17 November 2009. I have been avoiding the garden for a week or so, but I can easily see from the kitchen door that the weeds are starting a reclamation project. So today I went out in the cooler part of the afternoon when the sun is low and the shadows long. I like to loosen the dirt with a shovel and pull the weeds by hand, especially near my zucchini plants. When my weeding took me close to the single mound of my September 23 test planting, I peered inside. There, bright and healthy looking, was a dark green 3 inch zucchini-let. Whoo-hoo! In a week, maybe less, I’ll be stir-frying that very zucchini.
It has been 8 weeks since I planted that mound of seeds. My second planting was on 14 October, so at that rate we ought to have a second crop in mid-December. Maybe we’ll have zucchini bread for Christmas this year. Maybe I’ll try a third planting – but now there is a risk there won’t be enough rain; the short December-January dry season is coming.
My green pepper and New Zealand spinach seeds all seem to have failed. But as if to make up for the loss, a tikitimaji (watermelon) has sprouted from my earliest compost site. It is growing very well and I can’t wait to see if it produces some melons. And today I discovered another plant in the garden. It looks just like green beans my mother used to grow. I’ll be watching it, but will it produce enough beans for even one stir-fry?
17 November 2009
14 November 2009
Wild Ride
14 November 2009. I am so glad we always took our kids on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride when we visited the Disney parks. Nothing else could have prepared us so well for yesterday’s adventure.
In typical theme park fashion, our trip began at the counter where the people formed into a dense cue (mob, really) to buy tickets for the short ferry ride from Mwanza to Kamanga. Once there we each took a seat in the AICT (Africa Inland Church Tanzania) Toyota Land Cruiser to begin our ride. With 8 people on board (4 CRWRC volunteers and 4 church staff members) and all the stuff needed for a day or two on the road, it was comfortable, but full, when our ride began. Along the rough gravel road we sped, lurching and bouncing along, dodging bikes, cows, and potholes along the way. Every once in a while there would come from the 3 poor souls in the back, sitting sideways on barely padded benches, “ouch” and “oooh!” as the car bounded over particularly painful or exciting bumps. After about 25 kilometers of this seat-gripping ride, we stopped unexpectedly in the village of Sengerema. Sitting together in the far back, Peggy and I looked quizzically at each other – grateful for the breather, but wondering why we stopped.
Soon enough it came clear. Two more staff members, carrying their own box, briefcase, and a small suitcase, piled in. Now we were more than full with 10 people on board. There were 4 wide people jammed into the 3 not-so-wide seats in the second row, shoulders forced into alternating layers. Four more people were wedged into the back among piles of stuff. Once uncomfortably situated, off we went again. In no time at all we encountered road construction and the adventure got even more exciting. For the next 75 kilometers we watched the ever-so-enticing smooth road-under-construction pass by in our peripheral vision while our car bounced, lurched, and veered down the temporary so-called road beside it. Potholes, bumps, trees, cattle, bicycles, goats, pedestrians, trucks – every imaginable obstruction came zooming into view, only to be avoided at the last second by our imaginative driver. Could he really be in control or were we riding on tracks like Mr. Toad’s, carefully designed to avoid all the obstacles?
Finally we reached smooth roads where the car picked up more speed, and soon we were in the larger town of Geita. Thinking we were near the end of the ride, we were a bit surprised when the car took a sudden and unexpected turn off the road and came to a stop a short distance later. Time for “chai” – breakfast in Swahili. Refreshed by tea, chapattis and relief for our bruised bladders, we were off again. After another 20 or 30 kilometers we reached the first of two medical clinics scheduled for a visit that day. The time was spent quietly for us volunteers. I was grateful for the rest, but I couldn’t help but think, with just a little dread, “I think we have to go back the same way we just came!”
After the business was completed, all 10 of us, plus gear, piled back into the car and headed for the second medical clinic, about a 90 minute drive away. By now I had moved from the bench in the back to the second row because Allan developed a sore back from the second row seat. Go figure. But if he wanted the straight-backed, side-facing, barely padded, no-leg-room, high-bounce-zone back seat, I was willing to take the normal padded seat with plenty of leg room, even if it meant a shoe-horn fit and resting the back of my shoulder on the front of my neighbor’s shoulder. From this relatively comfortable position I could not turn around to look at those behind me, so it came as a complete surprise to me to learn the next day that there weren’t 10 of us, but then 11 people in the car. Just before the car pulled away, the doctor from the clinic climbed into the back with yet another box. He wedged himself in among Peggy and the other 3 people in back and stuffed the extra box into space that didn’t really exist. The doctor only rode with us to the main highway, about 10 kilometers, and then he jumped out and went on his way, leaving us with 10 again. While I never noticed he was in the back of the car, I’m sure his presence was closely felt by the other 4 back there.
The next 60 kilometers was a tame ride by comparison to the morning’s. The gravel roads were a little wider and a little smoother, and the cattle, bicycles and pedestrians seemed nimble-footed. Some of us even grabbed a little sleep between all the lurching and the bouncing on the way to the second clinic.
When the business was completed there, it was already late afternoon and the staff was eager to get started for home. But our host insisted on serving us all a meal. Our leaders being too gracious to say no, accepted the invitation and we all sat down for a very delicious meal. We ate quickly, but still had a minute to take a photo of our host family standing in front of their wall poster of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King, Jr., entitled “The Dream Has Come True.” When the meal was finished, the 10 of us piled into the car again. But wait -- now there were two more occupants to fit in. One of the staff members bought 2 live chickens, and each one “found” a place under the two side seats in the back. After cleaning up a little of what chickens leave behind when they get stressed, we got on our way, bouncing and lurching along the “good” gravel road back to Geita. At Geita we made the turn east and headed back toward home. I was anticipating (unhappily) the road under construction that lay ahead, when suddenly we made another abrupt turn into a crowded bus station. Our driver pushed ahead, honking the horn as standers-by briskly side-stepped to get out of the way. After driving in a circle around the parking lot and pulling to a stop in the middle, 8 men appeared out of nowhere shoving handfuls of pineapples into every open window of the car. Altogether our group bought a dozen of the largest pineapples – 3 for about $1.50. Where there were already chickens, boxes, bags, suitcases and no leg room we added the 12 pineapples and were ready to continue our adventure.
Still with a long distance to go and the last ferry to catch, our driver tried to make up time on the short stretch of smooth paved road leading away from Geita. At that speed it wasn’t long at all before we reached the big construction zone. He slowed down to ease the car onto the exceedingly rough temporary road, and then brought it back up to off-road speed again. “At least,” I thought to myself, “this is the worst stretch of road and it won’t get any worse than this.”
And then it got dark. Trucks, cattle, pedestrians, bicycles carrying long poles of sugar cane sideways – they all zipped by, briefly flashing in the lights of our Land Cruiser. Bumps, puddles, potholes, dips, brush – all were still in the road, but they only required a noticeable reduction in speed only if the driver could not swerve around them. And now, with the construction crews gone for the night, there was a wide-open, brand new, not-quite-finished roadway seemingly inviting us up for a lovely and fast drive. So up on the smooth surface we went, no longer swerving around potholes and bumps, but now dodging construction barricades, rocks, piles of dirt, and other obstacles purposely put in the way to keep unauthorized cars from driving on the unfinished road! When we encountered a night crew at work and the unfinished road became impassable, the car returned to the bumps and lurches of the temporary side road.
At last the lights of the village of Sengerema came into view and I felt a surge of relief. Not only was the road better after Sengerema (or so I thought), but this is where we picked up 2 passengers in the morning, and I naturally thought they would get off in Sengerema. I’m sure all of the folks in the back seat were disappointed when only one got out – it meant the lucky 3 in the middle seat (still including me!) finally got some hip and shoulder room, but there was no relief for the 4 in the far back.
Without even a break for our even-more-bruised bladders, the car turned back onto the road toward Mwanza. At the traffic circle in Sengerema we turned onto a different road out of town than the one we drove in on because the late ferry goes from a different village than the ferry we rode in the morning. My spirits quickly brightened when I realized this road, unlike the one we drove on in the morning, was paved, smooth, and fast. But just as quickly my bright spirits faded. Within a few short kilometers we ran into construction again. So with another 20 or 25 kilometers to go, it was back on to a temporary side road every bit as bad as before. It was somewhere along this stretch that one of the chickens broke loose, pecked Peggy’s feet, and fluttered its wings between the knees of one of the other lady passengers. Whoa! On and on it went like this in the dark.
When finally the dim lights of the ferry terminal came into view, I heard from the far back prayers of thanksgiving to God in at least two languages – English and Swahili. There was such a murmur of relief that it may also have included prayers in Dutch and Sukuma, but I’m not sure. My personal prayer at that moment was to thank the Lord that Allan, so many hours ago, wanted to trade his middle row seat for the bench, boxes, suitcases, pineapples and chickens in the back. I was maybe a little hot and sweaty from the crowded seating, but 10 hours later at least my butt wasn’t sore and my legs weren’t cramped.
The 9 remaining people were more than eager to get out of the car and stand quietly waiting for the ferry to arrive. Not even a little rain and a cloud of lake flies gathering under the lights could drive any one of us back into that car sooner than necessary. While waiting we came within a scale’s width of having a few fresh fish added to the carry-on baggage. One of our group looked long and hard at the pile of small fish laid out by boy fishermen in the car’s headlights. Fortunately for those in back, no fish were bought. Much to my surprise, though, when we got back in the car after crossing the lake on the ferry, another, unfamiliar woman climbed into the middle seat beside me! I wondered the whole way home who she was and why she hitched a ride with us. The 25 or 30 kilometers back home to Mwanza were spent, once again crowded together, either bouncing and lurching through another construction zone or driving at high speeds on the paved road into Mwanza. The finale of the trip was a brisk ride through the side streets of the city as we dropped off one of the members of our group at his home. We made unexpected turns to the right and to the left, feeling lost as we ventured into areas we’d never seen before, only to be surprised when we finally emerged from one side street onto our own road, not 3 blocks from home.
Like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, this one was exciting and full of surprises to the very end.
In typical theme park fashion, our trip began at the counter where the people formed into a dense cue (mob, really) to buy tickets for the short ferry ride from Mwanza to Kamanga. Once there we each took a seat in the AICT (Africa Inland Church Tanzania) Toyota Land Cruiser to begin our ride. With 8 people on board (4 CRWRC volunteers and 4 church staff members) and all the stuff needed for a day or two on the road, it was comfortable, but full, when our ride began. Along the rough gravel road we sped, lurching and bouncing along, dodging bikes, cows, and potholes along the way. Every once in a while there would come from the 3 poor souls in the back, sitting sideways on barely padded benches, “ouch” and “oooh!” as the car bounded over particularly painful or exciting bumps. After about 25 kilometers of this seat-gripping ride, we stopped unexpectedly in the village of Sengerema. Sitting together in the far back, Peggy and I looked quizzically at each other – grateful for the breather, but wondering why we stopped.
Soon enough it came clear. Two more staff members, carrying their own box, briefcase, and a small suitcase, piled in. Now we were more than full with 10 people on board. There were 4 wide people jammed into the 3 not-so-wide seats in the second row, shoulders forced into alternating layers. Four more people were wedged into the back among piles of stuff. Once uncomfortably situated, off we went again. In no time at all we encountered road construction and the adventure got even more exciting. For the next 75 kilometers we watched the ever-so-enticing smooth road-under-construction pass by in our peripheral vision while our car bounced, lurched, and veered down the temporary so-called road beside it. Potholes, bumps, trees, cattle, bicycles, goats, pedestrians, trucks – every imaginable obstruction came zooming into view, only to be avoided at the last second by our imaginative driver. Could he really be in control or were we riding on tracks like Mr. Toad’s, carefully designed to avoid all the obstacles?
Finally we reached smooth roads where the car picked up more speed, and soon we were in the larger town of Geita. Thinking we were near the end of the ride, we were a bit surprised when the car took a sudden and unexpected turn off the road and came to a stop a short distance later. Time for “chai” – breakfast in Swahili. Refreshed by tea, chapattis and relief for our bruised bladders, we were off again. After another 20 or 30 kilometers we reached the first of two medical clinics scheduled for a visit that day. The time was spent quietly for us volunteers. I was grateful for the rest, but I couldn’t help but think, with just a little dread, “I think we have to go back the same way we just came!”
After the business was completed, all 10 of us, plus gear, piled back into the car and headed for the second medical clinic, about a 90 minute drive away. By now I had moved from the bench in the back to the second row because Allan developed a sore back from the second row seat. Go figure. But if he wanted the straight-backed, side-facing, barely padded, no-leg-room, high-bounce-zone back seat, I was willing to take the normal padded seat with plenty of leg room, even if it meant a shoe-horn fit and resting the back of my shoulder on the front of my neighbor’s shoulder. From this relatively comfortable position I could not turn around to look at those behind me, so it came as a complete surprise to me to learn the next day that there weren’t 10 of us, but then 11 people in the car. Just before the car pulled away, the doctor from the clinic climbed into the back with yet another box. He wedged himself in among Peggy and the other 3 people in back and stuffed the extra box into space that didn’t really exist. The doctor only rode with us to the main highway, about 10 kilometers, and then he jumped out and went on his way, leaving us with 10 again. While I never noticed he was in the back of the car, I’m sure his presence was closely felt by the other 4 back there.
The next 60 kilometers was a tame ride by comparison to the morning’s. The gravel roads were a little wider and a little smoother, and the cattle, bicycles and pedestrians seemed nimble-footed. Some of us even grabbed a little sleep between all the lurching and the bouncing on the way to the second clinic.
When the business was completed there, it was already late afternoon and the staff was eager to get started for home. But our host insisted on serving us all a meal. Our leaders being too gracious to say no, accepted the invitation and we all sat down for a very delicious meal. We ate quickly, but still had a minute to take a photo of our host family standing in front of their wall poster of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King, Jr., entitled “The Dream Has Come True.” When the meal was finished, the 10 of us piled into the car again. But wait -- now there were two more occupants to fit in. One of the staff members bought 2 live chickens, and each one “found” a place under the two side seats in the back. After cleaning up a little of what chickens leave behind when they get stressed, we got on our way, bouncing and lurching along the “good” gravel road back to Geita. At Geita we made the turn east and headed back toward home. I was anticipating (unhappily) the road under construction that lay ahead, when suddenly we made another abrupt turn into a crowded bus station. Our driver pushed ahead, honking the horn as standers-by briskly side-stepped to get out of the way. After driving in a circle around the parking lot and pulling to a stop in the middle, 8 men appeared out of nowhere shoving handfuls of pineapples into every open window of the car. Altogether our group bought a dozen of the largest pineapples – 3 for about $1.50. Where there were already chickens, boxes, bags, suitcases and no leg room we added the 12 pineapples and were ready to continue our adventure.
Still with a long distance to go and the last ferry to catch, our driver tried to make up time on the short stretch of smooth paved road leading away from Geita. At that speed it wasn’t long at all before we reached the big construction zone. He slowed down to ease the car onto the exceedingly rough temporary road, and then brought it back up to off-road speed again. “At least,” I thought to myself, “this is the worst stretch of road and it won’t get any worse than this.”
And then it got dark. Trucks, cattle, pedestrians, bicycles carrying long poles of sugar cane sideways – they all zipped by, briefly flashing in the lights of our Land Cruiser. Bumps, puddles, potholes, dips, brush – all were still in the road, but they only required a noticeable reduction in speed only if the driver could not swerve around them. And now, with the construction crews gone for the night, there was a wide-open, brand new, not-quite-finished roadway seemingly inviting us up for a lovely and fast drive. So up on the smooth surface we went, no longer swerving around potholes and bumps, but now dodging construction barricades, rocks, piles of dirt, and other obstacles purposely put in the way to keep unauthorized cars from driving on the unfinished road! When we encountered a night crew at work and the unfinished road became impassable, the car returned to the bumps and lurches of the temporary side road.
At last the lights of the village of Sengerema came into view and I felt a surge of relief. Not only was the road better after Sengerema (or so I thought), but this is where we picked up 2 passengers in the morning, and I naturally thought they would get off in Sengerema. I’m sure all of the folks in the back seat were disappointed when only one got out – it meant the lucky 3 in the middle seat (still including me!) finally got some hip and shoulder room, but there was no relief for the 4 in the far back.
Without even a break for our even-more-bruised bladders, the car turned back onto the road toward Mwanza. At the traffic circle in Sengerema we turned onto a different road out of town than the one we drove in on because the late ferry goes from a different village than the ferry we rode in the morning. My spirits quickly brightened when I realized this road, unlike the one we drove on in the morning, was paved, smooth, and fast. But just as quickly my bright spirits faded. Within a few short kilometers we ran into construction again. So with another 20 or 25 kilometers to go, it was back on to a temporary side road every bit as bad as before. It was somewhere along this stretch that one of the chickens broke loose, pecked Peggy’s feet, and fluttered its wings between the knees of one of the other lady passengers. Whoa! On and on it went like this in the dark.
When finally the dim lights of the ferry terminal came into view, I heard from the far back prayers of thanksgiving to God in at least two languages – English and Swahili. There was such a murmur of relief that it may also have included prayers in Dutch and Sukuma, but I’m not sure. My personal prayer at that moment was to thank the Lord that Allan, so many hours ago, wanted to trade his middle row seat for the bench, boxes, suitcases, pineapples and chickens in the back. I was maybe a little hot and sweaty from the crowded seating, but 10 hours later at least my butt wasn’t sore and my legs weren’t cramped.
The 9 remaining people were more than eager to get out of the car and stand quietly waiting for the ferry to arrive. Not even a little rain and a cloud of lake flies gathering under the lights could drive any one of us back into that car sooner than necessary. While waiting we came within a scale’s width of having a few fresh fish added to the carry-on baggage. One of our group looked long and hard at the pile of small fish laid out by boy fishermen in the car’s headlights. Fortunately for those in back, no fish were bought. Much to my surprise, though, when we got back in the car after crossing the lake on the ferry, another, unfamiliar woman climbed into the middle seat beside me! I wondered the whole way home who she was and why she hitched a ride with us. The 25 or 30 kilometers back home to Mwanza were spent, once again crowded together, either bouncing and lurching through another construction zone or driving at high speeds on the paved road into Mwanza. The finale of the trip was a brisk ride through the side streets of the city as we dropped off one of the members of our group at his home. We made unexpected turns to the right and to the left, feeling lost as we ventured into areas we’d never seen before, only to be surprised when we finally emerged from one side street onto our own road, not 3 blocks from home.
Like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, this one was exciting and full of surprises to the very end.
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