Pitchpole!

...or nosedive, to use some sailing terminology for the good old days.

Yesterday I went in on a kamikaze mission. Juma, the Clinical Officer at PIUMA, and I were sent to the District Medical Officer with the goal of procuring a copy of the health budget for Makete District. I was well aware that we would fail before going, but I thought we'd give it a shot.

When we first arrived, I tried to be cordial. It was clear that Juma, who has to deal with the man on a regular basis, was not so comfortable with confrontation, so I tried to persuade the DMO of the usefulness of such a document for our organization. I told him we were planning our activities for the following year, which would involve an education and testing outreach program, and in order to offer services of the same high quality (yeah right!) as the District, we would be at a loss without their budget.

His answer was that if we wanted, we could submit our action plan to them, to be included in the budget (though not financed), providing government record of PIUMA's work. Clearly not what we were after!

After going through the same circles several times and making no progress, I thought it might be time to be a little more direct. I said I was under the impression that the operations of public institutions and the allocation of public resources were supposed to be made public. As citizens of Tanzania, PIUMA was demanding to see a copy of a public document.

He laughed! Then he repeated what he had said before.

I would have kept pushing, but I decided it wasn't worth it. Talking to him was like running into a wall. Not to mention, I didn't want to screw up an already rocky relationship with the government, I don't actually know about law, and I didn't feel like it was really my place to be fighting for it.

I guess it is pretty funny - me, a kid, an outsider, trying to tell him about his about citizens' rights in his country, without even being able to discuss it in the country's national language. But he was also a little nervous. He held the budget book tight; he wouldn't even set it down on the desk. When he left the room for a minute, he took it with him.

He should have been nervous, however. Our intentions were not in his favour. If we were to get our hands on that document, the ultimate goal would be to uncover some embezzlement or something, to use as fuel in the fight against notoriously corrupt public officials.

Either way, it was a pretty frustrating experience. While I can take it lightly now, last night I was a little ticked. The drive to Makete Town alone - a 2 hour each way, super cramped, bumpy journey - and to not make any headway, was discouraging to say the least.

But it was also exciting to be in that sort of situation. Like a nasty crash on the water - yes, it can hurt, and can lose you the race, and get you wet and cold - but once you're off the water, it's one of those moments you don't forget. It also proved everything I've heard about government non-cooperation true, showing me that what PIUMA claims to be working against is a real issue. It's nice to know that what you're working for is actually needed.

Time's now running out in Bulongwa. I've got exactly a week left, and I hope, lot's of cool experiences to be had.

The origins of tradition

For a while now, I've been probing people about Bulongwa's history and the traditions of the Ukinga (tribe) that live here. This has given me many conflicting stories, and has probably made me annoyingly incessant in my questions. So, finally a couple days ago, Izack said he would introduce me to someone who could answer all I had to ask. As it turns out, he is also among the oldest coherent people left here. His name is Mzee (Mr.) Allam.

Upon entering his home, a relatively large brick house near the big Lutheran Church, the first thing he asked me was my age. When I answered, he started rolling in laughter. "20," he said, "did you know I was born in 1928!" That's ancient for here. His slouched posture is supported by a crooked wooden cane, with so much weight put on it, that you can't imagine he would be able to lift his head from staring at your shoes. But, when he finally does, with effort, his face looks younger than his body; only tufts of white from under his cap give away his age. That and his missing right eye.

We sit down on his couch and he begins his story. His grandfather was the first to arrive in Bulongwa, a name meaning, "Look everyone! I'm the first person here!" At that time, this area was a combination of heavily wooded zones and barren grasslands. Allam's grandfather chose a forested hill to build his home. Soon others followed, but people lived sparsely - roughly one house per mountain ridge. They cultivated many things, most don't have an English translation, but one of the staples was millet. Their protein was gathered from the forest. Again, many animals that I can't translate, except for gazelles and hogs.

In 1895, the first missionary arrived. Missionary, singular. In Bulongwa's history, there have been a total of three to reach this area. And that includes all the villages around here.

The missionaries made friends easily. They brought salt and oil and teapots and spoons. They also managed to convert pretty much everyone. They built a church or two, and a couple schools. People still lived far apart, however, and not many got an education.

The British took control of Tanzania as a protectorship in the Treaty of Versailles following WWI, where Germany was basically hung to dry. That was 1919, but the first sign of British presence in the highlands wasn't until after the second World War. The Brits came to dispose of the German missionaries, and it was around this time that the seeds of independence were being sown.

In typical Tanzanian fashion, independence was a peaceful diplomatic affair - one that you might not expect to make a difference in the lives of villagers. The opposite is true. From the arrival of Germans, not much changed for the people here. The creation of the Bulongwa, and in fact, the Tanzania I have seen stems wholely from independence.

That means, much of what I've taken as traditional, is only 60 years old!

From the "traditional" colorful kangas the women wear to the "traditional" ugali (a porridge made from maize with a consistency slightly thicker than mashed potatoes), even to the "traditional" agricultural community - none of this existed before independence.

One of Nyerere's first tasks as president was to totally reform agriculture. He promoted growing larger crops of maize, wheat and potatoes, keeping livestock, and living in communities to promote trade. Before this, not only did those crops not exist here, but people lived far apart so they would have more forest to hunt in, and they grew only enough to eat each day. Nyerere's system, which developed food stockpiles meant greater resilience to weather changes, and allowed the population to grow, taking over almost all the vacant space around. Any forest that is left has been planted for timber, and is mostly imported pine.

Bulongwa is composed of about 5 or 6 last names, spanning the thousands of residents that inhabit these hills. While now they form a large and disparate community, it's easy to imagine that less than one hundred years ago, there actually were 5 or 6 family units in the area.

Even though the longer I stay here, the less I find all that different with life in Canada, I think the divergence between the two countries stems from ages ago. I was talking to big E (I know you wouldn't want me to say your name here haha...) about this yesterday, and he thought that the major separation comes from 5000 years ago, when a small group of people began to worship one god, instead of everything, thus allowing them to understand, rather than worship, the world around them.

I think it's a combination of three things. That definitely played a part, and I think a second, important step came from that same movement. Writing things down. Getting a history here can be incredibly frustrating because the further back you go, the less memory there is of the time. At one point I asked Allam something and his answer was that so-and-so would know the answer, but unfortunately he's dead. Similarly, if you ask someone under 50 about their traditional foods, they'll tell you Ugali and chipsi (fried potatoes), while maize, potatoes, and certainly oil, were not here until a century ago.

The third thing that I think has led to the differences we perceive is the division of labor. In Plato's Republic, Socrates sets out to define justice through an ideal society, and his first point is that each person must have his or her own role, and must perform only that job. A butcher is not a baker, and a farmer is not a soldier. That was 2500 years ago, but the tradition is very much continued in what we call Western countries.

Here, self-sufficiency is the order. No matter what each person does, say owning a store or being a pastor, they each fulfill their own basic needs. Everyone farms, everyone builds their own home, even their own bricks. Obviously others sell their services and their materials, but people would get by regardless.

I am, however, comparing two extremes; rural Tanzania to Montreal. I didn't want to rant about here vs. there, just to present the subtle tendencies I've noticed. It's funny how here, with the new quest for money, people are moving away from self-sufficiency, and back home, with the scare of environmental catastrophe, people are moving towards it.

If they meet half-way, the world will become Dar es Salaam: a metropolitan city with banana trees and maize growing in every sidestreet and yard. As green roofs, green spaces and green living continue to rise in the West, we're probably not that far off.

The day that could have been

I was seriously looking forward to today. The plan was to visit PIUMA's vibrant members in Utengule. Utengule is about a three to three and a half hour walk from Bulongwa. What makes it so unique is that it is the highest point of land before Lake Nyasa in our region. The views are reported to be amazing, with it straddling the border between the smooth green mountains, and the rugged sandy peaks that drop towards the lake.

Secondly, from its location at the Northern point of the lake, the sun rises above the dramatic Eastern peaks. A sight not to be missed.

So the plan was to walk through the night to arrive in time for this occurrance.

Unfortunately things didn't pan out.

We left at 4 a.m., as planned, and walked through by the moonlight for two and a half hours. That was nothing short of bad ass, I won't lie.

But that's also when things began to go wrong. Firstly, it became apparent that the clouds, a rarity in these parts, would obscure any view of the lake and even the sun. Secondly, I began to feel not so great. A combination of fatigue and fighting off the numerous bacteria my body is not used to, I would guess.

At this point I should mention how pathetic one feels when complaining of a low fever to an HIV-positive audience.

I fulfilled my duties, however, and met great people, and hopefully picked up some good information to write about. I was not feeling too hot though, and I didn't think I could make the over three hour return.

Utengule has no car. Bulongwa is the nearest one. We called the driver and got him to come pick us up. The fare came to about 20 000 Tsh (shillings), or roughly $20.

Bulongwa is also the nearest hospital, and a reputedly terrible one at that. So, this experience opened my eyes to why there seems to be an approving pacifism towards sickness here.

I've heard several stories about people who refuse to go to the hospital because "if God willed it, then that's how it is."

This attitude horrified me, but after today it is understandable (though still horrifying). When I was in Utengule, I wanted nothing more than just to find a bed there and lie down forever. Obviously I wasn't dieing, but the walk to Bulongwa seemed insurmountable.

You'll probably say, "well, at least there's a car you can call for a relatively low price." The problem is, for most, 20 000 Tsh is not easy money. Treatments at the hospital run at a few dollars per day - even that is enough incentive to keep people home.

This is, in fact, PIUMA's most important mandate. Through its collection of HIV patients, it teaches people of their right to quality health care access. It also breaks the lethargy associated with treatment through collective pressure, and sometimes even going to peoples' homes and carrying them to the hospital.

We think of health care as a fundamental right. In practice, it is only the right of the rich enough. And this is true of anywhere in the world, but deeply exaggerated here.

**Note: I did not go to the hospital. I wasn't that sick, and that place scares the crap out of me. After lot's of sleep, I'm feeling much better.

Shout Out to Danny Boy (A Poem)

D oesn't eat tomatoes, but
A nything else he will.
N ot cucumbers either.
I nconsideracy makes him clench his teeth,
E voking maybe a punch.
L ook out for him while he reads this post!

M any times, he's been calmed by Big
A .
L isten
D aniel, she scolds,
O thers would not approve!
F ine, says he as he lowers his fist,
F ine.

Funeral for a Friend

In a post a while back, I talked about the pain-in-the-ass rooster who crows at my window every morning. Well, last night I ate him.

We had a visitor here for a few days, and for his last night, he decided to buy a chicken for us to share in the office. Little did I know it would be the one that hangs out next door.

Upon finding out, I was confronted with a weird set of emotions. Even though I thought he was hideous and annoying, I had grown accustomed to his morning ritual. I had even enjoyed when he'd grab my crumbs while eating breakfast in the sun on my back steps. Knowing the animal you're eating intimately, knowing what it looked like and how it behaved, makes a strong case for vegetarianism.

But that sort of thing is normal here. Animals are strictly tools and nothing else. Besides, my little friend was delicious.

The same sort of thing happened to me a couple weeks ago. At the Saturday market, I had the unfortunate experience of passing by the slaughtering pen as they were preparing the meat. I'll spare the details, but it was awful, and the cow they were killing looked a lot like Bessie, though I quickly dismissed this association.

Bessie was a brown and white. She often used to graze in the field outside Lupasso, achored to a stake. Once when we were out tossing the frizbee, in my first few days here, it was clear that Bessie (a name I've given her obviously) was really afraid of the flying disc. So I did what you would have done with a dog. I walked up to her slowly, holding the frizbee low for her to smell while I scratched her head. Bessie seemed to love that because afterwards, any time I would pass by, she would trot up to me, pulling hard on her rope, and nestle her head into me, or lick my pants. If you've never been licked by a cow, it's a lot more forceful than a dog's tongue, and much coarser.

Back to the market. I buy meat from a cow that looks awfully like Bessie, and for days after, Bessie is not around to graze. Naturally I was pretty upset, but a week later she turned up again to my relief.

The concept of pets, of having animals around for company, is something people simply can't afford to share here. Animals are expensive, and they are also valuable - owning one is nothing but business.

A few nights ago, I was reading in the living room. Izack was there too, browsing through an Austrian magazine that had been left here. At one page, he stopped me and pointed to a full-page adverstisement. I don't read German, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was about a retirement plan. The picture showed a grey-haired man walking seven or ten dogs of different breeds, being pulled by all his leashes with a huge smile on his face. Izack says, "so this man has BIG dog business!"

How do you explain that no, in fact it was just this man's dream leisure activity? How do you explain the notion of pets when dogs here lie in the dirt outside, their ribs prominent through scaling skin and scrappy fur as they breathe heavily, hoping you will throw them some scraps or drop some crumbs? Or when mud-huts teem with guinea pigs, an eventual source of valuable protein?

Don't be horrified, it seems natural when you're here that guinea pigs would make good food. I'm told they taste pretty good, and with the amount they reproduce, they're perfect for the job.

Iméhé-zing

Wow, it's been a week since my last post, and a lot has happened. The main thing being that I've started walking out to the different villages where PIUMA has members, which is why I haven't had much time to write. These trips have been amazing, and have really helped me to understand the area a lot better. I'll write about visiting Imehe yesterday, because that has been my favorite so far.

Bulongwa is one of many ridge-top communities in the Southern Highlands. I believe the people here build their homes high up because the lower valleys, being warmer and closer to rivers and streams, are better agricultural land. My house is on Lupasso street, which runs along the top of a ridge that fingers off from the center of town. Past my house, the finger drops into a valley, and peaks rise in all directions around. For this reason, I had never been past my home, only traveling in the direction of town and beyond, but Imehe is perched on one of those overlooking peaks, so off we went.

The hike to Imehe was incredible: two hours through fields and forest along a single-track trail, occasionally joining up with an old horse trail, built by the Germans in the 1890's. The trail snakes down the fairly steep walls of the valley, hopping over small cliffs and winding through trees, then follows a narrow river before clambering up to Imehe, much like the descent. This would have been a great hike, but unfortunately I can't call it that. My hiking boots, my backpack and waterbottle, all of these were out of place. Upon arriving, I found out that this technical trail is actually the only access to the village. So, really, this was just a daily commute. I should have been wearing flip-flops and a blazer, carrying a briefcase or a basket of fruit on my head if I wanted to fit in.

One of the members I met lives at the furthest South end of the village, offering incredible views of Lake Nyasa in the distance, and the jagged, rocky peaks of the Southern Livingstone range, almost within reach. These mountains are steep and remote. There is no visible agriculture or houses, and from Imehe, they look like piles of dark sand.

The best part about these walks is the people. Everyone is so appreciative of the effort made to greet them that they treat me like an ambassador. They offer me food, they show me their homes, introduce me to their families and always offer gifts. Being peasants for the most part, their gifts are what they are farming - ranging from sweet potatoes, to assorted greens, or, my favorite, a sunfish! This was given to me today in Makwavuta where a bunch of members have gotten together to work on group projects, one of them being a nursery. Even though they forgot to bring a net when showing me the ponds, they wanted so badly to give me a fish that two of them dove in with one of the women's shawls, skimming the water for almost an hour before finally catching one.

But aside from the friendliness of the people, I've gained a much more realistic sense of my surroundings. My tiny Bulongwa is a bustling metropolis compared to some of these villages. From Lupasso, Imehe is barely visible, but from Imehe, Bulongwa looks heavily manicured, with neatly arranged plots and dotted with houses, of sheet metal, not grass, roofs. Futhermore, the electricity I took for granted (and cursed when it went out every few hours) is extremely rare. Not only is this one of the few towns in the district to have power, the PIUMA office is a rarity even in Bulongwa. Road access is almost as sparse, and the guys I work with have told me stories of having to walk to villages to physically carry sick members back to Bulongwa for treatment.

I probably should have noticed this sooner. Since I arrived in Njombe, almost 3 weeks ago, everywhere I go I'm asked to give a speech. People here don't seem to understand that I'm just another stupid student. In my speeches, which have started to become natural and familiar now, though quite uncomfortable at first, I usually give a description of why I'm here and what I'm doing. The tell-tale sign should have been that my line, "I'm here to help set up a website," takes more than five minutes to translate!

What has become overwhelmingly apparent to me is that Tanzania is very fragmented. The gap between the rich and poor is continually widening. The further you get from Dar the worse things get for people, and the less opportunity there is for that to change. Kids either grow up to become peasant farmers like their parents, or they somehow scrape together enough cash to get to a city, where they'll likely sell crap on the street, sending a pittance home for their parents' retirements. But, it has been jarring to see how much people can accomplish, even when disconnected from everywhere but their village, and how surprizingly modern they are. It's easy to joke around and carry out conversation (with translator of course) and we seem to understand each other, even though we should have nothing in common. Not to mention, as far as I've been, cell-phone reception is always 4 bars or more - if only the same were true back home.

Football (Soccer)

Yesterday we had our first of what will hopefully be many PIUMA soccer practices. In an effort to promote a healthy lifestyle, as part of our Home Based HIV Care initiative, PIUMA members will be facing off against members of another NGO in Makete next week. So, we have to train and get fit!

The practice was a pretty cool experience. Things get organized very differently here, and it was really amusing to watch. Particularly because I don't understand the majority of what is said, watching the events unfold had a cinematic quality. Think the cricket match on that terrible field in the movie La Grande Seduction.

It started like any other day in the office. Yes I knew we had the big game next week and yes I had heard plans of practicing, but I guess I didn't understand how that would go down. In the past we had kicked the ball around on the little field outside Lupasso, where one wrong kick sent the ball deep into the surrounding valleys, so when I was told we were going to practice, I thought that was what was meant.

I follow the staff outside, and keep following as we walk right past the nearby open space, and head towards town. We are led by the general secretary, Anna, who is bouncing the ball as we walk along. Slowly, people are drawn to our group, mainly, I think, because we have a real soccer ball, and what you often see being used is bundles of rags taped into a spherical shape. So, our train keeps growing, and we keep walking - 45 minutes, all the way to a "real" soccer field in a valley on the far side of town.

This field is really just a meadow where cows graze by a river. It is beautiful, surrounded on all sides by mountains. It's also not really level, is full of cow dung and random gopher holes (but I don't think there are gophers here), and in some areas, little shrubs that can out-deke even the skilled. The nets are made of wooden posts.

Turns out one of the guys who joined us has a whistle that he begins to blow incessantly. I thought this meant the game was starting. No. We wait and pass the ball around as people converge on the field from all directions over the next 20 minutes, clearly having heard the whistle. We begin to play, and everyone is loving it. Our group spans all ages and all abilites, luckily, since we all know about my lack of foot-eye coordination.

And then, everyone slowly disperses, and we walk back home. The next practice is tomorrow!

Note: The picture is only of who remained after everyone dispersed.

Thank you Willy. You are so amazing and perfect and incredible.

It was Willy who told me about Kapuscinski, and I owe him everything. Willy, you are so unbelievably brilliant, I can't even put it into words. Truly a philosopher of men.

Happy now??