For the Rain it Raineth Every Day

The rains began in earnest this week. Mostly coming during the night, the sound of lashing rain on the roof has lulled me to sleep on several evenings, and mornings have been graced with a new freshness. It has been pleasant to wake up and not feel like I’m melting for once – the first time since arriving in this country of intense heat. It’s also made me a little homesick for England, seeing a morning drizzle and grey clouds when I open the curtains in the morning (though, to be honest, I’m always happy when the clouds part and that African sunshine brightens the sky once more.)

There have been the most tremendous evening skies this week with the recent full moon arriving. Rising around 8pm, it has been accompanied on four nights by an exotic lightning show; illuminating the surrounding clouds as the moon rises to its full glory. It has been an incredible sight – part of the pleasure gained from living in a place where the sky is so vast and visible every night (so different to back in London town, where you cannot see the stars).

My little anty buddies are still here – they obviously didn’t hear the locals saying that “big rain makes the small ants leave”. Hmm. Sadly, though, Big Brother Biter and his pals did remember the legend, and arrived right on cue. A few ginormous flying ants made their presence very much known in the house earlier this week, buzzing around the room, then shedding their huge wings all over the floor before scuttling off to wreak havoc somewhere secret. There really is no way in hell they’re moving into my room – ant defence barricades are currently being made in preparation.

With the revitalising rains have come a fresh approach to my days. It has been the last busy week at St Jude’s, as I’ve been finishing off the teaching work that I started last week. I was asked a few weeks ago to teach the school how to study (?!) as the kids and staff had never actually been told how to do it. Having spent a three hour session on this area with the Form 5 students, I adapted my programme to fit into the 40 minute slot I was given to teach each class in the school. So each day, I monotonously taught the same lesson, over and over again, until I’d got through all 600 students. It took nine goes to get them all done, but I hope it was worth it.

These kids here work ridiculously hard, but have adopted such bad habits along the way. Up at 5.30am each morning, they do an hour’s study before breakfast, followed by long hours at school from 8am until 5pm, then two to three hours’ study in the evening. What I didn’t realise was that they are then getting up in the night (many for several hours) to do more study, as they are constantly being told by the teachers to work harder. Not surprising then that they arrive to lessons each day in a state of zombic-comatosation. I have walked past several classes in the school and seen kids with their heads down, snoozing. Always assumed it was a reaction to the dull and repetitive style of lecturing going on, but it may likely also be a product of limited nocturnal slumbering. My teaching session consisted of teaching how to care for the brain and get the most out of it. When telling the kids the importance of getting at least eight hours sleep per night, each time I was met with sniggers and scoffs. On average, from what they told me, it seems that most of them are getting around five hours – from twelve year olds to eighteen year olds. Insanity. Through a range of approaches, my main mission was to introduce them to the Big Five. No, not those beautiful creatures lurking in the grasses of the Serengheti, but a new quintet of power, the five keys to mental success and a healthy brain: Sleep, Water, Exercise, Talking and P.M.A.

To give me something to do one afternoon this week, I prettified a notice board in the main corridor of the school with all of my educational preaching – in the vain hope that some of this stuff rubs off on someone out here. At least the kids all know it and get it; and the staff have been taught why they really shouldn’t lecture continuously from the text book with no break or variation for two hours straight. We’ll see if anything good comes out of it. If these dosey little chaps just get a few more Zzzs every night, it’ll be something.

I met up with Mama Flora on Wednesday to talk about working with her in the orphanage in a few weeks. I am going to once again don my paintbrush and artist’s smock and bring lions, snakes and monkeys to the walls of the place. She is teaching around 15 of the younger children in the orphanage each day, as they are not able to get to school, but has no curriculum, resources or materials. Thus I’ve promised her I’ll paint the room they use as the classroom with educational materials, and create a primary curriculum (in line with the government curriculum) for her.

I am also in the process of orchestrating a community service project for the kids here at St Jude’s to come up and spend a few days painting the entire building with me, as the place has never seen paint and (most likely) never will again. I’ve been doing my costings this week and think I’ve enough money in the budget left to be able to paint all of the bedrooms, kitchen and common room walls. There are several students at school who have a real affinity for art, so I’m hoping they will come and paint some bright murals on the wall too, to liven the place up for the eighty kids living there. I’m meeting with Mama Flora again this week to make a few more plans and to talk more about specific work I’ll be doing up there.

The plan now is to leave St Jude’s at the end of term – just six more teaching days to go. In those final days, I’m leaving a pack of information for running the A-level induction programme next year, plus finishing up a few tasks I’ve been doing with several of the teachers. I’ve promised Revocatus that I’ll help him with anything else I can do whilst I am here, but he has to ask for the help, rather than me try and mind-read his needs (as I’ve been doing fruitlessly these past few weeks). We’ll see how he goes.
I’m then going to spend my time divided: some days up the road working on projects at the orphanage, some days working with a local lady Mary in helping her to set up a new charity school that she started a couple of months ago, and some evenings running classes for the F5 students here. Although I’m officially leaving the school in a few weeks, I’ve been asked by the boarding staff to run a continued Life-skills programme for the Sixth Form in the evening, so have promised to put on several classes for the students; from Time management and Effective Financing, to How to Become a Global Citizen, there are some interesting tasks ahead.

The end date of my time here in Tanzania is really dependent upon the advice I receive from my lymphodoema specialist, Victoria, when I see her again on Tuesday.  Sadly my arm is not really any better and, although the tempered current climate means it’s a little less swollen each day, it is still not right, so off to Kenya I go once more. I really should buy myself a season ticket I reckon. I’m certainly now known by the guys in passport control at the boarder! Fortuitously my visa runs out in the morning (the day I catch the bus), so it’s a good time to skip the country. Am hoping it is as easy as everyone tells me to get back in again by just buying another three month tourist visa at the Tanzanian side in a few days. If I suddenly start emailing you from a Kenyan address in a few weeks, you’ll know that the plan failed!

This Thursday found me experiencing my final assembly at the school. Although at first I found these weekly gatherings somewhat bewildering and slightly anarchistic, over time I’ve grown to look forward to Thursday afternoons. Starting with a sombre but soulful rendition of the National Anthem, we sing the School Song (complete with actions) with as much bravado as people can muster.

Originally I found the slightly odd and very childish actions rather amusing, and used to have to smother down my giggles as I found myself bobbing up and down and wiggling my hands to the words, but now I love it and the madness that comes with it.

Assemblies are run by the kids: a different compeer runs the show each week, introducing teachers who come up to give awards, an entertainment from a different group each week and the big finale: the Headmaster who delivers his weekly stirring speech. These ten minute oratory gems range from Why you should not get pregnant at school (it happens a lot here) to Why you should stop complaining about eating ugali when it’s cold, to Why you should not steal the school computers. There is not ever really a moral in the message, more a rant in which he normally preaches, gets angry, starts laughing at something he’s said that is very inappropriate, loses control of the school (who start talking amongst themselves) and walks off having just scared everyone half to death with a threat. Awesome leadership.

My favourite part of the assembly though is always the act. Sometimes singing, dancing, a skit or a band, it’s a time for the kids to reveal their hidden talents and show a part of themselves that is full of life. This week, being the last assembly of term (as the kids have exams after the Easter weekend) we were treated to three feasts for the eyes and ears. The first, a regular duo who just loves Jesus, (yes, that’s in The Lord) and sing and dance about him regularly on the stage with real gusto.

As much as I hate preaching, I always admire their dedication and infectious joy – it makes listening to their atrocious singing more bearable anyway!

The second act was a group of four girls doing a traditional dance. However, there was a holiday mood in the air (as we were breaking up for a long weekend at the end of the assembly) and some of the teachers started dancing in the audience at the back of the hall, then Emanuel (one of my favourite teachers) dashed onto the stage and started shimmying along with the ladies. A great show for the eyes and got us all on our feet, jiggling along.

We were left with a slow, sad farewell song. It was my final assembly, alongside two of the other volunteers here and one of the teachers, so we were given a goodbye song from the Upper School Girls’ Choir. Not the most angelic of voices, bless them, but beautifully touching in its sweetness.

I will be sad to leave here when the time comes; sad to say goodbye to the teachers I’ve come to know and love, sad to leave behind a wealth of kids with so much promise that may never be found while they are here. But I also know that my time here is over and that there is no more I can do here right now. Resolutions made, it’s nearly time to bid farewell.

As this morning's rains finally cease and the sun smiles once again, I'll bid farewell. I'll leave today’s entry with some pictures. You’ll notice the improved difference with these however, as I didn’t take them! They were taken by another Rachel, who came with me to visit Lucamay and his wives in the boma last week, and works back home as a professional photographer. They give a good glimpse of our day, in much more evocative footage than I gave last week with my rather dodgy camera work. Until next time. Kukuona Karibuni.