Kahunda
"Somehow Good, Somehow Not Good"
 

070921 On arrival the evening before, I had already been received by AIC aid worker Mary Jane with a nice meal. This was the morning for buying new paddles, finding out that the next gas bottle retailer is Mwanza, so we had to buy a paraffin burner, damaging our camera irreparably so we are left with low resolution mobile phone shots, repairing our winch, connecting to Vodacom Tanzania for an over 2000bytes/sec internet, that is 7 times the Celtel speed, with working Outlook and web upload, finding out that no bread is sold in Kahunga but that Marita, Mary Jane's house keeper can bake 5 piece of super bread if we bring the ingredients.

Photo: nearby sand beach, trees, wind but no waves...

A lady reports on VHF: that Dale will land in 5 minutes to bring a passenger and some shopping. Marita, answering (while baking our bread?), turns out to master the official airplane radio call exchange perfectly.

Photo: charmingly and professionally announced on short wave by all kinds of ladies, in Swahili, Dale arrived

Dale comes right over from the land side to land on the lake. Dogs start to howl and bark. They know who is coming.
Dale goes off home, but, he says proudly, you will see another member of the family.
At nine, I am eating again with Mary Jane, who loves the company, she usually eats alone, and she herself is very nice company indeed. Dale's son Joshua drives on the compound with his friend  Aaron, also a pastor's son, both in their early 20^s and on 250cc dirt bikes. From Mwanza over Shinyanga, 350 km, a 5 hrs drive (for them, not for me!). Dusty, dirty, endowed with ear rings and tattoo. Joshua and Aaron. Yeah, Joshua and Aaron.  They work for a gold exploration company, doing camp logistics. Shinyanga had been a camp check, this was family visit with possibly towing to Kahunda for repair some damaged glass fibre boats of Rubondo's wild rangers (Dale: "They won't pay entry"). 

070922

We are still enjoying our mooring in this little bay with nearby sand with trees, fresh wind and no waves. Dale lands. I had already reported our Rubondo incident by phone: "O, those guys!" Now he had read my report on the Rubondo extortion incident and told me friendly that by putting it on the internet in its present phrasing I showed no talent in keeping myself out of trouble. Anyone feeling any possible advantage in causing me trouble can send it to government and I would be out of the country. He read our discussion there concerning group guide fees (blacks $0.40 whites $10.00)  that the term white is not in his vocabulary. Indeed, the rangers� shiny folder (English only!!) distinguishes �non-East-Africans�, not whites. BBC World Service consistently uses �Sub-Sahara Africans� instead of blacks. Before I ever reached Africa I also thought it sound to spend some more digits in my distinctions. But by charging me, practically and gunpoint ("we will treat you as a poacher"), 25 times the local entry only because I came to inquire to see whether I could afford the fees these rangers make me feel quite white, and moreover, by shifting to those terms in the discussion the rangers did not seem to notice anything. Who is the racist? But of course all this was not Dale's issue. He described his life as a missionary and health aid worker in Tanzania as "skating on thin ice", "luckily" having survived thus far. Earlier he told me to have been reported by people to the government for just about any crime you can imagine. But he understood I am a "philosopher". We talked a bit about about philosophers in disgrace, philosophers in demand. His well taken words make me decide to have mindphiles.com password protected during the rest of the trip.

Photo: Dale and his son Joshua

The Rubondo wild rangers did not clearly signal they had the money for the repair to be done by Joshua and Aaron so the whole thing got cancelled. Instead, the launched race boat was used for some water skiing and pulling a small inflatable with Aaron or Joshua trying to stay on top, Dale's hand enjoying to move the throttle. While I regard it as my main achievement to have avoided becoming adult, here is a man who knows how to do that while at the same time having acquired adulthood as an option.
At night the captain cooked meat with rice for everybody - except Dale, who had to return. Even crew (normally on fish and maize porridge only) liked it.
We decide to stay one more day.

070922

As far as leaving or not, there turned out to have been nothing to decide about: rain caused an unusual  morning  headwind. Philemon was writing one A4 paper full. Yesterday, he had met a boy, may be 11 years old, herding cows with a beginning eye disease that he knows from cases in his surroundings is curable by operation. The boy's father was off, so he wrote him this letter. The boy stood waiting at the beach and went off with the letter.

16:00 I sit on the dhow, crew is on land. Doi comes with the canoe: "church people want to talk to you"
Church people?
Well, at least the group of five presented themselves as Africa Inland Church.
Two were introduced as balosi (cell representatives, a remnant from the Nyerere-soviet times). They were old and skinny and did not say a word.
A man, obese, as characteristic for African "leaders", did the talking. With serious face he assumed the status of authority. As a passionate collector of the African extortionist's rhetoric, I of course recorded the proceedings in detail:
The people in the village, Mr. Obese told, had been seeing the big dhow and now they were all fearing VERY much, so that is why the church leaders simply HAD to do something. He told me with a serious face that I had been WRONG in not reporting, and they had to follow the law and require from me information on my boat.
I clearly had to feel I was very much in the wrong and at the mercy of the powerful Mr. Obese. The gentlemen were clearly in search of something for which I should return something. I only had to wait and see how long it would take for the ceremonial to come to the money question.:
What is your business?
I have no business.
We would like to see papers.
I look at Mr. Obese, but he does not go on to specify.
Are you in charge of this control-operation Sir? When running a ship you need and have many papers. What papers exactly do you want?
Just eh...papers.
Yes but I have many. Do you want to see my passport?
No, we do not need your passport.
He clearly had no idea what papers he could expect for a dhow like mine, a fortiori had no idea how to check any of them.
I decided to help him and suggested I show boat ID, boat license, and Tanzania boat customs clearing.
This was exactly what Mr. Obese had in mind.
I went to the boat and took the documents.
When I returned, the two rottweilers, and an even bigger grey dog with its young, all from Dale's compound, had joined the company. The gentlemen were not amused.
Mr. Obese read one document, gave it to the right, read the second, and when he got to the third document all three semi-alphabetic chimps opposite me were lost in reading, so I could take a picture.

Photo: "church leaders" lost in shipping documents, right Mr. Obese

What is your business?
I have no business.
What cargo do you carry?
We carry no cargo.
But then, what is your business?
I have no business. I am just spending my money.
Where does the money come from?
I am smart and have been working hard. What do you think of my papers?
They are somehow good, somehow not good, Mr. Obese says, looking far with a worried face, as if he was pondering how to solve the difficult problem I posed to him with my defective documents. He continues: this document (customs clearing) says you go to Rubondo and Ukerewe, but Kahunda is not mentioned.
How does a boat go from Rubondo to Ukerewe?
Mr. Obese does not wish to give the obvious answer (you pass Kahunda), but sighs and look serious. He clearly wishes me to think he has a big problem with me.
So now what is your business here?
I do no business. Business people go somewhere and come back with money. I only spend it.
I never heard of such a thing. When you are going somewhere, what business are you doing there?
You perfectly know people like me: I am like a tourist: you know tourists go to Rubondo and when they are white, they have to pay for a one day stay just about what you earn in a year and still sometimes they come anyway. I am like such tourists.
Mr Obese gives up his attempts to get  little share of my business revenue and tacks! Still posing as the powerful man who can annoy me but now lets me off the hook, he says: I have decided...it is OK. We can continue the accommodation.
I am clearly supposed to sigh relieved and be VERY grateful. Accommodation, I remember that word from the Rubondo wild rangers: letting someone moor in the vicinity of your place on the land is thought to be "providing accommodation". Putting the local lake bottom at disposal for anchoring is a service.
Now we have become friends, Mr. Obese continues - without feeling the need for any verification on this issue -  we aspire our friendship to be conjugal.
Conjugal! Well Sir, I have a dictionary in my dhow, so I will find the meaning of that word...
And, Mr. Obese continues, we have a building project here for which we would like your contribution.
Well, gentlemen, there is money (I stretch my arms left). And there is friendship (I stretch my arms right). And if you mix them what you get is the DEVIL!
Despite my completely serious diction of this fundamental ethico-religious principle to the church leaders, the AIC pastor starts laughing. That's why the dog comes to you, he jokes.
You do not seem to fear, pastor!
The rottweilers stand behind me. I put my arms around one and say: yes, these dogs are devils. This one here is called Money. His brother there is called - by the other devils! - Friendship, and the small one there is called Conjugal. I forgot the name of the big grey one.
I turn again to Mr. Obese: You claim the village fears, while you know that is not true, what would happen if the village learns that its church leaders are lying about them? You claim I should have reported, which is contrary to my instructions from immigration and customs officers of Bukoba, you claim that according to Tanzanian law you are in charge of checking me but you are not, and though you do not seem so young anymore, you still have to learn a lot about friendship, money and conjugality. So I decided your procedure is, let me use your expression: somehow not good. But I have decided this is not my business.
After a short silence Mr. Obese again: well, how about the something?
The something? Well, Sir, why fear to clearly say what you mean? Feel free! After all, we are not in church here!
Some silence. The big grey dog comes to sniff Mr. Obese's hands. With an ugly face he backs a bit.
You don't like him?
You see, we Africans do not like dogs very much (the pastor explaining).
Aaah! I remember the name of the big grey one: she is called Something!
The big grey turns to me, nose up. We touch noses and I say to her: they fear you!
This clearly could go on for an hour or more, so I say: Gentlemen, thank you very much. It is my time to go back to my dhow. I spent quite some time to give you information, provide you with documents and discuss with you Christian themes like friendship and money. But since you told me are friends now, I will not charge you anything, I have offered you all this for free!
I shake all hands and leave, thinking how likely it is that some of these "church leaders" (and wild rangers as well!) as children were fed, hugged and kept healthy by white good doers.
Crew stays for a while to hear that the church leaders are sorry for having raised the issue of money and I should forgive them.
Back on board we decide to leave the Kahunda thin ice and head for Ukerewe tomorrow morning.