Goodbye Tanzania

Back in Moshi, and things have got a lot wetter here; the rainy season has begun. Walking to get the milk I am amazed at the size of the bean plants – they have grown from nothing overnight. The downside is that there really is mud now. Thick, sticky, dark, red mud. By the time I get to vaulting across the drain my sandals have a 3 inch mud-wedge – this makes me taller, but not well balanced for jumping. And I could swear that the gap has doubled since I last came. Still, no time to prevaricate, I see the milk van is already there (how come? everything here is late, and today the van is early. Not fair!) I leap and run, spreading mud randomly across the pathway as I go. On the way back I notice that the beans have grown some more. The place is literally growing before my eyes.

Did I tell you about my trip back from Zanzibar? The airline is a small one, using a 16-seater plane that stops in various places on the way if anyone wants. I don’t think you ring a bell to let the pilot know you want the next stop, but it is almost like catching a bus. Anyway, when we flew out to Zanzibar, we made one stop in a pineapple field. Honestly! it was just a grass strip surrounded by pineapples, with a little banana leaf shelter for the one man who wished to board. No toilet of course, so someone wishing to go had to scamper off into the undergrowth, providing on board entertainment for the rest of us.

Well, the journey back was even better - I had my own personal jet. Well perhaps not a jet, there was a propeller on the front, but it was certainly all just for me! Somehow – and I cannot really tell you how – on Sunday, the rather nice chap in the Airline office managed to arrange my flight back on the Monday. When I turned up at the airport, the check-in fellow told me that they had chartered a Private Plane for me – ha ha, I chortled, until I found myself walking (alone) across the tarmac.

So, it was just me and the pilot. We chatted a bit, he opened my water bottle, he checked his emails on his phone (many times – are they really allowed to do this?) and all the while the plane seemed to fly itself. At one point we were both taking snaps of Kilimanjaro above the clouds. It was a bit surreal. When we landed he turned round and flew back again.

There are things I won’t miss – like having to iron all clothes; even underwear! Now this is not because of some nit-piccy dress-code, but because of mango flies. It seems that mango flies lay their eggs in the seams of clothes and if you then wear them they can burrow into your skin and... well I need not go on. All this heartache and trauma is saved if you iron the seams of your clothes. So my clothes are crumpled, but with immaculately pressed edges.

Mangoes... Sigh!... I will really miss them.

And the place, and the people. For the past few evenings I have taken to walking around the dusty ways of Shanty town and beyond, whilst the sun disappears behind the trees; seeing how people live, how children play and now, how they farm every available, tiny space . People offer friendly greetings and I have discovered Salama (peace) which seems an appropriate thing to say as night approaches.

So Salama Tanzania and Asante!