Ukerewe Days

This, Ali tells me, is called a fnyo fnyo.

...and disembarking in Mwanza. An engineer from Denmark who I met on the ferry couldn't believe the oranges were exported in baskets rather than containers, nor that they were loaded and unloaded by hand.

Oranges on the ferry, Ukerewe

Evening swim, Stone Town, Zanzibar

Car, with oil can, bottle tops and a cargo of mud

The MV Clarias to Ukerewe

Kabuhinzi’s new school, and view therefrom

The people of Kabuhinzi place a high value on education. For the past year and a half, Ebru (with, as in the photo, occasional assistance) has been teaching English to the village children, many of whom have never been to school. On Wednesday we went there for the first time in three months. As we approached down the dirt track in our wobbly red rickshaw, we saw in the distance dozens of children waiting for us at the entrance to the village. The village headman was there too to welcome us. Some of the kids were dancing with excitement.

Nebuye village, Ukerewe

Kindi, a fermented millet and maize porridge brewed in villages around Ukerewe and Mwanza. This particular brewery is just around the corner from our house and, offering a refreshing alternative to more godly pursuits, is open for business every Sunday. A flask costs about 20p, but the alcohol content is so high that at 10 o'clock on a sweltering morning - the women sell out by midday - you only need a few sips to feel its effects.

Back to civilisation. The slowest internet connection I've ever had in my life, and the warmest welcome.

Rainy morning, Ukerewe

Just taken delivery of the banana beer whose brewing we observed earlier this week. Ordered four bottles to see if it improves with age, and to test the claim of an old man in the brewer's village that after four days it's so strong you can barely stand up.

Drying cassava

Spent the morning furthering my investigation into the dying art of banana beer making. On Saturday, after what was produced today has fermented and because it is important to be thorough, there may be one more research stage.

In Europe I'd probably have to buy a whole new pair of sandals if the rubber sole of one of them eroded in half. In Ukerewe, where such behaviour would be seen as unfathomably wasteful, I can pay 40p to a streetside cobbler to repair it with a piece of string, pair of pliers, bar of soap (to make the string smooth) and a nail.

Nansio, Ukerewe