Time isn't always money

Though I was always taught that short-term thinking is more prevalent in developing countries, where life expectancy is generally lower and the opportunity cost of future planning too great, in the short-term, there appears to be no shortage of time.  A friend and colleague coming on an exchange to our UK office during what was his first trip ever out of Indonesia, said to me that one of the largest differences between his diverse island nation and mine, apart from the freezing cold (it was actually far from freezing, poor lad), was the pace at which people walked around.  The rushing of people between offices, to lunch, along pavements, was alien to him, and left him struggling to keep up.  Somehow in the short-term, developing countries* have much more time.

And a lot of them spend this time making things.  Or talking.  They spend a lot of time talking, and laughing, which I commend.  Here are two beautiful pieces of evidence that I’ve come across in the last two weeks.

Scaffolding

The scaffolding that decorates the outside of the water tank tower.

 A close up of the walk-way. 

I’ve never seen such beautiful scaffolding.  It was built to help build (jenga in Swahili) a 50 litre capacity, 6m elevated water tank in a village called Lyowa, far south in the district of Mtwara on the coast of southern Tanzania.  Its completion is a bit behind schedule (surprisingly?), but by the end of the year it should be holding water that will be distributed to five surrounding villages, none of which have anything like a sustainable water supply at present.  In Lyowa village itself, you either have to queue for over 12 hours or travel 7km to collect water.  So this new infrastructure will make an enormous difference to the many many people.  TAEEs has been coordinating this project, and getting irate with the contractors (the ones that run and up and down this scaffolding in wellies).  I got to the first horizontal platform, looked up, and came straight back down.  To be fair, it was more the capacity for it to hold me and the 90kg guy coming up behind me that spurred my descent.

The cashew nut

(korosho)

The fruit and nut from a cashew nut tree that I accidentally pulled off.

Though God or some kind of creationist or maybe even Brian made the cashew nut, not the Tanzanians, they are responsible for getting the nut out of its tight case and roasting it for the perfect amount of time.  Man, I’ve not tasted cashew nuts so good in all of my 30 and a bit years.  Each fruit yields one nut, and one small bag (say 500g) of cashews contains about 100 nuts, so that’s a lot of fruit to collect, nuts to free and roasting to do.  And I bought around 3kg for approx. £20.  An example of how some things in this world aren’t quite fair, perhaps. 

But then when you’ve got the time, and don’t have the money, time spent of any activity, however arduous or exhausting, that will yield even some small pennies, is worth the time investment.  Below is an extreme example: a woman, sat in a very exposed area, breaking big pieces of hard volcanic rock into smaller pieces, in the hope that someone will come by at some point, choose her pile over the many adjacent ones, and buy a few buckets worth.  Hard hot work.   

A lady breaking big rocks into smaller ones, with the TAEEs crew in the background doing some filming, whilst buying 10 buckets from another lady.

But even in the UK, ‘craft’-work is rarely rewarded for the time and skill put in.  When you work out the hourly labour fee for the teddy bears and bunnies (and now even woolly elephants), that a friend of my Mum makes with the wool from our flock of sheep, it comes out at about £2.  Way below the minimum wage. 

But it’s not about that, is it?  Nothing is quite that simple.

*though I hear Indonesia is now a middle-income country, probably in a great part thanks to the power of palm oil

*Mzungu tena

My residence for the first week, right next to the coast in Mtwara.  Unfortunately Week II has mostly been spent in an air-conditioned office, with the smell of chicken poo fertiliser wafting in from outside - reminded me of home.

I am back in the land of the Wabongo - blessed Tanzania, as my hosts and many of the country’s Christian population would say.  Apart from a 12 hour escapade 7 years ago, most of which was spent on a bus not really knowing what was going on (not much new there then), I’ve not been for over a decade.  I spent seven, mostly very happy months here on my gap yaarr.  Oh, and got malariaaah (but didn’t chunder everywhaaar, unlike my unfortunate friend).

A pretty good Government built road and a nice big tree.

I’ve come back for just under a month to volunteer for the NGO that my Tanzanian friend, Hilda (whom I lived with back in 2003 in the village of Mangalali, close to Iringa), works for.  It’s called the Tanzania Association of Environmental Engineers.  Despite only knowing about half of the sector, Hilda has been asking for help for a while, and the opportunity to lend it came with the end of my current contract and the unlikelihood of an extension.  A few days later, after I’d pitched the idea to Hilda and the excited emails were flowing in, my contract got extended.  Oops.  Thankfully, after a glass of fine wine, my good boss excused me for a month anyway.  Lucky Lyd.

So, here I am.  I’m becoming comfortable with persistent beads/torrents of sweat, loving cassava for breakfast, dealing with discerning stares whilst running in the morning, and loving when a smile happens instead, filling in the many gaps in my Kiswahili language skills, pole pole, and generally welcoming a sunny, green change of scene from a London November. 

I’ve got a few blogs brewing about the work I’m attempting to help TAEEs with, which I will post on here soon.

Na sasa, usiku mwema.

(And now, good night.)

*No need to explain this if you’re a white European that’s visited anywhere in East Africa, but for those who haven’t, it means European and is mostly heard from the other side of the road, originating from a very little excited person with a high pitched scream, jumping up and down.  Mbongo is the less exhausted word for a native Tanzanian.

Undercover dinosaurs

I came across these guys a while ago in Oxford, whilst popping into the University’s Museum of Natural History.  Made me smile, so thought I'd share them.

A bunch of dinosaurs waiting patiently for their home to be refurbished.

A winter warmer

I found this poem on a friend’s blog a few years ago, and recently sent it on to another who was putting together an uplifting set of facts and thought pieces for a to-be divorcee. Though perhaps not immediately brightening, I find it inspiring. And wanted to put it somewhere I know I can find it (until the internet collapses and cockroaches take over the world anyway). It’s almost the right season. How is it possibly time for Christmas already?

The Snow Man

By Walter Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

For peat, not whisky's sake

In an attempt to set myself up as a ‘scientist’ and someone someone else might consider worth giving research money to at some point, I’ve starting another blog.  Greedy, I know.  It’s mostly about peat, obviously.  But not just peat – I’ve written about forests, Peace Park(s) and diggers so far too (though the latter were stuck in peat).  I aspire to blog like the Great Professor Corey Bradshaw one day, but for now, will try to make sensible comments on things that I feel passionate about: a location for all rants, ramblings and recitals of Dr Peatlands Cole, or Satellite Swampy, as a colleague affectionately (?) named me. 

Apologies for the blog title and lack of whisky.  Please send through any alternative suggestions.

Thank ewe to Wonky & the bells

During that same period of Lent, the lack of sugar gave me an opportunity to consider a nuanced set of sweet-as things in my life, for which I am extremely thankful. Here are two that made the bucket-list:

(i) Bluebells – Hyacinthoides non-scripta

One of the bluebell carpets at the Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew.

(ii) Lambs – Ovis aries (and ours in particular)

This one was a particular favourite of our family amongst this year’s newcomers to the Hollyhock Flock, and affectionately named Wonky because of his endearing asymmetrical face. Wonky will see the winter through, and unknowingly make our table all the richer next year.

Sweet success!

In days gone by, during the long-forgotten period of Lent, I mentioned that I’d given up added sugar.  I am happy to report that I not only survived the ordeal, I actually really quite enjoyed it (not to say that I am also now very much enjoying cake again).  Like with all general rules however, there were several exceptions, which I gracefully accepted:

(i)                  One mocha, which I bought one afternoon at work, towards the end of a long day, when I’d not been able to eat much all week due to a stomach upset – I felt the pick-me-up might be allowed? (rhetorical, I think)

(ii)                30^th birthday cakes of people I know well, and in particular those that their Mummys or Konditor & Cook had made (& I risked my life in Friday night rush-hour traffic to collect for a friend),

(iii)               Wedding cakes, obviously, and

(iv)              Custard, made by my Mummy, whose inventive logic won over my exhausted will power.

As an aside, I recently read an article all about sugar and our addiction to it.  It drove the break-down and development of new nations, in a way that we may be analogies with fossil fuels at the moment, and possibly water supplies in the future.  Perhaps something to think about next time I pop just one more marshmallow.