Pole sana, Mzungu

Matilda-who-loves-Jizzus looks at me reflectively. “Ah, Lucy, you have grown fat”. I nod appreciatively, knowing it’s just not worth explaining again that this isn’t quite the look I am aiming for. She pauses and comments knowingly. “It is because there is so much chocolate in the UK”. I cannot deny this, having just given her a one kilogram bar of Cadbury’s chocolate emblazoned with a big UK flag. And a bag of extremely sexy bras donated by Claire and Tatiana at a clothes swap night. Surely an ideal gift for any woman?

I am back in Tanzania, to see the children at the school and check up on some projects that so many lovely readers have paid for. I am sitting in MWLJ's house. It still has the same bible quotes on the walls and reminders that God is watching me. She looks fabulous. She had looked utterly exhausted when she visited the UK, and I had been fearing what I thought was an inevitable conversation about her having to retire. But she has a cool new head wrap and is full of beans (probably quite literally, this being a staple diet). We have tea and hot doughnuts, despite the fact that I am already oozing sweat, still wearing my plane Primark tracksuit, knee-length, black nylon compression socks and hiking boots that wouldn’t fit in my case.

I was not excited at all about arriving. I was scared that the school would have slipped back to how it was without a bossy girl jackbooting round giving orders, and that my year away would have proved to have been a pointless conceit. Convinced of disaster, I am surprised when Immigration let me through with my old residency visa without wondering where I’ve been for nine months. I am also surprised when my suitcase turns up, apparently still full. A few hints of problems: Dar es Salaam airport is still called Julius Nyerere International rather than Loosss. There is no statue of me like the one of Christ looking over Rio de Janeiro. The taxi journey to the school, straight from the airport, is spent half angsting and half gazing at the things I’d forgotten, like the astonishingly clashing colours (haven’t these people heard of beige?) and the women walking wonky-hipped but still more gracefully than I ever will. But it was wonderful to screech up in my taxi. The children mobbed me in a pleasingly enthusiastic and paparazzi fashion, squawking noisily, and all the teachers also seemed gratifyingly pleased that I am back, rather than reluctantly downing Cokes, sighing, and drifting slowly off to the classrooms.

I did a quick tour of the school, still scared. The playground is terribly forlorn. Broken swings, broken roundabout, general lack of small deafs trying to kill each other. I’ll need to give the contractor some “feedback” later, which will no doubt have about as much effect as the first time, a year ago, ie zero. But there is no litter. Calvin has not left any chods lying around. The classrooms are clean, and not full of piles of dusty crap and broken glass. There is actually an art lesson going on, with children staring hard at an arrangement of calla lily leaves. Extraordinary. And excellent. I am beginning to feel like Uber-Volunteer again. I deserve my halo, yes I do. In fact, the school is beautiful and it’s wonderful to be back. The frangipani is in nearly-full bloom, and smells nicer than I remember. No wonder it’s said to be planted in graveyards. The grounds are green and manicured. And Amina is here. Amina! Tanzania’s most perfect child. Matilda takes me to her classroom. I have been so excited about seeing her for nine months. When I’ve visualised this meeting, there have been various cinematic effects applied by L Carter’s subconscious, like slow motion, soft-focus, and flashbacks to each of us gazing moodily out of the window, missing the other. What actually happens is not entirely different to this, but departing from the script slightly in that a) I don’t recognise her and b) she looks quite pleased, but largely underwhelmed to see me. But the most important thing is that she has graduated from the nursery class and is now in a proper blue grown-up girl’s uniform, supplied by Val Carter. I am sure that during the next week, she’ll remember that she adores me.

You may be wondering where the normal heart-wrenching photos are. I was just TOO HOT to dig deep down in my bag for my camera, and too busy being emotional, except for this rubbishly unfocused but sweet one in Matilda’s office. It shows the “Thank You display” and I was very touched that she’d kept it going, and that she couldn’t quite remember how much the International Money Fund gave this year, and just wrote “Huge donation”. (Actually $9000, so ta very much indeed IMF).

I will be back in the school soon and will take loads more snip-snaps, with your favourite characters.

In the meantime, here’s a few from my Easter weekend, in the NE mountains, where it was much cooler. I picked up a vile stomach bug on the second morning, and spent most of a seven-hour car journey having to get Tori and Robert to stop the car so that I could be colourfully and loudly sick or fertilise the bush in other ways. No photos of that, but there was a lovely moment when I was just recovering from a long and vigorous vomit and these children from across the hillside shouted “pole, mzungu” (Poor you, white person) and were very pleased when I thanked them.

Other highlights were:

a child only slightly frightened of me....

handing a out new football like a royal visitor....

making friends with a goat....

and a baby wearing the traditional woolly hat, during a short chilly spell (30 C).

In a few days' time, I'll write a fuller post with updates on all your favourite characters and no doubt some temper tantrums from me. In the meantime, thanks as always to everyone who gives so generously - I am so delighted to say that the school still seems to be an honest and loving place where your money is safely spent. Until then, heigh ho for the open road in an open dalla-dalla.