Q: Do you ever use recreational drugs?

A: No, but I get a natural high when my children's daily needs are met.

This was a conversation that Heather had while doing the health history of one of the soon-to-be Kesho House Mamas.

Everyone here has moments where a certain stimulus suddenly brings home the reality of life here in all it's desperate struggle climb out of the pit of poverty and hopelessness. This was one of those moments for me.

I also happen to be reading a book about Che Guevara's life post-Cuban revolution until his death in Bolivia. The first part of the book is the factual account of his movements and actions during that time. The rest of the book is extracted from his diary and the report that he wrote (in entertaining style) for Fidel Castro regarding the failure of the Congolese revolution intervention. The experience of Guevara in Africa, in particular dealing with politicians and men reflects the all too common problems that we see here. The culture of men needing to appear manly, the wealthy (or often not) needing to appear wealthy, the powerful needing to demonstrate their power - is not something unique to Africa, the problem dominates the globe. But how men, the wealthy and the powerful are defined and the manner in which these traits need to be expressed in the African context often has devastating effects on any endeavour. We have already witnessed the trait of short sightedness alone ruining the lives of many we've come into contact with. The quick bonus through theft, or the weekly pay blown in a night at the pub see men losing jobs, time at work or opportunities for education and ultimately more money.

But this was not at the forefront of my mind as the never ending savanah sunset lit up the long lion-coloured grass, umbrella like acacia trees and my minivan to Nairobi as it tore along corrugated dirt roads. I felt numerous emotions, frustration, sadness, affection, awe and emotions I'm not articulate enough to name or don't even have a name - maybe 'leaving Africa' should be introduced as a word describing an emotion. But this still wasn't what dominated my conscious thought. Rather my mind turned back to Cuba. I thought of the food and housing that every Cuban is entitled too. The education and health care that every Cuban gets as a right. Then I think of this House Mama, and I imagine asking her "Mama, I can offer you and all the mamas in Tanzania food, shelter, education and health care - all that you will sacrifice is your right to protest against your government and chance to leave Tanzania". What would she say?

"Never in my life will I be able to afford leaving Arusha, let alone Tanzania. My voice is not heard anyway as I am black, I am a woman, and I have no money - for god's sake please give me these things you are offering".

Wealthy, comfortable Australians and Americans need their ego to be listened to and validated, they want to feel 'free' to catch a plan to another country to take photos of other people's desperate grind for existence - to feel their pain so that they can feel something in their life other than the call of the self-satisfying ego.

The fear ridden anti-socialist doctrine of the US during the Cold War and the subsequent intervention in countries striving for an egalitarian ideal has merely added to the death count of innocent women and children through poverty related diseases. Now what is left is the creation of the western ideal, the capitalist ideal - hard work in the pursuit of money and material possessions driving the economy. The lucky ones work less and buy more and become more western every day, they still listen to Bob Marley like everyone else, but also watch him on the plasma screen TV while drinking a Heineken. The unlucky ones work harder and get less. And they still listen to Bob Marley, 15 men standing on a dirt road around an ancient crackling radio with a banana beer that is poisoning them.

Why do I bother to write this? Did I change your mind? Does your mind need changing? I don't even know who you are.

Bus, Barack, Betrayal

ahh yes love the alliteration.

That was pretty much the order of things over the past week - plus a bit of stuff in between the 'bus' and 'Barack'.

It was a chilly drizzly pre-dawn departure from Arusha last Tuesday. Bound for the West Usambara mountain range - specifically Lushoto. Recommended by others who had travelled Tanzania before, Lushoto was sold to us as a highland town with some stunning hikes in the vicinity. We arrived mid afternoon - about an 8 hour ride in cramped rock hard seats - the cool highland air was pretty much the same as the cool highland air in Arusha - similar altitude just more undulating than Arusha. We found a hotel, popped out for a chipsi-mayai (chip-egg omlette), booked a hike for the following day and then back home to bed early. The hike was nice, not extraordinary or boring, but nice. Having a guide takes away from the adventure somewhat. Having a guide wearing those air-holed new fangled sandles, billabong t-shirt and designer jeans takes away from the adventure a lot. But it was still nice. Some really lush, dense rainforest sections, the highlight being the Irente viewpoint cliff that snuck up on us and nearly saw me toppling several hundred feet to a splattered demise. I enjoyed shuffling as close to the edge as Heather and the guide would let me.

Should we hang out in the tranquil Lushoto surrounds for a week or push on and explore closer to the coast? Exploration or staying put? Obvious choice. We caught the bus the following morning to Tanga. Previously one of the largest towns in Tanzania as a bustling port, but trade and tourism changes saw Tanga fall behind. Still a great launching pad to explore islands, north coast and head up to the Kenyan coast. After arrival we jumped onto the soonest daladala (minivan) south - destination: halfway to Pangani. After 90 minutes of the most genuinely tooth-rattling ride imaginable we stumbled off the dala into Peponi beach resort. Price was negotiated with the old expat who runs the place and we settled in. The next morning we realised that we wouldn't have enough money to last the three nights we wanted so I headed back to Tanga to find an ATM. Daladalas don't run on a timetable so it was a matter of waiting for the next one to turn up. So I started walking (it's 30km to Tanga).

The conversation that took place during the hour before a dala picked me up:

"Unaenda wapi?" - Where are you going
"Naneda mjini/Tanga" - I'm going to town/Tanga
"kweli?! kwa mguu?" - Really? By foot?
"siyo, nasubiri kwa dala" - No, I'm waiting for a bus
"haya bwana, karibu!" - Okay mate, you are welcome (to stop and rest with them)
"asante!" - Thanks

Bone rattling bus to Tanga - Visa/internet dead. No money. Bone rattling bus back to Peponi. Can only stay two nights. We leave the next morning only to be ripped off by the expat (grrr... expats who've grown up in Africa and treat everyone like slaves). Bus to Tanga, bus to Moshi (only 2 hours shy of Arusha - base for Kili climbers). A bus ride through Tanzania is a non-stop drive-thru mall. As the bus slows down the merchants swarm around the bus selling their wares, or getting you whatever you feel like at the time, hmmm samosas and mishikaki.

It was at this time that the 'barack' part of the story begins, and ends about the same time. We discover the Obama has won the democrat candidacy for the US election later this year. We and most of the rest of Africa it seems are thrilled by this outcome. I worry that too much hope is placed on one man - there is still so much he can't change and pinning the future to him is bound to end in anger and accusations of unfulfilled promises. But I am still delighted that Obama won and that Clinton gave an superbly supportive speech.

So we return, relaxed, refreshed, ready to go.

Our farm manager has been fired. For coming to work drunk
Our 2 night guards have been fired. For coming to work drunk. Both necessary terminations of employment. But the devastating news was that 4 of our workers - including our daytime guard at the building site have been involved in hiding and stealing bags of cement for god knows how many months. After so much praise was given to the men about the honesty and trustworthiness, to find out about the thieving was kick in the guts. Darren and Mudi gave uplifting speeches about how this project is not for us, it is for this community and they will be remembered as the men who built Kesho Leo, creating employment and wealth in the community, so stealing from the project is only stealing from one another. They were all very roused by the speeches and spoke of how bad the theft was and how proud they are of what they are contributing too. How long this sentiment lasts until the opportunity for some easy money next presents itself is another question.

Language and cultural differences makes the interpretation of emotion and attitude almost impossible. But for now they are working like mad and the building and permaculture farm are steaming ahead.

The last few days

An inspired title indeed. But when life makes twenty twists a day and nothing happens quite as you would imagine, there is no common thread that links each event therefore allowing some summary title to be provided. Not the first time I've pondered titles - I must admit the title is one of the highlights of blog writing.

First of all - a couple of new pics up - nothing of great excitement in terms of breathtaking photography or thousands of words being said in a single pictures.

Well......ummm.....hmmmm. I seem to write 10 blogs a day in my head and when I'm about to fall asleep, but when I'm stationed in front of the computer in the most uncomfortable of all positions - sitting (what a boring way to hold yourself - why not lie down or stand up, or run or swim or hammer a nail - anything but sitting!) - my mind empties of all anecdotes, tall tales, short tales and monkey's tails - speaking of which we had a monkey meandering across our driveway the other day.

Birthday the other day. I don't find birthday's particularly exciting - all that attention and well wishing. I much prefer Christmas. Reminds us all of how Jesus committed suicide in a barn on our behalf, and something about SIM cards?? I dunno. No actually I prefer Christmas because it's usually the time when The Family gets together and the focus is on Jesus, I mean presents, I mean eating, I mean winning the annual decathlon - much more fun than pondering years coming and going and whether my sons will have a beard before me.

So I went to the gym on my birthday - squats and leg presses among other exercises. Then arrived home in time for some dinner and a banana cake and another rendition of Happy Birthday (had one in the morning meeting as well). Then it was time to continue plugging away on my final uni assignment for the semester – got it finished – bit of a shambles – not going to study next semester – external study is not conducive to learning or enjoying study. Then being the end of the month it was time to input the 300+ transactions, 99% paid in cash, mostly with no receipt and mostly by a variety of people with different styles for recording how they’ve spent FWS money. Luckily everyone had been good recording their expenditures and I was only 60c out of balance. Just finished doing all that and uploading the transactions into our budgets last night.

Heather has been suffering from a bit of fatigue recently – struggling to get out of bed. So we’ve been instructed to take a week off. Taking the 6:30am bus to Lushoto tomorrow – a quaint old German (like everywhere here) town in the highlands. Going to do some hiking, resting, reading – and responses to reviewers comments on the paper I might get published. Such unpleasant people, Reviewers.

Doesn’t sound like much has happened when I explain it like that – I suppose those twists are so commonplace I don’t know which to include. Here’s a couple:

• Rebecka’s computer died (yes president Rebecka with all her work on the computer)
• Some planned volunteers pull out
• A labourer drops a concrete sleeper on his shoulder
• A labourer is suspended for a week for racist comments about Warusha tribe – the punishment saving him from being beaten overnight by some of the other men.
• Our much feared Safari auction winner (feared because she might not like it here after spending a fortune on coming here) loved the project and has gone home intending to raise $70k for the fitout costs. She also sewed everything that needed sewing and made cushions for our wooden benches.
• The worsening roads suddenly become driveable.
• The mfareji suddenly becomes a rushing torrent after weeks without water.
• Our new guard Laizer continues to sleep soundly all night.
• The office gets painted by some labourers
• The office gets repainted by the two Becks.

Perhaps we feel each minor change in fortune more acutely than we would at home, the success of the this project is not hanging in the balance, but is still by no means a guaranteed winner.