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.
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| 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.
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| Ready and waiting for participants to arrive |
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| 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.
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| 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!
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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!
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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!
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| 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!
