African Cake

The day of African cake began like any other. The birds starting singing at 5:30, then the roosters started squawking at 5:45 and finally at 6:00 you could here the children and mothers humming as they walked to the well or community tap or broken pipe sticking out of the ground, all the typical places people obtain water in the bustling town of Kongwa. We just finished collecting our data in our last village on water, sanitation, and trachoma (where the photo shows myself with Ester, Peter, two of my assistants, along with some villagers). It was time to celebrate. Of course the report, final fly experiments, and presentation of results to the villagers remain but the African cake was just waiting to be eaten.

We drove to the nearby village, Mlanga to pick up our cake, or rather our goat. She was not happy about riding in the pickup and tried to jump out several times. Her prayers must have been answer as my assistants decided she was too small so we drove to another villager's house to exchange her for a much bigger, more boisterous billy goat. We brought the goat back to the research station where Uweso our GPS lead, wise advice lender, and driver slit the neck. Unfortunately all we had in the kitchen was a dull, Chinese made knife which made the process of killing the goat a bit difficult. Luckily I was in the "choo"-bathroom and missed the actual process. Next it was time to clean the goat and many were quick to claim the skin which is used to make local drums. Before we could start chopping the meat we had to wait for the local vet to come examine the goat to make sure it was safe to eat. After about two hours of waiting he arrived on the scene, felt a few of the internal organs, and declared it fit for consumption. I'm not sure about the science of this method, but considering we bought 6 liters of oil in which to fry the meat I was sure whatever disease the goat might have had, it was certainly be killed in all the grease.

I, along with Rehema, the office manager shown in the photo, decided to stick to the less messy task of peeling 100 bananas that also would be fried (of course) to compliment the African cake. A few hours later the guests arrived, among them many children dressed in their Sunday best. We ate, and drank and ate some more and then danced to the Tanzanian tunes that blared from the tape player. As always I tried in vain to shake my behind like the women are so adept at doing; if only I had more time for practice! We did decide though to pass on the local brew (as these women are shown cooking).

The rains have finally arrived here in Kongwa and it has tamed the dust storms that sweep up everything in their path. It also means that soon the dry ponds and river beds which have become mere trickles of water will hopefully fill with blue life. The lack of water is quite evident as the villagers constantly remind us. They often complain of their inability to wash themselves or their clothes, the lack of water for having gardens and growing vegetables and the fact that the little water they do have is often either salty (difficult to use for cooking or washing) or from a surface source which is contaminated by cattle and whatever else is roaming in the bush. The villagers also complain about the lack of attention from the government officials. However, after recently meeting with the Ministry of Water and listening to them explain for over a hour the 15-step process for using funds provided by the World Bank, for example, I understand why water projects take so long to initiate. And each funder has their own 15-step process...African Development Bank, World Bank, US AID, etc. One needs a computer program just to decipher it all.

We are now busy working on a bit of analysis, making GIS maps, and finishing the report which will be given to the villagers along with district, regional, and national stakeholders. I have made a few Swahili blunders in the report, such as confusing "kujitegeamea"-self-reliance, with "kujisaidia"-to relieve one's self as in going to the bathroom, but in actuality the two words probaly are not so different. Hopefully my assistants will catch most of the errors.

The final poem was inspired by all the furnerals that have occured in Kongwa recently. They are large affairs where dozens and even hundreds of family and friends come to sleep, to eat, and to mourn for several days. Often the entire neighborhood is consumed by the affair and everyone stops to pay respect. Life is so fragile yet the people so strong.

Sky

If you are in need of encouragement
look up at the night sky
surely you will see
at least a thousand stars
wanting to give you their light.

No Longer Among Us

They do not cry,
much.
Tears do not feed the stomach.
They come together to remember,
to sit silently;

whispering strong words.
Death is too familiar here.
Is God taking one too many?
What is not understood
is left to simmer.
Patiently they know
faith and courage prevail.