The Last Days

Livestock featured prominently during our final days in Milo. We received so many donations of food to prepare us for departure. I recall 11 chickens but there may have been more. Hilary received 4 roosters and 4 hens on her last day in school, donated by representatives of sponsored school children – parent, grandparent or extended-family member; Adrian 2 roosters and a hen from patients and staff. There were many other perishable gifts – oranges, lemons, peas, beans (perhaps some will grow in Bala), avocado, custard apple (the hens love those), corncobs (and those), watermelon (and that). It is usual for villagers travelling to take supplies with them when visiting relatives in distant places, but the possibility of air travel restriction is beyond experience and understanding. In addition to the chickens (5 of which were consumed during the Hospital Fearwell Party [sic], when the hospital staff said and sang ‘Fearwell’ to us) new homes and owners had to be found for the rabbits, whilst the guinea pigs went to their new home in Sayuni – the furthest outreach clinic we visited – where they are thriving and reproducing like rabbits.

Acquisition of so many contemporaneous hens made me late for work, though ‘late’ means little here. At night the new hens followed the residents into an avocado tree which overhung the fence. In the morning, the inexperienced would land in the shamba on the wrong side of the fence and make a racket trying to reach where their companions were feeding. They were good at evading capture, and I spent considerable time and energy on them. If unsuccessful (me) they would spend the day in the shamba and perhaps return to the tree in the evening whence they would repeat the charade the next day if they failed to land on the hen house roof. On the last afternoon before we drove away, one prodigal clucked pathetically at the gate just in time to return home. I lost count of the hens that ought to be present and left some for John to sort out after our departure.

The hardest parting was from our pre-school children, the ones who clamoured to greet us every Friday with the traditional ‘Shikamoo’, those who christened me ‘Muzungu wangu’ – our Whiteman, who listened and watched avidly the story of the People of God portrayed out by little wooden characters from Abraham to the Babylonian exiles crossing the desert, to the advent, crucifixion and resurrection of the Messiah, to the Children of God everywhere, including their Tanzanian village. Now each has a pure white stone to hold and remember one another, a special pact to keep our memories alive, and what rather surprised me, all our adult friends took a white stone too. I had bought a bucket load at the roadside one day while travelling so there were plenty. Mine will sit on my desk at home, though where home is now, I cannot truly say. It is no longer a physical location.

Precious Stones

We shall miss the big African skies: sunrise and sunset, stars, planets and the phases of the moon; the view across the valley to Lipangala, livestock in the garden, foraging in the shamba under a canopy of Indian corn and tall sunflowers to feed them; driving dusty red roads and deep muddy ones; hands-on surgery; boys in the house playing computer games, ostensibly learning English, with their attendant fleas; friends in the hospital, the church, the school and the village; small children singing and dancing unselfconsciously.

African Skies

We received many bolts of cloth, shawls, kangas and maasai wraps; carved figures, cups and spoons; photographs, etc, after carefully packing and weighing our cases in readiness for the flight home. Now in Dar es Salaam, we have booked an hour on the hotel weighing scales to rearrange our luggage. In the village, a large cupboard retains a range of tools and other items to await our return next year, Mungo akipenda; I can’t imagine being there again without the capacity for DIY. Our plans to return for 3 months hang on the desire of another pre-medical student to see medical life in the raw after A-levels and of a previous student to return to Milo, perhaps to coach football again.

Meanwhile, we relax to the sounds of waves on the beach, anticipating a final meal with the Bishop and with David, our man in Dar and looking forward to family and friends in UK, and maybe to walk a dog again.