At the moment I have extended tourist visa which expires in three weeks. I should have a working permit by now but due to some minor problems, like not doing the paperwork, I still don’t have it. Today I went back to the immigration office where I had been already a day ago.

Two weeks ago in Dar es Salaam I was told that I have to start the process in the regional office which to me means Mwanza. I was forced to make up another story there in Dar to get any kind of visa to stay in the country until my return to Mwanza to start the process. So I wrote a letter to one of the directors who gave me a one month extension for my tourist visa. That month were supposed to give me enough time to apply for working permit.

Working with a tourist visa is not legal. So this means that I haven’t really worked here yet, I have only being a tourist – right! The story continues something like this. I came to Tanzania as a tourist. Then I fell in love with the country and used my three months enjoying being a tourist. After three months I wanted to stay for one more month, which is the story for the extension. During my “holiday” I visited a Butimba teachers college and they really needed me to start teaching sports there. Now I am volunteering to do it and that is why I am applying for working permit after these four months of being a tourist. Imagine all this could have been fixed already in Finland, but why make things easy when there is a possibility for confusion and complications.

So with all my papers; three applications, reference letter from the Butimba College, reference letter from the Ministry, copies of my studies and CV, copy of the passport, six passport pictures and 120 dollars, I marched back to the immigration. Day earlier I had already spent an hour there trying to find information how to proceed. They had only one advice, go back to Dar. I refused to do so I was asked to come back the next day, today.

When I walked to the office, everyone smiled. There were probably ten people behind the counter and one had some work-related things to do. Others were gossiping or talking about world’s hunger, I couldn’t tell which. They all remembered me from yesterday. They started to look at each other like nobody wanted to help this Mzungu, it means lot of work.

One lady was the unlucky one and we started from the beginning. I had the same story as I had the day before. She had the same advice as the day before, go back to Dar. After half an hour of not-going-anywhere talks I was asked to visit the regional director. He was also on a good mood and started laughing. He said that he was already wondering when I was returning. So he had heard about my case. He made some phone calls and the result was to send all the papers via mail to Dar es Salaam. I asked how long it would take, since my visa was expiring. He said no problem; it will be here in three weeks. And let me tell you, I have never heard a working permit which was issued in three weeks, closer to three months, I would say.

Anyway, now my papers and 120 dollars are on their way to Dar via mail. And we know how reliable mail is in this country. I have a receipt of sending the papers but in case they get lost, that is not going to do me any good. It is just a proof that I have sent them.

Next three weeks I will be waiting for my permit. In case I don’t get it I will have to leave the country and apply for another tourist visa to come back. I don’t even want to think that yet.

28.4.2008 Classes are supposed to start at 7:40. Teachers come when they feel like it. I think this is a universal problem. Students wait, and if waiting time keep getting longer, they leave.

Classrooms are plain gray with concrete walls and floors. There are no classes on windows. There is no need for them. There are some desks or chairs but never enough. Those that are there are broken and rarely attached to the chair. When students come into the classroom, and there is no time limit for them, they come and go as they pleas, they go back out to find something to sit on during the class. You will see three or four students sharing one chair or one desk top. Not one has his own chair and desk for a space. Those who come later are forced to stand on the side or sit on the floor.

Students don’t have any bags with them. They usually carry one notebook and in some cases one pen. If the teacher writes something on the chalk board, they copy them from word to word. There are no books so all the information they receive comes from the teacher.

Class size varies between 30 and 80. That means that only teaching method is teacher’s monotonic preaching. Unfortunately teachers are not very qualified here; therefore there are lots of problems with passing correct information.

Today I witnessed a sports sociology class. First half an hour teacher tried to get students to tell the effects of using alcohol and smoking. I was in pain. They didn’t have a clue, not students or the teacher. I think the only conclusion was that one bear before sports is good since there are lot of calories in beer. I was sinking under the chair. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to interrupt teaching and I didn’t have enough vocabulary for jumping in right there. I decided to keep quiet.

During the class people come and go as they pleas. Cell phones are the biggest problem. If it rings you have to get it, it might be something important.

Teaching is supposed to be done in English. In most cases you will find teacher speaking Swahili though. Students don’t understand other wise, they say. Again I find that most students have learned all the specialties in each subject in English, and I rarely know what they are talking about. But when you go to the field, they don’t have a clue what to do. Students have a great memory and it shows.

Everyone wears nice clothes for school. Men wear dress pants and shirt with a tie. Women always wear dresses. I am the only one at the college who is wearing shorts.

Since it is a boarding school, you will see students in different places trying to find a place to study. Dormitories have 30-80 people in the same room, so there is no peace and quiet for studying there.

Meals throughout the day basically organise the whole day. After first classes, around ten, they have a tea break. Lunch is somewhere between two and three. Dinner is served at seven. There is meat usually ones a week. Other times, the meal includes rice and beans or ugali (like mashed potatoes but made of maize) and beans. I don’t think the cook has too many difficulties with making up the weekly menus.

26.4.2008 We started three days ago in basketball. Next day we played football and this morning we played badminton. We have had three classes of sports so far and ladies are begging for more.

It makes me wonder what they teach at the college. They are supposed to be ready to go on the field in thirty days after being in the college only for a year. And what ever we have done so far have been new to them.

The educational system in Tanzania is in deep trouble. There are more children attending schools. The number of children born is not as much as it was in the history, but the number of children who attend school is bigger. More and more schools are being built and there aren’t enough teachers to fill the positions. Class sizes are getting bigger and bigger and new teachers are being sent on the field almost right after they express that they are interested in teaching. These days the teacher’s education lasts only one year. Year ago the studies lasted two years, and year before students were given one month crash courses after finishing the secondary school. The government seems to be totally lost with what to do with the situation.

During one school year each student should have 194 days of studies. Unfortunately it is not working. There are two month-long holidays during the year, one in December and one in July. Then there are all extra public holidays which are quite many. Then all the colleges have cleaning and maintaining days when students are doing gardening or what ever you can think of around the compound. Last but not least you add one month long block teaching practise and you are left with less than hundred days of studies.

In sports these hundred days are divided in theoretical and practical classes. For some reason teachers prefer the theory. So if you ask a student how many players are in a netball field or what a size for a handball field is, they all know the answer. If you ask them how to organise a sports lesion for 30 kids with five balls, they have no clue.

These ladies know the problem and now they are begging for me to help. I asked how often they wanted us to have sessions. They counted the remaining days of their studies, ended up in 31, and said everyday. So we made a schedule.

You would think that making a schedule is quite easy for college students who are all accommodated (except one day-student) at the college, and have no such attractions like TV or computers at the college, basically nothing else to do than study. Well, that is not the case. First you have to take into consideration the praying times. Some of them are Muslims, so let me tell you that there is plenty of praying sessions. Then they have the festering. It is impossible to exercise during festering, well in this weather anyway. Then they have these other engagements like attendance counting, assignments from the student government and of course the meals. Meals are at the certain time, if you aren’t there then, you will be left without a meal.

So we made a schedule which turned out quite good. Only challenge for me is the 6 o’clock mornings on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Well, if they want this that much I have to manage with our schedule.

So far I have only had one early morning. It was quite interesting to wake up at 5:40 and leave to college when it was still dark outside. You remember when it is dark here, it is dark. There aren’t any street lights. Well, we found our way to the college after hitting plenty of potholes.

All other classes except badminton we have had so far have been outdoors. Playing outdoors is different since then we seem to collect quite an audience around us. You don’t see women playing sports anywhere else so it is worth of coming to watch us.

Some of the girls have managed to found themselves sweat pants. Some have something which you can call sports shoes, not sneakers though. They are closer to skating shoes or free time shoes. Rest plays with the canvas shoes or with bare-footed. Then the Muslim girls wear their scarves. It would be impossible for me to manage to play wearing that but they seem to manage quite well. Anyway, the lack of equipment doesn’t slow us down. We are sweating like anyone who’s playing sports. One day though, I will go to town and find us some shorts. Let’s see if we get in trouble of showing our knees. I am looking forward to that!

24.4.2008 Back in Mwanza. It is so good to be back. I felt right at home and I have to admit that I missed the guys. I am not saying that I didn’t like Dar es Salaam. I did. I love Ulla-Maj’s cooking and it is nice to speak Finnish every now and then. But the hassle in the Ministry and uncertainty about the future was just getting to me. It was time to go “home”.

I was little worried since I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the house. I knew that the renovation was still there and it had stopped because of some unbalanced cheques. Fortunately they had “finished” the bathroom. The tub had been removed and a curtain replaced. The drainage system is not perfect but some of the water finds its way to the drain.

Next few weeks there will be guys coming and going, fixing and making a mess but after a while I’m sure the house will look great, well considering the standards here anyway.

I had an early flight and I was already in Mwanza at nine. I decided to go straight to the college. I wanted to see the students and think of something else than the Ministry and my research reports.

I walked by the volleyball field and saw for the first time a practical sports class in session. I decided to join them. For two hours we played, I was one of the students, while the teacher was running the class. It wasn’t a bad class but it was different. Teachers here like to hear their own voice so there was a lot of talk and only little activity. I have to do something about this...

After the class ladies gathered around me and asked if I could help them. They had seen me play with the primary school kids and wanted me to teach them different sports just like I had been teaching the kids. I was flattered. Of course I wanted help them. We made a plan to meet later at four at the field.

At three I was at the field with my ten basketballs (thank you Ulla and the Finnish Basketball Federation for sending them here, we really needed them). Some kids joined me and we started to play. More and more kids of different ages arrived. Soon there were forty of us on the court. It was amazing.

At four the ladies, eight of them, from the PE class joined us. I had to stop the others to start our session. It was heart-breaking but today it was ladies only. For two hours we played with the balls and I showed them some drills to be used when teaching kids. They seemed eager to learn.

The students are between 20 and 30 years of age. Some come directly from the Secondary School while some have been teaching already few years. In any case they don’t have much of a background in sports. Due to some cultural issues they seem to be in good shape though. They have good physical-motor ability and are quick learners. It wouldn’t take long for them to learn basics from each sport. But my main goal is to give them ideas how to work with kids. It is just a side-effect to improve their own playing skills.

After the class we gathered around and I asked how often they wanted to do this. I suggested once a week. They responded quickly, no – everyday! So we decided to start meeting everyday after classes, going through sports one by one. We will start with the ladies but soon we had to get boys involved also. But ladies first!

Today I also met Mama Rose. She is an elderly ICT volunteer from UK. I had heard from many people that she is a great person and that I would have lot of fun with her. I was eager to meet her. She had been on a holiday for a month but had returned two days prior. I heard that and went looking for her.

She is just like everyone said, nice, warm and very talkative person. We hit it off right away. It was great to get things out. I could see that she needed it also. She had worked here for 18 months and was fed up with lot of things. Since nobody else was seeing the problems she had been facing she had started to think that the problems were in her head. Well, we talked and seemed to be frustrated with the same issues. It was really something we both needed.

After having great time with her, she dropped the bomb on me. She was leaving. She had asked for a transfer to somewhere else and now she had received a green light. She is leaving soon. It was bad news for me. Just when I thought that I had found a person from “home” who could be the shoulder to lean on when needed. Well, fortunately I still have the guys at the house.

23.4.2008 First of all, I was supposed to have the presentation at ten. At 10:30 I was invited in. Waiting in the secretary’s room was an experience. Room is divided from the middle by a removable wall. Guests are supposed to wait behind the wall. Two secretaries have little space for each. They have computers and see to know how to use them. They are probably the only ones in the building since people come and go asking them to print, write or copy something for them. There is only one printer and it is running out of ink. It doesn’t slow them down.

While waiting, people come and go. After greeting us, they stay and wait. They are very patient. They know that it might take an hour or three but if they don’t wait they don’t get a chance to meet who ever they want to meet. Scheduled meetings are a luxury and has another meaning here. I was having one but was still waiting just like the others.

Entering an office is another thing. Knocking is very rear. Usually you just open the door and say “hodi” (it means something like can I come in but seem to include self-invitation already). It is polite to reply by saying “karibu” (you welcome). This is the most used line in the country. Where ever you walk people say that. I first thought that they are inviting you in, which is also one of the meanings for the word, but in most cases “karibu” is just said to acknowledge that you are there.

When ever you are in a meeting with someone (or at the doctors as I recently learned), it is usual for people to just parch in without knocking. Then knowing that they just interrupted someone they continue with their matter and when leaving, thank politely. Being an important person, you really need to know how to multitask. Otherwise you would not manage to take care all these matters around you; instead they would pile up on your desk and get lost in the non-existent filing system.

When it was finally my turn, I entered. It was a regular office, one without a computer. It differed from other offices since it was the Director’s office, it had air-conditioning. The desk and the “conference table” (four little tables put together) were full of piled files. I quickly counted 12 piles which had at least 20 files in each. I could see the problem of lost papers if they were left without looking after. You really needed to carry your “business” from one person to next until you were finished with your case. Fortunately I only needed to give out my presentation.

Mama (Mrs.) Rose Masenga is the Director of Education. Here she is the head of the Ministry if you leave out the politicians who keep changing quite often. To me the politicians, Ministers represent the face of the Ministry to the media and only cause harm when giving out statements (just like everywhere, right).

Mama Masenga is somewhere close to 60’s, quite slim and in good health considering. She has been a principal in numerous colleges (principals are re-posted quite often) so she knows already something about the reality. I didn’t have to start from the bottom.

Just like any other experienced (read old) person also Masenga likes to tell her “was stories”. The subjects wonder from her childhood to her becoming a widower and getting high blood pressure. I try to keep us on track but sometimes find myself giving her advices about daily exercises. I seem to be a personal trainer more than a researcher giving a presentation.

Two hours fly by and I know how good of a “sag-runner” she was as a child, how her health has changed after giving up the farm work and concentrating on her administrative job, and how playing cards and the game of Dominos need to be brought back to schools to ensure children’s mental development. In somewhere along the line I have given my results from the research but am not sure if the point was taken. We seem to agree in many things but seem to talk different language. In all things considered I grade my success A-.

After a successful day at the Ministry I continue to Air Tanzania to buy me a flight ticket. Before buying the ticket I decide to call to the guys to get the latest from the renovation at the house. They tell me that things are proceeding. We have a toilet and we have water. Only problem is that they are not cooperating with each other. I end up buying the ticket for next morning.

Getting back from town was the most toughest I had experienced here so far. First daladala came and people stuffed in. I was pushed from all directions and ended up waiting for the next one. It came after twenty minutes which meant that there was another crowd waiting to get in. I tried to be more aggressive but locals were smarter. They climbed in from the windows and before I knew it the bus was full again. I could have pushed myself in to stand on the edge but since it was raining I didn’t want to get all the mud from passing cars all over me. I decided to wait for one more. Ten minutes later it came. I could see people looking at the Mzungu. Will she make it this time? I decided not to be laughed at anymore. I put my elbows up and pushed myself in. I made it to the door which was a result of very impolite behaviour, not anything unusual for getting into a daladala. From the door I was quickly pushed all the way to the back. I ended up to the rear end with four others. The seat was taken out probably after being broken. There was a hole on the floor and I could see the street through it. I looked at the others expecting some kind of expression but found out that I was only one considering it strange. For them it was nothing unusual I could see. I stepped back a bit more so that I wouldn’t step on the hole when the car started moving. The others occupied the space immediately and I was having some safety from them.

The ride back was usual, smelly, sweaty, uncomfortable and long. Only difference with the previous experiences I had had was that we run out of gas somewhere. Again I found it strange but others didn’t seem to mind. The cashier or conductor, as it is called here, took a water bottle which seemed to have something inside, fuel I assumed, and emptied it into the tank. Three minutes later we continued like nothing had happened. I made it home.

22.4.2008 I walk to the internet café every day. I walk the same route which passes the upper-middle class houses. The road is full of pot-holes just like everywhere. Only difference is that all houses are fenced by a high, electrical wall and there is a guard in front of each gate. When the gate opens you can get a glimpse of lives behind the walls. The contrast between these houses and the real life in Tanzania is huge. It is good to have walls in between so that we, who can’t afford it, don’t know if the grass is greener on the other side.

This is the forth day in a row I walk here. Same four guys have gathered under a tree which seems to give them shelter from the rain and sun. Their little shelter offers them also a place to stay overnight. They seem happy, partly because they are smoking weed, partly because of their lifestyle – peace and love, man!

Since I have greeted them in previous days they decide to approach me this time. They are cooking something for lunch and ask me to join them. I am hungry but decide to pass. The tree, their shelter has knitted caps hanging from the branches. They are for sale. That is their way to earn some money for their next meal. More people appear from somewhere. I am surrounded by a reggae-loving Rasta gang. They insist on teaching me how to knit. I don’t know if I should tell them that I already how, or stay and study. I end up making up a lie that I am in a hurry. I don’t even believe it myself. They take it well and invite me back when ever I have more time. I promise to come back the next day.

Under another tree I pass four elderly women who have their own “private” business of making smaller and even smaller stones from bigger ones. They sit on the ground and chat loudly. Each has a big pile of same sized stones (each has a different pile with different stones) between her legs. They hammer stones with a bigger stone to make them smaller. They don’t have any tools. They are surrounded by piles of stones, each pile separated and neatly finished. It reminds me of spices sold at the market. Stones are just bigger but piled the same way. I stop and greet them. I am impressed. I tell them in Swahili that they are doing a great job. They get excited and start speaking fast. I have no idea what they are saying, but I know that they like my presence. They are proud of what they are doing. I look around and see a little shelter in the back corner. That seems to be their night shelter. I have a bottle of water with me. I see them looking at it. I offer it to them. They take it and share it like it was the biggest treasure. I can only imagine that it was all they “earned” that day. Still they seem happy, are proud what they are doing, and seem to enjoy each other’s company. I wonder how long it will take for me to have the same perspective for life.

Third familiar face is the lady selling bananas. She has a basket which she carries on top of her head. Then she stops in different corners under a tree to wait for customers. I have never seen anyone buying any but she keeps on smiling at me. I stop and buy three. I think that was her sale for today. I only hope I was wrong.

Under another tree I see same guys sitting and spending time. I think they work in one of the houses nearby, do some gardening. It seems to be time for a break; actually I always seem to pass them when they are on a break. It is to hot to work anyway, so I understand that they rather sit under the tree and chat.

The other faces which seem to be familiar belong to young men who cut grass along the roadsides. They use two-feet-long knife which cuts from both sides. So with one arm-swing back and forth they can cut quite a lot of grass. It is the only grass-cutter that I have seen here. It is used widely around the country. Students use it when maintaining college compounds, gardeners use it to moa the lawn, and roadside workers use it to cut the hey and bushes along the roads. It seems to work well and is environment-friendly. It doesn’t matter if it rains or shines, these young men continue their work bare-chested. They stop to greet me and I am more than happy to respond.

Along the road there is also the Yacht club of Dar es Salaam. It is very closely guarded and only members get in. So every now and then you see a Mercedes pass by on its way to the club only to disappear behind the gates.

You know that the road is inhabited by Mzungus when you see a local young man running in his slippers with two dogs on the side. He is walking somebody’s dogs. Another evidence is seeing two ladies at their fifty’s power-walking while carrying weights in their hands. The contrast between them and a local lady carrying a water bucket on her head on the same road just makes me smile. I wonder how stupid do I look with my shorts and sleeveless shirt wearing slippers walking to the internet café and back day in and day out.

21.4.2008 Shopping hysteria hit me when I saw the variety of things in Dar. The woman in me took over and I shopped like crazy. I found myself buying dishcloths, detergent, disinfectant toilet cleaner, dish brush and all other you-can’t-live-without things. Boys will be so happy when I get back to Mwanza.

Actually it is a great time to be away from there. There is some renovation projects going on and today I heard that they are without water (no shower, no toilet) for a week while they re-do the whole toilet and bathroom space. There is no hurry in Africa so week might be even longer. For some reason I decided not to hurry back home.

Instead I decided to take care of some business. I needed a haircut so I decided to give another try to my Moroccan friend. This time the experience was different in other ways. I told him not to shave it but to cut it quite short anyway. He followed my “orders” and it was looking ok. But of course at the end he needed to leave his footprints. He took some gel and made it look funky, as he put it. Well, I rushed home and into a shower, took the scissors out and finished the due. I don’t know why I always have so much trouble with my hair. Maybe I will shave it all away next time.

I have been in Dar nearly a week now. I have been writing the reports every day but they don’t seem to get ready. Tomorrow I will have another presentation at the ministry. This time the director will be present.

Spending time in Dar is usually great. I know my way around and there are so many good places where to eat that the decision making is actually hard (imagine me having problems with making decisions). But now that it is raining all the time, it is actually quite boring here. Fortunately I have my reports to write. So now there are no excuses for me not writing them. There isn’t really anything else to do.

The life in constant rain is something different. The roads are muddy and sometimes there are no other ways to get by than walk in knee-deep muddy potholes. At first I tried to avoid it as much as possible but now I don’t care anymore. It is inevitable to go straight into a shower each time I get home, anyway.

I am becoming best friends with a guy in internet café. Since it is raining the power keeps going off quite regularly. I enjoy listening music and chatting there so sometimes while waiting for the power to come on again I just hang out there. Actually at the moment we have been waiting for an hour. Maybe I need to get a life, well at least some food...

19.4.2008 Three months and I haven’t swum in the Indian Ocean. Well, that needed to be fixed right away. I can see the Ocean from Onnela but there aren’t many places nearby where you can swim. There is the Coco Beach which is popular among locals but it is not clean enough for us Mzungus. So we jumped into a car and headed to Silver Beach.

It is only 20 km to North but driving in Dar es Salaam is terrible. Now that it is raining all the time everyone is using the tarmac roads. There aren’t that many of them so all those who have cars seem to enjoy the same routes.

Driving in a queue is ok if you are not in a hurry. But here the two-lane traffic turns into six-lane traffic as soon as there are more than two cars on the road. Then driving turns into a nightmare. I decided to sit back and just enjoy the craziness around me.

After an hour and a half we made it to the beach. Day was already turning into night so we had a quick dip in the Ocean. Afterwards we wondered along the beach in different hotels comparing their prices and what they had to offer. I thought I had better value for my money in Onnela. We drove back “home”. 

I’m an alien. I’m an illegal alien. You remember when I got here in January and I was wondering what kind of visa I was supposed to take. I was told to take a tourist visa, which lasts for three months. I was told that my working permit will be taken care of during that time.

Now it has been three months since I arrived and nothing has happened with my working permit since I came. So last two days I have spent time in the immigration which is the place I swore I never wanted to visit again. Well, never say never, that is something I should’ve learned by now.

After huge hassle and running from one office to another, and writing dozens of forms, I was finally given a month long extension. So now I have one month time to find myself a Tanzanian husband or travel abroad, come back and apply for another tourist visa. I don’t know which sounds better!

So I have been here for three months now. Originally this was the time when we were supposed to finish the research and hand out the final report. I am happy to say that we have almost reached that point. We have visited 32 colleges out of 33. Well mama has visited 25 but who’s counting. There is still one more college waiting for us (me) out there. And when I say out there I really mean out there. It is in the Southwest corner of the country. Taking a bus from Dar es Salaam to the place takes two days. From Mwanza I don’t know but since the roads are worse on that side I would assume that it takes three days.

I don’t think it will change the outcome to visit the place but you know how it is. If there is only one place that you haven’t reached you just can’t leave it like that. You really want to go there and finish what you have started. Well, to be honest the Prime Minister comes from this final place called Sumbawanga, so of course we have to go there. It would be a political suicide not to visit it. Although we still have to wait a while for the rains to stop.

While waiting I have started to write the reports. I knew it was going to be lot of work but I assumed that I was doing it together with mama Qaresi. Well, she has no computer skills and since she has lost all her notes somewhere during our journey, there isn’t much that she can do for us. We met at the ministry one day and started working together but soon I realised that if I wanted to get this job done I just needed some space and time alone. So I have been writing everyday and even some nights.

Yesterday we had our first presentation at the ministry. The head of the University of Dar es Salaam was also attending. I hadn’t had enough time to prepare the presentation since we had just arrived a day before from last college visit. Fortunately things went ok. I think we succeeded quite well. It was a good start for the presentations to come. And I’m sure there will be plenty of them in the future. Actually the next one is on Tuesday. There will be other people from the Ministry and also representatives from the Finnish Embassy coming. I never knew how big this was growing.

Ari and Tor have gone back to Finland. They will be coming again some time in the fall. So at the moment I am on my own. Well, it is just like it has been since I arrived. But having Tor in the country somewhere has brought me some comfort that at least there is someone I can call if I need to talk about something. Well, fortunately there is still Ulla-Maj, the lady who I am staying with during my visits in Dar es Salaam.

So I am still in Dar es Salaam. I have some presentations to do next week but then I am heading back to Mwanza. But now I have a free weekend ahead of me and I am planning on taking the most out of it.

17.4.2008 In Finland there is a saying that well-planned is half finished job. Here the saying could be well-planned equals to more work and lot of headache.

Again I learned quite fast that nothing goes like planned in Africa. Maybe we should stop planning so much. It is not worth it.

Things started already going wrong at the airport in Mwanza. I went to use the toilet and the lock broke on the inner-door. There was nobody there and no one could here me shouting. In a short time I could feel my heart bumping faster and I started sweating. What if nobody comes here and they are already boarding the plane. Fortunately I was travelling with Ari and I had my phone with me. I called him and he asked someone to come and help me. They had to break the lock to get me out. I was embarrassed but relieved.

In Dar es Salaam it was raining. I rushed straight from the airport to Ministry to work with mama on our reports. I had called her and asked her to start working so that we could just compare our notes and combine them for the final report. Well, she hadn’t done anything. I remembered that she had lost her notes already somewhere on our journey but still, she could have done something to be prepared.

Trying to work in the Ministry was a mistake. First of all the office is small and there is no air coming in from anywhere. Then it is a custom here to open the door without knocking and start discussing what ever you had in mind it. Only when leaving they might apologise for the disturbance. So during the eight hours we tried to work, we didn’t get anything done. I knew I had to go and do the writing somewhere else.

Another problem rose when we tried to contact some people by calling them. First of all mama Qaresi doesn’t want to use her phone for any business calls. We have been using mine through our journey but now I didn’t want us to use it. We were at the Ministry and I thought it was time for them to take some responsibility.

Calling to people from the office phone is not that simple. Everything goes through an operator here. So every time we needed to reach someone we had to call to an operator, give her the number and then wait for the operator to call back to connect the call. And if the line was busy we had to start from the bottom after few minutes.

I got to Onnela at seven. We had left early from Mwanza and I had only had some fruits for breakfast. I was starving. But I knew I could trust on Ulla-Maj. She didn’t let me down. We had an awesome dinner: tomato soup and lasagne plus ice-cream for dessert. I was in heaven!