The orphanage, like most in Tanzania, is well-meaning but running on empty in terms of cash. Hence, there’s not always money for food for the children. But the two ladies in charge, Mama Florida and Mama Sara, are doing a great job with the little they have, and are ambitious for future expansion.
Our MondoChallenge In-Country Manager John and I were invited to visit on Saturday to see the children’s new school uniforms and school bags, which were purchased following a very generous donation from another Mondo volunteer, Tom, who was here last year. Needless to say, the kids looked great.
In addition to buying uniforms for its kids to attend the two local schools, the orphanage also purchased some matching polo shirts for the kids to wear as an orphanage uniform. Bizarrely, this comprised a batch of Wild Bean Café uniforms, as worn by the staff of hot food counters in BP service stations in the UK:
How and why they got to Tanzania I will never know; I would like to think it is due to some kind of CSR programme. Whatever the reason, the kids looked smart, and were pleased as punch to have them.
John and I took a sponge cake, bread and some classroom materials as presents, which seemed to go down well. Upon the cutting of the cake, I was asked by the two Mamas to participate in a traditional Tanzanian custom of being fed a piece off the end of a stick:
It is a peculiar yet pleasant custom, the etymology of which nobody has been able to explain to me yet. Regardless, it was also a fun way to say goodbye to Nice Orphanage, which I will remember long after I leave Tanzania, and will hopefully get the chance to visit again in a couple of years or so.
* * *
I also went to Moshono this weekend for a final lunch with the host family where I spent three and a bit-months from October to January.
I grew very fond of Moshono, and heard some cracking stories while I was there, the best of which I heard one day while having a beer at a local pub with Baba, the father of our house. At our table, we were joined by a couple of older Maasai gents, one who was maybe 70, the other 10 years or so years younger.
The two of them and Baba chatted away in Swahili for a good while, before the two older gents starting chatting and laughing between themselves.
After a while, Baba explained to me that they were reminiscing about the younger one being circumcised at seven years old, in accordance with Maasai tradition. Using a bush knife and with no sedation, the child must undergo the circumcision without crying or displaying emotion. If the child cries - I'm told - they are killed (which seems a bit harsh to me, but combined with other Maasai rites of passage such as killing a lion to achieve manhood at 18, explains why the Maasais are hard-as-nails).
Thankfully, the younger of the two guys sitting opposite the table from me was able to withstand his mini-operation, as the older of the two gents could verify: he had held him down while the deed was done.
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With my flight home leaving on 1 March, I’m now at the ‘tying up loose ends’ stage with all of my various projects. It’s sad to think that in less than two weeks, I will no longer be able to enjoy the things I have become accustomed to; among them, fresh mango for breakfast (not like the tasteless rubbish you get at home), the daily sight of women with a preposterous amount of things balanced on their heads, 65p for a 500ml bottle of beer, and quiet, non-icy streets for my morning runs.
No matter. There is plenty to look forward to at home in March; the Scotland-Czech Republic game at Hampden, the Alloa Half Marathon, my mate’s baby boy’s first birthday, boxing on TV, good quality radio and – most importantly – stovies.
Yum.
Ross
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