply alive with flying ants. As I
return from my walk the sky is painted in the gentle pastel colours that come
after the sun has set. I head to my carrot patch to pull up a few carrots for
tea and I also pick a few strawberries as I pass through my friend’s strawberry
patch, before returning home to wash my hair (having earlier boiled the kettle
on the gas stove to give me some water to do so).
My friend, Mama Pendo,
arrives to make a cake. Armed with bananas from their own plot of land we set
to making banana bread for some guests she is receiving tomorrow. A little
later her husband arrives and we enjoy a good natter while we wait for the cake
to bake, discussing everything from schooling to what grains we grow in
England. At 9pm they leave and I accompany them the short way to
their house, as it is polite to walk a little way with your guests rather than
just wave them goodbye from the door. Now it is time to throw together a light
tea with home made bread followed by a fruit salad of fresh pineapple, passion
and banana. I sit in the lounge to eat while WhatsApping my parents and
watching an episode of ‘To a Manor Born’, which is refreshingly British and
light hearted after a day of speaking Swahili and dealing with life in Tanzania,
while the generator drones noisily in the garage.
It’s after 10pm and time I was in bed. I head to the
kitchen, wash up, turn off the generator and get ready for bed by the light of
my solar lantern. Teeth brushed, I let down the mosquito net and settle down
for what I hope will be a good night’s sleep, to the sound of the cicadas and
the occasional hoot of an owl. Outside the heavens declare the glory of God as
the stars shine out brightly in all their vast array, with the milky way
marking a clear pathway across the sky. Sleep.
