Damming Sand

Photos in this post were taken by Edwin Angote,

Lahash's East Africa director. 

Early yesterday, I awakened during the night to pounding rain on the corrugated roof of the MAF guest house. Rain continued in the morning, gentle like a too-typical Portland rain at this time of year, until a hazy sun reappeared around noon. "A gift from God," Mariamu replied when I asked her, "What do you think of the rain?" and I'm sure she represented all the folks in and around Dodoma.

My first thought when I heard that downpour was, "Wow! How great for the sand dams," because we had just returned late Wednesday from a tour of eight of the nine sand dams constructed by the church where we are working in cooperation with MCC (Mennonite Central Committee). That tour over dozens of kilometers of rough bush roads was a mind-blowing eye-opener, with biblical phrases about deserts blooming and trees clapping their hands bouncing into my thinking. 

One of three dams constructed in 2008

The first three dams we visited were not a surprise to me. Those dams had been built a few months before we visited in 2009. Then, they were a total surprise. I had no idea sand could be dammed, but there they were, three dams filled with sand, and alongside the river, thriving crops of corn, tomatoes, beans, and more. We began to hear about sand dams as soon as we arrived here, and Dave wanted to know details. I held back, because I wanted him to have the surprise I did on first seeing the dams, which paid off, I think, in his surprise at seeing the dams and even more seeing the effects alongside what was once an almost dry rocky river bed, still visible in places below the dams.

A great difference from our 2009 visit, I detected quickly, is the enthusiastic leadership of Albert Wright, an American business man who, out of strong Christian convictions and desire to make a difference, has come here to lead the Water Project, the official name of the sand dam operation. Albert was our driver and ardent explainer of the current sand dam efforts.Two good friends from 2009 were with us, too, Shomari and Rasta, now both giving superior leadership after training in Kenya.

The well and pump at a newer sand dam.

But before I go on, a definition. A sand dam is concrete and stone barrier, built entirely by manual labor, across a river bed, about 40 centimeters in thickness and perhaps 150 cm. high. During rains, even light rains, the dams retain water that is carrying sand from the surrounding watershed. The still water releases sand behind the dam, which gradually fills completely with sand. Then the sand retains water, protecting it from rapid evaporation. Farmers dig holes which, depending on how long since the last rain, may be only a few centimeters deep when water appears. They fill 20-liter buckets and carry the water to the plants they're irrigating near the river bed (although some carry water far from the dams for use in home gardens). 

Cool, clear water

We moved on from those original dams near Dodoma to see five of the six additional dams now in operation, traveling along bush roads, often merely tracks through rough terrain. The newer dams are constructed differently, although serving the same purpose. Three of the newer dams we saw included a pump either in the middle of the dam or near at the side. This allows users to have much cleaner water than what comes from holes dug in the sand. At each dam, planting projects are going on. We saw many banana trees and other trees and plants that now occupy land that was uncultivated bush before. The project also now includes two tree nurseries, and plans for planting many trees. 

Another important difference from the earlier construction is the determined involvement of the community. Many meetings are held and agreements signed with those who will build the dam and then benefit from what it provides. All of those participants are rural farmers, most in severe poverty, who recognize what they will gain from their hard labor on a dam.

Plants growing where they could not have thrived before

As I heard that rain fall, I thought of those groups who have invested so much of their strength and energy in a dam, and I could well imagine their gratitude to God for rain that would carry sand to fill their dams and provide water they'd never before had. No wonder we could feel Albert's happiness at what his work with the water project has accomplished. 

Testing My Swahili, But Not a Passing Grade

I've been studying Swahili, the most common language of East Africa, for two years--six terms--at Portland State University, learning from the expert teaching of Josphat Waruhiu, a Kenyan, who's made not only Swahili but also the culture of East Africa come alive (not to mention a valuable friendship with "Mwalimu" and much shared around our common interest to get laptop computers to Africa).  So, one of my intentions for this trip has been to test my ability to communicate in Swahili. To my great dismay, I'm in deep difficulty when I get far beyond a few common greetings. I've learned fairly well the way Swahili comes together, but in verbal situations, I'm soon lost. My Sunday morning stumbling is the most prominent example.

Knowing the protocol, I had expected Dave and I would be called up front for a greeting from America, so I had carefully prepared a paragraph of a few sentences in Swahili for just such a greeting. I especially wanted to let the people know why Bibi Annette was not with me, and how sad she is at not seeing them and missing the experiences of another visit. I practiced the speech and thought I could manage those few lines quite well, imagining my friends appreciating my speaking their language without an interpreter getting between us.

Dave and I arrived at church as the first service was close to ending. Bishop Amos, who was the church's pastor when we were here in 2009, was the preacher. Sure enough, even though the service was nearly complete, he calls us forward to greet us and invites our response. I launch into my well-planned speech, only to bog down in about the third sentence. Nervous and far from having Swahili in my bones--I'm grasping for words, struggling to get the grammar right, and generally making a mess of the whole thing, when i so much wanted to convey Annette's feelings and together, our great enjoyment of the friendships we share here in Dodoma. I finally realized my presumption and allowed the bishop to translate for me until the last line, which I managed with some smoothness and seemingly with meaning to the people, who responded with wholehearted applause. 

I had learned my lesson quite well. In the second service, again called to greet the people, I began with a common Swahili greetings, then reverted to English, let Bishop Amos do his interpretation, and closed with the important last line that went something like this, Bibi na mimi tunawaambia kwa upendo kubwa, "Mungu awabariki sana kila siku daima." Tunawapenda sana. Asante. (Bibi and I say to you with great love, "Good bless you very much every day and always. We love you very much." Thank you.) I struggled to say that, not only because of shaky confidence in speaking, but because of the deep feeling with which I said it, tor truly, the love I felt at that moment, which I knew was shared by Annette 10,000 miles away but very present there, was startlingly real.

I carried that emotion into what is the closing ritual of every service we have attended here. The congregation files out of the church, following the pastor, in this case Bishop Amos, who stops near the door. Each person greets him, then stops in line to be greeted by those who follow until all have formed a large circle around the courtyard, each worshiper having greeted all others. Every greeting I received was generous, from young and old, sometimes in a common form of hug here, cheek to cheek on both sides of the face and others total bear hugs. But even the most gentle of handshakes, meant as an exchange of peace and affection--the shy smile of a child, the averted gaze of an old woman--never has failed to move me deeply, more than once to tears.

Once all have completed the greetings around the circle, the bishop reads a short passage of Scripture and gives a benediction--the service has ended--but not before all have physically connected with one another in a closing act of strong community. It is beyond beautiful, and somehow the frustration of my struggle to speak Swahili has become quite unimportant. 

Which doesn't mean I'm not going to keep on trying, every day, to use Swahili and move a little beyond the struggle. I find many glad here are glad to support and guide me in that plan. 

Crossing the Paths of Interesting People

An expected, but always surprising, fringe benefit of travel in Africa is running across non-Africans who are here on some kind of adventure, always interesting people. Again, that's happened here at the MAF hostel. Two couples, one Dutch, the other Welsh, are here with us, sharing our common kitchen and living room. The Dutch couple, Evert and Jeneke, are stopping over on an across-Africa car trip--not east-west but south-north, starting in Cape Town several months ago. Their stories are, of course, wonderful, but most stimulating is just to see and be with this adventurous couple, in retirement years, being totally absorbed in the life of the whole continent with verve and humor that's infectious. They'll be here for a week, so we'll have many shared moments. Oh, and by the way, this is their second trip across Africa, the first a few years ago from north to south, and in the same Toyota Land Cruiser with now nearly 300,000 miles clocked on its odometer.

The other couple, John and Miar, are here for a weekend holiday in Dodoma, coming from their home a few hundred km west where John is near completion of a two-year program to establish a school of nursing at an Anglican hospital. John has been in nursing education for a long time, now giving Africans the benefit of that expertise. From these years in TZ, they have abundant knowledge of medical conditions, and tend to be more positive in their analysis that I've often heard. It's been rewarding to talk about our young friend here, whom I met again yesterday, showing worrying effects of his HIV+ condition now, and getting suggestions for treatment possibilities. All of this in a context of deep Christian commitment, which gives our discussion a broader, deeper, long-range, and satisfying perspective.

How much I value these unexpected relationships, so richly productive, even if brief.

A Cross-Country Bus Ride

I awakened Friday morning to knocks on the door, Edwin attempting to rouse me, which is no small task, given my great hearing difficulties. It was 8:00 a.m., far later than intended. I had been awake several hours during the night and had fallen asleep again close to dawn. I hurried and had time for breakfast before the taxi arrived to take us to the bus stand. Edwin located our Dodoma bus among dozens jammed together without any obvious plan. Our Shabiby Line bus was air-conditioned, an unexpected advantage given the already sweltering heat of the day. We claimed the last seats available at the back of the bus.

The bus pulled out of its place at the scheduled time, 9:50 a.m., only to be stopped in a traffic stand-still for at least 20 minutes, but then we were on the highway to Dodoma, soon seeing the typical sights of settlements alongside the highway with their jumble of shops and crowds of people. A little later, we are in open country, the villages further between but no less crowded and active At occasional stops, food and drink sellers line the outside of the bus, although disappointed at ours with its closed windows. The most common product is small packages of raw cashews, but there are also bananas and much else. Our cool bus moves on toward its first major stop at Morogoro, where we experience the challenges of a typical African choo away from city luxury and American-style toilets, and lines of passengers at take-out food counters, a scene with many camera opportunities.

Being Portlanders, we get a feel of home as the bus negotiates the constant road humps that are the primary means of traffic control along the highway. Always these appear near a settlement, but turn up in many more places. Seated at the far back of the bus, well behind the rear wheels, we are treated to a memorable jolt each time the bus rolls over a road hump, usually at somewhat beyond the recommended speed, it seems.

We had been on the road only a few minutes after leaving Morogoro when there is a loud bang and flapping—a blow-out. The bus limps to the side of the road, still several feet on the roadway. Almost everyone leaves the bus to stand in the shade under trees in the ditch beside the road and watch the strenuous efforts of our driver and the bus conductor to raise the bus, remove the wheel, and the spare—and we begin to realize that they cannot use the spare tire, which later we saw was a treadless candidate for a second blow-out. Amazingly, another Shababy bus of the same type, on its way to Dar from Dodoma, stopped, deposited its spare tire, then rolled on to Dar without a spare, a loving act indeed! That wheel was soon mounted, although by this time, at least an hour has been added to our trip, and we were on our way again.

Now, for reasons unexplained, there is no air-conditioning but it's also obvious that the driver is trying to make up for that hour of delay, most noticeable as we cross the speed humps at considerably higher speed. Dave, Edwin, and I are propelled several inches into the air at most of the humps. It's hot and quite airless at the far back. I doze off, and when I awaken, the AC is once again obvious and windows are closed, but still the bumps. We arrive in Dodoma just as the sun is setting, near 6:30 p.m. Edwin locates a taxi that takes us to the MAF (Missionary Aviation Fellowship) guest house where we will stay for almost 2 ½ weeks. We have a comfortable room, shared choo (American-style) and shower, and breakfast foods available for our own preparation, a familiar location to me since Annette and I spent several nights here during our 2009 stay. Tomorrow we get into Edwin's full schedule for us at Iringa Rd. Mennonite Church, but most important, our opportunity to greet friends, to see our sponsor child, Charles, and to simply revel in the joy and intensity of the life and ministry of that energetic church.

Yes, here we are, far from home, 11 hours time differential, 51 degrees latitude south of Portland in the southern hemisphere, 158 degrees longitude east of Portland, almost half-way around the world, and all is well,while ahead of us, expected and unexpected,are challenges and blessings beyond compare. What fun!

A Flying Trip

Almost 20 hours in the air without a glitch! A minor baggage problem in Nairobi, that did not seem minor at the time, and an overnight sit in Kenyatta Airport were a bit trying, but beyond that, smooth. A total surprise greeted Dave and me at the gate at PDX when attendants informed us we'd be flying first-class on the 767 to Amsterdam, thanks to the intervention of our next-door neighbor, Wayne Sloan, a Delta flight attendant, who often works on that PDX-Amsterdam flight. That leg of the journey gave us the luxury ot comfort, good food, and abundant attention. After a short breather at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, we were stuffed into a fully-loaded KLM 747 bound for Nairobi for an uneventful if crowded 7½ hours. Then, that long overnight in Nairobi and several waits queued up to discuss luggage, and the next morning, boarding a Precision Airways 737 for a 75-minute flight to Dar es Salaam.

During that flight, the most memorable moment of the whole trip: looking down at the snows of Kilimanjaro, that great, legendary mountain near the Equator, nearly 6 km tall, it's year-around snows the subject of countless stories, and now amazement at how quickly those glaciers are disappearing. Although surrounded by clouds, the peak was starklhy visible below us, a marvelous treat.

We then soon descended to the sunny, muggy, tropical heat of Dar es Salaam, and the expected hurdles of buying a visa and of customs, a process that moved surprisingly quickly—the clerk handing me my passport with a brand new visa and the cheerful, smiling greeting, “Here you are, Babu,” that were a splendid welcome to Africa. Babu is my Tanzanian nickname (it's meaning simply “Grandfather,” which here is a welcome honorific, not a put-down). Next came the search for baggage and our relief at seeing all four of our heavily-packed bags, three of them near the 50-pound limit (in fact, the one large trunk that was on my ticket amazed us when the Delta scale read exactly 50, the limit before added charges) and the equal surprise when we were waved through customs with no check. By the way, lest you think we travel with huge amounts of clothing, those heavy bags are loaded with gifts, computers, computer parts, and more destined for our friends in Dodoma.

Then, out the main door and seeing our friends, Edwin and Kangoye, waiting for us, Dave's first steps on African soil, my sense of returning home, an overwhelming moment. My special friend, Kangoye, whom Annette and I met in Dodoma in 2009, now a college student in Dar studying plant and soil chemistry, greeted us joyfully, as did Edwin, Lahash's East Africa staff leader whom we were meeting for the first time. We are soon loaded into a taxi that takes us into the churning life and movement of a great African city, the streets crowded with vehicles, countless daladalas, medium-sized buses that are the transit lifeline for throngs of people, the little bajaji tricycle taxis that flit about, moving one or twos persons or stuffed with cargo, weaving among an endless stream, often at a stand-still, of trucks and cars along streets where thousands of pedestrians are all about us, often dashing across the street, a scene anyone who has spent time in a teeming African city can describe graphically with dumbfounded amazement that what appears to be chaos goes on without major loss of life and vehicles.

We arrive finally at a comfortable bed-and-breakfast where we will eat and sleep until leaving tomorrow morning to catch our Dodoma-bound bus and the seven-hour trip that awaits us, into the interior of Tanzania. After settling in here, we had an unscheduled afternoon which we used mostly for visiting Kangoye's college, the Dar es Salaam Institute of Technology, in a large complex of buildings near Dar's city center. Kangoye showed us about eagerly, guiding us to laboratories of various sorts, lecture rooms, and finally the dormitory where he lives in a tiny room with three other students. He introduced us to Elias, one of his roommates, and several other friends of his, who greeted us with much laughter and hand-shaking and a certain puzzlement about the presence of two Americans on campus. Our suggestion that we were the prime minister and minister of education from America brought on much laughter and yells, and again there was that amazing feeling that although we were total outsiders on the scene, we were welcomed, our presence truly enjoyed.

During that flight, the most memorable moment of the whole trip: looking down at the snows of Kilimanjaro, that great, legendary mountain near the Equator, nearly 6 km tall, it's year-around snows the subject of countless stories, and now amazement at how quickly those glaciers are disappearing. Although surrounded by clouds, the peak was starkly visible below, a marvelous treat.

We then soon descended to the sunny, muggy, tropical heat of Dar es Salaam, and the expected hurdles of buying a visa and of customs, a process that moved surprisingly quickly—the clerk handing me my passport with a brand new visa and the cheerful, smiling greeting, “Here you are, Babu,” that were a splendid welcome to Africa. Babu is my Tanzanian nickname (it's meaning simply “Grandfather,” which here is a welcome honorific, not a put-down). Next came the search for baggage and our huge relief at seeing all four of our heavily-packed bags, three of them near the 50-pound limit (in fact, the one large trunk that was on my ticket amazed us when the Delta scale read exactly 50, the limit before added charges) and the equal surprise when we were waved through customs with no check. By the way, lest you think we travel with huge amounts of clothing, those heavy bags are loaded with gifts, computers, computer parts, and more that's destined for our friends in Dodoma.

Then, out the main door and seeing our friends, Edwin and Kangoye, waiting for us, Dave's first steps on African soil, my sense of returning home, an overwhelming moment. My special friend, Kangoye, whom Annette and I met in Dodoma in 2009, now a college student in Dar studying plant and soil chemistry, greeted us joyfully, as did Edwin, Lahash's East Africa staff leader whom we were meeting for the first time. We were soon loaded into a taxi for a trip into the city, taking us again into the churning life and movement of a great African city, the streets crowded with vehicles, countless daladalas, the medium-sized buses that are the transit lifeline for throngs of people, the little bajaji tricycle taxis that flit about, moving one or twos persons or stuffed with cargo, weaving among an endless stream, often at a stand-still, of trucks and cars along streets where thousands of pedestrians are all about us, often dashing across the street, a scene anyone who has spent time in a teeming African city can describe graphically with dumbfounded amazement that what appears to be chaos goes on without major loss of life and vehicles.

We arrived finally at a bed-and-breakfast where we will eat and sleep until leaving tomorrow morning to catch our Dodoma-bound bus and the seven-hour trip that awaits us, into the interior of Tanzania. After settling in here, we had an unscheduled afternoon which we used mostly for visiting Kangoye's college, the Dar es Salaam Institute of Technology, in a large complex of buildings near Dar's city center. Kangoye showed us about eagerly, guiding us to laboratories of various sorts, lecture rooms, and finally the dormitory where he lives in a tiny room with three other students. He introduced us to Elias, one of his roommates, and several other friends of his, who greeted us with much laughter and hand-shaking and a certain puzzlement about the presence of two Americans on campus. Our suggestion that we were the prime minister and minister of education from America brought on much laughter and yells, and again there was that amazing feeling that although we were total outsiders on the scene, we were welcomed, our presence truly enjoyed.

Africa, Here We Come!

Last fall, a day before Dave Hanson and I were scheduled to get on a Continental plane to begin flights to Tanzania, I got the unwelcome diagnosis of shingles. The physical pain was intense; the disappointment was even greater pain. Actually, the acute shingles pain went away rather quickly, and the disappointment drained off when Dave and I started planning for a February trip.


Now, the time has passed, and we're within a few days of boarding a Delta flight for Amsterdam, then via KLM to Nairobi, Kenya, and, after an overnight at Kenyatta Airport, on Thursday morning, a short flight to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. My good friend, Kangoye Mahende, will be at the Dar airport to meet us, and so will a new friend, Edwin Angote, who is Lahash's East Africa coordinator. We'll visit the Dar es Salaam Institute of Technology, where Kangoye is a student, before an overnight hotel stay. Then, early Friday, we'll leave the steamy, tropical climate of Dar on a bus, riding five hours into the interior of Tanzania to Dodoma. Dodoma is higher and drier than Dar, but still very warm at this time of year. Annette and I were in Dodoma at almost the same time in 2009, so now I'll meet many good friends who will quickly becomes Dave's friends as well. We'll settle in for a two-week stay.

Although Internet access is not nearly as convenient as here, I will have opportunities to write posts on this blog. Since Annette is not with me, this blog will be a useful means of communication for us, and we'll be glad if others look over our shoulders to find out what's going on.

Dave and I will be carrying on six laptops when we board our flight. Both us volunteer at Free Geek, a Portland non-profit that recycles and refurbishes used computers. Most of the laptops we're carrying were rebuilt at Free Geek and are grants to Grace and Healing Ministry, with whom we will work in Dodoma. Dave and I intend to set up computer skills classes for older children and adults using the laptops we are bringing. We'll also attempt to repair some non-working computers.