Dust, Driving and Lake Chala

At the weekend we went to lake Chala. This is a crater filled with water, that straddles the Tanzania/ Kenyan border. It is slightly up in the hills, so is cooler (hooray!) and because of all the water it is very lush around the edges.

The journey was half by road – that is the kind of road that you and I think of when we say road – then the rest by dirt track. There is so much dust, which means that every time a vehicle comes the other way you have to rapidly wind up the windows to avoid getting covered in another layer. Except the windows are electric and already clogged with dust so will only rise at an excruciatingly slow speed. So whenever you see a vehicle heading towards you, or you come across one of the many lorries pouring out black smoke, the cry throughout the car is Windows and everybody takes a deep breath and starts frantically holding down the buttons.

 We got to the campsite and although they knew nothing of our booking (despite my having a confirming email from them) they soon put up tents for us and we set off to the lake. On the way we visited the new restaurant – it is not finished, but the location is phenomenal and when it is complete it will really be something. The walk down was tricky in places, but all was forgotten as we swam in the cool water and took in the amazing surroundings.

The place is being refurbished and There are log cabins with breathtaking views, under construction. Lorraine managed to negotiate that we sleep in one (goodbye wind-flapping tents, hello luxurious veranda). Fabulous.

Next day, after a wonderful guided walk, along dry river beds, past dessicated elephant poo (apparently good for headaches when burned & inhaled) and glimpsing into the microcosm created in a nearby crater, we set off for home. 

Finally we are on tarmac and there is some hefty great thing pouring out foul black smoke, travelling at walking speed  (so slooooow! – how can they be allowed on the road?) and the sporadic traffic coming the other way means that I can’t overtake.  But it got worse – we had a puncture.

Baling out we looked in the back and could find no jack nor any wheel brace. What to do? Well actually this is easy – we have the very gorgeous Michelle with us. She is black American, and highly attractive to Tanzanian male taste so within seconds she has flagged down a passing minibus. They leap out, eager to help, but have no jack so have to pass on. Then Lorraine managed to flag down another car and this time we were lucky; it was full of young men who knew their stuff. One opened up the side pocket in the rear of the car to reveal the necessary equipment (hooray - it was there all the time!) and with his friend they set to work.

There are some odd features about 4 wheel drives that require you to know where to jack the car up – and none of us did. Ever-resourceful, the young men hoiked rocks from the side of the road, jacked & stacked, and somehow managed to change the wheel. Thank you!

The trip was well worth it, but I now know that driving here is far more tiring than at home. This meant that I took a break on Wednesday (my first day off!) but I'm now back at the keyboard & ready to write J

The Electricity Happy Dance

On Friday, after a good but busy clinic, Lorraine and I arrived home to a puddle under the fridge - this can only mean one thing: the electricity has gone off. It is now becoming apparent that every Friday (every Friday) the electricity goes off and I am beginning to suspect that each week the power workers are going home early for the weekend.

This messes up our First Rule of Working in Africa, which is always charge your laptop battery when you can. The normal pattern is that we haul our dusty carcasses back home and plug in the computers before we do anything else. However this is not the prevailing pattern on a Friday. Instead we sigh inwardly as we acknowledge that the shower may be pretty cold, but after that, we throw everything down and skip off to the swimming pool – what else can we do?

You may wonder what the Second Rule of Working in Africa is and I have to admit that we only adhere to it on a random basis. It is always eat when you can. For us this translates into having a massive breakfast; Lorraine topped the record yesterday with a fruit/ yoghurt/ muesli mix that was so large that she had to take a mixing bowl to fit it all in. The reason for this rule is that clinics inevitably straddle lunch time and the idea of stopping to eat doesn’t seem as attractive as the promise of finishing clinic earlier, so we press on to the end. After that we go home and somehow the lure of the pool is greater than the siren call of the kitchen.

However, once we have sated our water/ rest requirements at the pool we return to a home to what continues to be electricity-free. At this time it can still be classified as not such a problem, but the option to use the laptop is now limited to squeezing out any remaining battery life (close to zero) and we know that night is fast approaching. Fortunately the house has a couple of stand-by lamps that we charge for just such a purpose so these are put on and we move amongst the eerie light. But hooray - our food is heated by gas, so actually all is well in our world.

I guess the part that really makes me suspicious is the fact that the electricity always comes on again at about 9 p.m. (the start of the evening shift?) So at around that time last night, we were all sitting around the table drinking tea (not being able to make a cup of tea? now that would be an utter tragedy) when Michelle noticed that lights were on outside, so with one leap I turned on the living room light and all was ablaze. It was at this point that Lorraine and I did the Electricity Happy Dance. Small things really do make such a difference.

Children, Homoeopathy and Heartbreak

It was Orphanage day and we were back with the predominantly HIV children in a very poor area of town. The first one was the lad we had seen two weeks ago who was malnourished and very swollen. Most of the swelling remains reduced but he arrived out of breath despite having got a ride to the end of the drive so only walking 100m or so. It took him a long time to stop breathing hard, and even then his breath remained laboured. It is difficult to look at this little fella and try to reconcile the fact that he can barely walk; no football, no chasing around with friends, no laughter, just HIV. The homeopathy has helped in a major way, stopping the vomiting & diarrhoea, let’s hope it can help further.

Last time Lorraine had seen a young lad who was exceptionally despondent. He is HIV positive and was afraid for his health which coloured his whole life – so much so that he wanted to kill himself. He is 15. Now, when he sat down he smiled, and continued to smile on and off in response to various questions; it was very moving for Lorraine who had seen him before so was acutely aware of the improvement. He no longer despairs, he no longer wishes to kill himself. It is wonderful to witness.

Our last case was very tough, and is not resolved. A little girl had been for a few visits to try and get help coping with her life, and some remedies have made her feel better about herself. Her mother is dead and her father lives away with no contact number, so she and her brother live with their aunt and uncle. Her brother is HIV negative so does not get treated too badly but things are different for her. It is very common for people to persecute/ shun/ victimise people with HIV [not just in Africa] and that is what happens to this child. The girl came today for help with nosebleeds, but as we talked it came out that she wanted to runaway – today. The final straw came when she had eaten some food that was left over and her aunt said that she would poison her if she did it again.

It is very hard to know what to do; she has told the same story of persecution each time she was seen by a homeopath, and some remedies have helped but there are always two sides to a story. We talked to one of the supervisors at the place who explained that actually they only take children over 15 (the younger ones come from the school they run, so are not part of the orphanage) so taking her in was not an option. Also, with much discussion we found, unsurprisingly, that it would not be so simple – clearly the family needed to be talked to before anything was done and there were other considerations. So we gave what help we could in the form of remedies and left.

This was the sensible approach; we are here to help with health not sort out all the social problems, but all of us felt flat afterwards.

The Milk Run

So Monday takes us into a new week and first thing, as I sat freshly shining from my shower, Lorraine reminded me that we needed to collect milk from the van. [We make our own yoghurt and have tried a few sources, including the antibiotic-stuffed milk from the Dr.’s down the road, but that killed off the yoghurt culture so they are now shunned and never spoken of.] The milk van arrives around 8, so you have to be early and may have to wait a while - this is Africa. I set off down the road (all clean remember) and saw a 4x4 coming towards me with the obligatory cloud of road dirt following in its wake. My heart sank; I had been dust-free for 10 minutes and here was the first layer of filth approaching...

Suitably covered I continued, following the path created by many feet through the undergrowth and found myself standing alongside the large open drain that runs parallel to the road. My legs are little and the gap is wide so I stood and swore, before looking up to see a young girl chuckling at me. Ever one for a challenge, I took a deep breath and with a brief prayer I leapt (successfully – I am writing this aren’t I?) and continued up the road.

The usual crowd of people were waiting and I took a place on the wall, having muttered “Habari" (Hiya) a few times, but with little response. (This is not unusual, my accent is not great). After an age the van pulled up and we shambled across the road with our various plastic containers. (No hygienic metal pails for us!) The Big Guy stands at the side collecting the money and then everyone pushes to the back of the lorry which has been let down to display a chap with a dubious plastic jug that goes into a dubious plastic barrel to ladle out the fresh, warm milk. There are also a few old-fashioned milk churns and for a moment I ponder whether these are for artistic appeal or practical use. Yes, it’s obvious really.

Still in a bafflingly romantic mood, I stood back a bit, considering what a nice, colourful scene this was and - ready to take my turn - I practiced saying moje (one, as in one litre). My reverie was broken when I realised that I was starting to choke on the diesel fumes and perhaps the milk dripping on my shoe from out of the corner of the van wasn’t so great. Last in the queue - as I have not honed the necessary pushing-in skills - I got my milk and returned.

Coming home I reached the drain by the path and flew across, forgetting that now I was carrying milk. The result was not the gazelle-like leap I had hoped for, but again I survived and am happy for small mercies.

A Weekend in Moshi

It’s been another weekend of reckless abandon, starting with a shopping spree at the second hand clothes, shoes and handbags mecca - Memorial Market. [I have to preface this by saying that the idea of browsing for a new dress on Saturday was one of the key things that kept me going through the Thursday Massai Marathon; this was my reward.]

Then, catching the dalla-dalla into town I had to choose between sitting next to the mad-looking fella in the corner and the woman with the admirable African physique (also known as a large behind). These buses are a microcosm of local life from the smartly dressed young girl to the woman carrying a sack of second hand shoes. All are equal. Except if you’re a mazungu like me. But one thing I am learning is to watch carefully when others pay for things, and this time I noticed that people were paying only 300TZS for the ride, so I made sure I did too (not the 500 I was charged last time). A small difference but in a small way it made me feel more local.

Fool that I am, I had planned to get cash out on Saturday – the day that everyone gets cash out. No surprise then when Barclays had run out and after striding swiftly across town in the heat to the other ATM I found that that one had also run out and was now locked. Drastic times call for drastic measures so I was compelled to go to an unknown bank, this one being protected by an armed guard. I am not sure if the high-visibility security measures makes me feel safer or more concerned about my safety. In consequence, ladened with my newly acquired cash, I found myself racing back through the crowds to meet Lorraine at the cafe, arriving in a hot, dusty heap of sweat. [I feel that perhaps I need to work on my Relaxed African Attitude].

First thing Sunday was to be a flight over the Kili, taking in the panoramic view without any of the struggle of climbing. Expensive, but sooooo much easier than climbing. For over a week, Cynthia had been negotiating with a pilot to take four of us in the plane, although to be honest we were slightly concerned as every time she rang him he seemed to be mid-flight somewhere (are pilots allowed to take calls while they are flying?) It was during the final checking-up call that he said there were only seats for 3 people and could we possibly dump someone? Needless to say we cancelled – I feel disappointed.

Nevertheless, by now you know that food will pacify me in most situations and we were booked in for a curry Sunday night – hooray. Restaurant service has the same haphazard approach as flying; we have been out for two curries now and both times the ordering is OK but a bit random, with various courses being either late, forgotten or changed. On the whole this is OK [see? I am working on the Relaxed African Attitude] unless, like Michelle, you end up with a solitary bowl of rice...

Back with the Massai

We assembled early on Thursday, knowing the journey would be long and we had a full day’s work ahead. En route we were stopped by the police and ushered into a lay-by along with all the other traffic. We waited for an interminable time, finally discovering that the ex-president (think Gordon Brown [who?] not David Cameron) was to pass. At one point I wondered if they were going to hand out flags to wave – this is a long, busy road between Moshi and Arusha and everything was being stopped, surely this was a major event? Finally, a jeep with blaring headlights and a persistent horn came sweeping past, closely followed by 4 speeding, gleaming white vehicles and a couple more jeeps. Then they were gone. I wondered if this is how the ex-P and his wife go shopping at the weekend?

We continued on into Massai country. It endures as a completely beautiful area, the greens showing strongly as they had been washed of dust by recent rain. This Thursday there was a big demand for homoeopathy, so I was left on my own with Roger-the-translator. Solo working was a first for me, but when I volunteered to go that morning, I had suspected that might be the case, and it felt like it was time to face the fear of managing on my own.

Perhaps I should explain; to take a case here you need to take notes so the following person can gain a quick over view as well as see what you have been thinking. At the same time you have to repertorise , whilst concurrently observing the patient and asking questions. All this at speed.

In this picturesque spot there was a small church amongst dry grass, with a table and two stools waiting for us in the shade of the trees. I sat down and soon realised that I couldn’t see the computer screen – a quick change of shirt gave less reflection from me, but the light remained overly bright so we moved to a ramshackle wooden church nearby, the main church being locked. There were very basic benches and a good 4cm of dust on the floor, but the roof kept the sun off so this was good.

This just left me to prepare Roger by letting him know that I would be slow, but I was only going to apologise about this once, feeling that I would really have no time for any more. He nobly responded that we were a team (thankyou Roger), then it was heads down and off we went until about 3 hours later when I lifted my eyes to see that good old Massai staple had arrived: chapattis and chai. We took a break and the tea was heavenly; milky (which I normally hate), sweet (ditto) and with an incredible smokey flavour. Here simple things become incredibly important, and I was almost dancing with joy at the refreshments. A quick visit to the loo (yes, a jolly little wooden hut with a door that you had to hold shut whilst batting away at the insects) and we were off again. Nineteen patients in one day including eight new ones – bit of a record for me. [In the UK I might see five people in a day, with a maximum of two new patients.]

I was back for more the next day but we had to leave early to make the return journey. This was good, despite the threat of traffic – a famous bishop had died and it was his funeral that day. In transpired that the ex-P had been to pay his respects the day before. Halfway home we found all the vehicles pulling over to the side of the road; now familiar with this behaviour we imitated them. Within a few minutes two or three jeeps with flashing lights, blaring horns etc. whizzed past, followed by countless white vehicles full of the inevitable dignitaries, then more jeeps and.... an ambulance! It was The President this time and clearly he was taking no chances with his health. I have to say I was more impressed with this macho performance; I think I fancy becoming a dignitary.

Some Massai patients - the boy has a toy donated by Sally!

Homoeopathy update on Emmanuel

Today we visited the young boy we dashed off to see with Jeremy last week. He was incredibly sick, and listless, shuffling along like an old man, with constant diarrhoea and vomiting with food. We gave him food and told him how to mix a rehydrating drink (it did not look like he would be able to eat much at the time, but this would help to get him started.)

He is now eating without vomiting and the diarrhoea has stopped, which is fantastic. Also the swelling was reduced in his cheeks and legs although his stomach still looks very distended. The most visual difference was that he was moving around far better, and his face had some life in it – a massive improvement.

It is a privilege to be able to witness the return of hope for him.

Relaxation and Food

Friday afternoon, so it is the weekend again and we all bundle into The Coffee Shop for coffee and cake. Today they have lemon cake and oh, it is such a lovely moment! Life is definitely more simple here, although someone has booked a massage, so more luxuries available.

Saturday morning and we are all up early so we can walk into town without melting too much. I have no idea of the temperature, I can only say that it can be hot, very hot or sweltering, with the rare pleasure of a breeze. It is the same with time, most of us don’t wear a watch, so heaven knows how we get to places on time. Well to be honest we don’t, Friday morning was a big scramble to go to clinic and I think there were at least two bodies leaping out of the doors as we headed towards the gate, realising that they had forgotten things. [This includes me, when I’m driving, as the seat length is fixed and so is my leg length, and my legs fall rather short of the requirement so I have to dash back for a large cushion to prop myself forward].

 

The roads have dulla-dullas (a name derived from dollar dollar, though they cost a lot less) as local buses. These are like VW campers in shape, and have seating for around 16 (?) inside, so they carry about 25 people, with the extras hanging out of the sliding door. There are also numerous motor bikes – I think that they are all below 250cc, certainly no Harleys here. And then there are the 4WDs ranging from the dusty, well-loved (that’s a term you use for ancient teddy bears), that cross the numerous deadly speed bumps at a slow pace, to the pristine, perfect white speed wagons that take the bumps at an incredible rate, scattering all before them.

Monday night we plan an entertainment extravaganza, with Swedish meatballs courtesy of Anna. I offered to make flapjack for pudding so then had to source an oven – thank you Camilla! I looked up various recipes and assembled the ingredients, noting very carefully the oven temperature in every possible format. I then bowled over on Sunday, enjoying the lack of time pressure, and began to bake. [A small luxury, but a pleasure nonetheless when cooking is limited to 2 ½ gas rings the rest of the time.] I had some little helpers, which was nice, so I dubbed them sous chefs then just had to hold back on my language as I assumed the role of head chef. All was well until it came to the oven, and despite my assiduous preparation I had underestimated the Tanzanian Oven; it seems the options here are Big Flame, Little Flame or Somewhere-in-between.

So, with the joys of technology – a timer on Noga’s phone – and a bit of careful watching the wonderful smell of baking flapjack began to fill the house. Of course the smell made us impatient, and the timer highlighted how much longer we had to wait, so Noga began to tell me of the time when she had eaten flapjack at school. This was two Investigation Units ago – a time frame I am unfamiliar with, but as she couldn’t convert it into days or weeks, we just accepted that it was long enough ago for her not to be able to remember what the ingredients were apart from milk, and that it was cooked in a frying pan. I think she will be surprised at the difference between that and what we have baked.

We feast tonight!

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and mini magnum economics

On Tuesday, to balance out the trials of the day, we decided to take advantage of the Scottish Dancing class up the road. At 7 o’clock we duly trooped out of the house and drove the short way to one of the local hotels – we could walk, but it is wiser to drive back.

The class was a good opportunity to meet other people and have fun. Duncan, an Irish accountant in a coffee company, ran the class and there were teachers from an International School, volunteers and a lady working in micro-finance for farmers. We skipped and danced and laughed our way round a few routines, stopping now and then for a drink and rest from the heat. It was a wonderful tonic.

The Bad – and this just seems to reflect the place somehow – is that we went to the new clinic that Jeremy and Camilla are setting up and all the furniture and toys for children had been stolen. The place was being cleaned regularly and the cleaner left the side gate open; who knows if this was deliberate. It was seats, benches and desks that were taken so people will have seen, but...

[If you want to help by contributing to the charity there is a link at

www.homeopathyforhealthinafrica.org]

All the time we are faced with people taking things from us – the police ‘check points’, anything we buy (they call it the mazungo price, usually about twice what they would charge locals) and so on. The car tyre was flat and we took it for repair, Popo (our African translator) asked the price and it was 15k. When we (all white mazungos now) went back to pay they asked 18k and it was only when we said we would get Popo on the phone to sort this that they took the 15k. [And we know that this is double the price anyway]

I know in some instances people are poor and I am relatively rich, but it is the assumption that they are more entitled to the money/ stuff that makes it tricky. That said, why am I more entitled to it? You have to face difficult things here.

Which brings us to the Ugly. Friday and we are all tired. The last case for Cynthia and me is a little boy – little as in small, he is 16 years old. He has had diarrhoea for 3 years since he fell out of a tree. How is he still alive? His stomach is distended from lack of nutrition, he has boils and spots all over his skin, with ringworm on his scalp. I feel inadequate to help, but we do our best. Then we get home and find that a friend had an upsetting experience  with police asking for bribes. Again I feel compassion but some inadequacy to help.

So in the night I wake up and for the first time I cannot get back to sleep. I realise that I am still shocked from the day so make a hot drink and try to think. It strikes me that in India people beg for money and in Tanzania they take it. What about the West? Well in the West it is more subtle, but worse. In the West it is the very rich people that get the money; through advertisements they brainwash us to feed our addictions – sugar, wheat, alcohol, cigarettes, gambling, fear etc. [the fear means we buy loads of insurance, drugs, beauty products and so on.]

And the mini magnums? Well I love these little ice-cream lollies and bought a few for the odd sunny day we had last summer. Then in September I started watching a TV series I love and in every advert break they advertised mini-magnums. Normally I would never eat ice-cream indoors, I am not interested, but this advertising got to me and in the end I was buying boxes of mini magnums in the autumn. I saw myself eating ice-cream, not because I was hungry, not because I was hot, but because I had been seduced by the advert.

Humph! Most of the excess pricing here is one mini magnum, or less, even a police fine is around 4 – 5 boxes of magnums. I am not so sure what the difference is.

A very few pictures

Could put up a million, but here are a few...

Kilimanjaro from the garden wall

case taking with Jeremy




















Danny (Massai boy)
running to bring us a stool
to sit on

Naomi & Lorraine 
take cases in a chicken coop

Homoeopathy and Children

 I’m not sure if it’s Africa, or me; probably both. Monday was a big struggle for me (like the chicken coop day last week). Having established a comfortable rhythm working with Lorraine, we swapped partners again and I was all at sea once more. Now I am learning to speed repertorise and trying to ignore my lack of confidence.

So on Tuesday we went to an orphanage – an impressive place in terms of what it is achieving  It takes AIDS orphans and houses them and trains them in skills. As ever, funding it difficult, so anything they can accomplish is wonderful.

We took the first boy’s case, noting that he was around 15; his size suggested age 9. For a while I was gutted, remembering what my two boys looked like aged 15: healthy, vibrant, larger. It was hard – I felt like bending double and just rocking, but what help would that be? This lad loved football. His favourite team? Manchester United. I am baffled how a team half way across the world can get such support – how often would this little fella actually see his team play on TV? perhaps never. But he knows the names of the players and is a keen goal scorer himself. He was animated talking about football.

The next boy – small again, this is what HIV and malnutrition do - had something wrong with his eyes apparently from preparing chilli pepper. One eye was blind and the other looked like it was going the same way; this was a child who might become totally blind. Homoeopathy is good but I don’t think it can rebuild physical destruction.

Before we could get going on the third chap, we were told about a boy who used to go to the school but had not been since August then came this week and it was apparent that he was critically ill. He had come because each day he is at home on his own; his mother goes out to earn 80p a day picking rice, and he knew he was getting worse. His little friend got in the car and showed us the way.

As we drove along the dusty, cratered roads there was a ravine along one side where men were digging out the clay. Further on we drove through a brick works where the clay was being combined with straw, then baked in stacks to make bricks. All the houses were made of these bricks which we were told are 12p each compared to the other bricks which are 60p each. I suspect that the local bricks are less durable.

The house was a small brick building with a tin roof and old pieces of cloth covering the windows and separating out a sleeping are and cooking area from the sitting room. The boys sat on a sofa and we crowded in, recognising that this was not a jolly trip but a serious attempt to save a life. The boy had a swollen face, ankles and feet. The belly button protruded from a distended stomach, reminding me of the starving children we are shown on TV. It was clear he was malnourished and there was nothing in the house; a remedy might stop the vomiting and diarrhoea, but he still needed food to live. After clinic Jeremy went and bought food for him – the charity www.homeopathyforhealthinafrica.org does not have money for this, but what else can you do?

These children are on the Edge of Life in so many ways.

‘s 

Retail Therapy and Wildlife

On Thursday night the heavens opened again and all the world was mud; it would have been foolhardy to attempt to drive up into the Massai area. So on Friday we had to abandon our clinic. We were disappointed, though I’m sure not half as much as the patients. Instead we concentrated on the clinic in town then drove back to Moshi. [Michelle has just had a text from her Massai translator “if you have reached home safely, that is my joy“. Lovely.]

In the towns I have seen large open drains in the streets and know these would be full in the rainy season; however now is supposed to be the dry season. despite this, as we travelled we could see rivers of water cascading down side streets, eventually pouring in torrents into the open drains. An astounding amount of water fell in a short space of time, but now all is dry again.

On Saturday, being the weekend we all set off for some retail therapy. It was hot but we seem to be doing a lot of eating (brain work makes you incredibly hungry) and all felt the need for some exercise, so we walked. A swift visit to the second hand market (dresses for me & Cynthia) then on to town.

What can I say? We left home at 9 a.m. and limped home in a taxi around 4 p.m. We shopped.

I had cappuccino and homebaked shortbread (and please, this is not just coffee and a snack, this is sitting down in a pleasant courtyard, drinking something wonderful after a week of hard work, tea with powdered milk and dust). We bought gorgeous material that we will probably never use, but it looks so nice, and we negotiated for buckets of fruit and piles of vegetables (passion fruit, mangoes, avocados – this is the hard part of our life).

And the wild life?...I just thought I’d add the tale of Michelle and the Tarantula (well, BIG hairy spider of indeterminate species). It was one balmy evening, sitting on Jeremy & Camilla’s porch, when she spied this creature sitting on the side wall. To be fair it was being quite harmless, but if you have a fear of spiders (and it appears that we all do here) then just the threat of it moving is enough to strike terror into our hearts. Fortunately Jeremy shooed the little darling into the garden and all was well. But the question remains, how could we ever return to the Sherr residence? it seems the answer is in the verb [a well known concept for Dynamos] the fearsome wretch was still, then went away – at no point did he leap upon someone, waving those awful furry legs, and biting- so I take comfort in this.

Some More on Homoeopathy in Tanzania

I thought you might like to know a bit about the difference between taking a case here and in the UK. I have already said how it is much quicker, but this is because there is so much less to listen to. For example in the UK I can spend a long time listening to someone telling me about all their problems with friends, family, work etc. and their pains are often imprecise. Here you listen to someone, and despite their having heavy responsibilities for maintaining a family and so little money to do it with (there are none of the luxuries we take for granted like good clothes, entertainment and most of all GOOD FOOD) when we ask them what their nature is they almost invariably say happy. This is not leaping around dancing happy, this is more about contentment with their lot. Humbling.

In the chicken shed we saw a 75 year old man who was complaining of backache. Not surprising you might think, however he was still working... as a stone mason... because if he stopped working his grandchildren wouldn’t eat. Was he fed up or tired? no, but he would like to have less pain in his back.

In the Massai church we saw a young girl with an emaciated and staring baby. We prescribed for him then took her case. She has had a cough since childhood that is worse at night and she can sometimes vomit from it. There is no pain but thick yellow expectoration. That was it. She would like it if you could help her but there is no demand for help, no pleading in the eyes, just ‘this is how it is’. I feel very inadequate but there is no place for ego here so instead concentrate on doing my best. We all do.

In the Parish Church in Arusha we saw an AIDS patient who had done very well on a remedy called Dulcamara. There were about 4 sentences written in her case notes: she had pain in her legs, loss of appetite, numbness in the soles of her feet (a typical AIDS symptom) and a painful chest that was much worse in the cold wet weather. She had done well on the remedy but the chest symptoms, were beginning to return so we confirmed the aggravation in the cold wet and gave her a repeat dose. (Hooray for the wise homeopaths who have prescribed so well in the past – repeating a good remedy is so much easier).

SORRY - photos to come, but my Ace Photographers have gone out!