Building begins

27 August 2007 and building has begun. Yehah! We got off to a rainy start last Monday, but Tuesday, looked good enough to get going. So we did. We started off with Mudi translating for Daz. Daz gave an introduction type talk to those Tanzanians that had put their names in our book and arrived ready to do whatever we asked of them. Daz explained who we were, explicitly pointing out that contrary to popular belief, we were not wealthy Australians building a business, but instead volunteers, here to build a village for Tanzanian orphans and that the building of the village was being funded by many, many generous Australians (youse). All seemed to understand.

Daz then went on to explain that we needed 16-18 men (there were maybe 20 standing there) and that we’d take the 16 names on our books before we’d take newcomers. We asked that our workers, put in a fair day’s effort from 8am to 4.30pm each day, with an hour’s lunch – which they could all go home for since all lived nearby. For this, we’d pay the going rate of $2.50 a day. The guys seemed fairly pleased with this – because normally they’d work on their own farms from sunup to sundown, with a short lunch break for no pay, so they thought the hour lunch break, the comparatively early knock-off time and the fact they were getting paid at all was choice! [FYI, the average Tanzanian wage is about $300 a year, yep, about 82c per day, but most Tanzanians I’ve met would do well to earn that much. Most people here earn well below The World Bank’s poverty line of $US2 a day, that’s for sure. What I’m not sure about it is how the hell they survive).

Wrapping up the chats, Daz explained that he expected that our tools be looked after and kept safe and that we hoped we could all learn to work together well as a group and neighbours. We explained that we could give at least six months work to everyone and after that we would be able to offer a couple of full-time jobs at the village, but we’d pick people who had worked well in helping us build. If we felt some people were not working well, while others were working very hard, we’d be forced to ask them to leave because there were lots of men in the area who wanted a job and would work well and help us. This revelation was met with vehement nods which we took to be a good thing. So… to work.

Where to begin? “Fence”, said Darling. “Ukigo” translated Mudi. So to the very bottom of the block, near the seasonal creek, everyone headed, carrying timber poles, barbed wire, mark-out pegs and string, shovels, buckets of water for the men to drink from, wheelbarrows, pangas (local machetes used for farming), picks. We had a few of our own tools, but also asked a few men to go back home and bring more of their own, which they did. These rusted, well-worn specimens made our shiny tools look a bit silly!



Almost immediately three men – Mohammed The Stonemason And Vice Village Chairman, Mohammed Our Chicken Coop Maker and Ruben Of The Smiling Face began marking out the fence line, painting the end of the timber posts in “mafuta chafu” (dirty – ie used - engine oil) for protection against termites, and digging post holes. It was production-line city without so much as a word of direction from Daz. Guess these farmers have put a fence or two in their time, then! Two days later and the Kesho Leo boundary fence, a job Daz had allowed two weeks for, was complete.
Right, better give the guys something else to do then. Let’s build our driveway. And better yet, instead of paying $50 a load for rock base, let’s quarry it from our very own seasonal creek. A natural decision for a boy that comes from a family of top-quality sandstone quarries. “It’s the perfect density,” repeated Daz interminably. “I can’t believe our luck. It’s not too hard to pluck out (the guys jam a steel wedge into the rock which breaks out a sizeable piece) and not to soft to work as road base (ie – it wont crumble after we cover it with volcanic rock and start driving lorries over it).”




And dah-dah... the Kesho Leo driveway is born:



Our first week went really smoothly. Of course, a few hairy moments (or it wouldn't be Africa!):

• nearby Lutheran Church approaches us to say we can’t use their road to access our site anymore. (Technically, it’s not actually their road, but a public access road…and it’s not actually even that! Really, it’s a just track in the grass where no scrub grows). The concern is that our trucks will cause the earth to shake and the church will crack and fall down. We managed to speak to them and convince them that if any damage is done to their church as a result of our trucks, we would fix it for them, but we are extremely confident that nothing of the sort will occur. A seemingly quick agreement was made. We only found out later that the agreement was quick because our neighbours (most of whom have sons / husbands working for us) told the church to ‘behave’, that the community needs projects like ours, and we should not be obstructed from bringing employment and help to the area.
  
  
• neighbour rocks up to site claiming to want compensation for his half of the creek we have quarried. Fair enough. Shoulda probably thought about that earlier – doh! Oh well, let’s sort it now. Daz begins to negotiate…but then intuition steps in and forces him to pose a seemingly irreverent question, “Ah, sir, are you the actual owner of that land?”. Rough translation: “Not so much. I used to own it, but then I sold it, but really, it’s now like a stolen cow [the rock quarried], so it is my duty to take some money for the stolen cow.” “Mr, is that alcohol we smell on your breath? Bye bye please”. Crisis averted momentarily. We’ve asked around for the real owner of the land, we’ll see what shows… * Daz and I sitting in our volunteer house discussing security – making sure we’re covered when volunteers come - talking about this idea of not wanting guns on any of our security guards, when KAPOW! A gunshot? KAPOW!!! TWO GUNSHOTS??? One each? Lovely. Are people shooting at us, through our door as the sun shines in and warms our feet? Only one way to find out… We creep to the walls nearby and rubberneck to look around our yard…nothing, nobody. Just the bucolic farm fields, barnyard animal braying and blissful village atmosphere we enjoy every day. “Maybe it was a slingshot, darling. They love a slingshot here…” Scan the trees for the slingshot sniper. No such dude. Scan the fields for a ground-level guerrilla. No such bloke…And besides why are people trying to kill us when they think you’re Jesus? Kinda a bit risky for their afterlife! Okay, well all seems ok, let’s sneak out to the grilled foyeur area out the front where all the kuffuffle (a word I use only because Joe Moe likes it) began. Tools, cement bags, buckets, wheelbarrow… Hang on, wheelbarrow sitting low. A tyre blow-out! Kapows explained! Our world as we know it – safe and lovely – is restored. Just as well, or we’d have to high-tail it home, not like we’re keen to be a “RACRIFICE” as Scooby Doo likes to say.

In just a week, we have whacked up a full boundary fence and half a driveway. Pretty good going, I’d say!

Till next week,

Beck