Farkwa, Tanzania, Wednesday September 17th

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What a night - so many unfamiliar noises - Freddy’s radio, goats, kids of both kinds, pigs, a strange kind of intense repetitive noise that sounded almost like a human being tortured and which turned out to have been the top male goat exerting himself as he took his conjugal rights with the females in the flock, seemingly with only ten minute breaks, and finally the chooks joined in. Our attempts to rig up the mosquito net had been inadequate so that it flopped in our faces. And it was early – about six o’clock when the day started for us all.

When Maria delivered the delicious chapatis she had made, with onion in the mixture, another of our oddities in not taking sugar in our tea came to light. Sugar in the tea is a given here and Mama Gawe is said to load her cup with ten spoons. The high school students had gone, fuelled only with a cup of tea and a sugar energy fix. School started at 7 0’clock for them and at 8 0’clock for Pius and Fide. Rosie boiled eggs and opened her supply of peanut butter and honey. We were feeling fine so we decided to ring and see if we could visit the school that morning, when Rosie could organise someone to mind the children for a while.

The walk up the hill followed a little path past the houses of some relatives and we learnt that every passing includes a greeting, and for those with the language, a little chat as well.

The school driveway was of dirt, swept clean.The buildings are not finished, and as we entered, we saw a few teachers in a fairly cramped room, correcting student work in exercise books. We went in to see Mr Chalala, the Head Teacher, in his office, and after he had welcomed us, we presented him with a few gifts from us for the school. We were amused to hear him raise his voice only a tiny bit to call over the dividing wall to Mr Edson, the Sports Master, to come in to receive the soccer ball, proving that there was no need for a PA system. We were introduced to several of the teachers who all shook hands and welcomed us.

Mr Chalala speaks very good formal English, with the addition of Tanzanian courtesy thrown in. That meant that we were welcomed as honoured guests and thanked for our presence in a way that, to us, far outweighed who we were or what we had come to do. We were aware that we were the first sponsors to visit, and that we were related to Joy, who had set up the sponsorship system, but we felt that we had done so little and were receiving a welcome earned by others.

The teachers knew of the computer and Madam Simbee, the English teacher and Assistant Head Teacher, had already been experimenting with the digital camera. They were very pleased that we had come to Farkwa and would spend some time helping them to learn to use the technology. We ourselves had some reservations as to the usefulness of one computer without ongoing technical support and no idea of what it would involve for us. However, we were keen to be of whatever assistance we could.

Mr Chalala, and then Madam Simbee, took us on a tour of the classes. No teachers were in any rooms, but the students were quietly working on discussions and exercises previously set. The rooms were large, with bare walls and, in some cases, bags of cement and building materials stacked at the back. The only teaching aids were text books and the chalk board. As we entered each room, all the students would stand and then one student would clap as a signal to the others to welcome us in unison, saying, “Good morning, teachers.” Mr Chalala would then say, “Sit down,” quite abruptly before reminding them of the computer’s existence and of our coming having been known to them. I guess that this was the first time I looked at us from their perspective and I realised that someone coming over from Australia to be in their community to help them would have been exciting news and that it was no wonder that they had looked forward to it. Maybe we were worthy of being welcomed. In each room we each gave a little speech, with us being ourselves entirely; Keith giving the same brief and to the point one each time and me reinventing the wheel on each occasion.

I looked around the rooms for the faces of the children that I knew and saw some, but not all. Both the form two groups were enormous – and were in fact double classes, due to the unusually high intake that year. In each room we were clapped for our efforts, for our speeches and for our future assistance. Rosie was with us and agreed that we had been received royally. She had an agenda that included checking on the accounting and reporting system for the scholarships and she wanted me to assist her in that. We arranged a meeting with Mr Chalala for the next morning and to attend the parent meeting to be held on Friday. I was itching to see how the school really operated and to spend some time in a classroom. Madam Simbee was very friendly, so I asked her if I could be of assistance to her with the English classes, and perhaps with the digital camera. She was keen for us to work together so we arranged for me to come in the next day to watch her in action so that I would have an idea of the standards. It was all so simple.

The computer sessions would not be so easy because the solar panel had not yet been installed. Mr Chalala had been on the case and had contacted the electrician, and had high hopes for the next morning. If he had not appeared by then, Mr Chalala planned to cycle to his village, about 20 km away, after school to sort things out.

We had met the ladies who cook the lunches of beans and ugali for the students in a shelter outside. Several of their very young children played around in the grounds while they prepared the meals, using firewood and water brought to school by the students.Nearby, a new tank had nearly finished being constructed to catch the rain water from the main building. A hostel building for girls, to be ready for next year, was also on the grounds, and was sponsored by Newcastle Grammar School and overseen by World Vision. A lot was happening and it was impressive to reflect on what had been achieved in four years, since the school commenced.

Madam Simbee escorted us home, with a stop at the shop for a soda and biscuits on the way. She walks much more slowly than we do, so it took some time out of her day to do it, but it was a good chance for us to chat and develop our relationship with her.

For lunch we had ugali and vegetables, which was the regular daily fare.

After lunch we faced the problem that the school computer battery was flat so that not even a short session could be given to the teachers without access to power. Our own computer had some of the same programs that Joy had installed on the school computer, which meant that it could be used too, but Keith needed to use the limited battery time it had to try to familiarise himself with those programs. There would be no access for me to use the computer so I decided to make some rough blog notes in my pad using a pen! I actually thought that we could skip blog reports on our stay in Farkwa, but was howled down by Keith, who wants to read it next year, and by Rosie, who said her family had loved the parts about her dad so she was looking forward to reading the parts with her in it. I am in Zanzibar as I type this up, weeks later, and am grateful to my notes that swing me back into the feelings and impressions that we had in those early days.

The Catholic Mission, headed by Father Godi (great name, really Gordion) has a generator which is turned on for use by the furniture makers, a side line of the Mission, and which at the same time provides power for the Mission water pump. Rosie phoned and it was fine for us to come over and plug in while the power lasted, and Father Godi would be delighted to meet us.

The driveway to the Mission is lined with flowering frangipani trees and the scent wafted gently all around us. Fallen blossoms decorated the dirt as we passed the buildings of the Mission Hospital and the Mission shop. As we walked there together, even Sebi’s demands to be carried could not fully ground me in the present – I had the feeling that I was someone else in a book set in an earlier era, and that I would already know Father Godi when I met him. Our whole experience of the school had suggested a different era, not least being the respectful manner of all the students we had met.

A huge gate swung open for us to enter the courtyard at the back of the grand Mission building, where the carpenters were hard at work making beds and other furniture. A door at the far end of the building led us to a staircase, which we climbed. At the top, we walked along a verandah looking out over the grounds and the kindergarten, and finally we reached Father Godi’s room.

Father Godi is a charming and friendly man in his thirties, a learned man who had undergone the many years of theological and philosophical education required to be a priest, a man who had been sent to a remote parish by his church.

Keith and I had coffee for our refreshments and Rosie chose beer. She and Father Godi discussed the forthcoming baptism of Jarvah and the celebration in the church of Ticha’s parents’ (nearly) fifty years of marriage, to be held on the same day in just under two weeks. Gracia had said that the fact that her parents would have been married only 49 years, but wanted the celebration for the fifty years to be held while Ticha and his family were home, was a bit of a sticking point. Father Godi said that it is every child’s right to be baptised and that the parents’ celebration as part of the church service would go ahead. There had been some thought that the wedding anniversary was not to be allowed, since it would be a year early but would enable Rosie and Ticha and the boys to be there. Sebi had been taken off to play by one of the girl’s boarding at the Mission and Jarvah was happily trying to disconnect all the wires and plugs powering up the computers and some phones, and protesting loudly whenever his plans were thwarted. Rosie joked about what Ticha would think if he knew that she was over at the Mission having a beer with Father Godi, so Father Godi took up her joke and promptly rang Ticha to tell him.

After being invited back for dinner on Friday, Rosie and I collected Sebi and went home. Keith stayed to give Father Godi a lesson on the computer and to use some time for himself, in an arrangement that they had stitched up which would allow us to power up both computers at the mission for as many days as we needed.

Rosie and I did our washing by hand and I read to Sebi for a while. Rosie has a great collection of English books and some in Swahili as well. The sun was low in the sky when Keith returned, escorted home by Father Godi. Another unmissable sunset finished the day, and then it was time for the smell of kerosene to dominate the house and for us to fill up on our rice and vegies, delivered by Maria.

Above: The teachers' houses 40 metres from the classrooms
Below: The school rooms, school gardens and assembly area