Eldoret etc.

A belated Happy Christmas to everyone. Again, the blog’s been on the back burner most of December while I have been taking a bit of time off. Let me explain what I have been doing.

In early December, I set foot in Kenya for the first time to visit an international athlete friend of mine, who was training in Eldoret.

Anyone with Google close to hand can key in ‘Eldoret’ and see that it is the training location of choice for Kenya and east Africa’s best athletes, churning out Olympic and World Champions such as 2007 800m World Champion Janeth "The Eldoret Express" Jepkosgei. So when my athlete neighbour here in Moshono, John Benedict Muhojo, explained he was heading there to train for a month and asked if I wanted to visit, it didn’t require much thought.

For 10 days, I ate, slept and trained with John and his pals at a camp in Kapkitony, which was, as you might expect, my kinda thing. I found myself running with guys who were incredibly, unnecessarily fast; one guy who is already running for Kenya, Vincent Kipruto, won the Paris Marathon earlier this year in 2 hours 5 minutes (a feat which won him a 4x4 truck for breaking the course record). He wasn’t alone. There are hundreds of guys like him in the hills above Eldoret and around the Rift Valley, quietly and doggedly training every day, with personal best times that are frankly terrifying. Here I am overlooking the Rift Valley with John and another super-fast guy, Isaac Maiyo from Kenya:



I came back to Tanzania with my head spinning at just how deep the talent pool is in Kenya. Most of these guys, despite being way faster than the best athletes from most other countries, will never get the chance to run for their country, such is the competition internally.

But they inspired me, and the experience served as a nice preparation for the Kilimanjaro 5km Anderson Open Run, which took place in Moshi (about 90 mins in the bus from Arusha) on 27 December.

The race’s venue, The King George Memorial Stadium, brought to mind one of these huge stadiums built by people like Colonel Gaddafi for his propaganda rallies. Of course, the reality proved a little different when I arrived, with a single pavilion comprising the ‘stadium’ on one length of the track, and market stalls on the other:



Not that I’m complaining. The track was nice and flat, the afternoon weather was fairly calm and the prospect of running my first race on African soil got the adrenaline going.

This year, I’ve run as one of 25,000 participants in the Paris Half Marathon, and was among 8,500 finishers in the Edinburgh Marathon; at the other end of the scale is this race.

When the runners were called to the start line, there were seven of us, with the bulk of the field comprising lithe cadets from a local police training college (Christmas commitments had drained most of the usual participants away, according to the organiser Isaac).

The gun went, setting us off on 12 and a bit laps of the track, which I noticed was infested at one end by centipedes. Following on from this being my first race on African soil, another first was that this was the first track race I have ever participated in (Another was that it was the first time I have pulled my running top out of my bag at a race and found it covered in bird sh*t, but anyway).

Under the shadow of nearby Mount Kilimanjaro, it was hard going, and I cantered round increasingly slowly. But I made it, in 19 minutes 26 seconds, 21 seconds behind the solitary girl who was participating. I was fifth; two people had dropped out, so I was last – another first for me, in nine years of racing. But perversely, for being the fourth male finisher, I won prize money – a whole 1,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about 50p).

A cracking wee race, with another one due to take place next month. Then on 28 February, it’s the one I’ve been looking forward to since before I left Scotland; the Kilimanjaro Half Marathon.

~ ~ ~

It hasn’t all been leisure time in December. I’ve spent a long period of time doing some online research and in January, I start a new, still to be confirmed, project. For the last two months, I have thoroughly enjoyed being a part of RISE Africa’s activities, not to mention living with Mama Anna and her lovely family in Moshono. It was with them (and many, many members of the extended family) I spent Christmas Day, on the shores of Lake Basotu, sipping Safari beer in short sleeves until 7pm.

Happy New Year all… keep warm those of you in Europe.

Ross

Aye, Teacher's

Happy St Andrew’s Day! What I’d give for a plate of stovies and a copy of “Sunshine On Leith” right now…

Anyway, since coming down off Meru, there has been a lull in my blogging activities, for various reasons, which I am finally getting the opportunity to address. My second month with RISE Africa has been a busy one; I have been writing extensively for a range of local organisations, including two schools, Ngarenanyuki and Nkoaranga, and a home-based care project, Msamaria.

To recap, the purpose of my work is to ultimately help these organisations improve their business activities, and try to connect them with donors who may be able to help them. I feel like I am partly achieving this objective – the proposals I have written are well-received by the organisations I am working with, yet I am quickly discovering that trying to entice donors is a lengthy, frustrating process. Welcome to the world of international development…

It doesn’t help that my laptop is ridden with viruses, plus I have very limited, slow internet access, which makes hunting for the relevant people even more difficult. It’s something I will perhaps be able to do better when I return to Scotland next year. But explaining that to people like the head of the home-based care project, who is absolutely desperate (a word I hate, but appropriate here) for cash now for the HIV-affected families she supports, isn’t easy.

~ ~ ~

Anyway, my stint with RISE officially ends on Friday, but I am ready to assist them in anyway I can while I am in Tanzania and beyond. Moshono has been a brilliant place to live and work, not least because of my host family who have made me more than welcome.

There have been a few highlights of my time under Mama Anna’s roof, but my favourite came a couple of weeks ago. One afternoon, the father of the house, Kazzy, asked me a question:

“Ross, what is a Facebook?”

I explained, gave him the whole social networking spiel, and found out why he was asking. It turned out he has a daughter in Canada, who he has not seen since she was a baby 24 years ago. During one of their calls, the daughter explained she used Facebook, and urged him to check it out so he could see some up-to-date pics of her, as the latest ones he has are from 1997. Natch, I suggested to Kazzy that I escort him down to the local internet café where we could hunt for his daughter together through my Facebook account.

This was a piece of piss; we quickly found the girl we were looking for, and sent her an email to introduce ourselves. The next day when we returned to the internet café, both Kazzy and I were delighted to find a cheery email from her, which gave us access to dozens of pictures – not just of the daughter but of her own gorgeous baby daughter, who Kazzy had never seen a picture of.

Prints were made, which Kazzy has since taken great pride in regularly examining. We celebrated afterwards with a few bottles of Kilimanjaro, which we will do again when I join him and other members of the family for Christmas.

Finally, something Facebook is good for, other than skiving!

~ ~ ~

After three months (and Bixler, you will be delighted to hear this), my attitude to the local music is softening. I am finally embracing Bongo Flava, Congolese and other variants of African music popular in Tanzania. My favourite song, which is never off the radio, is called “Piip Piip” by a guy called Marlow.

It’s all in Swahili, but according to my mate, it’s all about a fella who is in the car, and late en route to meeting his missus (the “Piip Piip” is the toot of his car horn).

Anyway, that’s not to say “Sunshine On Leith” wouldn’t sound REALLY terrific today…

Home later for a nip of Teacher’s. Off to Eldoret in Kenya on Friday to do something super-exciting that I can’t wait to tell you all about later…

Bye for now,
Ross

PS Princes Street now open to traffic??

Mountain People

On Friday morning at sunrise, I was on top of Tanzania’s second highest mountain, Mount Meru. Rather than tell you all about Meru or recount blow-by-blow the rather uneventful three days I spent on it (two days ascending, one day down), I will summarise by saying it was bloody wonderful, and hugely enjoyable to do alongside two fellow Mondo volunteers, Caroline and Kirsten, and a team of guides and porters who patiently conducted their Sisyphean task of leading us to the top and back.

What is far more important to tell you is that when I get home, I am going to burn a CD entitled ‘Mount Meru’, consisting of songs that popped into my head over the three days. In no particular order, I remember humming:

“Bangs” They Might Be Giants
“I Can’t Remember” The Thorns
“Reject” Green Day
“Don’t Turn Around” Aswad
“All That She Wants” Ace of Base
“Jungle Love” Steve Miller Band
“Tax Loss” Mansun
“Standing On The Top” The Temptations featuring Rick James
“Big Tears” Elvis Costello & The Attractions
“It’s My Life” No Doubt
“Love Machine” Girls Aloud
“Forever In Blue Jeans” Neil Diamond
“My Way” Frank Sinatra
“Steppin’ Down The Glory Road” Runrig
“What’s The Frequency, Kenneth?” R.E.M.
“Dope Nose” Weezer
“99 Problems” Jay-Z
“Closer To The Heart (Live)” by Rush
“Summer People” Webb Brothers

Some of these (Rush, R.E.M.) are old favourites, others came out of absolutely nowhere (Mansun, where HAVE you been?). As we breached the 4,000m mark and approached the summit, my memory capacity was obliterated as such that the only song I could remember the words to was “Flower of Scotland”. This was perhaps appropriate, as upon reaching the summit, out came the Lion Rampant and a miniature of Glenlivet that I have been keeping for a special occasion, before staring the nine-hour walk back:



After walking through day and night, this was as arduous as it sounds. But we all made it and, apart from some chapped lips and stiffness in the knees, all got back in one piece to collect a certificate and hobble to the bar. Here I am at the top with Caroline (left) and Kirsten:



After a restful Friday evening in Arusha, I returned home to Moshono on Saturday, only to face a cockroach the size of a Kit-Kat who wanted to share my bed. Thankfully, I had just about enough energy left to dispatch him with the heel of my hiking boot; an act which I have done almost every day since arriving in Tanzania two months ago, and which no longer seems strange.

~ ~ ~

My weekend got even better this morning when BBC World Service brought me the news that David Haye had beaten Nikolay Valuev and was Britain’s first boxing heavyweight world champion since Lennox Lewis.

Despite that being his only fight this year, I’d say that should make him favourite for BBC Sports Personality of the Year. His abrasive attitude might lose him a few votes – even by boxing’s standards, he’s too mouthy – but he delivered in the ring and to be a heavyweight champ, and an exciting one at that, should be enough to get the nod.

I predict, however, he will pushed close by Jessica Ennis, and to a lesser extent, Jenson Button. The also-rans will be Phillips Idowu, Amir Khan, Tom Daley, Andrew Strauss, Keri-Anne Payne, Beth Tweddle and Mark Cavendish.

Carl Froch probably deserves a nomination this year as much as Khan, but is about as exciting to watch as a bollard, and just as mobile. However, he will be impossible to overlook next year if he defeats Kessler and holds three belts.

New dad (always a votewinner) Wayne Rooney should probably be in there too for being consistently outstanding all year for club and country, but with 2010 being a World Cup year, the stage is set for him next year instead. And maybe Andy Murray will finally win a Grand Slam tournament to get his name in there too.

For now though, the Hayemaker is the man to beat. Bring on the Klitschkos.

I, Teacher

They say "Try anything once, except incest or Morris dancing," and on Friday, that's exactly what I did when I was a guest teacher at a local women's refuse.

The Ebyown Women's Centre, run by Moriel Missions and here in Moshono, provides education and life skills to young ladies who are either orphans or from vulnerable backgrounds (ie. drink-swilling widower fathers).

During a visit last week to gather some information for a fundraising report I'm writing for them, the headteacher (a lovely lady called Irene) invited me to share my journalistic skills by teaching a lesson on effective communication skills.

"Yes, of course, I'd be delighted to," I said. But then what?

After staring at a blank sheet of paper for an hour or so when planning my lesson, inspiration struck; base the whole thing around the five questions any good story or message must answer - Who, What, Where, Why and When.

The five young ladies I lectured to seemed to enjoy it. All are planning to become self-employed tailors when they are self-sufficient, so hopefully my lesson got the wheels turning on how they can drum up business for themselves when their name is above the door.

I'm back at Ebyown doing another Communications lesson on Wednesday (about what exactly I have no idea), then I'm lecturing at Arusha Journalism Training College about Media In The UK on Friday.

Teaching is always the last job I ever saw myself doing, but you know what? I've enjoyed what I've done so far. Don't expect it to carry on when I get back, but it's been fun so far.

~~~

After eight weeks or so in Tanzania, I'm now feeling quite at home, not least because we're now into rainy season. Outside the window of the Moshono internet cafe where I am writing this, it is hammering down like there's no tomorrow. It's like being back at Ochilview.

I'm pleased about that though. Not because I'm fed up of having 25 degree-plus weather everyday, but because east Africa needs rain, and lots of it. I've visited lots of bone-dry communities with fields full of dead crops and skeletal-skinny animals over the last couple of months, and I know the farmers here will be loving it. Let it rain.

~~~

Does anyone at home drink Martini Bianco? I only ask because I had a glass of it last night, to celebrate the father of my lovely homestay coming home after being away working for many weeks.

I liked it! Not something I would buy again in a hurry but it nicely hit the spot and at 15,000 Tanzanian shillings (about 7 quid) for a litre bottle, doesn't exactly break the bank.


Ross

Ta ta TAN-EDAPS

So, I didn’t find a TV to watch the Japan-Scotland game (no big deal, apparently we were hopeless and lost 2-0). I was too busy moving out of my homestay in Ngyeku Village, ahead of moving to a new one in Moshono tomorrow. For the next month, I’m the new recruit for RISE Africa, another NGO doing all kinds of great work here in Tanzania.

My first month has been brilliant. At TAN-EDAPS, I’ve been doing some report writing, some fundraising and lots of picture-taking at the behest of my boss, Mr Mafie (like most people here, he doesn’t have a digital camera, so I’ve come in pretty useful for taking snaps).

Two things stick out from my time with him. On Monday I spent the day with one of TAN-EDAPS’ associated groups called Ngyeku Home Based Care (NHOBC), which arranges visits to house-bound people such as HIV sufferers or old folks.

We visited nine households that day. The first was a grandmother who lived in a shack in the middle of rural farmland, caring for her HIV-infected grand-daughter abandoned by her itinerant alcohol-loving daughter. The grandmother had no job, no husband and with East Africa experiencing a lengthy and cruel drought, no food or crops. NHOBC does a great job, on the limited budget it has, of ensuring these folks are not forgotten about.

The other stories were equally harrowing. The saddest for me concerned the fella below wearing the hat, 95-year-old Elisa:



He’s a grand old chap who can’t walk unaided, has major chest pains and is getting increasingly forgetful, suggesting he’s in the early stages of dementia. Also, in the photograph, that mudhut in the background, which you would not keep your evil slyly-parks-in-disabled-spaces neighbour’s dog in, is his house.

He likes visitors though, so our arrival was warmly welcomed and he squeezed my hand firmly and mustered a smile when I approached. He can’t speak properly anymore, so I’d like to think the series of grunts he gave me were intended kindly. The hat he is wearing was a pink women’s M&S number with a little bow on the side, a bit like one my Grandma Helen used to wear.

Obviously, he belongs in an old folks’ home. But they don’t have them in Tanzania, so he’s reliant on the kindness of his neighbours to bring him food, and groups like NHOBC, who are trying to raise money to help him find somewhere nicer to live.

My whole day with NHOBC was a bit like these clips they show on Comic Relief, where they send someone like Nigel from Eastenders to a penniless African community and zoom in on their heartache as the rich Westerner/peasant Africa pathos eats them up.

I now know how that feels, and it’s hard not to feel that same sense of pity, shame and even guilt, laced with a feeling that the world has never looked this unbalanced. Unlike the Comic Relief projects featured on telly, there’s no wheelbarrow-full of cash coming NHOBC’s way any time soon. But I wish them well and hope I can help them change that in the future.

Another brilliant group I had the pleasure of spending time with was Nice Orphanage & Daycare Centre. Here’s some of the kids doing a maths lesson:



The management have big plans of extending the centre from its current use as a daycare centre into a fully residential campus for over 40 kids, where they can get three meals a day and proper TLC, depending on finding funding of around £90,000. I did some report writing for them, and am in the midst of helping them to set up an ‘Adopt A Child’ scheme, to give these kids cash for things like schooling, food and clothes.

As an introduction to working for an NGO in Tanzania, TAN-EDAPS was class. The journey continues now with RISE Africa.

The word is I might be asked to do some English teaching. As per Robin Williams in Good Morning Vietnam, I’m toying with the idea of introducing the phrase “Yer maw” to the youth of Tanzania as a term of endearment.

~~~

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I didn’t bring my MP3 player to Tanzania with me, which I now acknowledge as a tactical error. I expected Tanzania radio to be awash with sufficient guitar rock and pop to get by; instead the only Western stuff is all horrible hip-hop and R&B. The closest I have got so far was a Mantovani-esque reworking of “Baby Where Did Our Love Go?” by The Supremes and that will not do.

However, from a scientific point of view, I can salvage positives from my experiment. On a bus to Moshi last week, a stream of anonymous African tunes on the radio was interrupted by “Against All Odds” by Phil Collins; a song I vehemently do not have in my collection at home, but in isolation, and as sanctuary from the rubbish I’m otherwise forced to listen to, it sounded terrific. “In The Air Tonight” or “Sussudio” would have been much better, but in the circumstances, I’ll take what I can get.

As I publish this blog, I have one ear on YouTube, listening to "Alba" by Runrig at jet engine-volume. It’s 4:01 long, took 27 minutes to load and is big, bombastic and worth every second of the wait.

Bye for now,

Ross

Cancel the Pirelli calendar shoot…

A Davie Weir hands-on-hips-after-conceding-a-goal stance during a kickabout with some local lads on Monday night confirmed my recent suspicion; that I’m putting on weight.

Hardly surprising, as the diet here is pure carbohydrates, which because of work commitments and a cold last week, I haven’t been able to exercise off quick enough.

Lunch and dinner most days is boiled rice, with a side typically of brown beans, spinach, roasted banana or fish; cheap, cheerful and, I’m pleased to report, very, very tasty. Unpicky eater that I am, I am perfectly happy. Screw my hips, being 11 stone-ish (I estimate) has never tasted so good.

For when I eventually move into full half-marathon training mode (for the Kilimanjaro Half Marathon on 28 February 2010), I reckon it will be nigh-on perfect, as is Tanzanian brekkie, which is less carby, but by no means less tasty – very eggy and fruity (though I’m less sure about the local porridge, which tastes and looks like bread-flavoured Angel Delight).

~ ~ ~

An interesting exchange at the bus stop one morning this week.

Waiting for a bus to arrive in Sakila, I was approached by an elderly gent, dressed like a mixture between Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp and Miami Vice’s officer Tubbs, who hobbled towards me with the aid of a cane. He shook me firmly by the hand, took off his hat, said something incomprehensible in Swahili, and, after flashing me a gummy smile that revealed a single yellow tooth, treated me to a song.

While warbling away, my new friend strummed his cane like an imaginary guitar. After a minute or so, he stopped, said something else in Swahili, and looked at me questioningly. Keeping my hands firmly in my pockets and offering nothing more than a polite ‘Me no comprende’ shrug, Seasick Steve simply turned on his heels and wandered off.

My mate Moses, who was with me, confirmed my suspicions and told me he was asking for money. At least he didn’t try and whistle, although that would have been more interesting.

~ ~ ~

Finally, football tops.

The English Premiership has a fanatical fanbase here in Tanzania. On matchdays, cheering can be heard from all over Arusha when a match involving one of the Big Four is in progress, from groups of guys gathered round small TV sets. I hope I can find one next Saturday where I can watch the Japan-Scotland game, though I’m not holding out much hope.

Walking around, football tops – either fake or several seasons old – are everywhere. The most common are unsurprisingly Manchester United, though Arsenal are also very popular. However, barely a week after flying thousands of miles here from Edinburgh, this one caught my eye in Longido:



A Jim Jefferies (or perhaps even Davie Weir?)-era Heart of Midlothian top – one of only two Scottish tops I have seen so far, besides a fake Celtic one with Nakamura on the back. I did not ask the kid if he knew the words to “Hearts Hearts, Glorious Hearts”.

Anymore brilliant old non-Old Firm Scottish football tops I see, you'll see them on here.

Ross

Three is a magic number

Before I left, I mentioned to some folks that I was planning on leaving my MP3 player and packing three CDs to see me through my trip (Come to think of it, some of you were more interested in this than the specifics of my trip – hell, that’s cool, I would be the same).

So what made the cut? Firstly, the criteria; one had to be Scottish, one had to be a new release (2008 or 9) and the other could be anything – “the Classic position”, as Dad, an expert in this field, called it.

The results are surprising; two of the three CDs aren’t actually mine, and the third was delivered to me by mistake by an Amazon second-hand seller last year. I doubt Chris Moyles will give me a name-check on Radio One on the validity of my choices, but ho hum, you know me. To the results…

The Scottish post was probably the most difficult to suss out. Idlewild and Belle and Sebastian were thrust forth as suggestions that fell on deaf ears. Franz Ferdinand and The Proclaimers were early candidates, but were sent home with the other potential choice’s sympathies.

Hatful of Rain by Del Amitri made it down to the envelope opening stage. But out of nowhere came Paisley’s own Gerry Rafferty, with On A Wing And A Prayer, a quite stonking, forgotten gem.

M&D’s record collection also came up trumps when it came to picking a new CD to stick in the bag. Almost everything I have bought over the last year or so has been ancient, making this part rather tricky, but there were possibilities.

In the end, it came down to three (after I realised I didn’t have Washington Square Serenade by Steve Earle on CD, and also that Dan Wilson’s Free Life came out a year too early for consideration).

The Red Album by Weezer and Little White Lies by Fastball traded blows with each other, but only succeeding in clearing the way for Raising Sand by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, an endlessly listenable album I have my folks to thank for the pleasure of hearing.

So far, so Dadrock. Yet all that remains is “the Classic position”, a position destined for a choice so comfortable and reassuring that a million middle-aged forefingers are waiting to be drummed on car steering wheels upon its very mention.

Women hairdressers and football dads, start your engines… it’s Like You Do, the 16-track best of the Lightning Seeds that I love more than oxygen. I already owned all the LS albums before mistakenly receiving this in the mail last year, but it encapsulates everything wonderfully and there is nothing I would rather encourage Tanzanian adults and children to dance around the room to more than this.

It was almost banished early on, as a result of Lightning Seeds cancelling a gig in Edinburgh in August that I was very much looking forward to, causing R.E.M.’s Out Of Time to start preparing its holiday wardrobe. The Cars’ debut album also began searching for its Rough Guide To Tanzania. But like a weak heart welcoming home an errant lover, I couldn’t leave Like You Do behind.

So that’s that; let the abuse begin. But before you let rip (and as Neil Buchanan used to say), try it yourself. It was bloody hard!


Ross

PS I only actually brought the Lightning Seeds CD with me. Gerry Rafferty is copied onto my laptop (complete with many wobbly laser skips) and Robert Plant and Alison Krauss’s victory is merely a moral one; I forgot to copy the CD before I left. Also, the house I am currently staying in has no CD player or electricity…

First impressions

A chicken walks into a bar… and that’s as far as that story goes. It really happened yesterday afternoon when I was sitting having lunch (an omelette-chips hybrid thing) with my host/boss here in Maji Ya Chai.

It’s exactly the kind of sight I have become accustomed to seeing in the 11 days or so since I first arrived in Tanzania to embark on a six month volunteering placement.

Whether it is passing women in the street with giant loads perched on their heads or seeing more than 20 people stuffed into minivans roaring down the highway belching black smoke (they’re called daladalas), the very least I can say is that it is a long way from Edinburgh. Which is good, as that is one of the reasons why I was interested in coming here; it makes a change from the militant traffic wardens and other vermin I used to see all too often back home.

I’m also learning that it’s not just money, water and food that are in short supply for the good, decent folks of east Africa. Electricity and the internet can also be hard to come by, hence this blog not getting the kind of attention I would like to give it. But I’m learning to live without the web; Facebook's loss is east African business development's gain.

Today, however, I am in an internet café in Usa River, where I am able to upload this blog. I should declare it was written this morning and whacked onto a USB stick so as to save internet time; if you can think of internet speed at home in Scotland as being Michael Schumacher, Tanzanian speed compares like a Robin Reliant driver with a puncture.

Belatedly, I can introduce the kind of work I am doing here in Tanzania. As many of you know, I am undertaking a business development volunteering project with MondoChallenge, an organisation that specialises in sending volunteers to developing countries around the world.

Now that I have a few days’ work experience under my belt, I am able to put a bit more meat on the bones about what that actually means. For this week, and until this time in October, I am a volunteer project worker with TAN-EDAPS, a small but highly ambitious organisation led by a salt-of-the-earth bloke called Mr Mafie.

Mr Mafie is a community activist; the sort of bloke you would want to sort out problems in your community. No puffed chest, no fanfare, and also – crucially – no income; he runs the organisation, single-handedly, full time on a voluntary basis, with the greater good a bigger concern to him than personal wealth.

Litter collection, women’s empowerment, orphans’ welfare, the correct use of donkeys; Mr Mafie has interests in all. Ten years ago, he set up TAN-EDAPS to tackle these and other issues by encouraging people in the community to take ownership of dealing with them. For the next month, I am assisting him by writing reports and pulling together submissions that will be used to chase funding. I’m also his personal cameraman (not many people have digital cameras in Tanzania, and have been prowling around taking pictures of buildings and projects for use in his presentations.

I’m also living with him and his family, on his farm, which yields lovely scran like avocados, bananas, peas, sugarcane and vanilla, not far from his office in Maji Ya Chai (is that on Google Earth? I’d be interested to find out from anyone who can tell me). The 20 minute or so journey to work every day – on the back of his motorbike, under the shadow of Mount Meru – never gets any less enjoyable.

Over the next six months, I will write more on this appallingly-named blog as I learn about Tanzania, its people and places. And now that I’ve told you about what I’m doing, all future dispatches will be a bit lighter and footloose.

Am I missing anything exiting at home? I don’t know.

Ross

PS The chicken just kinda wandered off afterwards. I’ll probably see it again tomorrow.