"Only a fool would take 1.2 billion shillings to a village"

Only a fool would take 1.2 billion shillings to a village. These are words quoted from an interview with Kenya's Deputy President, William Ruto.

For some of us who have chosen to move back to the village, they are words that are, at the very least, disappointing, and at worst, offensive.

Deputy President of Kenya, William Ruto (Photo: World Trade Organization)

I normally avoid commenting on what politicians of other countries say, but given the road map laid out towards an East African political federation, it is fair for a citizen of East Africa to comment on East Africa's leaders. William Ruto could very well become a future president of the East African federation but, apparently, his opinion of villages is rather low.

How would a leader who thinks it is unwise to invest his own money in a village decide it is important for government to invest in rural communities?

Kenya's rural residents account for 74 percent of the country's population. The proportion for other East African Community member countries is 68 for Tanzania, 88 for Burundi, 70 for Rwanda, 81 for South Sudan, and 84 for Uganda. That's a significant proportion of East Africans.

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Here's the link to the quoted article by Willim Ruto:

http://www.the-star.co.ke/news/2015/10/27/only-a-fool-would-take-sh12-billion-to-a-village-ruto-says-on-lavish_c1231469

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Given the context of his response, it is evident he is speaking of a choice between spending that much money building a personal home in his village, or spending the same amount in 100-bed hotel in a city, and concluding from an investor's viewpoint that a village cannot provide the best returns.

A leader speaks for every citizen. He may have pleased his fellow investors by his comments, but he most certainly could not have pleased the majority of rural people living in rural areas who may have fooled themselves into believing that their interests coincide with their leader's interests.

This is my greatest fear of traveling

This is my greatest fear of traveling. To sit next to someone who talks endlessly.

I am not anti-social; I just lack the ability to constantly come up with topics of conversation.

And when I have exhausted what I have to say, which rarely takes long, I find the quite moments, referred to in the Swahili language by the expression: shetani kapita (the devil has just passed by), rather awkward and unsettling, especially when I am also expected to contribute to the conversation.

It is easier when I am sitting next to someone I know, but a huge challenge when sitting next to a stranger.

You can stay away from a conversation on a ship, but not in the confined space of an aircraft.

When I travel it's the only time that I find convenient to have a period of quiet and reflection away from the office, from the daily routine which constantly keeps me in touch with people I work with, with constant contact with clients who ask questions and demand answers to the work I do.

It would be misleading to say that I do not enjoy my work and the interaction it provides me with other people. But I also cherish the opportunity to get away from all that once in a while. And I get that when I travel.

What is your greatest fear of travel? Apart from flying in planes?

The roof is up

The roof is up today for one of the grain silos at Mwitongo, Butiama.

Tilting the roof provides access to the finger millet stored in the silo. The finger millet flour is mixed with cassava or maize flour to cook ugali (hard porridge), a favorite meal among members of the Zanaki ethnic group.

Occasionally, as is the case in this occasion, the roof of the silo is tilted to permit visitors to view the grain stored inside.

Mwitongo is the compound of the residence of Tanzania's founding president, Mwalimu Julius Kambarage Nyerere.

I am not a mzungu! (re-posted with the Afro)

I am not a mzungu is something I have to keep on repeating at least once a month to children.

I am baffled why children should call me "mzungu" a Swahili word for Caucasian. And there is no confusing me with a white man; I am unmistakably black. There is at least one other meaning of the word, but in general Tanzanians understand "mzungu" to mean a white person.

But I have had to consider that children have their own interpretation of "mzungu" and it is slowly beginning to make sense to me. The first time I heard being called "mzungu" by a child was in Rombo, on the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I was hiking and had my headphones. I concluded it was the headphones that made me a mzungu.

The second time I became a mzungu was during my Ukerewe to Butiama bike ride and as I rode through a village three children called out to me: "mzungu!" I responded: "I am not a mzungu!" They insisted I was.

My Ukerewe to Butiama bike ride (on my Swahili language blog)

I can attribute the second instance to my colorful mountain bike, sunglasses, and the huge Afro I was sporting. I could have deflected attention if it was only the bike, but I just couldn't go unnoticed for being unusual with that huge Afro and the sunglasses.

My colorful mountain bike.

This morning I was reminded how much I confuse children when a child called out my other name. I still have the Afro, I was holding my sun glasses in my hand, and I had a small backpack. I have concluded that, to these children, "mzungu" has nothing to do with race, but has a lot to do with the activity I indulge in (cycling), the accessories I use (sunglasses, headphones), and that huge Afro that even Don King would have envied. Or Wole Soyinka?

I originally posted this without my photograph, until Benjamin Leers commented: "where's the Afro?" So, here it is, below, although I trimmed it when I took this photo. Let me know if you think Don King or Professor Wole Soyinka would be impressed.

The headphones, the Afro, and the author of this post. 

Le travels to the Great Barrier Reef

I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro with Le Huynh in August 2008. He travels the world, and shares images and experiences of the places he visits. He shares the following stunning photos and a poem from his recent visit to the Great Barrier Reef off Australia.

He writes of his experience:

Dear friends

We come from the sea

we bleed salty blood

we cry salty tears

we're humble at sea.

Some may say that

there's nothing to see...

only the same sky

above the same sea!

Oh what a canvas

of infinite colors

forever changing light

open your eyes to see!

Le

Great Barrier Reef 2016