This is really Africa

Anyone from my family will instantly recognize the phrase,"This is really...(insert country name here).  Our dad, my namesake, was awestruck on our family trip to Mexico in the late 1960s.  With each new change of scenery he blurted out, "This is really Mexico!"  It has become sort of a mantra for all of us, remembering Dad's passion and innocence in each new discovery, if possibly with a little humor at his expense.  I have my own foibles.

Cole and went to early church this morning.  I'd say, "Two out of three ain't bad."  It is a labor of love after being to many two hour services when you do not understand a word beyond "Bwana aisfewe" and Mungu.

Astrid was going to come to Iringa with me to grade more papers.  She has done about sixty out of 160.  What a champ.  Kelsey and Cole talked some sense into her and she stayed home.  Don't worry Astrid!  It will be fine.

About noon I started out for Mtua, where the bus stand is.  It is about a half hour walk from the hospital.  Astrid took the bus back to Ilula from Iringa yesterday.  This dad was happy when she arrived at Ilula before dark.  She only saw my missed calls when she arrived home.  She is a seasoned traveler.

As I walked, I had a surreal reaction: this is Africa and what am I doing here?

The road to the hospital is being widened.  Wow!  It is a comparative superhighway now, if still gravel.  The heavy equipment was working today, Sunday.

At the end of the Ilula road, there was a row of motorbikes, the drivers beckoning to provide a ride to Mtua for a price.  Being piki-piki averse, I chose to walk the half mile or so.

On the roadside, as I walked against traffic like a good pedestrian, there was one of many piles of kiln fired bricks.  These are the mainstay of construction here.  There are many piles like the one I saw.  I wondered about their story.  Is the owner alive?  Is the owner accumulating wealth to use them for a house?  Among the many dukas or shops, all of which seem to sell the same things, are many rusting abandoned vehicles and junked equipment.  There will come a time when the threshold is reached and this metal has value enough to recycle it.  Most of the shops and buildings along the road are marked with green Xs to signify they are too close to the road.  Actually the building code (?) had been changed so the buildings now were too close.  I think they have been marked at least the 8 years I have been coming.  No new road though.  And by the way, I hear the county where you live is coming by to put a big green X on your house soon too....  Well, can you imagine it?

As I walked, I noticed 4 or 5 plastic containers along the road.  Presumably someone was watching to assure that no one would abscond with them, but I did not see the owner.  "Hmmm.  That's odd," I thought.  "I wonder what they are?"  I noticed that they were frothing at the lids.  Ahhhhh.  Sun augmented fermentation of  the local brew, pombe.  It is vicious stuff.  Or so I hear.  It smells terrible, like the worst beer you can imagine and tastes worse.  Or so I am told.  And an aftertaste! Whew!  Bad news! As I understand it, of course.

There is another kind of container common here.  It is he freight container.  Many of them are converted into dukas or continue their lives as permanent storage for goods.  At Ilula we have a permanent container used as storage and another building made from one or more freight containers.

Again that surreal sensation, "I am in Africa."

"Kamwene" is the Hehe greeting around Ilula and Iringa, where this tribe is dominant.  The response is "Kamwene."  Then the response is "Nogage," and the other says, "Dimnofu."  Pronounce each syllable and letter and it will be close.  Of course, the Tanzanians will laugh at your efforts, but appreciate it, nonetheless.  I see the black faces and only realize I am different when my Mzungu hand slips into view with each stride.  Well, that and not knowing the language and perhaps the stares of the little children who shout "'zungu!" As I pass.

I am different.  I am in Africa.

I arrived at  the bus stand and got on.  There is no set schedule.  When enough people have gotten on, the bus departs.  I was delighted to see the familiar face of our housekeeper, Tula.  I sat beside her and as others got on, we snuggled closer and closer.  However, it wasn't that romantic.  Each row is designed to hold four people, including a jump seat.  The conductor demands that each row be filled.  With a minimum of five people.  We had six, including an infant.  It was a slow trip.  As we traveled, some got off, more got on.  I counted 40 in a vehicle designed for 25.

We arrived at the S/Kuu (Main Bus Stand) and parted ways.  I said goodbye to Tula and walked to the Lutheran Centre.  Here two church groups had arrived, Como Park Lutheran from their companion village and St. Paul Lutheran here their first full day.  Both groups were bubbling over with the same excitement my dad had.

"This is really Africa!"