I awoke before my alarm was due to go off at 5:45 a.m. Steven would be here by 6:30 a.m. sharp. Though I was tired, I took the time to pack my duffle bag before going to bed while the generator was running and we had power. I told Youster I would not need hot water. She did not need to get up early just for me. I would shower in Arusha at the Lutheran Center. Baraka had slept in the guest house, too, so that Steven only had to make one stop. I made sure he was awake then went about packing a final few things.
Steven arrived at 6:20 a.m. surprised to find us wandering around out front enjoying the “white stomach morning with white teeth”. The previous night at supper Steven explained the meaning of the phrase to the ADP, LOOCIP, and TEMBO members who had gathered for supper at Mama’s. The conversation was in Maasai so much was lost in translation, but I got the essence later. If you wake up just after sunrise to a soft white sky on the horizon and smile broadly (exposing your white teeth) because the new day makes you happy, then it is a white stomach morning with white teeth. Today was just such a day, we all agreed, as we set out on the 100 kilometer drive to Arusha.
The first few minutes we were silent, wanting to appreciate the beauty of the scene as the sun rose in the distance behind a clear Mt. Kilimanjaro. About 15 minutes into our journey we were suddenly surrounded by a herd of six or eight twigas – giraffes – up early as usual for breakfast. One dashed across the road only a few meters ahead of us in long loping strides. The day couldn’t possibly have begun more perfectly. I was awestruck by the African morning unfolding all around me.
By 7:15 a.m. we began passing children on their way to school walking along the roadside. Those attending government schools wear blue and white uniforms. We passed children wearing bright shades of green, red, brown, and yellow as they made the long journey on foot to private schools. It occurred to me that this colourful wave of children was doing the most important thing they could possibly do to positively change the course of events in their own lives and their country – go to school each day.
We arrived in the already-bustling city at 7:40 a.m. in time for breakfast. We had come to withdraw TEMBO money for project work from Steven’s account, transferred from Ottawa before my departure. The bank did not open until 8:30 a.m. Inside the restaurant we lined up along a wooden counter containing circular trays of different foods under green plastic covers, typically eaten for breakfast by the local people. I chose a delicately sweetened maandaza, and two samosas and ordered coffee. Baraka had a kind of deep fried bread with a boiled egg inside of it. Steven tried to convince me of the wonders of chicken soup for breakfast, as he enjoyed his broth and piece of chicken breast, commenting that it must have come from a tough old rooster. He followed this with a generous bowl of local fresh fruit.
We did not have to wait long at the bank and in no time, Steven was on his way back to Longido for a noon meeting with LOOCIP to do strategic planning for the next five years. He dropped Baraka and I off at the Lutheran Center and after we checked in and got our keys, we took a taxi to the bus station to await the arrival of the bead makers from Longido and Kimokouwa. We had arranged to meet three of them at 10:00 a.m. to go shopping for a supply of beads that would be used to create Project TEMBO jewelry. We found a seat near the giant Coco-Cola bottle that serves as a good landmark for a meeting place. I knew 10:00 a.m. could be noon or 2:00 p.m. so I settled in for the wait.
By noon the women had arrived. Baraka took us to a place to have some lunch and we used the opportunity to talk more about which jewelry designs each group would do. I had a piece of sweet bread and a soda, as did Baraka, and Nai from Longido. The two women from Kimokouwa had plates of cooked bananas with some pieces of meat and potatoes in a thick sauce. They ate slowly. I wondered if their plates of food might be enough to feed families of six back in the village. Were they eating slowly because they enjoyed the food or because their stomachs were not accustomed to such a rich amount?
Nai knew where the beads could be purchased and led us to a shop within walking distance of the congested bus station. The women took their time choosing from the many shades of reds, blues, greens, and yellows, and I suggested adding more black beads and a pretty lavender colour. They added strands of clear plastic they needed for the bracelets and dangly silver additions for the earrings. Each group now had a good supply of “community beads” that would last them beyond my visit.
The Kimokouwa women got into a dala dala to return home. Nai offered to accompany us on our search for food supplies. She introduced us to a woman who had beans to sell and we walked down an unpaved, uneven mud road then slipped between two buildings and into a warehouse loaded with white sacks. A man pierced the sacks with a sharp instrument in order to extract a few beans for us to examine. We took our time. As usual, the conversation was in a language I did not understand, this time Swahili. Baraka whispered that Nai was a good business woman. I was content to stand back and let her work her magic. There were many types of beans and different qualities. We wanted something good and, as the right beans were chosen and a price agreed upon, eight 100 kilo sacks were labeled ‘TEMBO’ with a green felt tip marker, ready for pick up the next day.
We were next given directions to an area where we could find feed for the chickens and goats. It was not within walking distance so we took a taxi to an area consisting of many warehouses. Walking up and down the rough road, we dodged between large trucks either being serviced because they had broken down or waiting to be loaded up with their cargo. We found a good quality feed for laying hens called “Super Chick” which I thought was appropriate for Project TEMBO chickens. I mused that it was probably also the name of a dala dala somewhere out there on a Tanzanian road. Goat feed took longer to find because we needed 44-50 kilo bags. After three stops, an East Indian businessman told us to come back at 10:00 a.m. and the feed would be waiting for us.
We made our way back to the bus station and I gave Nai the fare to return to Longido. I hopped into a taxi to go back to the Lutheran Center and Baraka went onto the next task – finding a lorry to transport our food to the villages.
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