THE RISE AND RISE OF BOWEL PROBLEMS, BAD WIND AND GLUTEN

When I was a kid there was a funny, dirty popular jingle.  A naughty song about bad wind, or in impolite, raw English, farting. Allegedly composed on the East African coast where Swahili lullabies developed and creativity blossomed. Swahili of Taarab, fun, coconuts, mischief, music and fish. 

Coconuts - part of Swahili coasts image and mood...- pic taken in Dar es Salaam, 2009- by author... 

Today we take Kiswahili for granted, but 45 to 60 years ago, non fluent Swahili speakers, from upper regions and highlands were often teased. The bad wind song was an example of such inter-territorial arrogance and brilliance. Please look closely at the lyrics.  Aren’t they meaningless except for the last Swahili word...?

“Ana ana do

Kachanika basto

Iziplingi matingo

Kajaamba!”

 As time moved, folks added more lines. Normally, the tune was chanted after a smell of bad wind had been detected. In their innocent fashion, children are allowed to be silly and playful. So while everyone waved hands close to their noses, someone would start singing and wagging a finger at everyone present. Each word will go to the next person until Kajamba was finalised. If you happened to be the one at that end of the round, laughter and jeer would wash your face, even if you were not the culprit.  Such unfair embarrassment contributed to folks adding more lines to extend the playful ordeal.

“Ushuzi unanuka! Atatandikwa!  Tena Saana...”

DOG POO AND A FRUSTRATED LONDON STREET SWEEPER

A poplar tree

I had just passed a disgusting, smelling, large chunk of dog’s diarrhoea under a Poplar tree. Poplar trees are part of London’s green vegetation. Next to bees, trees are our best allies. Trees help make a city ( like this) replete with smoke fumes and smog,  petrol and diesel fumes,  industrial waste and general pollution by absorbing carbon and giving us oxygen. Without trees life on earth would indeed, sleep.

Poplars, however, can also be destructive as their long roots (growing up to 40 meters) may damage houses.
A few years ago I was puzzled to see long, meandering cuts appearing in almost every single wall of my London flat. I remember feeling petrified and confused when the land surveyor blamed the splits on Poplar trees in my garden.
“But they are so beautiful.” I protested.
“No,” warned the surveyor, “they have to go!”
“What about the birds and squirrels who sing from those trees every day?”
There was no compromise. Lose the Victorian house or demolish two Poplar trees.
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SHORT FUSE LONDON AND MODERN CITY STRESS

I am driving up a small side street towards a major road somewhere in north London. It is Saturday afternoon; a few minutes ago the rain stopped so I can still see tiny pools, puddles and trickles of water on paths, pavements and roof tops of Victorian houses in this ancient, interesting city. Nothing unusual except that a car has suddenly opened doors, two young guys are getting out blocking the road. I have to break quickly.
As any driver in any large town knows it is normal to encounter mindless, reckless, unpredictable motorists, pedestrians crossing without bothering to look, in a hurry to catch a bus that might leave any second, elderly people struggling up busy routes; cyclists battling against vehicles and the constant yelling and finger pointing amongst various road users.
These are the constant, continuous hazards of driving in urban areas. In developing cities like Mexico City, New Delhi, Lagos, Nairobi, Rio de Janeiro, Bangkok or our own Dar es Salaam you could add the loud noises and sounds of animals (pigs, cows and chicken), kids and touts selling goods, bawling their lungs out. Oh yes, city life is hectic and rowdy.
Trinidad born writer, V.S. Naipaul, the 2001 Nobel Prize winner for Literature, describes this feel in his book “India: A million Mutinies Now” (1990).
“The visitor coming to Bombay from the airport, might see only small dark men in an undifferentiated crowd, and dust and fumes; might see, between the concrete blocks, a mess of makeshift huts and the parasitic shelters those huts spawned, one kind of dependence leading down into another; might see what looked like the unending smallness of men.”
So as I halt abruptly, I wish it was for a different circumstance. The usual modus operandi would be a mother trying to bring out a baby from her car; therefore, forgetting her door is blocking the path. That one is understandable since mothers and their babies are like a disaster waiting to happen. You expect them from every corner; out of school yards (dropping other kids) into super markets and shops. You have to be cautious; and as a driver it is second nature; be careless at your own peril.
This, however, is not a mother and baby but two young arrogant fellows charged with machismo and testosterone lunacy. Their age could be early twenties, the mannerisms scream as much as their selfish attitude.
Luckily, I was not speeding so my breaking to avoid their car’s door is effortless. Nonetheless, despite being cautious and dodging knocking them; they both give me bad looks (that say go to hell) waving arms in the air in that wronged image similar to Jesus Christ being crucified.
Aha.
London displaying a good example of short fuse reaction; a reaction you get from the smallest, mundane, trivial situations. People on edge; over reacting.
A friend was telling a story about an angry chap eager to fight at a crowded market the other day.
“I am watching this guy walking then accidentally bumping into two other guys talking to each other. They are deep into their conversation and he is obviously not looking. So who is wrong? Yet, he turns around and starts calling them names. Very short fuse.”
Stress, right?
“Absolutely!” he says, “ money, desperation, tension and selfishness.”
In “Body Language” published in 1970, American psychologist, Julius Fast argues that as children we are free with both our bodies and emotions but learn to hide true feelings as we grow up. Mr. Fast compares this acquired defence mechanism to being crippled. “And so we smile our way through the day, though in fact we may feel angry and annoyed beneath the smile.”
To many across the universe urban life means employment, prosperity, education and opportunities. But it all makes us jumpy and egoistic.
Back in the 1970’s Tanzania writers and musicians assisted the ruling party’s campaign to stop rural citizens running to towns and cities. Even a major Kiswahili movie called “Fimbo Ya Mnyonge” highlighted this policy. The whole campaign was like a crime does not pay philosophy.
Ujamaa policies argued that countryside was paradise.
Whereas rural life in Africa today is akin to poverty, in rich countries only the wealthy can afford the relative comfort of rural paradise. A paradise considered better in terms of fresh air, natural warmth, relaxed atmosphere and less stress; without the uptight short fuse of city dwellers.

-London, Monday, 14th February, 2011.

Published in Citizen Tanzania

http://www.google.co.uk/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&q=mazahn+berlin&btnG=Google+Search&aq=o&oq=

RECENT GERMAN EGGS PROBLEM IS A LESSON FOR OUR LOCAL FOOD INDUSTRY

 Early this week it was reported how potato farmers in Mbeya called for authorities to lend money to make their work easier.

In recent years potato farming in the country has become significant because of the growing interest in eating chips. One farmer, Christopher Joram called for soil experts to give professional advice on how to improve farming methods. 

“For example we need soil experts to tell us whether the ground is suitable for potatoes today or the future,” Mr. Joram told Mwananchi, “we need to know which fertiliser is good for a particular soil.”

I find this story interesting for several reasons but mainly the chips thing. A few decades ago chips was never considered an investment for East African food traders.  When I used to be a reporter for Uhuru in the 1970’s we would save money by eating in cheap places (called Magenge au Mama Ntilie) around the then Pugu Road (nowadays Nyerere Road). On the menu were rice, beans and beef with a cup of tea or Ugali (maize meal) accompanied by similar protein portions.  <!--more-->
If you were working in more affluent areas in the city centre and decide to have lunch at New Africa Hotel or Motel Agip instead of tea you would have a cold beer with your meal. The Ugali business would be slightly sophisticated i.e. a less portion and pre ordered.

On both occasions, chips were inconspicuous.

There was the middle ground, too. I remember a Swahili restaurant right in Kariakoo where the range of dishes was so incredible that the place was always packed. Likewise, chips were not on the menu. Come night time and if you were out dancing and drinking you would find roadside cooks selling fried eggs (Macho ya Ng’ombe) and roasted corn (Mahindi ya Kuchoma).

Twenty years later in mid 1990’s the landscape had changed and now roasted meat (Nyama Choma) dominated the scene. The quest for meals using lots of fried oils was rising due to the free market economy and by 2007, excessive fermented oiling had become the norm. I remember many Tanzanians living overseas returning from holidays and complaining how natural foods in Tanzania were becoming a rarity.

The invasion of chips and chicken is part of the fast food phenomenon, internationally due to changing life styles and globalisation.  It has been influenced partly by the get rich quickly mentality of capitalism and also by disappearance of the housewife or “woman at home” culture. Since women work and no longer stay home and cook, a new industry for working people and those with no time to make proper food has developed. Unfortunately most of this food is made en masse, to suit the occasion rather than for good health. As a result many young people world wide, unaccustomed to family cooking have accepted this diet as a way of life.

 Fish and chips were originally invented in the UK in the 19^th century. Tasty to eat while on the move; either walking after late night drinking or at the beach while on holiday, fantastic. The cooking is however made from deep fried oil added with flavourings (e.g. salt and tomato ketch-up) consequently not healthy if consumed too often.

Love of chips in Tanzania is mostly unregulated and when I visited home over a year ago I noted most roadside chips are made from oil that is repeatedly used. A scientist at the University of Dar es Salaam told me that although no research has been done, the effect of eating such food is beginning to be seen in obese and sick people.

Question is does the average Tanzania care about what they are eating?

A recent report about contaminated exported eggs from German farms has been highlighted in European media. The eggs are also used to make certain cakes and chocolates. Years ago when beef from the UK was alleged to be causing mad cow disease there a similar reaction. Consumers in developed countries are vigilant about what they eat. Government and trade regulations require food and bottled water sold in supermarkets to be labelled properly.

As a young developing society we are not used to monitor what we are eating especially if it is imported. We still feel that if something is coming from overseas it is probably, first class; therefore, better. That mentality has to start changing. Those who, luckily went to school, have to be more literate as far as food is concerned. This is part of the reading culture which is unfortunately beginning to vanish as fast as our dear classical “Mama Ntilie” cookery.

-London, Tuesday 11th January, 2011.

-Published in Citizen Tanzania, Thursday 13th Jan, 2011

http://www.thecitizen.co.tz/editorial-analysis/20-analysis-opinions/7197-german-eggs-problem-a-lesson-for-tanzania-food-industry

2011 AND WHAT MY DOCTOR FRIEND SAID

I have always been around doctors or became friends with them. My own late father, Dr Hosea Macha, was a known local medic; therefore, when I was a kid growing on the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro, I would hear him wake up late at night to tend patients. It could be someone knocking on our door because his wife or neighbour was having a baby; or an emergency because a farmer had cut himself seriously with a machete or been bitten by a snake. My father was always working.