Rosie and I planned our letter writing session with the scholarship students while we had breakfast. The main thing was to explain that the gift was the education, and that requests for presents, further assistance and trips to
My first task at school was to work with the other form two group on their introduction project, and with only 47 in this group, it was slightly easier. With Madam Simbee’s supervision of the photos, I was able to talk to every student about what they had written and to help with the English sentence structures. We played a game of ‘Twenty Questions’ and it was interesting to hear the questions that they asked to help them work out which teacher was being thought of, such as, “Do they drink alcohol?” Of course, thinking a little more deeply about it, I realised that this was not just about habits but about religion as well.
The rest of the session was spent in me answering any questions that the students had, and Madam Simbee left when there were no questions, feeling correctly that they would be less inhibited if she were not there. Questions after she left were about how young people meet each other, what customs Australians have to do with marriage and courtship, whether Australians liked people with black skin, and lots about religion. Not a single one about koalas, so it was interesting for all of us. I asked return questions related to their customs. Everyone listened intently and when someone had a question, he or she would raise a hand and stand beside the seat to ask it. It was all very orderly and once the more confident ones got started, lots of students spoke up. In fact, in every class there are five or six students who seem to take me under their wing, and who don’t want what I suggest to have no response. They will always start the ball rolling and smile at me encouragingly, even when it is not their turn. In this particular class, there are two wonderful boys (really men) who catch on quickly and explain to others or to me if we can’t understand.
As I was leaving, I thanked the class for listening and speaking so well. The students broke into spontaneous applause, and one rose to make a speech, saying that they are so glad to have me, and that they hope that I come back and that I will always be welcome. It was so very touching, and I would happily work on here for a much longer time. I am already torn between the longing for being part of my family and my old life and the longing for more travels, and now I also want to spend more time in this school.
Rosie arrived and Joy rang from
At last, and an hour after we had expected, our letter writing session began. Rosie gave a very clear statement of the expectations of the letters, and what not to write. For every 30 seconds of Rosie in English, Madam Simbee gave a dramatised version in Swahili, continuing for about five minutes. She used humour and examples, and since we had discussed everything with her, she knew all about the issues. About an hour had passed when I started on what to include, so I simply listed the topics that they had been telling me about, and pointed out that each one of them, with lots of details, would make a good basis for a letter. A bit of up to date community or personal news would finish it off, and maybe some questions so that the letters became a bit like a conversation. We were about to hand out the paper when we realised that no-one had the requested books and pens with them, and after they were fetched, that it was lunch time. We asked the students to write their letters for homework, but on the way out Lukas explained to me that it was not likely that many would be done, and that maybe I should arrange some more time during school if we wanted letters from all. He is a form four student who is most astute and a very hard and competent worker. He is a perceptive person and I value his advice. He is in form four and longs for the opportunity to go further. From the work I have seen him do, he certainly shows the right sort of potential.
It was not lunchtime as such, because there was no water, although the pipe was supposed to be fixed. So, without water for cooking, the school closed for the afternoon. Everyone was due back at school at 4 pm for the Mbuzi (goat) Cup. This was an innovation of Mr Edson’s; a soccer competition between the four forms, with the winners taking home a live goat, second place receiving a rooster and third, a hen. Only the fourth placed losers would receive nothing, which seemed a little harsh, rubbing in their status even more. Soccer, or football as it is known here, is all the rage. There were recently some late afternoon inter-village matches, with teams walking home ten kilometres and more, singing and dancing if they were victorious and analysing play and planning new strategies for the next meeting if they lost. Freddy had been a hero, kicking the winning goals in one of these for primary students, held before we arrived.
It was true that the water was back on, but as yet we had no water for anything other than cooking. Managed by a community committee, there are always hiccups and the family tries to fill its tanks when it can to be sure to be able to tide themselves over, at least for cooking and drinking. One person at the outlet keeps a tally of the buckets taken by each household, and people pay the rates that the committee has set. Maintenance is not always a high priority, with a slow leak in the pipe that Rosie remembers from two years ago still going.
Keith stayed on at school to work with the teachers, but Rosie and I went home to have our lunch of ugali and vegetables. All the vegetables are cut up very finely here, and cooked with a lot of salt and oil. It is a long time since we have eaten anything that is not almost a sauce, so when it was the turn of the potato dish and there were some lumps of potato, it was a welcome change. I like the meals and feel a bit guilty that I do not help cook them, although it is always a treat when they ‘just arrive’, usually brought over by Maria. After eating, Jarvah and I were playing out on the front steps when we saw a goat – the goat for the prize for the soccer - being led up the hill to the school.
Later on Rosie and Ticha went over to the
Lukas sat beside me and, in impeccable English, explained what was happening. Form two and form three would play each other for the cup, and it was to be just like real soccer matches, with security provided by an armed soldier. Not having a real one of those, one of the boys was dressed as much like the military as possible and carried a wooden gun with a metal bayonet stuck into it.
He took his role seriously, attending the line up with the teams and the referee at the start of the match, patrolling the boundary to control the crowds, and forcing the cheer squad off the ground when they went crazy and ran on to it dancing and chanting. Not once did he laugh or let down his guard.
Tamba had borrowed my camera to be the press and was asserting himself, even without a press card, in this role, to go onto the field before play began to get some team close ups. The heroes - form two in green and gold, and form three in blue – paraded around the ground. The form three cheer squad was out numbered by the form twos due to class sizes and the inclusion of the clearly partisan lunch cooks, babies on backs and children in tow, and consequently the form twos dominated in volume. Numbers also gave them the courage to invade the field whenever an exciting bit of play happened. They went absolutely crazy, racing after the players, when the first goal was scored by their team. At these points, boys with sticks assisted the soldier to keep the girls in line.
To me it seemed to be an amazingly reckless game, with players racing into the fray without a single thought to their personal safety. The majority, who were wearing shoes, fared better than those without but, a few players were felled.
Madam Simbee commented that the play suggested that some of the team members had been drinking and that they should have had their breath sniffed before they started play.Dust rose around the fancy footwork, sometimes obscuring it from the crowd, but not from the referee.
The referee, especially chosen to be neutral, was none other than Boniface, the World Vision worker who was overseeing the building of the new hostel on the school grounds. He did an excellent job and matched the students’ ability to race from one end of the ground to the other tirelessly.
A new chant started, in Swahili – “Form twos, don’t go to sleep now! Keep up the struggle!” – and it was on again. Across from where I was sitting, a five metre high rock provided a natural grandstand for students who are sitting and standing on it, and leaping about as the excitement built up. In contrast, a Maasai man herded his cows past, right alongside the boundary line. He and they strolled past as if they were entirely alone on this dusty plateau. The silhouettes of umbrella acacia, scrubby bush and hump shouldered cattle seemed timeless against the dusky blue sky.
Mr Chalala, Keith and Frank had arrived, back from their session on emailing at the World Vision office. Mr Chalala took his seat of honour behind the official table, and he and the other teachers now seated, took a lively interest and were unable to resist calling out coaching tips and advice from the sidelines.
One young teacher was so involved that he ran along the boundary, calling out his tips. The atmosphere was tense and very full-on, but for every injury there was concern and care from both teams, showing that they were friends after all, despite what this war suggested.
At half time the teams separated into their huddles, most of those on the periphery showing their allegiances by becoming hangers on at one end of the ground or the other. Play started again to the sound of a new form two chant – “Our goal keeper was born in
A second goal – a disaster now to the form threes – and the soldier had his work cut out to clear the pitch, such were the celebrations of the form twos.
The second prize rooster escaped when it was being brought over to the VIP area where we were seated, so a second spectacle of a chase through prickle bushes as a group of students attempted to capture him now diverted me.
The final siren signalled frenzy time. A haze of dust was stamped and danced up as jerseys were swapped and hands were shaken. The form three cheer squad forlornly made its way across the join the crowds, now regrouping in front of Mr Chalala’s official table. In the quietest of voices, Mr Edson spoke of the various games up to this one, with the audience listening in total silence and only responding with cheers at his cues. Mr Chalala also spoke and thanked Mr Edson for his organisation and Boniface for his job as referee, and mentioned his disappointment that some of the spectators had not worn school uniform, as asked. It was a very gentle reproof.
Mr Edson announced the places, with the poultry being raised above the receiving captains’ heads as if they were indeed gold cups.
The goat had been dressed in the winning uniform of gold and green.
It was looking around, amazed at its fate as a dressed up trophy, and its eyes bulged with fear when the form two captain raised it triumphantly above his head. The crowd roared its approval and delight.
Suddenly it was all over, with the teams going off to discuss how to share their prizes and the cheer squads dissipating as their members headed off along various tracks. It was nearly dark, and four of my previous escorts were waiting for me. Keith called at the school office to collect the computer. We set off down the road, with Keith and Frank ahead engaged in what appeared to be a serious and very intense conversation, and me and the girls chatting in a very light hearted way, bringing up the rear. Of course the girls insisted on carrying everything that we had, and for a joke I took off my thongs and handed them over too. It does not take much to share a laugh here. They taught me some Swahili for body parts and clothing, some of which are easy since they are really English, such as blousi and skirti.
Madam Simbee commented to me earlier that the reason that the students are so friendly and helpful to me is because I am so charming with them. While we were on the compliments, I told her how I think that she is a teacher who is really devoted to the progress of each individual, and that she has been a dream to work with. Her enthusiasm and interest for every new idea, and our ability to work and be friends together so well has been wonderful for me. We were escorted to the door of Rosie and Ticha’s house, with both of us feeling great, having had a fantastic time at the Goat Cup.
After tea and a full replay of the soccer match and of Hawa’s role in the form two cheer squad, Hawa stayed and we settled to an amusing game of Twenty Questions.
Rosie and Ticha were upset because of the multitude of hurdles placed before the couples at the Baptism lessons, with their second nominee for Godfather not being acceptable and Jarvah’s name being questioned as to acceptability for a Catholic basptism. At the end of the evening, the thought was that our son Aidan’s name could be used for the day. It is a saint’s name and would be acceptable, and Aidan and Rosie are good friends as well as cousins. We did not understand that the name at the baptism would henceforth be our little great nephew’s ongoing name, imagining that the next day he would revert to his real name, the one on his Australian birth certificate, of Jarvah Tichiano Fidelisi. After all, that was the name that they had chosen after great thought, and even after checking a Biblical list on the internet, and it is part of who Jarvah is.
There had been another controversy – over the inclusion of Ticha’s parents in a church celebration for a fiftieth wedding anniversary despite it only being 49 years. Having been off, and then on, and off again, it was now on and the family had to prepare for a party with only two days notice. Father Godi would return for the festivities and Ticha’s brother, Mshaka, near the end of his training to be a priest, had been given the bishop’s blessing to attend as well. Catering for food would be for sixty, a goat would be killed and there would be beans, vegetables and rice. Alcohol production would start in the morning.
We could hear Sandawe singing and drumming coming from a house not so far away, and it floated into our dreams on this warm African night.
