Moshi (Teaching)
These next four weeks are the meat of my African diet. Momma Donna and I schemed this entrepreneurship training idea sitting together on the Kilimanjaro view veranda of her Moshi home. It hardly seems like the time could pass so quickly, as it is finally time for execution of the idea and Tanzanian business training to begin. I am a little sad because Momma Donna is home in the states, taking care of her ailing mother, so we won’t be able see this vision completed together. The beautiful and soothing thing is that through SKYPE, on the internet, we are able to videoconference across the miles and time zones for one final brainstorm before teaching begins.
(Picture taken last Spring, on the first trip to Tanzania.)
I have written pages of lessons plans prior to arriving, but it soon becomes clear that my expectations need tweaking. After the first day of teaching, when the girls gave me a “deer in the headlights” look after using the word “supplier” to describe someone from whom you buy raw materials, it was obvious that a complete revision with detailed vocabulary explanations of every major noun and verb was needed.
The girls, (really women) as they are called here because they are not married or over 30, are hungry for knowledge. They absorb accounting concepts so quickly it is stunning, but struggle with basic multiplication and division needed to calculate pricing structures.
Many of you have asked what a “day in the life” looks like for me in Tanzania, so I will take you on a virtual tour. Usually, I get up about 6:00am to finish writing and making revisions to the days lesson plan. On exceptional days, when the mountain is clear, I will venture outside the compound to steal a dawning peek up Rau Road.
After breakfast and more studying, I venture out the front gate and across the road... (Always looking both ways for cars, bicyclist, random linearly challenged walkers and of course to see if it is still a "Kili Day")
... through a field and down a secondary road.
The people are very friendly and the greeting of “Jambo” is politely exchanged. This informal salutation is universally accepted as “Hi, I’m an Mzungu and don’t speak your language but am friendly.” Occasionally, an overzealous passerby will reply, “Habari”, which is “How are you.” Usually, this is a curious quiz to decipher if you are truly a tourist or someone who’s been around a while. The response is “Mzuri”, which means “Good or Fine”. If you are convincing and occasionally I was, then a whole conversation in Swahili ensues, at which point I raise my hands, disarmingly laugh, smile, and apologize, “Pole Sana”. No one takes offense.
Continuing down this dirt path, as it winds past schools and houses, it eventually crosses a paved road leading into town. This is by far the most dangerous point of the journey. Crossing any roadway in the relatively lawless highway system takes a little bit of common sense, a whole lot of courage, and a little luck for good measure.
Safely on the other side, I resume the dirt path march to school. When the path returns to dirt road status, this marks the entrance into a mixed business and residential neighborhood.
Chickens, dig protective burrows for their young amongst the road side litter.
Various metal works are underway and mechanic shops line the road. Continuing on this dirt side street, it eventually “T’s” into two paved roads straight ahead.
I walk straight down the now paved road, past the fire station on the right.
The mountain is beautiful today and highlights an opened market.
On the left there is a Mama drying fish for sale, while her daughter tends to the fruit and vegetable stand.
A jackaranda tree is in full purple glory and it has been nice to watch this creature turn from light green to brilliantly budded.
The butcher on the right corner of the final “T” intersection of the trek is my signal to turn.
Mamas line up to shop or just chat while carrying heavy bags on their heads.
This dirt road leads to the Rafiki temporary school location, which is really a large residence. My daily “Mzungu Cheering Section” greets me on the way to school. The kids are classic and want nothing more than a happy smile and wave in return for theirs.
Taking pictures around town, one always has to be careful not to catch someone else in an awkward position, e.g. bathing, etc. So I was relieved when this particular Mama was just throwning the chaff remnants out of her winnowing basket.
The Rafiki Junior Secondary School is just across the street from a major elementary school.
Business minded Mamas line the other side of the street to capture the school snack business. Children can buy grilled sweet bananas for 50 Tanzanian Shillings a piece. This equates to about four US cents. As a reference point, the average adult wage is about 2,000 TZ Shillings per day or $1.54.
The broad white metal gate on the right means that I have arrived at school and it will be moments until two hours of teaching at 10:00am.
John and the school's mascot of sorts, Roderick, are there to open the door and greet me. Roderick is the son of Mr. George's grounds keeper and his wife. She is a cook at the school, so many days Roderick comes along for the day.
Looking to the right is Mama Tori's car and just behind it is a tented study area for the girls when it gets too hot and still to be inside.
I walk through the banana fiber supply area, a.k.a the house's garage, back to the teachers room to prepare for class.
I have taken over Mr. George’s Science class to give him a break while he manages the construction of the new Rafiki Village site. We struggle for weeks through the idea that Work equals Force times Distance or NM = 9.6 x kg x m. Solving for each variable and then applying the concept to machines and venturing into the idea of mechanical advantage is a bit of a leap. But, after literally hundreds of repetitions, learning games, quizzes, and finally an End of Term test, everyone receives a passing score. I was one happy teacher to go from receiving blank stares and half the class failing the first quiz to understanding nods and 80% of the class receiving an “A” on the final exam.
We eat lunch “Family Style” at noon, on the house porch or in the main classroom. Then study hall begins and lasts until 2:00pm on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. Those are the days where two additional hours of “Business Teaching” is set aside.
All twenty-two girls come into the main teaching area as we begin the lesson. This course is entirely optional, but no one leaves the room.
(Clean board is a good place to start...)
The girls have had immediate success over the last school break, earning millions of shillings (about $1,500 USD total) to pay for their commute to the new campus in Machame, outside of Moshi. Momma Donna had subsidized all the costs for their independent work, so everything the girls received was profit. Intelligently, prior to their last break, everyone who wanted to participate in the business venture had to agree that any money received would go towards paying for school costs. This was a stroke of brilliance on Momma Donna’s part because it protected the profits not only from mindless spending from the girls, but also from mining parents seeking to take the money for their own purposes. Almost as soon as the money was made, fathers came to school demanding the money to pay for weddings and other seemingly important reasons. Momma Donna stood her ground and the money is still safely deposited and ready to pay for bus rides to the new school location.
The girls receive a simplified MBA of sorts in just four weeks. We cover the topics of Marketing, Costing (BOM), Pricing, Product, Advertising, Quality Control, Tax Structure, Legal Limitations, Accounting, Cash Flow Modeling, Sales, and Business Operating Structure, along with a field trip into Moshi to visit amicable businesses. We open each class by walking step by step through an income statement. By doing this, by the time we reach accounting in the fourth week nothing surprises them.
I wish there were one more week to give them, because when I leave they will have a week to write their Co-op Charter and elect leadership. Fortunately, they have Miss Debbie to help carry them through. However, the ultimate objective of this month together is to give the young women the foundations to start a business and run it independently.
Some days after school I drive home to Mr. George's house, giving Miss Debbie the chance to stretch her legs. Other days I walk home as well. The girls are a constant amusement along the way. Four of them walk in the same general direction as I do.
Today, on a Friday, we run into beating drums and dancers along the side of the road.
We watch them and laugh together.
Then they show me the soccer stadium, that is heavily rutted and hardly a field.
We walk idly around the neighborhood and indirectly arrive at the paved road that leads into town. I’ve walked this part of town enough to know that we have just walked along three sides of a rectangle instead of simply walking a straight line to get to the ending point. Then I have to remember, first, these are teenagers and girls in their early twenties; second, home is not where they want to go in a hurry. My expedient cultural bias led me to the shortest distance between two points method, while their perspective was to get home eventually. They wave as we go our separate ways.
On the dirt road back to Mr. George’s house I hear the most awful blood-curdling scream, with volume so loud it hurts. Someone has just “stuck a pig” and hung it to bleed out. This is not a simple short process but carries on and on. This doesn’t seem to phase anyone except for me. As the tens of meters turn into hundreds of meters, the screaming simply won’t stop and has only grown dimmer with the distance.
A final left turn, across the field and Rau Road brings me nearly home again.
There are huge culverts dug on the side of the road now. A flood nearly three years ago inspired the uphill towns to create a drainage system to avoid further damage. This will only insure that the gravitationally “down wind” villages will be well under water with the increased and undisbursed flows to come.
Savano and Roderick greet me at the gate.
He is one proud Papa of his little son.
It is a sweet homecoming to see the obvious love of father and son.
There are a couple of other signs that I am truly home for the day. One is Momma Donna's pigs. They get arranged in a different format almost daily. This morning, before leaving, it was time for a double decker piggy back display.
The other special characteristic of Mr. George's yard is the pointsetia tree. Yes, this is what happens when you don't send them to the dump after Christmas. Here in Tanzania, it is traditional to plant a pointsetia to mark a loved one's grave.
Hmmm... I don't think anyone is laying just here though.
To finish off the day, Mr. George has made his famous guacamole dip for shrimp cocktails, that is supplimented with crustini and washed down with ample loads of ice cream.
