When I first
started going out with my lovely wife, we discovered unexpected things about
each other. Once we got beyond the unbridled physical passion, (on my part
anyway; hers was more an unbridled physical forbearance), we each realised that
our new sweetheart had certain annoying attributes which needed fixing. As you
might imagine, mine are still being fixed. Wives have an uncanny talent for
fine-tuning the end-marital-product.
By contrast, I was almost completely happy with the product I was getting:
Mis 2015 Mis 1973
… and indeed a short while into the relationship, I tore up the receipt.
There was one thing about my beautiful inamorata, however, that drove me
potty: Patience.
“Patience? A worthy and desirable attribute in a
person, surely?”, I hear you say.
And you would be right … up to a point.
“Up to a point?? A point where impatience is better
than calm equipoise? Surely not?”,
I hear you add.
(I will be OK from here on in, by the way, if you want to take a break
from interrupting people’s blogs.)
Yes, there is indeed a
point where impatience is better than calm equipoise. And it is this: green
traffic lights. Who in their right mind (other than my wife-to-be), slows down
at green traffic lights, ‘in case they turn red’? What sort of mad
sealing-of-one’s-own-fate is that? Of course they might turn red! That’s what
they do! They are traffic lights, for Pity’s Sake!!! We are already being
overtaken by octagenarians recovering from hip surgery, so yes, they will
indeed be red by the time we get there!!! We cannot spend the rest of our lives
together stopping at both red and green traffic lights!!!!
Anyway, you get the point.
Miriam is a naturally patient person, and I am not, (although I am considerably
better for the four decades of uxorial effort put into upgrading me).
(Before moving on, by the
way, let me just point out that natural impatience is not, in itself, a vice.
It has, occasionally, stood me in good stead – for instance in surgical crises,
where the stop-at-green equivalent might be, “Hi everyone! How are things? And
the family? Oh my! Bernie! Is that green you are wearing?! It’s funky, man!! It
was great fun last Friday, wasn’t it? Do you know, sometimes we should just
take deep breaths and suck in the pure joy of our friendship. But not now,
because I just cut the aorta by mistake.”
I freely admit that this is a wildly
inappropriate stereotype of patient people, and that they are almost always
right. And that patience even in surgery is a key attribute. I just needed to
get it off my chest.)
Funnily enough, however,
something within impatience does have another, positive, and somewhat more
unlikely role. Unlikely, because I am referring to a role in Africa, where
patience is traditionally measured on a different spectrum; (archetypally,
where ‘never’ is only just above mid-point). To be impatient in an African
project is to self-explode. Indeed, if you look carefully in the bush around
where you intend your project to take place, you might well find the spleen of a
predecessor who had a similar idea.
Why, then, am I feeling a
bit sanguine at my choleric disposition? Well, it seems that when you strip
away the negative aspects of impatience – the bad vibes; the intolerance; the
jumping to conclusions; the making mistakes; etc – you are left with something
actually pretty useful: Expectation. The expectation that, at the right time,
the right thing will happen. (A bit like preparing a crab for the table: when
you take off the bits that pinch you and the bits that poison you, there is
something worth having inside.) (If you are fond of crab.)
This type of expectation is
not vague or misty. It is an Expectation. It knows what it is after, knows it
is coming, and is waiting, bright-eyed and alert, for it to arrive. It is not to be denied.
The setting up of
Tushikamane took two-and-a-half years, and demanded not just patience, but a
type of steadfast, quiet determination on behalf of many people, which I, for my part, was not very good at. But
now, we have begun. The teams are trained; equipped; locally commissioned;
accepted. They have now entered the small collections of mud-huts in distant
Tunguli and Msamvu, and have begun to form women’s groups. These groups will be
taken through a process whereby they explore the roots of the problems that
kill them and their children. Thereafter, it will be the women themselves who
lead the process of prioritizing which problems each hamlet is going to tackle.
Here is an excerpt from the
February report of Wilbard Mrase, the Project Director:
“Tushikamane
project is progressing well; already three women’s groups are formed at Kwiboma
in Tunguli and Dibabala and Kipera in Msamvu village.
Each group has a chairperson and a secretary.
Kwiboma has 18 women in the
group and the group is called Amani, (which means
‘Peace’)
Dibabala has 30 women in
the group and group is called Upendo. (which means
‘Love).
Kipera has 18 women in the
group, name of the group not yet given.
These three hamlets Kwiboma, Dibabala and Kipera
decided/agreed to meet every Saturday at 2Pm, Sunday at 2Pm and Friday at 9Am
respectively every week.
… On 27th and
28th January we will be in Tunguli and Msamvu in order
facilitate establishment of another four women groups (two groups in each
village)”
Kwiboma
Group
Upendo
Group
Kipera
Group
So. It’s happening. We have
women’s groups in remote villages in Tanzania; where 10% of children die and
maternal death is a frequent visitor. The expecting mothers for the first time will
have an empowered and legitimate voice in determining what to what to do about these tragedies.
And we also have an Expectation; an Impatience: to consign these avoidable deaths to history.
