a little bit of a rant

The music here, Swahili hip hop/ pop / 'Bongo (slang for Dar es Salaam)Flava' is so feel-good! Everyone's listening to the same music all the time. It's not like there's 20 different radio stations. that could seem a bit sinister radio control, but we're all listening to the same songs on the dala dala and everywhere else all the time- all tapping our toes to this or that same catchy tune - It's Uniting! That said, the black panthers who've lived here in exile since the 60's and the community that has grown up around them are soon to launch a free radio station which ought to be very refreshing and educational.

Lately I've been feeling a little like a grumpy colonialist, here are some thoughts:

The garden plans and the Nursery plans have lives of their own. We want them to become companions.
When you are directing too much and not allowing people space to stretch and exercise their legs you can feel that you are the only one providing forward energy. The minute you let up, the ball stops rolling.

For example we went through the entire garden bed by bed determining what was in each bed, what had been before, and what was next to come. I left it in the hands of our shamba (farm) manager who i had compiled it together with, as i got busy with other activities. A week or two later i revisited to find no info had been communicated to the shamba worker, several beds had been planted with no relation to our plans, and what had been planted in nursery had no connection with what we'd put on paper. It's as though we did the garden planning just as an exercise, without any connection between planning and actual planting.
A car that stalls, a conversation that halts. That's what it's like. And the planning conversation is halting- i guess that's my red-flag that we're not on the same page. Like this morning we're going along writing down the expected harvest dates of each bed,'Innocent', a brilliant young recently graduated horticulturist, and I.
So I ask,
"what's the expected harvest date of the 1st bed?" he tells me.
"what's the expected harvest date of the 2nd bed?" he tells me.
"what's the expected harvest date of the 3rd bed?" he tells me.
"the 4th bed?" I ask- he looks at me blankly. "4th bed what?"
as though it's too much to expect he's thinking along with me; he's just answering questions.
I know this is a classic colonialist quandary and i'm in the role of the colonialist getting frustrated with those 'silly locals' -there's a flaw in our dynamic not in him, but i'll say it's a steep learning curve for us both sometimes, and meanwhile it's exhausting!
Or Mary, our great farm worker takes her son, 'Good Luck' to the doctor this morning, leaving us volunteers and trainers a bit stalled on the shamba as we can't find the machete we need to chop up materials to prepare the compost pile. Mary comes back a few hours later just as I'm leaving and says oh, no problem, I'll bring it!. Where is it? I ask, wanting to avoid the situation in the future. I'll bring it! From where? Turns out it's at her house as she was using it and forgot to return it to the shamba, 'cool?' she says- "no, not cool!" i reply and march off feeling like an uptight mzungu, to the dala dala. "see you tomorrow!" she calls out cheerfully.
On the dala dala I cram in with the throngs of women and others returning from market- On Wednesdays is a huge women's market in Tengeru- the village of our shamba. It was some mzungu's idea to sponsor stalls and space for a women's market. Unintended consequences being that many smaller thriving markets up in the surrounding hills died as everyone began instead trecking to Tengeru. Finally enough people disboard the dala dala that i score a proper seat in the back. Aiming to talk to no one as i'm exhausted from my morning. No such luck. The woman next to me is a teacher from Dar who 'loves friends'. In spite of my attempts to be cold by the time i reach my drop-off she's sure i'll be welcoming her as my guest in America. This is a day i'm ready for Tanzania-Light so I treck to my pizza-cappucino place and order a nutella crepe for lunch. I have an interesting re-occurant flea infestation problem with my room. Latest opinion targets the cat who had kittens up on my tin roof as the culprit. I sprayed once inside, but if they are multiplying on the roof and dropping down it may be time for a different approach. Just so you know life is not always all cheerful conversations about flip-flops over here!