This morning after breakfast Baraka and I went to the road to catch the dala dala to Kimokouwa. We were taking the fundi along so he could look at the site the village chairman, “the honourable councilor”, had chosen for the women’s banda. I intentionally stood talking to people for as long as I could until the driver began honking the horn for everyone to get in. It’s really pointless to try to figure some things out here. You’d think the vehicle would have taken off down the road, knowing more people would get in along the way. No, the driver continued up one side of the road and down the other, slowly, slowly, or pole pole, as they say here. Then he’d stop and lay on the horn alerting people as though this were the last call. I knew it wasn’t and so did everyone else, obviously. This went on for 45 minutes. There is not a thing you can do about it. There may not be another vehicle for a few hours and it is 15 kilometers to Kimokouwa. The same thing happened yesterday on our way to and from the market in Oldonyosambu. So much time is spent getting to and from your destination. Frustrating, to put it mildly.
We were dropped off right at the site. The ground looked so different than last week when it was beyond bone dry. Now it was quite damp with green shoots on what had been dead-looking branches, and there was a green hue all over the ground. We walked to the designated area and Baraka drew the design in the earth. This banda will be different than the one in Longido. Rather than being rectangular this one will be circular, just like a Maasai boma. It will still be made of an “iron” (tin) roof supported by iron rods with a half wall of bricks and cement. We discussed a diameter then went about marking off the area that would have to be cleared. By now we had been joined by some Maasai and a woman carefully piled stones where Baraka and the fundi had indicated boundaries with sticks. Before we finished, I reminded the fundi that he had a budget and must operate within it.
As another dala dala slowed on the road Baraka and I ran towards it. Our second task was to look at goats for the Kimokouwa women in Namanga, about 20 minutes away. On arriving we found out we were too late. The goat market operates in town from 7:30 a.m. until 10:30 a.m. only. We would have to return early tomorrow. We purchased cold drinks and wandered around a bit, crossing over into Kenya on foot. A visa is not necessary if you are just visiting the local area on the other side. However, there are checkpoints just down the road where you will be required to produce valid documents. Namanga, Kenya is a very run down town compared to Namanga, Tanzania and I was happy to re-cross the border and board a dala dala back to Longido. Once in the village, I opted for an hour of quiet time in my room rather than lunch.
I arrived at Café La Mama’s in time for our 3:00 p.m. meeting with the women’s chicken group (pictured here), which officially began at 3:30 with nine out of ten women present. I provided sodas for everyone, which is customary when you call a meeting or, in our case, even when you attend one as a guest with the “honourable chairman” in Kimokouwa. I suggested we begin by doing an evaluation of their chicken project. My first question for the women was: How have Project TEMBO chickens made a difference in your lives since receiving them a year ago? One woman put it simply: My chickens lay seven eggs a day and I sell them for 200 shillings each (about 20 cents.) This means I have an extra 9000 shillings (about $9.00) a week. Everyone nodded in agreement. No one needed to explain to me the significance of this added income in the life of one family here in Tanzania. I explained to the women that Project TEMBO wanted to help their group so they could be even more successful and that their group would help “give birth” to another women’s chicken group. We could do this in two steps. The first would be to have them choose someone from their group to attend Dr. Steven Kiruswa’s course on Small Business Development one Saturday a month for the next six months. I explained what some of the topics would be and that in the end they would write a business plan. If their plan was accepted, they would be eligible to borrow up to $1000.00 for their project from LOOCIP, the local NGO Steven works through.
Secondly, TEMBO would provide some further money to them so they could increase the number of their chickens. Spontaneous applause all around. If they were going to have more chickens they would need to increase the size of their chicken bomas, some of which are greatly in need of repair. I suggested we could build a high quality, large chicken coop that they could operate together. They weren’t ready for this yet since, they said, everyone did not care for their chickens in the same way. They would rather have their own money to enlarge or improve their existing bomas. Okay, we would do as they requested. As well, I gave them the option of each receiving two new chickens or another 50 kilogram bag of feed. As I had hoped, they chose the feed so their chickens would be healthier and end up producing more in the long run. Everyone was thrilled with the new support they would receive and wanted me to relay a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to Project TEMBO donors in Canada. I recalled a year ago, when Marian and I first met with some of these women, that a few of them were crushing stone by hand to provide the very basics for their families. Life was definitely better for them now, thanks to a few chickens, some eggs, and many generous supporters.
I had an early supper of rice and beans before I headed back up the road to the ADP. I wanted to do some work and I was also detecting a pattern to the long rains that had now settled upon us. It seemed to me they began around 8:00 p.m. I had guessed correctly as rain drops began dancing on the metal roof, right on time. They were accompanied by high winds that forced me to shut the windows in my room. A few minutes later there was knocking at the main door of the guesthouse. When I opened it, Elizabeth, a young woman we had met on previous trips, was standing there. I could see she was pre-occupied. Elizabeth was carrying bad news. Two of her cousins in Kimokouwa, young boys aged six and seven, had been killed in the storm the day before. Maasai boys this age are responsible for the cattle during the day. They had left the herd to play in a steep ravine. Suddenly there was a surge of water created by the heavy rains and the boys were swept away. Their bodies had been discovered a few hours earlier. We talked for a few minutes and I expressed my great sadness at this tragedy then settled her into another room for the night.
After reading for awhile, I fell asleep to the sound of a steady downpour that I knew would continue for most of the night. Long awaited rains, carrying the promise of new life with them for many, and indescribable pain for a few.
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