Early starts, unexpected sights, crazy food prices and an English cucumber

Sunday: Mbeya to Dodoma

Another early start. Another bus ride. A nice coach – one with a toilet and air conditioning that works. But nearly 12 hours of sitting with only a 10-minute break is unkind to the body, however nice the coach may be. I tried to watch my home church’s morning service, but halfway through the first song, the phone network became too weak to keep watching, so I was glad I’d downloaded a sermon and had plenty of other reading and listening material on my phone. The most unexpected sight on the ride was a field of camels!

The sun had set by the time I arrived, so no time to go out for a desperately needed stretch of the legs. Instead, my host was waiting for me, and I was warmly welcomed to their home with dinner ready on the table. A big thank you to Fred and Karen for taking me in. This lovely American couple work in our (SIL Tanzania’s) Dodoma office, Fred doing the same kind of work that I do and Karen serving as a translation consultant.

Monday: Dodoma

I walked to the office with Karen. It felt like a walk in the park compared to my daily trek to the office in Mbeya, even though the distance is similar, because Dodoma is so flat. The paths are sandy rather than dusty, so my feet remained relatively clean. A pleasant change, but not an environment I would want to live in, as I prefer to have mountains on my doorstep. I spent most of the day in conversation with Fred, who I supervise, discussing the literacy and Scripture engagement work for projects administered from the Dodoma office. Temperatures were surprisingly pleasant; it seems the cooler season had lingered longer than usual.

An evening walk in Dodoma, looking across to Simba Rock

Tuesday: Dodoma to Magugu

An even earlier start. Another bus ride. Same bus company, same kind of nice coach, but this time a mere 4.5 hours on the bus. The most unexpected sight was fog and drizzle, which was the first rain I’d seen since May. However, it was far from being cold and grey in Magugu. I’d come to Magugu to help facilitate a workshop on Paul’s letter to Titus. The goal of the workshop was to enable a small group of church leaders to grow in confidence in reading their Mbugwe language and to apply that to reading Titus, as the Pastoral Epistles had recently been printed in Mbugwe. The workshop began on Monday with learning to read Mbugwe, so two of the Mbugwe Bible translators were already there. I would start on Wednesday, teaching through Titus and modelling some basic Bible handling skills and Bible engagement methods along the way.

Waiting for the bus. I've never seen a coffee cart like that here before (the white van on the left) - great idea, though I didn't actually buy a coffee!

I found my way to the Lutheran church, where the workshop was being held, to greet the participants, before heading to the guest house and taking a rest. A little later, one of the translators came by and we headed to one of the many roadside cafés for lunch. The cook had been a bit heavy-handed with the salt in the greens, and the beef stew was very oily, but the meat was tender and the flavour was good.

Guest house room

The afternoon sun beat down on us as we headed back to the workshop, though thankfully the room we were using felt a bit cooler (about 27-28C). I watched the two recently trained literacy teachers help the pastors learn the Mbugwe writing system and did a bit of work on my computer as the beautiful, soft sounds of Mbugwe floated unintelligibly over my head (I can’t understand a word). Then I took my turn at the front of the small class of ten participants. I started by asking everyone to rearrange their chairs so that they were sitting in a horseshoe rather than rows!

Literacy teacher teaches how to read Mbugwe

It turned out that the translators hadn’t done some of the things I had expected at the beginning, like explaining the goals of the workshop! So, I filled in the gaps and then we handed out audio devices and explained how they could use them to listen to the Mbugwe Scriptures in different situations, such as listening with the family, listening with people at funerals, and playing them through the church sound system.

After we’d finished for the day, we paused to listen to the church choir, who were standing outside, practising for a competition. They were singing a couple of classic old hymns, in beautiful harmony, very unlike the singing I hear in my church in Mbeya. I loved it! Back at the guest house, I put on some trainers and set off for a brisk walk along a sandy road. Magugu is the worst place I’ve ever been to for people calling out mzungu and shouting out “Hi!” or saying, “Good morning”, whatever the time of day may be. I think one of the reasons for all these English greetings is that Magugu isn’t too far from a national park, so most white people they see are probably tourists who don’t speak Swahili. Mind you, I didn’t see a single other white person the whole time I was there, so I’m not so sure! I tried not to let it get to me too much and instead focused on enjoying the trees, distant hills and other sights, including one very unexpected one – zebras!

Enjoying the sights on my evening walk

I finished off my walk in the dark with a visit to the market to pick up a few bits of fruit and veg, before heading back to the guest house for a refreshing shower, a light tea and a quiet evening.

Tea time

Wednesday: Magugu

A full day of teaching. Among other things, we looked at some key Bible-handling principles. Afterwards one of the translators told me that some of the participants were saying that they’ve realised they’ve not been handling God’s Word aright. I hope that this workshop will motivate them to become more careful readers and teachers of the Word.

I joined the translators at a different café-bar for lunch, where I had ugali and fish (a whole fish) in a tasty sauce, with okra and a sour tomato in it. Sour tomatoes are a bit smaller than a normal tomato, yellow and truly sour in taste; I’ve never seen them in the UK. Someone was smoking somewhere, which is uncommon enough to be noteworthy. Despite washing my hands afterwards at the hand-washing station, they still smelt of fish sometime later! Every café has a hand-washing station – this will be a bucket with a tap in it, sitting on a stand or stool, and with a bowl underneath. Some soap (often an old plastic bottle filled with liquid soap or sometimes a pile of laundry powder) will usually be sitting on top of the bucket. These hand-washing facilities are a necessary feature as most food requires your hands. Ugali is eaten entirely with your right hand, but meat and fish also require using your hands. The meat will rarely be small and tender enough to eat whole pieces, and there is no knife and fork for delicately removing the bones from the fish or for cutting up the meat and removing the fat and gristle. So you inevitably finish every meal with greasy hands, and of course, you need to have washed your hands before eating.

Incidentally, when I say café, don’t picture a quaintly decorated room, with nice furniture and shiny appliances. Rather imagine a concrete room or a wooden structure, maybe with some tarpaulin sheeting for shade and a net curtain across the entrance. The tables and chairs will all be plastic, probably with a Pepsi or Coca Cola logo on them. The plates, bowls and cutlery (spoons) will probably be mismatching. The cooking area will be charcoal stoves with big pots on them, arranged in small corner. Large amounts of rice or ugali, stews and greens will be cooked ready, so that when you arrive they can serve your meal within just a few minutes. It’s impressive what the cooks can achieve in such a limited space and with such basic facilities.

No zebras to be seen on my evening walk, but the sky was a picture.

Thursday: Magugu

We started the day’s teaching with some more Mbugwe reading instruction, as the translators had noticed one or two things that were regularly being misread. Then we worked our way slowly through to the end of Titus 2, following a simple Bible study format with some extra teaching thrown in as needed. At the end of the day one of the participants came to thank me and said he’d already started applying what he was learning to his own Bible reading that morning, working slowly through the passage and asking himself questions about what he was reading – he even showed me his notebook where he’d written out his questions. Hearing that thrilled my heart!

Reading the Mbugwe Scriptures

At lunchtime we were visited by the wife and daughter of one of the translators. The daughter had just returned from school for a week’s holiday. Term times are different here, with the academic year beginning in January, month-long holidays in December and June, and then a few short breaks in-between. We all went to the café we’d been to the first day, where I decided to go for fried chicken with rice and greens. Thankfully, it was less salty this time, but the price made me gulp. I knew chicken was a more expensive meat option, but I hadn’t realised just how much more fried chicken would be. It was 9000 shillings, which is less than £3, so it sounds ridiculously cheap compared to a meal in England, but when you compare it to the rice and beef I’d had the first day at just 3000 shillings, it felt shockingly expensive.

Friday: Magugu

By Friday I think people were starting to get used to seeing this strange white person marching along briskly each morning. The young men hanging around with their motorbikes, waiting for people to rent a ride, didn’t bother me any more, and I mostly only received respectful greetings from the children and adults I passed, which made the walk much more pleasurable. Every morning had been overcast and pleasantly cool, but the clouds would clear away by lunchtime, leaving the afternoons hot and the evenings warm, though it wasn’t until Friday evening that I felt the need to turn on the fan in my room, as it was 27C and felt somewhat airless.

Morning roadside walks

The last day of the workshop went well. Near the end, I split them into two groups and asked them to compose a song based on what they’d learnt from Titus, giving them some specific verses they could use for the words. They soon came up with something, which they performed in the traditional Mbugwe way. The Mbugwe have a particular style of dancing in a circle, accompanied by a drum, with call and response singing. It was fun to watch them getting into the song, coming alive to the beat of the drum (an upturned bucket) and all moving their bodies in unison.

Singing and dancing

Saturday: Magugu to Dodoma

After quite a palaver, the translators had managed to get me a ticket the previous evening for the bus to Dodoma, that we were told would be there about 7am. This time it was a different bus company, Kimotco, and although the bus was somewhat less fancy, we made good time to Dodoma, arriving after just 4 hours 15 mins. Shortly after, Fred came to pick me up. Although I enjoy using Swahili, it felt good to be speaking English again, to be able to express myself freely and easily. While I am quite proficient in biblical Swahili, I can struggle to express myself when it comes to more general conversation, depending on which direction it turns. I get frustrated when I lack the vocabulary to express clearly what I’m thinking or when I fail to understand what others are saying because I’m missing a key Swahili word or adequate cultural context.

The highlight of my afternoon was mooching around a supermarket! Dodoma boasts a moderately sized store called Shoppers, so under the hot afternoon sun I walked just under 2 miles to get there, glad of the wind that kept the worst of the heat at bay. I slowly meandered up and down the aisles, with no intention of buying anything, but eventually emerging with a well-filled shopping basket! My purchases included a bike lock, a fake chamois leather for the car, some sweet treats to try (the dark chocolate coated peanut clusters were half gone by the end of my afternoon’s excursion!) and, excitement of excitement, an English cucumber. I giggled away inside as I saw products from the UK, including some Co-op gluten free pasta of all things, whose labels proudly proclaimed the British price, while the price in Tanzanian shillings was often twice that. I have no idea how these products have ended up in a supermarket in the middle of Tanzania!

Del Monte fruit cocktail for 10,300 shillings, about £2.90. Dove Farm gluten-free pasta for 21,000 shillings, about £5.90. Surprisingly the Co-op pasta wasn’t too bad at about £2.50.

Sunday: Dodoma to Mbeya

Another early start. Another bus ride. 

View from the bus

About twelve hours later I alighted in Mbeya. Home sweet home. Back to our beautiful mountains. And dust. Back to my lovely housemate and home. And to roosters, mosques and other noises disturbing my sleep. Every place I go has things to enjoy and things that are hard. God graciously sustains me. Thanks be to God.

Arriving home

Buses, mountains, Bible teaching and a chicken!

The Super Feo bus left promptly at 6am. I dozed on and off during the five-hour journey to Njombe, as did the toddler on his mum’s lap next to me. Sometimes his head was on my lap as he slept, which was both cute and slightly annoying, as space was limited enough as it was. On arrival at Njombe’s bus stand, I headed straight for the toilets and paid my 300 shillings fee (less than 10p) to the lady who sits there taking toilet money all day. It’s always a little tricky managing my laptop bag in these squat toilets, as there are no hooks on the doors and the floor is always wet. No toilet paper is provided, so I have to make sure I have got my own essential supply out of my bag in advance, otherwise I’d lose my balance trying to get it out while squatting!

I thought I would miss the morning bus to Ludewa, but it was late arriving in Njombe due to undergoing some vehicle maintenance, so I was able to catch it after all. I was also pleased to find out that it would go all the way through to Luilo, the village I was going to for the workshop, so I wouldn’t have to stay overnight in Ludewa. The first two hours from Njombe were on a rough dirt road – the heat, dust and rattling windows did not help my headache. Then there was the sweet relief of some tarmac for a while, before hitting more dirt road. We arrived in Ludewa about five hours later, at 4.45pm, where we waited for another hour while they did some more vehicle maintenance. The delay was frustrating, but at least it gave me a chance to stand outside, giving my body a break from the cramped seating position on the bus. Most of the passengers got off at Ludewa, so for the last leg of the journey I had no-one sitting next to me, which gave me space to spread out a bit, making it much more comfortable. I was dropped off at the bottom of the driveway to the guesthouse at 7pm. My big rucksack, which had been stored under the bus, was thick with dust. Knowing this would happen, I had put a cover on it, so thankfully everything inside remained dust free.

In Ludewa, waiting to get back on the bus

My colleague, Faraja, had arrived the previous day, coming early in order to make sure that everything would be ready for the workshop. Faraja is one of two translators working on translating the Scriptures into their Manda language. Several Scripture books have now been printed in Manda, including Genesis. I had come to teach the big story of the Bible, focusing especially on the early parts of the story in Genesis, as well as what can be found in another couple of books translated into Manda: The Life of Moses (this is direct Scripture – a compilation of verses from Exodus to Deuteronomy that tell the story of Moses’ life) and The Big Story of the Bible (a book I wrote in Swahili that briefly narrates the Bible’s story and helps the reader see how the Old Testament points us to Jesus).

After being shown to my room, I ordered myself chipsi mayai (a chip omelette), had a much needed wash, and enjoyed eating my dinner while doing a puzzle (I always take a puzzle book on trips), occasionally interrupted by trying to kill mosquitoes. Despite spraying my room, the mosquitoes continued to buzz around, though in a slightly dopey fashion! I hit the hay early, tucking the mosquito net in as securely around the bed as I could, and putting in my ear plugs to try and ensure a good night’s sleep. In spite of extremely lumpy pillows and a sagging mattress, I slept well and felt refreshed when I woke the next morning.

Faraja and I walked to the Anglican church, while a motorbike transported the box of books and resources for the workshop so that it was ready and waiting for us by the time we arrived. Last time I was here they were building a new church, and this time we were in the new building, dwarfing the previous little church beside it. While no expense seemed to have been spared on the nicely tiled floor, the seats were still rickety wooden benches, though a couple of nice plastic chairs were brought for Faraja and me to use. We eventually got off to a disappointing start, with just seven participants out of the hoped for thirty. A few more trickled in later, so that in total we had eleven, all of whom were from Anglican churches (from three different villages), except one who was from Assemblies of God. I recognised a few of the faces from the last workshop, which had focused on the gospel of Luke. After various introductory matters, Faraja conducted a short literacy lesson, and I was impressed to find that most of them could read Manda pretty well. One pastor wasn’t Manda, but even he tried to read, receiving hearty applause for his attempts. Although he read fairly well, he’d understood very little of what he’d read! His language of Pangwa is quite different, even though the Manda and Pangwa language areas border each other.

Ready and waiting for participants to arrive

After the Manda literacy lesson, we launched into considering the big story of the Bible, getting as far as the tower of Babel before calling it a day. Faraja and I headed back to the guesthouse along the sandy paths, where I relaxed with a book for a short while before heading out for a brisk walk along the road towards the setting sun. I’d asked for some hot water to be prepared for me so that I could have a wash when I got back from my walk, and sometime later it was brought to my door. It felt good to wash the previous day’s travel dust out of my hair! I put on a long-sleeved top, long trousers and socks for the evening, to protect myself from the pesky mosquitoes. Small they may be, but they are professional aggravators and experts at escaping swatting hands, though not all of them managed to get away!

Evening walk

After repairing a couple of holes in my mosquito net, I climbed into bed and settled down to read for a bit, only to find the music coming from the bar at the end of the corridor to be too loud to let me rest. I went and asked the girl working in the kitchen to turn the music down and went back to bed. A while later, the music was no quieter, so I went back again. This time I encountered the owner of the guest house, and my words had more effect, and with the help of earplugs I was able to fall asleep.

The second day of the workshop passed much as the first had done, with the same faithful few participants plus one newcomer. We looked at the covenant God made with Abraham and continued the story through as far as Mount Sinai and the giving of the law. Participants made a valiant effort to stay engaged, but I struggled to maintain energy into the afternoon. We were covering a lot of material, a bit too much for some of them who struggled to navigate their way quickly around the Bible, and with the temperature reaching nearly 28C in the church (which was thankfully somewhat cooler than it was outside) it was no wonder that some of us felt sleepy! Half a dozen children turned up at the end of the day (I’d hoped for more) for a time of games, a bit of reading in Manda and a song. For the reading exercise, we used a specially made ‘big book’ containing a short account of the creation story. It was A3 sized, with just a few words in a big font on each page, so that even at some distance the children could still all read it. I was re-energised by the fun of being with the children and seeing how quickly they picked up reading Manda, as well as by the cooler evening air.

Faraja teaches children to read using the 'big book'

The final day of the workshop proceeded much as the others had done, picking up the story at Mount Sinai, learning about the tabernacle, and moving swiftly on to King David, the prophets, the exile and return and waiting for the Messiah. We had particular fun acting out the story of Samuel anointing David to be king. One of the participants had brought a young child with her, and the pastor acting Jesse decided to make this wee girl David! She looked adorable wrapped in cloth like a shepherd and carrying her shepherd’s stick, but it all got a bit too much for her when I (as Samuel) wanted to anoint her!

Participants read Manda Scripture portions

If nothing else, participants seemed to take away from the workshop a deeper understanding of the love of God shown through his constant work to restore the relationship between God and mankind. Although Faraja and I felt somewhat discouraged by how things had gone, I pray that God may take my feeble attempts to feed his sheep and multiply them to feed many – the stories of the feeding of the 5000 and the 4000 came up in my quiet times during the week, which were an encouragement to me! On the plus side, nearly all the participants had bought the three Manda books we’d used during the workshop (we sold the set on offer for just 2000/-, which is about 60p), and I hope and pray that they will continue to be read. I felt weary as we headed back to the guest house. It was good to spend some time in prayer, to take a short walk, to debrief a bit with Faraja, and to watch a Keswick Convention evening celebration (surprisingly the phone network was strong enough) while doing some cross stitch.

The next day, Saturday, I headed down to the centre of the village to wait for the bus. I intentionally chose to wait by a little wooden kiosk, painted sky blue, which I knew was owned by one of the ladies from the workshop. After a while, she arrived and opened up for the day, arranging her papaya and hanging up her bananas for sale. She also had a few Manda books propped up on a shelf, alongside a few stationery supplies. She had very kindly given Faraja and me a papaya from her shop on Thursday. It was one of those gifts where you just couldn’t say no, even though Faraja doesn’t like papaya and I’m not particularly keen on them either! I ate some of it for breakfast, but gave the rest to the guest house staff. It was comforting to have a familiar, friendly face close by (Faraja had travelled onto another village to follow up a workshop they’d done there a couple of months ago), someone I could turn to if needed.

Waiting for the bus in the village centre

An elderly lady in a pair of gold rimmed spectacles approached and struck up a slightly confused conversation with me. The spectacles particularly stood out to me, as it’s far from common to find older folk with glasses. Only one person in the workshop wore glasses, though a couple of others clearly needed them as they couldn’t read the text in the Manda books, despite the good-sized, clear font. The only way to get their eyes tested and buy glasses would be to go to Njombe and all the costs involved would probably be more than most of them are either able or willing to pay. As they don’t do a lot of reading, they probably don’t see it as a priority.

The bus arrived about 10.30am and after being rattled around for an hour and a half, I arrived in Ludewa, where one of my Kisi colleagues, Stanslaus, was waiting for me. Stanslaus and Claudia are the two Kisi translators, and together we would be travelling to the Kisi village of Nkwimbili to conduct the same workshop I’d just done in the Manda language area. We walked to the guest house we always use, so that we could wait in comfort in their reception area for Claudia’s arrival. First we had to phone the local immigration office to let them know I was there, as they are very sensitive to foreigners in this area, and an officer soon arrived and inspected my passport. Unfortunately, there have been problems with the immigration office computer systems, which means I have been living in Tanzania without an official residence permit for several months. As I have got a work permit, and the fault isn’t on my side, it shouldn’t have been a problem, but not for the first time, it created issues. However, after the officer had phoned his boss, he accepted the situation, took photos of my passport, and approved me for travel.

After the officer left, I headed off to find some lunch and settled on my usual favourite travel food of chipsi mayai. I also visited the market to pick up some fresh food supplies for the coming days, as the village we were going to wouldn’t have anything available for my usual snacky evening tea. As Ludewa doesn’t receive many white visitors, I felt variously awkward, annoyed or amused by the comments I could hear around me as I walked past. A new one for me was hearing some kids saying, “She has white hair, like an albino, but she’s an mzungu!” They think I can’t understand, not realising that I can speak Swahili! (mzungu – a white person)

The rest of the afternoon was spent sitting around waiting, not quite sure when Claudia would turn up. As soon as she arrived, we started the journey down to Lupingu, the village by Lake Nyasa (aka Lake Malawi) where we would spend the night. The driver, me and my two colleagues, and a Catholic priest, drove slowly down the rough, steep mountain road, taking us about two hours to drive what they said was about 35km. The guest house we usually stay in turned out to only have one room available, as did the next guest house, so we tried the Catholic Church Mission Centre, whose lovely red-brick buildings were built about 100 years ago. They kindly welcomed me to stay, while my two colleagues went back to the guest houses. I was given a comfortable room and water to drink and even offered food, and not charged a penny.

Catholic Church Mission Centre

At 7am the next morning, Sunday, I was ready and waiting for my colleagues, to begin our walk up the mountain to get to the village of Nkwimbili, which is only accessible by foot. They arrived with two girls (I would estimate they were in their late teens) who had come down the mountain early in the morning ready to help us with our luggage, in particular my big rucksack and a box of books. I put the rucksack on the girl’s back and showed her how to fasten it, and off we set. We hadn’t gone far before she gave up on this strange way of carrying luggage and instead put it on her head! I felt bad, as I realised it was proving an uncomfortable load for her to carry, being hard to balance and an awkward shape. At some point, she paused to rest and I took out a few of the heavier items that were small enough to put into my laptop bag, to hopefully make it a bit easier for her, as she had refused my offer to let me carry the rucksack for a while.

Despite all the walking and running I do, I had been nervous about our walk to Nkwimbili. I was worried about how steep it would be and whether I’d struggle to climb wearing a skirt and carrying a heavyish bag, but all the exercise I do had prepared me well, and I had no problems as we slowly made our way up. The scenery was beautiful, though my eyes were often focused on the path, which was narrow, with loose sandy soil, occasional rocks and some steep sections. Remarkably, the girls were just wearing flip-flops, and I could see that one of the shoes was held together with a rubber band. Claudia also wore a pair of what I considered highly unsuitable sandals, but she insisted she felt more comfortable in those than she would in trainers. We met a number of people on their way down the mountain, invariably carrying baskets of green bananas or other burdens on their heads, presumably taking them to sell.

Trekking up the hill (Claudia, followed by the two girls, followed by Stanslaus)

After just under a couple of hours of walking, we reached houses, but it turned out there was still some distance to go to where we would be staying, as the path skirted around the side of the mountains to avoid dropping sharply down into the deep, narrow valleys. Houses were dotted around here and there, and we also passed the Catholic church, where we’d be holding the workshop. We eventually reached the primary school and the teachers’ houses where Claudia and I were kindly being hosted by a teacher and his family, as there are no guest houses in the village. Only part of the village has electricity, and Claudia had asked that accommodation be found for us on the side with power, so I was thankful to have a way to keep my phone and computer charged. However, the phone network was a problem. I have a dual-SIM phone, and one line didn’t work at all, while the other only started working around noon, once the solar-powered phone towers had charged up enough to get going, and even then it only worked sporadically.

The home we stayed in

The afternoon passed quietly, occasionally chatting, playing a game with the teacher’s children, doing some cross-stitch, going for a short walk etc. To be honest, I was a little bored and not quite sure what to do with myself. I’m not very good at just sitting around! Claudia looked content enough, sitting there looking at her phone, and occasionally wandering off to make phonecalls. In the evening I sat in the lounge, where the one light bulb was, and tapped away on my computer while the children watched TV. It felt somewhat incongruous to hear BBC CBeebies emanating from the TV in this remote Tanzanian village!

Beautiful views from Nkwimbili

Once the TV was turned off and the children had gone to bed, it was blissfully quiet, with the only sounds being insects and the occasional dog barking. My sleep was less bliss-like. I was cold (there was no blanket) and had to keep adding layers as the wind blew hard against the wooden shutters of the window, frequently blowing one of them open. I eventually managed to fall asleep wearing socks, leggings, t-shirt, sweater and a coat, with the bed sheet pulled up over my head, and with other clothes folded up to be a pillow. In the morning I found the temperature was about 19C, but it had definitely felt colder than that in the night due to the wind.

My bedroom

Workshop participants had been told that we’d start at 8am. When Claudia and I rocked up about 8.15am, I was amazed to find a good number of them already there, and we didn’t have to wait too long before all twenty-five had arrived. It quickly became clear that, with a few exceptions, their ability to read Kisi was limited and their knowledge of the Bible was very poor. Only two people had brought Swahili Bibles with them, though a good number had brought their Kisi books that they bought from the last workshop. They showed an obvious desire to learn, and I tried to take things slowly and keep the teaching as simple as possible as we began our journey through the Bible’s story.

Studying Genesis

In the evening I went for a short walk, enjoying the sunset ahead, the light shimmering across the lake down below to my left and the awesome mountains rising above the village to my right. People called out friendly greetings as I walked past – it was impossible not to attract attention, as the village rarely receives guests, yet alone white ones, so I was something of a curiosity. Due to the way the mountains and valleys lie, it was impossible to walk very far without reaching dead ends and needing to turn around. Houses are built along ridges, and down the sides of hills, but as soon as the sides became too steep or a ridge ends, the paths also end, so I didn’t get very far! When I got back, the mother of the home we were staying in had prepared some hot water, so I was able to bathe and wash my hair in the small brick outhouse, before settling down for the evening.

Evening walk

The next day, Tuesday, went well, with everyone participating attentively and with some good questions being asked, though I had to be careful in how I answered a question about priests, considering the different church denominations represented (Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist and Church of the Apostles). We were treated to tender goat meat stew for lunch, with the usual greens and ugali or rice. The ugali in the Kisi area is frequently made from fermented cassava rather than maize – I tasted it once, and I can’t honestly say that I enjoyed it, and it’s something your stomach needs to get used to, so unsurprisingly I opted for rice.

Drying fermented cassava, so that it can be ground into flour

The next morning school children had been put to work on some extra-curricular activities around the house! These included sweeping, building and processing the cassava that had been soaking in water for a few days, giving off a distinctive smell of fermentation. Teaching in a village seems to come with certain perks – free labour! The last day of the workshop went well, with people clearly getting the importance of reading the Bible, and I can only pray that they follow through with their expressed desire to read the Bible more and to teach others to do the same. We then had fun with the one hundred plus children who turned up for a short session, informed by their schoolteachers to come along. We played “Simon says” with them, first in Swahili and then in Kisi, and then got them reading the story of creation, using a ‘big book’ like I had in Luilo. They did amazingly well at reading Kisi – they’re quicker to learn and more confident than many adults! They accompanied us back to the house, proudly carrying the box of resources and my bag as they chatted away together in Kisi.

Claudia and I with the host family's children (mum is standing in the doorway)

On Thursday morning the household was up early, including the two boys, whose parents had tasked them with accompanying us down the mountain to help carry our luggage, even though they were only about 9 and 12 years old. We were incredibly touched by their kindness – they had been welcoming from day one, with relaxed but thoughtful hospitality that made one feel free and at home, and they didn’t want any payment (though we did give them a little something). The children were also tasked with picking up a few things from the village we were descending to, which was holding its monthly market that day. We set off at 7.15am, with one boy carrying the now much lighter box that had just a handful of books in it and some teaching resources, and the other carrying my laptop bag, which I had tried to keep as light as possible. I carried my big rucksack. An elderly lady gifted us with a chicken, so Claudia and I took it in turns to carry it, wrapped in a sack I’d found lying around, with it’s head peeping out. Thankfully it was a very calm bird and quite small. My legs felt increasingly shaky as we traipsed down the steep path, having to tread carefully to avoid slipping. I did slip at one point, and only just managed to keep from sliding down the steep mountain side covered in dry grass and stubby bushes. Loaded down with my rucksack, it was hard to stand up and get back on the path, as there was nothing I could get a grip on to help me regain my balance. It was with relief that we finally reached the bottom – my legs definitely preferred the climb up to coming back down, though the children had no problems and patiently waited for us oldies! I remember those days of thinking the downhills were fun and not understanding why my parents didn’t enjoy them. Now I get it!

Heading down (the child at the back was another child from the village who caught up with us at some point, carrying a big sack on his head)

We waded through the refreshingly cool river, walked past the vendors setting up their market stalls and said goodbye to the children there, so that they could fulfil their chores before heading back. Claudia and I continued the final short stretch to where the car was waiting for us that would take us up the steep mountain road to Ludewa. As I felt uncomfortably damp in my sweaty top, Claudia asked someone if I could use their house to get changed. I felt much refreshed after putting on a clean top, washing my hands and face in the lake, gulping down some cool water and switching my sorry-looking trainers for a pair of sandals. I chomped on some boiled maize as we began the journey up the mountain road, arriving in Ludewa with enough time to find something to eat (freshly cooked chipsi mayai for me) before catching the next bus to Njombe, which left at 12.30pm.

Claudia’s hair gradually turned more grey as the dust from the road made its way into the bus and onto her hair. My hair felt thick with dust too, but at least my hair colour meant you couldn’t actually see how dirty it was! We arrived in Njombe, got some advice on buses for the next morning, walked ten minutes to the Ufunuo Lodge that I always use, and settled the chicken in a storeroom. We ate rice, greens and beef for dinner, at a café by the lodge, while we waited for the water heaters to our rooms to get to work so that we could get rid of the travel grime. Much as I like the guest house for its nicely furnished, low-priced rooms (less than £5 per night), its good location and friendly attendant, my room would have benefited from a little bit of attention! There was no drainage pipe from the sink, just a hole, and the bedroom light didn’t work!

I woke the bleary-eyed guest house attendant at 5.30am, so she could let us out for the short walk back to the bus stand. As soon as we boarded the bus, it set off. We were the only two passengers, but we soon picked up more en route. It would have taken less than five hours to get home by car, but by using the bus, followed by a very uncomfortable ride in an overcrowded daladala (minibus), and then a ten-minute walk, it took nearly eight hours. But we made it in one piece, and the chicken did too!

Off to Tanzania's capital to train Sunday school teachers

Not all my trips involve being squeezed between an excessive number of passengers on a rickety bus or staying in guest houses that would benefit from some DIY. My journey to Dodoma was conducted in comparative luxury on a smart Shabiby coach, which even had a toilet and air conditioning that worked. Recognising that there were a couple of non-Tanzanians on the bus, the conductor gave announcements in both Swahili and English, which I thought was very considerate, even if I did find the Swahili easier to understand! The announcements included asking everyone to pause for a moment to pray (to the god of whichever faith you follow) for the journey ahead, which I can’t imagine ever happening on coaches in Britain!

We'd only been travelling fifteen minutes or so when we stopped
to fill up a tyre with air at this roadside puncture repair shop

The bus journey was long, 11 hours 20 minutes, but uneventful, passing through lush green scenery, as the rainy season is only just coming to an end. At some point I got into conversation with the man sitting next to me, who asked questions I have never heard from a Tanzanian before. After telling him what I do, he asked, “Why do you believe in God?” Most Tanzanians would consider themselves either Christian or Muslim, so to meet with someone who openly questioned the existence of God came as something of a surprise. I stumbled over my explanation, especially as I was talking in Swahili, but nevertheless was happy to be able to share with him why I believe God exists, starting with the wonder of the created world and also sharing about Jesus being a real person in history. More questions followed, which weren’t easy to answer, but I can only pray that the few seeds sown by my clumsy mouth might yet go on to take root. After talking about God, conversation moved onto nutrition, grey hair (he thought I was in my sixties because of my hair colour!!), the concept of supermarket monopoly (he was surprised to discover how food is cheaper for us in supermarkets compared to small independent shops, whereas here it is usually the other way round) and other random questions about life in England. In fact, it was quite hard to stop him talking when I reached a point of needing some time out with my own thoughts and a good book!

Michelle and Nicholle, two American sisters (literally sisters) who work in our office in Dodoma, had kindly invited me to stay with them. While I waited a few minutes for Nicholle to pick me up from the bus stand in Dodoma, I bought a nice-looking bunch of green grapes. The Dodoma region has many vineyards, and the vendors were selling both white and black grapes and also large plastic containers of wine. I think it’s the first time I’ve bought white grapes in Tanzania, as in Mbeya the only ones available are very expensive imported ones, though black grapes come from Dodoma when they are in season. The grapes were sweet, though I have been spoilt by seedless grapes in England, so I found the pips annoying!

A beautiful rainbow graced the skies as I waited at the bus stand and
chatted with the women selling grapes and wine

From the bus stand, we went straight to a restaurant in town to meet up with an American couple, who would be leaving one day later to go to the States, and a Dutch guy, who had been with our project in Mbeya the previous week and had now come to work with the Burunge language Bible translation team in Dodoma for a week. The restaurant proved to have good service and an extensive menu, with particularly good Indian food. I have to admit that our experience there was better than anything I have experienced in Mbeya restaurants! Most restaurants in Mbeya are attached to hotels, with a few exceptions that I would describe as cafés rather than restaurants. However, this place in Dodoma was a proper restaurant, and even the brownie I decided to try for dessert was delicious. A nice treat all round, including the company.

I was glad to get to bed after a day of sitting and take the pressure off my derriere! I slept pretty well, with cool air coming through my open window and the sound of insects chirruping loudly outside. The next morning, after a walk in which I realised I hadn’t quite got my bearings yet and ended up doing twice the distance I’d planned on, I headed to the office, which is just round the corner from where I was staying. I had come to Dodoma to facilitate two workshops for Sunday school teachers, the first being for teachers from the Burunge language area and the second for teachers from the Rangi language area. A set of fourteen illustrated Bible story books had been printed, with the stories written in both Swahili and either Burunge or Rangi, and the goal of the workshops was to train the teachers in how to plan and deliver Sunday school lessons that would use those books. The workshops would include practising reading their language, learning different ways to make a Sunday school lesson engaging and memorable, and learning how to plan a class from beginning to end.

My visual aid for how to plan out a Sunday school lesson 

I had arrived in Dodoma a day early, so that I would have time to sit with a Tanzanian colleague there, Magdalena, to help her prepare to teach some parts of the workshops, as we’d like to see her being able train Sunday school teachers herself in the future. She has sat in on my teaching in the past, so now it was time for her to actually do some of the teaching herself. I’d done my best to prepare teaching notes for her to use in Swahili as a guide. However, she spent the first half of the morning phoning around the participants to check who was coming and and then later she had to go to the bank to get the money needed to run the workshop, so we didn’t have quite as much time together as originally planned. Incidentally, on my arrival at the office, a bird chose my foot and dress as the target for its poop! Amidst much laughter, our Tanzanian colleagues insisted it was a blessing, but I think they were having me on!

The next day, Wednesday, I went for a run along a pleasant 5km loop I’d worked out on previous visits to the town, enjoying the cool of the early morning air, the views of Simba Rock (simba is Swahili for lion) and the flat roads (unlike the hills of Mbeya). Although warmer than Mbeya, the temperature was pleasant and remained so throughout the day due to plenty of cloud cover. The little thermometer I had brought with me seemed to hover around 24-26C in my bedroom throughout my stay. This was good news for the workshop, as it meant the meeting room didn’t get stuffy and we could play games outside without getting too hot.

Playing 'sheep/shepherds' with the Sunday school teachers (Photo by LP)

On the first day, we waited to start until at least half the participants had turned up, which meant that we got going late morning. Participants had come some distance and for many it had involved both a motorbike and bus ride, so for the next two nights they were hosted in a nearby guest house. In total we had fifteen Sunday school teachers, men and women, with varying experience and ability. They engaged well in the training and enthusiastically participated in the games. I enjoyed listening to them speak their Burunge language, as it’s a Cushitic language, which sounds very different from the Bantu languages around Mbeya. One of the sounds they have is like the Welsh “ll” (though they write it “sl”), and they have lots of other beautiful, soft sounds. I couldn’t understand a word (except ‘taáta’, which means ‘father’), whereas with the Bantu languages around Mbeya I can sometimes make intelligent guesses about words and the grammatical structures look familiar, because Swahili is also Bantu (though with a number of Arabic-origin words).

At the end of the workshop, we asked them what they had enjoyed and what new things they had learnt. Answers included that they used to just turn up at class and start teaching, they didn’t know they needed to prepare ahead of time or how to plan out a lesson, but now they did. Others mentioned that they had learned that they should teach in an interactive way, including using questions, games and pictures. They were all excited to leave with enough sets of the Bible story books that they would be able to hand them out to the children to read in class – in smaller classes there’d be enough for each child to have a book while in large classes (of over thirty children) there’d still be enough for them to share one between two or three children. In the final closing time, where we all had a chance to say a few words, one of the workshop participants said they wanted to give me a small thank you gift, and as he shook my hand, he slipped a 1000 shilling note into my palm (about 30p). It was both a very funny moment (because of the way he said it) and a very moving moment; I felt so touched by this spontaneous act of appreciation.

The weekend began with a meal out on Friday evening at a nearby Italian restaurant that serves proper Italian pizzas. I went with my hosts and a couple of their friends, two German ladies who I have got to know a little on my visits to Dodoma. On Saturday morning I enjoyed a six-mile run, looping around the back of Dodoma’s iconic Simba Rock. Later in the morning, Nicholle and I used Bolt (like Uber) to call a bajaj (motorised rickshaw) to take us to the edge of town where I’d been told about a nice little hill to climb, locally referred to as ‘radio hill’ because of all the radio and phone masts on top of it. The flowers were beautiful and we enjoyed expansive views in all directions. The weather was a mix of sunshine and clouds, and although at one point it looked like we were in for a soaking, the rain ended up skirting around us so that we only felt a couple of drops while still benefiting from the cool wind that accompanied the threat of rain. Instead of getting wet, I got sunburnt! On the way back I got to see the new electric train that now exists between Dodoma and Dar es Salaam, which by all accounts is an excellent form of transport, with trains always being on time and only taking 3-4 hours, compared to eight plus hours on a bus.

With Nicholle, heading towards radio hill (behind us),
beautiful flowers all around

Fantastic views across Dodoma

Spot the chameleon

In the afternoon I went on another exciting excursion, this time to the supermarket! While we have one or two shops in Mbeya with aisles, nothing could quite be considered a supermarket, so it’s always fun to see what’s available in ‘Shoppers’, as it’s called. It’s particularly amusing to find products from the UK, with UK pricing on the label but being sold for two or three times the price! Disappointingly, they didn’t have any decaffeinated coffee, which I had hoped to find, but they did have some very reduced (end of date) lactose free and oat milk that would be a real treat, so I picked up a couple litres of each of these to take back with me.

After a gentle run on Sunday morning, I spent most of the day at the house. One of the ladies who came to the Italian restaurant came over for an afternoon coffee, and then we accompanied her back to her house, just a two-minute walk away, to see her menagerie. She has dogs, chickens, turkeys, guinea pigs, rabbits, mice, doves and love birds! These are all being bred for sale. It’s very unlikely that the guinea pigs, rabbits or mice will become pets! Apparently, the mice get sold to schools, so I imagine they end up on the dissection table.

Found this fascinating large bug on a walk - an
armoured cricket

Monday 27^th April marked the beginning of the second workshop. We weren’t able to start until after lunch because of the time it took for people to get from the Rangi language area. During the coffee break I enjoyed chatting with one of the Sandawe language translators, who told me about how many snakes there are where she comes from, many of which are highly poisonous, and how sometimes she’d be afraid to go out, especially during the rainy season when they would be hidden by the vegetation that grows fast in the warm, wet weather. She once got bitten on her head, but recovered after swift treatment from an electric shock machine. Some churches had been given these machines, and she herself was involved in helping people who received snakebites – witnessing to them, praying for them and treating them. I am glad that I hardly ever encounter snakes in Mbeya, as they prefer hotter climates!

The workshop kicked off about 1.30pm, after the usual lunch of rice, greens (cabbage), meat, beans and fruit. As people introduced themselves, I realised that they were all from Catholic churches. The Catholic church is the main denomination in the Rangi area, but even so, I hadn’t expected all the participants to be Catholic! I also noticed the character of the group to be different to that of the Burunge – they seemed quieter and their faces were harder to read, but that didn’t mean they were listening any less. Indeed, as the workshop progressed, I could see that they were trying hard and they did a particularly good job of forming actions or composing a tune to help children learn a memory verse. I hope that the participants left not only with ideas for how to teach children in a fun and interactive way, but also with a fresh desire to read the Bible for themselves (only one of them had brought a Bible to the workshop) and a deeper understanding of salvation and God’s love for them.

Participants practise teaching

Some of the feedback we received at the end of the workshop included that they had learnt to teach using actions and songs, they’d learnt the importance of reviewing what you’ve taught before teaching something new, they’d learnt to read using expression, and they’d learnt to read Rangi and that they can use Rangi with the children. They also said that the teachers (i.e. me and my colleagues) taught with love and joy, and one said that he’d discovered the Bible is for all people, not just Catholics! More amusingly, other feedback included that they’d never slept in a guest house with more than one storey before and that they had been surprised to discover that their teacher was an mzungu (a white person).

The night before I left, loud music started playing from a neighbour’s home. We didn’t know what the celebration was all about (they’d erected a gazebo in their compound and had hired plastic chairs for their guests), but we feared it could go on late into the night. It did indeed mean getting to sleep later than I’d hoped, but fortunately it was over by about 11.30pm, so I still got a reasonable amount of sleep before my alarm went off at 5.15am on Thursday morning. As soon as I’d finished packing up my bags, Michelle and Nicholle kindly gave me a lift to the bus stand for 6am, and the Shabiby bus arrived just after 6.10am.

View from the bus - fields of sunflowers with hills in the distance

The bus journey was long (taking just over 12 hours), but it went smoothly. Around lunchtime we had a ten-minute food and toilet stop, where I bought a tray of lukewarm chips and a bottle of water. A little while later, we stopped briefly at the town of Makambako while we waited for some passengers to join us. As we waited, a man took over the bus’s microphone and started sharing some local history with us. He explained that there were two tribes, the Hehe and another, who were at war with each other, and were kidnapping each other’s wives. At some point, the Hehe chief said that they should stop fighting each other and instead join forces to fight against the German colonists. They met together and made a covenant of reconciliation, offering oxen as sacrifices. In the local language, the word for oxen was ‘makambako’, hence the name of the town. Then they turned on the Germans. The Hehe are famous for their war against the Germans – according to Wikipedia, they vanquished a German expedition and maintained their resistance for seven years in the 1890s.

The man also regaled us with local beliefs and facts about Mbeya, one of which was that it is the town with the most churches in Africa, after Lagos. He also turned out to be a successful entrepreneur, having recently received an award for his soap and creams made from natural ingredients, which he advertised with skill and humour as we continued our journey. It is not unusual for tradesmen to get on a bus at one stop, sell their wares, and alight at the next, and normally I find their advertising patter rather annoying, but this man had the gift of the gab and had us all laughing.

Another snapshot taken through the bus window - roadside vendors selling root vegetables

With my big rucksack on my back, my laptop bag on my front, and the bag carrying my four cartons of milk in my hand, I walked uncomfortably home, rather desperate for the loo! Although the bus had a toilet, you weren’t allowed to use it in built-up areas, which we had been in for the past hour. It was with relief that I arrived home, made myself comfortable and spent a few minutes with my housemate before she headed off to our weekly English Bible study. It was definitely good to be home, but it had also been good to be away, to have a change of scene and be doing what I love to do – train people to engage with God’s Word.