First week in East Africa

A long day’s flying and waiting and I finally arrived in Mombasa at 9.00pm 0n Sunday  night.  In Durban, the smiling girl at the desk said she would book my luggage straight through to Mombasa, but knowing how we have to get luggage off in Johannesburg before taking a Domestic flight, I decided to check the carousel in Nairobi after standing in the long queues to get through Immigration.  Sure enough, there was my suitcase, complete with pink band, travelling around the long and winding carousel.  This carousel would do nicely in an Amusement Park, it is so long and convoluted, but I chased my case to the next access spot and whipped it off before rushing to the Domestic terminal – across the road and a totally different kettle of fish from the busy, shop filled International Terminal. I had thought of getting something to drink once there, but there is nowhere!  Just rows of chairs in a messy room – a bit like Oribi on a day there is a big plane.

Only an hour’s flight to Mombasa but the drive to the hotel on the other side of the Island was long and a bit nerve-wracking – lots of buses and lorries without lights and potholes that make Ashburton look like a superhighway. I had expected to stay on the Island, but had been booked at Bamburi Beach Hotel – about half an hour on the other side of the bridge – which is the only access point – on a good day, and I don’t think there is ever a good day!

Arriving at the hotel at 10.15 and then having to sit and drink a fancy drink with an umbrella and a whole lot of tinned fruit salad in a coconut shell before they would show me to my room was a bit annoying, but the room was worth the wait for sheer amusement.  It must have been smart once, but has dated and not been updated.  The swirly green curtains were matched by fabric lampshades in the same fabric.  The “tropical” wallpaper strip at the top of the walls was torn in places and made the room look even smaller than it was.  The bathroom was once smart, but fittings are tarnished – not surprising at the coast but they didn’t work properly either.  The shower trickled, then belched and burped out lukewarm, SALTY water – when suddenly became blazing hot.  The water was so hard I couldn’t even get the Lux soap provided to lather.  Towels felt clammy and the kettle exploded in a flash of white light when I tried to make some tea.

I could have survived all of that had it not been for the noise – at the beach bar just below my window was a karaoke machine – and some inebriated tourists singing loudly and tunelessly into it.  I tried to drown it out with the TV but only 2 stations worked – The Royal Jubilee Flotilla with a GERMAN commentary and some extreme sports programme, so I  finally drifted off to sleep to the strains of 70s songs sung out of tune.

Fortunately the next day was a slower start and I saw how beautifully situated the hotel is – right on the beach north of Nyali – probably at the end of the Golden Mile.  Sadly it started to drizzle so I didn’t get a chance to go to the beach before setting off to the office at about 11 for a day’s discussions with the rest of the team. Gulzar was straight off a plane from Heathrow and was a real trouper as we talked all day in a hot room, and must have found the long drive back to the hotel excruciating as she was dying of tiredness.  All the schools to be visited are in the South, so it was decided to move us to another hotel South of the island, and we had to repack everything so we could take out cases with us on the next leg of the adventure.

So the adventure begins – lots to do, lots to see and lots to experience!

Day 2

Schools in the Taru District

We were ready to go at some ungodly hour – about 6.30am, but had to wait for our driver, Jira, and our guide for the week, Yusuf to arrive,  They had been caught up in traffic on their way from Mombasa island to the hotel in the North, and the traffic going back across the bridge was just as bad!  We had decided to move to a hotel in the South as all the schools we would visit were there, so had packed up all our stuff and covered it securely in plastic on the back of the bakkie.

I wondered why, but as we slowly crawled out of Mombasa onto the Mombasa, Nairobi road, I realised it was to keep our luggage safe – we could easily have lost it if it hadn’t been securely tied down as we wove between trucks, cars, matatus (taxis), tuk-tuks, buses and millions of pedestrians.  Once on the Nairobi Highway things were only slightly better.  Buses and lorries fly along the flat parts and then crawl up the hills, leaving long trails of cars behind them.  They don’t leave trails of matatus, because these overtake even in the face of oncoming trucks and lorries – at times I just closed my eyes and prayed.

After a long drive along the highway, we turned off into a very rutted dirt road and in a short while, arrived at the first school we were to visit – Taru primary.  As we got out onto the reddish sand and looked at the scrubby thorn trees, I was reminded of the school in The First Grader – children playing in the dust under thorn trees.

The schools were an eye opener, but we soon came to realise that this school was not too bad as things went.  Despite the howling gale, there is no glass in any classroom windows – just bars across them.  The dust flies in and the teacher has to shout above the wind.  But they all just get on and do it.  In the Gr 1 class there were 65 kids and they ranged in age from 5 to 11.  As Primary Education became free and compulsory, parents who have kept their children at home have started sending them to school – so the starting age is very varied.  I won’t talk much about the teaching I saw as that will be part of my report to the Aga Khan foundation and I don’t want to discuss results prematurely, but it was wonderful to see teachers working with groups, developing materials, collaborating with each other on lesson plans and generally lifting their performance and that of the children above what had been happening before – reading out of text books.

The area is one of the poorest in Kenya and this showed in the uniforms of the children. Most seem to have some kind of uniform, but many are so torn it is hard to see where the uniform ends and the holes start.  There is also a feeding scheme at the school which does increase attendance.  Yusuf told us that at some schools, enrolment drops in the dry season when there is little food available from the subsistence farms, and children are sent out into the bush to forage for wild animals and other “wild” food.

After meeting teachers from the community, we set off to visit a community library.  We hadn’t travelled that far on a dirt road to the school so I foolishly imagined we would turn off onto a dirt road, go a few hundred metres with a few bumps and there we would be.  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong!  We drove for about half an hour on roads that would have been quite at home as a training course for 4x4s.  There were places that were so narrow that our accompanying motor bike rider had to go ahead and see if we could get through. I thought Pete would be in his element.  Finally we arrived in the village where the library was housed and met some of the local librarians – all men.  They are all volunteers – some quite young, others older - and are doing amazing work.  There is one female librarian in this area, but she was having a baby so couldn’t be there.  We met on a rough, mud verandah, sitting on small benches and chairs.  There is a blackboard at one end, and this structure has been added by the Librarian so he can have a number of parents and children at the same time.  The Library itself is a metal cabinet that holds 100 books – the same ones that are in the mini-libraries in the classrooms. The homesteads are spread out and sometimes they have to go on bicycles or motor bikes to the far flung homes to exchange books, but the community is so keen to develop the reading of their children – and often themselves.

By this time we were already exhausted – but worse was yet to come.  We still had more than 100km to drive through Kinango, the Shimba Reserve, Kwale and down to Diani, on the coast, where we were staying.  Doesn’t sound much, but on the roads we were travelling it took nearly 3 hours.  The road is so bad that we drove in convoy with our Project Officer on his bike, to make sure we were all safe.  The only good thing I can say about the road is that there wasn’t much traffic on it!  The potholes were just terrifying and I felt like I was suffering from whiplash each time I stopped holding my head firmly upright.

At about 8 we reached our new hotel – another ostentatious Beach resort – and after dinner, went straight to bed and to sleep -   that is, when we could block out the loud disco music which took place at the pool bar across the lawn!  All ready for another early start.

Day 3 –

In the Kinango district

After the exhausting trip the night before, we were really nervous when Yusuf said we would be going back up that road to the kinango District the next day.  He promised us the schools were not very far off the “main” road but we had experienced the road the night before!  Although much of it we hadn’t seen – just felt!  After a bit of a late start, we set off back up the Diani/Kwale road.  The countryside around Diani is very lush, but it wasn’t long before we started the climb towards thr Shimba Hills.  Seeing the condition of the road after the rain the night before, I was quite glad we hadn’t seen the road in our exhausted state.

The road goes through the Shimba Hills National Park and Yusuf had told us how the bush elephants that live in the park often come to the edge of Kwale Town, and the cattle grids are sometimes moved at night so they can move into the forests around the town.  We had seen a mongoose the night before and thought that, although we wished for elephants, the chances of seeing them were slender.  But as we went up the hill about 10km from kwale town, there on the brow of the hill up ahead was a bull elephant.  He moved off into the bush and we thought that was it, but as we got closer, he came back into the road and seemed to challenge the truck before moving off the road.  As we got alongside him, we saw why – a whole crowd of young elephants and their mothers were feeding in the bush on either side of the road.  Jira stopped as close as he considered safe, and we were able to watch them – the bush elephants are smaller and browner than the big ellies we see in Kruger, but just as protective of their young.  The bull waved his ears fiercely and we drove away quietly, letting them get on with their morning feed.

The forest is natural and quite beautiful– pot bellied baobabs stand in the odd clearings and near the rivers and dappled Leopard trees poke out from among the deep green canopy.  It is a fairly tropical forest, but not huge trees.  Thankfully, we saw very few alien invasives near the roads – long may that last – although we saw quite a lot of lantana lower down on the plain.

The two schools we visited were quite different – the first seemed to be a very poor school and there was little in the way of equipment, although the children did have desks. The Gr 1 teacher was the most hyperactive woman I have ever seen – she even makes “Tigger” from St Nics seem quite staid.  I couldn’t get a photo of her because she was always moving in a blur, asking questions at machine gun speed in a high pitched voice, swooping from one end of the class to the other and showering the children with charts and counters. The second school, St Joseph’s,  is a Catholic school, and here we saw some of the best practise we saw anywhere.  One teacher, Mary, was so engaging that she became like a beacon to us.  She told a story in Kiswahili, and although I couldn’t understand a word, I “got” the story.  In fact, at the end of her story telling, the class burst into applause.

While I think about it, Kiswahili sounds so similar to isiZulu but there are so few words that are common, that it is hard to realise that they are not really related except perhaps far back.  It is a comfortable sound on my ear – I feel at home amongst Kiswahili speakers.

On our way home, we stopped at the AKF office in Kinango and met with some Principals and TAC tutors – these are government officials similar to subject advisors.  But our SAs have no idea what an easy life they lead.  These guys mostly use public transport, often motorbikes as the roads are too poor for matatus (kombi taxis) to negotiate.  Watching these boda-bodas negotiate the terrible roads at high speeds is enough to give you a heart attack.  Most don’t use helmets and passengers – often women in long dresses, sometimes with a child squeezed between the driver and the adult, scream around corners and over bumps and face down 4 wheel drive buses.  Yusuf, the project Officer with us, had a serious motor bike accident and was on crutches for almost a year.  He still walks with a limp – and won’t ride a bike any more.

Back at the hotel we had a Kenyan Dinner and I was introduced to “Sukuma wiki” – what we would call mfino – it meants “hurry up and get to the end of the week” – because it is what poor people eat in between pay days.  I also ate “ugali” which is mashed peas and potatoes – less than exciting – and coconut fish – quite nice.

After working on our report, we ended the day with a German DJ just across the pool – obviously this is a popular German package holiday place.  At least the music wasn’t too bad and I feel asleep in my mosquito-netted tent, ready for a new day.

Day 4

The Kwale District

The Schools we visited on Thursday are down on the Coastal Plain on what is called South Coast by Mombasa residents.  It is lush, tropical countryside, with beautiful trees and flat, grassy areas.

As we drove we saw the mangos hanging in bunches from the trees, we saw cashew nut trees coming into fruit, banana palms with fresh bunches, and lots of coconut palms with the clusters of coconuts up at the top.

It really looks like a tropical paradise at first glance – houses hiding amongst lush vegetation.  Then you see the houses – some well built in a Western style but with ramshackle fences and outside toilets, and less substantial houses with no windows, broken walls and roofs, and then the mud huts which look so insubstantial and you realise that they are because they will get washed away by the
“big rain”, so what is the point of finishing them off.

The first school we visited was Gwadu Primary and to my delight, I discovered that they are an Eco School and have just gained their green flag.  The young teacher, Hassan, who met us was delighted and showed me all his Eco schools projects.  Their theme this year is “The Green Economy” and he is trying hard to unpack all the ideas.  Their motto is – Think Globally, Act Locally.  Great stuff!   They had a Milk Feeding scheme funded by a donor, and have used the milk sachets to plant seeds in.  They have a whole bunch of young mahogany trees which have been grown from seed by the learners.  I had the privilege of planting one in the garden.  One of my colleagues said “Now you have roots in this community.”  Despite the poverty of many of the children, the poorness of the classrooms with their mats on the floor and sadly, the poorness of the teaching we observed in one class, it was such an exciting visit.

Our next school was also set in lush surroundings amongst mango and cashew nut trees, and the buildings were a strange mixture of derelict and well built.  A big problem is the floors in the classrooms – they desperately need re-screeding as they have huge holes in the concrete.  In some places the holes have been filled with gravel so the desks are less wobbly!

Teaching was adequate and the two young teachers in their veils and long dresses were engaging and attractive.  They shared some interesting viewpoints but when we came to look at things lie the Library cards, we saw that kids had taken books in January and then again yesterday.  So we had to look “between the lines” to see the true picture and not just what they wanted us to see.

A meeting with the “deadest” bunch of teachers so far – some moaners, one or two who had ideas and a lot of lumps – and it was back to the hotel by 4 o’clock!  Sitting and having tea in the garden and then a brief walk and a drink at the bar before dinner – bliss after the last few days’ hectic travel.  Last day in Mombasa, a chance to visit Ayesha in her school and a visit to the Aga Khan Academy to look forward to – lovely!

Day 5

The Angel Schools

Our last day in Mombasa, Yusuf said we were going to see schools where the teachers were “angels” – his pride and joy.  Best of all the schools were both close to the main road – so very little bumping along on kidney jarring roads.

We arrived at the first school as they were finishing assembly.  The first period on Fridays is some sort of RE – it has a different name here.  The Muslim children all hared off down to the end of the playground and seemed to sit quietly, and the others were divided into their denominations in different classrooms.  By the time we had met the head teacher, Mwanarusi, the singing was on! Each classroom seemed to be trying to sing louder than the next, and as Yusuf said, the place was resounding with praises!

I saw two good lessons at the school – encouraging after the middle of the road ones I had seen the day before at Gwadu.  This school has only been on the programme since January, and the significantly better teaching could be for a number of reasons – new brooms sweeping clean, better training this time round, the really dynamic and supportive head who buys materials for the teachers to help them implement the programme well – who knows!  But it was great.

And then onto Pungu, which is one of the original schools, and two really good lessons – one was the best I have seen in any of the schools.  A bonus was meeting up with Ayesha, who was in our group for the first training we did for Upper Primary last year. 

We finished early and drove back to Mombasa along the South Coast road, finishing at the ferry.  It is only a short hop across to the Island but so refreshing to be out in the fresh air on the ferry.  An additional treat was a visit to the Aga Khan Academy.  What an impressive building and what we saw was superb.  The outside walls are made of coral and seem to shimmer in the sunshine.

After a debrief session with Atrash, the Project Co-ordinator, we drove back across the bridge to Bamburi. All along the road are furniture stores – small “dukas” or little lean-tos thatched with palm fronds, where people hand make and hand carve furniture.  A lot of the stuff we saw was bed frames, made from mahogany.  But there are also tables, shelves, hanging frames and lounge suites – sometimes just the frames and sometimes already upholstered.

The last night in the hotel was fraught – there were 102 children from one of the Mombasa schools which cater mainly for Indian kids staying in the hotel for a long weekend.  They were incredibly noisy, demanding and rude – Gulzar and I couldn’t imagine why a school trip would take place in a resort hotel with what seemed like only 3 teachers in charge.  When Gulzar asked what they would be doing over the 5 days they were there, one teacher told her they were just going to the beach “and stuff.”  Dinner was a nightmare with children pushing and shoving, running around the dining room with loaded plates – mostly chips and pudding – and all the time the high-pitched shrieks of pre-pubescent girls.

We were glad to get to bed and prepare for the long days’ travel – first to the airport, then to Nairobi, then to Entebbe and finally the slow drive to Kampala.  Uganda, here we come!

Working while the world plays

We finished a bit earlier on Thursday and got back to the Hotel before 4.00pm. It was great to sit at the Beach bar and have a cup of tea on the verandah, overlooking the ocean, but it really brought home to me how strange it is to stay at a Resort hotel while you are working.

We’ve been aware that everyone else is on holiday – the karaoke at the first hotel, the inebriated woman singing along with the two roaming singers, pretending to sing (tunelessly) with an imaginary mike, the families at dinner, eating everything available on the buffet, the constant mention of what is and is not included in the package, and the vast number of German and British accents all over the hotel.

But walking in today, in my work clothes, while the majority of the people are in shorts or even just towels, really made me feel out of place.  My room is near the pool and the pool bar, so I walked past people lounging on the sun loungers, reading or sleeping.  People were playing pool polo and beach volleyball and many people are coming up off the beach, towelling their hair dry.  Attentive waitrons are everywhere, ready to offer you a drink or a snack, or to clear up as soon as you put your glass down. 

This is really a decadent lifestyle – lounging in the sun, paddling in the sea, going off on Safari, just relaxing in a (fairly) luxurious setting.

The contrast with the places we go to every day – the dirt roads, the mud houses, the subsistence farms, the towns with their rows of rough wood shacks which are shops, taverns and hotels, the school buildings with no glass in the windows, the torn school uniforms – often so torn that they are more holes than shirts, the classrooms with no desks, just rush mats on the floor, the poverty and the dust – is frightening.  If everyone who is “playing” at the hotels gave just a small donation – even KS 1000 (about R100) what could we do to help the schools! With a beer at KS350, you would just give the price of 3 beers to make an enormous difference.

I think with gratitude and admiration of Umngazi River Bungalows who mobilise their guests to make a difference in the communities amongst which they play.  Is there a gap here that we could begin to plug?