Lessons

And so we come to the end...


When I was travelling in Asia, every time my friend and I shouldered our wardrobe sized backpacks to set off somewhere new he would always ask "What have we learned?". Back then it was generally a list of misdemeanours - "Don't try and fit eight people in a Bangkok tuk-tuk" and so on and so on."  

Several years on, whilst there are similar lessons learned here in Africa, there should probably be a more profound point to all this shouldn't there? So as I sit here in Dar Es Salaam airport waiting for my flight home, here are some of my lessons learned:

Lesson one: Things move "pole pole" in Africa

Pole pole (pronounced poe-lay poe-lay) is Kiswahili for slowly slowly, or bit by bit. I think for many East Africans this typifies life here. Everything is slow, from the bus leaving four hours later than you expect because it wasn't quite full to a meeting arranged for 8am that eventually begins at 1 in the afternoon without a flicker of an apology.

Like most elements of East African life there are both down and up sides to this. When I was in Uganda, teenage boys looking for work would walk for two hours from the local town to use the centre's printers for their CVs and applications, only to find that the printer had no ink. Or paper. Or the power was out. Or someone had lost the key to the computer room. So they would turn around, their whole day wasted effectively and return the next day. This is just one example of thousands where time is wasted and talent is not properly developed.

On a country level it means that there are huge inefficiencies in the way developing countries operate. Consider the capital city of any European country having no power or water three days. There would be riots! Yet here this is relatively normal, meaning again things take so much longer to get done and businesses suffer.

At an individual and family level there are some upsides though for the pole pole approach to life. Parents have more time to spend with their children, friends have longer with each other, and everyone has more time to think. In Zanzibar they serve spiced coffee and ginger tea by the corners of the roads in Stone Town. Every night men gather on these corners, many of whom sit on the curbs smoking and looking into the middle distance.

I join them and realise that taking time out of your day to really think about your life, what you experienced that day, whether you are happy or not, and other big questions like what you should do is very powerful. Each African that I spoke to had a different philosophy about life which is certainly a good thing, and probably at least partly due to the time they have to spend thinking.

Lesson two: Corruption is killing this region

In Kenya I watched a policeman stopping cars and motorbike taxis on a bridge between the mainland and the island I was living on. In broad daylight, from each vehicle he would draw between 50 and 100 shillings from the driver - the equivalent of about 50p. Essentially this is legitimised robbery, for which the drivers have no recourse.

Also in Kenya I meet Evans, an intelligent guy around 20 years old who had been head boy at his high school. As well as an outstanding academic record, Evans was also a champion sprinter, and practiced boxing, kick boxing and karate. His dream was to be in the army, and frankly any army in the world would be lucky to have a soldier like him. In the UK, we would bite his hand off for a signature to join, yet in Kenya the official in charge of selection requires a bribe of over $1,000 for an applicant to be successful.

With the country now at war in Southern Somalia, this means that the army does not have the best possible soldiers, and risks unnecessary casualties because the selection policy is based on who has money to bribe rather than merit.

At government level a review of the civil service found that 2,500 employees were not just under qualified, bit completely unqualified to do their jobs. Again, this is because of bribery and nepotism.

Widespread fraud and theft hinder development. The Kenyan government recently had to refund aid money to DfID, UNICEF, USAID and other grant making organisations following a scandal where millions of dollars worth of aid money meant for education was stolen by the same department responsible for administering it.

The story is a tale across the region, and is the rust ruining the government machine. At a country level, this means that development and progress is hindered because a country will not make the best use of its people's talents and thwarting attempts to support development.

The answer to this is support organisations at grass root level to tackle corruption and demand that government and personnel act ethically and responsibly. Additionally a free and independent media is crucial to act as a check and balance against theft from the country's people, and we should be supporting organisations who help maintain freedom of speech.

Lesson three: Different attitudes to life and death

In my first week in Uganda Witness, a four year old girl studying at the local school, died whilst crossing a busy road in torrential rain.

At the time I was struck by the difference in reactions to this tragedy between Western volunteers and locals. Africans have a different perception of life, I think, because they surrounded by death all the time. With so many children falling from diseases like malaria, extremely high HIV/AIDs rates leaving vast numbers of orphans, low life expectancy and difficulties accessing healthcare in rural areas, is it any wonder that death simply becomes a normal part of life?

Of course this is desperately sad, in particular when deaths are so avoidable as in Witness's case and so many others like hers. When I met her mother, I would have done anything to bring her back, and that experience has spurred me to do what I can to support organisations which will prevent deaths like these in the future.

Funerals in East Africa tend to be big community affairs, more of a celebration than a mourning. In Kenya a highly regarded ambassador from the region died, and the funeral was the social event of the month for the entire island. In this way his life was celebrated in the best possible way, with several hundred people dancing.

This celebration of life is a big trend which I've seen here which I'll talk more about in lesson six.

Lesson four: Uncomfortable journeys are sometimes the best

Matatus (or dallah dallahs if you're in Tanzania) are shared taxis, the dominant transport form in East Africa. They are small minibuses with seats for about 12 people, and very cheap. Brightly decorated (mostly shouting support for a premier league team) they mostly have tupac blaring out of a massive sound system which is less than pleasant at 7am before you've even had a cup of coffee.

Although officially only able to accommodate 12 people, my record stands at 26 which included a man with two other men on his lap, several breast feeding women and a loose chicken.

On a journey from Ngorogor to Arusha in Tanzania, I crammed into a space which presumably the engineers at Toyota had envisaged being used as a cup holder. Squashed between the driver - a rotund woman who looked a bit like Missy Elliot and had a cool red cap - and a woman with her baby on her lap, we hurtled through the open plains as the sun set behind us painting the rolling hills, base of the mountains and road ahead of us in a stunning purple. It's one of the most spectacular landscapes I've ever seen.

I think what made this scene so beautiful was that you had to struggle through it.  Looking back on it, when I arrived at Arusha it wasn't the pain and discomfort of sitting like a contortionist for four hours that I remember, but the incredible scenery seen in the ways that locals see it every day.

Lesson five: A positive vision of East Africa

War, famine, disease, hunger - these are what the Western media portrays Africa as. A desperate place with no hope, and in serious need of support without which the entire continent would collapse.

As a fundraiser I have contributed to these stereotypes in my own work. Unfortunately responses are better to have a shocking image of a baby with flies all over his face than to have a positive image of a child receiving her school diploma.

There is a very different side of Africa though which rarely gets airplay at home. Bright, passionate, highly educated Africans with ideas and enterprise. I meet journalists, academics, entrepreneurs, doctors, artists, musicians all of whom are exceptionally talented. They talk passionately about their ideas for the future, and how frustrating it can be to work through layers of bureaucracy and corruption.

The challenge for so many African countries is how to encourage their talent to stay, with limited opportunities compared to American and Europe, it is these people who will take the development of their countries to the next level, not NGOs or foreign governments and their aid money.

In Kenya I meet a local government official who shares this view, and is beginning to seek funding for centres of excellence to be set up throughout the region. Organisations like his should provide the fuel to fire growth and progress in countries throughout Africa.

Lesson six: Living in the present

Poverty, lack of jobs, poor education, disease and corruption all restrict the choices that Africans have to make changes to the way they live. Life can be extremely hard and surrounded by tragedy. Funerals become normal and there is an acceptance that life is short.

For many, like the motorbike taxi drivers living from fare to fare, or the fishermen who struggle every day to bring in enough catch to provide food for their families,  it is very difficult to plan for the future.

Whilst I wish that more Africans would save and plan, in particular rather than drinking local beer which is a huge problem across all of the countries I visited, their is some wisdom in living in the present.

All of the people that I met, every single one recognised what was good about his or her life, and to appreciate what they have and who they have in their lives. The genuine joy that comes with infectious laughter, or their desire to dance at any opportunity was amazing to be around.

To live in the present means not to either yearn for the past, or obsess with a particular future. To enjoy the pure moments around us all the time, that don't cost a lot of money, and that are common to all of us, wherever we come from.

This is the single most important lesson for me. To not only see what has always been in front of me, but to actively seek out more genuine experiences from my life because I can. Because I am blessed with that choice.

If something in your life is making you unhappy, then you have the power to change it. If you have always had the urge to achieve something, or try something new, then do it. If you are presented with a safe choice and something new, then choose something new - this is what life is. Our collective experiences. In the main we are blessed with choices in the West, we just need to think and question ourselves to realise what they are.

A simple piece of research into what people perceived the meaning of life found that life was essentially two things. The things you did and the people you met. That's it. So enjoy both, now, in the present rather than wishing we were somewhere else or worrying about what other people might think or say.

I have had the pleasure of meeting some amazing people over the last three months, they have taught me so much about the simple but essential truths in life. They have helped me rediscover something that was lost in me, a curiosity about people and how they live and a thirst to discover and understand and to help. 

There are huge problems in this region and I fully plan to come back here soon to work in the field, and to continue with some of the work I've started. I am back in the UK for four to six months, before I plan to leave the UK permanently.

Thanks for reading. Hopefully you haven't choked on all the clichés. 

Identity

"The value of identity of course is that so often with it comes purpose."

Richard R Grant

And so to Zanzibar. This is the final leg of my journey, and for some reason I feel like I've 'made it' although really this has been some of the easiest travelling I've ever done. I'm not going to wax lyrical about the 'tranquil turquoise sea' or 'stunning beaches' as a. it's probably raining in the UK so you don't want to hear about it and b. you can read about all that in a Sandals catalogue, I expect, should you so wish.

I'm at the bar one night and I get talking to a guy called Ahmed who has the glazed look of a typical Zanzibari. Whether that's a natural state of relaxation from life on a beach or self administered by local rastas is undeterminable. Our conversation jaunts from his excellent theory of 'good lazy' and 'bad lazy', existence and consciousness, free will and destiny, the ills of religion, the American civil rights movement through to what it means to be Zanzibari.

He tells me about a trip he took to Europe where he met some English men who asked him where he was from. He replied 'Zanzibar', to which my learned countrymen said they had no idea where it was. He explained that Zanzibar is an island, part of Tanzania to which the English chime 'Oh Tanzania! We know Tanzania!". This made him furious, and he also complained of having a Tanzanian passport rather than a Zanzibari one to produce to customs when he travels. "They have no idea where I'm from unless they check the place of issue, but who does that?" he bemoaned.

This gets me thinking about identity, both in terms of how we define ourselves and how others define us. When meeting anyone new we tend to ask similar questions to understand and define that person. How old are you? Where do you come from? What do you do? Do you have a family? And so on. These assets form a picture in our mind of who we are talking to, and help us empathise and understand them at a basic level which then shapes how our relationship with them develops.

In this way I can understand Ahmed's irritation at being defined as a Tanzanian rather than a Zanzibari by fellow travellers, customs officials or indeed people on the mainland of Tanzania. There is a problem with defining people in this way as it does not take into account their collective history, their culture or their beliefs and values.

So I set off to Stone Town, the main city of Zanzibar, to find out what real Zanzibari life is like, and how this differs from those on the mainland. The Old Town, a world heritage site,  is a maze of Arabian architecture with bustling streets that tumble in and out of each other. Traders shout from their shops selling spices, kangas and traditional paintings as children scramble after chickens which have escaped from their coops. Men sit on corners drinking the local spiced tea as women in brightly coloured shawls sell mandazis from small stools on their front porches.

The ornately carved wooden doors which open out onto the winding streets are one of Zanzibar's most noticeable facets. Coach loads of tourists stare fascinated at them, taking an endless stream of abstract photographs. It occurs to me that although beautiful, what lies behind the doors are more interesting. They are a threshold to local life here, not necessarily representative of it in their own right.

I arrange a fixer, Saleem, to take me to meet people behind the doors to get an insight into what life is really like here. What people feel and believe, and to try and better understand their identity so that I might do the same.

At our first encounter I meet Sabah who is a mother of two. She lives behind a beautifully grand doorway which leads the way to a series of modest flats where three families live. Her husband is a street vendor, and she says that life is hard here and they struggle to get by.

She talks softly but intensely about the high unemployment on the island, and how inflation is making her life as a housewife more and more difficult as her basics like food continue to rise in price.

She tells me that her family has lived here as longer than anyone can remember, and she considers herself a true Zanzibari. I ask her about how she feels about the vote currently in parliament to make Zanzibar independence, and she talks passionately about her desire for free will, without control from Dar Es Salaam, and I'm struck with how much this seems like a struggle for identity rather than a matter of administration.

We move on to a local restaurant, Barwan (the name of an old Arabic tribe), where I meet James who is 18. His family has lived here for many generations, and like Sabah he does not know when they first settled here.

James is a waiter here, and between serving hungry locals who scoff Indian snacks like Bagia and chappatis he tells me about being a Zanzibari. He says that life is not good on the island, and too many of his friends from school are on the streets without work every day.

He also talks passionately about independence from Tanzania. "They are consuming us" he shouts over the restaurant's noisy din, and gesticulates wildly as he carves his point into the air with his index finger. "They are bigger and take advantage of us".

I'm struck by how his distinction between Tanzanians and Zanzibaris. Even as a young person who has never known anything but a united Tanzania and Zanzibar, he still sees his identity as strongly different to that of the mainland.

The sun baking overhead now, we shuffle along the shade of the old town to meet Moza who is 24 with two children. Her hands beautifully decorated with henna to show that she is married, she tells me her husband is a teacher at the local school. She lives in a humble apartment with an imposing grey door which reminds me of a jailer's gate. Not beautiful so much as curious.

She tells me about her fears for her children. To give them the best education, she and her husband pay for private schooling, and she says that her life is "50:50". Half the time they have enough money, but when her business selling fried snacks to local restaurants and passers by is slow they find it difficult to pay their children's school fees.

She shares her hopes for her children. How she wishes them to receive the best possible education and make a bright future for themselves in Zanzibar. Unlike the others I speak to, she believes Zanzibar is better off under a united Tanzania rather than to live under independent rule.

I think that for Moza her and her family's identity is much more about what you make of yourself, rather than where you have come from. Both her and her husband have been successful, and they are proud.

Finally we arrive at the home of Isa Hameed, who is the owner of a business producing pink sweets made from Bao Bab seeds.

Upstairs I meet his daughters who mix the seeds with sugar, spices and a red dye to give them their appealing colour.

Gathering around me, they tell me that they are proud to be Zanzibari, that the island has a tradition of respect for different cultures because of its rich history and influences from Arabic, Indian and European settlers.

They too want independence from Tanzania, not because they believe like James that they are being taken from financially, but that the influence of the mainland is destroying their own way of life.

Describing themselves as devout Muslims, they complain about those from the mainland and from overseas not dressing more conservatively. They say they want an Islamic moralist society which is more in keeping with Zanzibar's roots, and the history of the island.

Thanking Saleem for allowing me into these people's homes, my mind scrambles to try and make sense of what I've experienced.

Clearly many locals in Zanzibar see themselves as a distinct nation, one that is suppressed both from its economic potential and cultural heritage by the present union with Tanzania.

I think that their various struggles define them as much as their history, faith or communities. Whether that be to make ends meet, to find hope for a new generation, to educate their children or to maintain their culture and religious beliefs, all of them were passionate about something.

And maybe this is the point. That we are not necessarily defined by our past, by the work we do or the family we have, but by where we struggle to get to. What our beliefs are, our values, and how hard we are prepared to push for them.

For me its helped me understand that my beliefs, my faith in people and humanity define me. That social justice is crucial above all, and that rights be upheld. That this is who I am, rather than what labels can be associated with me. Of course what we do give clues to our identity, but if you want to truly understand someone, perhaps you have to understand what they are struggling for.

Animals (?)

Sunset over Tsavo East, Kenya

And so it wouldn't be much of a East Africa blog without paying some homage to the incredible animals found across the region, but in my own way I'm going to try and put some quasi political / philosophical bent on it.

On safari in the beautiful Tsavo East national park near Mombasa, I found myself wondering why so many are drawn to the plains to seek out the exotic wildlife.

For the machismo mid-life crisis male geared up with matching safari outfits, I think the idea of the law of the jungle, where only the strongest survive, is the draw because this probably mirrors their view of our own society and their lives in the boardrooms of their massive corporations.

For others I imagine it's the element of (albeit minimal) danger of getting close to wild animals without cage bars and electric fences separating them. The bragging rights at dinner parties when they get home that they survived a 'near death experience' with a charging elephant.

For most I think its simple pleasure of seeing the big five in their own environment. To see the natural world at its best, and reconnect with an ancient time where the divide between humans and animals was less severe.

My experiences have made me think more and more about the parallels between ourselves and the lives of wild animals - how we are so similar in our motivations and actions yet in such different circumstances.

In Uganda I saw tree climbing lions sleeping contently in the afternoon sun. Their bellies fat from the morning hunt, they barely acknowledged our presence as we drove within meters of them, and they reminded me of the satisfaction of working hard and getting your just rewards, much like the feeling you get after a good steak and glass of obnoxious red wine at the end of a stressful week at work.

In holding a stare with a young male gorilla which I blogged about before, I felt a similar connection that I hold with my brother and sister. That natural presence that has always been there, is so familiar and comforting yet difficult to explain.

The mating behaviour of the Ugandan weaver bird involves the male building a small nest on the shores of Lake Edward to attract a female. She will inspect the nest, and if the construction is deemed to be adequate will remain with the her new mate. If not the male will smash the nest and start again. Although in the extreme, and though we probably would draw the line at bulldozing our house in its pursuit, our own behaviour to get girls probably isn't a million miles away from this.

In Kenya I was lucky enough to see a cheetah meander past on it's way to a nearby water hole. And it strikes me that all of the animals that I have seen, big and small, carnivores and grazing animals, all depend on a source of water to survive. Just as we do.

I've just finished reading an inspirational book by a Kenyan environmentalist who promotes the protection of, in particular, forestry in the Congo basin to maintain the lives of millions of Africans. The destruction of this valuable natural resource and other forests across the continent has lead to diminished water supplies in neighbouring communities because rain in not absorbed into the soil, and has also changed rain patterns both within the region and globally . It has helped me understand how essential promoting environmental sustainability is within the development model to improve Africa's future as we rely on our water sources to thrive just as animals do.

Of course, there are huge differences between animal and human behaviour and societies. Our societies work on the basis of shared beliefs and cultural norms, where in the main behaviours like killing and taking from each other what is not yours are punished whereas kindness, good citizenship and hard work are rewarded.

In the developed world at least, most societies recognise that we are born with equal rights. That under international charter, we should be free from persecution regardless of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation or political opinion. For me, this conviction is what separates us from animals. This makes us human.

On Kenya's East coast I encounter the worst and best of humanity. In David Cameron's speech last week he called on developing countries to recognise gay rights under the legislative frameworks, or face a reduction or even withdrawal of aid money from the UK. Usually I disagree with anything the man says by proxy, but in this case I think he was spot on.

The reaction across the Kenyan media was scary. Politicians, writers and high profile media types came out in unison criticising the statement, saying that the UK and other donor countries should not be allowed to alter the cultural traits of the recipient country by placing restrictions on aid. But aid should have restrictions placed on it - governments with a sustained record in abusing human rights should not be able to access aid unchecked. Indeed, all development investment from donor countries must have strict conditions to ensure that the intended outcomes are properly monitored, that administration of the monies are free from corruption and that the monitoring process in transparent.

In Mombasa I meet a gay rights activist from the UK living in Kenya. She tells me that under Kenyan law, homosexuality is punishable by 14 years imprisonment. This is about the equivalent for murder, and six years more than convicted rapists can expect to receive. If any Kenyan citizen should become aware of someone who is gay, they have 24 hours to report this to the police or they face the same punishment.

Further, she tells me that gay women are subject to collective rape by the police to 'straighten them out', and others are subject to regular sexual abuse from officers when they are seen in the streets. I am filled with anger when she tells me this - no one should be subjected to this kind of persecution, regardless of what some Africans subscribe their 'culture' to be. This is clearly wrong in any context regardless.

This truly is the worst of humanity, but there are positives. People like the activists that I meet who are willing to place themselves in considerable danger to fight for the rights of oppressed minorities. Because they believe in the fundamental rights which should be afforded to all of us, not just a select few.

These people are our inspiration. They show us what humanity can be if we are prepared to fight for it. That although attitudes change as time passes, there are fundamentals which we, as a modern society, should be insisting on, not politely asking for.

One of my favourite ever quotes is "Our lives begin to end the moment we fall silent about things that matter" by Dr. Martin Luther King. I used it frequently at work, and it is with this kind of mantra that we must live our lives or else live under fear and repression from regimes with evil ideas.

We may be the same as animals in many ways, but for me this belief is what sets us apart. To fight tirelessly, and if necessary die for those ideals is a purely human trait. Only humans are able to have faith in their own species in this way. 

Perseverance

Summit view at Mount Kenya

This was my mantra for the past week:  "Left, right, left, right... Don't stop. Don't stop."

I'm just back from five gruelling days climbing Mount Kenya to raise much needed funds for the Alekii school. I was there to reach Lenana point which stands at almost 5,000 metres, the second tallest mountain in Africa after Kilimanjaro.

The mountain has a special significance in Kenya's tribal culture and political history. Kikuyu (the largest tribe in Kenya) believe that God came down to earth here, and that Mount Kenya is the throne on which he would sit. Across the region, most huts are built with the front door opening out towards the mountain, and graves are positioned so that the dead lie facing the peaks.

In the 1950's and early 1960's, during Kenya's state of Emergency towards the end of colonial rule, freedom fighters supporting the movement for independence ran to the mountain to avoid capture by the British. Tough men, they stayed in brutal conditions in caves, yet only survived because of the women in the local towns who would bravely supply them with food and supplies. When Kenya achieved independence in 1963, the national flag was raised at the top of the mountain as a gesture to those who had fought and died in the struggle.

My journey started on Monday where I met my "crew" - porter James, cook Charles and mountain guide Sammy who would accompany me to Lenana. Like all of the men from the local area working on the mountain, they are weathered and incredibly strong. Without their knowledge, perseverance and drive tourists like me would not be make the journey with a week's supply of food and equipment.

After some Colin McRae-esque (RIP) driving along muddy roads, we reach the Sirimon gate to the mountain which stands at 2,600m. By this point I could already feel the air thinning as we set off for the first camp, Old Moses. It was night when we finally arrived, and the combination of my uncomfortable hired hiking boots, wet gear and the onset on altitude sickness made me rethink what a significant challenge this was really going to be. Paracetemol and Imodium were to become two of my best new friends over the course of the week.

Over the next two days, as we climbed higher to the summit approach camp, Shipton, we would walk up to seven hours a day through the cold and rain. At night temperatures would fall well below freezing and the huts had no heating or electricity so it was impossible to properly dry out your gear before getting back into it the next morning.

On Thursday, the summit climb began at 3am, and a group of around ten set out with head torches looking like a gang of miners. This part of the expedition is the most dangerous, and just a few months back a girl had lost her footing and fallen over a ledge and sadly died. Later Sammy would tell me that someone dies every year at this part of the climb.

The ascent was extremely steep, at first on loose scree and then onto snow and ice as the temperature dropped rapidly. After two hours I had lost the feeling in both my hands and the cold burned my nose. My head torch began to flicker on and off as we rounded ledges with intimidating drops.

As the sun began to rise just before six we began our final approach to the summit. The rocks became steeper and it took all our concentration to remain on the path.

The feeling of exhausted, drunken euphoria is hard to convey in words, but even on an overcast day reaching the view from the roof of Africa was simply awe inspiring. I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful. At one point, just for a moment, the rising sun caught the tip of the neighbouring peak which shone like a beacon across the morning sky.

In all over five days we walked the equivalent of around one and a half marathons in freezing wet conditions. I'd climbed Mount Kinabalu a few years back so thought I knew what I was getting myself in for, but this was really on another level.

With lots of time to think over the week, I began to question the perseverance of the climbers. What was their drive? Why did they choose to do this?

For the tourists I think they came under one of two camps. There were the (mostly German) outdoor enthusiasts who were there just to be among nature, pure and simple. There were also tourists who wanted a unique badge to take home to their friends and families, to say proudly  that they'd conquered the mountain and show off their pictures.

For the locals, porters and cooks carrying enormous bags and heavy equipment, this was their livelihood. Their families depended on them to make it through to put food on the table or pay for their children's schooling.

In a similar way for the freedom fighters, persevering on the mountain was survival. Both for them as individuals and for a movement to Independence, which not only their families but their whole country depended on.

For me, this was definitely a challenge to raise money for the school. I thought about some of the kids that I'd spent time with on Rusinga at times when I wanted to give up. To get to the top was the aim, nothing more and nothing less.

As we left the gate on the final day, Sammy said to me that you go up the mountain one person, and another one comes down. I think this is certainly true in part, for everyone learns about themselves by testing how much they can endure. We grow in confidence and stature as we find out that we are capable of so much. And we realise that in life, things that are hard to achieve are worth our determination because they make us bigger people.

I like this quote which opens the door to all possibilities. "With ordinary talent and extraordinary perseverance, all things are attainable." We should take this view and continually challenge ourselves. 

PS - HUGE Thank you to everyone who has already pledged to donate towards Alekii's new school building. So far we have raised over £1,500 which is fantastic, but there is still so much more to do. If you can, please pledge a donation at the bottom of the blog. Much love. Dave x

Challenge

As I write this I can hear children singing their songs as the golden morning light paints a wonderful picture over the Alekii school here on Rusinga Island. My favourite is about their morning routine:

"...I brush my teeth/

I comb my hair/

I have a cup to tea/

I run to schoooooooooool!..."

This always makes me smile. Even at this tender age I think they appreciate how lucky they are to be getting an education at all, there are so many more who sit idly by the beaches watching the world go by, passive observers.

Most of them are orphans, with many of them having lost parents to HIV/AIDS which has ripped the community apart. Despite all the hardship they have been through, they are full of youthful joy and energy, and you can see their various talents shining through in the form of academic ability, artistic temperament and athletic ability. Each pupil is good at something, and they are rightly proud of it.

Sadly, the building which they are taught in is decaying. An old shack of a house, wind blows through the rafters and the old iron sheet roof creeks anxiously. Cracks big enough to put your arm through streak the walls inside. Many of the parents talk about their concern that one day the house will collapse and their children will be trapped inside or worse, that the children would be crushed.

The Alekii Self Help Group, a community based organisation who maintain the school through their own donations have confirmed that they need to be out  January  next year, and so have just two months to raise $8,000 to build a new school of three new classrooms which would allow more pupils to enrol whilst providing a safe environment for the children to learn in.

Mount Kenya

It's for this reason that I've decided to do some fundraising of my own. Next week I will be climbing Mount Kenya, the second tallest mountain in Africa after Kilimanjaro. It is a difficult five day climb with altitude sickness being likely, and the small rains have just started so I expect to have to battle through the weather, but it will be worth it if we can raise some money and get this new school built.

 So far this has been something of a one-way monologue from me, but now I want you to get involved. I'm going to get the fundraising started with £300 and I'd like to try and raise £2,000 eventually. If you can, please support me in doing this for Alekii. 100% of all donations go direct to the construction of the new school, there is zero administration in this charity as no one draws a salary, and all materials are donated by members. Please post your name and donation amount in the comments field underneath, and I'll transfer on your behalf.

Pamela

You'll be helping children like Pamela, who lost her parents to HIV/AIDS early in her life. She lives with her aunt and uncle who already have three children. With just a fisherman's salary between them,  they would not be able to pay the government school fees and she would not receive an education at all. If the Alekii school is forced to close, it will be children like Pamela who will miss out on a critical stage of their development, and be severely limited in reaching their potential for the rest of their lives.

If you can, please support Alekii today by sponsoring me in this challenge. I guarantee that your donation will be wisely spent, and to these children it could mean the difference between achieving their potential and a life consigned to poverty.

Thank you all.

Simplicity

So this is village life. I am in the beautiful Rusinga Island on the shores of Lake Victoria in South West Kenya. I arrived by boat after a seven hour bus ride from Uganda about a week ago, just as the sun set over the volcanic hills that dominate this impressive landscape. I am here to volunteer for the Alekii Self Help Group, a community based organisation who run a school for around 50 vulnerable children on the island.

As the light faded, I took a motorbike taxi (boda boda) through Mbita which is the local town. Women fan their fires by the road side preparing their evening meal, whilst men cast off into the lake on small wooden fishing boats which look impossibly fragile yet seem to perform their task ably.

As we passed the outskirts of the town we are plunged into darkness, and bounce along a dusty dirt track which leads to my new home. I am introduced to my family, mama and baba who are to be my surrogate parents for three weeks, and brothers and sisters who greet me affectionately.

They live in a humble yet welcoming house. Inside, light warms the interior from gas lamps, and I am drawn the shadows of framed pictures and certificates of achievement which are proudly hung with nails and string around the living room. There is no running water or electricity here, and the latrine is something to behold.

My shower

My routine here is straight forward. The family donkey as my alarm clock, I am up around 5.30 every morning to train with my new brother Evans who is a semi-professional kick boxer. We run under the sunrise as roosters sing their morning songs, pass bemused villagers who rarely encounter mzungo (white person) in this corner of Kenya before I learn how to fight. Evans tells me that he had the opportunity to compete in national championships some years ago, but the family could not afford the bus fare to Mombassa on the other side of the country so sadly he couldn't go.

In the mornings I work with Francis Opiyo who is the project co-ordinator for the group, a skilled web developer and computer technician who leads on much of the work the Alekii group does. He is passionate about education, and the plight faced by many children on the island.

HIV/AIDS has decimated the local population, with estimates of 40% infection rate being given by the government. This is the worst affected region in the country for this terrible disease, and it has resulted in a huge number of orphaned children who face challenges in accessing food and essential primary education. 70% of pupils at the school are total orphans, and without the Alekii school, it is highly likely that these young, bright children would not receive any schooling at all.

And we are working hard. In a chance meeting with the local District Development Officer, we are made aware of a grant opportunity for innovative projects which support the millennium goals. The only problem is that the deadline is the next morning, so we work through the night on a proposal for $20,000 for a sustainable farm which would provide income and food for the school and its pupils. We find out whether we were successful this month.

More pressingly, I am also working on an emergency appeal for a new school building as the Department of Health have recommended that the school move premises immediately as the current building is not up to standard. At present there are not funds for this, and it would leave the pupils without education as most cannot afford the small fees levied by the local government primary school. 

In the afternoons I return to the school to coach the football team, borrowing boots which are two sizes too small yet preferable to attempting to play football in my clown-esque running shoes. I've realised that there is no better sound in the world than children laughing and screaming as the chase the ball, and they celebrate like Premier League stars when they score which makes me laugh.

Evenings are for family meals of fresh fish and ugali. and I sit outside with baba listening to how he sees the world. He is wise, and has lived through droughts,  the struggle for independence, and more recently the violence which marred the 2007/8 election.

The family are not rich by any means, but compared to many of the children at the school who are sometimes forced to survive on just a chapatti a day for food, they are comfortable.  Before retirement, both baba and mama were teachers, and their passion for education has led them to also be involved in the Alekii school. The brothers and sisters work hard as boda drivers, hotel managers or around the home where they grow maize and wheat as well as delicious bananas, pineapples and oranges.

They are rightly proud of their children who are educated and intelligent, and of the success they have made of the family home. They are, in the main, happy people who are a joy to be around and I feel privileged to be welcomed into their family.

Here I am fit and healthy, and I laugh heartily every day with brilliant people who have learned to appreciate what they have, rather than wish for what they do not.

"Simplify, simplify" is a Henry David Thoreau quote which is appropriate here. I think he meant that to be happy and contented we should strip our lives of the extras which in reality are not important. By doing this, we learn more about ourselves, each other, and the world we live in, which is a gift that we should treasure. This is village life. 

We are rich

"We are rich because we have life" said Mavis who works at the volunteer centre, Uganda Lodge, which I have been staying at for the last two weeks. A simple truth, but an important one. This post is dedicated to some of the brilliant people, and wonderful experiences I have had over the last two weeks.

 Jennifer - woman's group

"Before we were in darkness. Now we make a profit."

Jennifer, who is 34, invited me to her home in the Ruhanga village in South West Uganda. She is one of the leaders of a group of nine women who run a business together. They have a small stall by a busy road where they sell hand crafts, rugs, fruit and vegetables.

Jennifer received training from the Ruhanga Community Development Network in financial planning which allowed the group to understand how to record and analyse their financial performance to ensure they remain in profit. They currently generate a decent profit each week which is distributed between each member.

When I met Jennifer I was struck with her huge sense of pride in what she and her group had achieved. In this picture, she proudly shows off her certificate which she gained by completing her training. My work with Let Them Help Themselves has centred on fundraising for a new vocational training centre which will hopefully deliver similar skills to hundreds of entrepreneurs in the Rahunga community.

Wild gorillas

Uganda is home to approximately half of the world's wild gorilla population. Last week I visited Bwindi Impenetrable Forest where I had the privilege of sharing an hour with a family of seven or eight beautiful gorillas living in their natural habitat.

Two experiences jump out. First, we are briefed not to run if the gorillas charge us. "They are just playing" smiles our ranger to us as if they were puppies rather than animals with the strength to snap your neck with one hand. If you retreat, they will sense your fear and attack.

Sure enough, when I was standing at the front of the group just five meters from a young male he charged through the undergrowth, smashing trees as he ran towards us. A German tourist next to shrieked and ran behind me while I yelled at the top of my voice 'Stand still or we'll all be killed!". That said, I did stand firm and the gorilla came within about one or two meters of me before walking away.

Second, and less adrenalin inducing, I asked the ranger if maintaining eye contact was a sign of aggression. He reassured me that this was fine, and I was able to hold a friendly stare with another young male for about three or four minutes. This family had only recently been habituated, and I think he was as fascinated with me as I was with him.

When the time came to leave I waved him goodbye, and he immediately rolled over and dramatically covered his eyes with his forearm as if to say "Just go then". Maybe it was just coincidence, but I like think he was as sad to see me go as I was to leave him.

Justice - local businessman

Justice also received business training through the Ruhanga Community Development Network. He now runs a successful business which is a hair salon in the local town. He proudly talked me through how he had constructed the small shack with an iron roof. Inside the salon was decorated with political posters, and a radio stands tall over a bench where local men sit and discuss the events of the day.

Justice also runs a successful agricultural business, and is the chair of the community development network which will oversee the new centre. Energetic and intelligent, here is proof that the way forward for developing countries like Uganda comes from empowering people, rather than creating a culture where people are dependent on handouts and aid.

Isaac - pupil at Ruhanga Community Nursery and Primary School

Isaac is studying at the Ruhanga Development primary school. He lives close to the school and walks in every day which takes about half an hour each way. He lives at home with his mother, brother who is eight and his sister who is seven. When I met him, he is bright and happy, and I am struck by his huge grin which is making me smile even as I write this.

When asked about what his favourite thing about school is, he said that loves playing with his friends at break time. The school has a playing field, but it is full of potholes, stones and uneven ground making it impossible to play any organised sport on. I think we all remember something positive about playing sport as kids. For me it was always football in primary school which was as good as religion for us when we were 10.

Working with a volunteer with a background in teaching children sport,  I put together a fundraising email which raised over £1,500 to be used to level the playing field an install new equipment and a playground for the school.

They will now be able to introduce sport into their lessons, and I feel proud that something I did will benefit hundreds of children for years to come.

I think that what Mavis meant when she said that we are rich because we have life is that we have choices, that we are free. And that is precious above all else. We are free to better ourselves, show kindness or give ourselves to others. Free to love and also to lose love, but then free to grow and heal.

Satre said that 'We are condemned to be free'. The ultimate paradox, he meant that we are responsible in an absolute sense for everything that we do. The freedom that comes with being human is not something we choose, it is our humanness.

Freedom that we have gives rise to the choices that we make, and consequently the experiences that we have. Combined, these are life. And it's awesome.