A bridge near my village, with the corn crop firmly anchored in the streambed. Yes, cars and trucks actually use this, though not always successfully, I recently saw one stuck at this very bridge.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Arrival at Site
When I saw my school for the first time, we were traveling down a narrow, steeply declining dirt road. Trees flanked us on both sides as the land rover lurched erratically though always at high speeds over rocks and shallow gulleys eroded by rainwater. It appeared below as the clouds and trees parted, several metal roofed buildings as the approaching land flattened briefly before continuing its decline. "It's beautiful," suddenly popped into my mind and I felt as a father beholding his newborn son must. Usually not prone to feelings such as these, I was all the more surprised when they came, marveling at my own, unexpected melodrama.
The area in which my school is located affords views of startling beauty. A mountainous region, valleys of various size cut into the mostly cultivated, sparsely forrested hills while gray boulders keep watch from the highest, steepest ridges. Looking across the valley in which my school is located, one sees more of these humongous, gray sentinels protruding than one sees trees. Over their tops come thick mists and ominous black clouds, appearing suddenly and descending across the valley with measurable speed. The continue to the West for some 20 miles before arriving at Lake Nyasa. Prior to escaping the valley, they dump their contents at least once but up to four times a day. The area's elevation and other factors keep it relatively cool. Some nights are downright chilly, though there has not yet been any serious risk of a blizzard. I doubt if daytime temperatures have climbed above 85 F.
Climbing for 1 mile up the ridge my school is built into and reaching the crest, one looks out upon Lake Nyasa and can dimly see the shilloueted mountains of Malawi and Mozambique if the clouds permit. Returning one's gaze to the immediate surrounding, one sees the land broken into small plots of cassava and coffee, typically no greater in area than 1,500 square feet. These belong to the "peasants" an adjective applied by my Tanzanian guide. At first I was rather shocked to hear this word, figuring it was relegated to the age of Robin Hood and practice of feudalism. My friendly dictionary, however, notes it's definition as "(in some rural agricultural countries) small farmer," and in such ountries the second derogatory definition seems unknown.
The land is divided in such fashion as several plots are held by a single family. These subdivisions are vital to insure yearly harvests, as the peasants find it wise to do, giving them enough food to make it to the next harvest. As both coffee and cassava take 3 years to reach maturity, a farmer needs to stagger the stage of growth that any one of his plots is at to insure a yearly harvest. This is most important for cassava, as it is the main foodstuff of such peasants, than coffee, which is sold as a cash crop. And so, as one's eyes continue to sweep across the valley, an agricultural patchwork of plots at various stages present themselves, some a rich black spotted with the bright green, freshly planted cassava cuttings, others a darker, waxy, elevated green of mature coffee bushes.
Gazing deep to the very stream or moist riverbed at the foot of these valleys one will frequently encounter corn on every available inch of land up to the water's edge, sometimes even partially submerged after rain has swollen the river's turgid trail. It is here that one may also encounter fish ponds, relatively small resevoirs that divert some of the water, keeping it and it's edible treasures. Looking up, one is then struck by trees of various type standing even among the cultivated land, a strange sight for a Midwesterner accustomed to miles and miles of pure, unblemished corn. Here the trees perform at least three functions: keeping the soil firmly rooted in place, gently shading the coffee crop below, and providing fruit, in the case of banana trees, or a future lumber harvest, in the case of woody trees.
Continuing upward, one finds peasant's homes dotting the hills and showing slight preference for the dirt road, other homes, and small villages. Most have metal roofs, though thatch is not uncommon. Most have dirt or brick floors, though cement floors can be found. Glass in windows and electicity are exceedingly rare: there is no power grid in this part of the country, and few own a generator. That said, this area, while geographcally isolated, is not known for terrible poverty.
When I saw my school for the first time, we were traveling down a narrow, steeply declining dirt road. Trees flanked us on both sides as the land rover lurched erratically though always at high speeds over rocks and shallow gulleys eroded by rainwater. It appeared below as the clouds and trees parted, several metal roofed buildings as the approaching land flattened briefly before continuing its decline. "It's beautiful," suddenly popped into my mind and I felt as a father beholding his newborn son must. Usually not prone to feelings such as these, I was all the more surprised when they came, marveling at my own, unexpected melodrama.
The area in which my school is located affords views of startling beauty. A mountainous region, valleys of various size cut into the mostly cultivated, sparsely forrested hills while gray boulders keep watch from the highest, steepest ridges. Looking across the valley in which my school is located, one sees more of these humongous, gray sentinels protruding than one sees trees. Over their tops come thick mists and ominous black clouds, appearing suddenly and descending across the valley with measurable speed. The continue to the West for some 20 miles before arriving at Lake Nyasa. Prior to escaping the valley, they dump their contents at least once but up to four times a day. The area's elevation and other factors keep it relatively cool. Some nights are downright chilly, though there has not yet been any serious risk of a blizzard. I doubt if daytime temperatures have climbed above 85 F.
Climbing for 1 mile up the ridge my school is built into and reaching the crest, one looks out upon Lake Nyasa and can dimly see the shilloueted mountains of Malawi and Mozambique if the clouds permit. Returning one's gaze to the immediate surrounding, one sees the land broken into small plots of cassava and coffee, typically no greater in area than 1,500 square feet. These belong to the "peasants" an adjective applied by my Tanzanian guide. At first I was rather shocked to hear this word, figuring it was relegated to the age of Robin Hood and practice of feudalism. My friendly dictionary, however, notes it's definition as "(in some rural agricultural countries) small farmer," and in such ountries the second derogatory definition seems unknown.
The land is divided in such fashion as several plots are held by a single family. These subdivisions are vital to insure yearly harvests, as the peasants find it wise to do, giving them enough food to make it to the next harvest. As both coffee and cassava take 3 years to reach maturity, a farmer needs to stagger the stage of growth that any one of his plots is at to insure a yearly harvest. This is most important for cassava, as it is the main foodstuff of such peasants, than coffee, which is sold as a cash crop. And so, as one's eyes continue to sweep across the valley, an agricultural patchwork of plots at various stages present themselves, some a rich black spotted with the bright green, freshly planted cassava cuttings, others a darker, waxy, elevated green of mature coffee bushes.
Gazing deep to the very stream or moist riverbed at the foot of these valleys one will frequently encounter corn on every available inch of land up to the water's edge, sometimes even partially submerged after rain has swollen the river's turgid trail. It is here that one may also encounter fish ponds, relatively small resevoirs that divert some of the water, keeping it and it's edible treasures. Looking up, one is then struck by trees of various type standing even among the cultivated land, a strange sight for a Midwesterner accustomed to miles and miles of pure, unblemished corn. Here the trees perform at least three functions: keeping the soil firmly rooted in place, gently shading the coffee crop below, and providing fruit, in the case of banana trees, or a future lumber harvest, in the case of woody trees.
Continuing upward, one finds peasant's homes dotting the hills and showing slight preference for the dirt road, other homes, and small villages. Most have metal roofs, though thatch is not uncommon. Most have dirt or brick floors, though cement floors can be found. Glass in windows and electicity are exceedingly rare: there is no power grid in this part of the country, and few own a generator. That said, this area, while geographcally isolated, is not known for terrible poverty.
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