

### Fighting For Freedom:

Sometimes Doing The Right Thing  
Ain't Doing The Right Thing

### Jake Combe

Copyright 2012 Jake Combe  
Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To S. Balthazary, mpendwa yangu,  
until the end of time.

### Contents

Welcome to Tanzania

Quick Facts

Preface – Illegal Activities?

Part One: The Early Days

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Part Two: Time In Exile

Chapter Six

Part Three: The War Begins

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Four: Fighting For My Rights

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Part Five: Uhuru: The Search For Freedom

Chapter Forty-Two

The events which occur in this book are all true, however, the names of people and organisations have been changed to protect the safety of certain individuals.

Welcome to Tanzania

The majesty of Tanzania is home to some of Africa's most alluring destinations: the Serengeti, Ngorongoro, Kilimanjaro and Zanzibar. It is a country shrouded in the wild and exotic, possessing an enviable climate of warm, sunny days; followed by cool, balmy nights in the highlands. But following the coastline, the weather remains hot and humid all year round.

In a matter of hours, it is possible to go from relaxing on idyllic beaches to exploring the ruins of ancient Swahili city-states; climbing mist-covered slopes in the Southern Highlands to trekking through barren landscapes – guided by a spear-carrying Maasai warrior.

The country provides an eclectic cultural backdrop where over 100 indigenous groups live in peace, creating a charming location to holiday. Most visitors will follow the standard tourist trail – beginning with the popular northern safari circuit; then heading to the sunny beaches of Zanzibar, famed as the birthplace of Freddie Mercury, the legendary rock musician of the band Queen. But Tanzania has much more to offer anyone with the time and inclination to explore deeper into a country enviably untouched by the tribal rivalries and political upheavals that plague many of its neighbours. For those in search of something uniquely different to the sealed roads, and the many hotels and restaurants which are typical of the areas surrounding the standard tourist attractions, it is possible to experience – particularly in the south and west – a Tanzania, largely devoid of Western development.

Seated on the edge of the African continent, facing the Indian Ocean, the history of Tanzania is one of treasured heritage and pride. A rich tapestry of life is found in the varied cultures and traditions of the vast number of people and tribes inhabiting the nation. The land of Tanzania has been called home since the early days of mankind's history – from the verdant mountains to scrubland plains, bordered between the fresh lakes of the west and ocean to the east. Fossil remains of humans and pre-human hominids found dating back over two million years makes Tanzania one of the oldest countries on Earth known to be continuously inhabited by people.

Tanzanians enjoy an atmosphere of freedom and peace in their daily lives. The highly valued sense of community and culture, which binds the people of the country together, is expressed through religion. Christianity, Islam and traditional African religions are practised with tolerance and understanding. Although religion defines the community, culturally everyone is Tanzanian.

Wherever it is that you decide to go, it is the Tanzanian people, known for their warmth and politeness, and the dignity and beauty of their cultures, that will become the highlight of your visit. Surely encouraging you to come back once more, and as they will often say in the local language, 'karibu tena' (welcome again).

Quick Facts

Location: Eastern Africa, bordering the Indian Ocean, between Kenya and Mozambique

Climate: Varies from tropical along coast to temperate in highlands

Population: 45 million

People living with HIV/AIDS: 1.5 million

Life expectancy: 57 years (men), 59 years (women)

Language(s): Swahili (de facto national language, used for inter-ethnic communication), English (business/commerce, higher education), African tribal dialects

Tribe(s): More than 126 (each group with its own language)

Religion: Christianity (35%), Islam (35%), indigenous groups

Monetary unit: Tanzanian shilling (subject to inflation. Approx. 1 800 shillings = US$1)

Preface – Illegal Activities?

"I know what you are doing and it is illegal..." The speaker followed his statement with a momentary pause, allowing the strength of his words to wash over me, then delivered an ominous warning. "I will have you sent to prison," he said with overwhelming authority, as he stared coldly down at me, squatting submissively in front of him.

His threat, spoken in a quiet and listless voice that was devoid of emotion, achieved the desired effect – chilling me to the bone. The chosen words and mannerisms had seemingly been rehearsed, then stated in a way which would cause me maximum distress. Regardless, it was not so much what he had said but the knowledge he obviously possessed. I did not understand how he could possibly already know what I was planning.

When I had seen his car rolling toward us down the dirt road that morning, I'd had a sense of foreboding. I could never have predicted what was to come though, as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the classrooms. Jonathan seldom visited the school and at this hour of the morning in particular, he was usually still entrenched in his bedroom. I exchanged glances with Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki, who both looked shaken by the unexpected visitor, before returning my attention to the car. It was impossible to see what was happening inside the vehicle as it was obscured by the black tint of the windows. Although Jonathan drove a four door car, he largely seemed to hold the opinion that his was a single person vessel, often refusing passengers. Therefore, it came as a surprise, when, in addition to Jonathan exiting from the driver's door, Machupa (the self proclaimed Operations Manager) and Haji (a private contractor) also climbed out of the car. It was the first time I had witnessed the three of them together and the gravity of the trio unexpectedly arriving at Jonathan's school was not lost on me, as my mind momentarily flashed back to the night time meetings I had recently engineered.

I had always held an openly low opinion of these men and any verbal exchanges had always been strained on both sides. We would each display a friendly appearance but neither party was ever truly convinced of the other's authenticity. I decided the best way to approach the situation was with a friendly and approachable nature, traits which I am not normally known to possess. Needless to say, these were not the men to draw out these characteristics.

"Good morning, Jonathan. How are you?" I queried brightly, the insincerity in my voice making me shudder.

Jonathan responded with a cold stare, causing me to recoil slightly as I sensed trouble. I turned my attention to Machupa in an attempt to placate him.

"Machupa, did you see the Man U game yesterday?" I asked, feigning interest.

Machupa was a fanatical supporter of the Manchester United Football team. We could generally share an obligatory minute or two discussing their latest match. Although my football knowledge is minimal, I knew they were a champion team who rarely lost, so I could use the likelihood of a recent victory to manipulate him into high spirits.

A typical conversation between us would commonly go something like this:

Me: "Machupa, did you see the Man U game?"

Machupa: "Ah, Jack! Yes, very good... We will be champions again!"

Me (unenthusiastically): "Of course, they're a great team." (Followed by a momentary pause in which I searched for a comment that might possibly prolong our conversation). "A shame about losing Beckham, though."

Machupa (becoming somewhat irritated): "Yes, well, Jack, that was a very long time ago now."

Me (disinterestedly): "Wayne Rooney kicked a great goal a couple of weeks ago. Did you see it?" (I didn't know if this was true but as he was paid millions of pounds to perform this single task I considered it highly likely).

Machupa would raise his eyebrows and shake his head without saying a word, while looking at me like I was an annoying idiot. For all I knew, Wayne Rooney was currently injured or had followed in the footsteps of David Beckham and transferred to another club. By this stage I would have encroached upon a minute of Machupa's life and this is all he would allow, usually turning his back on me at this point and walking away.

On this occasion however, I received no acknowledgement or recognition from Machupa. Well, in one respect I didn't mind. After all, I rarely had the desire to speak with him and only did so begrudgingly. On the other hand, I had obviously done something to greatly anger them and my clandestine meetings of recent nights would likely attract their rage. Though, I could not understand how they would know about them. I did not even waste my time greeting Haji, knowing that I was unlikely to receive anything more than a grunt in reply. Jonathan and Machupa placed little importance on his presence other than the brawn he provided behind their brains. I turned away and approached my students pretending to focus my attention on the kids, but in reality concentrating every fibre in my body on what was going on outside.

Jonathan approached Teacher Fahamu and began to angrily question her. At this stage my comprehension of Swahili did not extend too far past the basics and as such, I could not follow exactly what was being said. However, I did not need to be an expert in body language to determine that I was likely the subject of his interrogation of Fahamu, judging by the way he continued to point in my direction.

It was not long before they separated and Jonathan headed directly for me. "We need to talk," he said simply, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat as I traipsed around the corner behind him and watched as he took a seat next to Machupa on a bench. I remained standing, uncomfortable in their presence and scared of what was to come, until Jonathan commanded me to sit down. I obeyed and promptly dropped to a squatting position on the dirt in front of them.

I decided the best course of action would be to remain silent and avoid eye contact. I had no reason to suspect I was in anyway at fault for his ill temper, and would not admit to any misdoings before understanding the purpose of his early morning visit.

Jonathan sized me up, then stated in his softly spoken voice, "I know what you are doing and it is illegal... I will have you sent to prison." My blood turned cold at the calculated forcefulness of his threat.

I was completely crushed, but I did my best to maintain a deadpan expression and look politely puzzled. Jonathan had not given a reason for my impending prison sentence, or the illegal activities I was allegedly involved with, so I hoped that it may possibly be speculation alone. I certainly was not prepared to assist his investigation. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding as I mentally processed a number of increasingly ridiculous scenarios, causing my fear to rise. Even so, I attempted to maintain an outward appearance of composure. My mind flashed back to the past as I recalled my older brother's ability to deny all culpability, dating back to our days as teenagers.

Matt possessed an innate talent to make the accuser not only doubt the credibility of the misdemeanour but ultimately feel guilty for having the nerve to suspect him, no matter how overwhelming the evidence. If I had learnt anything from my brother, surely in a minute or so I would be bashfully accepting an apology from Jonathan. All I needed to do was adhere to the central philosophy of 'deny, deny, deny.' Confucius-like in its simplicity. Whatever Jonathan said, I would simply pretend to have no knowledge or involvement, then add how personally affronted I felt for good measure.

"I have been told that you are starting a school," Jonathan stated.

It had been the central focus of my clandestine meetings. I did not waste time wondering how Jonathan had come to be in possession of this information. It was less than twelve hours since I had uttered the words, "I want to start a school." It was not important how he knew. His information was accurate – I felt scandalised as I realised someone had informed Jonathan of my intentions.

I began to panic and attempted to stall for time by playing the language barrier card. "Yes, that's right, Jonathan. I've just started teaching at your school again," I said cheerfully, offering him a winning smile.

Often times I would try to ask Jonathan or Machupa probing questions, only to be confronted with disjointed, incomprehensible English until the interrogation finished. It never seemed to matter that both these men were very well educated and spoke the language fluently at all other times, though. Jonathan was obviously well aware of my intentions and I would achieve nothing by using this strategy other than to further antagonise him. Nonetheless, it would prove to be a mental battle as we both fought for control of the situation.

Jonathan blanched slightly, losing his composure somewhat as he replied with increasing anger. "No. You are trying to secretly open a school."

I continued to plead ignorance to his accusations. "A school? In Australia?" I raised my eyebrows and shook my head, convinced Jonathan could see directly through my steadfast denial at the attempted deceit. I tried to keep my voice level as I added, "I don't know what you're talking about... I could never afford to start a school in Australia."

"Not in Australia," he said through gritted teeth. "Here – in Usa River. And you want to take my kids."

So far, everything Jonathan had said was correct. It worried me, as I attempted to recall my previous conversations to foresee any other potentially damaging information that I may have discussed. I studied the two of them. Jonathan was seething with rage. Although I had heard of his legendary temper I had never witnessed it. In contrast, Machupa remained silent, only nodding occasionally in support of Jonathan, but he was wearing a blank expression of resignation, as if a family member had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

I dropped the pretext and coldly stared at Jonathan. "That's crazy. I'm only a kid myself. I wouldn't know the first thing about starting a school in Australia, let alone one in Tanzania. Why are you saying these lies?"

"Someone came to me this morning and told me of your plans," he said with fury.

Since my return to Usa River I had been staying in the back room of a local bar. It was a long way from the regular tourist trail and not exactly a place frequented by people of my skin colour. I should have predicted that my unannounced return would raise a few questions. Jonathan had me tracked to the Multipurpose Bar within a week of my return. The speed with which he had located me, should have also caused me to become suspicious that he would have recruited people to report on my movements.

"Who came to you?" I demanded, scared by the revelation that people close to me were communicating with Jonathan. "Why are you having me watched?"

Jonathan suddenly became defensive. His organisation centred on the saint-like persona he openly promoted to the public. It still amazed me though, that he would try and convince me of this image, considering everything I knew about the man.

"I am not having you watched. Someone overheard your plans and was worried about the well being of these children," he said.

I was disgusted by his blatant lies of concern for his students, and wondered if they were said in an attempt to satisfy his own conscience, because they clearly were not assuring Machupa or myself of his compassion for humanity. I had pleaded ignorance already, it was now time to implement the 'race card'.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said again. "I don't know why you feel the need to have me watched, and why people are coming to you to tell lies about me. Obviously there are people in Usa River who hate whites and don't want me here," I said, then took a breath and continued my rant on racial discrimination before Jonathan could deny my comments. "To be quite honest, Jonathan, I'm feeling very uncomfortable. I'm a long way from my home and my family. I'm in a foreign country where I don't know anyone and now you tell me that you're having people spy on me!"

It was not as if I had cast a seed of doubt in his mind, the evidence against me was undeniable, but suddenly he looked slightly less certain of himself. It was the potential problems Jonathan feared I could create through international exposure. There was a perception that as a white person I had access to a vast network which could influence any future donations or volunteers that he relied on for his livelihood. Jonathan was savvy enough about the publicity of his organisation to understand it would not bode well for him, if it came to the attention of the Western world that a young foreigner, giving his time to educate impoverished African children, was being intimidated and threatened by the director of a charity.

Jonathan attempted to demonstrate a caring nature, which did not come naturally to him. "Yes, you are quite right," he agreed. "Some people in the village do not like volunteers such as yourself. We just want you to feel safe – maybe you would like to move in with my family? We have a spare room."

I scrutinised him closely, wondering how he could possibly offer me residency when he had just threatened to have me arrested. I was stricken with fear that he would probably abduct and imprison me in his house should I agree.

I tried to adopt a grateful smile. "That's very kind of you, Jonathan," I said, doing my best to replicate his placid charm. "Maybe we can talk about it later. Right now, I really need to start my class. After all, that's what we all want – the best for these kids. Right?"

The best for these kids. That was the underlying issue here and one I could not resist verbally stating. Who was it that could truly claim they unequivocally wanted the best for the kids without putting their own desire for personal wealth first?

Jonathan nodded. We had reached a stalemate. He understood that I was not going to admit to any of his claims and his initial threat of prison was not enough to deter me. What Jonathan failed to realise was that I lived by a different moral and ethical code to him. In Jonathan's world he was the only person who existed, so could not understand the concept of selflessly doing something for others, assuming all charitable work was a pathway to personal gain. But I differed from him, simply wanting to create a better life for the locals and having no interest in becoming rich. Before my decision to return to Usa River, I had assessed how important the situation was to me. I knew without question that I was prepared to go to almost any lengths to ensure the freedom of these kids. It already appeared my own freedom was in jeopardy but I was at peace with the prospect.

I stood up and bowed a slight inclination of my head to each man before turning to leave. We had never had a positive relationship but there was now an obvious fracture which would only degrade further with time. Although Jonathan and I would cross paths a number of times at later dates, this was to be the last time we spoke a word to one another.

As I stepped off in the direction of my class, Machupa looked up and spoke for the first time. "Remember. We know people and we can have you sent to prison," he said without emotion, in little more than a whisper.

It was a blatant threat and the final attempt to scare me from Usa River. It was just round one in a series of battles that would only escalate with time.

"Do it! If you feel that's necessary," I said simply, then continued to my class, shaking with nerves. I was well aware of the "people" Jonathan and Machupa knew. They had a number of connections to high ranking officials in the police force, Government and Immigration. In Tanzania, anybody could be bought and anything done for the right price.

Of course, it did not help when Teacher Fahamu approached me with Sadiki at her side. "Ooh, you need to be careful, Jackie," she implored. "Jonathan has done bad things to people." They were both scared, not only did they have jobs they were trying to protect, they were both mothers with young children.

What had I committed myself to? I didn't know what I was doing. And I had no affiliation or responsibility to any person in Usa River but as I entered the class and looked at my kids bouncing off the walls, yelling and laughing, I had to suppress a smile. They had been dealt a tough hand from birth and did not deserve to be used as leverage in one man's quest for wealth and power. They deserved the same opportunities I'd had available to me as a child. They were the reason I would take the knocks, time after time.

Part One

### The Early Days

Chapter One

The Tanzanians have a popular saying, "If it's God's will, we shall arrive." Well, I'm not one to place much faith in any spiritually powerful being. I was not too convinced that the bus safely reaching its destination had anything to do with "God's will". I was more inclined to place the responsibility directly in the hands of the driver, but the true nature of a Tanzanian generally seemed to be to evade accountability wherever possible.

From my limited knowledge of the geography of the area, I knew once we passed Moshi there would not be much further to go, so when the conductor walked past me I tugged at the back of her shirt and muttered "Usa River," to request an unscheduled stop. Unable to reinforce my query with a word of Swahili, I was unsure if she understood as she acknowledged me with a slight smile and continued down the aisle, offering no assurance my plea would be met.

I was relieved when the bus came rolling to a halt and the conductor returned to me, saying "Usa, Usa." I looked out the window at a string of low lying breeze block shops lining the highway and countless people milling around the dusty area. Grabbing my bag, I squeezed past everyone on board and made my way off the bus, taking in my surroundings as I hit the ground, trying to orientate myself.

Instantly, a man came toward me with a huge smile that looked anything but genuine and a cardboard sign, reading 'Tamiha – Jake'. I could not help but smile, I had to do my best just to keep my composure and not burst out laughing. He could not be serious. This treatment might have worked on other visitors but I could not think of anything more embarrassing than arriving in an impoverished African village and having someone approach me with 'reverence' because of my white skin.

"You must be Jake from America!" he beamed, trying to separate me from my backpack.

I slightly twisted away from him and shouldered it. I never allow someone else to carry my bag. They were my things, my responsibility, and therefore had no reason to be someone else's burden.

"Nah, wrong person – but I am Jake from Australia," I replied, unimpressed by his greeting.

Jonathan looked taken aback, presumably unfamiliar with being contradicted upon an initial meeting, but I was not exactly smitten by the story he had supplied me detailing his troubled youth. I have quite a strong instinct of a person's nature, and had my doubts about Jonathan purely from the brief amount of email contact we'd had. So far, from the first sixty seconds in each other's company, he had failed to alleviate those doubts. I had a bad feeling about Jonathan and did not want to be in his company, particularly alone.

Warning bells had been ringing since the first email I had received from him. It had contained such emotionally manipulating sentiments as: "You will be welcomed into my family as a son," "I can't wait to meet you" and "I love you, you are my child." At the time I'd had a good, hard laugh assuming he was of questionable sexuality or was operating a complete scam. Ultimately though, I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt – after all, English was his second language and words can easily become miscommunicated in the translation. Besides, I was openly critical of all charities at that stage, believing the administrators to pocket the core of the money. But surely, they could not possibly all be corrupt.

I had committed myself the previous month to volunteering with Tumbiri, founded by Jonathan Mbwana, for a stay of eight weeks before continuing to South America to work. After reading between the lines, most of the organisations I had researched sounded questionable. Although I was doubtful of Jonathan's legitimacy, his organisation was the closest in meeting my required criteria. The location was right and the young children were of the demographic I wanted to work with. Since travelling through Africa four years earlier I had always had a strong desire to return, not just as a visitor but as a functioning member of the community.

Jonathan had already incurred my ire. After making the mandatory payment, I had not even received confirmation that it was all clear let alone a follow-up email detailing my travel options to a remote Tanzanian village. I considered Jonathan's position – the founder of a non-government organisation (NGO), who accepted volunteers on a regular basis and was presumably responsible for offering some duty of care. The bloke was a self-described patron saint but did not seem to care about my well being whatsoever, since I had made the payment. If I operated an NGO, I would want my visitors (generally young people from all corners of the globe) to feel as comfortable as possible before they arrived. I would probably send the person a detailed itinerary, which covered all aspects up to their arrival and what they could expect during their stay. I was struggling to feel the love Jonathan had proclaimed for me in his initial email.

Having travelled all the way from Australia to Africa, Jonathan still failing to provide any answers to the questions I had submitted, I got the impression I had been severely hoodwinked when I was stopped at Immigration in the Dar es Salaam airport. I was told I required a tourist visa to enter the country but Jonathan had assured me in his email a work permit would be processed and waiting when I arrived at my port of entry. I explained the situation but after extensive searching of their files, quite at odds with the work ethic of many of the Tanzanians I would meet, they denied there being any evidence of a work permit in my name. My options were quite clear: pay the money for a tourist visa or wait in holding for the next flight leaving the country. I was not ready to give in so easily, though. Having pre-planned for this type of predicament, I pulled a note from my pocket detailing Jonathan's name, organisation, contact information, and the dates I would be volunteering. They seemed to be impressed by my fastidiousness, and promptly dialled Jonathan's number only to discover it was out of service. I had run out of options and begrudgingly handed over the money for a tourist visa but had a receipt written with the intention of showing Jonathan and having him reimburse me the cost of the visa.

It was another week until I left for Usa River to start my placement and in those seven days the seed of doubt I had surrounding Tumbiri continued to grow. I had a nasty feeling it was a completely bogus organisation that had successfully fleeced me of hundreds of dollars already and I would find no evidence of its existence upon arriving in the village. I began searching the internet for skerricks of information relating to Jonathan Mbwana or Tumbiri and was stunned to find a number of commendations about Jonathan's humanitarian work and devotion to helping the underprivileged. Journalists had written articles about the selflessness with which Jonathan assisted others in the community. Church groups around the world collected money on behalf of Tumbiri. A couple from America, former volunteers who had spent six months with Jonathan, even went so far as to request, instead of wedding gifts, for their guests to donate money to his organisation.

I was naturally distrusting of these charities, finding their authenticity too hard to believe, but maybe I had been too quick to pass judgement on Jonathan. Everyone seemed to love him and I could not find a bad word written on the man. In any event, his organisation seemed genuine which alleviated the concerns I had about arriving in the village and being left destitute. I reminded myself I was no longer in Australia and the level of communication and administration in Africa was far below what I expected in the Western world.

Jonathan probably thought he had done a fantastic job of providing me with the necessary details. So I sent one last email to him, listing the bus I would be on and the time it would arrive in Usa River, minus an hour – just to be on the safe side (for me). I had been told it was a ten hour bus journey but I was not convinced – it was only about 600 kilometres. Surely it would be faster than ten hours... I estimated nine, not wanting to wait on the shoulder of a dusty highway for a person who may or may not appear. I still harboured some doubts over Jonathan's existence, but assuming he was real – after the lack of communication from his end – I had no guarantees he would even receive my message.

I am generally quite an independent person who does not rely on others for assistance, preferring to use my own resourcefulness to get by in any given situation. As much as I have been chastised for my approach to life I rarely enter into the unknown without a preconceived plan. I had no true expectations Jonathan would actually be waiting for me when I stepped off the bus. So before it had stopped in Usa River I prepared myself that I would be making my own way to the Tumbiri school. It seemed easy enough in theory, even with my inability to speak the native tongue, but that was prior to discovering the village was home to around 30 000 people. I made the mistake of assuming a village would have only a few hundred inhabitants and maybe a main square with a road leading off in each direction. In reality, Usa River was a maze of twisting dirt roads connected by a network of confusing alleyways, crossing through backyards and open spaces. Dozens of schools existed, from orphanages and nurseries, through to primary and secondary, both private and government operated, as well as vocation specific training programs.

Fortunately, I had been saved this unenviable task by the surprising appearance of Jonathan. My estimate of nine hours had proved to be somewhat presumptuous – it was in fact closer to eleven hours. When Jonathan informed me he had been waiting on the side of the highway for the last two hours I was forced to suppress a smile. I offered him a completely insincere apology but was secretly pleased with his unwanted idleness. I felt it was a taste of karmic retribution, as Jonathan had left me waiting for weeks without a response to my emails. It was the first instance of an altercation between us and it would set the foundation for our rocky relationship.

I cannot say how Jonathan acted with other volunteers, but as far as I was concerned I detected an undercurrent of disdain. In a lot of ways the two of us probably had fairly similar personalities. We both seemed to have an aversion to speaking with any real depth, for one. It was only a five minute drive to his house but it was marred by uncomfortable silences. I did my best to fill the inscrutable voids with the kind of small talk I generally try to stay away from, touching on subjects that would presumably resonate with Jonathan, namely those of his family and organisation. However, I could only elicit abrupt answers, giving the impression he was reluctant to provide any information which could at all benefit me in the coming eight weeks of my life. Likewise, he clearly had no interest in my life – who I was, where I came from, how I had come to Tumbiri, not even so much as an inquiry about my two hour late bus journey across the country that day.

It was a relief when the car came to a halt in front of a set of twelve foot high steel gates. Jonathan leant on the horn, remaining firmly entrenched in his seat and waited. I just sat stunned as the gates finally opened inward to reveal what I could only describe as a compound. Not at all what I had pictured when I had first conjured images of Africa and completely at odds with the rest of the village I had seen on our short drive.

Jonathan exited the car and immediately turned to the business side of things, explaining how I would be taken on an orientation the following day. Not by himself, of course, because he had "too many pressing matters to attend" and a new volunteer presumably came too far down on his list of priorities, but by a man named Machupa. This man, who was apparently the Operations Manager of Tumbiri, may or may not come to meet me that very evening, depending on whether his schedule would permit. From Jonathan's vague explanation, I was left with the impression that this would only happen if he could be bothered dropping in at his friend's house and introducing himself to, what he undoubtedly regarded as, another pestilent Westerner.

On the way to the house, we passed a man standing silently in the yard, so I stopped to introduce myself, sticking my hand out in the process. Jonathan continued on, telling me not to bother as Kondo did not speak any English, so therefore, could not understand what I was saying. Jonathan made it clear that he had a number of staff who did not speak English and seemed to imply I should not waste my time attempting to communicate with them. It seemed unusual, as I walked away from a blank faced Kondo, that I would be working and living amongst these people and yet interaction was discouraged – as if there was a concern for anything that might be discovered through conversation.

Only three weeks later, Kondo would disappear permanently from Jonathan's house during the night. After several attempts at questioning, his disappearance was brushed aside by a rather foggy explanation centring on Kondo taking holiday leave – something that does not generally exist in Tanzania, particularly for an unskilled houseboy. It was eventually discovered that Kondo had become tired of the persecution he received, and so, had run away to his family who lived in a city on the other side of the country. This was at odds with the original story, that Jonathan and his wife had found the 'orphaned' Kondo on the street and 'adopted' him – feeding and housing him. Ultimately, offering him employment once he had grown up. Kondo's exit would become affectionately known as The Flight of Kondo and we would often think of him, wondering if he was establishing a better life for himself.

I did not know what to make of the scene that I had witnessed so far, as Jonathan showed me where I would be sleeping. Though, if I had any doubts remaining over his compassion toward humanity, what I saw next simply confirmed my current assessment of his animosity regarding others. We walked past a young boy, no older than six, who stopped playing to presumably greet Jonathan in the native tongue. This child might just as well have been invisible, for Jonathan carried on without so much as a glance in his direction, let alone a response or any kind of acknowledgement, whatsoever. I wrongly assumed the boy was a neighbour, a miscreant or wayward child of the area that Jonathan charitably worked with, once again trying to find a glimmer of goodness in the man. I followed his example and took little notice of the boy, but as I looked back over my shoulder his crestfallen face was obvious to see. I eventually discovered, that although Gryson was not biologically Jonathan's child, he was his nephew, and had lived under Jonathan's care since the age of one when his parents had both died in a car accident. Jonathan's version of events was slightly different, denying any relation and stating he had found Gryson on the street and adopted him. Furthermore, Jonathan used the death of Gryson's parents as a catalyst for strengthening the plight of his organisation.

The concept of Tumbiri revolved around the apparent hardship of Jonathan's life. At the age of seven, Jonathan supposedly became an orphan when both his parents were killed in a car accident. An untrue tale that strangely mirrored the genuine story of Gryson's life thus far and is contradicted by the fact that both of Jonathan's parents are very much alive and healthy to this day. According to Jonathan, he was taken in by a kind old woman and treated as a son. But because she was unable to work, Jonathan started working at a very young age to provide for himself and the old woman. Through hard work, he was able to raise enough money to put himself through the public elementary school system. Knowing education was his only path to escaping the cyclical poverty that he had been born into he focused all his energy on school. He excelled in every grade and gained entrance scholarships into high school and university – where he apparently focused on micro-finance and poverty in the Third world. For his thesis he came to Usa River where the community was particularly under-privileged and the rates of HIV were high. After six months of community research, Jonathan put a business plan together, to start an NGO with sustainable projects that would help the community at a grass roots level. Upon graduation, Jonathan moved his family to Usa River and put his business plan into action. But despite this elaborate story of his life, he continued to fail in providing an account of an absent ten year period. It was a fantastic tale and one that most people, seemingly too trustworthy, fawned over but for one as cynical as myself, it just sounded a little too fanciful to be believed. But all things aside, that is Jonathan's true gift – the ability to convince people, whoever they may be, of what he says.

Jonathan seemed in a rush to escape my presence, but before he left he broached the subject of money. Apparently, I was required to promptly hand over US$120 so he could have a work permit processed for me. I informed him I would not be getting a permit as I had already paid for a visa on arrival, to which Jonathan, prickly as ever when contradicted, demanded to see my passport. I gladly flicked through to the appropriate page and handed it to him.

Jonathan looked at it for a moment. "This is a tourist visa, you require a work permit," he said in a patronising voice, as if he was explaining something incredibly straightforward to an unfortunately simple child.

I was less than impressed and reminded Jonathan of the one and only email he had sent, telling me a permit would be available when I entered the country. He explained that there had evidently been a problem with the application process, but now he could go to the Immigration office and pick up the permit I required if I wanted to be involved with his school. I played the last card I possessed, and so, gave Jonathan US$70 along with the receipt of my tourist visa, then told him bluntly that it was his responsibility to make up the difference. Jonathan, without missing a beat, used his gift to 'convince' me that because I had the receipt, the Immigration office would reimburse me if I was to first pay the full fee. I could not really understand his logic, and was even less convinced I would ever see my money returned, but for the sake of $50 it was not worth the conflict it was creating on my first day. Besides, I had remained bullheaded and shown Jonathan I would not allow him to be the alpha male and bully me into submission.

Having victoriously sequestered the permit fee, Jonathan bid me adieu and left me with some parting advice. "While you are here, this is your home. Just be free. Remember: be flexible." This was Jonathan's phrase of choice – "Be flexible" – and was stated with infuriating regularity, considering it was uttered by one of the most inflexible people I have ever met. Nonetheless, I could not help but feel the core essence of the statement couldn't be further from the truth. I felt anything but free and did not feel at all welcomed into the house. To my way of thinking, four walls and a roof might create a house but it needed something more before it could be considered a home. And there was no way Jonathan's house could be seen as homely.

For the rest of the evening I wondered what I was doing in Usa River, feeling completely alien to my new 'home,' as I silently sat in the living room watching Tanzanian television. Kondo remained in the kitchen, cooking over a small kerosene burner while Gryson entertained himself and Bibi Zera, the nanny, nursed the two infant daughters of Jonathan and his wife. As for the last two, it was anyone's best guess as to their whereabouts.

Later on in the evening I had the 'pleasure' of making Machupa's acquaintance, who I took an instant dislike to after one look. I have heard that the eyes are the window to the soul and Machupa's were full of nothingness – they just looked dead. Machupa attempted to flatter me with all manner of compliments, trying to feed my ego and encourage me to think of myself as an amazing person for what I was doing. I pointed out to him that I was not doing anything, and then had the pleasure of witnessing Machupa momentarily blanch before a quick recovery. Cleverly, he changed the subject, and did something Jonathan had failed to do, by explaining the orientation procedure for the following day.

Apparently, Machupa was a busy man and could spare me no more of his precious time, but as he reached the door he had one last piece of wisdom to share, echoing Jonathan's earlier sentiments. "Remember, Jack – to be flexible. Very important," he said, as he closed the door behind him. I stared toward the door with disdain, regretting my decision to come to Usa River. At least I only had fifty-six days remaining.

It was an unusual time for the Tumbiri organisation when I arrived in Usa River. Jonathan had a particularly high number of volunteers staying in his house, so there was hardly room to breathe. I had not gone to Africa with the intention of becoming friends with a bunch of international volunteers, and therefore struggled to endear myself with the rest of the guests, which included five from Denmark and a Swedish girl. The Danish send a huge contingent of volunteers to Africa each year and Jonathan could always rely on these people, who, by their very nature thought the best in others. The problem I had encountered in Usa River was that I was unable to speak to any of the local population – despite my desire to do so they seemed reluctant to interact. And the Danes, who could articulate more technically correct English than me, would persevere with their native tongue instead of using the common language we all shared. This left Malin, the Swede, as the only person that I could comfortably communicate with in the village. Malin's lips moved at the velocity of a machine gun and I would generally tune out to most of the things she said. Though this never concerned her, as it seemed she simply valued the sound of her own voice.

We had only known each other a few days, but we quickly bonded over a mutual distrust of Jonathan and his organisation. Malin arrived at Jonathan's house only days before me, but it did not take her long to decide she could no longer accept living under his roof. Just before her departure, she informed me that a local woman, who spoke basic English, had warned her about Jonathan. This woman had apparently advised Malin to not trust him, and told her that everyone in the village hated him and his family. Even though I did not like Jonathan, I was still prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, whereas, Malin, who did not like him either, seemed intent on being vindictive. She said a lot of things, so I found it a little far-fetched to believe someone had approached and confided in her the secret of the villagers' dislike for Jonathan.

Nonetheless, in the space of only a few days, Malin's departure was followed by the unexpected flight of the two youngest Danish girls. There was no way Jonathan could justify Malin's early exit when we had all been familiar with her distrust of him, but the matter of the Danes was completely different. They had never confided in any of us as to the problems they may have been facing, their severe dissatisfaction not evident until the day we discovered they had quietly escaped from the house. This gave Jonathan the perfect opportunity to exploit the situation to his benefit – he blamed the girls' absence on their inability to cope with the lack of hot water, and the monotonous twice a day diet of rice and beans.

It was plausible, as they were two of the most sheltered people I had ever encountered, that the rugged wilderness (even the Westernised version experienced in Jonathan's house) of Africa was too much for them. It was a good enough explanation for the three remaining Danes, who considered themselves extremely hardy and adept at the African lifestyle. They had been critical of Malin's vocal distrust of Jonathan, so I had not even attempted to make allies of these three. I was not so quick to believe Jonathan's fast moving tongue however, having sensed an undercurrent of tension between him and the two girls whenever they were in close proximity of each other. I was a long way off having all the pieces to the puzzle but I was constantly being provided with more reasons to think all was not well with Jonathan and his charity.

My first full day in Usa River commenced with an orientation of the village in the company of Machupa. It occupied most of the morning but did little to assist my orientation, often taking bizarre shortcuts to visit 'friends' and being shown nothing that I might find even remotely helpful during my stay in the village. After turning down many of these routes, Machupa would look at me with an infuriating, knowledgeable kind of smirk, and tell me, "You will not need to worry about this road, Jack, you are not a local." The isolation that I had already experienced made it obvious that I was not a local without a reminder from Machupa. I felt completely unwelcomed and unwanted as I followed behind him, angrily thinking that it would have been more beneficial to show me a path I could navigate through the village, rather than more of their intimidation tactics. They didn't work anyway. Instead, I was simply provided with the opportunity to quietly absorb a side of the village I would have otherwise not experienced. As it was, I had found myself lost in villages and slums of African cities in my previous visit to Africa, several years earlier, so I did not feel out of my depth or as if I was breaking some unwritten rule by being somewhere I did not belong.

We eventually rendezvoused with Jonathan, who remained seated in his throne-like office chair when we entered the room. He apologised for having little time to allot me but I must understand he was "a busy man, a very busy man with a busy, busy schedule." I could not possibly object to his unfortunately busy workload, but Jonathan was kind enough to take the time to breakdown and explain the finer details of his organisation for me, clarifying how he specifically aided the local community. Jonathan's problem however, was that I had been raised to believe talk was cheap. A person was defined by their actions and I would require more concrete evidence before I was ready to believe him. I figured if he was truly doing what he claimed, it would be obvious for me to see.

It was during the wet season when I arrived, which meant the dirt roads had become a quagmire of ankle deep mud best negotiated by rubber gum boots. I had packed unsatisfactorily for the time of year and had the choice between low cut sneakers and my favoured footwear of thongs, which I more or less lived in, weather permitting. Without much thought I opted for thongs, not taking into account the lack of traction of the tread-less, rubber sole.

I arrived late for my first day at the school after an incredibly slow shuffle from Jonathan's house, generally fighting to keep my balance to avoid lying on my back in the mud. Upon arrival, I was met by scores of snotty faced, muddy children who were not at all interested in me. Fair enough. To them, I was just another white face that would spend a few weeks with them then return to my regular life. As far as their concept of geography was concerned (and most of the adults included), there was Usa River, Tanzania, then there was the rest of the world. I surveyed the scene and struggled to find any attraction in a smelly, muddy village full of standoffish adults and dirty children. Once again I questioned why I had ever thought coming to Usa River would be a good idea, and quietly reminded myself that I now only had fifty-four days remaining, as I introduced myself to the teacher, Fahamu.

There was close to seventy kids at the school, split between three classes, and Fahamu was the sole teacher. At high season, when volunteers were in abundance, the distribution of classes was not a problem, but at times when there were no volunteers I could not quite fathom how she managed on her own. This question was brushed aside by Teacher Fahamu, who merely stated "it was a bit more work." That seemed to be quite an understatement, but I was beginning to accept no one would give me answers containing any depth.

Fahamu brusquely looked me up and down, then welcomed me to the school, before telling me I could assist Anders in middle class. I was not exactly thrilled with the idea of doing anything with Anders, let alone playing understudy to him in a class of six year olds. He seemed to love Jonathan with something bordering on reverence (which made me feel like bursting out laughing or slapping him around the ears – I was yet to decide). As far as I was concerned, his support and respect for Jonathan had immediately put us on conflicting sides.

I had begrudgingly headed in the direction of the class before Teacher Fahamu called me back, making it clear I would not be entering any classes while my feet and lower legs were covered in thick, brown mud. I failed to see her point of view. The ground was a minefield of mud which would once again conquer my feet as soon as I stepped outside. However, I slipped and slid toward the water tap in a corner of the yard in an attempt to appease the teacher. I was awkwardly bent over trying to cling to anything, including any last vestiges of pride, to save myself from an embarrassing fall when I was roughly grabbed from behind. The school's cook had witnessed the abomination I was creating, spilling water everywhere while grappling with the loosely mounted wooden fence, and decided I needed assistance. Without a word, she lifted my feet, one at a time, almost up-ending me in the process, and mercilessly scrubbed my feet and legs with her bare hands. I gave up on the wobbling fence and threw an arm across her back for support instead. When she had finished she cast me aside and focused on cleaning the mud from her hands. I stared at her, frowning a little with indignation, as she shut off the tap and returned to her work. I was capable of washing mud from my feet without any help. Even so, I thanked Sadiki in a very Australian way, only to receive a blank stare in return, before she settled back to her previous task of chopping firewood.

For me, having three less guests in the house was a vast improvement. It allowed me more space to kick my legs out, but more importantly it meant an increase in the portions of food. The volume seemed to remain the same no matter how many volunteers were vying for servings, and I would become rabid at mealtimes as I made certain I had a fair share. I would occasionally correspond with the outside world via email and would compare my living conditions to that of a World War Two concentration camp. I described the minimal meals of sliced white bread for breakfast, then the servings of rice and beans provided for lunch and dinner as prison gruel. On top of that, I had been housed in the yard, in a partially enclosed wooden shack which dripped water on my bed every night, initially leaving me in abject fear I had become incontinent.

My messages to my family gave an indication I was hating my humanitarian experience and I was advised that if it was something that was failing to bring me any satisfaction or enjoyment, I should not feel obligated to stay. They were not words I needed to hear. I strongly considered packing my bag and leaving Tanzania every day for the first three weeks of my tenure. This did not change until the arrival of an American who, after only a few days, matched my cynicism of Jonathan and became a powerful component of my reasoning behind staying. I was not the sort of person to give up easily, so I remained committed to honouring the eight weeks I had signed on for, but continued to mark off each day until I would be free again.

One night during dinner I attempted to lightly probe Anders and the other two Danes for information on Jonathan. I had seen him and his wife often verbally abusing Bibi Zera and Kondo and seemingly neglecting their own children, particularly Gryson who might have been invisible. I did not have to speak Swahili to understand body language and the depletion in self esteem of these people after being lambasted was obvious. Incredibly, these three remained flagrant supporters of Jonathan, despite, what I felt were, major deficiencies plain for all to see. Furthermore, they commended the extent of Jonathan's good deeds among the community and outlined the differences between him and a man named, Khalfani, who operated an orphanage/school in a neighbouring village. They made all kinds of allegations against Khalfani – who in all fairness sounded like a borderline criminal – abusing the community for his own benefit, but no more than Jonathan, I thought.

It was becoming increasingly evident that Jonathan had the ability to wave his hand and cast a magical spell over everyone that arrived in Usa River. I found it hard to believe Jonathan's personality was alluring enough to convince anyone he was thinking of anyone but himself. He did not seem smart enough to present the facade of a caring person or even someone that wanted to make the effort. Ultimately, he did not have to try, though, when most visitors were willing to create their own reality surrounding the world of goodwill he had created. The people that came to Usa River had a preconceived idea of what they would encounter and there was not space to include a man consumed by greed. The brain is an unusual thing with the power to invent a completely alternate manifestation wanted by the heart.

As the days ticked slowly by, I began to accept the routine of a regular day. While I desperately wanted my fifty-six days to expire (I had become resolute I would complete my commitment), I was counting on the impending departure of the last three Danes to improve my spirits. I had finally given up on the hope they would ever acknowledge the abuse and neglect staring them directly in the face. I assumed that I broke the mould of the typical volunteer by being a person who was naturally cynical and disbelieving of international charities. I had simply wanted to hang around with a bunch of kids for a while and had repressed my negativity surrounding these organisations to accept the opportunity to do so. But I had taken Jonathan's less than charitable persona as a personal affront, not yet ready to admit I had been duped. Instead, I had decided the best approach was to literally make myself at home (as he had suggested) and show nothing but contempt to his acts of intimidation.

In the evenings I would kick back with one of Jonathan's books, in an armchair facing the door, and await his arrival. It would not matter the time he returned home, I would be the first person he came across when entering the house. Although our exchanges were limited – they were something along these lines:

"How was your day, Jonathan?" I would ask.

Then his standard reply, "Fine," (followed by a brief pause) "And yours?" (offered as an afterthought).

"Fine," I would answer to Jonathan's back, as he was already disappearing from the living room to his bedroom.

I was doing everything possible to assert myself and make Jonathan feel uncomfortable in his own house.

Chapter Two

I had left school at the age of sixteen. It was not that I struggled academically or that I had any unbelievable vocational prospects to pursue. I simply did not enjoy the educational system – never had – and took the first opportunity to leave. In Australia, I had never felt obligated to finish my schooling, convinced there were other options I could pursue to live a successful life, following any career path I desired. I have never regretted my choice and remain far from hypocritical about the need for the younger generation to complete their studies. If they have another avenue to follow outside of the classroom, I think it can only be a good thing to enter the real world away from school. There is a huge discrepancy between life in Australia and a country like Tanzania, though. Even with a sound education it is not uncommon for a Tanzanian to fail in finding employment. At best, they will scrape through life on a day to day basis. The estimated figure of primary-aged children enrolled in school is three out of four, but as few as twenty percent will complete their primary education.

At the Tumbiri school I lived for the break-time as much as any of the kids. I did not consider myself to be a teacher to the children, or look to set them an example of a positive role model they could aspire toward one day. When I was at the school I just added to the tally, one more child. Above all else, I would think of myself as more of a friend than a mentor. Even in the stages when I knew about four words of Swahili, I could comfortably interact with all the kids from the two year olds through to the oldest – girls or boys – it did not matter.

My decision to remain in Usa River was mostly to do with the children, with whom I was slowly developing a bond. As much as I was not enjoying my experience in the village I knew I would find it incredibly difficult to tear myself away from the kids. It was refreshing to take a step back and just watch them enjoying life. In the West we are led to believe that because these people have so little they experience nothing but hardship, but I never found this to be the case at all. On the contrary, I looked on with jealousy at what they had. Community bonds – neighbours would help one another, never expecting anything in return. Simple pleasures – music and food could bring so much excitement and joy. The camaraderie amongst the children was something I had never previously witnessed, whereby the older kids would support the youngest and to an extent chaperone them throughout the day.

I became embarrassed when I reminisced of my own childhood, dominated by plastic toys manufactured in China. The creativity and initiative the local children possessed to invent their own toys and games was inspiring. So much of what I would achieve later on in the village, only using basic components, was made possible by the lessons I learnt observing the kids. Hours of entertainment could come from something as simple as a rubber band or a toothpick. So often expensive toys, which had been donated from developed countries, would be shelved after experiencing a brief mania of popularity, the children's attention then returning to bottle caps.

After my initial interaction at the water tap with Sadiki, the cook, I had become intrigued or perhaps, captivated by her movements. We were yet to have a conversation – or even exchange any words for that matter – but then we could not even speak the same language. I guess she had become an enigma I was trying to understand. Whether it was during lessons or at break-time, whenever my mind wandered, my eyes would gravitate to Sadiki. She was different. Unlike any girl I had ever encountered. She worked tirelessly throughout the day, cooking the students' meals over an open fire: porridge (made from cornflour) in the mornings; then rice and beans at lunch-time. In between, she would make brief forays into the yard – to fetch water and firewood – through the rain and mud, barefoot with her pants rolled up to her knees. She would return from the communal water tap, shoulders buckling from the strain of a twenty litre bucket of water in each hand, feet struggling for traction in the mud. On top of her heavy workload she would bring her six month old son to the school each day. Justin, an incredibly docile child, would spend most of the day rolling around on the ground allowing his mother to continue her duties, but when he became distressed, Sadiki would tie him across her back and carry on without breaking stride. In a country where most people applied the base standard to scrape through life, Sadiki's work ethic was among the strongest I had ever witnessed.

It had been a revolving door at Jonathan's house during the week. The house being at its quietest since I had first arrived, with just Anders and me to keep each other company. I cannot pretend the departure of the last two Danish girls greatly affected me in any way, but I did present the facade (not dissimilar to that of Jonathan) that I was sad to see them go. Anders, a rather emotional character, was clearly devastated by the absence of his compatriots but if he was hoping to discover a shoulder to cry on, he was wasting his time. At that point, I was of the opinion that only girls cried but it was a mindset which would later change with future experiences.

My advice was blunt and direct. "Suck it up, mate, and get your emotions in check. Bloody hell!? Denmark is a small place... You could probably pedal a bike over to their places in about half an hour," I had said one night, in response to a forlorn comment he had made about missing the two girls. Maybe I had stepped out of line with my reality check, it was not as if we were exactly close.

A few days earlier, a rumour had begun to circulate that a new volunteer would be arriving, the first since myself. Details were scant, but we were led to believe an American female could potentially arrive prior to the close of the month, a date which was only days away. I was dubious about these details. Surely it was a certain thing, undoubtedly organised months in advance – was there an American girl coming or not? Given the shaky relationship I shared with Jonathan it is fair to imagine he did not feel the need to confide any details surrounding his organisation with me. This information had come directly from the mouth of Anders, who considered himself to be a great friend of Jonathan, although I doubt the feeling was reciprocated.

The thing was though, Anders shared a lot of news – much of which seemed to be anything but true. I can only guess where he got the core of his information but could never quite understand what made him believe these fables as lore. After all, Anders was the person who had shared such pearls with me as: Kondo being taken off the street and adopted by Jonathan and his wife. Of course, they had loved him like their own child and supported him so much so, they had even given him employment. Or: Bibi Zera, a woman Jonathan had discovered in Usa River, possessing nothing. According to the story, he had educated her through a vocational program before offering her a job, but neglected to mention that she was a mother of six children, who used her salary to rent a house in a different area of the village for her children and continued to pay for their education.

Anders and I spent little time together outside of the evening meal and when we were in one another's company, moments were filled with awkward silences. I would accept that my hostile nature was to blame for being unable to develop a friendship with Anders but I felt justified in my behaviour. Anders' readiness to believe in Jonathan infuriated me enough that I would willingly sit in stony silence, counting the days until I saw him for the last time. He was a nice guy, probably too nice for his own good, and therefore was incredibly naïve, naturally looking for the best in people even if it did not exist. He struck me as the type of person who had offered three months of his life in an attempt to make the world a slightly better place, but would spend the rest of it reliving his noble virtues to anyone that would listen.

It had finally been confirmed as fact that this mystery girl would arrive at some stage throughout the day and excitement had peaked. No doubt Anders was relishing the opportunity of unaffected conversation with a person who would commence her stay with no predisposition toward Jonathan. I remained neutral to the incoming arrival while my eyes were glued to 'The Comedy Hour.' A ridiculously unfunny Tanzanian television program which had the locals collapsing with laughter, and me still trying to determine what was funny about a man with a deep voice and beard, wearing a wig and woman's dress.

My biggest issue about welcoming a new volunteer revolved around the portions of food which I was positive would diminish with the sudden inclusion of another person. I had long since accepted Jonathan for who he truly was, having finally given up hope of the possibility that he was in some way helping the community, and assumed when the new guest arrived, she would simply become just another person who would buy into the 'goodwill' of Tumbiri.

It was not until late in the evening when Jonathan entered the house, leading the newest addition to his cavalcade of volunteers. I looked up momentarily from the television before returning my attention to everybody's favourite character, Sharabaro. Instantly, I took a disliking to her, aware that the remainder of my time in the village would be shared with this girl. I resented the fake smile plastered across Jonathan's face, as he took a sudden interest in the well being of Anders and myself, trying to present a happy and loving environment to the girl. I gave Jonathan little attention, but scowled at Anders who had unwittingly fallen into Jonathan's game by enthusiastically talking of his "rewarding" day with the students. The girl had a glowing smile on her face, undoubtedly eager to meet the young students. I was spiteful that my experience had been marred by Jonathan's greed and selfishness, and that I could not serve my time in the village with blissful ignorance like Anders. I suspected that this girl would be no different, as she excitedly followed the conversation between Jonathan and Anders.

Jonathan, ever the astute businessman, realised first impressions were the only thing to matter. He stepped aside so Anders and I could clearly see the girl. "Anders, this is Stephanie, from America, she will be helping us for the next three months," he said in his most paternalistic voice. "Oh, and Stephanie, this is Anders, he is from Denmark. Unfortunately we will be needing to farewell him this week." He paused, giving me a challenging stare which I would become increasingly familiar with, before adding me into the equation almost as an afterthought, "Stephanie, this is Jack."

I suppose my hostility could be attributed to the fact that I hardly felt welcomed. I was uninterested in being a part of Jonathan's mind games and mental battles. If he wanted to exclude me I would accept it, reminding myself I would be leaving Usa River for the last time in five weeks. Once again, I regretted my choice to offer my time as a volunteer for the purpose of international aid.

With the pleasantries now out of the way Jonathan considered his mediating duties complete and was therefore free to escape our presence. I remained fixated on the television, but I could not help noticing that Stephanie continued to stand uncomfortably next to the door. I did not know how to help her feel welcome, so I ignored the situation, and focused on a new skit in which Sharabaro mopped the floor and struggled to adjust his tightly fitting dress. Anders, on the other hand, was in his diplomatic prime and saw an opportunity to promote international relations, quickly engaging her in a broad range of topics, such as, Jonathan's intestinal fortitude, through to the merits of Danish anthropology. Undoubtedly riveting conversation but nothing I agreed with, or could relate to, so I excluded myself from the talk and attempted to make sense of Sharabaro's antics.

While I had no faith in the Tumbiri organisation I did not feel it was my place to jade the experience of another with my bitter attitude. Stephanie would form her own opinions, good or bad, based on her personal experiences during her stay. In the meantime, I would remain distant and unapproachable, and allow her time to draw her own conclusions.

Chapter Three

Stephanie was in the process of studying medicine in the United States and wanted to gain on-the-ground experience in the field of tropical diseases. For the past six months she had been in contact with Jonathan discussing the merits of initiating a malaria awareness campaign on behalf of the community. It was a valid idea, the disease was prevalent in the Usa River area with eighty percent of children contracting it at some stage during their childhood. Unbeknownst to Stephanie however, and something Jonathan had failed to mention to her in any of his previous correspondences, the village had already been armed against malaria.

Launched in 2005, the President's Malaria Initiative (PMI) was implemented by the U.S. Government to reduce the burden of malaria and help relieve poverty on the African continent. The goal of PMI is to reduce malaria-related deaths by fifty per cent in nineteen countries in Africa (including Tanzania) that have a high rate of malaria. To achieve this, there is a focus on expanding coverage of highly effective malaria prevention and treatment measures to the most vulnerable populations: pregnant women and children under five years of age.

The locals knew what was responsible for the disease and the preventative measures to take. When Stephanie arrived in Usa River, there was little more she could do in the defence against malaria. Jonathan's interest in the project remained purely financial – he saw it as another opportunity to personally profit.

Jonathan believed he could manipulate another person by offering to share the selfish grandeur he valued above all else, assuming that everyone desired the same obsession for power as himself. So, when he was promoting the possibility of this campaign to Stephanie, he offered exactly what he thought she must have been seeking. It would be named in her honour, 'The Stephanie Malaria Campaign,' so no one would be in any doubt as to who had initiated this project. She had nothing to worry about, Jonathan would take care of everything to achieve their mutual goals – all she needed to do was provide the funding to make their dream a reality. Stephanie, to her credit, was able to see this fantasy for what it truly was. After less than a week in Usa River, she managed to make contact with the local textiler producing the mosquito nets. He was perplexed as to what an additional malaria initiative would achieve and queried if she was aware that Usa River was the second village in the region targeted under the scheme. It was a common ploy of Jonathan to develop a new project with the association of a volunteer, who would willingly cover all the costs before returning to their home country. They would naively think they had done something special to assist the village, not realising Jonathan had pocketed the money and disbanded the project shortly after their departure.

Stephanie had been unwilling to give Jonathan so much as a dollar without any documentation from him as to how the money would be used. He realised she was becoming suspicious and was unlikely to agree to his terms so he relented on the subject, allowing the opportunity of the 'Stephanie Malaria Campaign' to fade into nothing. Being cynical of these organisations was not a matter of intellect, more a case of being savvy – a trait I had not believed Stephanie to possess in the beginning. She had surprised me, though. Even with Anders constantly praising the efforts of Jonathan during his last days, she had followed her own judgement, believing there was more to the story than what lay on the surface. Whether or not I had played a part in her mindset due to my obvious discontent, she had already made her own analysis when she sought out my opinion on the Tumbiri organisation.

At this stage, we were yet to have a conversation of any real depth – we were yet to have a conversation, period. Other than a few obligatory words, which failed to carry any substance, we had hardly spoken since her arrival. I imagine it would have taken a fair amount of courage for Stephanie to approach me and speak of her hesitancies surrounding Jonathan. Arriving in a foreign land, hoping to offer something positive to those less fortunate, but instead, being confronted with a totally unexpected situation and feeling utterly alone. She had reached out to me, hoping I would prove to be moral support and I obliged. I had refused to approach her from the start to warn her of Jonathan, figuring she needed to make up her own mind but now she had formulated her own opinion and it tallied with mine, Jonathan had become open slather.

I am not one to beat around the bush, having no issue dissecting the heart of a problem immediately. I looked up at Stephanie, standing in the doorway of my room – not yet comfortable in my presence to cross the threshold – then picked my words carefully, unsure how much of my feelings I should reveal. "Steph, Jonathan and Machupa say a lot of things," I said slowly. "I wouldn't believe half of what comes out of their mouths. If you're having doubts about them, then there's probably good reason for it."

"They just don't seem like they're doing anything to help anyone..." she said, struggling to separate reality from her expectations.

"Well, you've talked to Anders – he reckons they're alright," I remarked off-handedly, testing the resolve of her judgement. Stephanie responded with a roll of her eyes, quite befitting of the situation, but at times would be used with such frequency I would become spasmodic with rage. "Look, I don't like them and I don't trust them. I've thought about leaving everyday since I arrived, but I want you to know, I stay for the kids. If I didn't feel I was making a worthwhile contribution I would've left long before you rocked up. If you want evidence, just look at the way they treat others. I mean, I live under the same roof as Jonathan and the bloke doesn't know a thing about me. He's never talked to me."

Stephanie already had the answer, she did not need me to explain anything to her, but was having trouble accepting the truth. The entire organisation was a lie, its true intention to exploit money from foreign donors and control the village. Even when confronted by the facts it was hard to believe the truth. I could understand the warring factions currently waging battle in her head. It was something I was still struggling to come to terms with. I had been manipulated into Jonathan's foul practice and had become an unwilling accomplice in his goal of profiteering. I felt like a total bastard, corrupted by a single-minded, self-centred asshole. I generally praised myself as an astute character but on this occasion I had been one-hundred percent duped and my ego had been duly dented. I could not accept I had been outsmarted by a person I had zero respect for on every level.

It was a lot to absorb and Stephanie would need some time to go away and consider what we had discussed. There is no way she could have foreseen this as reality when she had first contemplated a visit to Usa River. She stood silently in the doorway. "Thanks for the chat, Jackie," she said after a moment, turning from the doorway to leave me in solitude.

"Yeah, whatever," I replied off-handedly, as she walked away. As far as I was concerned, we were still on different sides, but Stephanie had made the first inroads toward penetrating my defensive armour.

Chapter Four

When Anders left the village it was an emotional time for all of us, apparently. His natural goodwill left a void that obviously I was unable to fill. I had a suspicion it was the termination of money Anders continually handed to Jonathan in 'support' of his various projects that had created a void. Jonathan and Machupa had foregone any further attempts to ply money from me in order to purchase basic need items for the orphans and widowed women. Every time they had broached this topic I had tactfully reminded them of the large sum of money I had initially donated which was supposed to serve that exact purpose. Of course, it had allegedly already been spent on these requirements, although no evidence to support this statement could be produced.

On a personal note, I was particularly happy Anders now remained with us only in memory. If nothing else, with just Stephanie and myself in the house the scales had been tipped away from support for Jonathan. I could imagine him sitting in his office crossing off boxes on his calendar, counting the days until our respective departures, especially mine. It was not good for business to have a guest so close to the operation who did not believe the facade, let alone two of them colluding. It quickly became obvious to Jonathan he had lost the potential support of Stephanie who had seemingly crossed to the darkside. It was common knowledge I had been anti-Jonathan/anti-Tumbiri since day one and with the increasing amount of time Stephanie and I were spending together there could only be a negative outcome for Jonathan.

To begin with, most of what Stephanie and I talked about was purely speculative, based on our individual experiences. It was not until shortly after Anders' departure that our speculation started to become steeped in truth.

I had been terribly ill, battling malaria, and was having irregular and troubled sleep patterns. Deep into the night I had been startled awake by an agonising scream just outside my room. The frantic yells subsided after no more than thirty seconds, replaced by a palpable silence, leaving me to wonder if the noise I had heard was indeed genuine. During the ensuing deathly quiet I weighed my options and considered charging outside in case Edo, the security guard, required assistance. I decided against joining the fray however, fearing friendly fire from a highly strung Edo. Whatever commotion had just occurred, it was over now. Having been suddenly ripped from the reverie of sleep my brain was still trying to wake up and process the confusion while my heartbeat began to return to a normal level.

Apparently, I had not been the only one awoken by the disturbance. Jonathan's voice called out shakily across the yard, from the security of the main house, "Edo... Edo!"

The house itself was a secure facility, each window protected by vertical iron bars and the door sealed behind a double padlocked iron grate each night. Whereas, I slept in a wooden hut – the door of which would not completely close without the aid of a swift kick.

Shortly after Jonathan's plea for Edo, dragging sounds could be heard, followed by the slow and soft but unmistakeable voice of Edo. A frenzied conversation between the pair signalled the end of any possible danger – although with my limited comprehension of Swahili the specifics were lost on me. Edo may have been quietly spoken but he was a big man in stature and accordingly carried a big rifle. Any time I had ever crossed the yard during the night to use the outhouse I had been wary of startling a snoring Edo, gun perched across his lap. The assailant more than likely took the sleeping security guard by surprise, but I was certain Edo had ultimately won the fight.

My heartbeat had finally recovered and the sheer exhaustion inherent of the illness was once again sweeping over my ravaged body. In my weariness, I was confident there was nothing outside to fear. Twelve foot high fences with broken glass mortared on the top, barbed wire and an angry, armed guard for protection. It would have been enough to keep me out, I thought pensively, as I rolled over and fell back to sleep. With Edo patrolling the yard I had not even concerned myself to climb out of bed and slide the bolt to lock the door. In my semi-comatosed state anyone could have strolled into my room but this would mark the last night where I took a lax approach to security. From then on, I would fastidiously bolt the door each night and go to such lengths as checking under the bed for whoever may lie in wait.

Although it was only Bibi Zera I had seen in the morning before leaving for the school with Stephanie, the tension had been palpable. Usually a cheerful and outgoing personality, she was strangely distant. I racked my brain, dredging my vocabulary, in an attempt to question her about the previous night's events, but I was met with an abruptness I had not before encountered from her. I was stung by her hostility regarding an issue I felt I had every right to know about. After some more perseverance Bibi admitted there had been a fight, but did not care to elaborate, before making it quite clear the topic was closed for discussion.

Stephanie and I were slowly developing a friendship, initially based on our mutual distrust of Jonathan. As such, I was amazed she was yet to confer with me over the disturbance involving Edo but as I quickly discovered, even more amazingly, she had slept soundly throughout the entire night. Stephanie had been prescribed medication – one of the side effects being induced drowsiness – and it was clearly working quite well. Night after night, from the moment her head hit the pillow, she had remained unconscious until breakfast time. I expected a piqued level of interest after relaying the story to her, but instead was met with her infuriatingly common roll of the eyes. Stephanie was the kind of person to contradict any story unless she had the facts printed in black and white. She was well aware of my current health and therefore pitied my fragile balance of reality, assuming my mind had invented the entire episode.

It was not until we arrived at the school that my tale began to gain some credibility. We approached Teacher Fahamu, who was standing by the door of the classroom looking confused. "Stefan, Jackie... Good morning," she said, greeting us. "Very unusual. The key is not being delivered from the house of Mr Jonathan yet. It should not be too long – I am sending Sadiki to get it."

Stephanie glanced my way, with her eyebrows slightly raised, suddenly interested to hear more details of my version of events. "Fahamu," I said seriously. "Something happened last night at Jonathan's house. Somebody broke in and there was a big fight with Edo, the security guard."

Fahamu looked shocked. "Someone broke into his house?" she asked.

"No. Just into the yard, but when I asked Bibi Zera this morning she refused to talk about it." Seldom had an opportunity presented itself to question someone, who would have accurate information, about the real Jonathan. "Fahamu, is somebody trying to kill Jonathan?" I said hurriedly, exploiting Fahamu's shock in an attempt to force her to provide an answer to the outlandish possibility someone was trying to reach Jonathan.

"To kill? I do not know..." Fahamu was startled by the direct line of questioning but cryptically added, "There are many bad people in Usa River..." Although she was reluctant to give a definitive answer, it seemed she knew more about Jonathan than what was suggested by the minimal information she had offered. It was an encouraging sign, as I realised the potential for gain by developing a stronger relationship with her.

Throughout the course of the day we progressively began to obsess over the possible reasons for the break-in, and it seemed we were not alone in our interest. Whenever they could find a free moment, Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki would put their heads together, speaking in low tones. Stephanie and I considered the truth paramount and vowed to elicit the facts from Jonathan. We reasoned that if we asked him directly about the break-in, proving we were well aware of the incident, he would be unable to deny the truth. But it would not prove to be fortuitous, as I had completely underestimated his seemingly non-existent integrity.

When we returned to the house that afternoon, Stephanie approached his wife. Not nearly as adept at bending the truth as Jonathan, she struggled to offer a plausible story, which clearly showed no prior thought to the likelihood that this topic would be broached. After further insistence from Stephanie that she had definitely heard a fight, the story was bizarrely altered before employing the 'when in doubt' fail-safe measure. Also a favoured tactic of Jonathan and Machupa, when questioning became too intense all comprehension of the English language would be lost. It infuriated me that they had so little respect for us they had not even made the effort to develop a pre-conceived story of some authenticity. Whether she had thought the story of her crying daughter would satisfy our curiosity or just did not care due to the air of impunity she operated under, it did not matter.

I accepted her story for the time being, but resolved to be forcibly direct when I would later question Jonathan about the intruder. I impatiently awaited his return from whatever it was that he did to occupy his day, then blatantly asked him why someone would enter a seemingly impenetrable yard only to fight an armed guard in the dead of the night. I was wrong if I had thought this approach would elicit a response from Jonathan. His propensity for creating disinformation far exceeded that of his wife.

My skin prickled while he listlessly detailed the foibles of an excessively inebriated man, who "staggered drunkenly" into the yard. "Edo, having been trained to deal with such incidences," "calmly approached the drunken man" and although "encountering slight resistance" managed to "detain" him. With the situation under control, "the man, who had clearly had too much alcohol, was escorted to the police station" until his blood levels had returned to normal.

Before leaving me alone, Jonathan found one last opportunity to provoke me from his position of authority, increasing the rage brewing inside me. "Were you scared, Jack? Just remember – be flexible. You are very safe here." Jonathan was almost always softly spoken, wearing an expression of innocence, but the corners of his mouth often twitched giving an insight to the sheer disdain he felt for people. I was often on the receiving end of this look and would return it with my own passive expression, which generally concealed my overwhelming desire to punch him on the nose.

I was unequivocally certain of the severity of the altercation but at no stage had I entertained the thought that anything had happened to Edo. As it was, I had spent the afternoon working out the translations to the questions I planned to ask him when he arrived for his shift, but he did not come that night or any other night from then on. Instead of Edo, we were now met each evening by three armed guards. The heightened state of security placed credence to the likelihood the intruder was something more than a drunken stranger who had stumbled into the yard.

Try as I might, I could not encourage these new guards to reveal any information as to the whereabouts of Edo. It appeared Jonathan had pre-empted my potential interrogation, stymieing any opportunity I had to discover the truth. I deferred to Stephanie, seeking her opinion as to whether we were indeed the targets of the intrusion. There was every possibility it was a cavalier attempt to rob white people by someone desperate to get their hands on our supposed 'wealth.' Stephanie, who had no remaining tolerance to anything Jonathan said, was certain he had been the primary target. Despite my undeniable cynicism however, I still could not accept he was that bad a person that someone would risk their own life in order to get to him. I knew there were locals who hated him, and I knew he was pocketing the money being donated by foreigners, but even so...

We were unlikely to forget about Edo any time soon, realising we would need to become much more savvy if we were to ever find our answers. Bibi Zera was a veritable Pandora's box, having lived with and worked for Jonathan over the previous two years, and she proved vital once we had discovered the key to unlock her. Each night, Stephanie and I would ask increasingly probing questions as to Jonathan's enterprises, with me occasionally moving off track and asking something like: "Is Jonathan secretly homosexual?" or, "Is his wife a former prostitute?" or, "If Amina is really Jonathan and Mary's child why has she never been breastfed?"

Perhaps Bibi Zera became tired of evading our questions or maybe, after initial doubts, she had finally begun to trust that our loyalty lay with her and not with Jonathan. It was a ground breaking moment for us, when after much persistence it was revealed Edo was bedridden in a hospital in the neighbouring village, but Bibi Zera assured us he would return.

I randomly bumped into Edo a month later, unable to believe my eyes as I stared at him. A grin spread across his face, almost extending to his ears as he called out to me, 'Jackie!'

'What the fuck, Edo?' I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

From there I finally received the true account of his ordeal as it had happened. He had been asleep (of course he had been – I secretly held the belief the guy was narcoleptic) when he was attacked. Edo had retaliated and the screams that followed along with the strong resistance had been enough to startle the intruder into fleeing. His story was not complete though, as he showed me his thumb, or more accurately lack of thumb, which had been dismembered in the attack. Finally, he reached the climax of his story, his excitement hitting fever pitch. He slid the beret from his bald head to reveal a six inch long depression caused by a machete. He had lost a considerable amount of blood and as a result, spent the subsequent four and a half weeks in hospital. A lifetime in Tanzania where, in many cases, a band-aid is the extent of the medical treatment provided.

This became just the first in a string of unusual incidences which did nothing but further damage to Jonathan's shaky image. Only days after the disappearance of Edo, we were met by The Flight of Kondo who had unexpectedly vanished from the house during the night. Furthermore, upon returning from the school in the afternoon we found a new housegirl settling into her duties. Aailyah, who was basically still a child herself, was charged with caring for Jonathan's two daughters.

Although she was quiet – and just another person who spoke a foreign language to me – we developed a basic friendship during our covert games of cards at night, when she would attempt to relay the latest gossip surrounding Jonathan and his organisation. Stephanie and I would read from an English to Swahili translation book when talking to Bibi Zera and Aailyah, but by the time we had left the four of us had become almost like a family unit. Aailyah was a good person but did not have the hardened personality of the older Bibi Zera. On many occasions I had come across Aailyah finishing a task with tears streaming down her face after being verbally abused by Jonathan or his wife. Within weeks, she too would follow suit and run away from the house, which must have felt more like a prison to the employees. I once heard a really good quote that has always stuck with me: "The measure of a man is not how he treats his equals or superiors, but how he treats those beneath him." These words often flashed through my mind when I considered Jonathan.

Chapter Five

We continued to distance ourselves from Jonathan. Stephanie favoured the approach of avoiding him at all costs, whereas I would time my movements to coincide with his so we would cross paths several times throughout a day, allowing me an opportunity to make an antagonistic comment. Jonathan feared the affect his employees could have if they were to reveal sensitive information to volunteers, and ultimately the negative outcome this would have to his organisation. Where possible he would employ staff who were unable to speak English and discouraged them to interact with the visitors. But even Jonathan could not concoct a believable story to deter a volunteer from talking to any of his employees. Instead he used the theory that without sharing a common language nothing of depth could be discussed, reinforced by a multitude of threats to his staff. The most common being imprisonment, an empty threat but it had the desired effect on a race of people whose education was generally so poor they would naively believe everything said to them. Jonathan seemed to be under the impression that the flawless self image he presented, coupled with the oppression he enforced on his workers which deterred them from speaking the truth, would be enough to convince a volunteer of his positive virtues. And for the most part, he was correct.

Although it was inevitable that a volunteer, who had been in Usa River for some time, would eventually develop a 'friendship' with the employees, it would be more a casual association than anything truly meaningful. Due to the heavy cloud of fear created by Jonathan, he was certain the likes of Bibi Zera and Teacher Fahamu, who spent the most time by far with the guests, would never reveal anything negative about him or his operation. Whenever Stephanie and I fished for information regarding Jonathan we were met with vague responses about the good things he was providing for the village. We would begrudgingly accept the answers, which never seemed to tally with the opinion we held of the man, but continued to persist in our line of questioning. The turning point eventually coming when we altered tactics. We were certain our suspicions were correct, so instead of searching for confirmation of our thoughts regarding Jonathan's organisation, we began to make statements. Teacher Fahamu, in particular, became more comfortable speaking of Jonathan, believing we knew the truth. I would stoop to any level in the fight against Jonathan, often employing the very same tactics he used.

Each day Stephanie and I would pry deeper into this shady world created by Jonathan. I began to feel that if there was something I could truly offer to the people of this village it was to put a stop to Jonathan's control. I believed if I could uncover the whole story I would be able to take the evidence to a governing body and provide them with reason to investigate. Once they started to look into Jonathan's practices it would only be a matter of time before he was imprisoned, or at the very least, shut down. I assumed the villagers would be able to flourish when the veil of fear had been lifted.

I began to spend increasing amounts of time with Teacher Fahamu, as she revealed the reasons why people like herself and Sadiki were too afraid to leave their jobs. How Jonathan threatened to take their children from them, and how he controlled their money, giving them only enough to cover their basic needs and 'banking' the remainder. Fahamu explained that her dream was to one day return to the Maasai village where she was born and open a pre-school/day care centre for Maasai children who had little access to education. If she was allowed to withdraw the money Jonathan had 'saved' for her, she would have enough to leave Tumbiri and return to Mto wa Mbu. It was something she had discussed at length with Sadiki, who would leave with Fahamu to work for her as the cook/cleaner. I was angry at Jonathan, feeling manipulated and misled, and felt I was finally being presented with an opportunity to help people who were genuinely in need.

With my time in Usa River drawing to a close I began to face a number of emotions I never expected. Although I had commenced my stay by marking time until my departure, I had now started to feel as if I had a place in the village. I had grown attached to many of the children and did not want to face the prospect of saying goodbye.

Stephanie was struggling to sleep at night, having panic attacks that Jonathan would discover the dangerous level of information we had on him. She was convinced Machupa was in fact Jonathan's personal bodyguard and had at times killed people. She became terrified of becoming the sole volunteer once I had gone, and feared what Jonathan could potentially do to her. Although unconfirmed rumours circulated that Jonathan had previously had people killed, I never felt Stephanie or myself were in any real danger. As an international volunteer I believed I had total impunity. Should anything happen to a local there were major flaws in the Tanzanian law enforcement to prevent proper investigations, but if a volunteer died in suspicious circumstances it would create international backlash.

Stephanie did not share my positive outlook and accused me of failing to understand the severity of the situation. It was not the case at all – I was well aware of the danger I could place myself in by staying, but I finally had something to believe in. I could not place my own safety ahead of everybody else in Usa River who was being affected by Jonathan. I had lived a life where I was free to make my own choices – it was a right I believed every person deserved.

It was a decision which was tearing me up inside. I wanted to remain in the village for my own sake but deep down I felt it would be a selfish decision. I was certain that by leaving Tanzania, to secure legal aid to deal with the issues created by Jonathan, my actions would be of greater benefit to the residents than if I stayed. At the time I believed it was the best thing I could do, but it did not stop a multitude of other thoughts from flooding my mind.

On our walk to the school one morning, not too long before we left, I raised an idea that had been playing on my mind. "Steph, what's wrong with all these people?" I asked. "It couldn't be that hard to run one of these schools properly, for the right reasons."

"Yeah, but you know it's only people who want to make money that have NGO's," she replied, disillusioned with the concept of charity and volunteer work. "None of these people give a shit about helping anyone or improving the situation here."

The problem in Tanzania, or the rest of the world for that matter, was too widespread. It was not just Jonathan who was unethical in his approach to the destabilising problems of a marginalised community. In Usa River alone, we did not know of a charity that existed for any reason other than to make money. While the backdrop of this story relates to Jonathan and Tumbiri, it could be substituted for countless directors and organisations throughout the world.

I still struggled to comprehend the problem which was purely black and white to me. They were innocent kids and uneducated adults that were being taken advantage of, but of course, these were the easiest people to manipulate. I was experiencing a completely foreign concept – a crisis of conscience.

I had made a promise to Stephanie that I would get her safely out of the country, but I despised myself for choosing to leave. I did my best to convince myself I was making the right decision but I felt ashamed, as if I was taking the easy option and giving up. No one else had a choice, their existence was confined to Usa River, they had to stay.

Our last days in the village came in a rush. Stephanie had decided she had to leave, fearing her safety was in jeopardy and encouraged me to do the same. She had made contact with a private detective in the U.S.A. who advised her she was in danger and to return home before pursuing an investigation into Jonathan. To avoid suspicion, as she would be leaving a month and a half early, she rang Jonathan, too scared to face him, informing him her beloved grandmother had suffered a heart attack and needed her support. Naturally, she was distraught about leaving Usa River but she had to be with her family during such a difficult period. She had managed to book the next available flight and would be leaving immediately. Stephanie and I had friends – volunteering at a different school – who rented a house in Usa River, that were glad to have her stay with them for a couple of days until I could leave with a similarly apt excuse.

We were able to extricate Stephanie from the house on an afternoon when both Jonathan and his wife were absent. I now remained as the sole volunteer and did my best to play my role as a sympathetic friend bereft of his only companion. It was not hard to appear sad though, as I continually thought of my time in the village which would soon be over.

Jonathan also did his best to portray the character he felt was expected of him, given the situation, but I did not know who he was trying to convince. I stood by him, solemnly shaking my head, as he attempted to emotionally showcase grief. It was at this moment I felt a pang of pity for him. He did not have an emotional attachment to anything or anyone. Jonathan acted in a way he thought was appropriate for the situation, but did it unconvincingly, as he did not understand the feelings he was trying to emote.

I looked at him sadly as he patted me on the shoulder. "Yes, Jack, we all miss Stephanie, but God will take care of things," he assured me. Then he exited the living room, banging his fist against the door frame as he went and yelled, "Why? Why? It's just not fair," before continuing to his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

I could never understand Jonathan as a person or what his motives were for doing the things he did. I often wondered what his own childhood had truly been like, leading him to a life where he seemed to hate everyone and obsess over controlling others. I did not expect any loyalty from him. As a white person I might have been an alien from another planet. The local population had no concept of where I was from or the life I normally lived, so I could accept him taking advantage of people like me, but I could not agree with him doing it to his own people. In many ways, it was the greed and selfishness of people like him, starting with the President of the country then filtering into the lives of the general population, which caused Tanzania to remain a struggling nation.

In the last week Sadiki had been crying a lot and going to Teacher Fahamu to seek advice. She was a hard worker and a good person, so could not understand Jonathan's mentality. She had been awaiting payment of her wages for several months and was running out of available money to pay rent and buy food. In addition to herself, she had an eight month old child to support. To Sadiki this was a simple matter: she had done the work and therefore should be paid her salary. However, Jonathan saw this problem in a different light: she should be grateful she even had a job, and would only be paid if, and when, he felt like it. Sadiki was not alone though, many of the staff had not received payment at various stages throughout their employment. It was just another tactic of control used by Jonathan. It was too much for her to handle and she became adamant she would not return to the school.

With my impending departure rapidly approaching I could no longer convince myself my interest in Sadiki was refined to curiosity alone. When it occurred to me I was leaving and more than likely never see her again, I finally realised how much I had looked forward to being near her each day. While we did not necessarily have that much interaction with one another in a regular day, we had become comfortable with the other's presence. She had become an important part of my life in Usa River, and I did not want to pass by an opportunity to let her know how I felt.

We were sitting side-by-side on the ground just before I was about to leave for the afternoon. I was to return the following day for the last time, but apparently this would be Sadiki's last day. She had stated that she would approach Jonathan, after the end of the school day, and tell him to find another cook, she was quitting. Although it probably was not an ideal moment (she was in the process of breastfeeding Justin) I turned to her, reciting a sentence I had translated into Swahili the previous evening. "Sadiki, you're a pretty girl and I like you a lot." I felt like a total idiot as she stared at me without saying a word.

As I walked away a short time later, I placated my embarrassment by reminding myself I would not see her again.

I approached my final day in Usa River, much the same as any other, but it was with a dejected spirit and a feeling of emptiness. I would make my way to the school alone that morning before meeting Stephanie at our friends' house in the evening. After spending the night with them, we would depart early the following morning by bus. On my arrival at the school, out of habit, I cast my gaze around for Sadiki, but was unsurprised by her absence.

When I started my class it was the most colourless lesson I had taught since my first day, completely lacking in its usual energy and spontaneity. For the most part, the kids would generally be rather attentive, but on this occasion with my apparent disinterest they were becoming rampant. I did not have the heart to discipline them, so allowed their behaviour to continue.

I thought of many of the moments I had shared with the students in the class. When I had first arrived in the village, I had not flattered myself as a teacher of high merit, simply assuming I would be able to feign the appearance of a true educator. Armed with my knowledge of the English language and a physical presence much greater than any six year old, I commanded attention as a person who should be heard.

My lessons were unorthodox and the subject content I offered was far above anything expected of much older children in Australia. I had students as young as four in my class, whose attention had often not extended past scribbling in their notebooks, before they ate the incriminating pages – but with constant cajoling on my part, even they began to make progress.

While some still struggled to fully understand my lessons, each day another one of my students' faces would light up in recognition, as the concepts I was teaching became familiar. They were studying problems well above the standard for their ages, having progressed from copying and parroting a letter or sound – which was the standard of Anders' lessons – to understanding verbs and their corresponding actions with me. Or maths, where I expected students to solve long addition with numbers equating into the thousands and carrying digits accordingly.

I looked fondly at Alice, whose handwriting had once been illegible, but was now scribed with such diligence it could have been typeface. Many times, I had pushed her across to the other side of her desk, allowing me space to cramp myself in beside her, wrapping my arm around her in the process, then working together through her arithmetic. She would often bury her face in her hands and give up, unable to comprehend the maths, until one day, she straightened up with excitement, finally understanding the correct way to carry a unit. We spent time together outside of the classroom, with me occasionally visiting her home where she lived with her younger brother and great-grandmother. Alice would rush out to her great-grandmother, who would be cooking over a kerosene stove, before returning to offer me chai tea and rice.

My position was never defined as a teacher versus student relationship. In any developed country my interaction with the children would have undoubtedly been frowned upon, but I was part of a nation where it was never questioned. Giving up my role in the classroom was not a problem for me – the hardest part would be leaving the children, many of whom had become my friends.

I had just written my final lesson on the board and turned to face the class, ready to explain it to them, when Sadiki came into view, walking around the corner of the building with Justin tied to her back in a sling. I was shocked, my words trailing off mid sentence. My jaw dropped as I fell limply back against the wall. I could not do anything but stare at her – she was the most incredible girl I had ever met, who I believed was out of my life permanently, until seconds ago. As she saw me and looked into my eyes, a glowing smile spreading across her face, she raised her hands to her chest, covering her heart. It was far and away the most romantic moment I had ever shared with another person. Apparently, Teacher Fahamu had visited her the night before and convinced her to stay for the time being, if for no other reason than as a favour to a friend.

As I was saying my final goodbye to Fahamu later that afternoon, I passed her a handful of shillings equivalent to about $200. A huge amount of money to entrust to a person who rented a single-roomed dwelling and shared a bed with her four children. Stephanie and I had discussed Fahamu's plight, ultimately raising the money between us to give her an opportunity to follow her dream. We put our faith in Fahamu, knowing she differed from the Jonathans of the world, and trusted she would operate a school with the best of intentions to help children succeed. I, in particular, needed something to believe in again after what I had experienced at the hands of Jonathan. We were giving the underdogs the power to move out from under Jonathan's control and live a life of freedom.

Fahamu was moved to tears by our apparent generosity, promising me she would not let us down. Of course I was thrilled she was now able to pursue her ambition and I was praying for her success, but I also reasoned it was worth $200 to undermine Jonathan. He was used to operating unopposed and, in his mind, had developed an airtight system to prevent anything like this from occurring.

I had been unable to concoct a plausible reason for leaving unexpectedly. Obviously, "my grandmother just suffered a heart attack and I need to support my family" was not going to work – I was not entirely convinced it had worked the first time. In the end, I could not even be bothered making the effort to hoodwink Jonathan, considering I would never come face to face with him again. So, as a final example of the lack of respect I afforded him, I packed my bag and left, telling Bibi Zera not to alert Jonathan of my absence.

Bibi Zera, who continued to remain a pillar of strength in the face of the abuse she received, doubled up with laughter, clutching her sides. "Ooh, Jackie," she managed between breaths and pulled me in for a hug, ready to play her part, innocently denying any knowledge as to my whereabouts.

Stephanie was disheartened, in a manner of speaking, to be leaving. She would leave immediately if she could snap her fingers and disappear, such was her state of fear regarding Jonathan. Even so, she was saddened she would no longer be seeing the children she had bonded with, or Bibi Zera, who had become a surrogate mother to us, or Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki, who we saw on a daily basis. Although she was leaving early she would have the opportunity to visit once more, as she would soon be returning to Tanzania to join her mother on holiday, which had been planned months earlier.

I, on the other hand, did not want to go and was prepared to accept the danger should I have stayed. As if to rub salt into the wound, I bumped into a six year old boy from the school, who just happened to be one of my favourites and reminded me of myself at that age. At that stage I could manage a limited conversation with a child, asking simple questions but sometimes only pretending to understand the answers.

The boy looked directly at me, just as the thought flashed through my mind that it would be the last time I saw him. "Teacher Jackie, you will come tomorrow?" he asked, as if he could read my mind. I could not speak as guilt flooded through me and he repeated the question.

I felt like a complete asshole as I gave him an indefinitive nod and an ambiguous, "Goodbye." As I watched him take off at a run it made me even more resolute to do something about Jonathan and Tumbiri.

Stephanie was tactful enough not to mention how happy she was to be finally leaving, although I knew that was how she felt. Instead, she used a different approach. "Jackie, I really value the time we've spent together and I feel I've really got to know you. You're a really good person but you need to open up to people. I don't think anyone would know you the way I do. And no one loves those kids the way you do... You could do great things in a place like this."

The problem I faced was that I was not interested in saving any other kids. These were my kids – they were the ones I knew, they were the ones I felt a responsibility toward. I was not trying to save the world... Just one small part.

Part Two

### Time In Exile

Chapter Six

"Are you in any danger now?" the guard asked with disinterest, seated behind his desk and shielded from me by a protective perspex screen.

"I don't know," I replied scathingly, my voice dripping with sarcasm, as I stood in an area of limbo – a secure cubicle separating me from the waiting room. "It depends if you're planning on doing something to me, I guess." What a ridiculous question to ask – was somebody standing behind me with a gun?

I was without a healthy mindset, having just arrived in London from Tanzania. I was still trying to convince myself I had done the right thing by leaving Usa River, but the feeling that I had turned my back and deserted the people remained. I was angry at myself and was attempting to alleviate my frustrations by lashing out at others.

Any thoughts of personal preservation had become secondary in my obsession to improve the situation I had escaped. I stood in front of the Australian embassy, my embassy, being denied entry by an Englishman. My understanding was that as a traveller abroad I had every right to visit the consulate of my citizenship and seek assistance from a diplomatic official. Regardless of my matted hair and beard, and smelly plaid shirt, I managed to convince the guard of impending danger to Australians who may travel to an area of eastern Africa where illegal activities were abound.

I did not know what I could do about the situation. I did not know who to turn to for help. So far, the only advice I had received on the matter was to "forget it." Apparently, it was not my problem to fix, but that was not an option for me. I had been told to focus on and remind myself of the positive influence I'd had on the children, but I could not move forward in my life pretending I had contributed something special to their lives. If I could leave a legacy, it would have longer lasting implications to the improvement of their futures. It would have proved hard enough to achieve results in Australia, but I was trying to implement change in a city where I had no location to base my operations. With that in mind, I went to the Australian embassy assuming they would shed light as to my available options.

I sat in front of a woman, probably no older than myself, as she outlined the role of an overseas consulate and finished by inquiring if I understood. Of course I understood, in fact it seemed an extremely simple concept. She would be unable to offer any assistance. Fortunately, she did sympathise with my plight and promised me she would do everything in her power to aid my mission, should I provide her with a detailed account of the organisation and the problems I had witnessed.

I pored over the detailed notes and witness statements I had compiled during my time in Usa River, racking my brain for any seemingly inconsequential skerrick of information I may have missed. Nothing was omitted from my letter, which once read by the woman at the embassy would be forwarded to all relevant organisations. I even made mention of the unlicensed monkeys Jonathan kept tethered by restricting chains, being of the belief that, if nothing else, PETA may step in to campaign against cruelty to animals.

It was a lonely time for me in London. I had left a place where I felt I had a purpose, where I had contributed. Although I was still working toward the same cause, I had lost my motivation and was filled with a sense of isolation and emptiness. Each day thoughts of Usa River would creep into my mind – the village lifestyle, my students... and Sadiki.

I could not understand the emotions I was feeling. Our relationship could only be superficial, we were not even able to have a conversation. What I knew of the girl was only what was obvious to the eye. When I had left Usa River I'd had an interest in Sadiki, no more than a crush. I never anticipated I would feel genuine heartache, though. I reasoned that my mind had created a situation which was not in fact reality. I likened it to a child's favourite holiday destination, to which, when he returns as an adult, discovers it is not nearly as magical as he recalls. I dredged my memory banks and studied photos of Sadiki in an attempt to recollect what she possessed that I found so attractive. She was pretty, unquestionably, but then, there are lots of pretty girls in the world – there must have been something more to set her apart from the rest.

I had not gone to Africa to find love. It was never part of my plan. I was not interested in having an African paramour, I did not want a black girlfriend, and definitely not someone who already had a child. I did not understand enough about love to know why I had not chosen a girl with slightly more eligible criteria. I was in search of a simple life, taking a mere eight week detour through Tanzania to spend some time with kids before relocating myself in South America. I was not interested in trying to deal with feelings I could not quite fathom, or trying to encourage the investigation of an organisation no one else seemed to find at all important.

The truth was that I was not necessarily any smarter than any of the other people who had volunteered with Tumbiri over the years. Many did believe that Jonathan was helping the people of the village, but I was by no means the first person to see through his act. Teacher Fahamu had told me there had been former volunteers presented with the chance to do something about Jonathan, but had passed up the opportunity. I could not speak for anyone else, but I felt too much guilt to walk away without doing everything I could to help them. After all, that is why I initially went, convinced I could improve the situation. I may have taught long addition and how to use conjunctions to these kids, but there were others that could do that. My moment to help may have shown itself in a guise that all those who had come before me had so far neglected.

I never really considered I would encounter any problems, assuming there were organisations established with the sole purpose of policing corrupt charities. I imagined that upon re-entering the Western world I would have little difficulty in pinpointing one of these agencies, who once I had alerted to the presence of Tumbiri, would rectify the disorder in Usa River. It had not occurred to me that I would ever be anything more than a medium, a messenger bequeathing the information I held onto someone far more qualified to handle the situation. However, the longer I went without response the more disheartened I became; in turn, my emotional state declined, spiralling negatively downward. I had no support network in London, nobody willing to help. There was no one I could turn to for advice and every avenue I sought for assistance ignored the issues at hand.

I personally contacted every organisation I came across in my research who I felt would be interested in bringing justice to a rogue operator. Time and again my advances were spurned, my inquiries invoking such responses as, "We appreciate your concern, but are unable to assist in this matter," and that was only on the occasions when I received a response. Often times I would be ignored and faced with a wall of silence, as if the situation would be forgotten if it was not acknowledged.

Finally, I received an illuminating email from a person inside Interpol, allowing me to accept what I was dealing with. I was buoyed that he believed my account of events – even stating that he would have accepted this charity was having negative implications had I failed to provide any incriminating evidence. He continued to elaborate, speaking of the extent of criminal activities many NGO's were commonly involved in.

It was true that even prior to volunteering with Jonathan I had not exactly been overly confident about the positive influence these organisations promoted, but my contact inside Interpol shattered any vestiges of trust I held. He explained that Interpol, along with all the other agencies I had contacted, were well aware of the corruption rife among NGO's. While they may not have been familiar with the case of Jonathan or Tumbiri, it was an all too common story – a charity operated solely as a business for the benefit of its director. I had not rocked their worlds with my revelations.

The correspondence included the difficulties faced by the governing bodies in policing the corruption which was rampant across the globe. He stopped short of accusing all NGO's of being improperly managed, instead admitting they could only offer the manpower to investigate organisations in conflict of human rights violations. Although Jonathan was grossly mistreating people – using threats of physical violence and death, and children in his custody were suffering ill health and malnutrition – it failed to constitute the human trafficking currently receiving the attentions of Interpol, and the like.

My confidante finished by offering his sincerest apologies, sympathising with my passion to discover a solution, but categorically stated I would never entice an agency to investigate Tumbiri. The problem ran too deeply to raise any interest except in the most extreme circumstances. Once again, all signs pointed to the easy option of "forgetting it." Albeit, I proved my resilience. If anything, I had strengthened my resolve to not give up on the people I had committed myself to helping.

I had come to the point where I had exhausted the options available to me. I was not capable of managing other people's problems, generally focussing my attentions on attempting to resolve my issues, and leaving everyone else to handle their own. I viewed life as a solo mission. I reasoned I could choose to continue on the path I had preplanned, but the notion remained that if I ignored the oppression present in Usa River their lives would not change. It was a matter of what felt right to me.

Finally, I saw my predicament with total clarity. I had left the village to find an answer but so far had failed. I had been unable to find even one foreign agency willing to take the fight to Jonathan. I was not satisfied with what I had offered. Not so much for the benefit of the people, most of whom I had no relationship with whatsoever, but for myself. I could not forgive myself should I make the decision to turn my back and walk away. It was a matter of self preservation. Besides, I had long believed in the mindset that I would rather one day in hindsight regret having made a particular choice, than living in wonder as to what may have been.

I could not foresee the events of my future, but I could control what my actions were in the present. I had never considered spending any extra period of time in Usa River past my initial stay, but I became positive about my need to return. The more rejection I received regarding the problem, the more I believed it imperative that I delivered the answer. My smile had finally reappeared when I thought of my return to Usa River, after close to six weeks of absence from the village, despite the resistance I knew I would encounter.

Part Three

### The War Begins

Chapter Seven

Instantly, I had regained my spark – my thirst for living. By returning to a Tanzanian village, which held little to no prospects for most of its inhabitants, my life had become reinvigorated. Upon my return, I viewed my surroundings with a fondness I had not previously felt, convinced I would never again take its simple charm for granted. Armed with my rejuvenated spirit I felt I was now in the place I needed to be to conquer Jonathan. Although I did not regret my original decision to leave Tanzania, believing it was the best thing I could have done at the time, I had learnt that it had been the wrong option. Usa River was where I needed to be, if I was to ever achieve the results I wanted. It was the only place I had ever felt an emotional attachment toward, which could be greatly attributed to the children, who had deeply affected me, but possibly more so Sadiki, who'd had a profound impact on me without ever trying.

It was with a rapidly beating heart that I approached the school on my first day back, second thoughts spreading the seed of doubt in my mind. All of a sudden I was apprehensive that the children would not remember me, that my return would be unaccepted. Everything might have changed in the time that I had been gone, different from what I remembered. I was battling equal parts excitement and trepidation as I approached the final corner before the school, hesitating momentarily. I rounded the corner and stopped dead in my tracks, absorbing the scene in front of me.

The kids were still energetically running around like a bunch of gremlins, seemingly on a diet overloaded with sugar. And there amongst all the chaos, in the centre of the dirt quadrangle, stood Sadiki, engaged in conversation with Teacher Fahamu. It was the kids who noticed me first – their typical rambunctiousness quickly replaced by screaming hysteria, which caused the two adults to turn in alarm. As soon as they saw me, standing ten metres away at the entrance to the yard, they were overcome by their own range of emotions.

It was not that Sadiki was more important to me than anyone else in that yard, but I had completely different feelings for her. During my time away, I convinced myself that I had placed her on a pedestal – making her out to be something more than she truly was in an attempt to lessen my attraction, but I had been wrong. She was everything that I had remembered her to be. She was more than I remembered her to be. I started to move toward Sadiki – my eyes fixed on her – but my path was impeded by a blockade of children, forcing me to fend off the more ambitious efforts to claim ownership to an arm or leg. As I closed in on her, the rest of the world momentarily ceased to exist. And it was at that moment, that I emphatically fell in love with her.

She remained glued to the spot, unable to move, looking at me as if she had seen a ghost. "Jackie, is it really you?" she asked in disbelief.

I could not stop smiling, as she pulled me into a bone crushing, one-armed hug, with Justin balanced on her hip. After I had left, I never thought we would see each other again. It had only been days earlier when I had made the decision to return, boarding a flight within twenty-four hours.

It was not the only surprise, though. Having known Stephanie would be stopping at the school to introduce her mother before continuing on safari, I had stressed to her the importance of delivering a message to Sadiki. Evidently Sadiki had received the note and was very appreciative of the thought, giggling coyly, as I hung my head and cringed with embarrassment. They were words I had put countless thought in to, searching for a simplistic but accurate way to convey my feelings for her. Ultimately settling for: 'Sadiki – I'm thinking of you and I miss you, Jackie.' I wanted her to understand that I genuinely cared for her, even if we had seen the last of one another. I had not expected to return to Usa River, particularly so soon after the arrival of my message. Nonetheless, in one respect it made it easier for me to cross our language and cultural barriers, clearly making my interest in her undeniable.

While Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki were thrilled I had come back, and the kids were smitten by my return, quickly dismissing my recent truancy – not everyone would be equally pleased to see me again. I had not spared a thought for Jonathan, and as such, had not found it necessary to contact him prior or since my arrival. It was childish and purely irresponsible of me to allow my personal vendetta against the man to potentially affect others. I was well aware of how he treated people, particularly his employees, and by failing to offer him any respect by returning uninvited to his school, I was openly insulting him. By way of retaliation he would hurt the people he had most control over. Fahamu and Sadiki would bear the consequences of my pigheadedness.

I had far too much emotional attachment to be in any way objective to the situation, failing to even apply a base level of thinking as to what I would actually do upon returning to Usa River. I had become distracted by the fantasy of seeing the kids once more, and my overwhelming desire to be reunited with Sadiki. Although I simply assumed everything would unfold before me when I returned, I should have anticipated Jonathan's warmth for me to be anything but welcoming. Just because I did not like the man, or respect him as a person, did not mean he should not receive credit for his power of thinking. Having recently left, shrouded by suspicious circumstances, only to return without word, would certainly sound the warning bells in Jonathan's head. Even though I doubt he could have ever guessed the true amount of time, effort, and emotion that I had devoted into attempting to put a stop to his practice while I was abroad, I am sure he considered that he must have been at the forefront of my thoughts.

With that in mind, I shouldered the burden that all my actions would have consequences while in Usa River and went in search of Jonathan. I found him in his office, seated in his chair, then promptly knocked on the door frame to gain his attention. To say he was shocked to see me, fails to give justice to the situation. If Sadiki had thought she was staring at a ghost, then Jonathan appeared to be living his worst nightmare. Surprise turned to confusion, before sheer rage started to brew inside him. His temper was legendary among locals, but something of a paradox to me, having seen little evidence of it at that stage. Judging by his immediate reaction though, my appearance was not appreciated. I suddenly regretted the manner in which I had left, scared that I was now at his mercy – he held the power to determine if I would be able to return to the school and remain close to Sadiki. I would have to shelve my pride by acting apologetic for any misunderstandings or problems that I may have created, in an attempt to momentarily satisfy Jonathan that I posed no threat to him or his organisation.

I adopted a neutral expression, acting as if it was a regular occurrence to disappear without word from someone's house in a remote Tanzanian village, only to return unannounced countless weeks later. "Jonathan, how are you?" I asked cheerfully.

"What are you doing back in Usa River?" Jonathan demanded, ignoring my greeting.

I pretended to be scandalised by his manner, as I tried to digest Jonathan's accusatory comment. "I've come back to teach with Tumbiri. Jonathan... Didn't you get my message?"

"You never sent me a message," he replied with mounting anger.

He was correct, but I was attempting to invent a plausible story. I assumed that a simple breakdown between our lines of communication would have been highly possible.

"But – I left a message with Bibi Zera," I said, adopting an expression of shock at the apparently failed communication. "She was supposed to pass it on to you, but maybe she didn't understand... My Swahili isn't very good, so I must've said the wrong thing."

Jonathan was unlikely to believe the authenticity of my tale. Although it was distorted by an overwhelming amount of misdirection, it was also heavily flawed. I was doubtful that he would believe there was any truth in my efforts to offer an explanation, but if I could provide him with a reasonable level of uncertainty, he may accept my version of events.

"Why didn't you speak to me before leaving?" Jonathan demanded, glaring at me.

"Well, Jonathan, I had to leave in a hurry," I explained. "I checked my emails for the first time in maybe, two weeks, and I had an urgent message from my university. There was a problem with my enrolment that needed to be fixed." It was the first time that I had been grateful for the scarce level of communication Jonathan shared with his volunteers. He had little to no knowledge of my life in Australia. As a twenty-three year old, there was every chance I was still a student. "I'm involved with an exchange program and will be continuing my studies in England. It took much longer than I expected to straighten out – I thought I'd only be gone a week."

It was a web of lies which I was confident would obscure anyone's judgement, but Jonathan looked as if he was in doubt of every word I had just said – though he did not attempt to further disprove my story. Instead, he opted for guilt. It was a tactic which would fail to have the slightest affect on me.

"My family and I were so worried about you. Leaving without saying goodbye...? We thought you had died. We cried for days..."

"I'm very sorry about that, Jonathan, but I had to leave immediately," I said apologetically, feigning sorrow but unable to believe he'd had a moment of concern for my disappearance. "I looked for you and Mary at your house, here, even at the school, but I couldn't find either of you. I assumed you were busy, very busy." Given the seriousness of my current predicament, paraphrasing Jonathan's perceived workload was not a mature approach, but I could not resist the opportunity. "I left a message with Bibi Zera, but I guess she didn't understand. I thought you must have got it though, because I never heard from you. You do have my email address, right? If you were so worried about my well being, why didn't you contact me?"

Jonathan had never attempted to contact me via any means while I had been gone, so he understood that his supposed concern for my well being was not convincing. My innocent questioning of why he had neglected to contact me had created an obstacle, which he would not be able to negotiate with mock concern for my safety, so he altered tactics.

"No, no, that is fine," he said hurriedly. "When we did not hear from you, we realised that you must have been safe. We were just sad you did not say goodbye."

Personally, I did not regret failing to say goodbye to Jonathan or his wife for a second. Before I had left the village, I made certain I farewelled everyone who had been of importance to me, it's just that I did not include Jonathan in that category.

"Well, Jack, we are glad you have returned, and you are more than welcome to remain with Tumbiri for as long as you wish," Jonathan said, closing the conversation abruptly.

It was a huge relief, a victory which allowed me to stay close to the kids and Sadiki. If I had been slightly more astute, and had not let my emotions become involved, I would have realised my tale had done nothing to assure Jonathan of my trustworthiness. He would allow me back to Tumbiri, from where he could keep a close eye on me, secretly monitoring everything I did. There was something about that old saying, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

From the moment I returned to Usa River, I had never stopped to consider the waves my appearance was creating. Without the unnecessary distractions of the Western world, gossip ran rife amongst the local community. I had underestimated the level of interest that had been generated by the public surrounding my daily movements. Even though I was seldom approached, people began to acknowledge me, becoming familiar with my presence. It was encouraging to feel the general opinion leaning toward that of acceptance, so I was lulled into a false sense of security, causing me to apply much less caution than was required. However, with time I would learn that it was not safe to rely on anyone, and the only way to protect myself was to remain constantly vigilant.

I was well aware that without local assistance I would be unable to achieve positive results, so it was crucial to find a person who would support me. Every time I spoke to Teacher Fahamu she would always refer to the name, 'Radhi.' She was adamant that he was a man to be trusted, and someone necessary for me to work with, if I was to ever successfully overthrow Jonathan's organisation and liberate the people. The problem, however, was that the most recent information Fahamu could provide of Radhi, related to him being chased from Jonathan's premises by an assailant wielding a machete. It had been more than a year since that event and Radhi's whereabouts remained a mystery. After continued questioning of the locals, the most likely scenario seemed to suggest that Radhi was dead.

Though, without conclusive evidence to prove he was no longer alive, I never gave up hope. Regardless of the many people that denied having heard of Jonathan or Tumbiri, my interest in the matter only piqued further. Usa River was a small place, where everyone knew everyone and their business. Jonathan was a big player in the village, and although he was not the lone operator, he maintained a stranglehold on the extortion of the community by controlling a number of illegal ventures. Once again, people were reluctant to speak out against Jonathan, and revelations of Radhi were non-existent, until I met Dula.

I had just spurned a marriage proposal, and the subsequent offer to bear any children that I may sire, from a young woman selling produce at the market. Dula had witnessed our brief exchange, seated on a blanket amid carrots and onions, and intervened, questioning how I could reject an eligible woman. I diplomatically explained to her, and the growing number of bystanders, that I was unavailable for marriage as there was another I already loved. The reason was simple: Sadiki was the only person I looked at who could make my heart beat faster. Her voice, her laugh, her smile – they were enough to raise my spirits. Being in her presence made me feel happier, made me feel like a better person.

Dula accepted my reason, acquitting me of possible racial discrimination, before inquiring as to my reason for relocating my life to the village. In the early stages of my return, I would willingly reveal personal details in a concerted effort to promote my profile amongst the community. It would not be until later, when paranoia had begun to creep into my mind, that I would belligerently forbid anyone to speak of me.

It turned out that Dula was familiar with Radhi, even though she cryptically evaded my probing questions when I asked about him. Although I was quick to place my trust in her, she seemed more inclined to rigorously assess me before she would be willing to lend her assistance. I had forced my way into a world I was not supposed to know existed. Locals had only experienced volunteers temporarily working in the village, passionately supporting Jonathan; or the expatriate community, who chose to distance themselves from the regular life. I was an unknown and misunderstood exponent of Usa River. An alien from another world, who through his own volition had placed himself in the back room of a seedy bar, in the poorest borough of the village, and had begun to seek answers to the mystique surrounding Tumbiri. I was regarded as an enigma by the local population, who could not believe anyone would choose to live their frugal existence. I realised they would always be reluctant to trust me, particularly while they did not understand me or my motives. But given the fact that I stated nyama choma as a favourite food and openly expressed my attraction to a local, many were prepared to give me a chance.

I refused to allow Dula to dismiss our conversation regarding Radhi's whereabouts. I continued to emphatically state the importance of finding him, until a nearby vendor began to chastise me for showing interest in a topic which was apparently not my concern. The very mention of Jonathan's name was enough to generate a palpable level of fear amongst the locals, who were aware that anyone listening could potentially sell the information for a small profit. I stood out like a flashing neon sign, and therefore attracted interest from all the wrong people, but Dula covertly accepted my phone number and gave her assurance that she would help wherever possible.

It was late one night and I was engaged in conversation with Mustafa, the cook at the Multipurpose Bar, when my phone started to ring. It was not uncommon for me to receive calls from unknown numbers, as I had haphazardly passed my contact details to anyone in the village with whom I had so much as shared a vague association. However, I was always hesitant to accept these calls, uncertain of the motives of the person at the other end of the line. I stood up and moved away from Mustafa in search of a slightly more private location. As much as I enjoyed spending time with him, I had my doubts about his trustworthiness. I answered the phone and was confronted by a frenzied introduction by the speaker, and an even briefer explanation of his reason for calling, before he requested a meeting, scheduled for the next evening.

I sat in the bar the following night, becoming increasingly anxious as I continued to wait for the stranger, the time he requested to meet having long since past. It was not unusual to be kept waiting by a Tanzanian, who would flippantly shrug off their lateness by referring to "African time" – which basically allowed people to completely disregard time itself, and simply do things when they felt so inclined. But I was concerned that he had placed such high importance on the meeting, yet had so far failed to appear. I remained seated at the bar, self conscious because of the attention I was attracting from the staff and patrons. In Usa River, whenever I found myself in a position where I was overcome by tension or pressure, I would become suspicious that there was a more sinister reason for the interest I received from other people. I suddenly began to worry about our previous conversation, trying to recall if I may have revealed anything that could potentially have any adverse affects. It concerned me that I did not know anything about this man – for all I knew, he could already be seated at the bar, studying every move I made. I continued to dial his number, frantic to re-establish contact, but each time I was greeted by an infuriating automated voice, informing me his phone was switched off.

I was beginning to lose my composure, so considered returning to my room, aware that my discontent was obvious to the patrons. I stood up and turned to leave, which caused a man – who I had taken little notice of – to step away from a corner of the bar.

"Jackie?" he asked, approaching me. I looked at him suspiciously, as he stopped in front of me and extended his hand. "I am Lumbwi. We can talk now, yes?"

I hesitantly shook his hand, unsure if he was a person to be trusted. It was a concern that he had not approached me upon entering the bar, but had stood off to the side, assessing me. In the village, people often chastised me for refusing to trust them, but they seldom gave me a reason to do so. I would treat Lumbwi with caution unless he could offer proof of his integrity.

"Dula, she is telling me that you are trying to find my friend, Radhi," he stated.

We made our way over to a plastic table and chairs in the corner of the room and sat down. Lumbwi wove a confusing tale, using many words but devoid of anything which was at all informative. Even though I would always struggle with the language barrier in Tanzania, this was made worse by the people themselves, who would never directly state their intentions. Constantly having to guess the true meaning of a person's words – as they cautiously talked around a subject – was a problem that would always cause me great frustration.

Ultimately, I accepted his story, if for no other reason than necessity. For me to ever achieve anything in Usa River, I would need a Tanzanian accomplice. I cast a cursory glance around the room, but everyone seemed to be ignoring us – intoxicated by cheap gin and local drugs – so I launched into murmured conversation. It felt like a scene from a movie. A prohibited meeting taking place in a dark corner of a dingy bar. Except the dirty, rural village I found myself in, was a long way from Hollywood.

Although it was not an ideal location for intimate discussion, our voices remained low enough that no one could overhear the details. The village itself had such a concentrated population density that there was not much space for privacy. Even so, it never occurred to me that someone would have any interest in eavesdropping on our conversation.

I offered Lumbwi a similarly brief introduction, explaining that I had volunteered as a teacher with Tumbiri, but had become disillusioned after discovering the way Jonathan was abusing the local population. When I told Lumbwi that I had been advised to find Radhi, he reacted with some resistance, doubtful that I could win a battle in an environment unfamiliar to me. Many had come before, with the best laid plans for success, but had discovered they were without the mettle to achieve their dreams, eventually slinking away having been unable to instigate change. I had no plans, no ideas how to improve the situation – only good intentions. But it would be my actions that would ultimately come to define me in Usa River.

Lumbwi raised his eyebrows, studying me closely. "How are you thinking you can help these people?" he asked.

It was a question I had debated since my first stint in Usa River. Originally, I had assumed I could entice a governing body to investigate Tumbiri and it would ultimately be shut down. Jonathan's organisation was based on a good concept, and it held potential, but it needed a person in charge who would be motivated by the right reasons. It seemed logical that Jonathan, and the people below him who were driven purely by greed, could be replaced by ethical people who would genuinely help the community, but it only proved how utterly naïve I was about the international policing of registered charities. Much of the advice that I had received from Western aid organisations suggested I should simply alert the local police, who would then mount their own investigation of Jonathan. Apparently, it was the responsibility of the local government and police, and they would determine if it was necessary to close down an organisation and arrest the people involved. The problem was; they were already well aware of Jonathan's methods, but due to the extreme level of corruption amongst their ranks, someone was always willing to accept a bribe and turn a blind eye, if it would help him to feed and clothe his family. I felt that the only solution would be to personally do something to create change. But deep down, a small part of me already realised that it was the wrong way to fight the system. By trying to directly help a marginalised community, I was tackling the situation at the most base level, where the only choice was to follow the same rules as everyone else.

I had been staring at a melted spot on the table for some time before I refocused on Lumbwi, preparing to speak. "I have to get those kids out of Tumbiri and into another school – a better school," I said with definite resolve.

Jonathan had established a sponsorship program, where the students of Tumbiri would be 'adopted' by a foreign donor, generally a volunteer, who would then pay the necessary school fees for the child to be enrolled at a local English school. Despite Jonathan steadfastly denying any involvement with the primary school, claiming his relationship with the director was strictly professional, I had discovered that Jonathan secretly owned the school. Donors were strongly encouraged to sponsor Tumbiri students to attend this school, which Jonathan maintained was "one of the best in the area, and offered affordable school fees." The donor, trusting Jonathan's judgement, would willingly agree to pay the yearly fees for a child of their choice, but would not realise that the school was in fact Jonathan's. So the money they were depositing to the school's bank account, was effectively ending up in his pocket, simply perpetuating the cycle of persecution and control he already subjected on the village. The sponsors were kept anonymous from the families, with only Jonathan knowing the true identities of the donors, so there was no way to contact them. He would then approach the family of the sponsored student, denying the donor had completed the payments, and demand the family to pay him the 'outstanding fees' for transport, food, and uniform, to continue their child's education. Therefore, in effect he would receive much of the money for the school fees twice.

I momentarily considered what I felt to be the only option available, searching for the confidence to give voice to my idea. "I want to open another school in Ngarasero... So the families can have a different option," I said naively. "Then they'll be free to choose what they want. They could come with me, or stay with Jonathan."

The plan that I wanted to implement was all about choice – a right I feel everyone in the world deserves. Jonathan had taken away this right by exploiting their lack of education for his personal benefit. I would try to wrestle the power back in favour of the people.

Lumbwi was quizzical, as he sized me up. I was not the regular type of volunteer to arrive in Usa River. I had not chosen to escape the responsibility I felt by stating, "God will help," and I was not intimidated by the challenges that lay ahead. I was ready to accept the ensuing war, prepared to go to any lengths necessary. I would be willing to do the wrong thing if it would ultimately achieve positive results. As far as I was concerned, the ends would justify the means.

"Is Mr Jonathan knowing what you are wanting to do?" Lumbwi asked with interest.

"Nope."

"He will be very angry. He will want revenge on you," he warned.

I stared resolutely at Lumbwi, as the gravity of his words weighed in from all directions. "I know."

Lumbwi arched his eyebrows as he shook his head, wearing a bemused smile. "I will talk to some people," he informed me, standing up in the process and leaning across the table to shake my hand.

Chapter Eight

I had set the wheels in motion for the change people had been hoping would begin. The fact that nothing had previously been done could be attributed to a number of reasons: a lack of resources to fight Jonathan and the other corrupt organisations; the inability to trust each other and work together to present a united front; the people themselves, who bluntly refused all responsibility, and expected someone else to shoulder the burden. Simply, the problems in Usa River remained because no one had ever done anything which could combat the situation. People in Usa River would constantly pray to be free from Jonathan, but no one had the initiative or work ethic to challenge his authority.

Although Lumbwi had assured me of his assistance when he had departed, my expectations remained low. I did not know the man, but from prior experience I had fast learnt that Tanzanians often made promises they could not, or would not, follow through. Ultimately, whether he would help me or not, after my earlier experience with Lumbwi's time management, I did not expect results any time in the near future. Therefore, it came as a monumental surprise, when only days after meeting him, Radhi contacted me. The man I had been searching for, presumably killed by the blade of a machete, excitedly informed me he had just deferred his university degree and would be crossing the country by bus the following day, so we could meet face to face. Radhi knew little of my intentions, and even less about me as a person, but the minor details Lumbwi had revealed, were enough to convince Radhi he could be an accomplice in a legitimate campaign against Jonathan.

The day after I had visited Jonathan at his office to inform him of my return, Machupa made an impromptu visit to the school. As the Operations Manager, he often reviewed the various projects Tumbiri was involved with, but on this occasion his attention focused directly on me. In particular, he took a keen interest in where I had taken up residency.

"So, Jack, how are you?" Machupa had inquired.

"Okay," I said guardedly, suspicious of his sudden interest in my well being.

"Yes, I was walking past the Multipurpose Bar yesterday and I saw you. Are you staying there?" he asked off-handedly.

The previous evening, Jonathan had asked where I was staying but I had remained cagey, deflecting the question by being incredibly vague. "Oh, just up there," I had said, throwing an arm behind me and gesturing in a general direction, which probably spanned a 180 degree arc.

I concealed my surprise by Machupa's knowledge, realising there would be no advantage to gain by lying. Despite his discovery, I was doubtful Machupa's version of events – sighting me when he had walked passed the bar – was accurate. So, I adopted an expression of hurt indignation. "You saw me last night and you didn't stop to say hello."

Machupa, who remained second only to Jonathan as a purveyor of lies, attempted to repair my damaged feelings. "Well, normally I would have, but yesterday was a crazy day for me. Busy day, very busy day..." he said.

"Of course. You're a busy man, Machupa," I agreed with a strained smile, bowing my head slightly in feigned acceptance.

Even now that I was aware of Jonathan and Machupa knowing my whereabouts, I was still too naïve to realise the danger I attracted by living in such a public place. It was indicative that for all the people who were opposed to Jonathan and praying for me to succeed, there were those who would go to any lengths to aid him. I did not realise at the time, but I could not even rely on the support of people who had openly suffered at the hands of Jonathan. Although I did not expect loyalty, I assumed people's hate of him would override their natural distrust of me, as a foreigner and white person. But everyone was in search of a simple way to earn money. I quickly became the easiest option for many in the village, who would sell Jonathan the answers to his questions.

***

For the first time since my return to Usa River I had begun to feel confident I could offer something more than just good intentions. I had just finished relating the meeting of the previous night, between Radhi and me, to Teacher Fahamu. She knew Radhi from his days as an employee of Tumbiri and was adamant he would be able to help, personally vouching for his integrity. Fahamu was excited by the account I had just described to her, and maybe, was finally daring to believe I could deliver on my vision.

Radhi had been true to his word. After a 13 hour bus ride from Dodoma he had arrived at the Multipurpose Bar, carrying his luggage, with Lumbwi in tow. He was invigorated to have found a person who was ready to accept the challenge of working against Jonathan, and so, happily revealed the story of their relationship. Apparently, Jonathan had felt his authority was being undermined by Radhi, who had committed the cardinal sin of establishing friendships with Westerners. Jonathan began to fear that Radhi would become vindictive and seek retribution – in retaliation of Jonathan's abuse – by exposing the true objective of Tumbiri and the persecution suffered by both, employees and the public. After an escalating argument, Radhi was chased from the premises by a guard armed with a machete. He fled to the nation's capital, Dodoma, where his brother lived, and commenced his studies with the intention of returning to Usa River one day. His return was much earlier than anticipated, but as he declared, "this is a cause that is more important to me than my degree." Radhi had been born in the village, and spent his whole life there until fleeing to Dodoma. He wanted his people to live in freedom, without fear, and the next generation of children to have the best opportunity for success.

I was aware that my days with Tumbiri were numbered. At some stage my deception would become known to Jonathan, so it was in my best interests to not be associated with Tumbiri when that time came. As it was, it probably would have been wise to have avoided recommencing my role with Tumbiri, and instead, applied some thought as to how I could best achieve my objectives. I had allowed my emotions to dictate my actions by returning to the school. My overriding desire to spend time with Sadiki, and the kids, had placed me directly under the scrutiny of Jonathan and jeopardised any of my potential plans. So far, I had treated my encounters with Jonathan and Machupa as a game, convinced my tales had satisfactorily confused and disorientated the two men. Due to the way they conducted themselves I failed to hold any respect for them as people, but I should have been mature enough to respect them as businessmen, if nothing else. Rightly so, they had been suspicious ever since my controversial return and I had done nothing to alleviate their distrust.

From the moment Jonathan's car came into view at the end of the dirt lane, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. In my time with Tumbiri I could only recall two previous occasions when I had sighted him at the school, and both times he had been extremely volatile. Jonathan had no affection for his own children, so it was highly probable that he was not concerned with the development of his students but was visiting with the intention to settle some kind of dispute. My preferred method for dealing with Jonathan was to avoid interaction at all costs, assuming I was less likely to provoke his wrath if I was outside his field of vision. But on this occasion, with nowhere to hide and confrontation inevitable, I would simply need to display civility and friendliness if he approached.

After the car had come to a halt beside the classroom, Jonathan exited, accompanied by Machupa and Haji, a private contractor. They made their way over to where Teacher Fahamu stood, as the dust the car had stirred up settled back to earth. She had become very submissive at the sight of the three men, her confidence faltering because of their unannounced appearance. As soon as we had seen Jonathan's car, I had moved away from her toward the classrooms, mindful of the importance of maintaining the secrecy of our friendship. Upon joining my students, I had taken an acute interest in the dissection of a blowfly currently being performed by a surgically apt young girl, desperate to seem indifferent to their arrival.

After a brief exchange with Fahamu, Jonathan turned his attention to me and demanded to talk. Even though I was offered a space on the bench between Jonathan and Machupa, I chose to squat down in front of them in a belated attempt to show respect. The only time Jonathan had initiated a conversation with me was during our inaugural meeting, when he had informed me I was indebted to him the cost of a work permit.

My heart and mind were racing, but my body had become frozen, as I realised he must be aware of my plans. Even so, I could not accept that he had detected me of treason so soon. I was adamant that I had competently safe guarded myself.

"I know what you are doing and it is illegal... I will have you sent to prison," he stated.

I was crushed by Jonathan's words, as he spoke coldly and unemotionally. My brain was spiralling into turmoil, but on the outside I maintained a facade of calm composure and slight bewilderment.

"I have been told that you are starting a school," he said.

I was scared by Jonathan's knowledge. Unsure how he had come across this information. I was entrenched in a country where betrayal was a natural part of life and allegiance could be purchased cheaply. I had not confided my plans to many people, but suddenly I was apprehensive about their trustworthiness. I did not know anything about Lumbwi or Radhi, they had come by recommendation of Teacher Fahamu, who was employed by Jonathan and may have been collecting evidence against me. Dula, who had contacted Lumbwi on my behalf, was just a random vendor I had encountered in the market place.

I did not know how to respond, unable to deny the accuracy of Jonathan's statement. In an effort to create a moment to gather my thoughts, I chose to show confusion. I looked directly at Jonathan and spoke in an upbeat voice, which did not at all mirror my own feelings. "Yes, that's right, Jonathan. I've just started teaching at your school again."

Jonathan started to show the first signs of becoming irate at my obvious insolence. "No. You are trying to secretly open a school," he angrily corrected.

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. "A school? In Australia? I don't know what you're talking about... I could never afford to start a school in Australia," I said, laughing off his suggestion.

Jonathan's legendary rage was beginning to rise at my continual denial. "Not in Australia," he said with cold fury. "Here – in Usa River. And you want to take my kids."

"That's crazy. I'm only a kid myself. I wouldn't know the first thing about starting a school in Australia, let alone one in Tanzania. Why are you saying these lies?" I said, abandoning my oblivious pretext and matching Jonathan's aggression, coldly staring at him.

"Someone came to me this morning and told me of your plans."

"Who came to you?" I challenged. "Why are you having me watched?"

"I am not having you watched," Jonathan replied defensively. "Someone overheard your plans and was worried about the well being of these children."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said for the second time. "I don't know why you feel the need to have me watched, and why people are coming to you to tell lies about me. Obviously there are people in Usa River who hate whites and don't want me here. To be quite honest, Jonathan, I'm feeling very uncomfortable. I'm a long way from my home and my family. I'm in a foreign country where I don't know anyone and now you tell me you're having people spy on me!" My indignation would have done little to sway Jonathan's opinion – the evidence against me was undeniable – but I was hoping I could reinforce my status as a Western volunteer to remind him of the potential repercussions of a negative fallout between the two of us.

"Yes, you are quite right. Some people in the village do not like volunteers such as yourself. We just want you to be feel safe – maybe you would like to move in with my family? We have a spare room," he offered.

Jonathan – having realised I would not admit to his allegations – altered his tactics of interrogation and adopted jovial paternalism. I did my best to display a fitting emotion in response, pretending our recent conversation was water under the bridge. "That's very kind of you, Jonathan. Maybe we can talk about it later," I suggested. "Right now, I really need to start my class. After all, that's what we all want – the best for these kids. Right?"

I got to my feet, nodding at each man in turn, and stepped off in the direction of my class, before Machupa's calculating voice stopped me dead in my tracks. "Remember. We know people and can have you sent to prison." It was the first and only time Machupa had spoken that morning and it chilled me to the bone.

Attempting to maintain my composure, I looked back over my shoulder at him. "Do it! If you feel that's necessary," I said quietly. I continued to my class in an absolute state of panic, not daring to look in their direction, then picked up a nub of chalk and silently commenced my lesson.

I was still shivering involuntarily as the three men returned to the car and slowly drove away. It was not until about five minutes later, when they were positive Jonathan would not reappear, that Fahamu and Sadiki came racing up to me.

"What is it that Mr Jonathan was wanting, Jackie?" Fahamu inquired.

"He knows. He knows everything that I want to do."

They were both shocked, as Fahamu hurriedly translated for the benefit of Sadiki. "Ah – but... how?" Fahamu then asked.

"I don't know. Someone told him, Fahamu," I said dejectedly, eyeing her with some suspicion, suddenly wary of the possibility that she may be working against me.

"But what will you do? You will go home to Australia?"

I thought about Fahamu's question for a moment, casting a gaze over the children before returning my stare to her and finally settling on Sadiki. I shook my head. "Nothing's changed. I know everything Jonathan knows about my plans now. If he could've done anything to stop me he would have," I said, with slightly more conviction than I felt.

Fahamu and Sadiki exchanged glances, looking scared. "Ooh, you need to be careful, Jackie," said Fahamu. "Jonathan has done bad things to people."

There was an endless supply of stories relating to what Jonathan had done to people – whether they were to be believed or just embellished distortions of the truth were beside the point. Jonathan had undoubtedly shelved all other projects and had become consumed by the single intention of removing me from the village. I was realistic enough to realise my future in Usa River could be determined in the coming days. I would need to act with haste to foresee Jonathan's likely plan of attack, enabling myself to stay one step ahead of him. The only advantage I could expect was his arrogance forcing him to underestimate me. I had developed more relationships – contacts and acquaintances – than Jonathan was prepared to give me credit for. Maybe he thought all locals detested Westerners as much as himself, or maybe that a foreigner would not aspire to establish solid connections. If that was the case, he was wrong on both accounts. Many people were willing to struggle with a strained conversation in an attempt to discover more about the Australian way of life, and I would often study the conjugation of Swahili verbs late into the night, in an effort to improve my communicative skills.

My visa to work and stay in Tanzania was due to expire in less than a week, and if Jonathan had any type of an administrative system in place, it would be a date which was highlighted on his calendar. The termination of my visa was not something I had given much thought in the previous weeks, too preoccupied with my overwhelming objectives. I had simply assumed Jonathan would sponsor me again, but in light of the recent revelations he was unlikely to present me with an opportunity to remain in the country. My best guess was that Jonathan would use his contacts in the Immigration office to block any renewal applications that I may submit, then approach me the following week, after the expiration of my current visa, and diplomatically inform me that without a visa I was regrettably unable to remain with Tumbiri. He may even go one step further and bribe the officials to review recently out-of-date permits.

Despite my visa issues being of a pressing urgency, I was desperate to learn the identity of the person who had leaked details to Jonathan. I'd had doubts previously about where Fahamu's loyalty truly lay, but I was certain she was steadfast in her support of me. I could not ignore Fahamu's love for the children, wanting them to have access to the best opportunities available. She had been abused by Jonathan, who had used her own kids as leverage to control her, and had witnessed the families of the Tumbiri students subjected to similar treatment. I had not just given money to Fahamu to help her follow her dream, but also to buy her support in the battle against Jonathan. I was adamant Fahamu was doing everything in her power to protect me, hoping I would succeed. Not necessarily for my sake, but that of the children. I respected Fahamu as a person, and therefore, concluded I should trust her judgement implicitly.

My concern surrounded Lumbwi and Radhi. Even though Fahamu was familiar with Lumbwi, she could not attest to his sincerity, but she assured me Radhi was of an unquestionable moral standing. I was prepared to believe they were both good men, but I was yet to confirm if their identities were indeed genuine. I had no proof that they were in fact who they claimed to be, other than their word alone. I was suspicious that Jonathan had become aware of my intentions and installed the two men, in an effort to discover my plans. The first signs of paranoia were becoming evident, creeping into the edges of my mind and forcing me to question beliefs of which I had once been certain.

Throughout the day I continued to pressure Fahamu to reveal the details of her history with Lumbwi and Radhi. She reiterated that she had never been close to Lumbwi, but expanded by explaining there had been a dispute with Jonathan over stolen property, which had resulted in Lumbwi's dismissal from Tumbiri. Fahamu clarified that the thief had never been identified, but Jonathan had suspected Lumbwi of the crime. She repeated that she considered Radhi to be a friend and strongly denied he would do anything to assist Jonathan.

I considered it dangerous to be involved with Lumbwi. Whether it was true or not, he had been labelled a thief by Jonathan, and it would only attract further rage from him if I was to develop a partnership with Lumbwi. I reminded myself that I had only ever been advised to seek Radhi, and it was Lumbwi who had come to me without reference. I was prepared to take a chance on Radhi, but before I was willing to further develop our partnership I would need Fahamu to confirm his identity. I decided it was vital to arrange a clandestine meeting with Radhi, so I could then lure him to a rendezvous point where Fahamu would be waiting. She agreed to help, even though she was afraid that if he was an imposter he would witness her offering me support.

Radhi and I had made loose arrangements to meet again, during out initial meeting, so he already expected me to contact him soon. He was excited to put our verbal plans into action, inspired by my enthusiasm. But after the threats I had received from Jonathan that morning, I was filled with trepidation about working together, despite Fahamu's assurances to the contrary.

I contacted Radhi, asking him to meet me in the centre of the soccer pitch at eight in the evening, an hour after sunset, and most importantly, come alone. I advised him not to approach or acknowledge me when he arrived, but to follow at a discreet distance, while I led us to a safe location. It was all very cloak and dagger, and I berated myself for using a ridiculous tactic generally reserved for a piece of fiction from the spy genre. Although Jonathan's threats had been insufficient to drive me out of Usa River, he had successfully shaken me up more than I cared to admit. All of a sudden I regarded everyone with suspicion, unsure who I could trust. I realised that although I needed the support and aid of certain locals to succeed, they did not need to be privy to all my ideas and dreams. From then on, whenever dealing with a person, I would determine what they actually needed to know before talking to them. It was an important lesson about ethics, but my rate of learning was vastly accelerated in Usa River.

Up to this point, I had navigated the village via the main roads which connected the neighbouring boroughs, but I now relegated myself to the confusing web of lanes, in an attempt to disorientate anyone who may be following me. That night, I stealthily exited the Multipurpose Bar through a side door, bypassing the crowded bar area in the process, then quickly set off in the opposite direction to the pitch. I moved along the twisting alleys dissecting the closely built rows of huts, turning corners and breaking into a run to distance myself from potential stalkers. Constantly checking my watch, I finally made it out of the claustrophobic network of lanes, coordinating my arrival to within a minute of our designated meeting time. Even though I was cloaked by darkness (being one of those infuriatingly regular occasions when the power was disconnected) it was immediately obvious that I was standing unaccompanied. I was furious, voicelessly screaming at Radhi. I had envisaged, perhaps somewhat optimistically, arriving from opposite sides of the field at our synchronised time, then continuing to Fahamu's house, Radhi innocently following at an appropriate distance, without so much as an interruption to my stride. Now I was left with no choice but to stand in the open, attracting attention from the many people crossing the field, hoping Radhi was close at hand. I was beginning to panic as the minutes ticked past, becoming increasingly convinced I was not dealing with the true Radhi. Each time I called his number I was taken directly to voicemail, bringing me to the point of hysteria. I was grinding the numbers on the dialpad in an effort to release, not only my consuming fury, but also, the rising tension. I could not concede defeat to Jonathan – it was not right for him to control the village. I felt I had so much to offer if given the opportunity.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally noticed Radhi strolling across the soccer field, laughing and joking with Lumbwi. As they approached, Radhi casually turned his attention to me, then thrust out his hand for a handshake. "Jackie," he cried.

"Fuck... Shh – shut up!" I hissed through clenched teeth, ducking and spinning around impulsively, searching for potential eavesdroppers.

"Jackie," Radhi repeated, bewildered by my reaction. "What problem?"

"Shut the fuck up," I said in exasperation, as my preconceived plan crashed around me. "Jonathan knows, okay? So we need to go somewhere we can talk in private, yeah?"

"Ah... No problem. I know somewhere close we can go," Radhi suggested affably, as Lumbwi, standing beside him, nodded in fervent agreement.

I imperceptibly drew back from them, half a step. They were not my friends, I did not know anything about the pair, and I definitely would not go to a place of their suggestion. "Uh-uh. I have a place we can use," I said, trying to appear calm while I concealed my fear, convinced they were here on Jonathan's orders to put a machete between my shoulder blades. "Just follow, like... twenty metres behind me, okay?"

"Let's go," Radhi said disinterestedly, giving the impression the security measures I was taking were highly unnecessary, which infuriated me even further.

I set off, muttering and cursing darkly about the unexpected arrival of Lumbwi, as the two continued their boisterous jesting. During the walk to Fahamu's house I considered what my options were, should Radhi and Lumbwi be ousted as imposters. When I had thought that Radhi would arrive solo, I had been confident that I could take him by surprise and over power him, if necessary. We were of a similar size and build, while Lumbwi was slightly taller but skinnier. I was convinced I could beat both men individually in a fight, but together, their weight of numbers would undoubtedly prevail. I had no idea how else to approach the situation though, as I was consumed by a feeling of overwhelming responsibility to protect Fahamu.

I veered between two houses and disappeared through a concealed hole in the wooden uprights of the neighbouring fence, entering the communal yard shared by Fahamu's family and a number of other tenants. I turned around to peer through the hole, spying Radhi and Lumbwi looking slightly confused by my sudden disappearance, so I flashed my torch to attract their attention. As they started toward me, I raced across the yard into the hallway of the house, where Fahamu rented one of several single-roomed dwellings that were connected to the hallway, and alerted her to their coming arrival.

After the emotional highs and lows of the previous twenty-four hours and the sheer stress I had recently been under, the next few moments were rather anticlimactic. Fahamu let out a stifled scream as Radhi emerged through the fence and straightened up in front of her. It was obvious to me that he was indeed Radhi by the way Fahamu excitedly welcomed him and Lumbwi, who had followed behind Radhi. I leant back against the fence, flooded with relief, but at the same time harbouring some disappointment. If it was not Radhi or Lumbwi that had spoken to Jonathan, then I was completely lost as to where the leak had arisen. I tried to draw a mental image of our meeting and recall whether anyone had been within listening distance of our conversation. I had initially selected a table in a corner away from the other patrons, to give us maximum privacy, but it was possible once we had begun talking that we had been overheard, having failed to take notice of our surroundings.

Radhi was not nearly as concerned as I was that our illicit plans had been exposed, but he did inquire if his name had been mentioned. If nothing else, it seemed a positive sign that although Jonathan was now familiar with my proposed idea, he was unsure as to the identity of my accomplices. The three of them, particularly Fahamu who was overly concerned for my safety, suggested I withdraw because of the danger I was allegedly facing, but I steadfastly dismissed the option. It was not a matter that I had a fleeting interest in, but something I felt strongly passionate about and I would refuse to give in to reasons of self preservation. I stated that my plans remained the same, but we would need to act with more care in the future.

However, the problem remained that I would soon be without a visa. It was an issue these three could not understand. As native citizens they were free to live in Tanzania without having to process any of the paperwork I required, but I explained the predicament I was facing as best I could. Lumbwi, who had remained quiet, contributing little to the discussion, offered a potential solution.

Lumbwi was attached to a small NGO that was working with part of the community on the other side of the village. I had never heard of the organisation, where he worked as a teacher, but the chairperson was apparently excited to meet me. Lumbwi was armed with a copy of their constitution, outlining their role in the community, and offered it to me so I could familiarise myself with MAUA. He suggested that if I was willing to meet the chairperson the following day, and my ideas were aligned with that of MAUA, they may be interested in sponsoring me for a visa.

I had my reservations about leaving Tumbiri and immediately placing myself at the mercy of another locally operated charity, but I was running out of time to find a viable solution. Fahamu wanted me to return to Australia and pursue a visa application from my home, but she did not realise the difficulties that would be involved. Before I could do anything, I had to be affiliated with a Tanzanian registered organisation, but I was unsure which, if any, I could trust. It would become an even harder proposition to determine a suitable organisation in Australia, where I would have to make my choice in the same manner that I had randomly selected Tumbiri. No organisation could offer any proof that the village was benefitting from their existence, which forced me to solely rely on their self promotion. I turned to Fahamu, seeking her advice on the situation, but she was unable to offer an opinion on MAUA as she had never heard of them either.

Ultimately, I warily agreed to meet the chairperson in the morning, giving us both the chance to appraise the other. I decided I would reveal the bare minimum, so if details of our conversation returned to Jonathan he would not discover anything he did not already know. It was a problem that had arisen because of the spontaneity with which I had returned to Tanzania. I needed to find the support of another organisation so I could secure a replacement visa, which I was confident would be the only hurdle to overcome. We figured it would be best for me to distance myself, from not only Jonathan and his school, but also Radhi; and try to avoid attracting unwanted attention. It would be the second time I was forced to leave the kids without the opportunity of a goodbye. Although devastated, this time I understood it was not a realistic option to remain under the banner of Jonathan's organisation while operating against him. I had become more savvy by disregarding my desire and emotions to remain close to the children and Sadiki, quickly growing in maturity. I had started to view the world less wholesomely though, slightly more jaded and a little more cynical, as I thanked Fahamu for her unwavering support and bid the others goodnight.

Chapter Nine

Following the directions Lumbwi had given me, I continued passed the village limits searching for the chairperson's house. My desperation for an answer far outweighed any hesitation I felt about developing a relationship with a new charity. At this stage, I was not thinking about what I could offer MAUA, but how I could use them to my benefit by securing a visa. I turned off the road and approached the house, knocking uncertainly on the front door and casting a nervous glance over my shoulder.

I could hear movement inside the house but the door remained shut, leaving me standing in clear visibility of the road. I tried unsuccessfully to keep a low profile to avoid being noticed by any onlookers, before the chairperson finally unlocked the door.

"Welcome, Jack," she said, offering a falsely cheerful smile and taking a step back to allow me to cross the threshold. "I am Merah, and I am very pleased to meet you. You are most welcome to my home, Jack." I attempted a wry smile, already feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Merah led me inside to the sofa and sat herself regally in an armchair, facing me from the other side of the coffee table. She stared at me through squinted eyes for a moment, arms folded across her chest, before breaking into another smile which looked more like a leer. I shrank back in the seat, wishing Radhi was here – as he had promised – to offer moral support, and trying to tune out the television that was blaring in the corner.

"Jack – you are free here, no worry. Lumbwi has told me about your problem," she said, making me immediately worry. Whenever someone in Tanzania stated that I was free and had no cause for concern, it generally meant I was anything but free and had every reason to be concerned.

"First, you need to know about MAUA. How we assist the youth, widows, and old people in the community. We have given money to these people in the past, so they can buy food and clothing." Merah said, then continued to outline the positive contribution MAUA had made not only in Usa River, but also Tanga, where the organisation had been registered. She understood the conflict between Jonathan and myself, and thoroughly attempted to disprove any comparisons between Tumbiri and her organisation. "We have a constitution available to anyone who wants to read it. Even you, Jack." I gave her a solemn nod, showing her the copy Lumbwi had issued to me the previous night. "We keep a record of everything we do. You can read the files any time you wish – they are right here," she said, gesturing at a bookshelf. "We also have a board of members who must meet before we spend any money. And we must have three signatures, three, before we can take any money from the MAUA bank account. So you see, Jack, we are very open at MAUA and have very much trust," she finished, leaving me with another empty smile.

I sat upright in my seat, cradling my hands in my lap and adopted a cheerful smile. "Excellent. That clears up a lot of the concerns I had after working with Jonathan. Yes, you operate very differently," I said brightly, hoping she was not capable of reading my mind.

I could never understand the need for organisations, that allegedly operated so honourably, to advertise their noble virtues. If it were true, I would see the evidence for myself. It was not a matter of telling me what they had done, but showing me what they did.

Merah had turned her attention to the pressing issue of my visa, which was beginning to occupy my thoughts relentlessly throughout the day and keep me awake deep into the night. She was certain that Jonathan would have already visited the Immigration office in regards to me, and bribed the officials to reject any application I might file. Nevertheless, she was adamant he was unable to influence everybody and we could quietly probe their ranks to find someone willing to deal with me.

Radhi and Lumbwi eventually arrived well after the specified time they had arranged the previous night. I was glad when they entered the room, causing Merah's focus to shift from me, as she turned to welcome them. Radhi sat next to me on the sofa, as Merah admitted MAUA would be proud to create a partnership, even offering me the prestigious position of honorary board member, but first we needed to secure the visa. Merah leant forward in her chair and addressed Radhi directly, informing him to go to Arusha with me, to meet a government official her daughter had known at university. Her complicated plan sounded as if it was fraught with danger. I studied her closely, trying to decipher her body language, in an effort to detect a possible conspiracy. Radhi agreed that it would not be wise to follow the standard channels, but better to bribe someone outside the Immigration office who had the power to 'make' things happen. As Radhi and I stood up, preparing to leave, I was overcome by the likelihood that we may not succeed and I would be forced from the country, so soon since my return. I swallowed the rising lump in my throat – I was convinced that it had been part of my destiny to help the village, rewarded by the opportunity of being close to Sadiki. I had every right to be in Tanzania – I was trying to make a positive change to the lives of Tanzanians – but I was already confronted by the prospect of having to operate outside the law just to remain in the country.

For me, our exit could not come soon enough – I had felt increasingly uncomfortable in Merah's house, my gut instinct warning me about her. But she would not allow us to leave without imparting one last piece of advice. "Jack – stay away from Jonathan. He is a dangerous man," she warned. I already knew that, but each time Merah had spoken of him, I got an unsettling feeling she harboured respect for the man, or perhaps the power he abused.

Arusha, one of the largest cities in Tanzania and departure point of most safaris, was about 20km from Usa River but often took a painstakingly slow one hour to reach by daladala. These fourteen seater vans were the most effective way to travel, servicing specific routes, but during peak times would carry upwards of thirty passengers. Radhi and I remained quiet during the trip – I still did not know him very well, and as such, I continued to be guarded in his presence. It was not so much a problem when we were in each others company, more so when we were apart and I was left ill at ease, wondering what he was doing and who he was speaking with.

We climbed out of the crowded van in central Arusha and made our way to the designated meeting point by foot. I was nervous about the meeting, but I was more nervous about sharing what was on my mind with Radhi. I'd had no reason to trust anyone, including him, but I would need to take a risk and place some faith in him. After all, he was in the same position as me, an interloper who did not quite belong with MAUA – his only connection to the organisation being his friendship with Lumbwi – and had only met the chairperson, Merah, the day before. I reminded myself that Radhi had returned to Usa River because of my insistence to meet him. Whatever pessimistic doubts I may have had, he arrived with a positive referral from Teacher Fahamu and I trusted her judgement.

"Do you think this person will help?" I asked, implying more than what the question may have suggested.

Radhi looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows," he answered.

I found his lack of interest to be somewhat frustrating, doing little to inspire confidence that the plan would be successful. "Well, I think I might know someone who can help," I said.

Radhi stopped walking and turned toward me, giving his full attention. "You are knowing someone in the Immigration office?" he asked.

"I don't know..." I said lamely. A friend had given me the name and contact number of a person in Arusha who was a friend of the legal officer. It was a possibility that he could act as a medium between the Immigration office and me, handing my passport to his contact, who could then hypothetically override the bureaucratic administration. However, I was doubtful about placing my trust in a person I was yet to meet, or even speak to, who had no affiliation to the Department of Immigration.

Radhi was disbelieving that I had the resources to develop my own contacts. He stated matter-of-factly that no white person would have the power to successfully dictate terms to a government department in Tanzania. I gave him a scathing look for a moment, scoffing at what I felt was a derogatory slur on my racial heritage, then bluntly informed him I was referring to a local Tanzanian.

"He is black?" Radhi asked. "But you are knowing him how?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, unwilling to reveal my source. "But I think we could get him to help with my visa."

"Okay. But first, we meet with the friend of Merah and see what she say," Radhi reasoned.

We continued through the hectic city until Radhi turned off the main road and led me down a much quieter and seedier alley, where we waited in silence. After about ten minutes an old white sedan, travelling slowly along the alley, drew to a stop beside us. I took a step toward the front passenger door of the car, but quickly stopped in surprise as the rear door swung open. I looked in to see a large woman, neatly dressed, leaning back against the other door.

"Welcome. You are Jack?" she inquired, beckoning me to enter.

I did not know what to think of the situation, as Radhi encouraged me to enter the vehicle. Hesitantly, I joined the woman on the back-seat, then closed the door at her insistence. I remained silent, unsure about her expectations. Radhi took a seat in the front of the car, then closed his door before turning to acknowledge the driver, who only offered a nod of his head by way of greeting.

She explained it would be difficult for her to help me, as she had no jurisdiction over the Immigration office, but would endeavour to offer her best efforts if I produced my passport. She seemed to imply the degree of help would be determined by my level of cooperation. I looked at Radhi expectantly, hoping he would clarify what was fast becoming a difficult and confusing situation. But he was ignoring the exchange currently taking place in the back-seat, staring resolutely out the windscreen.

Even though there were four of us in the car I felt completely alone. I did not like being away from the main road, locked in a car down a side alley. The hairs on my back prickled and I had no equivocations about trusting my instincts on this occasion.

"Ah, I don't have my passport," I lied, pushing my hand deeper into my pocket to conceal the document.

"How did you think I would be able to help you if you did not bring the passport?" the woman said angrily, visibly bristling.

I moved subtly away from her, squeezing myself against the door and instinctively laying a hand on the door handle. I looked at her submissively. "I don't know," I said meekly, trying to portray a person who was in no way threatening. "Thank you for your time," I added, bowing my head in respect. Tanzanian etiquette is based on respect, whether genuine or perceived. So I would always act with exaggerated reverence for the person I was dealing with, to deflect the onus of importance from myself.

"You are welcome," she said gruffly, narrowing her eyes at me, as I backed out of the car refusing to look away from her.

Radhi followed my lead and climbed out of the front seat. The car started up and drove off as we stepped up onto the pavement. It was not until the vehicle was out of sight before Radhi finally offered his opinion.

"I do not know about her, Jackie," he said, turning to me pensively. "What is wrong with Merah – sending us to people like that. You know, they are only wanting to meet like that when they are wanting something more. She is wanting bakshishi, you know, a bribe. For how I know it, she could do nothing to help..."

"Oh, fantastic. Thanks for all your support back there in the car," I remarked sarcastically, wondering if anyone was truly supporting me.

***

We returned to Usa River late in the evening having successfully met with Asante, my contact. Radhi and I went our separate ways, barely acknowledging each other. I was absolutely exhausted, nervous about the ongoing problems concerning my visa, so just wanted to lock myself in my room and retreat to bed, where I could remain safely hidden. When I reached the Multipurpose Bar, I entered looking straight ahead, praying I would not be waylaid crossing the front bar to my room.

Mustafa immediately beelined towards me, blocking my route. "Jackie!" he called brightly, alerting half the bar to my arrival. "It is late... Where have you come from?" he asked.

I genuinely liked Mustafa. He had always been friendly and helpful to me, even taking the initiative to give me impromptu Swahili lessons. But in the last few days, I had become suspicious of him, fearing he may have passed crucial information about me to Jonathan. I despised myself for being unable to trust one of the few people in the village I considered a friend, but I had to remain guarded in order to protect myself.

"Mustafa! I've just been visiting a friend," I answered evasively. "I'm very tired... I need to go to bed." He looked disappointed as I rushed off to my room, before Mary, a waitress at the bar, could reach me.

I tossed and turned for hours before falling asleep, unable to make sense of the thoughts flying around my head as I recapped the day. I needed an organisation to operate under, and although I was not convinced by MAUA, I felt if I could dictate terms I would be able to successfully develop a school using their name.

My immediate concern centred around the whereabouts of my passport, which I had given to Asante. I had felt more at ease with him than anyone else, knowing he shared my reservations about the two of us meeting, though this was probably a poor way to evaluate his trustworthiness. When I had called him to schedule the meeting, I had been met by some resistance and much hesitation. He had questioned how I had come to be in possession of his number and was angry at our mutual friend for passing his details to me, but had eventually agreed to meet at a central landmark in Arusha. After the uneasiness I had felt at the previous meeting point, I was much more relaxed when we had waited for Asante to arrive. We had seated ourselves on a bench next to a busy road, close to the tourist strip where vendors sold their wares and touted cheap safaris.

Asante had sidled up to Radhi and me, then taken a seat on the end of the bench. He had sighed deeply, looking straight ahead at the passing traffic before he had spoken. "Ah, Allie is doing something very bad, Jack," he had said. "Allie is coming to me for help and I like her, she is a nice girl, so I am helping her, but now she is sending you to me."

I had instantly developed a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, convinced that my last chance of securing a visa was quickly slipping away. "I'm sorry," I had offered, but I had been more sorry for myself than him. "So, you can't help?"

"It would be very difficult... You are understanding that this is illegal?" he had asked. Finally, Asante had turned to size me up, pausing to think. "Tell me, why it is a problem for you to get a visa?"

Asante had unwittingly given me permission to open up and speak of everything that was on my mind relating to Jonathan and Tumbiri, and all the other corrupt organisations that were abusing their power. Since Stephanie and I had parted company I'd had no one I could truly speak uninhibited to about the emotions I was experiencing and the degree of stress I faced on a daily basis. I had spoken passionately and emotionally to Asante, which had not only drawn a reaction from him, but also from Radhi, who had finally begun to understand how much I believed in our plans. Asante had remained quiet, nodding occasionally when I made a valid point. It was an all too familiar story – the greed and corruption of his countrymen impeding the development of the nation – that greatly disappointed Asante, a patriotic Tanzanian. There was no doubt in his mind that I wanted the best for these children and that I would do everything possible to make it a reality, with no ulterior motive.

"I think Nadia can help... I will talk to her," Asante had said. "Can you leave me your passport? Ah, I think that is everything. Oh, and we will need to write a letter to say you have left Tumbiri and will now be working with MAUA."

Once again, I had been hesitant about the prospect of handing my passport to a stranger and naively hoping for the best, but if I did not give Asante the opportunity to help I would be without a new visa anyway. I had reached into my pocket and brought out my passport, absent-mindedly thumbing through the worn pages, resistant to let it go. I had travelled twice around the world, guarding this document above anything else, as without it I feared I would lose my identity. Without it, I was not certain if I technically existed whilst abroad in a foreign country. Timidly, I had placed it in Asante's hand, praying he would be true to his word.

"How much will it cost?" I had asked him, in order to distract my thoughts from relinquishing the passport.

"Do not worry about the money – I am helping you," he had said airily. "Nadia is my friend. She will help. If you have any problems just call me and I will contact Nadia, but I think the passport will be ready by Monday."

I had thanked Asante as he pocketed the passport, causing me to have fleeting second thoughts. But before I could lose my nerve, I had quickly risen from the bench and walked away with Radhi, leaving Asante on his own. As we had continued along the busy road, I had glanced out the corner of my eye at Radhi, who had been casually strolling along, hands in pockets, seemingly disinterested by my problem.

Radhi's lack of involvement continued to agitate me. I had assumed he accompanied me to Arusha to act as support by bridging the cultural difficulties that may arise. It was difficult for me to interact, not sharing a common language with anyone, so I would look to Radhi, thinking he, understanding the situation, would explain it in the native tongue. Often times though, he left me floundering, trying to breech lingual barriers.

I was becoming suspicious of anybody whose gaze would linger on me for more than a moment and was ready to cast aspersions on anyone who would spare me a second glance. I had received word that Jonathan had contracted a number of villagers to phone him immediately when they sighted me, so I began to walk via elaborate routes around Usa River. I would avoid the main roads, preferring to navigate the array of lanes, often looping around, then backtracking, in order to disorientate any spies, by following a labyrinthine path. I would then race off in the opposite direction out of the village, take a shortcut up to the highway and skirt around the village, so as to enter from the other side. In a place where I could comfortably walk anywhere in twenty minutes, my time in transit was now commonly well over an hour, spending much of that time at a brisk pace, if not a run. My one consoling thought, was to think of Jonathan receiving a barrage of nonsensical phone calls pinpointing me to a specific location for but a brief moment.

Upon my return to Merah's house, I gave her a condensed version of events, excluding details of the meeting she had sanctioned and my contact who had no affiliation to MAUA. I simply stated that a new visa was being processed and would be ready in the coming days. Merah was thrilled by the news, encouraging me to occupy my days at her residence, inviting me to share meals and to take up lodging in her home. I continued to show gratitude for her hospitality and willingness to support me, which was repeatedly brushed aside with an assurance that MAUA differed from Tumbiri by supporting its members. I would remind Merah that I had yet to meet the governing board of directors and was therefore, not indoctrinated as a member, which apparently was not a moot point.

Despite Merah's repeated efforts to present me with copies of letters, both sent and received, ratifying the commendable work of her organisation, I could not quite understand what she hoped to achieve. From my perspective, she had no reason to go to such extreme measures to provide evidence supporting her mission statements. If MAUA did everything she said they did, then it would be a given that I would trust them, having no reason to be suspicious. Yet, from what I had observed, she spent more time trying to offer me proof of their trustworthiness – which I had never asked for – than presiding over a fledgling charity, allegedly aiding the disadvantaged local population.

MAUA had been registered seven years earlier and had been through various incarnations while the board members attempted to establish the organisation. They had a number of different projects amongst diverse target groups which, in fairness, all needed support, but from what I could ascertain, none were run efficiently or effectively. I could not determine what service MAUA was actually providing to improve the quality of life of any of these people, or if they were even making a concerted effort to try. At times, I got the impression that Merah purely desired the glamour of sitting as chairperson of a nationally recognised organisation, regardless of what the objectives were and if they were being achieved.

Ultimately, I felt these problems could work to my advantage. In our first meeting, I had specifically stated that my intentions were to open a pre-school for three to six year olds within close proximity to the Tumbiri school, enabling the families to choose a different, hopefully better option. Merah agreed with the demand, understanding the children in Ngarasero were probably the ones most at risk of suffering a life of hardship. As they were already experiencing it to a degree, at the hands of Jonathan, she assured me I could expect the categorical assistance of MAUA to develop a new school. But I was not prepared to move ahead with any plans until my passport was returned, stamped with the appropriate visa. Although I was yet to articulate it, my assumption was that the school I planned to build would remain a separate entity to MAUA, affiliated through name only. I felt the only way it could operate properly, in the best interests of those it stood to aid, was if it was controlled by a board of directors that were completely against the school being used as a money making venture. If the people involved did not stand to gain from the financial success of the school, then they could not be tempted by greed. I was willing to confer on all decisions, with Merah and MAUA, to ensure I was not working in conflict with their constitution, but after my experience with Jonathan, I would safeguard my efforts to protect anything I was involved in.

Over the course of the following days, I continued to be a source of great annoyance to Asante. Terrified he would forget me, I pestered him with phone calls inquiring as to the status of my visa. He remained an incredibly patient man, understanding the relentless contact was borne from my overwhelming angst about the situation, and continued to offer me support.

"Jackie," he would say. "It is okay – there is no need to worry. Everything is fine. I will call when it is ready." Although he went a long way to appeasing my concerns, I would not be able to breathe freely until the passport was once again in my possession.

***

I had become overly introverted, scared to communicate with anyone, in case I accidently revealed something which would be passed to Jonathan, then used against me. I would imprison myself in my cell-like room at the bar, for increasingly long periods of time, fearing I would be recognised and followed upon leaving the room. It felt like a test of attrition, but I refused to yield from the safety of my stronghold while my visa issue remained. I was prepared to sacrifice the intervening days because I knew, in the greater scheme of events, my future plans would become somewhat easier if I managed to stay largely unnoticed now.

On Sunday afternoons a television would be dragged into the bar and set up on a makeshift stand, constructed from plastic drink crates. The bar would become crowded, well past the point of acceptable maximum personage in any Western establishment, as locals poured in, ready for the English Premier League, 'Game of the Week'.

On this particular day, the cheers of excitement dragged me from my reverie, so I opened my door a fraction, to peer out. Manchester United were playing, who were far and away the most popular team in Usa River, and every pair of eyes in the crowded bar were focused away from my room, onto the television. A particularly loud cheer rang out, so I took it as an opportune moment to slide out of my room and skirt along the wall to the exit, in order to find food without attracting attention. I had the exit in sight when Mary spotted me. She removed herself from the throng of people and grabbed me by the hand.

"Jackie!" she said excitedly with a glowing smile. She looked at me lovingly, in a motherly kind of way. "Are you well of health?" she asked with concern.

"It's cool," I answered, returning her smile with equal candour.

Mary was one of my favourite people in the village, someone that genuinely seemed to be concerned for my well being. She was a proud supporter of Man U, wearing their team guernsey on game day, and if they were playing, could be found loitering near the television, collecting drink orders.

She interlocked her fingers with mine and led me around to the front bar, where Angel sat on the other side of the counter, separated from us by a protective metal grille. "What are you drinking...? Coca-Cola? Cold?" she asked.

"Of course. Thanks, Angel," I said appreciatively.

It had become a running joke to ask if I wanted a cold drink, which was apparently a rare request amongst locals, possibly because of the limited supply of electricity and refrigeration.

These two women had become surrogate mothers to me, making me feel much more welcome than many of the people I had encountered in the village. In addition to their friendship, they had provided me with an education. Back to basics lessons, such as, the most efficient technique to wash dirty laundry in a bucket – which most of the population is proficient at by the age of eight – allowed me to become more widely accepted in the community. I relished their companionship but had recently begun to censor every word that came out of my mouth, even to these two. I was certain the person speaking to Jonathan about me, was somebody that was often close to me, more than likely someone who worked at the Multipurpose Bar. I was flooded with self doubt, unable to believe the people who showed a keen interest in me could possibly like me.

It was accepted that no one was a true local, most people having moved from elsewhere, but they were still black, still Tanzanian. I did not have anything in common with these people – I looked different, I spoke a different language, even when I used Swahili it sounded different. I was not from a tribe. And I could not cook their foods or understand their way of life. I desperately wanted to believe people like Mary and Angel were my friends, that they cared about what happened to me, but my diminishing self esteem just would not allow it.

Mary had draped her arm over my shoulder, while the conversation continued, but suddenly dropped it to her side and backed away from me. Her sunny disposition had been replaced by a look of fear. The change in her temperament had taken me by surprise and before I could turn around to follow her line of sight, I was grabbed from behind. Mary ducked past us to disappear back into the crowd, leaving me to fend for myself.

I was spun around, coming face to face with my attacker. He seized me by the front of my shirt and slammed me against the wall, pushing me into the corner and eyeballing me angrily. His eyes were half closed and severely bloodshot, and his breath was rancid with the stench of cheap gin.

"Women are shit," he raged. "Never let them touch you like that. You are a man."

I swallowed, scanning the bar for a potential ally, but none were forthcoming. I was not intimidated by a man who was so inebriated that he needed to grab me to maintain his own balance as much as to assert his masculinity. But there was no security to mediate altercations in this part of the world, disturbances would be settled by those directly involved.

"Do you understand me? Women are shit," he barked, covering me in saliva as he spat out the syllables. "We need to tell them they are nothing."

As he pulled me out of the corner he threw an arm around my neck, constricting me in a head lock. I twisted out of it and straightened up in front of him, fending off another attempt to embrace me.

"Yeah, I understand you," I said, my temper beginning to rise. "You're a psycho."

Mary had finally come to my aid, stepping between us and attempting to steer him toward the door. He was infuriated to be undermined by a woman and, although his coordination was severely impaired, he began to manhandle her. I could not bare to see her subjected to such disrespect and immediately pulled her away from the drunken man, pushing her behind me so she was out of his reach.

He appeared to quickly forget about Mary though, now that I was once again standing directly in front of him. As his brain registered that we had been reunited, a smile spread across his face. He patted me on the back then gripped my shoulder tightly. "You see, women are shit. You let them touch you and then they think they can control you," he urged, explaining the error of my ways.

"Okay, no worries," I said, placing a friendly hand on his chest and applying enough subtle pressure to move him toward the exit. He did not oppose me, as his senses were too dulled to realise what was happening.

I extricated myself from him at the door and solemnly advised him to go home, before finally receiving the support of his friends, who dragged him away from me and kicked him in the direction of the street.

As we watched him stumble away, Mary shook her head sadly. "He is crazy, Jackie." She continued to look in his direction until he was out of sight, then said almost to herself, "Too much alcohol."

He had not just voiced his own opinion though, he had spoken on behalf of most men in the country, who viewed women as second class citizens, subservient to their needs.

Chapter Ten

Asante had contacted me, true to his word, promising the passport was stamped and ready for pick up on Monday. I was absorbed in my thoughts, making my way up to the daladala stand on the highway, when Machupa abandoned the shade of a small shop and approached me. My heart plummeted, realising I had no way to avoid him. He was obviously aware of this fact too, as a malicious smile spread across his face.

"Jack," he crowed, stopping in front of me. "How are you?"

"Fine," I responded stiltedly. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable to be in his presence after his recent threats regarding my freedom. I took confidence from the throng of people passing us in both directions, knowing that although they were ignoring us, I was in no danger whilst I remained in such a public place. "How are you, Machupa?"

"You are not teaching at the school today?" he asked, acting surprised.

I stared at him incredulously. "Well, Machupa... I haven't felt very welcome there since you threatened to have me arrested last week."

Machupa tilted his head back and chuckled appreciatively, as if I had just shared an hilarious anecdote. Though, I was struggling to understand where the humour lay.

"Ah! Yes, Jack... Okay," he said appreciatively. I frowned slightly with indignation at Machupa's light hearted approach to the obvious discomfort I had felt. He sighed, bringing an end to his mirth then changed the subject. "Where are you going, Jack?"

"I thought I'd go to Moshi for the day," I said, referring to the city sixty kilometres from Usa River in the opposite direction to Arusha.

My visa to inhabit Tanzania had expired. A fact I was confident Jonathan was aware of, but I did not want them to know I was going to Arusha, should they become suspicious I was attempting to work around my visa issues. I assumed Jonathan would have had feedback from the Immigration office that I was yet to approach them for a renewal. So I speculated he may be arrogant enough to think he had successfully intimidated me to scarper from the village, just eking out the final few days before I would depart.

I stepped around Machupa. "You must have a busy day, Machupa. I should go," I said, reminding him of his undoubtedly busy schedule.

"Yes, Jack, of course. Busy day, very busy day," he said, allowing me to part company, then he sidled over to the shade of the shop he had previously been occupying.

I set off briskly, refusing to look back over my shoulder, cursing at the misfortune of bumping into him and hoping it would not prove to be an omen of things to come. When I reached the daladala stand, I glanced nervously around, checking to see if Machupa had followed me, then drew back to the shoulder of the road. I was worried that if I climbed into a van prematurely, I would be forced to wait while it filled with passengers, therefore making it easier for someone to identify that I was travelling in the direction of Arusha. So instead, I opted to wait until the departure of the next suitable van, jumping in through the sliding door – which the conductor was holding open for me – as it took off.

During the journey, with little else to occupy my thoughts, I became overwrought with worry, as I considered all the problems that could eventuate. Fleeting images of deception continued to spring to mind as I pictured an elaborate scheme where I would ultimately be arrested. No matter what Asante had said, I could not shake the feeling he was setting me up. I found it hard to believe he was interested in helping me.

I arrived early at our prearranged location, fearing the possibility of Asante beating me to the meeting point and then becoming agitated by any signs of my tardiness. I seated myself on the same bench as the previous occasion we had met, having a clear line of sight to the entrance of the Immigration office and waited somewhat patiently, continually checking the time.

With every minute to pass, my composure slowly deteriorated. I constantly redialled Asante's number to confirm his current whereabouts but continued to receive vague responses informing me not to worry, that he was coming. I'm coming is quite an ambiguous term, though. Whenever someone said it I assumed they were literally coming, just down the road, only minutes away. Most Tanzanians however, seemed to be of the opinion that if they had the intention to arrive at some stage throughout the day, then it was validated they were coming.

Since handing my passport to Asante I had blocked all pessimistic doubts, burying them deep inside my core but they were beginning to surface. I had heard all kinds of stories about passports being stolen and later implicated in criminal activities and as wily as I considered myself to be, I had made the decision to put my passport in the hands of a complete stranger. It was a thought that made me sick with dread, as I realised I knew nothing about Asante and had no way of retrieving my passport in a chaotic city of several million, if he chose not to return. I felt absolutely useless, unable to take the initiative or be proactive in any way, whilst I remained sitting on the bench hoping Asante was indeed coming.

I had been waiting close to three hours, my elbows supported by my knees and my face buried in my hands when I finally received a tap on the shoulder, startling me from my stupor.

"Jack?" I looked up to see Asante standing in front of me. I studied his face trying to determine his expression, but it was unreadable, as I sat up a little straighter, my heartbeat quickening with anticipation. "Nadia has given you a new visa," he said, opening it to the appropriate page and displaying it with a smile. "We thought three months would not be enough time, so you now have a visa for six months. That will give you time to start the process for a long term visa."

I was speechless, slumping back onto the bench and dropping my head. Tears started to leak from my eyes as all the pent up emotions and stress finally had a reason to escape my body. I wiped my eyes then took my passport from Asante and marvelled at the visa from every angle. I would now be able to begin work on a new school without any concerns of Jonathan impeding the progress.

I stood up and shook Asante's hand, thanking him repeatedly with unequivocal sincerity but unable to express the true level of gratitude. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two identical envelopes, one addressed to Asante and the other to Nadia, passing them both to him and explaining they were gifts for the support they had shown me. Radhi had coached me that people were reluctant to accept bakshishi, but gifts were very much appreciated. Fifty American dollars each would go a long way to ensure their continued support should I require further assistance in the future.

Merah had scheduled a meeting to commence upon my return to the village, celebrating the extended validity of my new visa and signifying the beginning of a prosperous association between MAUA and me. Apparently, the entire board, who I was still yet to meet due to their overwhelming commitments, were excited by my proposition of building a new school. Merah was allegedly overjoyed by the visa which I gladly held out for her to see but resolutely retained possession of as she reached for it. The two others that were present, Radhi and Lumbwi, barely acknowledged the visa, seeming far from impressed before returning to their conversation.

The reason for the meeting revolved around what our initial focus would be since we were now free to begin development of the school. It was a logical decision to start by looking for a suitable building. Radhi was confident we could find a house without much difficulty, as there were many in the area that were uninhabited, and asked what I specifically had in mind. I did not have to think about my answer, it was something I had occupied hours thinking about over the last few weeks. I already had a blueprint in the Tumbiri school to work from. Simply, we would need two classrooms, a room to serve as an office, and an adequate sized yard for the children to play. And, of course, it needed to be in Ngarasero, within close proximity of Tumbiri. My requirements were concurred by the others and Radhi was tasked with searching for an appropriate building.

I was finally riding an emotional high, having struggled over the hurdles I had been presented. I was elated by my visa and felt, perhaps somewhat prematurely, suddenly invincible. Jonathan had been searching for me since I had left his school and commanded Fahamu to send me to him. I felt it was rather presumptuous of Jonathan to assume that Fahamu and I would bump into each other, and it indicated he was aware that there was more to our relationship than what we pretended. She had said he wanted to speak with me the night I had lured Radhi and Lumbwi to her house. But I had so far avoided Jonathan, warning Fahamu to deny having had any contact with me if it was mentioned. Now that I was once again in the country legitimately though, I felt it would be important to advise Jonathan he would achieve nothing by continuing to approach the Immigration officer. I had no intention of gloating about having usurped his control of the Immigration office, only wanting to offer proof so he would let me be, but Merah fiercely opposed this idea.

"Jack, I have already told you to stay away from Jonathan," she scolded, making me feel like a child. "Do you want to make him angry?"

"Well, I want to make him leave me alone," I reasoned bluntly, feeling it was an issue where I could expect to receive support. "If I show him I have the correct visa then he won't be able to harass me about it."

"Jack!" Merah said, becoming angry. "You are not to go to Jonathan if you are wanting to work with MAUA." I was taken aback, my eyebrows rising in surprise. "Do not worry. He will know you have got another visa," she said with conviction.

Chapter Eleven

Radhi disappeared for several days before he made contact by phone, informing me he had succeeded in finding a suitable house. I was excited to look at what he had found, though I maintained realistic expectations of the type of building he was likely to have chosen, and agreed to meet him that evening.

I had avoided returning to Merah's house since her previous threats of severing ties with me, as I was agitated by her continued efforts to control me and stifle my vision. I felt she could achieve a lot more by focusing her attention on her own flagging enterprises and could not understand why she would offer her undivided support, then turn around and criticise me over the most trivial points. I could accept it was only natural if she did not agree with every suggestion I made, but I expected her to offer a solution instead of critiquing minor flaws. If anything, I thought she would be ecstatic – I had promised to build a school, doing all the work and funding it from my own pocket, branding it with the MAUA name before passing control of a developed, self-sustainable school to her. From my perspective she had won the lottery, without doing anything she had come across an opportunity which would never again present itself. There was nothing I stood to gain, except the knowledge the families would finally have an option which would not take advantage of them. But I was becoming suspicious that my goals differed from everyone else that operated a school in this part of the world. Their mindset seemed to be, that if it was not established to take advantage of others, then there was no reason to put in the effort required to operate the project.

I met Radhi and Lumbwi late in the day, and for the first time Radhi displayed an emotion which was not indifference. He was confident he had found the perfect place for our requirements and was genuinely excited to show off his discovery. I hid my feelings of dislike for Lumbwi, as Radhi led the way. It was not that I shared a closer, or even better relationship with Radhi, but I often got the impression there was more going on in Lumbwi's head than what he pretended. Perhaps I had a distorted opinion of him because of the allegations of theft that surrounded him, but I had an unsettling feeling he was working to his own agenda.

We stopped in front of an abandoned house. I took one look, uninspired by what I saw, then turned to Radhi, who was proudly staring at the structure as if he had personally hand laid every brick. "What do you think, Jackie?" he asked.

I continued to look at the house, trying to view it with an open mind. Although it was run down, it was far from a state of disrepair. In fact, the biggest negative had nothing to do with the house, where I was beginning to envision the possibilities, but the size of the yard. I was quickly trying to calculate how many children would be able to comfortably occupy the area during break time.

My plan was to keep everything simple, implementing a structured system based on solid administration. Structure, administration, record keeping. They were concepts completely foreign to any of the people I had been involved with in Tanzania. Jonathan's school was an absolute shamble, not necessarily because he was unable to create structure but because he had no interest in the development of his kids, only the school to continue to generate money. I only wanted two classes: kindergarten and preparatory. The emphasis of the younger class would be to introduce them to the classroom atmosphere and teach them the basic skills. The preparatory class would be filled with the older children. These students would be prepared to enter standard one (first grade) at an English speaking school, where they would have access to the best opportunity for a successful future.

I had allocated the possibility of enrolling twenty-four students in each class, which would mean a total of forty-eight children in the school. But studying the yard, I felt it would be unrealistic to have close to fifty boisterous children running around in the space available. I was non-committal as I replied to Radhi. "Um, it's okay... but it'd be a lot of work," I said dismissively.

"Just think, Jackie," Radhi debated. "We can make a garden with nice flowers there," he said, referencing a vague location in the centre of the yard. "And a swing right here," he suggested, walking over to a nearby pile of bricks I assumed had once been a toilet.

"Yeah, maybe," I agreed, wondering if Radhi had considered where the children would fit in amongst his proposed garden excavations.

As the landlord apparently lived and worked in Arusha she was unable to meet us, meaning three of the four doors remained padlocked. The lock on the fourth, however, had been broken off long ago resulting in the room being inhabited by a squatter with few possessions. From that single room though, I was able to get a general perspective of what I could expect to find in the others.

It could work, I considered. The house was built in the shape of an 'L', with three rooms along the back of the block and two down the side, all of equal size. According to Radhi we were free to modify and renovate the building and its surroundings as we saw fit. If we knocked down two of the interior walls it would lengthen the rooms, leaving us with two classrooms and a third room to serve as an office. Other than that, we would need to reconstruct the toilet and find a space to use for cooking.

It was unrealistic to expect to find a property vacant in the area which had a larger yard. Land was at a premium in Ngarasero, where most houses were butted up against one another, so, unless I wanted to sacrifice the location by moving away from the centre of the village, I would have to concede perfection was not a logical option.

Admittedly, it had grown on me since my initial disappointment, as I distanced myself from the fanciful pictures swirling around my imagination. "How much is the rent?" I queried.

"Gabriela is wanting 20 000 shillings for each room every month," Radhi said matter-of-factly, as if it was a reasonable request.

I looked at him in disbelief, disgusted by the price. "What? For this? I didn't realise we're in Mji Mwema," I spat, my voice full of contempt as I made reference to a more affluent area of the village. "Where's the electricity? Where's the water?" I said, pointing out the key reasons the price should be reduced.

Radhi and Lumbwi exchanged glances, chuckling uncomfortably, as I shattered their long held perceptions of white people. I would refuse to ignorantly accept everything said to me, not content to treat their weak currency as play money by simply splurging to cover every required cost. My supply of money was not limitless, and I would need to operate according to a strict budget if I was to ever succeed in their country.

"Well, Jackie. We can negotiate," Radhi explained. "This is how we do things. First, they say a price then we offer something. Do you think we should try 15 000 per room?"

"What do you mean, 'do you think we should try 15 000 per room?'" I said belligerently, mimicking Radhi's voice. "What do you think, Radhi? You're the one that's lived here your whole life. Is that what it's worth?"

"I think we will try 15 000," Radhi said, under my withering stare.

"Yeah, whatever," I said with a trace of disdain.

I continued to view the building from every possible angle, almost seeing fifty-odd dirty, snot-nosed but adorable kids running around creating havoc. The image brought a wistful smile to my face as I dared to believe the dream. I cast my eyes over Lumbwi, hands in pockets and kicking loose rocks across the yard, then to Radhi, who had called Gabriela, the landlord, to begin negotiations. The conversation did not last very long though, before he returned to my side, shaking his head.

"I do not know what is wrong with her, Jackie," he said morosely. "She will only agree to 20 000 shillings. You know, she hung up on me! She said I was insulting her!" he stated, as if he had been affronted.

"Let her know we want it but not for 20 000," I reasoned. "I won't pay any more than 15 000 a room. She'll ring back," I said confidently. "Her choice is to have a squatter living here rent free or to get 75 000 shillings a month."

"Ah, you are very wise, Mr Jack," said Lumbwi, while Radhi nodded his head in agreement.

I did a double take and made an expression of absolute disgust. "Um, yeah... no worries. The name is Jackie, by the way."

I was lost in confusion when we parted company, unable to understand these people and their ethics. Radhi and Lumbwi were going to see Merah, to inform her of our intention to rent the house, while I returned to my room at the Multipurpose Bar for the night. But I was sidetracked by Mustafa, who dragged me into a corner, almost immediately after entering the bar.

"You and your fuckin' boss," he said viciously, giving me a menacing stare. "Your fuckin' boss! And you are helping him." Mustafa had always been amiable to me, so it came as a surprise to witness him acting aggressively. I had no idea what his problem was. "Fuckin' Jonathan – he is not paying his people. Sadiki has no money."

I felt a pang in my heart at the mention of Sadiki's name. During one of our impromptu Swahili lessons, Mustafa had inquired if I was attracted to Tanzanian women and would ever consider marrying a local. I had no hesitation admitting I was interested in Sadiki, assuming the village was large enough to afford her a level of anonymity. Of course, Mustafa informed me he knew her very well. His wife and Sadiki had been friends in their home village and had travelled to Usa River together, three years earlier, even living with each other upon their arrival. I had been embarrassed that I had just categorically declared my attraction for a woman Mustafa considered to be a personal friend, but he had never judged me. Instead, he had gone so far as to support me for selecting such a genuinely good person.

I was well aware of Sadiki's financial difficulties, realising she needed to feed her son, in addition to supporting herself. I had not seen her since I had left Tumbiri, but she had remained in the forefront of my thoughts every day as I continued to worry about her well being. While Teacher Fahamu remained at the school I felt Sadiki would be safe, supported by a friend, but I was worried about her remaining there after Fahamu resigned. In less than a fortnight Fahamu would be leaving with her family and returning to her village of Mto wa Mbu, in an effort to follow her dream.

"He's not my boss – I don't work for him," I said. Because I had been unable to rely on the trust of anyone at the bar, I had continued to imply that I was teaching at Tumbiri, not wanting to reveal details of my new endeavour.

"He is your boss. He is your fuckin' friend," Mustafa yelled. "I will kill Jonathan – he is destroying this village."

I was torn between telling him my plans or steadfastly protecting them. My suspicions had continued to point toward Mustafa or possibly his brother, Ibrahim, as the culprits who had sold information to Jonathan. But now that he had personally been affected by the man, I felt there would be no way Mustafa would do anything to help him.

"Jonathan's not my friend – he fuckin' hates me," I said calmly, as a blank look crossed Mustafa's face. "I'm not with Tumbiri."

Mustafa could not comprehend this new revelation. "But... but – you," his voice trailed off as he tried to process this information.

"I can help Sadiki. I'll get her out of Jonathan's," I promised. I wanted to help Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki to be free of Jonathan just as much as any of the kids and their families. "She just needs to wait a bit longer."

Mustafa slackened his grip on me but held my stare, trying to determine if I was telling the truth. "Okay, but then we go kill him," he said, turning and walking away.

I shrugged, indifferent to the possible murder of Jonathan. It was an option I had already considered, including as recently as the previous week when I had faced my visa crisis. It was not beneath me to be implicated in his death if I thought it would be in the best interests of the children. Jonathan was an adult, he had been in control of his decisions and was therefore responsible to accept the consequences. These were kids who did not have the ability to make their own choices. They were too young to lose their innocence.

Chapter Twelve

"Merah say we are moving too fast," Radhi said quietly, having just dragged me out of earshot of Lumbwi.

We were waiting at the rental house for Gabriela, the landlord, to arrive and discuss the contract. She had rung that morning, willing to accept 15 000 shillings per room and Radhi had eagerly arranged to meet later in the day.

"Moving too fast?" I said, utterly perplexed. "We haven't done anything yet. We looked at houses like we said we would."

"Merah is scared. I hear she is having second thoughts about the school," Radhi's voice remained low as he glanced around to check where Lumbwi was. "We need to be careful, Jackie," Radhi warned, keeping his eyes on Lumbwi, who was beginning to approach us.

We broke apart as Lumbwi reached us, advising me it was in my best interests to not be a part of the contract negotiations. As yet, Gabriela was unaware a white person was involved, which, if she discovered, would apparently drive up the price of rent as she was consumed by greed.

"Jackie, you must understand. You are a mzungu, you are white," Lumbwi explained, while Radhi looked away, pretending to ignore the situation.

I stared at Lumbwi with disgust. "Yeah, I know what colour my skin is, mate," I said savagely. Then muttered, "Fuckhead," and stormed off down the dirt road to Radhi's mother's hut.

I was furious the contract was being drawn up while I was not present, as I sat on the back step of Mama Radhi's hut. As if to illustrate the point; Sal, the grandson of Mama Radhi, began to scream hysterically when he saw me due to the lack of black pigmentation in my skin. I scowled at the eighteen month old child, intolerant to the social barrier that divided me from everyone else in the village.

The terms and conditions of the contract were not a concern to me, they had already been agreed upon. It was more to do with the fact I had been ousted from the arrangements of my own settlement. We had negotiated six months rent up front, so I wanted to meet Gabriela because we were starting a long association. I did not see myself as the money man, there was a lot more I could do and offer than simply providing the cash to make it possible.

Latifa, Radhi's sister and mother of Sal, arrived while I was still absorbed in self pity. We did not know each other very well at that stage, having only met once or twice, but I had taken an instant liking to her. She was young with a vivacious personality and was rarely seen without a smile. She had shown a keen interest in my plans, as she was studying to be a preschool teacher herself, and had just entered the final phase of her training before she would receive her qualifications.

"Jackie, what is wrong?" she asked, looking worried.

I explained my distress at being excluded from the proceedings.

"Do not worry, Jackie," Latifa said airily. "Radhi will take care of all things."

I knew there was nothing for me to be disturbed about, everything of importance in our contract had already been negotiated. If I was honest with myself, I was not sulking because I had been left out, it was due to fear. I was so jaded from my experience with Jonathan, that I did not trust anyone else to place the interests of others before their own. I was resolute that I needed to assume total control of all decisions to ensure the protection of the school, particularly in its infancy. We had barely started and already I felt as if the control was being taken from me.

Radhi and Lumbwi eventually returned, brandishing a handwritten contract, excited that we had officially secured the site for our school. Lumbwi held it out for me to see, but I snatched it from his grasp and tried to make sense of the foreign words written on the page.

"Do you want to know what it says?" Lumbwi asked.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I can work it out for myself, Lumbwi," I said, staunchly maintaining possession of the contract. "It says: blah, blah, Jackie has paid X amount of shillings to Gabriela somebody, blah, blah, for the rent of five rooms over a period of six months, blah, blah." As I completed my rudimentary translation, Lumbwi snorted. My nostrils flared and I visibly bristled. "What? Am I not correct?" I shot at him venomously.

"Very good, Mr Jack. You are understanding Swahili very well."

I closed my eyes and attempted to calm myself. "The name is Jackie," I said through gritted teeth.

Radhi then spoke up, searching for a way to defuse the situation. "Jackie, we have the keys. Do you want to look at your school?"

I could not hide my excitement as we approached the house. No longer did it appear ramshackled – it looked perfect – as I assessed it through squinted vision, picturing it operational. Latifa, who had accompanied us, shared my sentiments, but I could not help stealing furtive glances at Radhi and Lumbwi, trying to gauge their interaction with one another. I was only working with Merah as a means to an end and Lumbwi was included as part of the package deal. I continued to have question marks over the pair's honesty and integrity, but second guessed myself that it was likely attributed to my general distrust of such organisations. Since Radhi had earlier spoken to me though, voicing similar feelings, I had not been able to shake the thought there was more happening beneath the surface than of what I was aware.

"Jackie, Merah is wanting to have a meeting tomorrow," Radhi stated. "We will meet at her house in the morning."

"Yeah, right," I said, uninspired by the prospect of returning to Merah's house. We were preparing to depart for the evening and out of habit, I patted my pockets to check I had everything, then looked towards the building, realising it was now my responsibility. I turned back to Radhi and asked him to pass me the keys.

"I have the keys, Jackie," said Lumbwi. "I will keep them safe."

I jerked my head around and gave him a scathing look, holding his unblinking gaze. "Thanks for the offer, Lumbwi. I think I might hold onto them, though," I said coolly, holding my hand out.

"Whatever you are wanting, Jackie," replied Lumbwi, his eyes blazing as he dropped the keys in my outstretched hand and walked away.

Radhi shrugged his shoulders and hurried off after Lumbwi while Latifa looked at me questioningly. My feelings were a mixture of grim pleasure and satisfaction, having reasserted the control and authority I demanded.

I began to make my way back to the bar, following a side road which intersected with a lane behind the school, when I was stopped by the sound of my name. "Jackie!" I wheeled around in surprise.

Sadiki was about thirty metres away, seated on the ground in the shade of a house, waving at me energetically. She was amongst a group of women, all giggling and exchanging odd glances while they shelled beans.

"Sadiki, how are you?" I yelled, returning her wave with equal exuberance. I had not seen her since leaving Tumbiri and my heart quickened at the sight of her smiling face. Although I had thought of her often, with everything that had happened during the last week, I had forgotten the effect she could have on me with a single smile.

"Jackie, are you wanting to come for dinner tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course. What time?"

"Come at seven!" she yelled excitedly, returning to her work.

I was already checking the time with anticipation as I continued on my way, failing to hide the biggest, cheesiest grin ever.

It was dark as I made my way back to Sadiki's house, oddly nervous about the occasion. It had been a shock seeing her earlier in the day, although I knew she lived in the general vicinity I was not sure of the specific location. I was quite unfamiliar with the area around my newly rented school, having spent little time there, so I was forced to retrace my steps in the dark with care.

There had been a number of women in Usa River that had openly expressed their undying love for me, offering to be my wife and bear my children. I took these courtships with a grain of salt, embarrassed someone would settle for me because they thought of me as a ticket to a more prosperous life. With Sadiki everything was different, she had never needed to attempt to sexually allure me by using a seductive voice. She had only ever been herself, and it was enough reason for me to never consider another woman.

My stomach was knotted with butterflies as I neared her door, so I gave myself a mental shake, before calling out to her. Sadiki peered around the edge of her curtain, which hung in the doorway to screen the room from mosquitoes, and gave me a glowing smile, welcoming me inside. She was furiously stirring a pot, cooking over a small kerosene burner, as I took a seat and watched her with fascination.

Her house was small: a bed squeezed against the back wall, a two person settee on either side of a coffee table, and a small kitchen bench next to the front wall. Nevertheless, she clearly took pride in what she had. It was meticulously clean, everything was tidy and stored out of sight in boxes. It was not much, but it felt like a home. I would not expect anything less from Sadiki.

I sat on a settee beside Justin, who was deep in concentration grumbling about something or other. He was approaching his first birthday and was already quite independent. I threw out an arm to catch him, as he tilted precariously to one side and gently returned him to an upright position, while Sadiki brought me up to date with the latest developments at Tumbiri.

Apparently, Jonathan had made an unprecedented number of visits to the school during the past week, presumably in search of me. His temper had progressively worsened while I had remained inconspicuous, and he had taken to verbally abusing Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki. He had been making threats against their safety and freedom, in a concerted effort to uncover my plans, but they had remained resolute, denying any association. I felt a sense of vindictive pleasure at Jonathan's rising stress levels, considering mine had spiked to alarming highs because of him. But Sadiki was worried about my safety, concerned that Jonathan would retaliate against me.

"Why are you doing this, Jackie?" she asked suddenly.

I looked in her eyes at the obvious pain. In a lot of ways, she was the reason I had returned. She was defeated, like many of the people in Usa River, and just accepted the suffering as part of her life. By opening another school it would allow people the opportunity to be free.

"Because Jonathan is hurting people – he made you cry," I said, causing Sadiki to blush with embarrassment. "You have the right to be free in Tanzania."

Sadiki continued to study me as we fell into silence. I was brooding, an intense look on my face, as I obsessed over creating a new reality for the village. I had a lot of respect for her, she was a good person, too good, and deserved better. It hurt me to see her suffering, no more than a victim of circumstance. I wanted to provide the children with an opportunity of a better future but I wanted others, like Sadiki, to experience a better life now, in the present. I could not meet her eyes, feeling riddled with guilt, ashamed by the 'problems' I had known in my life, compared to the everyday struggle of many of the locals that I now witnessed on a daily basis.

Sadiki had finished cooking, so carried over the dinner of ugali (a mix of cornflour thickened in boiling water) and cooked cabbage, then sat opposite me. She closed her eyes and quietly mumbled a rapid prayer, blessing our health, before allowing me to eat.

While we were eating, Justin became agitated and started to cry, so Sadiki leant across the table and picked him up. As I watched her, so natural and comfortable with her child, I thought of Justin's father. The story was: he had promised to marry and take care of Sadiki, but once she had fallen pregnant he disappeared from the village and as yet, had never even met Justin. It was a common story with alarming regularity. Many of the children were being raised by single mothers, the fathers having run away, either before or after the birth. I could not understand it, and had little respect for the many men who irresponsibly neglected their duties. I thought Sadiki was amazing and had, so far, done an incredible job of raising Justin. I would have considered myself incredibly lucky if we were together and never would have entertained the thought of leaving her.

After the meal, Sadiki took a seat beside me and flashed an excited smile, as she brought out a stack of photos. They were hardly the work of a professional – many of the pictures had deteriorated, indicating they had been poorly developed, and the subjects were not centralised in the frame. Nonetheless, they made Sadiki a more complete person, telling the story of her past. I marvelled at the photos, as she proudly pointed out members of her family and friends from her home village.

We were interrupted by a neighbour, living in the adjoining room, who dropped in to presumably chat about the day's events. She sat down on the settee previously occupied by Sadiki, then noticed the two of us sitting side-by-side. Her eyebrows rose precariously high as she looked from me to Sadiki and back to me again. I flushed with embarrassment, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious, as I gave the woman a grim nod and greeted her politely.

The neighbour continued to shoot me furtive glances though, as if I was central to a distant memory that she could not quite recall, which did nothing to abate my discomfort. A look of realisation finally crossed her face, audibly gasping, she leant close to Sadiki to speak to her in low tones, keeping her eyes on me the entire time. I attempted to remain passive to the situation, presenting a face of cool indifference to mask my awkwardness, as Sadiki began to stare at me after the woman had finished talking.

"Wait here, Jackie. I will return," she promised, as she exited the room with her neighbour.

I remained in my chair as commanded, Justin lying asleep beside me, and cursed the intrusion, feeling the night had been rather successful until that point. Shadows bounced across the walls, which were bathed in semi-darkness, only illuminated by a single kerosene lamp. I absent-mindedly slapped at the mosquitoes feasting on my ankles as I studied the walls which were covered with stickers of animals and various posters referencing the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Sadiki returned alone, passing through the curtain to enter her home and looked at me strangely. The word had already spread that the abandoned house in the street below had been rented. Her neighbour, upon seeing me, pieced together a fairly accurate chain of events.

Sadiki was confused, scared by the possible outcome, as I confirmed I had signed the contract earlier in the day. "For what reason are you doing this, Jackie?" she said sadly.

"Jonathan is hurting you, Sadiki. He's hurting this village," I said, choking up a little and looking away from her, trying to blink the tears from my eyes.

Radhi had been telling me about Jonathan's past and I was struggling to accept the revelations, my feelings alternating between pure hatred and overwhelming pity. It seemed the more I knew about the man, the less I understood him. Jonathan had been diagnosed with AIDS and had accepted the disease as a death sentence, turning against the world and everyone in it. His interest was in making others suffer, just like he was, and profiting in the process.

I looked at Sadiki in earnest. "Jonathan should be in prison," I said.

It was getting late but neither of us wanted to call an end to the night. I would have gladly sat with her until the morning, just enjoying her company, but we both realised the time had come for me to leave. Justin had been put to bed long ago and was fast asleep, twitching slightly, protected by the mosquito net. We looked at each other once more, trying to extend our final moments of the night together, before I stood up, breaking the spell. I bade her goodnight and departed quickly, scared to linger, should it become that much harder to leave.

Chapter Thirteen

I had taken heed of Radhi's consistently late arrivals and therefore, delayed my own to coincide more closely with the time I expected him to appear at Merah's house. On this particular occasion though, Radhi and Lumbwi had evidently arrived early for the meeting, so they were already seated and waiting for me when I entered.

Merah narrowed her eyes coldly, as I hurriedly took a seat beside Radhi. "Jack, you are late," she said, clearly angered by my tardiness.

"I'm sorry. African time, you know," I tried somewhat lamely. It was an excuse which was often put to me by the locals. I did not consider it to be an antagonistic comment, if anything, feeling it may ease the tension in the room. Radhi saw the amusing side but may have been the only one to do so.

"There is no African time, Jack," she said, her voice loaded with contempt.

I looked at her with surprise. "That's not what I've been told, Merah," I replied casually.

"Yes, well, make sure it is not happening again."

Merah made it quite clear that she was disappointed with my selfish behaviour. Apparently, I had jeopardised the reputation of her organisation by acting as a renegade.

"I am trying to help you, Jack, but the members of the board are very, very disappointed with you. What do you think about that?" she asked.

"I'm still waiting to meet your board," I stated, stealing a glance at Radhi, who was scribbling furiously in a notepad. I read the first line of his minutes, Merah has much disappointment for Jackie, which hardly seemed like a notable topic of the meeting to record. Shrugging, I focused my attention back to Merah.

"I am told you went ahead and are renting a house before I am having the time to look at it," she stated.

"Well, you're welcome to see the house," I said, failing to understand the gravity of the problem.

"But you have used MAUA for your own needs. You have rented a house without our knowledge."

I looked at Merah for a moment, unable to understand what I had done wrong, before Radhi's statement of the previous day reverberated in my head, 'Merah is scared. I hear she is having second thoughts about the school. We need to be careful.' I felt trapped, like the room was closing in on me, as I realised there was no right answer to satisfy Merah.

"Merah, I've done exactly what I promised to do. You agreed with my ideas, you said you supported them," I reasoned diplomatically. "Lumbwi was with me when I looked at the house. He was the one who rented the house, I wasn't even there," I said, trying to placate her feeling of exclusion. "Lumbwi is part of MAUA, he is representing your organisation. If he didn't inform you of what we were doing, then that is a problem between you and him. It has nothing to do with me."

"Okay, Jack," she said stiffly, sizing me up through squinted eyes. "I will do my level best to visit tomorrow."

Although I had never seen her outside, I expected she would have no difficulty creating the time to visit the following day. I still was not certain of what exactly Merah did as chairperson of MAUA, but I summoned a welcoming smile. "We hope to see you tomorrow," I said politely.

Radhi and I left together, my thoughts going into overdrive as we returned to the village. We walked in silence until Radhi spoke up, giving voice to what had been playing on his mind.

"I do not understand this Merah. What is wrong with her?" he asked, but I only shrugged my shoulders in response, too melancholy to speak.

As far as I was concerned, there were a number of things wrong with Merah. Namely, contrary to her repeated assurances, she did not seem to be supporting my endeavour to develop a school at all. I was facing enough opposition already without having to convince the benefactor of my project that these children needed access to education.

"You know, Jackie, she is not liking you..." Radhi said solemnly, causing my chagrin to increase.

We both retreated into our heads. My thoughts were largely non-constructive as I dreamt of kicking the likes of Merah and Jonathan up the ass. It was Radhi that had a possible solution.

"Jackie, we do not need Merah," he said, bringing me back to reality. "I have been talking to some people and they are saying we can register the school ourselves."

I looked at Radhi for a moment, wondering where his loyalties truly lay. I liked the prospect of being free from Merah and able to develop the school according to my vision, but I had a suspicion Radhi was trying to assume control by eliminating MAUA, and would eventually overthrow me.

"Maybe we can research it some more," I said, not completely discounting the idea. "I think we need to stay with Merah for now, though."

"Oh yeah, of course, of course," said Radhi hurriedly.

Despite the resistance shown by Merah we agreed to forge ahead. But she failed to make an appearance at the school the following day or any day that week. I was not overly bothered by her absence as we began to make initial arrangements for our renovations.

Toward the end of the week, I sat on the ground leaning against the door of my future office, gawking at the crowd of people milling around the yard. I did not recognise most of them, which worried me, as I considered the alleged involvement of so many people for a handful of seemingly minor tasks. I wanted to work with the bare minimum of personnel, assuming I would have a greater chance of staunching the information that continued to filter through to Jonathan. I swallowed my resentment as Lumbwi introduced me to his brother, Fedha, who had been ordered to assist me by Merah.

Radhi had just returned from finding a tradesman and led him over to me. "Jackie, I am finding a very good fundi," he said, clearly pleased with his efforts. "He say he is able to help us." I looked at the fundi, who refused to meet my gaze and barely acknowledged me. Doing anything to help me seemed to be a priority of little importance to him.

"How much to build the toilet?" I asked.

He looked at me with contempt then turned to Radhi to answer the question. "180 000 shillings plus the cost of materials," he grunted.

I was incredulous, convinced he was crazy. "180 000 shillings," I repeated. "What, just for labour? You've gotta be joking, mate. It's a three day job at the most – you wouldn't earn half that in a month," I challenged, as I was introduced to the exorbitant inflation of 'White' price. "Fuck off, prick," I said aggressively, disgusted by his lack of integrity.

The fundi sneered at me and walked over to the corner of the yard. "I did not think he would ask such a high price. Very expensive," Radhi said unemotionally, shaking his head. After a mandatory pause, he sparked up again, "Jackie, my cousin, Moses, he is a fundi also and I think he will help us," he suggested brightly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. Then, by way of divine intervention, Radhi noticed his cousin walking past the house. "Moses!" he called in surprise. The man reacted by jumping back theatrically, before he ambled over to join us.

I shook my head at the farce unfolding before my eyes, then greeted Moses. Apparently, he was not working today and just happened to be passing through the neighbourhood, but was willing to pick up the tools if I so desired. I did not need a referral from Radhi, attesting to Moses' strength of character, I was only interested in finding a person who would complete the required task with a minimum of fuss for a reasonable price.

Moses was willing to accept a reduced rate of 80 000 shillings for the removal of two interior walls and the construction of the toilet. I was still suspicious of the negotiated cost of labour but I had to be conscious of exhausting my options. Ultimately, I did not want to ostracise myself from the fundis who would willingly work with me.

Moses agreed to begin with the walls, while Radhi and I patrolled the village scouting for the cheapest prices of the materials we required for the toilet. According to Radhi, Gabriela, the landlord, would subtract the cost of materials from the rental price of the following six month period, so the cost of construction should be of no great concern to me. I liked his confidence and agreed with his theory – that the landlord should reimburse the costs of a toilet. But I had little faith that this part of the contract would ever be honoured, particularly when it had not been written into our agreement.

We returned around the middle of the day to find Moses squatting on his haunches, puffing away on a cigarette and doodling in the dirt with a stick. I dropped the materials we had carried back and entered the building expecting to see one of the two walls successfully removed. I stood in the centre of the room amongst a small pile of rubble, looking at the dividing wall which continued to separate the two rooms, contemplating whether it was a load bearing wall which should not be removed as it was required to support the structure. Radhi had followed me into the room and stood beside me appraising the progress (the job was no more than a quarter complete) and nodded, approving of Moses' current work rate.

I walked out of the room without saying a word, too tired to care, and poked my head into the other room to see Lumbwi and his brother wielding sledgehammers. They were further along than Moses, their wall already half demolished. My energy levels had progressively decreased since the morning and my mood was becoming grumpier, as I struggled to stand upright. Radhi was concerned about my declining health and suggested I should return to my room and go to bed while the others continued with the renovations. I was furious that due to my ill health I had reinforced their stereotypical beliefs of white people being unable to cope with manual labour, but I was now bent over double with my hands on my knees, walking with limited mobility. I refused to leave the site though, sitting down resolutely to oversee the renovations before succumbing to my ailments and passing out on the cement floor.

I awoke hours later, as dusk was settling in and mosquitoes were starting to bite, to find a note from Radhi wishing me improved health and advising me they would commence work at six the following morning. I staggered to my feet and shuffled into the other rooms, disappointed to see both strewn with rubble and neither wall completely removed. I padlocked the doors and made my way home to the Multipurpose Bar, dejected and lonely.

I crawled out of bed the next morning, Usa River still cloaked in darkness, and mentally focused on placing one foot in front of the other until I arrived at the house, shortly after six. It was cold and I shivered slightly, as I removed the padlocks from the doors. I then sat on the ground, wrapping my arms around myself as I attempted to maintain body warmth, and waited for the others to arrive. My head was spinning and time had seemingly stopped as the minutes dragged by. I was cold and uncomfortable lying on what seemed to be a refrigerated cement floor, falling in and out of a restless sleep. It was approaching nine o'clock when the others approached, moving at no more than a meander, casually greeting me as they arrived.

I was already seething but became positively infuriated when Radhi spoke to me on behalf of Moses. "Jackie, Moses is thinking he might start building the toilet. What you think?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind Moses finishing the job he already started and should've finished yesterday," I fumed, thinking of the two walls which still had to be removed. Radhi looked slightly confused, so I took a deep breath to steady my emotions. "I don't give a shit. If that's what he wants to do, then he can go ahead and get started." Radhi looked satisfied, making his way over to Moses, who was lighting a cigarette. "Radhi!" I yelled at his back. "You can fuckin' tell Moses that next time he bloody wants something he can come directly to me," I swallowed the rising lump in my throat and spun around, retreating into the office and slamming the door behind me.

There was no electricity in the building and with the door shut I was left standing in an empty, pitch black room feeling like an emotional idiot. As far as I was concerned, I was simply another member of the community but many people would refuse to even acknowledge me, even though I was living the same life as them. Moses knew me, he was working with me and would happily take my money but he would not even greet me in the morning, let alone approach me to discuss business.

I collected myself, finally returning outside to see the others commencing work, hours behind schedule. If anything, my condition was worsening, due in no small part to my fragile emotions. I tried to calm my feelings by reminding myself we were not restricted to time constraints, but I was unable to passively spectate any longer when Lumbwi and his brother dropped their tools and sat down for a break after less than half an hour of work.

Muttering to myself, I stormed past them and picked up a discarded sledgehammer, striking the wall with as much power as I could muster, trying to release my frustration. It seemed to be an amusing spectacle to the others who began to point and laugh, convinced that I was incapable of holding a hammer. I ignored their less than flattering attention which quickly turned to silence, as I effectively destroyed the wall.

In less than two hours I had levelled the wall Moses had begun the previous day, shovelled the rubble outside, and swept the suffocating cement dust from the room. Lumbwi and his brother had quickly returned to the other wall when they had seen the pace I was operating at. They were still a long way from completion though, unable to offer a sustained effort to see a task through from start to finish.

I staggered outside, coughing and wheezing and covered in a cold sweat, throwing down the broom with conviction and doing my best to stand upright. I leant against the wall with my hands on my hips, gasping for breath, while I looked around the yard with a scowl, challenging the others to defy me.

"That's how you take down a wall and clear a room," I yelled in the general direction of the others. No one would meet my eyes as they quietly continued their respective tasks. I staggered around the corner and out of sight before vomiting behind the house, then gingerly returned to the office and fell asleep once again on the floor.

While I had provided evidence of my work ethic and capabilities as a basic labourer, I had failed to inspire the others to strengthen their output. By the time we broke for lunch, Lumbwi and his brother had successfully demolished the other wall but had not concerned themselves with transferring the rubble outside. And Moses had started the brickwork of the toilet, having laid a total of thirty-seven bricks. I studied the time on my watch and estimated his progress at approximately seven bricks per hour. I investigated his efforts more closely but it did not appear he had chosen the approach of quality over quantity either. Several bricks having been split into smaller sizes to fill the uneven spacings.

Radhi approached me again toward the end of the day to act as a medium for Moses. I was already shaking my head with dissatisfaction, having just finished surveying the uneven brickwork, when Radhi spoke.

"Jackie, do you think you can help Moses? Maybe you can give him a little money so he can buy something to eat tonight."

My eyes flashed dangerously. It was my most hated question, which was often asked of me by people throughout the village – 'Do you think you can help?' (which translated to, 'can I have money?') as if it was my responsibility to feed everyone in the community. I looked at the other three men, lounging on the ground as if they had just finished a gruelling marathon, then stormed over to them.

"You want to get paid, Moses?" I demanded, as he looked up expectantly. "Well, you should've finished your fuckin' job, then. I gave you two tasks and you haven't done either of them," I said furiously, then continued my tirade before Moses could say anything in his defence. "I employed you to knock out two walls and you couldn't even manage one – it was a fuckin' bullshit effort. You look at me like I'm an asshole that can't do anything because I'm white, but I know what I'm talking about. The reason I said it was a one day job for one person to knock down both walls was because in Australia, where I come from, one person would knock down both those walls in a single day. How do you think we do it where I come from? We pick up a fuckin' sledgehammer and repeatedly hit it against a fuckin' wall. Amazing, I know... It's pretty much the same concept as it is here, except in Australia you don't stop until you finish the job." I stood in front of them, scowling, daring someone to contradict me but they continued to hang their heads and fiddle with straws of grass. They were grown men – I wanted them to look me in the eyes as an equal and speak their minds – instead I got the impression they were scared children being scolded by an angry parent.

"You should be fuckin' ashamed of your work ethic, it's absolutely pathetic. You say that you want to go to Australia or America or England or wherever for a better life but I have news for you – you wouldn't last a week! You think life is so much easier in those places but you're fuckin' wrong. If you offered this level of work in Australia, you'd be laughed off a building site. If you rocked up three hours late, you wouldn't even get the opportunity to pick up your tools. They'd tell you to fuck off," I paused to catch my breath which Lumbwi seized as a chance to speak.

"Yes, Jackie, we know. It will not happen again," he said to the ground, clearly just wanting to calm my anger so I would shut up.

"Oh, fuckin' bullshit, mate. Do you think I enjoy being an asshole? Do you think I want to be doing this?" I demanded, placing my hands on my knees for support. I was struggling to stand once more due to the energy I had expended during my diatribe but I was far from finished.

"I will happily pay you when you finish the job but you won't get a single shilling from me before. And you'd want to do a fuckin' good job of it, too. My advice would be to come on time tomorrow. You were three hours late today, I know that because I was here at six – the time you wanted to start! So now, tomorrow, we'll start at seven which gives you another hour to fartarse about in the morning. Then hopefully we can start work on time – I'll be here at seven, I know I will be. Will you?" I asked, pausing to give them time to consider their answer. "Then, if you want to put in a proper day's work, we'll finish this fuckin' shit off and I won't have to be yelling at you this time tomorrow. You'll be happy because I'll have paid you, then we can crack a beer and sit around talking about the chicks you pulled the other week... or whatever it is you talk about. Now, fuck off!" I yelled, as they sheepishly got to their feet and quickly vacated the area before I thought of something further to add to my condemnation.

The next day proved a marked improvement in time keeping. While they were still late, I was pleasantly surprised when they arrived by half past seven, leaving me ever hopeful that their work ethic may have followed suit by also improving. But I was left bewildered, floundering for answers, when Moses approached the wall he had bricked the previous day and placed his hand against it, causing half of it to collapse under the subtle pressure he had applied. I was devastated, and wondered how these guys managed to survive. This was Moses' livelihood – it was how he earned a living. Surely he understood the concept of slapping some mortar on a brick and butting it up against another, but Lumbwi's brother, Fedha, was willing to take the blame.

"Ah, that is where I leant against the wall yesterday to talk to Moses," he said knowledgeably.

I did not really care about hearing an explanation. Moses was just as accountable as Fedha. Surely one of them should have foreseen the potential problems of leaning his body weight against a recently bricked wall before it had set.

I looked at Fedha and shrugged my shoulders. "I guess you wouldn't want to be doing that again, huh?" I said, feeling as if I was swimming upstream. I did not have the energy to continue being angry but hoped they would learn from the mistake.

My health had become debilitating and Radhi was convinced I needed to visit the doctor. Despite my protests, after leaving the others to continue the work, we made our way to the local medical centre, where we joined the end of an obscenely long queue.

"Jackie, it is dangerous for you to drink local water. It is not safe for you," Radhi said. He had been worried that the water supply had been causing my ill health.

"Don't worry about me – I can handle it," I said resolutely, my eyes closed and doubled up in pain.

"But, Jackie. You are sick... This water is not good. You must understand, many locals are only drinking bottled water," Radhi pointed out.

He was right, but I was fighting the common opinion amongst locals that I was different. Even though I lived an identical existence to them, it had been almost impossible to gain acceptance in the village, so I did not want to offer further proof that I was unable to cope with their lifestyle. I envisioned meal times, when a communal jug of water was often passed around to share, and imagined refusing it to only drink from pre-sealed bottles. It was not a conceivable option.

We had to wait for hours before finally being admitted to the doctor's office. I described to the doctor my symptoms and the pain I felt, which now encompassed my entire body. He looked at me questioningly, seemingly more interested in the colour of my skin than the cause of my obvious illness. After administering the standard tests, he managed to rule out malaria but he could not diagnose my illness. This was not surprising though, considering Tanzanian doctors seemed only to be familiar with malaria, amoebic dysentery and urinary tract infections. Just to be on the safe side, he gave me three different types of unidentifiable medicines to combat my sickness and advised me to get sufficient bed rest.

I returned to my room at the bar, drowsy and incomprehensible as the medicine began to take affect, and fell into a deep sleep. Later that evening, I was roused from my comatosed state by the sound of loud banging on my door. Disorientated and confused, I tugged back the mosquito net and climbed out of bed then swung open the door, shocked to find Radhi and Sadiki standing there.

"Jackie, you are not safe here any more," Radhi said, while Sadiki looked at me fearfully. "Jonathan is wanting you dead."

I was clutching the door for support, lacking the strength to stand unaided. I could not understand why it was so hard to do a good thing, why I could not seem to catch a break. "I tell you, I've pretty much had a fuckin' gutfull of Jonathan," I said with stubborness. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna kick him up the ass that hard -"

"Jackie, this is no joke," said Radhi, drowning out my threat. "Jonathan has paid to have you killed. Sadiki is overhearing him organising it today." I looked at her, Justin asleep in a sling that was tied to her back. Her eyes were glistening with tears, which she continued to wipe away with her sleeve. "It is not safe for you to stay here any longer," he implored.

"When are they coming? Tonight?" I asked irrationally, dark thoughts flooding through my mind. I did not like the concept that I was being hunted by unknown persons. I looked past Radhi and Sadiki to the crowded bar, considering the notion that any one of them could be here on orders to kill me, just waiting for an opportune moment.

"We are needing to go, now," said Radhi, looking around the bar also, as if the same thought had just occurred to him.

At that moment, I became resigned to the fact that I could never lead a simple, uncomplicated life in Usa River. I momentarily considered packing my bag and leaving Tanzania altogether. The end result of anything I could possibly achieve in the village could never exceed all the trials and tribulations I was encountering, but when I looked at Sadiki, I had every reason I needed to stay. For me, she gave a face to the hardships of Usa River, and I would give everything I had, including my life, if it would give her an opportunity to live a life of freedom.

I left my possessions in the room, not wanting it to appear obvious I would be alighting from the bar permanently, and locked the door behind me. Sadiki looked around the bar fearfully as she stood close to me, while Radhi moved slightly ahead, clearing a path for us to follow.

Mary spotted me as we were nearing the door. "Jackie! Where are you going?" she yelled across the bar.

I stopped, turning to face her with a casual smile. "No worries. I will come," I said somewhat ambiguously, before Radhi grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside to the road.

The tension was high as he led the way through the darkened streets, constantly scanning our surroundings in search of my assassins. I was not nearly as scared as the situation warranted, addled by the combination of illness and medicine, but I became somewhat rejuvenated, my spirits peaking, as Sadiki slid her hand into mine.

Radhi brought us to his mother's hut and informed her I was to become an additional resident. I was uncomfortable with the extra attention I was receiving, due to the concern for my health and safety by everyone present, but I remained steadfast that these concerns were nothing more than minor obstacles to be negotiated. Justin had awoken, restless and agitated, so Sadiki had left to put him to bed, while Radhi remained long enough to give some final instructions.

"Do not open this door for anyone during the night. It is very dangerous," Radhi warned, as I glanced in the direction of his mother and baby Sal, riddled with guilt at the position I had placed them in.

Chapter Fourteen

The level of security surrounding me instantly tightened to the point where I could no longer travel anywhere alone. During the day Radhi found it necessary to have me accompanied by at least one other person, if not two or three. Freedom at night was out of the question, once the Sun had set I would be securely locked inside Mama Radhi's hut, strictly forbidden to leave until the morning. I was infuriated by the notion that I required protection and was now unable to travel alone through the village.

I arrogantly denied the imminent danger to my life, doubting the probability that someone would seize a moment to murder me. Since my initial arrival, locals had repeatedly warned me that it was not safe for a white person to walk unaccompanied at night, even so, I never encountered any trouble. I walked the village with confidence, believing I was at no more risk than the locals. Most people recognised me by sight, if not name, and would greet me as we passed in the street. I resented being chaperoned like a child and having, what I considered, an unreasonable curfew imposed. So, I reminded Radhi I had been wandering solo around Usa River, meeting with and searching for persons of interest, long before his return. Radhi looked at me with little compassion for my currently smothered existence and gruffly expressed how irresponsible I was, adding that I should consider myself incredibly lucky to still be alive.

I was despondent that I was losing contact with many of my usual acquaintances but Radhi felt this was a positive, convinced I could not trust these people to have my best interests at heart. I was in denial, wondering if Radhi had his own reasons to limit my interaction with other people and was using the threat on my life to his advantage.

One day, not long after recovering from my poor health, Radhi had left his backpack unattended. Over the weeks, I had become increasingly curious as to what he felt so important to always be carrying, so I had quickly rifled through the contents. I became furious when I discovered a contract for the house I had not previously seen, drawn up and signed for a considerably lower price than what I had paid, and confronted Radhi upon his return.

"What is that, Jackie?" he asked.

"It's a fuckin' contract for 10 000 shillings a room," I fumed. "You should know, it was in your bag."

Radhi took the contract from me and studied it closely, comparing it to the copy I had been presented for a higher price. "Ah, I think there is a mistake," he said simply.

"Yeah? The only mistake is that I found it," I said, unable to trust him. "I guess you and Lumbwi owe me some money – it was a good trick but remember, you can't outsmart me."

"I am not seeing this before," Radhi assured me. "Lumbwi is signing the contract with Gabriela – I am not even there."

"Whatever," I said, hardly convinced. "I want to bring Gabriela out here again and meet her myself, then I'll just ask her what happened."

Radhi agreed to arrange another meeting but convinced me not to approach Lumbwi about the contract, leaving me with the impression that he did not completely trust him either.

I had refused to swap to bottled water, so Radhi now boiled the local supply so it would be safe to drink, and with the addition of the medicine, my health had steadily improved. Moses had finally completed the brickwork of the toilet and having paid him, I was glad to be rid of his presence.

Lumbwi and I set about constructing a pair of rudimentary doors for the toilet, but he soon stopped, hammer in hand, when I pulled out a handful of nails from my pocket.

"Ah, Jackie," he said, shaking his head. "This is no good. We will be needing two inch nails."

I looked at him for a moment. "So, you can't use these?" I asked, slightly disgruntled, as I held the apparently redundant nails.

"No. These are three inch nails and we need two inch. You see the problem?" he said knowingly, adopting a patronising smile.

"No, I don't see the problem, Lumbwi," I said stubbornly. "What you're saying is these nails are too long, right?" I asked. Lumbwi nodded, wearing a relieved smile, as if I was an excessively dense person who had only just understood a rather simple concept. "I don't really understand how that's a problem. You belt the fuckin' nails through and round off the bloody ends like everyone else does in this country," I said, assuming it was the obvious solution.

Lumbwi had a wry smile on his face as he considered my comment. He had treated me with slightly less condescension since my contribution of physical labour, realising I was more capable than what he had given me credit for, as a white person. "Yes, we will. Ah, you are a Tanzanian, Jackie," he said with a chuckle.

Although Radhi seemed to consider himself my personal bodyguard, I felt slightly uneasy each time he assured me of his unwavering devotion to my safety. Any time someone begged of my trust, it was generally fraught with disaster. I did not need any more reasons to foster doubts in relation to MAUA, but Radhi was beginning to use the increasing amounts of time we were spending together as a platform for airing his own grievances. Often times, when we had a private moment, Radhi would speak to me in earnest about his latest revelations.

"Jackie, we need to be careful who we are speaking with," Radhi advised me. "People in Usa River, they are having no soul, they are pretending to support us but then they are telling fuckin' Jonathan of our plans."

"That's not a problem for me," I said forlornly. "I don't get to speak to anyone these days."

"Yes, good," said Radhi, failing to detect my sadness. "We cannot trust anyone. Even I am starting to wonder, Jackie... I am talking to people in the street and they are saying Jonathan and Merah are knowing each other from a long time ago."

"Well, what does Lumbwi think?" I queried.

"Ah, Lumbwi? I do not know what is wrong with him... You know, we are not even friends – he is just someone I am knowing from when I was working for Jonathan."

My jaw dropped, completely stunned by this piece of information as I put my hands on my head. "He's not your friend?" I repeated. "What the fuck do you mean? Radhi, is he helping us or not?"

"I do not know," he said casually and pondered for a moment before answering my question. "You know, Jackie, I think he is helping Merah and Jonathan."

I felt scandalised. "Fuck. Fuck!" I muttered wildly, and spun around, paranoid, searching the room with my eyes as if I expected Lumbwi to be lurking in a corner. "But – the computers. Didn't Lumbwi steal computers from Jonathan?" I asked desperately.

"I think so, Jackie," Radhi said slowly. "But, you see, Jonathan will work with Lumbwi because he is hating you more."

I was becoming frantic. "Oh, great – really fantastic," I retorted.

"Do not worry, Jackie," Radhi said calmly. "Everything will be fine. When we are starting anything we must face problems to begin." I looked at him with a plea of desperation before he changed tack, offering what he considered to be a positive focus. "You know, Jackie, this village is ready for change. Jonathan is scared. I hear he has been driving around the streets warning people about you. He is saying: 'Do not listen to that mzungu Jackie, he is not caring about you. He is only wanting your money.'"

Chapter Fifteen

I had begun painting the building when Merah finally found the time to visit the school, accompanied by a long standing member of her board. I welcomed them, convinced Merah would have a change of heart now that she could physically see what her organisation had the opportunity to be involved with.

"Jack," she said, shaking her head with a grim expression. "Not only did you rent a house without my approval, you have now begun renovations without my approval."

I looked from Merah to her companion, who if anything, appeared to be rather impressed. I vehemently defended my actions. "I've only had a toilet built, which had to be done and will be deducted from the next rent."

"But there is so much more that needs to be done before it can be a school for children," she interjected. "Ceiling boards, electricity, plaster, paint – it will cost too much money. I have spoken to the board and we are thinking that MAUA cannot be a part of this."

It was not only myself shocked by her words, her associate also was taken aback. Indeed, he had quietly congratulated me on securing what he felt to be an "excellent site" for a school, when I had initially shown them both the yard and inside the building.

I looked at Merah, enraged she would dare to criticise my school. "You think this is unfit for children?" I questioned. "Your school is a rusting tin shed in a cornfield." It was not a slur, but an accurate assessment. When Merah had originally agreed for us to work together, she had arranged for me to be shown through her school to use as a blueprint. It was a basic structure, in a state of disrepair, with the adjoining room used as a chicken coop.

Merah bristled at my comment, visibly affronted by the truth. "We will meet with the board this week to discuss our involvement," she informed me, then stalked away in disgust. Her companion looked at me apologetically and shrugged, before shaking my hand and congratulating me once again on my current achievements, then followed after Merah.

Radhi walked up beside me and watched them until they were out of sight, then turned to me with a contemplative look. "Merah is scared, Jackie," he said pensively. "She is scared of the relationship between you and Jonathan, you know. She has no confidence to beat Jonathan."

"So she helps him instead, then?" I asked, trying to grasp the situation.

"Jackie, she is scared of what Jonathan will do to her," he admitted, while I shook my head, wondering how I could ever hope to defeat Jonathan.

I was fast becoming overwhelmed by the situation. Radhi had suggested opening the school for the start of the final term of the year, but as yet, we had no teachers or students. The delays we had experienced with our renovations had made our desired date unrealistic and we were forced to reassess. I was beginning to suffer from serious self doubts, buying into the rumours which were being viciously circulated. I was critical that I would not be able to deliver what I had promised, that I would not be able to convince people to trust me and send their kids to my school. They would side with Jonathan, based on ethnicity, believing the propaganda he had spread.

"Radhi, how are we gonna get the kids?" I asked him one day.

I had no idea about advertising or spreading the word about our school. There were already so many established centres in the village to choose from, I lacked the confidence to believe that anyone would take a chance on a new school operated by a white foreigner.

Radhi brushed my question aside like it was the last thing on his mind. "Jackie," he said airily. "Do not worry about the kids. They will come," he predicted then added, "You need to think about staff."

It was something I had thought about, just another thing I lay awake thinking about late into the night. We had to find two teachers, I did not care who, so long as they possessed the qualities I wanted to instill in the children. The cook was an easier mission. Although I had received a number of applications from women living close to the school I was only interested in securing Sadiki for the position. I continued to promote the job to her, cheekily suggesting she would cook when she inquired as to who would fill the role. She would become embarrassed, bashful by my admiration of her abilities, unable to believe in herself enough to accept the compliment. She was definitely interested in the position but was hesitant to leave Tumbiri, scared of retribution from Jonathan. If his regular threats were to be believed he would have her arrested and take custody of her son.

Radhi's assessment of Sadiki was less flattering, though. "Jackie, we cannot trust Sadiki – she is crazy," he told me after I confided I was committed to employing her. "She is always talking blah blah to everybody. I am knowing her from a long time ago."

I was not convinced by Radhi's sentiments, sensing he simply did not like Sadiki, although I could not understand why that would be the case. We began to focus on the teachers, ultimately deciding to source them from the local teachers college, as this option had several advantages. They would only be committed to us for a three month period while they completed the practical component of their training, unless I offered them permanent employment. Plus, I was not required to pay them a wage as I would be providing them with work experience, an important factor considering money was becoming tight. More importantly though, I would not need to try and break bad habits indoctrinated by a tenure at a previous school.

Much to my surprise, Radhi's prediction about the kids coming to us proved to be correct. I had been lost in thought, almost in a meditative state as I painted the walls of the building, when I turned around to find several women sitting on the ground with a group of young children. I looked at the women for a moment without receiving a reaction, so, slightly perplexed, picked up my roller and continued to paint. Radhi soon returned from his errands and was shocked to find me ignoring our potential students, so chastised my rudeness. Apparently, the women had come to enrol their children, having heard rumours of our school. Despite the negative publicity, we had been gaining credibility as the people became excited about a new prospect and refused to believe Jonathan's slander.

That was only the beginning. In the coming weeks it became a pilgrimage as families visited relentlessly, leaving the details of their child and contact information. We filled pages of notebooks with names and phone numbers, collecting hundreds of applications, but instead of joy, I was filled with dread. I was only prepared to start with a single class of twenty students, enabling me to experiment with the functionality of the school before I was willing to expand.

"Radhi," I hissed, switching to English so we could safely speak in front of a mother who had just entered the office to register her child. "Do these people realise how many applications we've had. We can't take them all," I said, flipping through a notebook to illustrate the point.

"Do not worry," he said casually. "We just have to take their names so they are thinking we are considering them, or else they will be angry."

Teacher Fahamu had recently left Usa River returning to Mto wa Mbu with her family. Although she had been saddened to leave her students at the Tumbiri school, the overriding emotion of happiness was obvious as she was finally free of Jonathan. This meant that Sadiki was left at the school without Fahamu, who had often supported her through difficult times. I was worried about Jonathan retaliating against Sadiki and damaging her self esteem further, in an effort to control her now that she no longer had moral support. Jonathan had been furious when Fahamu resigned, threatening her family's safety and finally demanding to know how she had obtained the money to leave. He had implemented his mandatory banking system to deter this type of event from happening, allowing an employee only a small portion of their wage, just enough to cover the bare essentials of rent and food.

Sadiki had begun to spend increasing amounts of time at our school, often hanging around in the afternoons, when she had finished at Tumbiri, and assisting me by washing the floors or sweeping the rooms. The word had spread that there was a relationship of sorts developing between Sadiki and me, and it was quickly becoming a major source of gossip. Much of it seemed to simply be speculation, which caused me to become the subject of much scrutiny. I was increasingly uncomfortable as people talked about me behind my back. Whenever I heard any of this gossip, it had usually come through the grapevine.

Radhi had suspected my interest in Sadiki long before the pros and cons of a possible relationship had become open for public debate. It was obvious really – simply because of the amount of time we spent together, even though we continued to struggle to effectively communicate, our ability to speak each other's native language still limited. But regardless, we would always gravitate toward the other whenever an opportunity presented itself.

He raised the subject unexpectedly one day as I was mapping out the dimensions of a kitchen. "Jackie, you are really loving Sadiki, yes?" he asked.

I dropped the rocks I had been using as measurement markers and dusted my hands. I looked at him gruffly, realising it was probably the worst kept secret in the village, and nodded.

"Ah, I thought so," he said wisely. "You know, she was talking about you the other day... I think she is loving you also. She is wanting to move in together with you."

I was taken aback by Radhi's directness, slightly embarrassed to be discussing what I felt was a personal matter. I tried to not appear overly exuberant as I confirmed my interest in the proposal.

Radhi looked pleased. "You know, Jackie," he said. "I am thinking the two of you will become married and you will become the father of Justin."

The notion of marriage and fatherhood, and living with Sadiki and Justin, appealed to me. I absolutely adored Justin, convinced he was a special kid with amazing potential. As for Sadiki, I fell in love with her a little more each time I saw her – she was the only girl I had ever met that I could envisage spending my life with.

Chapter Sixteen

Merah sent a summons to Radhi and me to inform us we were required to convene with the board of MAUA the following weekend to discuss the current status of our alliance. I had a sense of foreboding about the impending meeting, pessimistic about achieving any positive results, but I was prepared with my argument. I strongly believed in the importance of the school I was trying to develop and had maintained my integrity and honesty throughout, continuing to work in accordance with my original plans.

We had encountered another problem though, while not necessarily as significant as the potential fallout between MAUA and myself, it was becoming increasingly relevant as the opening of the school approached. The sewage chamber was close to overflowing and the plumbing of the toilet could not be connected until it was emptied. Apparently, there was a collection truck which could be ordered from Arusha but it was expensive. I had my reservations about committing to this, unless we could convince some of the neighbours to having their chambers emptied as well, which would split the cost. I had been procrastinating over my decision to bring the truck to Usa River, prioritising other tasks, when Radhi approached me with an unorthodox solution.

"You know, Jackie. There are other ways to empty a chamber," he confided slyly. I had a strong suspicion about what he was implying as a broad grin spread across my face, encouraging him to continue. "I know some people who will help us for a cheap price."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, digging for details.

"They can bring buckets and rope, and empty the chamber into the street late at night," he suggested. "I know some people and I think they have done this thing before."

I looked around at the barren dirt roads and shrugged, assuming the dry ground would quickly absorb the sewage. I considered my decision to dump raw human waste in the streets of the village to be justifiable, after all, I was offering a brighter future to the children through education.

"No problems, Radhi. Let's do it," I said, causing him to giggle. I continued to defy the expectations people in the village had of a typical white person, who they seemed to think would follow the law to the letter. I was often finding ways to bend the rules to my advantage, convinced that ultimately, the ends would justify the means.

Radhi disappeared in the afternoon to find his contacts who would supposedly be able to help us. He was gone for a couple of hours before returning with a broad smile, excitedly informing me everything had been arranged for that night.

Radhi's philosophy was that I was an important commodity and should be shielded from any incriminating ventures. As the founder/director/whatever of our school I was required to act as problem solver for any issues which may arise, so we could not risk my potential imprisonment. It was not necessary for me to be there and risk becoming embroiled in the situation. As the only white person in the area, it was too easy to distinguish me at night and therefore, place me at the scene of the crime. I went to bed that night with a devious smile, comfortable in the knowledge that by daybreak my chamber would be empty.

In the morning, I made my way from Mama Radhi's hut to the school, stretching and yawning as I walked. The ground transformed from dry to wet as I neared the school and I struggled to conceal my growing smile. I spotted Radhi standing in the yard, stifling a yawn from his unusually late night, and started toward him with my hands raised to the bright blue sky.

"Radhi! Heavy rain last night, huh?" I yelled with glee, indicating the sheen of water absorbing into the ground.

Radhi stamped his feet and roared with laughter, clutching his sides. "Oh, Jackie," he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Much rain last night. So much rain."

We crossed to the chamber together, where I dragged the concrete cover from the manhole. Getting down on my knees I peered inside, discovering a dramatic decrease in the sewage level since the previous day. Radhi squatted beside me, nodding his head with satisfaction, then proceeded to describe how the task had been undertaken by him and his crew. Although Radhi was adamant they had not encountered any problems, he mentioned a suspicious neighbour who had spied them from his window, spreading the waste. I was worried about the neighbour potentially causing problems but Radhi assured me we were immune to trouble. Apparently, for a person to raise an issue they had to first bring it to the attention of the president of the street, which in our case, just happened to be Radhi's mother. If the neighbour approached Mama Radhi to complain, she would deny any culpability on our part, as we had already given her strict instructions to support our actions. Although Mama Radhi refused to be involved in anything illegal she was willing to turn a blind eye in order to protect us, knowing we were working toward the greater good of the community.

Later in the week, I covertly made my way to the Tumbiri school after the students had been dismissed for the day. I had begun researching the costs of building a school desk but had no idea how to design one, so I looked to Jonathan for some unintended assistance. His two outdoor classrooms had desks that I felt were rather adequate for children of a young age. After jotting down the measurements, I took a seat and drafted a sketch of the desk with the addition of some minor improvements, before returning to our school where Radhi was impatiently waiting for me.

"Jackie," he called, coming out to meet me. "Merah is just phoning me and she is wanting us to come now. I think she is not happy." My face twitched and I growled in anger at the inconvenience the woman continued to cause me. "Have you got everything you need?" he asked, hurrying me along.

I had taken to carrying a small backpack everywhere I went, only removing it when I climbed into bed at night, but even then, obsessively protecting the bag by housing it inside my mosquito net. It contained a number of documents and letters regarding the rental of the house, as well as my visa, which I was becoming paranoid would fall into the wrong hands. Anything of importance to me could be found somewhere in that bag.

We entered Merah's house and squeezed onto a sofa in the crowded living room. The room fell into silence as everyone turned their attention to me, staring with curiosity, while Merah narrowed her eyes and looked directly at me with an evil leer. I had already conceded defeat, such was the smugness etched on her face.

"So, Jack, these are the board members of MAUA that you have been wanting to meet," she said. "While we have waited for you, I have been telling them all about you and your problems with Mr Jonathan."

I gave a slight inclination of my head and adopted a neutral expression. From the impression Merah had given, I suspected that her version of events surrounding my involvement with Tumbiri had not been told in a flattering light. I was not surprised, I had not expected her to suddenly offer me support but I hoped to be able to alter the perceptions of her board members. I glanced around the room but the member who had accompanied her to the school the previous week was absent.

"We have discussed our options and we have decided that we do not want another school," Merah explained. "MAUA already has a school and we have a number of other projects in the community you can be involved with instead."

"If you didn't want a school, maybe you should've told me during our first meeting. I've been completely honest with you. I've done everything I promised to do," I reminded her. "You're the one that's changed your mind – I don't think you know what you want..."

"Well, Jack," she began angrily. "I offered you help and you are not wanting it. All you are wanting is to do everything yourself."

"That's the only way I can ensure everything will be done right. I will build the best school in this village then give it to your organisation as planned. All you have to do is give me the MAUA logo to paint on the school, but after seven years you still haven't decided on one you want to use."

Some of the members looked suspiciously at Merah as if it was the first time they had been privy to some of this information. A man turned to me with interest and asked, "But what are you getting from the school, then?"

"I get to leave Tanzania knowing that there is one school actually helping the kids," I answered.

Everyone was quiet as they attempted to make sense of my answer. It was a concept they would never understand: a person using their own time and money to do something for others with no interest in personal gain.

"You say you will do this but how can we trust you, when you are clearly not trusting us," reasoned Merah. "I have told you MAUA is different to other NGO's, but still you will not trust me."

"Unfortunately for you, you don't get a free trust card, Merah. Because of everything I've seen I won't trust any NGO, not just yours. I'd love to trust you but you'll have to earn it," I said sincerely. "If you actually did everything you said then it wouldn't be hard."

Merah stared at me darkly, lips pursed. "I think it would be a good idea for you to go to Tanga for a while. You can support our organisation there," she said, referring to a city on the other side of Tanzania where another branch of MAUA existed.

"I'm sorry, Merah, but I can't do that. I have a school to build and I will do whatever I feel is in the best interests of these children," I said resolutely. Merah made no response, so I got to my feet and uttered the expected niceties to the board members before exiting Merah's house with Radhi in tow.

"That was no board of MAUA. I am recognising many of those people as relations of Merah," Radhi said with disgust.

"I think we need to register this school ourselves," I said seriously.

Chapter Seventeen

I sat on the ground surrounded by notebooks, trying to select twenty students from the hundreds of applications we had received. There was no fair method to use, it was simply a fact that most would miss out. In the end, it became a random selection to find an equal number of boys and girls, half aged three, and half, four.

I felt guilty because of all the potential students that had missed out, but it was not realistic to accept any more. It was essential to impose restrictions or we would become overrun like other schools who did not limit their intake of students, as a school's margin of profit continued to increase with the enrolment of each child. I was not concerned with this aspect, simply wanting to provide a quality education, and teach integrity and respect. Above all else, instilling these traits was how I felt I could create a positive difference in their future lives. Sadly, they were attributes I rarely witnessed in Tanzania, where they do not even have a word in their national language to define integrity.

We contacted the families of the successful students informing them to meet with us the following Monday at eight in the morning. Classes were to start one week later, so at the meeting I would: explain the structure we planned to follow; outline what was expected of the families; answer any questions; officially enrol the students; and have them measured for uniforms.

At the end of each day, after padlocking the doors, I would stare at the school from the road, picturing it operational. Although it was still a continual struggle, I was beginning to convince myself I could achieve my dream, as I watched it now transforming into something more than just good intentions.

Sadiki had approached me the day before with exciting news. She had visited Jonathan and resigned from Tumbiri, effective immediately. He had been furious – refusing to release the share of her salary that he had 'banked' – and tried to convince her to stay by telling her she would not be able to find employment elsewhere. But Sadiki had been willing to sacrifice her unpaid salary, in order to be free from Jonathan. She had come directly to me, promising I could rely on her complete support, but I did not require any assurances from her, already trusting her commitment.

As Radhi and I were talking one day, after the toilet and classroom had been completed, he again suggested the need for a swing. I was vehemently opposed to the idea. We were severely restricted by space and I could imagine it as a cause of fights, as kids struggled for a turn, but Radhi felt the importance of play equipment far outweighed any negatives I could raise.

"But, Jackie," Radhi argued. "Don't you want the best school in the village. Just think, we will be so much better than Tumbiri if we have a swing. Then people will see."

I looked at him incredulously, not at all convinced by his manipulation. "Radhi, come and look at this," I said, prepared to offer hard evidence to support my resistance. "This is the only place you can put a swing, right?" He nodded in agreement, unsure to what I was alluding. "The name of the school has to go on this wall, so if you put a swing there no one will be able to read it. Okay?"

"So you have a name?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

Radhi had been adamant the school should be named after me, complete with a life size painting in my honour. My lips curled in disgust at the very thought of his suggestion, as I had never intended to receive any recognition, which caused Radhi some consternation about my motives. I had threatened to withdraw my funding and leave Tanzania immediately if it should appear I was expecting reverence from the community in any way. Radhi had ultimately yielded with a shrug of his shoulders, muttering something about how it was my school and I could do as I pleased. A procession of possible school names constantly marched through my head, before I finally settled on what I considered the perfect name – Uhuru (translated as Freedom). The more I rolled it around my tongue, the more apt it sounded. I wanted something that had meaning for me and the people it served to assist. The purpose of the school had always been to offer freedom.

Radhi thought about it for a moment, struggling to understand how I could expect any recognition of my achievements if my name was not mentioned, before nodding his approval. "I like it, Jackie," he said with a smile. "Everyone will know Uhuru."

I was relieved that we could at least agree on one thing. "Okay," I said, beginning to dissect his suggestion once more. "Now... You understand that we would have to clear an area around the swing in order for the kids to use it," I clarified, tracing a circle in the dirt, while Radhi looked on blankly. "You see how much space this will use? You would have maybe four to six kids at a time playing with the swing, which means there would be at least forty kids in that part of the yard," I explained, pointing away from where we were standing. "They would barely be able to move, that's why we can't have a swing or put a fence across the front. I would love to do it, but this is not the place, yeah?"

Radhi was clearly disappointed, but could accept my point as he studied the circle I had drawn, finally realising how much space was required. "Okay, so we will not have a swing, but Jackie, we need to have a fence for safety," he protested.

I shook my head stubbornly. "It's not dangerous here, Radhi. We don't need to imprison them," I said bluntly, recalling my exact sentiments as a child at school.

"But we will keep people out. We can use barb wire – do you know what that is, Jackie?" he asked.

I looked at him with confusion. "Of course I know what barb wire is. It's commonly used on prisons," I said, astounded by the thought.

"Yes, but do not worry, Jackie. We will make it look pretty," he reasoned. "We will plant flowers in front of it."

I shook my head unable to agree with his idea. At no stage had I ever considered closing off the school grounds from the community. I envisaged it as a truly public school, open to everyone, not as an institution separated from its neighbours. Many people crossed through the yard which served as a shortcut to the next street and I did not want to ostracise them, preferring to welcome them instead.

Radhi finally relented. "It is your school and we will do whatever you are wanting," he said with a degree of spite.

I studied him with wariness. It was not a challenge between myself and Radhi. My intention was purely to provide the best environment for the children, so I took no responsibility for any damage to his ego caused by my negation of his ideas.

We fell into silence before I tactfully changed subjects. "Radhi," I said brightly. "I saw Fundi Edmund today and he showed me the desks. He said they'll be ready tomorrow."

I had become single minded in my quest for equality, refusing to accept the services of a carpenter who would greedily charge me an inflated price. I had a rough estimate on the materials needed to build a desk, but the fundis I had approached were asking in the vicinity of double and not prepared to negotiate. I had begun to consider the option of constructing them myself, if I could borrow some tools from the neighbours, but then I had met Edmund. With a little persuasion he had been willing to make the desks at the correct price, proudly showing me examples of his work as testament to his woodworking skills.

He had looked at my isometric drawings, and measurements of the desk that I had included, and then stared at me quizzically, clearly impressed. "Jackie," he had said, nodding as he spoke. "Jackie, these are... these are very good."

"So, you can build them like that, no worries?" I had queried, searching for clarification. "That's how I want them to look."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... No worries..." he had assured me absent-mindedly, fixated by the sketch.

Radhi's mood visibly lightened, excited that our first classroom would be complete, and was eager to go to Edmund's workshop the following day to see the finished product.

When we arrived at the entrance to Edmund's, we passed the pushcart operators, who were lying around in the shade. As soon as they realised we had come to pick up the desks, they perked up considerably and began to vie for our business. I mostly ignored them pleading for the right to provide their services but scowled darkly at a couple I'd had negative experiences with in the past.

"Jackie! Come and look," Edmund called.

We approached him standing proudly by a row of ten desks and greeted him. "They are good, yes?" he asked.

I silently examined each desk then pulled out a tape measure to check the lengths before giving my approval to a relieved Edmund.

"They are good," he said confidently. "Jackie, I will call a pushcart," he offered, moving toward the men standing at the front of his shop.

"Nope, don't want one. I'll carry these back," I said, as Edmund turned to face me, staring curiously.

I had become jaded by the pushcart operators that had previously helped me. They were willing to accept a job on my behalf but refused to acknowledge me, not even bothering to feign civility, then had the gall to demand an inflated price. I had become too disgusted by their unjustified treatment to deal with the operator, who would blatantly ignore me, so I would angrily stuff the money in Radhi's hand and storm off, seething with anger. Radhi struggled to understand my rising frustration, often defending the locals behaviour, who, as he pointed out, had undoubtedly never dealt with a white person.

I had looked at Radhi coldly. "I am just the same as anyone else here. I'm just a person," I had stated. Then, I declared I would never resort to employing the services of another pushcart, as I would not support somebody that refused to respect me as a person. Radhi had been wise enough to not dispute me, but had not believed there was any truth to the threat, assuming I would yield should we require one in a future situation.

"But, Jackie, how you gonna get these desks back," Radhi asked with a confused laugh.

"I'll fuckin' carry them back, Radhi. I'm not going to ask you to help me. I told you – I will never pay for another pushcart," I reminded him. "I don't care if I need a tonne of sand – I'll carry it back in my pockets," I threatened.

"Jackie, these desks are very heavy. We can negotiate a fair price," Edmund reasoned, as he and Radhi exchanged glances.

I shook my head, realising they could not relate to my problem: the isolation and exclusion I felt because of the colour of my skin. Resolutely I picked up the first desk, then immediately dropped it, pretending to readjust my grip. It was solid pine and much heavier than I had anticipated, but I stubbornly tipped it upside-down, then carried it over my head, out of the shop and past the pushcart operators.

"Hey, you need help. We can help you," they called, as I staggered past ignoring their comments.

It may have been unorthodox but I was making a stand against discrimination. I did not care if people had a positive or negative reaction when they interacted with me, so long as their assessment was based on my character and not my race.

I had finally shifted the last desk into the classroom and studied the room with pride, declaring it fit for education, when Radhi joined me. "You are crazy, Jackie," he said, staring at me with amazement. "You should have seen their faces when you are carrying the desks past the pushcart drivers."

"I told you. Never again will I use one of them," I reiterated.

Radhi shook his head with a chuckle, continually amazed by my exploits. "I think we are ready for tomorrow," he said, referring to our meeting with the families of the prospective students.

Chapter Eighteen

It was well after eight the next morning, when I stood growing with impatience at the door of the classroom, awaiting the arrival of the families. Three out of the twenty were sitting inside quietly, as were Radhi and our teachers, two young women that had been sent from the teachers college. I consulted my watch again, then turned to Radhi, who was calmly flipping through an old comic.

"Radhi, are you sure you contacted every family?" I asked.

Radhi, who remained absorbed in the comic, managed to grunt in confirmation.

I was slightly peeved by his apparent lack of interest. "Well, did they know we wanted them here at eight this morning?"

"Jackie," Radhi said, closing the magazine and looking up at me. "They will come, no problem."

It was a problem for me, though. I had learnt to become somewhat lenient with Tanzanian time keeping, but there was no excuse for their lateness when they were receiving something they wanted.

"Do you want to know what it seems like, when I stand here at -" (I glanced at my watch), "- 8:38, waiting for them to come when they feel like it?" I said, not expecting an answer. Radhi looked at me passively, having become used to my rhetorical questioning. "That they don't really give a fuck about the education of their children. And if that's the case, why should I? I don't know them. They're not my responsibility. I'm never going to get anything out of this," I stated bluntly.

Radhi had no defence to my attack, so returned to his comic and quietly muttered, "They will come."

Families continued to slowly filter into the classroom, sitting down or standing patiently, much more adept at waiting than I was. At nine o'clock I took a head count. Although we were still missing three families, I had no guarantees they would come at all, and so decided to begin proceedings. The classroom had become overcrowded with close to fifty people vying for space. The confusion began when we attempted to check the attendance and discovered around half of our enrolled students were not present.

"Well, who are all these?" I asked bewildered, flustered by the situation.

As it turned out, many of the families seated before us in the classroom, had heard through the gossip network of our impending meeting and had invited themselves. It was ludicrous that a seemingly simple task had mutated into something incredibly complicated. I attempted to maintain my composure and take charge of the problem, while everyone else in the room shied away from any responsibility. But as families continued to arrive, the confusion only increased.

I was prepared to amend my student list, reasoning that although we had not notified many of the families that were present, they had at least been eager enough to come reasonably close to the nominated time. The names I had chosen had been through random selection anyway, so I figured it was not a problem to change them, as long as it resulted with even demographical groups.

Finally, we had rectified our list, and I sat at the front of the classroom summarising my thoughts, as the families listened expectantly.

"First of all, I'm white. So when I say eight o'clock, it means eight o'clock – not whenever you feel like it. It is now after nine thirty, and I have too much to do this week to wait for people. Next Monday, the first day of school, we will start at eight and I expect every student to be in this classroom at eight."

The room had remained silent, the families exchanging glances before looking at me again and chorusing, "We are sorry, Mr Jack. It will not happen again."

I flushed pink with embarrassment at the score of adults that had hung their heads with shame and sung an apology. Many of them were much older than myself and had no reason whatsoever to act submissively to me, but as I discovered much later, they were not as helpless as they pretended. Although they lacked critical thinking and accountability, they understood the art of manipulation. Since the introduction of missionaries – centuries earlier – generations of Tanzanians had come to realise that by refusing to accept responsibility, someone else would handle their problems.

I steadied myself once more and explained how we would operate the school, before finally inquiring if there were any questions. Everyone in the room remained silent, looking expectantly toward me for further instructions. I continued to wait with raised eyebrows, then muttered to Radhi out of the corner of my mouth, "Do they understand? They can ask any questions they like – about the school... about who I am..."

"Jackie, they understand. They have no questions because they are happy with everything," he assured me.

"So, not one person in this room has a single question for me?" I asked incredulously, disbelief clearly showing on my face. I shook my head, then addressed what I felt was the most pertinent issue. "I think it's really sad that you can't build a school for your own kids – that you have to wait for a white person to come from the other side of the world. You seem to think if you wait long enough someone else will come and save the day. But there will come a time when no one comes. The problem is not just in Usa River or Tanzania or even Africa, it is all over the world, and there are too many people that want help. This is not my home – I won't be able to stay here forever. My dream is that there will come a day when you don't need me here to run this school. It is something you should be proud of – it's for your kids – the success of this school will depend on you. I can't do it all..." The room broke into a low murmur as I retreated inside my head, mentally assessing all the tasks still to be done before the school was ready.

I had been finishing up at the school for the day, when Sadiki approached me looking sad. She dragged me into the classroom and shut the door behind us, sealing us in by twisting a bent nail which served as a makeshift lock. I looked at her in the darkened room, shafts of light sneaking in around the door and window shutters. She walked up to me and took my hands in hers, holding them softly, as she stared into my eyes.

"Jackie, do not listen to what people are saying," she implored desperately. "I love you very much."

My heart missed a beat – she was the only girl to have ever said it to me. "I love you so much, Sadiki," I said, unable to find the words to truly convey how much she meant to me.

"Justin's father has returned but I have told him to go. I say I do not love him, that I am loving Jackie instead. Wait for me," she begged, tears in her eyes.

I swallowed, trying to process what Sadiki had said, quickly translating the words into something I could understand. I assumed it was a simple matter, if Sadiki did not want him, he would leave. But the rules of a Tanzanian relationship were completely foreign to me. Apparently, even if a male no longer wanted to be with his partner, in his eyes, he would always own her.

She put her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly before exiting the room, leaving me confused and alone.

Chapter Nineteen

My bad temper continued to worsen throughout the week and I became prone to mood swings. I was beginning my day at sunrise and working late into the night, but I could not complete all the tasks I had assigned myself. Radhi had received the brunt of my ire, not only because we spent most of our time together, but more so due to his heavy reliance on me, which I felt had caused him to insufficiently contribute to the work.

"But, Jackie," he pleaded. "I am not smart like you are. You are so wise."

My nostrils flared as I looked at him in disgust. "That is absolute fuckin' bullshit, Radhi," I fumed, refusing to accept his act of manipulation. "I am no smarter than you – I didn't even finish high school. You've had much more education than I have... The only difference is work ethic and initiative, of which I have plenty."

"But I don't know how to do any of this," he complained.

"And you think I know what I'm doing," I said in outrage. "Do you think I've built a school before? I don't have a fuckin' clue what I'm doing – at least this is your country and you know how things are done here. You know what, Radhi, if you want to tell people you're the director, then you'd want to start directing something, because at the moment I'm doing that plus everything else." I was furious and expected him to step up to the challenge and accept mutual responsibility for our undertakings.

Radhi looked at me with doleful eyes, but I was unsympathetic, as I refused to feel guilty for pushing him to achieve his maximum potential. I stalked away, just wanting to disappear, as the pressure became overwhelming. Sadiki had made herself scarce since our last rendezvous, and rumours had begun to circulate that I was harassing her. I was hurt that people were talking about me relentlessly, incorrectly speculating about my background. The most common misconception seemed to suggest that I had relocated to Usa River as a fugitive because of a suspected criminal history in Australia.

The next day I had to go to Arusha to take care of some errands. Radhi convinced me to take Upendo and Naomi, our teachers, assuring me that they were familiar with the city and could navigate us to my required destinations. I had been too preoccupied during the week preparing for our school opening to spend any quality time with the two women, other than our first meeting, and their reaction toward me seemed anything but hospitable.

When we arrived in the city, I looked to Upendo and Naomi, expecting them to lead the way, but they remained standing close together, waiting for me to take charge. "Well, where do we go?" I asked.

Upendo, the more extroverted of the pair, gave me a condescending glare before returning to her whispered conversation with Naomi.

I was slightly disgruntled but continued to be unperturbed. "So, we should go and find our curriculum books first," I suggested, still failing to elicit a reaction from either of them. "Okay, well, I don't know where the bookshop is so you'll have to lead." They exchanged glances, then Upendo turned to me with an expression of disdain, and shook her head. I looked questioningly at her and reminded them of their purpose for accompanying me.

"We are not knowing where it is," Upendo stated.

"Well, that's fuckin' fantastic. We've come to Arusha and none of us knows where to go," I said bitterly, livid that incorrect information from Radhi had now resulted in overall confusion.

After several unsuccessful attempts to extract the whereabouts of a bookshop from people in the street, I began to methodically canvass the city in search of the shop. I became angrier with every passing minute, furious to be wasting precious time. Upendo had finally enlisted the services of a man who guaranteed he knew the location of a quality bookshop, but I regarded him with suspicion when he decided to escort us instead of telling us the directions. He led us to a nearby bookshop, politely making conversation with me, but I remained sceptical and answered his questions with abrupt responses.

I had been informed that it was a prerequisite to provide a syllabus for the students to study, but after scanning the shelves I was unable to find the appropriate books. I waved my hand to gain the attention of the clerk, who then sidled toward me.

"Excuse me, have you got the syllabus for preschool?" I inquired.

"Nursery?" he said with an air of confusion. "Tanzanian syllabus is not starting until standard one. How old are your students?"

"Between three and six," I said, slightly annoyed at once again having been provided with the wrong information.

"There is no syllabus for nursery school," he said adamantly, then led me to another part of the shop. "These are our books for nursery. We have English, phonics, science, mathematics, everything you are needing for your students," he said helpfully.

I began to leaf through the books, trying to determine what we required, when Upendo joined me at the bookshelf, lips pursed and arms folded across her chest.

"Mr Jack," she said haughtily. "We are needing the syllabus if we are to teach correctly."

I stared at her and Naomi, who was nodding in fervent agreement. "Didn't you just listen to what that guy said?" I asked. "They don't make a syllabus for nursery school in Tanzania."

Naomi seemed to accept the verdict and turned her attention to the row of books, but Upendo began to pout as if I had personally orchestrated the encounter with the clerk so I would not have to purchase a syllabus.

We ultimately selected a range of books of varying subjects and skill levels which would be adequate for our students. I had walked out of the shop, satisfied with the curriculum we could develop, when I was confronted by the man who had earlier escorted us. He greeted me with zeal, as if we were old friends that had unexpectedly become reacquainted, and fell into stride beside me, offering his congratulations on the quality of books I had selected.

"I helped you, so now, maybe you would like to help me, yes?" he asked.

I was aware of what he was implying, knowing that he expected to be paid for his services, but I continued to walk, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

"Maybe you would like to pay me for helping you," he suggested, clearly believing I had misunderstood the assumption that I was required to reimburse him for his willing assistance.

"Nope," I said unemotionally. "You didn't help me, I didn't ask you for anything."

"But I helped you. I took you where you wanted to go," he protested.

"You did, and I thanked you for that," I admitted, "But I didn't ask for help, did I? If you want money, you should probably talk to Upendo."

He quickly abandoned me for Upendo, who was following behind with Naomi, and engaged her in conversation. But before long he reappeared at my side, appealing to my sense of decency.

"She say that you are the boss and have got the money," he declared.

I gave Upendo a withering look, unimpressed with her evaluation of me. "What? Because I'm white I must be the boss and have money. You are fuckin' racist, mate," I scolded, with eyes narrowed.

He moved away from me slightly, surprised by my sudden turn of aggression, then looked at me with outrage. "You are saying fuck to me?"

"I said: you are a fuckin' racist!" I repeated angrily. "You look at me differently because of my skin colour – that's bloody racism."

"No, I could have been doing work and earning money, but instead, I am helping you," he said desperately.

"Ah, give it a rest, mate. It took you about three minutes to walk us to that bookshop," I reminded him. "You could've gone straight off to work to make some money but instead you've been harassing me for the last half hour trying to rip me off."

The moment he realised he would be unable to convince me to offer him payment for having acted as a guide, he attempted to bribe me through guilt. "Oh, mister, please. I am very hungry – I am not eating lunch today. I have helped you, now you can help me to buy something to eat," he suggested, sparking my fury.

I had reached the end of my patience, stopping to confront him in the street. "Yeah? I haven't eaten today either, fuckhead," I spat with anger. "And if I can't spare the money to buy myself something to eat then I'm definitely not going to buy you something to eat."

He had become resigned to the fact that I was unlikely to relent and stormed up onto the footpath before turning back to me, then dragging his finger across his throat and glaring menacingly. "I will fuckin' kill you," he threatened.

I did a double take, apoplectic with rage. "Don't you threaten me, mate," I screamed, saliva foaming from my mouth. "I'll get you, I'll fuckin' get you." Our eyes were locked together as I fought wildly to get past a vendor with a pushcart of pineapples. Even though my progress was slowed I continued to struggle toward the man. As I closed in on him his eyes widened in fear, before he spun around and disappeared into the throng of people.

"Jackie, forget it," Upendo ordered, doing nothing to alleviate my anger. I considered her to be the reason for the confrontation that had just occurred, so had no interest in her advice.

I was relieved to be leaving the city but sat in bitter silence during the daladala ride back to the village. We exited the van at the top of the marketplace to wait for Radhi, who would be joining us to purchase the food for the following week at the school. He eventually appeared, sidling toward us on his own. I had given him specific instructions to bring Sadiki who I felt, as the cook, would have sufficient experience to determine the quantities required and the acceptable price of each item.

Already short of patience, I looked at Radhi inquisitively and waited for an explanation. "Jackie, I went in search of Sadiki but I am not finding her. We are not needing her, though," he assured me.

"Okay, so do you know how much rice we would use in a day?" I asked. "Or oil? Or cornflour? Anything, Radhi..." He was wearing a blank expression so I turned to Upendo and Naomi, giving them the chance to help Radhi but neither of them could answer the question. "Yep, well, I don't have any fuckin' idea either," I said bluntly. "So, we brought everyone from the school here to buy food, except for the one person who actually needed to come."

"We can do it without her, you are just wanting Sadiki to be here," he said, wrongly implying that I only considered her important for the task because of my attraction to her.

"Well, surprisingly, Radhi, I took the two teachers to the bookshop so they could choose the best material to teach to the kids. Now that I've come to the market to buy the food, I'd like it to be with the cook who knows what we need in the kitchen," I countered.

We completed the shopping to the best of our abilities, with little discussion. I was wary about creating a negative environment with the increasing tension but I realised I would never be able to rely on their support, as Radhi and the teachers remained in a tight clique, slightly apart from me.

Chapter Twenty

I had been operating at such a high intensity over the recent months – overwhelmed by: stress, paranoia, inclement health, fear of failure, and concern for my safety – that my motivation slipped somewhat on the dawn of Monday, our first day of school. I had worked exhaustively, completely focused on the preparation of the school so that when the day finally arrived, I had a sense of emptiness. It was not as if I had finished my job, on the contrary, although I had achieved the primary goal, it just created a plethora of other problems that I would need to overcome.

It was an overwhelming relief when the children began to arrive, the reality of seeing them in brand new uniforms confirming the identity of the new school. I experienced a brief moment of clarity when I was able to objectively marvel at what I had created. It exceeded all expectations of anything I ever thought I could achieve in my life. The elation I felt was all consuming, truly believing I could offer a brighter future to any child that set foot in my school. Although I had no background in education, I considered the morals and ethics I strongly believed in would become the basis of their development.

I was genuinely excited by the possibilities, brightly welcoming the families as they arrived. Many were incredibly grateful for the service I was providing, taking the time to talk to me, but some regarded me with pure apathy, and would only acknowledge the local staff. It was hard for me to accept being blatantly ignored, almost as if I was not even present. I did not expect gratitude, did not even want it, though I would have willingly accepted a simple acknowledgement.

We had encountered so many problems, particularly me, in the lead up to this moment that it felt almost anticlimactic when we completed our first day without problem. We were operating on a shoestring budget so I focused on providing the bare essentials, while hoping I would be able to secure financial support to ensure the future of our school. There was still so much that had to be done I realised, as I assessed the kitchen which was no more than half complete. I felt guilty as I studied Sadiki, cooking over an uneven stand of rocks. I had been unable to spare the money for iron sheeting, so had temporarily roofed the kitchen in plastic sheeting which I had 'borrowed' from a disused kiosk. I turned my attention skyward, it was approaching the wet season and I knew that when the rains began to fall my improvisation would not prove to be sufficient.

Radhi found me early the next day and pulled me into the office, looking agitated. "Jackie," he said, casting his eyes around theatrically. "I am just hearing from a friend. That bitch Merah, she is trying to cause us problems. She is writing letters to the government but they are knowing you and they are not believing her lies."

"But... What the fuck is she trying to do?" I asked with frustration. I had assumed we had departed company somewhat amicably, mutually agreeing our association was not in the best interests of either party.

"She is very angry, Jackie," he said solemnly. "She feels that you tricked her. Let me go to investigate, I will return," he assured me, as he hurried out of sight.

I barricaded myself in my office, leaning against the door in the dark. I closed my eyes and pushed a finger into each ear, trying to block out the external world. I finally felt safe, as if I was untouchable while I remained cocooned in my sanctuary, but I was soon jolted from my reverie by Sadiki, who was calling to me through the door.

I slid away from the door far enough for her to squeeze through the gap then grabbed her by the hand. I needed something to believe in, confirmation of her feelings for me. "Sadiki," I said desperately. "I want to know if we can ever be together. Is it a problem for you that I'm white? I love you – will you be my wife?"

She looked at me with sad eyes. "Oh, Jackie," she said softly in a pained voice, indicating I had no comprehension of the situation. "Jackie," she said again, with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, before exiting the room, leaving me more alone than ever.

I was numb with shock, completely broken by her rejection. I could not understand how a person I loved so deeply, who I had been certain reciprocated my feelings, did not actually care for me. I suddenly believed there was truth to the rumours that Sadiki had been spreading slander amongst the community to discredit me. I felt used. She was the only person in the village I had trusted implicitly. It had never mattered how people treated me – the threats, insults, and exclusion had little affect while I felt I had Sadiki's love. Something broke inside of me, as I buried my face in my hands and began to cry.

I could not control the tears as the full extent of my internalised emotions broke free. I did not have the strength of character to manage a life in Tanzania by myself without anyone to support me. I did not know anything about operating a school or business, moreover in a foreign country where I struggled to speak the language; managing employees; or serving the best interests of a marginalised group. I was suffocating myself with poisonous thoughts of self loathing and doubt, my tears becoming heavier and more uncontrollable.

Sadiki re-entered the room to find me in an inconsolable state. She barely looked at me as she spoke with little emotion. "Don't Jackie. Stop crying," she ordered.

But I could not stop. I didn't want to be crying, my rawest emotions on display for anyone to see. "I can't do this any more, Sadiki," I choked, between sobs. "I can't do any of this – I don't know how." She looked at me critically, unable to process the scope of my pain. "Everyone thinks I have the answer, but I can't save your village." She stood silently for a moment, unable to respond, then once again left the room.

It was not supposed to be like this. I should have been overwhelmed with joy, the opening of the school was the culmination of all my efforts over the previous months. But although I'd had the desire to do something to truly help the village, it was my love for Sadiki that had inspired me to return to Tanzania and accept the death threats and risk of imprisonment. I had done everything I could to offer her freedom, giving us the opportunity to be together.

I remained entrenched in my office for much of the day, while the news spread like wildfire that I was crying after the declination of my marriage proposal, until I received a phone call from Asante.

"Jackie, Nadia is in so much trouble for helping you. What have you done?" he accused. "Merah is cancelling your visa and you are not telling us."

"What? When?" I asked, bewildered by the revelation.

"She is sending a letter to Immigration to cancel your visa," he explained. "You are not knowing this?"

"No," I said, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to stem the tears.

"Ooh, this is very bad," he said plaintively. "She is needing to warn you she is wanting to cancel your visa, so you can try to get a new one or else you will be arrested. She is wanting you in prison. Nadia, she is trying to help you by stopping the police from coming to arrest you, but now they are becoming suspicious she is helping you."

"What can I do?" I asked, hoping he had a viable solution.

"Jack, we are all in so much trouble," Asante explained, the concern in his voice clearly obvious. "You are needing to come to Arusha to meet Nadia," he said, before hanging up on me. I swallowed, trying to convince myself it was in the best interests of Asante and Nadia to help me, if for no other reason than self preservation. They had been implicated since the first time they helped me, and now would have to help me again, to not only keep me out of trouble but also themselves. Considering the kindness they had shown me, it was selfish to expect them to place themselves in danger by assisting me once more, but we had all operated outside of the law and were now indebted to protecting ourselves.

I travelled to Arusha the next day, alone this time, trying to quash the thoughts gnawing in my head of Asante and Nadia selling me out to the police in order to ensure their freedom. I waited in position, where Asante and I had previously met, trying to clear my negativity and view the situation with an open mind. Without a visa attached to a corrupt organisation, I could potentially be free to operate independently. Radhi had been researching how to register the school ourselves and found it was a viable option for me to apply for a visa on my own behalf, although it was still too premature to follow this option.

Eventually, Asante came into view with a woman walking beside him. I quickly scanned the surrounding area, fearful of the possibility that the police were closing in around me. They approached and took a seat on either side of me as Asante introduced Nadia.

"We have a very serious problem, Jackie," Nadia declared without hesitation, before explaining that Merah had been sending a stream of letters to various government departments and the Immigration office, detailing my, supposedly, abusive treatment of the children. Further to this, apparently I had tricked Jonathan's organisation, Tumbiri, to work with me, then had embezzled money from the families he was generously helping. Merah's letters had finished by stating I should be arrested and removed from the country in the best interests of Tanzania. She signed off with her sincerest wishes that something be done immediately, as I was obviously detrimental to the development of the country, then had her opinions seconded by the directors of the five most prominent charities in the village.

I read the letters in disbelief, shocked that Merah would be so vindictive and spend so much time attempting to secure my expulsion from the country. I had never realised how fearful the other organisations were of the threat I posed, scared by the prospect of somebody actually making a positive contribution to the people of the village. I glanced at the names of the directors that had signed the petition. The names on the list did not surprise me – even though I did not personally know any of the other directors, I had long been aware of their corruption. This still remained the reason I had felt compelled to create a new school, disillusioned by the negative impact of the other organisations in Usa River.

Nadia had been studying me closely, assessing my reaction to the letters. "Jackie," she said thoughtfully. "When you are meeting somebody for the first time, you are instantly getting a feeling about that person and you seem to me, to be a very good person. I am not believing the things this Merah is saying about you – she is not nice. Why is she causing you these problems?"

"I don't know," I answered weakly. "I told her I wanted to build a school in Usa River and she wanted us to work together – that's why I got my visa with MAUA – but then she started to have second thoughts."

Nadia shook her head sadly. "These people are no good, Jackie," she agreed. "I am wanting to help you. I believe you are a good person and you are trying to help Tanzania."

She explained that there was nothing we could do about my current visa, it had already been cancelled, and I had unwittingly been inhabiting Tanzania illegally for the last few days. She confirmed that she had managed to delay the police for several days to give us the opportunity to meet and discuss my options, of which there were few, but could not guarantee whether they would ultimately search for me. She was convinced that we would need to expedite my passport to Kenya, and then have it returned to Tanzania, so it could be stamped with a regular tourist visa. She suggested that I travel with my passport to Kenya, but I was suspicious that I would be denied entry at the border post upon my return to Tanzania. The prospect of once again entrusting my passport to someone else was terrifying, particularly as it would be couriered by public bus into the neighbouring country. I reminded myself that Nadia was offering to help, just as much to protect her own job as to assist me, making it somewhat easier to hand my passport to her.

"We are needing to be careful, Jackie," Nadia warned. "Stay away from this Merah, she is dangerous."

Chapter Twenty-One

I became the shell of a person, unable to face anyone, especially Sadiki as I quietly went about my business. My self esteem was diminished even further as Sadiki had taken to ignoring me, even refusing to make eye contact. I was embarrassed, knowing everyone was talking about us.

Radhi approached me while I was at a particularly low moment to air his thoughts. "I do not know what is wrong with Sadiki," he said. "She is talking all kinds of blah blah. You know, she is telling people that you are wanting to take her to Australia, away from her family and friends."

"What?" I said scandalised, full of hurt. I had never entertained the thought of removing her from her home, realising it would be unfair to assume she could assimilate to the Western world.

"You know, Jackie," he said conspiratorially, as he leant toward me. "I am hearing in the street that Justin's father will kill Sadiki if she is ever leaving him."

Whatever his intentions may have been, he had successfully devastated me even more. I had mixed emotions – I was resentful that Sadiki had talked to people about our private conversations, but also stricken that I was potentially placing her life in danger by failing to understand the Tanzanian culture of marriage.

I began to obsess over the school, using it as a distraction to my social problems. I became committed to developing a system best suited to operating a school, but it was a steep learning curve, fraught with much trial and error.

The first period class had just finished one morning and the kids had raced outside for break time, laughing and screaming and generally creating havoc. I had put my paperwork on hold, unable to concentrate because of the noise, and moved outside to watch them play. But it was not long before I looked up to see Merah leading a small group into the yard, cutting a swathe through the little kids. She walked toward me with an air of total superiority, not even attempting to conceal her smugness, which heightened my sense of foreboding. Suddenly, the reports of people loitering near the school in recent days made sense. Attempting to maintain my composure, I stood up to welcome her, as thoughts of potential escape routes began to fill my head.

"We are here to check the validity of your visa," one of the men said, taking the initiative.

I had still not heard from Asante or Nadia about the status of my passport, unsure if it was even in the country, not that it would matter. Merah remained slightly away from the officers, clearly gloating at the difficult situation I had become embroiled in, while I looked at her in cold fury. I was aware that this must be an unsanctioned visitation, instigated by Merah, and I would have little control of the ensuing events that would have already been determined by a sizeable bribe.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know who you are," I stated apologetically. "Can I see your identification?"

Without hesitation, the officers brought out their cards and offered them to me. I surveyed each one individually, drawing the task out to much longer than was necessary, as I considered possible options to extricate myself from any trouble. I finally returned their identification when they started to become disgruntled, impatient with the unnecessary delay.

"Okay, I understand you have every right to be here," I conceded. "But I don't understand why Merah is here."

They studied me critically for a moment before accepting my valid statement, and so asked Merah to wait in the street. She was absolutely furious at having been ordered to leave because of me, and stalked off to the road. Despite the severity of the situation I could still manage a slight smile, my eyes twinkling due to her unbridled anger.

I turned back to the officers with a perplexed expression. "Now, what is it that you are wanting?" I asked politely, trying to delay the inevitable.

"We are needing to see your passport to confirm you have a current visa," the man said, showing the first signs of irritation.

Nadia had stressed to me the importance of maintaining secrecy, as what we had done with my passport was illegal. I opted to reveal the least amount of information as possible.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. I don't have my passport," I admitted.

"Then we are needing to bring you to the Immigration office in Arusha," the man stated.

"What will happen to me?" I asked, already aware of the likely scenario.

"You will see when you are getting there."

"Nope, I can't go," I said bluntly.

"You do not have a choice," he told me. "If you do not agree, we will take you by force and you will be arrested."

"I won't leave my kids or employees during school time," I said resolutely, folding my arms across my chest. I looked at the kids, who had stopped playing and stood transfixed by the exchange, sensing trouble, then looked toward Sadiki and the teachers, who had moved closer together for safety. They were all my responsibility, the school was my responsibility and I would give everything in order to protect them.

"You are refusing me?" he questioned, as I defiantly jutted out my jaw.

The biggest of the four unexpectedly hit me with force then roughly grabbed hold of me, taking me completely by surprise. He had successfully knocked me off balance and was dragging me toward the awaiting Jeep, when I started to resist. He stopped moving in an attempt to secure his grip on me, so I used this opportunity to hook my leg around his to trip him over. We both fell to ground, but I was quickly back on my feet as some of the kids began to scream. I was ready for the next man, who was much smaller than the first, and threw him to the ground, while the original assailant struggled clumsily to his feet. I rounded on the lone woman of the group, who had backed away apprehensively, and took a step toward her.

"I don't want to hurt you – I won't hit a woman," I said. "But I will restrain you if necessary."

The men, initially surprised by my resistance, had now formed a circle around me and were closing in. There was no chance of escape as a man seized me from behind, placing me in a suffocating choke hold. The other men grabbed hold of me wherever they could in an effort to control me, lifting and jostling me toward the vehicle. I had stopped struggling, realising it was pointless, and looked past the men to Sadiki. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of emotions, as we made eye contact she buried her face in her hands. Losing the will to fight, I broke down into tears and became a dead weight in their arms. They dropped me beside the Jeep, where overwrought with emotion, I curled into a ball and wailed in defeat.

The men picked me up and unceremoniously threw me into the back of the Jeep. Two of the men started to climb in behind me, but jumped back in fear when I had a sudden outburst. I had gotten to my feet and was screaming ferociously, punching the cage with all the power I could muster. The rough steel split the skin on my knuckles, but I continued until my strength ebbed and exhaustion took hold, then fell back to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

The men climbed into the Jeep, deeming it safe to join me, now that my rage had been vented. The kids were being held back from the road, screaming and crying as they tried to reach me. Many of the neighbours who had rushed to the school to witness the commotion, were now displaying similar emotions to the children, but there was only one person I was thinking of.

Searching the growing crowd, I spotted Sadiki standing alone, her face expressionless as the Jeep started to move. As we made eye contact I mouthed the words, "I love you," distraught, believing that I would never see her again. Then she disappeared from sight as the Jeep drove away.

The journey passed in a silent haze, my mind occupied by irrational thoughts of alternative actions to the recent exchange. Some, while not necessarily realistic, such as; breaking free and bashing Merah to death with a rock, seemed to have their merit. But ultimately, I was too devastated by the prospect of being immediately evicted from Tanzania, and barred from ever returning, to logically consider my options.

After the initial shock of the arrest, I began to accept my predicament and looked to the two men guarding me. "What's going to happen to me?" I asked meekly.

The largest of the pair, who had attacked me first, stared at me with hatred. "You are in so much trouble," he said coldly. "You are living in Tanzania illegally and now you are fighting with us. You will be made a Prohibited Immigrant and will never be allowed to return. We are not wanting people like you in our country." He then smirked maliciously at my horrified expression.

"Nuh," I said, shaking my head, refusing to believe him. "Nuh, this is Tanzania – there are ways I can stay."

The larger man shot me an angry look, then turned away, refusing to acknowledge me again. I did not have high expectations for being able to reason with him, suspecting he was nursing his pride since the altercation where I had successfully taken him to ground.

I turned to the other man, seated opposite me, who was yet to speak and continued to avoid my eye contact. I appealed to him that I did not deserve what was happening, but more importantly my kids did not deserve to lose their opportunity at a brighter future because of someone's grudge against me. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a guilty expression appearing on his face, but refused to speak to me.

I realised I was fighting a losing battle to expect them to do the right thing – the decision to hunt me had been preordained long before by those in power. Out of desperation, I sacrificed my ethics and used everything I had learnt during my time in Tanzania about corruption and bribery. I employed the same tactics as Jonathan, the Immigration office, and the government, that I despised so much, increasing my sense of self loathing.

"There are ways for me to stay in Tanzania," I said confidently. "I can help you."

They exchanged glances of curiosity with one another, surprised by my suggestion. "It will be too expensive. You do not have enough money," said the smaller man, dismissing the idea.

"I can do it – I can help you. I am white," I reminded them, pandering to their perceptions of people of my race. While in Tanzania I had refused to be viewed as different because of my skin colour, pleading with people to instead judge me by my actions, but I would now try to use it to my advantage.

They remained reluctant, refusing to look my way as they attempted to ignore me, while I continued my monologue about the fact that there is always a feasible solution to any problem in Tanzania. I had run out of time though, as the Jeep came to a halt and I was welcomed to the Immigration office by a band of armed guards. They grabbed me roughly and shoved me toward the entrance, then escorted me through the building to an empty room, where they locked me alone inside.

I stared at my stark surroundings with little emotion, accepting what I considered to be my final moments ever in the country. My mind returned obsessively to thoughts of Sadiki – I was not ready to leave her – refusing to believe that we could be permanently separated by the action of others. I had so many things that I wanted to tell her but would never have the opportunity to do so. The thought was too painful as I started to cry again.

A group of officers finally entered the room, only to look at me and burst into laughter at my emotional distress. When they had eventually recovered, they placed hard backed wooden chairs in front of me, then sat down to begin the interrogation.

"Who is helping you?" asked a distinguished looking older man.

"No one," I said, swallowing guiltily.

"Someone in this office has helped you. What is his name?" he said, lazily flicking through my passport.

"I don't know," I lied.

"Yes, you do. You have given your passport to someone in this office to help you," he stated, as the others muttered angrily at my denial.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I gave my passport to a friend who gave it to someone in Immigration that wanted to help. I don't know who it was," I lied.

They were becoming impatient at my refusal to cooperate. "Well, Jack, if you will not help me, then I am unable to help you," he said, then paused to allow me to speak, but I remained silent. He shook his head theatrically, with a sad smile on his face. "We have no choice, then. You will be listed as a Prohibited Immigrant and we will take you to the airport. Tanzania does not want people like you," he stated, and flicked through my passport again, lingering for a moment on a page close to the back of the document. The passport in his lap was tilted forward just enough that I had been able to glimpse an unfamiliar visa. As my eyes widened in recognition, he realised his mistake, and so, hastily shut my passport, stuffing it out of sight.

I was inspired, sensing there was still hope for me. "That's a tourist visa for this country," I stated confidently, despite their protests to the contrary. "If that's a visa for this country then I have every right to stay in Tanzania."

He refused to accept my proclamation, but he had lost his advantage and suddenly appeared slightly less arrogant. They became silent, uncertain how to intimidate me now that my confidence had risen. It had become a stalemate as we quietly appraised one another.

The door opened, breaking the deadlock between us as we turned to look at the intruder.

"You are Jack?" Nadia asked me as she approached us, showing no signs of recognition.

"Yes," I admitted, bowing my head submissively.

She turned to my interrogator and said with indifference, "I will need to speak with him now to explain his crime." She beckoned me to follow her, then walked briskly out of the room and down the darkened corridor to her office. I shut the door behind me as directed, and took a seat in front of her at the desk. She held my passport in her hand, having removed it from the interrogator, and shook her head sadly.

"Why, Jackie?" she asked. "Why did you fight them?"

"No, Nadia, I didn't fight anyone," I implored earnestly. "I was scared. I am in a foreign country, there is a language barrier, and I didn't understand what was happening. I resisted arrest – like anyone else would have."

She pressed her lips together, not appearing convinced, then sighed. "You are a very angry person, Jackie," she said, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "I know, I am the same – these people are making me so angry too." I hung my head in shame, regretting my decision to resist earlier at the school. "These people, they are so angry with you, Jackie. They want you out of Tanzania and back in Australia."

"Nadia," I said seriously. "I am an Australian citizen, and as a member of the Commonwealth, you must afford me every assistance and protection of which I may stand in need," I said, more or less reciting the first page of an Australian passport, which I had committed to memory should I ever need to use it as leverage.

"Jackie, I know," she said with amusement. "I am trying to help you."

"You are," I agreed, "But the others aren't, and that puts them in conflict with the role of their employment. They're wrong," I said bluntly.

"You are very smart, Jackie," said Nadia, nodding her head, impressed by my understanding of immigration policies. "But you must know, this is not legal. They do not care." She paused, thinking for a moment. "It is not safe for you in Tanzania – these people will keep hunting you. I think it is best for you to return to Australia," she conceded sadly.

I looked directly into Nadia's eyes, my expression full of pain. "I can't go back to Australia, Nadia. I need to stay here with my kids – I can't help them from Australia," I said, choking on my words as my eyes filled with tears. I was scared that I would never be able to return to Tanzania if they successfully evicted me from the country. "I can stay, I have a visa," I reminded her.

"But you are in danger," Nadia begged, trying to make me see reason. "You must understand, if you were to stay in Tanzania you would need to go far from Usa River until everyone is calming down."

I finally relented, promising Nadia I would alight from Usa River and move to a larger city where I could remain anonymous. She outlined the process I would need to follow to secure a long-term visa, which she believed was the only option that would allow me to live untroubled in Tanzania. Of course, the fact remained, I had placed myself out of favour with the officers and the only way I could successfully appease their anger was to provide them with a substantial gift. It did not matter what they chose to call it though, to me, it would always be nothing more than a bribe.

I emerged from the Immigration office, jaded by the experience, and quickly set off up the street, trying to put as much distance between myself and the building as possible. My mind was occupied with dark thoughts of Merah, as I returned to Usa River and navigated the village via less travelled trails in an attempt to remain largely unnoticed.

"Jackie, what has happened?" yelled a young rice vendor I occasionally dealt with, as I streaked past him at a sprint.

"I am very late," I yelled, and ducked around a corner into a converging lane. I wanted as few people to see me as possible, in order to prevent news of my return reaching the people who were desperate for my removal from the village. I was certain that many of these people would be confident I had already been evicted from Tanzania, so my only advantage would be to remain largely unnoticed.

I sneaked into Mama Radhi's hut, desperately needing to speak with Radhi about my options, but apparently he had disappeared and had not been sighted since the time of my arrest. Mama Radhi looked at me with concern as I slumped into a rickety armchair, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I was completely dishevelled, my shirt badly torn from the altercation and my face and hands covered in blood.

I waited in silence, seated in an almost meditative state as I tried to calm myself and channel my thoughts, until Radhi finally arrived late into the night. I was angry at him, feeling that he had let me down when I had most needed his support.

"Jackie, I am in so much trouble," he said fearfully. "I am needing to leave the village."

"What do you mean?" I asked, tucking my legs back to allow him to pass.

"After they were arresting you, I am going to that bitch Merah, and I am abusing her," he said spitefully. "I ask her: 'Why are you doing these things to Jackie? He is trying to help our children.' But she do not care and she say: 'That mzungu thinks he is so smart but I will show him. I will destroy him.' So I am insulting her, and then she is wanting me arrested also, but I am running away and have been hiding from the police since this morning," he finished dramatically.

"They want me to leave Usa River for a month until they can process a new visa," I confided. "Radhi, I think we should go to Dodoma. We can stay with Mohammed," I said, referring to his brother, who worked as a policeman in the capital city of Tanzania.

"Jackie, I am worried," said Radhi. "I am hearing many things in the street today. You know, Merah was with those officers all morning at the house of Jonathan before they are coming to arrest you. Jonathan must have paid them, for how I know it, Merah does not have enough money." Radhi shook his head while I accepted the information calmly, resigned to the injustice of the country.

It was a way of life, the corruption embedded so deeply in the psyche of the culture. I realised I was approaching the situation the wrong way, expecting to alter the core values of toddlers and assume they could positively affect their country in the future. The problem was too widespread – it was ingrained in the mentality of the general population from a young age. Children witnessed their role models, such as; parents, the Tanzanian government, and the police force, exploiting situations for their own personal gain, inadvertently teaching the younger generation that this was the way to succeed.

"What are we going to do, Jackie?" he asked sadly, looking slightly lost. "Jonathan is scared. He did not think you could find any students. He say he will poison the food so the children are dying, and then the families will be too scared to bring their kids to our school."

"How can he do that? He wouldn't be able to get to the food," I said, refusing to believe he could even contemplate killing young children because of a personal vendetta against me.

"It is so easy, Jackie," he explained. "Jonathan can pay anyone to drop something in the food when Sadiki is not around. You know, she is scared. The word on the street is, she will be killed for leaving Jonathan and coming to work for you."

"Maybe we need to close the school until we get back," I suggested, my mind fixated on protecting Sadiki and my students. Any threats against my safety, I had taken in my stride. Convinced I was doing the right thing, I was prepared to accept any retribution that may be a result of my actions. I had promised Sadiki that I could keep her safe from Jonathan, but now that I would be on the other side of the country I was worried that I would be unable to control any of the events which may happen.

"We cannot close – the school must remain open," begged Radhi. "If we shut after only one week the families will lose faith and they will believe the lies Jonathan has been telling them. They are very naïve."

I dropped my head into my hands, realising the likes of Jonathan and Merah would use any tactics available to them to combat me. If I was to ever succeed in Tanzania I would need to willingly embrace the same strategies of coercion, bribery and threats. I had let my feelings for Jonathan cloud my judgement. Although I had never respected him as a person, he had long since earned the right to be respected tactically.

I looked up at Radhi through narrowed eyes and spoke quietly and unemotionally. "Radhi, I've tried to do things the right way. I've left Jonathan alone and just done my own thing but if he wants to play these games, then he leaves me no choice." I paused for a moment, searching for the courage to voice what I considered to be the only option left. "We need to kill Jonathan."

Radhi stared at me for a long time before finally nodding his head. "We can do it, Jackie," he agreed. "Many people have tried but they have not been prepared. We are just needing to be smart."

"It's the only way," I said, as much for my benefit as Radhi's. Ethically, I was trying to justify my decision, but I was prepared to accept the consequences of my actions to ensure the safety of those I loved. "We can't tell anyone about this, Radhi," I said forcefully.

"We need someone who has a gun," Radhi stated, pausing to think for a moment as we plotted the murder of Jonathan. "What about Machupa?" he asked, after a while.

"Well, he needs to be killed as well, doesn't he?" I said resolutely, my voice devoid of emotion, hardened as I was by circumstance. "He's no different to Jonathan, he doesn't care about these people."

Radhi accepted my explanation without question. "Okay, Jackie," he said, "But what about that bitch, Merah?"

I shook my head. "This has all started because of Jonathan. Merah doesn't have enough power to do anything without his support. Besides, lots of people want Jonathan dead but if we kill Merah as well, they will know it was us," I reasoned.

"Hmm, I think that you are right, Jackie," replied Radhi contemplatively. "We will find someone to help us – I know many people in this village, Jackie," he reminded me, getting up from the armchair to leave.

"It's the only way," I said again as Radhi left the hut, though this time, the words were purely for my own benefit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I remained concealed in the hut the following day, knowing it would not be wise to venture outside as we had already begun to circulate the rumour that I had departed Usa River and was returning to Australia. I had already sufficiently safeguarded the school to allow it to remain operational in my absence, before speaking to the teachers about what their new responsibilities would entail. After dismissing the two of them, Sadiki entered the hut and quietly took a seat opposite me.

"Sadiki, are you safe?" I asked, worrying about the threats Jonathan had made against her life.

"It's okay, Jackie," she answered softly.

"What about Jonathan? It's dangerous for you," I said.

"I am not scared," she replied. "The children, they are needing me."

We fell silent and stared at each other for a long time, neither of us quite certain of what to say. Other than a stilted and forced greeting in the mornings, we had not spoken since my impromptu marriage proposal.

"Sadiki, we could be together," I said, convinced it was our destiny.

"I do not love you," she said quietly, shaking her head. "I love my husband."

"No... I don't believe you," I said, the pain in my voice and eyes clearly evident.

"Jackie, we cannot. We are different," she said.

I leant across the coffee table dividing us and took her hand in mine, turning it over so our hands were facing palm up. The skin of her palm was not much darker than mine, as it lacked the black pigmentation. "Look, Sadiki, we are the same," I said, desperate to make her understand it was the power of her choice which would determine whether or not we could be together.

She pulled her hand away though, and turned it over palm down. "We are different, Jackie," she repeated. "I am black."

We fell into silence once more, until Sadiki offered what she considered to be a viable solution. "My sister will be needing a husband. I am able to arrange for you to marry her."

I was full of hurt by her suggestion. "You're the only one I love, Sadiki," I lamented. "You're everything I want a woman to be."

Sadiki looked away from me, then suddenly stood up. "Say hello to your family for me," she said, moving toward the door.

It hurt me that I could not tell her the truth, but it was in the best interests of those around me to believe I was returning to Australia. "I'll come back to Usa River again, Sadiki," I promised, as she stood in the doorway of the hut. "If anything bad happens in the next week, you need to look after yourself and leave the village. Go to Mbulu."

Welluh came in search of me at Mama Radhi's hut that evening, investigating the rumours that I had already left Tanzania. She entered the room to find me in hiding. We were close friends and often spent time together, talking about the many setbacks that impeded the progress of the school and the problems Jonathan was creating for the village. Her family was very welcoming to me, regularly inviting me to dinner, however any friendship I developed in Usa River was never simple. Apparently, Welluh was often questioned about our relationship by people who wondered why she would devote any time to the friendship, speculating that I must be giving her money.

"Jackie, what is happening? Everyone in the street is talking about you," she said, taking a seat beside me.

"They arrested me. I have to go back to Australia," I said glumly.

"But, they cannot," she protested. "What they are doing is not legal."

"They don't care, Welluh, it doesn't need to be legal," I said, assuming she would understand the corruption of her country much better than I.

"My neighbour is working for Jonathan," she said. "I am hearing him talking about you every night – they are so angry. When I am going to the salon today, they are saying that Jonathan is paying 3 000 000 shillings to have you arrested."

I snorted with disdain upon hearing the value that these charities had placed on the importance of having me removed from Tanzania. The money Jonathan had used to pay the bribe, would have originally been donated by foreigners for his organisation to assist the struggling community. The sum of the bribes Jonathan and I had paid to Immigration, for my arrest and subsequent release, would have been enough to operate my school for six months, benefitting the students and their families.

Welluh begged that it was not necessary for me to leave but I remained resolute, promising I would find a way to return. Although I would still be secretly living in the country, it might as well have been Australia. I would be on the other side of Tanzania, out of contact with those I knew and unaware of what was happening at the school.

Later that night, Radhi visited me with the news that he had made contact with a person he knew in Usa River that possessed a shady history. He had given Radhi a phone number for somebody in Arusha, who allegedly "had no soul" and was willing to do anything for the right price. Radhi called him and arranged to meet the following day in a seedy area of the city. After he had hung up the phone, Radhi relayed the details of the conversation to me before falling silent. We looked at each other nervously, hesitant about what we were planning.

"It is the only way," Radhi mumbled.

We left the hut early the next morning while it was still dark, in an attempt to avoid being recognised, and travelled in silence to Arusha. I did my best to appear inconspicuous by covering as much of my skin as possible, wearing long clothing and a hat and sunglasses. Ultimately though, it did not make any difference. To anyone that looked, I was still clearly a white person, and many people from the village would easily be able to identify me.

We tried to stand casually, away from the road, but I could not escape the feeling that I had crossed an invisible line of demarcation between right and wrong from where I could never return. While we tediously waited, my mind wandered distractedly, drifting from one intangible event to another. So, I was unsure if it was a relief when our contact eventually arrived and we climbed into his old pick-up truck, as I was now able to focus on our impending arrangements. He was not the most amiable person I'd had the pleasure of meeting, giving us a withering stare by way of greeting, and making me feel instantly uncomfortable. My eyes flashed downward momentarily, lingering on a gun sticking out of the centre console.

Radhi mediated the conversation, informing him of the problem and what we considered to be the only solution.

"I can do it," he said off-handedly.

Life in Tanzania had little value – this man did not know Jonathan or Machupa, he did not care about the validity of our reason. It was just an opportunity for him to earn some money, $400 apparently was adequate to take the life of another.

I supplied him with a hand drawn map of Usa River and a detailed itinerary of the movements of the two men over the course of an average day, along with instructions to perform the deed in the coming days. He assured us he would assemble a team to send to Usa River and they would take up lodging in a local bar, stalk Jonathan and Machupa for several days, then kill them at night, when an opportune moment arose while they were in transit. Although I had no previous experience in this particular field, it seemed like a plausible idea. When we finally exited his truck, I was glad to escape the confined space we had just shared with our hitman.

As he drove away, I was consumed by a deep sense of emptiness, almost as if I had just lost an important part of me. No matter how I attempted to justify my choice, I could not convince myself I had done the right thing. I had no doubt that Jonathan and Machupa were doing the wrong thing – a terrible thing at that – but it did not give me the right to prevent their lives from continuing past the following Wednesday.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Now that we had taken care of all our problems in Usa River, Radhi and I were ready to depart for Dodoma. It was a typical Tanzanian bus journey – long and slow with insufficient circulation of fresh air due to the windows being steadfastly closed. We arrived late in the afternoon and staggered off the bus to be met by hot and windy conditions, which was not unusual for this part of the country. I looked around me feeling disassociated from the city. I did not want to be there, I belonged in Usa River with my kids.

As a member of the police force, Radhi's brother, Mohammed, resided in the police housing estate in the centre of the city. When we arrived at the estate we had to navigate through a series of dusty alleyways to find Mohammed's house. It was a low-lying hut, sunken into the ground for natural insulation, made from concrete breeze blocks with a rusted tin roof. The door had to be kicked with force before it would open, allowing the person to enter the room by stepping down inside while ducking under the low door frame.

Mohammed was a giant, the muscles in his chest and arms bulging, and possessed a voice which sounded like it was reverberating through a baritone saxophone. I could not do anything but stare.

"Jackie!" he thundered, stomping over to me and crushing my hand in his. "You are looking very strong," he observed, flexing his bicep with a smile. "Come, we will lift weights together."

Shaking my head with exasperation, I followed Mohammed outside while Radhi roared with laughter. Mohammed sat down on a rough wooden bench and signalled for me to help him lift the weight – a heavy bar with a number of mismatched engine flywheels on each end. It was ridiculously heavy, but he shrugged off my assistance and began to pump repetition after repetition, grunting loudly from the exertion.

After he finally finished his workout, he stood up from the bench, stretched his arms, then encouraged me to physically prove my worth. I had my doubts as I took his place, not convinced I would even be able to shift the obscene weight by myself. Mohammed helped raise the bar into position before leaving me to negotiate it on my own. The weight took my breath away as I desperately struggled to prevent the bar from crushing me, but I managed to squeeze out two repetitions in the process. He took the weight from me and I staggered to my feet, my eyes bulging in their sockets.

Mohammed doubled up with laughter, slapping me on the back with pride. "Ooh, Jackie," he cried. "Very good, I like you."

Since my arrest I had been bombarded by phone calls and text messages. I did not believe for a second that they were all sent by people who were concerned for my well being. I refused to acknowledge anything incoming on my phone, scared that there was a more sinister meaning behind the public interest.

"Who is it that is contacting you?" Radhi asked.

"Everyone," I responded.

"Like who?" he said perplexed.

"Look at this one, Radhi," I said, offering him my phone with a message that had just come through from Fundi Edmund, asking if I wanted to catch up with him, as we had not seen each other since I had picked up the school desks. "What do you think?" I asked, interested in his opinion in case I was becoming overly paranoid. "He must know I've left Usa River – everyone else thinks I'm back in Australia."

"Hmm, I think Edmund is working with Jonathan," he concluded, as I stared at him horrified. "His daughter is going to the school of Panya, and Panya and Jonathan are old friends. You know what Panya is saying? He say to people in the street: 'Do not trust that mzungu Jackie. He is just wanting your money. He come to me and ask to work together but I refuse, because he is abusing our children.' Do not worry, Jackie," said Radhi, spotting the bitter expression on my face. "People are knowing that they are lying – that is why everyone is wanting to come to our school."

I had decided to ignore anyone trying to contact me, until I received a call late that evening. I sat transfixed, staring at Sadiki's name flashing on the display, unsure what I should do.

"Who is it, Jackie?" Radhi prompted.

"Sadiki... I can't answer it – I'm supposed to be out of Tanzania," I said, then threw the phone to Radhi.

He took the call and had a brief conversation with Sadiki, informing her I had left the country and had returned to Australia, before hanging up.

"You cannot trust her, Jackie," said Radhi, throwing my phone back. "She say she is concerned about you but I know she is talking blah blah to all people. I hear she has been meeting with Jonathan and Machupa." He paused for a moment allowing me to digest his words. "These people do not want us to succeed. I think we are needing to fire her when we return," he suggested.

I nodded my head in resignation. I had always trusted Sadiki implicitly, not just because of my attraction to her but because I viewed her as an honest and pure person. Radhi's repeated warnings though, in conjunction with her recently skewed feelings for me, forced me to question if I could truly rely on her support. I looked at Radhi critically, as he returned his attention to the small television. I still was not able to convince myself to trust Radhi completely, suspecting he was operating in accordance with his own agenda. It was obvious he did not like Sadiki, but I had never discovered a reason for this, causing me to wonder if there was a darker history to their relationship than I was aware.

I attempted to focus my thoughts on the one thing which had not left my mind in recent days. I had become increasingly paranoid since our meeting with the hitman, considering all the potential problems which could arise. I was constantly nervous that as a white person I was easily identifiable, and that the corrupt government and law enforcement would take the opportunity to create a situation where my freedom and perceived Western wealth would be exploited.

"Radhi," I said suddenly, causing him to slowly turn away from the television. "What's happening with our friend in Arusha."

When referring to our murder plot, I refused to use any words which could potentially implicate me in the conspiracy. I had been advised that many people in Tanzania recorded conversations to use as leverage – and I thought it highly possible when I considered Radhi. I only ever spoke about the hitman as "our friend from Arusha who wanted to help us."

"Ah, Jackie, I am hearing from him today," he said. "They are in the village and have been following Jonathan and Machupa. He is confident they will be able to do it very soon."

"Well, he can fuckin' get on with it and just do his job then," I snapped, overcome by stress. I was regretting my decision, believing I may have made it in the heat of the moment before I had considered all possible options, but I continued to fear for the safety of my students and Sadiki. I reminded myself it was the only way while I was out of the village and unable to protect them.

"Do not worry, Jackie, he will," Radhi said casually, returning to the television, while I continued to feel sick with nerves.

I had decided to use the time away from Usa River constructively. In an effort to assimilate with the locals, I was desperate to further my education by learning to cook African food in the African style. Radhi could not understand why I wanted to learn what was essentially a woman's duty, but despite his misgivings he directed me to find Mohammed's girlfriend, Vicki.

I found her outside, seated on a bucket, leaning back against a mud brick wall. She was heavily pregnant and moving around with difficulty, but was delighted to mentor me in order to improve my cooking skills. Vicki pushed a bucket toward me which I accepted, then sat down on opposite her, a small kerosene cooker between us. She was preparing vegetables but stopped for a moment to flick the ladle in my direction, indicating I should start stirring the boiling ugali – a mixture of water and cornflour. It was a simple concept in theory, but as I had never done it before, I could not quite fathom how to secure the pot – which had no handle – while I stirred. Vicki leant forward and removed the ladle from me, then gripped the thin rim of the pot and began to furiously stir the mixture, as I watched it become a thickened paste. I was prepared to try again, now understanding what I was required to do. I tried to replicate Vicki's technique, but the pot was excruciatingly hot so I had little choice but to awkwardly grip it between my knees, in an effort to protect my sensitive fingers and to prevent the flaming cooker from over balancing. She giggled, then took charge of the situation in an attempt to salvage the meal, again demonstrating the correct way to hold the pot. I looked at my fingers and concluded that Vicki simply did not have nerve endings, as she picked up the pot with both hands and took it off the flame, so that she could start cooking the vegetables.

I lost my confidence and sat back quietly, embarrassed by my effort, as Vicki hummed to herself casually, performing multiple tasks and effortlessly bringing the meal together.

We were sitting on the ground in a group of six, eating lunch, when Vicki spoke up. "Jackie is cooking today," she said to the others.

"Ah, very good," said Mohammed, clearly impressed by my apparent culinary skills. "You will cook again, Jackie?" he asked.

"I think he can cook every day," said Vicki, answering the question on my behalf and giving me an encouraging smile.

In Dodoma, I had an insight into the life of the average Tanzanian, as I was living it myself. Throughout the day we would sporadically perform our chores – generally cooking, washing clothes, shopping at the market for basic needs, or fetching water. The rest of the hours were occupied playing cards or talking. The favourite topics of conversation revolved around Sharabaro, a character from a Tanzanian television comedy program; China's involvement in the country; and the benefits of converting to freemasonry, which seemed to be most people's goal as Freemasons were deemed to be wealthy.

One day we were sitting outside on a ledge, when the conversation turned into a heated debate about who possessed the largest head. The candidates were Vicki and Radhi, but there was not a unanimous decision, much to Radhi's consternation – he was adamant that Vicki's head was clearly bigger. I held the final vote and took the responsibility seriously, deliberating as the two of them presented their arguments, much to the amusement of the rest of the group. I studied them from every angle but was struggling to deliver the correct verdict.

Eventually, after a degree of prompting, I carefully selected my words to diplomatically offer an answer. "Radhi has a bigger head," I said, receiving screams of triumph from Vicki and her supporters, while Radhi burst out in protest. "But, but," I interjected loudly, raising my voice above the celebrations until their attention returned to me. They eagerly listened to my further analysis, "Radhi has a bigger head but Vicki is a lot shorter, so in contrast to the size of her body, I think, she has a bigger head."

Radhi jumped to his feet with his hands above his head, cheering and dancing, such was his exultation at having been proclaimed to possess a smaller head. He turned to Vicki, proud to promote his status as victor but she was not convinced and lodged an appeal in protest of the result. The debate continued for two hours and was often re-raised in subsequent conversations. Even later, after we had returned to Usa River, Radhi – who had become overly concerned with standard head sizes – chose to evaluate how his head compared to others in the village. With few means to entertain oneself and little money, we had to find enjoyment in simple, often trivial things, but that is the reality of Tanzania.

All of a sudden, our 'friend from Arusha' had failed to provide his daily update of events. During his last call he had informed us everything was organised to perform the task and it would be taken care of by the Wednesday deadline. But this could not have taken place, as the deaths of Jonathan and Machupa would create pandemonium in Usa River and the news would quickly reach us. We continued to try and reach our 'friend' but his number was no longer in operation. I became increasingly paranoid as I suspected treason, but Radhi remained complacent, unperturbed by my rising stress levels.

"Fuck, Radhi, this fuckhead has fucked us," I hissed maniacally.

This word had become the extent of my English vocabulary in Tanzania. As such, I had become extremely adept at summoning different connotations of the word, suitable for any given situation. Whether it was used in past, present or future tense, as a prefix, verb, or modifier, it did not matter to me. From the basis of this one powerful word, I could construct rambling monologues, abusive diatribes and confusing rhetoric. It was a word that everyone was familiar with, whatever their comprehension of English, and more importantly, managed to release much of my tension.

"Why are you thinking that, Jackie?" Radhi asked placidly.

I looked at him stunned, I thought it was obvious, the reason blatantly clear to me. "What do you mean?" I gaped in disbelief. "He clearly hasn't done his job and now he won't talk to us. You know what's happened, don't you?" I asked, not waiting for a response before I continued. "He's gone to Jonathan and told him what we're doing, so Jonathan's paid him to wait for us to return, then he's gonna fuckin' kill us instead. He doesn't give a shit – everyone here is just after easy money..."

Radhi nodded, as he considered my evaluation. "It is possible," he said thoughtfully.

"What the fuck, Radhi," I said, becoming slightly hysterical. "Don't agree with me! Fuck, we're gonna get killed when we go back," I speculated.

"Hmm, I think you might be right, Jackie," said Radhi. "We are needing to get protection before we are returning to Usa River." I had no understanding of what he meant. "They are saying from a long time ago, Jonathan is protected. For how I know it, this must be why no one has ever succeeded to kill him."

"What protection?" I asked.

"He has been protected by an mganga, a witchdoctor," Radhi explained. "This is why we cannot harm him. We must also be protected now – it is too dangerous, especially for you, Jackie. This way, no one will be able to hurt us or our school. You know, there is a rumour Merah is a bad witch. She has put spells on people she don't like and they have gone crazy. She must be trying to curse you also, because she is hating you so much."

I considered Radhi's words, definitely unnerved by the conviction with which he spoke about the need for protection against black magic. I was not prepared to deny its existence, and believed that if there was any truth to Radhi's claims, it may prove to be imperative to my survival in Tanzania. I was willing to support his stance, desperate to find a way to defend myself from any curses or physical trouble that might come my way. Radhi was convinced it was the right choice, necessary for our safety, and promised to search for an mganga of the utmost quality.

With so much leisure time in Dodoma I had become overly contemplative, my thoughts often returning to Usa River. I tried to enjoy my time away from the village, and was truly grateful to be in the presence of such welcoming company, but my heart had never left the school, or Sadiki. I knew I could not stay away for a month, so reasoned that if I maintained a low profile, I would be able to resume my role at the school to ensure it was being operated in the best interests of those involved. There was still so much work to be done to ensure its success, even though the doors were opened it was far below the standard I expected.

My ill health had returned once more. I was suffering many of the same symptoms I had experienced during the renovation stages, though fortunately less severe. So, I reasoned that the root source of my problems did not stem from the water, and used it as an opportunity to revert to drinking from the tap, like most of the locals I knew. Up until then, we had still been boiling my drinking water – taking advantage of Mohammed's kettle, which was much more efficient than heating a pot of water over an open fire. But, despite the relative simplicity the kettle provided, it was important to remain cognisant of wearing rubber thongs to insulate ourselves against electrocution, when jimmying the faulty power point with a knife. I was at a loss as how to cure myself though, so ultimately, followed the approach of everyone else in the community and took a shopping list of suggested medicines to the local pharmacy.

The shopkeeper studied my list then scrutinised me closely with a thoughtful expression. "You have much pain in the stomach?" he asked.

I nodded, bent over the counter in an effort to release the pressure in my abdomen.

"You are drinking our water. This is very bad. It is dangerous for you – you are not a local," he advised. "I have something that will help," he claimed. Then shuffled to the back of the store to forage through the shelves, before returning with a range of medicines that he guaranteed would cure my ailment.

I slowly walked back to the police settlement and found Radhi basking in the Sun, on an uneven mud wall. He sat upright, then relieved me of my bag of medicine to study the labels, commenting on the ones he recognised.

"Jackie," he said, after finishing his critique of my medicines. "I have heard of an mganga who is living high in the mountains outside of Tanga. It is possible we can go to see him then return to Usa River."

I nodded appreciatively, homesick for Usa River, convinced that by receiving protection from an mganga I could finally return to the village impervious to the danger, both physical and magical, I was likely to face. Whether it was naïve to consider I may soon be invincible was beside the point, it was hard to not be converted by the beliefs of a nation of people. Everyone swore by the power of an mganga – from the poorest and most uneducated, through to the wealthiest and most academic.

Radhi was excited by my approval. "You will see, Jackie. He may even sacrifice an animal, a big one, I hope," Radhi said passionately. "You know how powerful an mganga can be? I am once hearing a story of a man who is not believing enough, and he die when the mganga give him medicine."

"That's great, Radhi," I said stiffly, questioning my belief in Tanzania's traditional methods of healing. I was not prepared to place unwavering faith in a practice I had little knowledge of, but was not ready to eliminate any option, in case it ultimately proved to be fortuitous. Having already speculated for months about my imminent death, I had become somewhat blase about my life, and assumed that possible death at the hands of a trained mganga, was no worse than almost certain death by persons unknown when I returned to Usa River.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A few days later, Radhi and I woke early and climbed over Mohammed and Vicki, to find a way out of the bed we had shared with them, then dodged a couple of officers who were sleeping on the floor. We walked in silence to the bus station, shivering a little, as the Sun was just beginning to rise. None of the buses had toilets, so as we neared the station I stepped off the dirt track to pee behind a bush, knowing we would be stuck on board for close to eight hours. An old policeman had spotted me and rushed over to confront me as I rejoined the track.

"You are breaking the law," he yelled at me furiously, blocking the path so I was unable to continue.

I looked at him critically. It was not uncommon for people to treat bushes as toilets, usually with much less discretion than I had just displayed. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying," I said calmly. "I don't speak Swahili."

He continued to scream, thrusting his finger in my face and staring at me menacingly. I apologised again, strongly maintaining I could not understand what he was wanting, and attempted to squeeze past him. He stuck out his hand and grabbed me by the arm, preventing my progress, then rubbed his thumb and fingers together, leaving me in no doubt that his only interest was for me to pay him a bribe. I pursed my lips and firmly shook my head. The level of assistance offered by a police officer generally depended on the financial support they received from the civilian community. Radhi was deeply envious of his brother, Mohammed, who he considered to be a powerful and prominent policeman. Mohammed typically occupied a day in uniform by approaching many of the people and businesses in Dodoma to collect protection money, enabling him to buy such luxuries as a refrigerator and kettle.

Radhi had continued along the track when I had earlier stopped, but had now returned to provide me with local support in my fight against an esteemed member of Tanzania's law enforcement. Radhi claimed that as his brother was a policeman, the tactics of bribery should not apply to us. He attempted to shake the disgruntled officer's hand, who allowed us to pass even though he refused the handshake. I nodded to him as we stepped off and received a cold stare in return.

We boarded the bus and squeezed onto an uncomfortable bench seat, jostling for space on the overcrowded bus, but I was content in the knowledge that with a recently drained bladder and having not drunk anything since the previous night, I should be able to survive the distance.

We staggered off the bus when it arrived in Tanga, during the mid afternoon, to be met by appalling weather – constant rain of varying heaviness and a suffocatingly high level of humidity. As the roads were muddy and peppered with pot-holes filled with water, we were forced to awkwardly traverse the road in search of a suitable path. We began to approach boda boda drivers to barter a reasonable price for taxi fare into the mountains, but many were reluctant, doubtful their three-wheeled, motorbike powered vehicles could handle the conditions. Finally, we managed to entice a young man desperate for money to take a chance.

His machine was struggling before we had even vacated the city, weighed down by three men and our luggage. We had cleared the city and were flying along an isolated road amongst open farmland, the engine positively screaming before it suddenly gave up. We coasted to a halt, whereby the driver jumped out and proceeded to kick the rear of his vehicle. I had little mechanical expertise and was convinced the driver was also without education in this field. But I was confident that his kick to the engine, which had promptly followed his brief evaluation of the boda boda, would not remedy the fault. I grumpily climbed out of the vehicle, in search of serenity, before the driver returned to increase the volume on his radio, which was playing a native brand of music. The heavy bass, blaring from his poorly wired speakers, caused the little boda boda to rock rhythmically.

He had rung an acquaintance, who promised to assist us as soon as he found a customer who was going in our direction, but we received no indication of how long we may ultimately need to wait. Radhi placidly remained in the back-seat of the boda boda, presumably enjoying the deafening music. I continued to pace around agitated, furious to once again be waiting. I was tired, hungry and thirsty, but even more frustrating, my clothes were soaked from a combination of the relentless rain and profuse sweating.

After an agonising wait, a blue boda boda pulled up beside us, occupied by driver and passenger. I looked at it dubiously, if anything, it appeared to be in a poorer condition than our current vehicle, but when I turned to the young driver, he was smiling exuberantly, seemingly confident his machine could adequately handle the situation. I followed Radhi's example and shoved my bag on top of his, on a small shelf above the back-seat, then we climbed in on either side of the passenger. The three of us were squeezed together, with our heads jutting forward uncomfortably because of the bags balanced precariously behind us. The driver revved the engine, then clunked it into gear, allowing us to move forward at a crawl – assisted by our original driver, who was running along beside while pushing the vehicle. As it began to pick up speed, able to move without his assistance, he leapt onto the side rail and gripped the driver by the shoulders.

After we left the bitumen road, for a deeply rutted, mud track, our vehicle began to struggle and the driver had to fight to maintain control of the handlebars. The boda boda skated from side to side along the lane, seeming to have a mind of its own, while the driver searched for a route devoid of mud, in a quest to locate traction. I stared at Radhi and the other passenger, who were both sitting in silence with neutral expressions, as if this was a typical experience when travelling into a remote area of the mountains.

We had begun to ascend the foothills, but were sporadically losing momentum when the wheels lost traction, causing them to spin as the driver increased the engine revs, in an effort to regain grip so that we could slowly inch forward. The extra driver, hanging from the side of the boda boda, decided we may have been carrying excessive weight, so bailed from the vehicle, to run alongside and push when the situation warranted further assistance. Against the odds, and despite my positivity of certain failure, we eventually arrived at our destination.

Radhi and I climbed out and shouldered our bags, then I dropped the earlier negotiated fare into the driver's hand. He was grateful to have been of service and cheerfully shook my hand before returning to his boda boda. Our original driver apparently expected to be paid as well – having driven us on the initial stage of our journey – implying that I was responsible for the mechanical breakdown of his machine.

I was unimpressed and laughed at him with little humour. "Mate, your fuckin' boda boda is a piece of shit," I said scornfully. "You should feel ashamed to even ask for money. If you had any sort of integrity, you'd pay me for wasting my time. Get out of here."

He skulked back to his friend's vehicle and climbed in. We watched them take off in a tight u-turn, returning the way we had come, then we approached the old house as an elderly couple came outside to greet us. They were overjoyed to welcome us and, as is customary, supplied us with a flask of chai tea and a meal, then explained it would be best to perform the ritual at night, for reasons I did not quite understand. And of course, we were expected to stay the night, as there were few choices for accommodation in such a remote area. We willingly accepted, grateful for their offer and mindful that there was no other option of lodging available.

Later that night, after the Sun had set, Radhi and I were informed everything had been prepared and we were now invited to enter the darkened room. It was an eerie environment – the room was lit by several low burning candles which cast long shadows that flickered across the room, and softly illuminated the hanging fabrics and traditional carvings decorating the walls. We walked further into the room until we met the mganga and were advised to sit down. We silently obeyed his direction then were asked to explain our grievances. During the week we had progressively developed a list of our concerns, which Radhi now proceeded to read out loud. He detailed our requirements, which included: protection from our enemies; guaranteed success of our present and future business undertakings; and clarity on whether we could trust those close to us, who had promised their loyalty.

The mganga opened a box containing a range of potions and powders, then began chanting under his breath as he concocted several mixtures. I was directed to strip down to my underwear and sit in front of him, then, as he continued to mutter to himself, he began to apply a black paste to a number of points on my body, which would supposedly protect me from any acts of evil. I just hoped I believed enough, so the application of medicine would not kill me. Next, he began to burn a bunch of herbs under a blanket which covered my head, allowing the smoke to surround me to clear any evil spirits – at least that is what I understood. He finished the ceremony, then supplied me with a bottle of liquid and instructions to bathe with it to ensure continued protection. Whether or not it would ultimately prove to be vital to my survival, I left the room walking slightly taller, honestly believing I was now invincible.

When I reunited with Radhi, he started whispering excitedly about the undeniable influence of the mganga, but was slightly disappointed that there had been no sacrificial animal. According to the mganga, a sacrifice had not been necessary for our situation, but he had been able to offer us sufficient protection with his range of potions. To me, the ritual signalled the conclusion of my banishment from Usa River and would allow me the freedom to resume my work in the village.

We set off by foot early the next morning, traversing the slippery track until we were able to hail a passing bus, descending from the mountains. The progress on the bus was steady, momentum forcing us to slip downhill rather rapidly, so we soon arrived back in Tanga, where we awaited the departure of the next bus passing through Usa River.

I was fortunate to squeeze into a window seat at the back of the bus, sharing the bench seat with nine others. It was early in the day but it was already hot and sticky onboard, so I fought with the seized window, struggling to slide it open in an effort to increase the circulation of fresh air. As the bus picked up speed on the outskirts of the city, I started to receive a barrage of complaints from the disgruntled passengers about my open window. Due to lack of support, I conceded defeat and sadly closed it.

It was not until the afternoon that I visibly perked up, as our surroundings became familiar. But I was quickly disappointed when the bus lost speed and came to a grinding halt, having just passed through Moshi. It was deflating to be so close to Usa River and to then experience another unexpected delay. We climbed off the bus and tried to find some shade, while the crew crawled around underneath, conferring with one another in an attempt to diagnose the mechanical failure. Various engine parts were removed and hit with rocks, in what I could only assume was a mechanically apt way.

Radhi walked up beside me to study the crew's progress with the repair. "Ah, we will be in Usa River in an hour, Jackie," he commented, unperturbed by our forced idleness.

"Yeah, an hour once we get going again," I corrected him. I looked spitefully at the coloured sign writing on the bus, all rumours of this particular company having just been confirmed. "Fuckin' Hajee's. They get the shittest buses and throw some paint on them, so they look good, but they breakdown every time," I fumed.

Radhi nodded in confirmation. "This is true," he admitted, standing next to me, casually rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

The deficiency in the engine had finally been remedied satisfactorily, allowing the bus to struggle onward, dropping Radhi and me in Usa River along the way. As I looked at the familiar sights of the village, a smile spread across my face. It felt as if I had returned home. I was adamant that I would not leave again, certain that I would soon be able to live unimpeded in the community. We had lodged an application with the government, just before the debacle with the Immigration office, applying for registration of our school. Once it was approved it was apparently a simple process for me to secure a long-term visa, whereby I would be unaffiliated with any other organisation and therefore untouchable.

While we had been in Dodoma, Radhi had often talked about the two of us finding a room to rent together – preferably with electricity so we could aspire to one day own a television – when we returned to Usa River. In the meantime, I would return to Mama Radhi's hut while the perceived danger surrounding me remained, and Radhi would resume his post at the school, where he would sleep in the office. He had always strongly maintained that without a secure barb wire fence our school was particularly vulnerable to break-ins. I was sceptical, steadfast that there was little of value to steal from the property. But Radhi was concerned about the regular threats made by Jonathan, as well as the possibility that other schools may resort to stealing our desks, as most had none.

I was fast asleep when Radhi arrived, late in the night, banging on the door of his mother's hut. "Jackie, Jackie," he called. "There has been a problem at the school."

I ripped the mosquito net off the bed and threw on my clothes, then raced outside to follow Radhi back to the office at the school. The wooden door was hanging ajar – the sliding bolt mangled.

"I was sleeping and then, all of a sudden, it is so loud and these fucks are smashing open the door," Radhi explained. "They are already running away when I come outside, but then, I am hearing Sadiki. She is on the phone. I think she is working for Jonathan, we cannot trust her. I run behind the school to chase her, but she is already returning to her room and locking the door."

"What do you mean, Radhi? I don't understand," I said, baffled by his accusation of Sadiki.

"Jackie, you cannot trust her," he demanded. "She is working with Jonathan. I am talking with her neighbours and they are saying Machupa has been visiting her house while we are in Dodoma. Everyone is knowing she is crazy."

I critically assessed the damage to the door. It looked like it had been kicked, breaking the lock with the force. "What do you think they wanted?" I asked, assessing Radhi who, for the first time since I had met him, lacked his regular composure.

"They are wanting to kill me, Jackie," he said frantically. "Jonathan is wanting us dead and Sadiki is helping him."

"Why did they run away if they were here to kill you?" I questioned.

"Because I hear them, so I come running outside to scare them," he answered frantically, offering a seemingly unbelievable version of events.

"Okay," I accepted. "What do you want to do now?" I asked, thinking about Sadiki allegedly conspiring against me. It was possible I conceded, feeling completely worthless. She had shared with people personal sentiments I had told her in private, before she reunited with her partner, but despite this I refused to believe she would continue to help Jonathan, now that she was finally free of his control.

"We must go to the police station," he suggested. "I think I recognise one of these fucks, he is living close," he said, setting off in the direction of the police station.

I subtly shook my head with resignation, contemplating surrender to the situation that, if anything, only seemed to become more complicated with each passing day. Radhi energetically took the lead, certain that this latest attack would finally provide the police with the irrefutable evidence needed to investigate Jonathan and nullify his supporters.

We arrived at the Usa River police station, which was manned by a skeleton staff due to the late hour, to find that none of the available officers were interested in assisting us with the attempted break-in. Instead, we were advised to wait outside until a "suitable moment arose." As we sat on an unstable wooden bench in the cold night air, I felt disillusioned by my expectation of police support, darkly assuming that a suitable moment would not arise until money had been exchanged. After an aggravating wait of close to three hours, an opportune moment finally presented itself, so Radhi proceeded to describe the indiscretion. But apparently the officer did not understand what we expected of him – simply advising us to return to the police station if there were any further incidences to report, before he dismissed us.

"Your police in Tanzania are fucked, Radhi," I said angrily, as we walked away. "Your country is fucked." I was starting to disassociate myself from Tanzania.

"I know, Jackie," he said, disheartened by the service we had received.

Part Four

### Fighting For My Rights

Chapter Twenty-Five

I was watering the garden, when Sadiki arrived at the school and timidly approached me. It was our first encounter since I had fled Usa River for Dodoma. I put down the bucket and straightened up, looking intensely into her eyes, trying to understand her innermost thoughts. I did not want to believe Radhi, but without Sadiki offering a defence to the contrary, I was beginning to support his assessment, convinced she was not to be trusted. I turned away, not wanting to be associated with her.

"Shikamoo, Jackie," she said, greeting me with a term of respect, usually reserved for older persons or those in a position of power. I was deeply offended by the formality of her greeting, believing it created further distance between us. We had always been able to speak casually as equals, so I chose to ignore her unusually formal greeting. Sadiki sounded as if she was about to cry when she spoke again. "Jackie, say: marahaba," she said scandalised, reminding me to offer the correct reply to her greeting.

I looked at her, my eyes full of pain. "Marahaba," I whispered, forced into a response I did not want to give because of the rules of etiquette. Sadiki accepted my response. Satisfied with the reply, she walked away without another word from either of us. As I watched her begin to chop firewood in preparation for cooking, I wondered how our relationship had come to this point after such promising beginnings.

The time in Dodoma had only increased my resolve to preserve the school, feeling no one could be trusted to support my objectives. To illustrate the severity of the incident of the previous night, Radhi had refused to sleep at the school again, advising me it was imperative to employ an armed guard to patrol the property at night. I had considered the merits of the idea, but feared the potential for betrayal if we willingly granted a person access to the school, so continued to think of alternative solutions instead.

Radhi approached me in the afternoon to inquire as to my decision. He had spent the morning meeting with contacts, who he was convinced would have information they were willing to trade, regarding Jonathan's covert opposition to our school.

"I'm going to start sleeping here," I said, deeming everyone else, including Radhi, to be untrustworthy.

Radhi was taken aback, his face etched with surprise. "But Jackie, you will be killed," he protested. "There is no security here. It is so easy for some fuck to come to kill you. I cannot allow it..."

I looked at him with defiance. "It's not your choice to make, Radhi," I said decisively. "It's my responsibility to protect this school and my kids."

"Jackie, my family are very poor," he admitted, attempting to manipulate me with guilt. "If you are killed, we cannot afford to return your body to Australia."

"So," I said with a challenging stare. "I live in Usa River. Bury me in the Ngarasero graveyard."

"You are wanting this?" he asked, to which I nodded in confirmation. "I cannot tell you what to do, Jackie, you must do what you are wanting," he conceded. "But I think I must get you a gun – I have a friend who can help."

I repaired the door and added a secondary locking bolt toward the bottom to reinforce it against kicking, which I considered the most likely form of forceful entry. With some trepidation, I carefully secured the door that night, double-checking that both locks were properly fastened. I lay down on a foam mat, my fingers gravitating toward the machete I would now sleep with every night, assuring myself of its close proximity.

I was worried about receiving further visitations from the Immigration officials or police, so I effectively began to vacate the school during the day, which meant that the bulk of my work was done in the early hours of the morning and late into the night. I had just returned from fetching water when Sadiki arrived. I walked past her, giving her little acknowledgement, and continued with my duties.

"Jackie," she said quietly, tears leaking from her eyes. "Mama Rusnah died last night."

I did not know what Sadiki expected of me, if maybe she was hoping I would comfort her. Instead, I guiltily avoided eye contact, as if I was personally responsible for the death of her neighbour.

"I'm sorry, Sadiki," I offered lamely. "She was a good person."

I had truly liked Mama Rusnah, who had been part of a loving family, so I felt sorry for her seven year old daughter, who was now only left with her father. I did not know the family well, but it had not prevented them from offering to share their evening meal one night, when I returned a thermos to them which I had borrowed. I had been embarrassed when they insisted I accept a large bowl of makande (a mix of cooked beans and corn), while the three of them crowded together on their bed to eat from a single bowl that contained considerably less than mine. But that standard of hospitality is matter-of-fact in Tanzania.

Sadiki continued to stand near me but neither of us were able to add anything relevant, so fell into awkward silence. After a moment, she shuffled away to commence her duties while I looked on sadly.

As a neighbour of Mama Rusnah, I was expected to attend the funeral which was to be held at a family home, in an isolated area about an hour's drive from Usa River. I was herded into an old van, which quickly filled with people, before the coffin was unceremoniously shoved into the aisle. The last passenger struggled into the crowded vehicle, then climbed on top of the casket to prevent it from moving. As we bounced along the rutted road, the lid of the coffin – which was a box made of roughly cut wood – became askew, exposing Mama Rusnah's body. It was an unsettling sight, one that my eyes continued to naturally gravitate toward, while the other passengers broke into an endless wave of singing.

Hundreds of people had made the pilgrimage to the hut to attend the funeral. When we arrived, the unorganised crowd separated to form two ranks, which allowed the casket to be carried directly to the grave, between the inward facing people. At the sight of the coffin, one woman broke down hysterically and began to scream. Most of the attendees ignored her, until three of the older women approached her, and repeatedly struck the lady with open hands, forcing her to the ground, before dragging her out of earshot.

After reciting the appropriate passages from the Koran and the subsequent prayers, the body was removed from the coffin and lowered into the earth, shielded from view by a satin sheet. As soon as the men had climbed out of the hole, the crowd surged forward, fighting for shovels and the opportunity to contribute to the burial of the body. Each person had only seconds to throw as much dirt as possible into the hole, before someone else pushed to the front and relieved them of the shovel. I was jostled forward and eventually pushed to the edge of the grave, where the shovel was thrust into my hands so I could contribute to the burial, before I too, was usurped by the next person.

To me, the death of a person, particularly one who was quite young, was a sombre experience, but my feelings were generally not shared by the majority, who chose to treat the occasion as more of a celebration. I began to question my own beliefs about life and death, as I returned to Usa River amidst another wave of exuberant singing and dancing onboard the crowded van.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Radhi approached with a young mother I had never met, having apparently promised her I would be able to have her child returned to her, from an orphanage Jonathan had recently opened. The health of the child had declined, and Jonathan had refused to admit the boy to hospital because of the cost, leaving the mother to fear for her child's life.

I looked at her sadly. "I can't do anything to help you," I stated, much to her dismay, then she began to cry.

"Jackie, you must," Radhi said, assuming I would be able to do something, as I had often said I wanted to help the people that had been most affected by Jonathan.

"Radhi, you're not listening – there's nothing I can do about it," I said with frustration. I was angry at the naivety of the people who continued to place faith in Jonathan, then expect me to be able to undo their mistakes. "No one will let those kids go back to their families. They willingly signed over custody of their children to Jonathan."

"But, Jackie," he argued. "Jonathan is tricking these families. He is saying he will take care of them. But they are not going to school and they are becoming sick now. This mama is wanting to take her boy to the hospital, can you help her?"

I was furious that Radhi continued to believe I had a solution, but obviously assumed I was simply unwilling to provide assistance – for whatever reason. "I've already tried to help them, but none of the aid organisations care. They won't do anything about him," I said bluntly. "Everyone here just fuckin' accepts what Jonathan tells them and this is the result. He's too smart – he protects everything he does – do you understand that? There is nothing I can do."

I watched bitterly as the mother walked away. I felt sorry for her. She had thought she was providing her son with a better life by transferring custody to Jonathan, believing the promises about education, healthcare, and a balanced diet. It was poor education that allowed her, and the other parents of children in the orphanage, to be exploited by a person who only wanted the children to further his own selfish needs. Jonathan could expect greater support from the Tanzanian government by proving 'orphaned' children were under his care. He also knew he could rely on the sympathetic donations of unsuspecting foreigners, thereby creating a greater income for himself.

Latifa sat down beside me and tried to ease my pain. "Do not worry, Jackie, God will help us," she assured me.

I looked into her eyes for a moment, at the unwavering trust she held for God, but was unable to share her conviction. "God's not coming, Latifa," I said. "He's forgotten about Usa River."

I had begun to evaluate Upendo and Naomi, the teachers, who were arriving late most days and often trying to leave early. I was required to assess them at the end of their three month training period before they could graduate from the teachers college. I was interested in granting them the freedom to develop their own methods, but I felt my leniency was beginning to be abused. They were qualified to determine what the children needed to learn, so I encouraged them to take the initiative, but the minimal directions I had stipulated, had seemingly been forgotten. Apart from the education of the children, I was dedicated to implementing a structured system based on responsibility and initiative, whereby the staff would become accountable for their actions, instead of expecting me to take charge of every challenging situation.

I called them into the office one morning, after they had casually strolled into the school together, staggeringly late, and firmly outlined the expectations I had of them as the teachers. Although their evaluations were to remain strictly private between the director of the teachers college and myself, I shared my current assessment with them, so they could understand what areas they were succeeding in, and where I felt they needed improvement. They were appreciative of my honesty and left the room assuring me my advice would be heeded.

Naomi was a quiet young girl, who had little self confidence and seemed to blindly follow the lead of Upendo, the more boisterous of the pair. She would look at the ground when timidly greeting me in the mornings, while Upendo either bluntly ignored me, or offered an apparently painful acknowledgement, seemingly expectant that I should be grateful of her effort. I regarded her treatment of me as blatant rudeness. I began to question both girls' commitment to becoming teachers, as they did the bare minimum to better themselves. I could accept their obvious dislike of me if I felt they were the best teachers for my students, but they were doing nothing to convince me they deserved employment at the completion of their training period. They had both expressed their interest at continuing on as permanent teachers, to which Radhi, in a private moment with them both, had agreed was a given, due to his disinterest in searching for replacement teachers. Unfortunately, this gave Upendo and Naomi a false sense of security, which I did not bother to rectify by explaining that the positions would be offered dependent on their work ethic.

I did not expect them to like me or be my friend, but if nothing else, I felt I had earned the right to be respected as a person. From what I could determine, their dislike stemmed from an objection to receiving direction from someone who was not of black skin. Tanzania had received independence from British rule fifty years earlier, and as a nation, the people wanted to believe they did not need the assistance of white people. The problem was, that in the subsequent fifty years, their country had made little progress in terms of development, mainly because of their survivalist mentality. This created isolation, whereby people were only willing to work for their own benefit, regardless of the impact on their country.

It was a Thursday afternoon, when the kids ran out of the classroom laughing and screaming excitedly. They began to depart the school in small groups – the five and six year olds escorting the younger kids who lived in the same direction. But it was well before my stipulated home time, so I walked out of the office to investigate and found Upendo and Naomi trying to slink away unnoticed.

"It is Nyerere Day tomorrow, Mr Jack," Upendo informed me. I shrugged, failing to understand the relevance. "It is the national holiday of Tanzania. We are not coming to teach tomorrow."

It was the first time I had heard of the holiday. "The school is open tomorrow," I stated, failing to realise they were not searching for my permission.

"We are not coming," Upendo repeated, while Naomi looked away. "We have told the children that there is no school tomorrow."

I shook my head with resignation, conceding it was not a situation I could win. "So, the kids are not coming?" I clarified. Upendo shook her head with defiance. "Fine, whatever," I relented, and watched them both walk away with an air of superiority.

As far as I was concerned, Upendo and Naomi were auditioning for the vacant teaching positions. They had a strong advantage over anyone else that may apply, possessing an uncontested three months to prove exactly why they deserved the role. I could look at them objectively and unemotionally, but so far, they had done nothing to suggest I should offer them employment. After initially being affronted, I considered the advantage of the school being closed for the next three days, before reopening Monday morning. It would allow me enough time to complete the kitchen for Sadiki, which I had been wanting to do for some time. While I had been in Dodoma the health department had visited the school and, amongst other things, had been overly critical of the rudimentary cooking area. We'd had to offer the officials a 'gift' to convince them to turn a blind eye to a few minor shortcomings, but now I had the opportunity to rectify these issues.

My labouring skills always attracted a lot of attention from the locals, who did not consider me to be capable as I was not of black African descent. At first, I received close scrutinisation from the disbelieving public, until my methods were deemed to be acceptable. I resented my abilities being critiqued when I compared my skills to someone like Moses, the tradesman of questionable ability who had constructed the toilet. But the public perception had shifted, and people were now generally impressed by my level of craftsmanship. Radhi, in particular, would proudly promote my talents to anyone that would listen, while I quietly negotiated my tasks, pretending to ignore his glowing appraisals.

Sadiki had been using a basic set up to cook – three concrete blocks pushed together to create a star shape, which supported the pot over an open fire. It was a common method for people in the village to use, and the set up we utilised every night to cook at Mama Radhi's, but it failed to retain heat, causing more firewood to be consumed than necessary.

I wanted to level and concrete the floor of the kitchen, then build a simple, semi-enclosed oven made from brick, which I felt would be more than suitable. However, I was reluctant to follow the advice of the health department, who had stated that we needed to connect to the mains water supply. It was a valid idea but the village suffered from low water pressure. This meant that the closest pipe was useless, as it was on the low-side of the school, so at best we could only expect a weak trickle. It left me with the unenviable task of connecting to the pipe in the street on the high-side, which would give us reasonable pressure, but to do this I would need to dig out several of the neighbours' yards in order to lay my connecting pipeline. The ground was mostly covered by concrete, and there were a number of sewage chambers which I would need to avoid. I did not feel that it was a realistic possibility, and definitely not one I was willing to attempt. I was adamant I could pioneer a new idea which would ultimately offer a simpler solution to the problem.

Tools were traded amongst neighbours on a needs basis, and I was fortunate enough to secure an old shovel with a broken handle. But I was without a suitable tool to measure the gradient of the ground – which progressively sloped downward from the back wall of the kitchen – so I was forced to resort to guesswork. I shifted a considerable amount of dirt from the back half of the kitchen, in an attempt to level the floor, which caused much amusement amongst the locals who had gathered around to spectate. They were unable to understand why I would create more work for myself and not simply spread the concrete over the sloping ground. I continued to ignore the directions offered to me from anyone considering himself to be proficient in the trade, including a group of ten year old boys and an overweight, single mother of two. Many of the men, most of whom seemed to find regular employment as tradesmen, volunteered their services at competitive prices.

I had levelled the ground to the best of my abilities, but was insistent on calculating the inclination before progressing to the next stage. So I borrowed a marble from a young boy, selected a straight piece of firewood, then put them together as a makeshift spirit level. I proceeded to check the ground with my home-made tool, causing the surrounding onlookers to collapse with debilitating laughter. I blinked, not sharing the humour, secretly impressed by my improvisation and adequately satisfied with the much improved gradient of the kitchen floor.

While I continued to quietly work, the crowd started to become bored, slowly wandering away until I was eventually left on my own. I had been making steady progress spreading the concrete, when I was interrupted by a stranger.

"You are Jackie?" he asked, to which I nodded warily. "I am a teacher. Do you have any work for me."

"No, I've got all the staff I need," I said, offering him little attention as I continued my labouring. "Leave me a resume if you want, and I'll have a look later."

"How much are you paying your teachers?" he asked casually.

"That doesn't really concern you," I said stiltedly, becoming suspicious of the probing question.

"What are the conditions of their contracts?" he questioned, despite my obvious reluctance to talk.

I stopped what I was doing and straightened up, folding my arms across my chest as I stared at him. "What do you want? Who are you?" I demanded. "Did Jonathan send you?"

"Ah, yes, you were working with Tumbiri," he said. "Why are you opening your own school?"

"That's none of your business," I informed him. "I don't know who sent you, but you can tell Jonathan or Merah or Kitwana or Panya or Khalfani that if they have a fuckin' question for me, then they can come and ask me themselves. I have nothing to hide."

He looked at me with growing interest as he continued to ask me personal questions, not only regarding my school, but also about my hostile relationships with the competing charities in the area. I turned away, choosing to ignore him by concentrating on my work, fearful about his motives for the interrogation and what repercussions may follow.

Later, after the man had left, I discovered he was a journalist, working for a newspaper in Arusha, reporting on the local nursery schools. Despite my misinterpretation of him, I remained worried about the level of accurate information he had of me. I wondered how someone from the city could be familiar with my story, considering the school was still in its infancy and I had done nothing to promote it outside of the village. It was not as if I was entitled to any notoriety, considering the hundreds of other established schools that existed between Usa River and Arusha.

While I had been laying the concrete, I had asked Radhi to go in search of bricks, estimating we would need about thirty to complete the oven. He returned late in the afternoon, just as I was packing up, and flippantly admitted he had not been able to find the time to buy the bricks.

"So, I don't have any bricks for tomorrow?" I asked, unimpressed.

"No problem, Jackie, we will get them early tomorrow," he promised.

"It is a problem, Radhi," I said stiffly, frowning at his inability to complete a relatively simple task. "Because I know how Tanzanians are with time management. It means that the soonest I'll be able to get those bricks will be midday."

"We will go early in the morning," he assured me, sounding slightly offended by my slur about his compatriots work ethic.

It was almost eleven in the morning, when Radhi was finally ready to go to the outskirts of the village to search for someone he knew, who he was confident would sell bricks to us for a cheap price. Unfortunately, we found that the bricks had not been fired properly and were already showing signs of degradation, so I bluntly refused to agree to the transaction, unwilling to compromise on my high standards of quality.

We continued on to a prominent brick kiln in the area, then promptly negotiated a reasonable price for satisfactory bricks, leaving me to wonder why we had not originally dealt with a reputable brick manufacturer. Radhi was eager to locate a friend who owned a pushcart, which was apparently necessary for us to transport the bricks to the school. But I was sceptical Radhi would return that day, if he was to disappear at this stage.

"We can carry them, Radhi," I said confidently.

"You cannot carry all these bricks, Jackie," said Radhi, starting to laugh when the salesman made a joke at my expense.

"Well, I'm not going to carry thirty in one go, am I, Radhi?" I said defensively. I felt it was the logical solution, as I envisaged Radhi aimlessly wandering the village in search of his friend for the remainder of the afternoon.

"Okay, let's go," he relented with indifference.

We each loaded a hessian sack with six bricks, Radhi agreeing to complete two transits, then hoisted them over our shoulders. It had been raining in recent days and the roads had become incredibly slippery, forcing us to struggle to maintain balance while we awkwardly shuffled forward. Radhi lingered at times and mostly dawdled, whereas I was fixated on transporting the bricks as quickly as possible so I could begin the oven. Therefore, I caught up to him, carrying my third and final load of bricks, when he was only returning with his second.

"Jackie, rest a little," he called, as I struggled past him with the bricks, which were painfully positioned across my head and right shoulder.

"I can rest when I finish," I stated, totally focused on the development of the school.

I had begun the masonry, when Fundi Edmund approached me – detouring from his walk home for lunch – to examine my work.. He appreciated my aptitude for the building trade, particularly carpentry, so we had a good relationship, often floating ideas between one another.

"Jackie," he said suddenly. "Why did you leave Usa River?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him quizzically, still uncertain of his trustworthiness. "Hey?" I queried, pretending to sound confused. "I never left – just been busy."

Edmund stared at me for a moment, but did not ask any further questions. "You are very good with cement, Jackie, but it is not good for your hands," he advised, as he wandered away in the direction of his house.

I looked at my hands, which had been immersed in the bucket of cement, the skin already beginning to mottle. I had broken the handle of the trowel, which had been weakened by rust, soon after starting the project. As it was the only trowel available, I had little choice but to use my hands. So I returned them to the bucket and continued to render the brickwork, not stopping to consider the effects the cement would have on my skin.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was not realistic to assume I could continue to operate the school from my own savings, so I began to brainstorm ideas which could potentially generate an income. The Tanzanian government had assured me of definite financial assistance, but had delayed the proffered funds with an endless supply of confusing excuses, leaving me with little confidence of ever receiving the money. It seemed no one within the country was willing to invest in their future, so I was forced to search abroad for help.

Although I felt it would be disruptive for the children to be surrounded by Western volunteers, who would only temporarily remain with the school, I began to consider that it would be the only solution to ensure a regular inflow of funds. As usual, I reflected on my experience with Tumbiri to determine how the negative aspects could be eliminated. Jonathan's school was at times overrun by volunteers, who were left without direction and unaware as to how they could best assist in the classroom. My focus had transferred to renovating the second classroom, now that the kitchen was complete, and once we had expanded, I imagined a maximum of two volunteers at any one time, to assist the local teacher in each class.

Radhi agreed that the inclusion of volunteers would be the most likely way to secure the financial stability of the school, but felt two would be insufficient. "Jackie, we are needing volunteers," Radhi said, praising the idea. "But we must have many. Maybe, like, five or six, I think."

"Five or six?" I said in disbelief. "What are they going to do?"

"Jackie, it does not matter," he explained, as if I had misunderstood the true purpose of opening our school to foreigners. "They will be so happy to be with our school. You know, Jackie, my wish is for our first volunteer to donate lots of money and to give us a laptop," he confided.

"Why do we need a laptop? We don't even have electricity," I reminded him.

"Because they will see how much easier it will make our lives and they will want to help," Radhi stated emphatically.

"Radhi, no one is going to give us a laptop, it's too expensive," I said. "We'll be lucky if they donate anything at all."

"Jackie, you are so negative," he said with frustration. "Of course they will give us what we are wanting. They have lots of money."

I realised I would never be able to change Radhi's perception of people from the West. Instead, I allowed him to maintain his fantasy, as I considered the need to protect the school, not only from outsiders but also from Radhi's overwhelming desire for wealth.

I remained steadfast that I would only accept two volunteers but Radhi's insistence at presumably an unlimited number, made me consider a market I had not previously thought about. There were several organisations that welcomed volunteers in Usa River and the surrounding villages, but from what I could ascertain, the visitor would either travel from Arusha every day or live with a family, such as Jonathan's. I had met a number of families that operated homestays, but I felt they offered a fictitious experience to the volunteer, as if they were role playing a perceived African lifestyle for the benefit of the visitor. Many of these people had questionable ethics, allowing volunteers into their lives purely as an easy means of profit. Even though the agencies who supplied the volunteers were not necessarily satisfied with the families and their homestays, they had few other options to provide to the volunteer. I assumed I could capitalise on this niche by developing a volunteer house, bringing guests with similar interests together, from all over the world, which would be resided over by a local house mother. Her duties would include cooking and cleaning, but more importantly, she would be able to provide a true representation of African life. As the idea grew in my mind, I thought of Bibi Zera, Jonathan's mistreated nanny, who I felt would be perfect for the role. If I could establish the house, it would allow me to provide her with an alternative to remaining with Jonathan.

Radhi and I began looking for a suitable house in a wealthier, more Westernised area of the village, and we soon came across an empty property positioned on the main road, not far from Jonathan's house. As soon as we had been able to identify the owner we arranged to inspect the property, then I began to research the cost of furnishing a house and exactly what we would require.

The house was more than appropriate for our needs, so I immediately began to consider other opportunities for profit that the rental of the house may provide. As the property had a large backyard, I could picture building a chicken coop, to raise hens for egg-laying, and also, cultivating a vegetable garden, to supply produce to local shops and market vendors. I was obsessed with creating a sustainable future for the school – even though the common practice was to rely on the support of foreign aid, I felt it was important for Tanzania to ultimately take responsibility for their own industry.

When I finished assessing the electricity and plumbing, I exited the house to join Radhi, who I discovered was already in the process of discussing the terms of rent with the owner. I stared incredulously at him. Although the house was suitable for my needs, I had no intention of committing to a contract before I had determined if it could prove to be a worthwhile venture. Financially, it was a big risk to take without assurance it would be occupied by volunteers, but Radhi, as usual, was confident there was no possibility it could fail.

"Jackie, what is the problem?" he asked, perplexed by my hesitation.

"Do you know how much money this is gonna cost me?" I hissed. "It will kill the school if we can't bring anyone here."

"Jackie, of course it will always be full, because everyone will want to stay at our house," Radhi insisted. "We must sign now, before someone else is renting it."

But I was prepared to take the chance of losing the house to another potential client, so refused to sign a contract, much to Radhi's dismay. I was resentful of his flippancy regarding my money, and considered how much more willing I would be to commit to our ventures, if I had the unlimited funds Radhi believed I possessed. I was self critical of my reluctance to spend money. My frugality causing me to constantly search for cost effective methods. But there was little to spare each month once the necessities of rent, wages and food had been deducted, so I could not sacrifice the money on something that may not render a profit.

We walked away with nothing more than a verbal agreement to remain in contact with the owner and to notify him as soon as we had a definitive answer. I continued to contemplate our options, while Radhi had already begun to offer a range of solutions.

"Jackie, you know, Mji Mwema is so fuckin' expensive," he lamented. "We could find a much cheaper house close to the school. You know, Palango is wanting to rent to us."

"Radhi, you can't put a volunteer in Palango's house," I said gruffly. "His house doesn't have any security or electricity. And he's got a squat toilet," I said with a laugh.

"That does not matter," he said, scrutinising me closely.

I had a suspicion of what he was thinking. "Radhi, don't look at me as the model for a volunteer," I said, a wry smile slowly spreading across my face. "You'll never find someone that will come here and want to live without electricity and use a squat toilet. If you fed ugali to a volunteer, they would hate it – they'd leave within a week."

"But they are wanting to come and experience how we live," he said in protest, unable to comprehend the extreme difference between the life of an African and their counterparts in the West.

"Yes, they are," I agreed, "But they only want a little glimpse of life here, not the whole thing. Just because I live the life every day doesn't mean anyone else will."

"I know, Jackie, but you are African," he said proudly. "You are drinking our water and eating ugali dagaa every day. Do not worry, one day we will find a way to make money and we will eat nyama choma and drink soda. That is my dream."

We had finally contacted Gabriela, the landlord of the school, and convinced her to meet with us to renegotiate the contract, which Lumbwi had originally signed on my behalf. This time I would remain present, no longer able to trust those representing my interests.

Gabriela, an astute businesswoman, promptly dismissed the two conflicting contracts that I held, assuring me there had been a genuine mistake, but everything remained aboveboard. From my research of rental prices in the surrounding area I remained adamant that I was paying an inflated rent, so I accused her of extorting me because of my skin colour. She laughed off my suggestion, admitting she found me to be rather charming, but confided it was a fixed price – determined by her husband – and could not be lowered.

"Gabriela, I could accept paying that price if I was renting it for myself, but I'm renting it for the benefit of Tanzanian kids," I debated. "I'm helping your country's children, now you need to help me. We both know that house is not worth any more than 10 000 shillings per room."

"Ah, I like you, Jackie," she said, her face lit by a glowing smile. "You must be Mchaga though," she suggested, referring to a Tanzanian tribe that was notoriously frugal with money, causing Radhi to collapse in his chair with laughter.

"Me?" I said incredulously, trying to conceal a smile. "If anything, you're Mchaga! You want more money than the house is worth."

"Okay, Jackie, you are right," Gabriela conceded. "We will change the price, and do not worry about the toilet. You bring me the receipts and we will subtract the cost from the next rent," she said, standing up and giving me a warm embrace before leaving.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Radhi had started to investigate the disappearance of our 'friend from Arusha', whose contact number remained unserviceable. He finally managed to locate his friend – possessing a shady history – in Usa River, who apparently had been temporarily absent from the village on questionable business. The friend promised to inquire as to the current whereabouts of our hitman. We eventually received word that our 'friend from Arusha' had been arrested for possession of heroin, and would not be released from prison until he could offer a staggeringly exorbitant 'gift' to the police department. Apparently, this leant credence to Radhi's theory of Jonathan having received protection from an mganga, and so could not be harmed, but my assessment was less flattering. Once again, due to the limited responsibility of a Tanzanian, a specific task had not been completed – it was becoming an increasingly familiar scenario. I was livid that I had returned to Usa River in a state of fear, believing that I would be killed by the very man I had employed. I felt if he had any integrity, he would return the fee I had paid him as he had failed to finish the job. Prisoners could accept visitors on a Tuesday, and I had every intention of facing him to request the refund of my money.

I had no affiliation with any of the volunteer agencies in Arusha, and little idea of how to establish relationships with these companies, nor did Radhi have any suggestions when I approached him. Until one day, when we were in the city on unrelated business, Radhi advised me we should simply visit an agency, as it was not necessary to contact them by phone.

"You know where TVE is?" I asked in surprise, wondering why he had never revealed this fact.

"No problem, Jackie. You are wanting to go to TVE first?" he said, to which I nodded in approval. "Let's go."

I took off after Radhi, who was already striding out purposefully, but he stopped suddenly when we reached the first intersection and looked around with uncertainty.

"What's the problem, Radhi?" I said, expecting him to continue walking.

"Ahh.... I am not quite certain of where we are supposed to go," he admitted. He then grabbed a man waiting to cross the street and attempted to elicit the location of TVE from him, as I watched in fascination. After several failed inquiries, Radhi managed to obtain basic directions from a random stranger. I shook my head, unable to believe he had been successful – simply amazed that any local would have even heard of an organisation whose sole function was to place Western volunteers with local charities, let alone know its location.

Now that Radhi's confidence had returned, he led the way to the central daladala stand in search of a yellow line van. Apparently, TVE was not in central Arusha but was located somewhere on the outskirts, along a route serviced by the yellow daladala. We lingered on the street, searching for confirmation of where we should exit along the route. Fortunately, we were soon presented with an unlikely opportunity.

Two young blonde girls had approached a yellow line daladala, parked toward the front of the queue, and climbed aboard the empty van. I shrugged my shoulders at Radhi, and thinking it likely the pair were TVE volunteers, followed them into the van, taking the seat behind them. Radhi leant back in the seat, elbowing me in the ribs to encourage me to engage the girls in conversation. It had been months since I had seen a white person let alone talked with one, so I was slightly daunted as I struggled to recall anything but bastardised English.

I leant forward and stuck my head between the girls. "Alo, where are you coming from?" I asked loudly, clearly enunciating every syllable in what I considered to be a perfect imitation of a Tanzanian attempting English.

They looked at me with matching levels of condescension, then turned away to ignore me without speaking.

I accepted my initial attempt at establishing a rapport to be a failure, so reverted to my Western persona, which I had seemingly forgotten since my return to Tanzania. "Do you speak English?" I asked with uncertainty, trying afresh.

"Yes," replied the girl on my left with a European accent.

"Do you – by any chance – know where TVE is?" I asked her stiltedly.

"We're from TVE," she said with some excitement, turning around in her seat to give me her full attention. "Are you volunteering with TVE?"

"No," I admitted. "But I was hoping I could meet with your director."

"We're going there now. You can come with us if you'd like," she offered.

We followed the girls out of the van, when it stopped in front of a service station on a barren stretch of highway. They led us down a narrow dirt lane, which twisted between a cluster of houses and eventually terminated in front of a high fence. Two armed men were guarding the gate, which concealed a house from view. The girls greeted the guards, then casually walked through the gate, but Radhi and I were refused entry, as admittance was reserved for employees and volunteers of TVE.

A woman soon came out – having been alerted to our presence by the girls – and introduced herself as Jessica, the director of volunteer placement. "I have two volunteers and they are saying you are unhappy with the service you are receiving from us," she said, bristling slightly at my supposed dissatisfaction.

"No, no," I said hurriedly, trying to salvage the conversation from an apparent miscommunication. "I actually have a school and was hoping you'd send us some volunteers."

She looked at me with sudden interest and asked me for more information. I straightened up and adopted my best business-like attitude to answer her questions, which related to our location, the size of the school, and our future aspirations, then I presented her with a laminated brochure reiterating everything I had just said. She accepted the brochure with a smile, impressed by the professionalism in which I had conducted myself, and arranged an appraisal of our school for the coming week, before returning to the house. I had difficulty concealing my excitement as Radhi and I walked away, convinced I was finally reaping the rewards for my tireless work.

Radhi and I assembled Sadiki and the teachers to explain the importance of our impending visitor, and the positive implications should the meeting prove to be successful. I directed the core of my speech to Upendo, who seemed intent on undermining my leadership, emphasising the shared profits they could potentially enjoy. By my understanding, this was the only way to connect with the average Tanzanian. I explained that all they had to do was concentrate on performing their individual tasks, as this would be the strongest contribution they could offer to the meeting.

In the following days, I obsessed over the presentation of the school, believing that Jessica's first impression would be an important factor in her decision, so I mercilessly cleaned the building and yard. In the previous week we had experienced torrential rain during the nights, and the day prior to Jessica's visitation I noticed water leaking from under the concrete cover of the sewage chamber. With some trepidation, I dragged the cover off the hole and discovered the chamber overflowing.

"Radhi," I yelled with panic. "What's going on here."

Radhi casually strolled over to investigate. "Ah... Sometimes when there is so much rain the chamber can fill up," he said knowledgeably.

The open drains that bordered the chamber on two sides had been flooded due to the heavy rainfall for much of the week. I dropped my head in resignation, understanding that the sheer volume of water must have continued to seep through the soil, filling the chamber. Although it had a concrete surface, underneath it was essentially a dirt pit in the ground.

"Well, I can't fuckin' have it emptied every time it decides to rain," I said angrily, picturing Jessica walking through sewage upon entering our school. "How can no one else have this problem?"

"What you say, Jackie?" said Radhi, snorting with laughter. "It is the same for all people, it must be."

I was not convinced, though. No one else seemed to be faced with an overflowing chamber. In fact, I could not recall hearing of a time when anyone had even organised for their chamber to be emptied. I began to investigate other chambers in the area and soon discovered that each pit was connected to the drain by a small pipe, which allowed a steady trickle of water to escape.

"Radhi, why don't I just connect an overflow pipe into the drain?" I asked him seriously.

"You cannot do that, Jackie," he said, sounding scandalised by the very suggestion. "The health department will not be happy. It is so illegal."

"Everyone else has done it here," I reasoned, instantly deeming it the only solution in light of Jessica's coming arrival. "I'll do it tonight, so no one sees what I'm doing."

We covertly returned that night, so I could rectify the water line of the chamber, while Radhi loitered on the street, operating as a sentry to prevent detection. The street was deserted due to the constant rainfall, which also managed to deaden the noise I was making as I dug a shallow trench between the chamber and drain. I had soon laid a length of pipe in the trench, and satisfied that it would prove to be adequate, knocked a hole through the dirt wall of the chamber. I watched with excitement as a slow trickle began to leak from the chamber through the pipe and into the drain, before I proceeded to cover the pipe. It would not lower the waterline of the chamber, as the pipe was only connected just below the surface, but it would successfully prevent it from overflowing.

The morning that Jessica was due to arrive, Radhi presented me with a shirt of his, that he had just had pressed by someone he knew who owned a charcoal powered iron. I put it on gratefully, trying to stretch the sleeves which did not quite reach my wrists, as Radhi whooped with approval.

Sadiki had heard our laughs of glee and entered the office, curious about the commotion. When she saw me dressed in the shirt and slacks, she broke into a smile. "Ah, Jackie, you are very handsome," she commented, nodding in appreciation, then added that as a founder of an organisation I should continue to dress in this style, which was more appropriate for my position.

I looked at her, trying to determine if it was nothing more than an innocent comment, but she quickly averted her gaze, unwilling to maintain eye contact, and returned to her cooking duties.

Radhi and I met Jessica at the soccer pitch, and from there escorted her to the school. She was excited to be in Usa River, explaining that she had lived in the village a few years earlier, then asked what had led me there. I assumed she would be familiar with Jonathan and Tumbiri, but only chose to admit I had arrived as a volunteer. I told her I had soon become disillusioned with the organisation I was attached to, so decided the only solution was to develop my own school to ensure it was not taken advantage of by corruption.

"And what school is this?" she asked with interest.

"The Tumbiri school. You know Jonathan Mbwana?" I said innocently.

Jessica looked at me intently. "Yes, I am knowing Jonathan very well," she said darkly. "We are not sending him volunteers any more. We find he was abusing some of them."

Jessica's revelation had confirmed the rumours I had heard. None of the volunteer agencies were sending visitors to his organisation after similar experiences. Jonathan was now only receiving volunteers directly through his website, and in recent times had often been without the services of foreigners. Unfortunately, with Jonathan's main source of income nullified, he had turned to threatening and cajoling the locals, in an attempt to extort more money.

I nervously followed Jessica, while she assessed the suitability of the school. I was worried that it may be below the standards she expected, so I asked if there were any aspects that I needed to improve.

She stopped and turned to me with a smile. "Do not worry, Jackie," she said. "Your school is much nicer than most that I am visiting. When you are receiving your registration, bring me a copy, then I will send you the volunteers."

"Where would they stay?" I asked, seizing the opportunity to promote my idea of developing a volunteer house.

"They are staying with us, at our volunteer house that you visited," she said.

"They don't stay in Usa River?" I inquired.

"We do not have a house here that we are trusting," she admitted.

I was confident that I could monopolise the market, finally offering a better option to the volunteer agencies, if I proceeded with the development of my homestay. So I convinced Jessica to review the house we had selected.

As we were walking to the house we passed PAKA, another nursery school in the village. "We are sending volunteers to PAKA also," she commented off-handedly.

I nodded in recognition but remained silent. Kitwana, the director of PAKA, had worked with Jonathan, but had severed ties after a dispute concerning money. When Jonathan had first arrived in Usa River he had partnered with Kitwana, but had stolen AIDS medication from him, which had been donated by a Westerner, then sold it to infected villagers at a high price. Even so, it had not prevented Kitwana from re-establishing a connection with Jonathan, so they could unite in an attempt to destabilise my efforts. Kitwana had been one of the original signatories of Merah's letters to the government and Immigration, which had requested my removal from Tanzania.

As with the school, Jessica was clearly impressed by the house, praising it as suitable for the requirements of a volunteer. Before leaving us to return to the city, she reminded me to bring her a copy of the school's registration, as soon as it had been finalised, and encouraged me to maintain contact with her.

"Mrema has got to get us registered," I said, turning to Radhi. "I'm never going to be able to bring in any money without it."

"Ah, Jackie, do not worry. I am speaking to him only days ago and he say he has sent someone to Dar es Salaam to make sure we are getting our registration."

I was slightly suspicious of Mrema, my contact in the local government, who continued to offer his assurances of unequivocal support. My application for registration had repeatedly been delayed, bouncing between his local office and the head office in Dar es Salaam, causing me to wonder if Jonathan had bribed the government to complicate the process.

"Jackie, you are so crazy," Radhi said, laughing at my suggestion. "This is how people in the government are, but for how I know it, we will have our registration next week. Then Jessica will send us many volunteers, and we will show those fucks who did not think we could succeed."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Are you knowing how to play this game, Jackie?" Najma asked innocently.

We were playing a basic card game and I was yet to win a round, while Najma had been victorious a ridiculously high number of times. I was pretending to not take the game seriously by laughing with her at the lopsided results, but underneath the surface I was seething with frustration, desperate for the sake of my ego to at least win one hand.

Najma and I were neighbours. Recently, we had begun to spend more time together – our friendship having developed from simply greeting each other in passing. She was a cute seventeen year old girl, who had moved to Usa River with her two older brothers, and often spent her days babysitting their children while they were working. Everyone constantly teased her about her weight, so when we were alone I would place my hand on her stomach and rub it, as if it was a Buddha's belly, making her giggle. It was weeks before I discovered her escalating weight was caused by pregnancy, much to my embarrassment.

She put down her cards, having become bored by the unchallenging opposition I presented, then regarded me with a serious expression. "Jackie, why do you say shikamboo?" she asked.

"What are you talking about? I say shikamoo," I said, defending my pronunciation of the highly respectful greeting. Many people struggled to understand what I was saying because of my accent, regardless of being able to speak the language correctly.

"But I listen to you, Jackie," Najma argued. "Every time, you are saying shikamboo – it is shikamoo. Say: shikamoo."

I looked at her in defiance. "Shikam – boo!" I said, extending the last syllable of the word.

Najma broke into a fit of giggles. "You are so funny, Jackie," she said.

I was standing outside the following morning when Najma walked past the school. "Hey, Najma," I yelled, grabbing her attention. "Shikam – boo. See? I know Swahili."

She started to laugh and walked over to where I was standing beside the kitchen. Many of the neighbours and parents of the students would congregate in this area for impromptu conversations throughout the day. Sadiki was already cooking, and Radhi and I had been talking to a neighbour, when Najma joined us.

"Jackie is always saying shikamboo," Najma explained to the others.

"What? He does not," said Radhi, defending me. "He is knowing how to speak Swahili."

Once again, Najma and I began to argue about my apparent mispronunciation of words. But this time, I enlisted support from those present to commend my comprehension of the language. I crossed my arms with arrogance upon receiving confirmation from the others that they had only ever heard me using the correct form of the respectful term.

I had been receiving pressure from the owner of the house to commit to a contract, but I was reluctant to do so before my school's registration from the government was confirmed. I would not be willing to rent the house until I was certain that I could receive volunteers, mindful of paying the costs involved if the house remained empty. So once more I was forced to postpone my decision regarding the rental. The owner was infuriated. He began to accuse me of misleading him, angry about the money he had spent converting the squat toilet to a Western version, which had apparently been done for my benefit. I felt slightly guilty about failing to commit, but reminded him that I had advised against beginning any renovations until I was in a position to accept the contract.

Mrema had guaranteed that our registration would be confirmed, but having not received notification from him all week, I finally sent Radhi to his office to investigate. I assumed it had not been finalised and expected Mrema to supply Radhi with further excuses for its delay. Radhi would generally believe whatever was said to him, but I was less trusting, and no longer willing to accept the delays. I stressed to him the importance of receiving the certificate of registration, directing him to remain in the office until Mrema could offer proof of its status.

Around the middle of the day Radhi returned, walking forlornly. "Jackie, I am trying so hard," he said timidly. "Mrema say there is a problem, so I did not leave, and I demand to know when it is ready. They are having a party and he is drunk, but he is getting so angry with me. He say: 'If you are not leaving my office I will have you arrested.'"

"What the fuck," I said furiously, clenching my teeth. "I'm going there now and I'm gonna fuckin' -"

"No, Jackie, you cannot," said Radhi hurriedly, cutting through my diatribe. "He is knowing you have returned to the village and you do not have the correct visa. He say: 'If I am seeing that mzungu Jackie, I will have him arrested and we will never let him return to Tanzania.'"

"Okay, what does he want?" I asked with frustration, trying to approach the situation rationally.

"He say they have no more money because of the problem they are facing," Radhi explained. "They are needing more money to continue."

"What?" I yelped in outrage. "You fuckers are the most money driven, greediest assholes on the planet."

"I know, I am not liking it either," he admitted. "But for how I see it, if we pay him, he cannot ask us again and we will finally be registered."

"Your country is killing me, Radhi," I said, devoid of emotion. It was not just the problems with registration, but also, the constant threats against my safety and freedom, my continuing poor health, and my heartbreak regarding Sadiki, that were finally breaking my spirit. "What's this fuckhead spent the money on anyway? Is he down in Dar es Salaam having a party with hookers and drinking beer or something?"

"He say this is how much registration costs," Radhi reasoned.

"Yeah, how much it costs me," I said. "Remember, Radhi, I've been to Dar es Salaam too. I know how much a bus ticket is, and what it costs to stay in a guesthouse for a few days. There is no way he's spent all that money. You can tell fuckin' Mrema that I'll only pay him when I get the registration in my hand. Then we'll probably get the certificate tomorrow because money is the only thing you fuckin' Tanzanians give a shit about."

Due to the continued delays, I could not begin my application for a long-term visa. I was in a constant state of fear of further visitations from the police or Immigration office, concerning the instability of my status of residency. The survival of the school was also under threat, because of the loss of the potential income that could be generated from receiving volunteers, if we were registered.

I had been in a stationery shop, close to the highway, typing a document on a computer, when Machupa strode in and took a seat beside me. "Ah, how are you, Jack?" he asked amiably.

"Yeah, good," I replied casually, closing the window on the computer so he could not see what I was doing. "Just sending an email to my family."

"I am told you have your own school these days," he said, as he began typing into his computer.

"No," I said, pretending to look confused.

"You and Radhi are operating a school together," he said, pursuing the subject.

"Oh," I sounded with sudden realisation. "Yeah, I think Radhi has started a school. I'm not too sure though, Machupa."

"But you are involved?" Machupa asked. I responded by adopting a blank expression and shaking my head. "Because if you are working there and you do not have the correct visa, that is illegal and you could be arrested."

"Nah, I'm not working at his school," I said airily. "I'm just here on a holiday – I like Usa River. What about you, Machupa? How is Tumbiri?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

Apparently, Jonathan had been neglecting his staff and the children at his school and orphanage more than usual. Without incoming volunteers to donate money or supplies, Jonathan had stopped purchasing food, so Machupa had begun to supplement the costs, allowing the children to continue receiving two meals a day. I had mixed feelings about Machupa. Teacher Fahamu had once said, that although he supported Jonathan he did not agree with the treatment of the locals, but held his silence because of his large salary. He had always told contradictory stories of his son, which never made sense until I discovered the boy had died of AIDS at the age of five. Machupa also had the disease, but remained promiscuous within the community and had infected a number of women, several of them having died. A part of me pitied him, but felt that he still had the chance to make amends while he was living by making a stand against Jonathan persecuting those around him. Ultimately, Machupa had the opportunity to control his own destiny.

"Ah, Jack, you will wait for me, yes?" Machupa said suddenly. "I am needing to bring something I have left in my office."

I watched him rush out of the shop, and immediately began to conjure thoughts of him returning with the police. After a moment of concern, I packed away my documents and vacated the premises, unwilling to wait for Machupa's reappearance.

I hurried back to the school and relayed the exchange with Machupa to an interested Radhi. He was disappointed about the opportunity I had apparently missed, believing Machupa may be willing to become our informant. Jonathan and Machupa had recently been arrested for an altercation involving a teenager, but while Jonathan had bought his way out immediately, Machupa had remained in prison for three days until Jonathan had offered a bribe to secure his freedom. Radhi was adamant that we could lure Machupa – who was allegedly a borderline alcoholic – to a bar, then encourage him to drink to the point of intoxication, so he would become compliant and answer every question we put to him.

Najma passed by the school later in the day. She was returning home, but detoured to where I stood by the kitchen when I waved to her. "Shikam – boo," I said with a cheeky smile as she approached. "I know how to speak Swahili," I said, causing her to giggle.

"Oh, Jackie," she said smiling. "Have you eaten? I am cooking this..." she said, holding out a bowl of soup.

I had gratefully accepted, and almost finished it when Radhi approached us and scowled suspiciously at Najma. "Jackie, where are you getting this soup?" he asked.

"Najma cooked it," I said off-handedly.

"What!" he yelled, rounding on her angrily. "Never give Jackie food," he shouted, before turning to me to reinforce the danger I faced by accepting food from someone. "Do you know how easy it is for someone to poison this food. You need to think first, Jackie."

I shrugged with obvious disinterest. "It was good soup, Najma," I said, choosing to ignore Radhi's advice. "We should cook together," I suggested. Since my return to Usa River, I had continued to cook, following the methods I had learnt from Vicki in Dodoma, but my technique was incorrect according to those who had witnessed my attempts.

Once Najma had left, Radhi turned to speak to me in private. He was concerned by what he regarded as an irresponsibility toward my duties. "Jackie, if someone is giving you food, you must have Sadiki taste it first," he demanded. "If she does not die, it is safe for you to eat."

"You think?" I said incredulously. "Well, Sadiki is more important than me. She has a child, I don't have anyone that needs me."

"These are your students," Radhi reminded me. "They are needing you."

Chapter Thirty

My poor health had returned and I was beginning to struggle to adequately perform my duties. In order to manage my workload, I was forced to start work early in the morning, while it was still dark, and often not finish until late into the night. As the Sun rose one morning, I was slumped against the wall of the kitchen, fatigued because of my illness. I had just finished completing some chores, when Sadiki arrived to begin work. We had reached an unspoken agreement to not mention our damaged relationship, and as a result, our friendship had improved.

She smiled at me as she crossed the neighbours yard, but slipped and fell forward as she was crossing the drain. When she lost her balance, I threw out my arms instinctively and managed to catch her, cradling her body in my arms. Sadiki gripped me in return as we stared into each other's eyes, our embrace lingering longer than necessary as we were lost in the moment. It felt so natural to be holding her, but I soon gasped, returning to reality, and immediately helped her stand upright. I looked around as Sadiki hurried away, thankful that because of the early hour no one had witnessed our brief romantic interlude.

Radhi had visited me early Saturday morning, telling me to dress nicely as we had been invited to breakfast. He cryptically revealed that the offer had been made by someone who was attracted to me – causing me to fleetingly think of Sadiki – but he refused to identify the mystery woman. Even though Sadiki had badly damaged my pride, she remained the only woman I loved, so, in hurt indignation, I stated I was not interested. But Radhi became outraged by my refusal to attend, and insisted it was my responsibility to go.

"Jackie, you must," Radhi said forcibly. "We have been invited."

So with resignation, I followed Radhi to the house of a woman I had hardly spoken with, and whose name I was unable to recall. I barely acknowledged her as we entered the house, wishing I was anywhere else in the world but there, then sat on the floor in silence. The woman did not speak either, as Radhi began to negotiate the stipulations of our marriage with a room mate representing her. I was absolutely mortified and hung my head, trying to ignore the scenario unfolding before me.

"And she must be willing to have as many as four children," Radhi explained. After a brief discussion between the women, this term was deemed satisfactory. Radhi had once asked if I wanted children of my own, to which I had answered in jest that I hoped to father four offspring, preferably daughters, in the future. I'd had to struggle to maintain a straight face at his disapproval of my apparent disinterest in a son.

"We will leave them so they can determine their own arrangements," Radhi suggested to the room mate, then they stood to exit.

I grabbed Radhi as he prepared to leave, scared to be left alone with the woman, as I was unsure of my current marital status according to the system of Tanzanian marriage.

"Radhi, we need to talk about this," I whispered hurriedly. "Tell them we need to discuss the marriage, and we'll let them know next week."

Radhi begged the women for their continued patience, advising them we would have further stipulations to add in the coming week, then we quickly left the house on amicable terms.

"Do not worry, Jackie, I am taking care of everything," Radhi said with assurance. "It will be a good marriage – she is loving you very much."

"She doesn't love me, she doesn't even know me," I said dejectedly, as we reached the school. "She just thinks I'm rich because I'm white and she wants me to buy her stuff."

Radhi looked at me with a blank expression, as if the financial security I was expected to provide was no different to the love I believed typified a true relationship.

"Radhi, I'm not interested. I don't need a wife," I said, my thoughts painfully returning to Sadiki, the only woman to cross my mind whenever someone asked if I would marry a Tanzanian.

"Okay, no problem, Jackie," Radhi relented, critically assessing me, as if he was unable to understand why I would choose to forego the opportunity of securing a wife. "We are men. We will just tell them what we are wanting and they must listen."

I pretended to accept Radhi's theory of manhood and returned to the office, using the excuse of unfinished book-keeping to deter his ongoing promotion of marriage.

I had been crossing the neighbour's yard that night when Najma spotted me from the open door of her house and called me inside. She shifted across on the chair so I could squeeze in beside her. Najma was leaning against me, talking of her childhood, when one of her brothers entered the room and saw us sitting together. Disgusted by our friendly affection, he stormed out of the room without a word, probably accepting it as confirmation of a common rumour that we were involved in a romantic relationship.

"Jackie, what tribe are you coming from?" she asked suddenly.

"I don't have one," I said with a laugh.

"But, in Australia. What is the name of your tribe?"

I began explaining that there was not a tribal structure in Australia, but Najma became confused. She stated that it was not possible for a society to function without being segmented into specific tribes. I paused for a moment, considering how I could present life in Australia in a way she could understand. Finally, I adjusted my answer to declare that I stemmed from the Australian tribe of the Southern Hills.

Chapter Thirty-One

Sadiki approached me early in the week, strangely distant, after receiving a brief phone call. "Jackie, my mama is very sick," she said. "I am needing to go home."

She looked distracted, no doubt due to the uncertain state of her mother's health, but I had a premonition that she would not come back to Usa River. On the rare occasions that I had seen her with her partner, their relationship had seemed strained and uncomfortable. Completely at odds with her exuberant nature, which she had once again begun to display around others. But despite my concerns, I gave her my blessing to depart on the next available bus going to her family's village, and wished her mother good health.

Radhi began to suggest a number of women that we could temporarily employ to assume Sadiki's duties while she was absent, but I was reluctant to commit. He had continued to air his doubts regarding Sadiki's trustworthiness, and I suspected he may try to prevent her from returning to the position if we hired a temporary replacement. As it was, I assisted Sadiki with the cleaning inside and outside of the building most mornings, and had often observed her cooking the meals. I was confident I would be capable of absorbing her duties into my regular workload. This would save me money, as I would not be required to pay for the services of a cook in her absence.

I began cleaning the school building after the students were dismissed each day, so I could focus on cooking and book-keeping in the mornings, which I was attempting to negotiate concurrently. The length of my work day had increased exponentially, and my afternoon paperwork had begun to suffer as a result of my exhaustion. I would often slip into a stupor with a notebook lying untouched in front of me.

The food bill continued to negatively affect my budget, so I began to experiment with reducing the quantities of ingredients, in an effort to decrease my spending. But in the subsequent week, we encountered numerous food shortages.

"Jackie, there is not enough food," Radhi said, after I had scraped the bottom of the pot in an attempt to provide reasonable servings of rice and beans for the children. "I thought Sadiki is telling you how much to use."

"Nuh, she's using way too much food, it's getting too expensive," I said with a grimace.

"If we are not feeding them well, then we are like Jonathan, and the families will lose faith," Radhi complained.

"I'm not like fuckin' Jonathan," I snapped. "I expected support, but no one has helped me, in this country or anywhere else, so now I have to do everything myself. It's just bad luck – we're all going to be a little hungry today."

It had been an honest miscalculation, and I accepted responsibility for my error. I made certain not to make the same mistake again though, by painstakingly measuring and weighing every item that was added to the cooking. I soon discovered the exact quantities required to feed the staff and growing number of students. To ensure the saving would continue after I had given up the duty, I pinned a list of the measurements beside the menu to be followed by the cook. Now that I had these specific measurements I was able to accurately determine the amount of food we would consume in a month. This would enable me to purchase an entire months supply of dry food in one visit to the market, allowing me to monitor our usage throughout the course of that month. Then at the end of each month, I would log the receipts of all purchases in my financial statement to the government.

Many of the neighbours and families had been dubious of my culinary abilities when the word had spread that I had temporarily replaced Sadiki in the kitchen. However, after receiving approval from the students the parents were prepared to concede I was an adequate cook.

Najma came past to witness my cooking, after hearing rumours amongst the community that Sadiki had been fired and I had replaced her. She watched as I confidently stirred the pot of simmering beans. My belief in my cooking skills had flourished since I had begun to prepare food at the school, finally convinced that I looked the same as everyone else in the village when performing such a basic task. Each morning I would light a fire, then cook the porridge (made from cornflour), before moving onto rice and beans, or ugali and vegetables, or makande (a mix of corn and beans) depending on the day of the week.

"Jackie, you are knowing how to cook," she exclaimed proudly.

"I can cook," I said, flashing her a cheeky smile.

It was a Sunday evening and the daylight was quickly fading, forcing me to hurry to complete a wooden storage box I had already spent several days constructing. I suddenly sensed I was being watched, so looked up to see Sadiki standing in front of me, studying me while I worked.

I gasped at the sight of her. "Sadiki, you've returned," I said excitedly, as she broke into a radiant smile. "How's your mother?"

"No problem, she is strong," she replied. "Justin missed you. He was asking for Jackie every day."

I remained silent, uncertain of the motive behind her comment, knowing she was aware of my feelings for her. Justin and I were generally inseparable. He would often sit on my lap or play beside me when I was in the office, usually distracting me from the monotonous paperwork. Justin was only speaking a few key words and I had never heard him utter my name, leaving me to wonder where Sadiki had got the impression he had been pining for me. I tried to ignore the occasional comments she made about me being a surrogate father to Justin, believing I wanted to find a deeper meaning to them than what actually existed.

"Who has been cooking, Jackie?" Sadiki asked with interest.

"Me," I said, failing to hide a smile.

"Really? Congratulations," she said with pride.

"Are you working tomorrow?" I asked, allowing her to make the decision to return when she was ready.

"Of course, I will be starting early. I love to work," she reminded me. "I will see you later, Jackie. I am needing to greet my family," she said, before hurrying across the road to her uncle's house.

Chapter Thirty-Two

In recent days, I had been avoiding direct sunlight. I considered the notion that a large hole must have appeared in the ozone layer above me, as my skin had suddenly become extremely susceptible to the effects of the Sun. Any area of my body that had been exposed to the Sun had painfully blistered and was beginning to peel. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done when I had the thought to check the side effects listed on the medicines I had been using to combat my recent episode of poor health. One of the labels read that skin may experience photosensitivity from prolonged usage of the drug, causing me to immediately cease my dosage. So now, in addition to my sickness, I was suffering acute sunburn.

I was sitting in the kitchen with Sadiki, who was holding my hands and studying them closely. "What is this, Jackie?" she asked, concentrating on carefully peeling away the dead skin.

"Sunburn," I explained. "Have you ever been burnt by the Sun?"

She looked at me with confusion, never having encountered somebody who had suffered the affliction, then shook her head slowly. She held one of her hands in front of her eyes and studied the black skin, which was impervious to the power of the Sun.

We broke apart as Radhi approached us, our relationship somewhat forbidden amongst the community. He had just returned from Mrema's office, where he had been inquiring as to the current status of our registration.

"He say he is so busy and he cannot help us," he explained.

"Mrema can get fucked, then," I said angrily. My patience had finally run out. I would no longer be willing to negotiate directly with him, only to receive an arsenal of excuses about the status of the school's registration. "We'll just call the guy he sent to Dar es Salaam."

"Oh, Jackie, remember, Mrema say to only talk to him," he cautioned.

"I don't care," I said stubbornly. "I need that registration. I don't mind, I'll call him," I offered, holding my hand out to receive Radhi's phone, which he passed with uncertainty. I scrolled through his list of contacts but was unable to find the name of the government official, who had apparently returned to Dar es Salaam to again try to process our registration. "Radhi, what's this guy's name again?" I asked, feeling slightly confused.

"Ah, look for Kuma," he advised.

I found this name and promptly called Kuma, who promised he was gathering the mandatory signatures before finalising the registration and would return to Usa River within the week. I hung up, satisfied to have established contact with the person directly involved in the process, but Radhi's jaw had dropped and his face was covered by a horrified expression.

"Jackie, why are you calling him kuma?" he said in disbelief.

"That's his name," I said, agitated by his worry.

"No, Jackie, this word is meaning vagina," he said with exasperation. I gasped with surprise, wondering if the official had registered my usage of the word during our phone call.

"Then why have you got his name listed as that in your phone?" I asked with outrage, as I considered the possible negative repercussions from a man – who had supposedly been helping me – that I had just christened as a female reproductive organ.

"I am not knowing what his name is," Radhi said defensively.

"Well, he is a bit of a vagina, isn't he?" I said with resignation, as Radhi began to laugh at my transgression.

We remained in regular contact with the official throughout the week, but I had relegated the responsibility of the phone calls to Radhi and requested he report to me on the continuing saga. He finally received confirmation that our registration had been successful and the official would be returning to Usa River by bus. I was not particularly trusting of the man, because of the many complications we had encountered, so I was adamant we needed to wait at the highway, to meet him when he disembarked from the bus, which would leave him no opportunity for escape. However, Radhi was unable to elicit the details of our government contact's travel itinerary. He refused to reveal which company he was travelling with and what time he was due to arrive. Radhi and I held vigil, from the edge of the highway, until late into the evening, but we presumably missed the official, who had ceased to respond to our incessant phone contact.

As the passing buses became more infrequent, I was forced to concede we were unlikely to find our man, so made the decision to visit Mrema's office in the morning. When we arrived at his office, he warmly welcomed us inside, abandoning the escalating disassociation he had treated me with and returning to the friendliness I had originally experienced from him. I was somewhat disbelieving, not wanting to raise my expectations too high, until Mrema removed my certificate of registration from a briefcase with a flourish. I was overwhelmed with relief, as I accepted the certificate from him and inspected it closely. This sheet of paper was the culmination of months of pressure. It had caused so much consternation between myself, the government and many of its corrupt officials, Jonathan, and a number of other charities in the Usa River area. I believed that it not only signified the consummation of my school, but also, that it would allow me a degree of protection from the competing organisations.

"This is what you are wanting, yes?" Mrema asked. "We have been working very hard for you, Jackie. Very difficult."

I nodded, truly appreciative of the effort that had been required to secure my registration, and slightly embarrassed by my behaviour over the previous months.

"Jackie, you are needing money, yes? You bring me your budget and I will try to help you, do you understand?" he offered. "We were once giving money to Jonathan, but we see he is not helping the village and I am wanting to close Tumbiri." Mrema paused momentarily before adding, "I think you can help, Jackie. We are needing good people to help Tanzania." I nodded, assuring Mrema of my support in helping his country to overcome oppression, before exiting the office with Radhi.

I was now eager to finally begin my application for a long-term visa. We had spoken regularly with Nadia in the Immigration office, keeping her informed of the problems we had encountered registering the school. So she had advised us of the process we would need to follow, in order to secure a visa. Nadia had explained that she would be unable to convince the Arusha office to issue a visa because of my high profile status. Too much money had apparently exchanged hands for my application to even be considered in this part of the country. She believed the only possibility would be to bypass the local office and to secretly process it through the Dar es Salaam branch, via her contact who could act as a third party.

I had long since completed my application for the visa, but we were now ready to forward it to Nadia with a copy of our registration. Radhi proceeded to the Immigration office with the relevant paperwork for Nadia, while I waited out of sight in a nearby alley, as the warrant for my arrest was apparently still valid. I anxiously waited, but Radhi soon returned with a smile, informing me Nadia was personally beginning the process, which was expected to take no more than a couple of weeks. I sank to my knees, covering my face with my hands, and exhaled in relief having finally overcome the obstacles I had been presented.

Radhi and I had not eaten that day, so we made our way to a local restaurant for a celebratory meal of ugali and nyama choma (literally translated as burnt meat). We both shared a love for the meal, and often fantasised about eating it regularly in the future, if we could generate a high enough income through our organisation. But at the moment, we rarely had the opportunity to do so because of the high cost of meat. Recently, I had lost a considerable amount of weight due to my health problems, but after recovering from my latest bout of illness, my appetite was beginning to return. We had both finished our meals but I was still hungry, so I leant across to the neighbouring table to retrieve an unfinished plate of food that a woman had just left behind.

"What do you think you are doing, Jackie?" Radhi hissed in outrage.

"What? I'm hungry..." I said, unable to understand his reaction.

"She is leaving food so the waiter will have something to eat. The people that are working here, they are needing this food," he explained, causing me to consider all the 'wasted food' I had noticed on plates being removed to restaurant kitchens by waiters. I guiltily returned the plate to the other table and endeavoured to leave a portion of my meal uneaten in the future.

We travelled out of central Arusha, returning to TVE to supply Jessica with a copy of our registration, which she required before she could send volunteers to our school. Although I remained reluctant to accept volunteers, I was realistic enough to admit that by opening my school to them, we could ensure the financial security of our organisation. I was desperate to protect the integrity of the school, fearful of it becoming overrun by hordes of temporary foreign staff, which I felt would cause it to become less about the education and more of a tourist attraction, simply to create a profit. But I was now reliant on the promise Jessica had previously made that with registration I could expect an immediate supply of volunteers. She had explained that we would be subject to a period of probation while she assessed the happiness and safety of our volunteers.

"Jackie, I cannot help you at this time. You will have to wait," she said apologetically. "Very few volunteers are coming to Tanzania, and we must help our own projects first."

"But... How long will I have to wait?" I asked, heartbroken at the prospect of having to negotiate further difficulties that were beyond my control.

"I do not know, Jackie. The government is making it very expensive for volunteers to come to Tanzania," she said, offering an explanation of the problem. "We are praying they will lower the cost of a visa once more."

I despondently accepted Jessica's excuse, understanding that the government was purposely making it difficult for Westerners to enter the country. I suspected they were attempting to discourage the inflow of foreigners by raising the price of a visa, realising it would ostracise many of the people who dreamt of coming to Tanzania to help the struggling nation. Although they were highly dependent on Western donations, they seemed to detest the people themselves, who they possibly felt threatened their independence. It was forcing me to question whether my decision to open a school was truly in the best interests of the country. So many people had brought foreign aid to Tanzania, but looking objectively, it appeared there had been no improvement to the situation – it was a fact that the scale of poverty continued to rise. I did not have an alternate answer, but I was beginning to feel that my efforts had been little more than a band-aid solution, only offering a superficial fix to the core issue. I believed that the problem ran much deeper and was yet to be addressed by anyone.

I had returned to Usa River in silence, trying to process the latest disappointment. Although Radhi shared my feelings, he remained confident we would soon receive support and reminded me that we must always overcome the initial problems to succeed in anything we began.

"Radhi, your country doesn't want people like me here," I said brutally. "Your government is not completely fuckin' stupid, even though they act like it most of the time. They've done this to keep Westerners out."

"No, Jackie, do not lose faith. Our volunteers will still come," he assured me.

"They're not coming," I said, shaking my head. "You have to understand that when someone decides to volunteer in Africa they probably don't know anything about the countries, so they don't care where they go."

"Yes, but they will want to come to our school because they are supporting what we are doing," he argued.

"Maybe, but there's a lot of other schools they can support too," I explained. "So, when they say: 'Uhuru's a really awesome school,' they look up the cost of a visa and go, 'Fuck Tanzania, I'm not paying $550 for a visa to volunteer for a few weeks, when I can get one in Kenya for $100,' or whatever it is."

"They will come to our school to understand life in Tanzania, though," he said, unable to comprehend the simplicity of my explanation.

"No, they don't give a fuck, Radhi," I said. "It doesn't matter – Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, they're all the same to people outside Africa. They don't know anything about these countries, so they're gonna go to the cheapest place." Radhi was shaking his head, refusing to believe me. "I know you think every white person is rich, but you're wrong. Just trust me on this one. You can see it for yourself – look at Jessica, she has no volunteers. They've stopped coming to Tanzania."

"You give up too easily, Jackie," Radhi said softly, clearly disappointed by my pessimistic view of the situation.

I shook my head, then walked away in disgust, realising Radhi would never see the simple logic, as his concept of the world was too limited.

Chapter Thirty-Three

There had been an increase of inquiries into my tribal background, as people became interested in comparing the perceived similarities of Tanzania and Australia. The community found my continued protestations of a non-existent tribal society to be completely unacceptable, so to avoid distancing myself further from the locals, I accepted that their system of beliefs could not be challenged, and therefore decided to conform with them. I began to assure people I was descended from the Maasai, a Tanzanian tribe characterised by their nomadic lifestyle. Radhi, who was willing to promote my growing status as simply another Tanzanian, offered sceptical locals confirmation of my ancestry.

After early reluctance to believe our deceit, the general opinion eventually shifted to that of acceptance. As more people began to accept the story, Radhi and I became emboldened to expand our hoax to include details of my conception between a white Western woman and a local Maasai man. We invented a story which suggested the father had died shortly after my birth and the mother had returned to her home, where I was raised as an Australian. My Caucasian appearance was overlooked, as people considered my ability to integrate into their way of life. The fact that I cooked and ate their food, and spoke their language, seemed to offer conclusive proof that my background did indeed stem from a local tribe.

I had recently spoken with Teacher Fahamu. She was disheartened that there was little interest in education in Mto wa Mbu, so she had needed to accept a low paying role as a cook of a small school. She claimed the school was operated by a woman who had motives comparable to Jonathan's. Fahamu had been trying to gain support amongst the Maasai community to open her own school, but they were reluctant to enrol their children and lose them to education. The Maasai required their kids to stay at home and raise the cattle, as it was their livelihood and represented their wealth. The children were thought of as employees – the expectation of the parents was that they would spend their lives as cattle farmers, so therefore had no need for an education in the classroom. The older generation commonly feared that if the children received an education, they would leave their nomadic lifestyle in search of a more prosperous life in the city. But it is a reality the Maasai must learn to embrace, as they have come under increasing pressure to abandon their nomadic life. Their pastoral areas have become limited, due to the privatisation of land and changing national park boundaries, which has forced them to search for new methods to sustain themselves. They have yet to accept, or understand, that the growing population of the Maasai cannot continue to adequately share the diminishing land.

A former volunteer of Tumbiri – who had recently returned to Usa River – had contacted Fahamu, after becoming disillusioned with Jonathan and his unsatisfactory responses regarding the whereabouts of Teacher Fahamu and Sadiki. When Claudia phoned Fahamu searching for answers, she was advised to call me, as I would be able to answer the questions she had relating to her suspicions of Jonathan and Tumbiri.

I begrudgingly accepted Claudia's request to meet me, somewhat wary of the possibility of being identified colluding with a volunteer of Jonathan's. We agreed to meet at a local cafe, that was frequented by white people but devoid of locals. I generally distanced myself from places like these, as I had become deeply immersed in the regular life of the locals, so did not feel the need to be a part of a Westernised subculture. But I had gone there several times in an effort to raise awareness for the school amongst the expatriate community, and more importantly, the tourists, who I hoped would promote my work after they had left Tanzania and returned to their regular lives.

"Claudia?" I asked, approaching a blonde woman, much older than I expected, who was seated alone.

"Yes," she answered, inviting me to take a seat.

I requested anonymity, explaining the danger I was likely to face should Jonathan discover I had talked to her, before proceeding to answer her questions. She had returned to Usa River with the intention of establishing a volunteer placement program and safari company attached to the Tumbiri organisation, but had become suspicious of Jonathan. He had promised to develop the project on her behalf, but only if she 'donated' the money in advance. I admitted I was dubious of Jonathan's integrity and was doubtful he would use the money in accordance with her intentions.

I took no pleasure in confirming Claudia's suspicions, as I watched her becoming increasingly disheartened by my revelations. I felt sorry for her though, understanding the emotions she must have been experiencing. Her feelings of being cheated and deceived were no different to what I had felt when I discovered Jonathan's unethical practices, and it was something she would only be able to accept when she was ready to confront the true nature of many NGO's. It was obvious to me that she was a kind hearted person and had created an idea that would allow her to be directly involved in the development of Tanzania. I felt the idea was valid and did not want her to lose the opportunity of pursuing something she was truly passionate about.

"Claudia," I said, prepared to present her with an alternative to Jonathan's offer. "I have an NGO, which means I'm free to establish different projects amongst the community. If this is something you really believe in, you could develop it using the name of my organisation." She looked at me, clearly interested by the prospect. "I'm too busy with the school to do anything else, but I'd be happy to help you wherever possible. If you want, you can do everything and be free to operate it yourself. It'd be your company."

Before Claudia left the cafe, she promised she was interested in pursuing the project with me, grateful for the opportunity I was providing. She was returning to Europe, but gave her assurance she would soon be in contact. But after her departure from Tanzania, I would never hear from Claudia again. Her failure to re-establish contact seemed to offer further support to my theory – that most people were simply unwilling to accept the blatant corruption in the developing world. So instead, they chose to ignore the deficiencies, in order to maintain the belief that people were honestly working toward the greater good.

After accepting that I was unlikely to receive volunteers for an indefinite period of time, I began to consider other potential money making schemes, that were not dependent on the arrival of a Westerner. I still believed that farming my own crops would help ensure the financial stability of the school, but now that I was not going to rent the volunteer house I had nowhere to cultivate vegetables. It had been suggested that I could convert part of the school yard into a vegetable patch, but I was uninterested. The space available was not large enough to generate a reasonable profit and would need to be fiercely protected from the kids, who energetically stampeded through the yard during their breaks.

I had finally given up hope on my farming idea, when Welluh approached me with a solution. She had spoken to her family and they were willing to allow me to cultivate a disused block of land that they owned outside of the village amongst the rice farms. She assured me that they did not want anything in return, as they were not using the land, and were content being able to help me. But Radhi was sceptical.

"Jackie, are you knowing who her grandmother is?" he asked. "She is knowing Jonathan from a long time ago."

"Everyone knows Jonathan," I reasoned.

"She is only helping you because Jonathan is wanting her to spy on you."

"Nuh, I trust Welluh – she wouldn't do anything to help Jonathan," I said, refusing to believe Radhi.

"She will help her grandmother though, and her grandmother is not liking the things you have said about Jonathan," he explained. "I am hearing in the street – she is angry with you for talking blah blah and not giving Jonathan any respect."

"I don't believe you," I said, pursing my lips in defiance. But I was suddenly less certain of my alliance with Welluh, as Radhi's negativity battered my fragile self esteem. "What's she gonna tell Jonathan anyway? That I'm growing vegetables – it's not a secret."

"But what are they wanting?" he asked, changing his approach.

"Nothing. I know it's hard to believe, but some people in Tanzania are willing to help me and not expect anything in return," I said sarcastically. But Radhi gave me a penetrating stare, as if their generosity was conclusive proof of espionage.

Eventually he relented when his suggestion that our potential crops could easily be poisoned had failed to deter me, so he agreed to accompany Welluh and me to inspect the parcel of land. She presented to us a quarter of an acre block, resting on the edge of the fields of rice, and encouraged us to begin our farming.

The wet season was approaching and heavy rains were predicted, so I wanted to clear the land and plant the seeds to allow them the chance to sprout, before the soil was potentially washed away. Radhi and I began to clear the land once we had managed to borrow a couple of hoes from the neighbours, but he soon stopped me, critical of my technique.

"Jackie, what are you doing?" he asked, laughing as I struggled to control the hoe. "You are doing it so wrong."

"Well, I don't know how to use a fuckin' hoe," I said with frustration, self-conscious of my poor ability to farm, especially in a country where it was generally considered to be the work of a man. "I come from the city – I've never done this in my life."

"You must break the ground, but do not move it," Radhi explained. I was still confused, so began to observe Radhi's steady progress, then altered my own technique to replicate his methodical work.

I quickly began to develop a rhythm, enjoying my accomplishment, and was soon working more efficiently than Radhi, who was unable to provide a sustained effort. He continued to lose focus, stopping to wipe the sweat from his face, before wandering away to rest on his haunches in the shade. Now that I had become proficient in the use of the hoe, I was single minded in my obsession to clear the block. I would often look toward the sky, studying the growing clouds, hoping to finish the job before the coming rains.

We had returned to the farm each day after dismissing the students, but our work rate, particularly Radhi's, had progressively decreased, as we both began to suffer from fatigue, sore muscles and an overwhelming amount of blisters. It was a hot day, and Radhi had allocated himself the premature task of researching the price of manure – presumably, to avoid the physical labour required to clear the block. I allowed him to go, no longer willing to chaperone him while he failed to provide a legitimate effort, and focused my attention on completing the job at hand. Although the Sun was blazing, a cool breeze had developed, so I removed my shirt while I worked in an attempt to cool my overheating body, then dedicated myself to the task.

Radhi returned toward the end of the day, to find me slumped in the shade of a tree and the block cleared, ready for the next stage of cultivation.

"Jackie," he said in surprise. "You are so crazy. You are doing all this yourself?" he asked. I simply nodded in confirmation, too tired to speak.

"I am finding someone who has much manure he can sell us for a cheap price," he said enthusiastically, becoming excited once more about our farming project, now that the arduous drudgery of digging was finished. "We must go tomorrow before the rain is coming."

The following morning, Radhi and I arrived at the farm of a man nicknamed Rasta, because of his long dreadlocks and constant drug induced high. I only knew him by sight, but promptly managed to negotiate a cheaper price for manure, using the argument that we were also providing him a service by removing the unwanted waste from his land. He considered my reasoning to be acceptable, so we began to collect as much of the manure as we could find, loading it into a pushcart Radhi had borrowed from an obscure relative. The wheels were buckling under the weight as the two of us struggled to steer the cart along a rutted dirt track, but we were committed to transporting the manure so desperately hoped the cart was capable of the challenge. As we passed an orphanage, stationed on the edge of the village, the young children charged to the fence, screaming my name.

"How are they knowing you?" Radhi asked with jealousy. I shook my head, totally surprised by my celebrity. "Every person is knowing Jackie..."

We managed to prepare the land and plant the seeds before the wet season arrived. I would habitually return every evening before sunset to water the area and study the progress of the seeds. Two weeks after we had planted our first seeds, I was overcome by excitement when I arrived to discover some of them beginning to sprout. The significance of the vegetables growing successfully could not be understated. It would ensure the school would not be dependent on foreign aid, but instead, could rely on an income generated from providing a necessary service to the local community.

For the purpose of research, Radhi and I travelled with a neighbour to a major farm where she was employed, and which was operated by a Kenyan. Even though Radhi had a basic idea of how to manage a small plot, his knowledge was too limited to apply to the large area I was attempting to develop, which could potentially support our growing number of students and the payment of the monthly salaries. After receiving tuition on large scale farming techniques, we began the obscenely long walk back to the village.

"Jackie, that house is owned by a white man," he said conspiratorially, pointing to a huge house in the distance. "You know how he is making his money? He is bringing drugs to Tanzania." I was doubtful of the accuracy of his statement, but Radhi was not deterred by my obvious disbelief. "It is true. Every person, they are knowing this, but the police are not coming here."

I studied the house with interest. The principles of the law could easily be rewritten in Tanzania by anyone with enough money. There was not a clear definition of right and wrong for most people, who lived in a society based on survival, and did not understand the ethics I valued so highly. From what I had learnt, it seemed that anybody who was succeeding had embraced the corruption of the country, and was using it to their advantage.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Since opening my second classroom I had been progressively enrolling more students, aiming to reach my target number of forty-eight. Due to the initial success of the school and the positive reviews from the families of our students, a wave of hysteria broke out which led to us being bombarded by applications. Many parents refused to accept their child would not be enrolled, so at any given opportunity, they would accost Radhi and me in the street, demanding a satisfactory explanation for rejecting their child. It was a difficult choice to deny education to a child, but I refused to relinquish my standards. If I accepted every child, we would become overrun like the Tumbiri school, then I would be unable to provide the necessary quality of care to any of the students.

A number of students had transferred to us from Tumbiri, which had greatly angered Jonathan. But despite the threats he issued to the families, they continued to send their children to our school. We had also accepted several that had previously been enrolled at various other corrupt schools, including Merah's – who was allegedly furious by, what she perceived to be, my arrogant and disrespectful behaviour. I was particularly fond of these students though, and glowed with pride when I witnessed their joy, realising they were now experiencing the freedom I had aspired to offer them. But I was only capable of providing so much, before the remaining responsibility fell to the parents.

"Radhi, where is Zainabu?" I asked him, as I checked the record of attendance one morning.

"Ah, she will come," Radhi promised. "I think she has been coming late these days."

I did not accept Radhi's casual disregard for tardiness. Time management was paramount to the objectives I was attempting to instill in our students and their families, and almost all had complied, having slowly developed the habit to arrive prior to my nominated time. I expected all students to be seated in their respective classrooms at the appropriate time, ready to begin the lesson. Currently, I had achieved greater success with this than Upendo and Naomi. Both teachers had reverted to arriving late, and had begun to be absent from school at times without offering an explanation. The practical teaching skills of Upendo and Naomi were to be assessed by the director of the teachers college in the following week, signifying the completion of their work experience. But because of their attitudes, I had no interest in employing them, so had already started to accept applications for the teaching positions and interviewing the promising candidates.

"Well, Zainabu needs to be here," I argued. "I can't help her if she's just coming and going. She needs to be here more than anyone so we can get her ready for school. She's already supposed to be in grade two."

"We can send Zainabu home and replace her with another student," Radhi said, offering what he considered to be a reasonable solution.

"Yeah, well, that's fuckin' great, isn't it? We'll just give up on her like everyone else," I said in frustration. "Jonathan had her in the bottom class at Tumbiri because he didn't give a fuck. Now she's got a chance and her mother's not doing anything to help. I can't do it all myself, I need her mother to take some responsibility."

"Maybe we find Mama Zainabu and tell her what we expect."

"We can try," I agreed. "At the end of the day, it's just Zainabu that's missing out." I took any shortcomings personally, as if I was directly responsible for the outcome of my students' lives. I had known Zainabu since my early days in Usa River, when I had been teaching at Tumbiri, and truly wanted to help her. Stephanie and I had once visited her house, to find that her family slept on the wooden slats of a bed, as they did not own a mattress. The following day we returned with a mattress we had just bought, and offered it to them as a gift.

I had promised Sadiki I would be able to teach her English. So, when we were alone, I had begun to pose questions to her in my native language, before translating them to Swahili if she was having difficulties. Although Sadiki denied knowing any English, she would often respond with the correct answers. She had gained a limited understanding of the language, after having been surrounded by many English speaking volunteers, during her employment with Tumbiri. Sadiki seemed to have a natural aptitude for languages, but was without the confidence she needed to attempt to speak English amongst others. This was a problem which affected all areas of her life, and that of many women in Tanzania, because of the subservient nature of the society. Radhi had once explained to me that many of the positions at Tumbiri were filled by women, as they had little self belief and therefore were much easier for Jonathan to control.

In exchange for the lessons I was providing Sadiki, she had begun to teach me the basics of Kimbulu, her mother tongue. I had listened in awe when I had heard her speak the language to several people in the village, who hailed from the same tribe. The language sounded as if it belonged on another planet – nothing like the Swahili I had become accustomed to, which was thought to have originated over twelve centuries ago, based on the primitive Bantu language.

Each morning I would greet her in English and wait for her to offer an appropriate response, then she would greet me in Kimbulu, expecting me to answer accordingly. Sadiki would develop a glowing smile as she spoke to me of her family and village, proud to be able to share her heritage, while I eagerly listened.

We had been standing in the kitchen one morning, when a neighbour, who had recently moved to Usa River from the same village as Sadiki, walked passed and greeted me in Swahili. I had stared at her with a cheeky grin and made an innocuous comment in Kimbulu. Sadiki and I had then howled with laughter when she had looked back at me in surprise and stumbled on a rock, shocked to hear me speaking an obscure tribal language.

Monica, the director of the teachers college, visited the school to assess Upendo and Naomi. Once her evaluation was complete, I would finally be free from my commitment to the pair. I had maintained a friendly relationship with Monica, often visiting her to receive advice on the Tanzanian education system. She would welcome me into her home, usually providing me with a meal while we talked. Monica had received allegations from Upendo and Naomi that I had been abusing them, but she disputed their claims, and instead chose to support me, believing it did not fit my personality. I had provided her with a comprehensive assessment of each teacher, going into much greater detail than was expected, and offered her a report covering their strengths and weaknesses.

The assessment of Naomi had already been completed, but Monica would not observe Upendo, as she had apparently not paid her student fees. Upendo approached me, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Mr Jack, do you think you can help me?" she said, asking my most hated question. "I am needing money to pay my school fee."

"No, I can't do that," I said unsympathetically, causing her to cry even harder.

Upendo had known since the beginning of her studies that she would be required to complete her payments before she could graduate, but had often chosen to spend money on clothes and at the salon, arriving each week with a new hairstyle. I resented her treating me as if I was a charity fund. She had known that having failed to complete the payments she would not be assessed, but despite this, had only approached me at the last moment. Due to my skin colour, it was often thought that I had the surplus money to provide anyone in need. Many people, seeking employment, continually bombarded me with offers to do inconsequential tasks at the school. They simply assumed that I would provide a constant source of income, despite having no need for additional staff.

I spoke to Monica in private, requesting that she make a concession for Upendo, but she was unrelenting. She had less sympathy for Upendo than me, encouraging me to not feel guilty, as it was not my responsibility to pay for her tuition. Monica agreed with my sentiments, that she had misused the money her family had provided.

We studied Upendo critically as she continued to cry, watching her call her boyfriend and members of her family in an attempt to collect the required funds. When she had exhausted her options, and become inconsolable at the prospect of being unable to graduate, I queried Monica about the total of her outstanding fees. I had always promised, more to myself than anyone else, that I would support and protect my staff and students, whatever the situation. I had no patience for Upendo, and I would be a happy person if I never saw her again, but while she remained at my school I would help her wherever possible.

I convinced Monica to stay and assess Upendo while I ran to the bank to withdraw the money from my diminishing funds. I was furious that no matter how much I offered the community, there always seemed to be an expectation that I should provide more. After returning to the school, I handed the money to Monica before she left, then continued with my administration. I assumed Upendo would have some level of gratitude, but her attitude had actually become frostier than usual, seemingly bitter for the distress I had caused her by delaying the payment.

Some of the parents had objected to the simultaneous replacement of both teachers, wrongly sensing a degree of unrest amongst the staff, which only fuelled their belief regarding rumours of the unstable future of the school. Their perception quickly transformed to support though, when I explained the teaching backgrounds of the new additions. I was satisfied with the pair I had selected, which included Radhi's sister, Latifa, and a young lady, who had previously worked at a school in Arusha. Both of them had arrived with positive referrals from their previous schools of employment, which happened to be two of the larger, more widely known English schools in the area. More important than their abilities as teachers though, I had judged them on their personalities, and was comfortable I had employed the best teachers for my students. I'd had the good fortune of knowing Latifa for months, and had witnessed on many occasions her pleasure to be surrounded by children. Furahini had a more reserved nature, and although a stern teacher, was very supportive of the students. Their two personalities complemented each other well and they soon discovered their respective niches at the school. Latifa willingly accepted the role of teacher to the youngest – in the kindergarten class – where her bubbly nature encouraged the children to interactively learn. Furahini was more subdued in the classroom, so better suited to the older students – in the preparatory class – helping them to maintain focus during lessons.

When Latifa and Furahini had arrived for their first day at the school, I had taken them into my office to discuss their contracts as teachers, and also to seek their professional opinions about the direction of the school and the education of its students. Despite my negative experience with Upendo and Naomi, I still felt it was crucial for the employees to take a proactive role to ensure the success of the school, and hoped they would accept the challenge and develop the initiative required.

They had already accepted my stipulations before I added several others, which I considered imperative but had omitted from the written contract. I was vehement that the school would never be operated under a hierarchy whereby I placed myself at the top, followed by Radhi, the two teachers, then Sadiki at the bottom, as her role was only to cook and clean. I viewed each of our roles as equally important, convinced we were simply different parts of the same engine, and were all integral for its smooth operation. The local population were accustomed to an organisation being presided over as a dictatorship. Therefore, my system came as a surprise to the two teachers, but after initial hesitancy, they came to respect that the positions were all of equal merit.

Although I had often reminded Upendo and Naomi that the children were not to be hit if they failed to offer the correct answer, they continued to do so, often lashing the students with sticks they had found in the yard. When I studied the kids in the classroom they often appeared to have no confidence to respond to questions, scared of the consequence if they were incorrect. I stressed to my new teachers that it was their responsibility to find an alternative way to teach if the kids were not understanding, and under no circumstances to strike a student. This rule was met with some reluctance, as it rejected the method which was common in most schools and homes. I gave them license to hit a student for disciplinary reasons, but never in response to a wrong answer. To reinforce the rule, I adopted the local belief that a hard punch was sufficient to solve any disciplinary problem and swore that they would receive this treatment if either chose to disregard it.

Finally, I made my last point with some embarrassment. I refused to be ostracised by any social structure, reminding them of the absence of a hierarchy, then requested simply to be called by my name. I did not expect anyone, including the students, to refer to me as anything other than Jackie. Latifa had giggled, already aware of the distress it caused me, while Furahini nodded her head with uncertainty.

"No problem, Mr Jack," Furahini said, as she exited the office.

I looked at Radhi with bewilderment, as he began to roar with laughter. "Was she serious?" I asked. "Did she just call me, Mr Jack?"

Furahini continued to call me by the formal title throughout the day, despite reassurances it was not necessary or warranted. I was caught between mild amusement and sheer frustration as she casually farewelled everyone at the end of the day, then turned to me and submissively bowed her head, before adding a mister to my name.

"What is she doing, Radhi?" I asked incredulously.

"I do not know what is wrong with her," he said, struggling to contain his laughter. "I think, maybe, that she think you are trying to trick her..."

"Well, she's clearly not listening to me, so you need to tell her to call me Jackie. Otherwise, I don't know... I'll deduct her pay," I threatened. "Go now and tell her before she leaves."

Part of their contract stipulated that I would make a deduction from their monthly salary for each indiscretion, as I believed this was the most effective way to encourage the employees to meet my expectations. Although I had never thought to include a clause regarding the manner in which I was addressed, I felt it would be a valid fine.

Radhi hurried after Furahini, as she was wandering up the street, and had a brief discussion with her, before returning and assuring me she understood.

She timidly approached me the following day. "Good morning, Jackie, how are you?" she asked, looking at the ground.

I broke into a grin, pleased with the progression. With each day she began to speak to me more confidently and treat me with less 'reverence,' causing our mutual respect for one another to grow.

I had received much criticism over the structure of the school day I had developed, but I felt vindicated when I looked at the progress of the students. Many people that were involved with local nursery schools, stated that the children were too young to attend for more than just the morning. Most of the other comparable schools operated between three and four hours a day, while I had chosen a seven hour school day. Despite strong negativity, I had included two lessons of two hours each – many experts claiming it was too long a period for my students to maintain concentration. The glowing reviews from the parents though, were evidence my methods were achieving the desired results.

Parents had approached us with tears in their eyes, sharing tales of the positive change they had witnessed in their children. Kids who had previously been too shy to speak, now had the confidence to act as a teacher to their peers, excitedly sharing their recently acquired knowledge. As our reputation grew, families continued to flock to us, begging us to accept their children – even though the original belief had been that no one would trust a foreigner. Other schools began to suffer as a result of our success – such as Tumbiri, which now had less than thirty students – but the reality was that I could not enrol every potential student. As it was, we had expanded to become the largest nursery school in the village.

Unable to accept many of the applications we received, I began to suggest other local schools that had vacancies and that were willing to enrol new students. The families would become despondent after accepting my rejection, but emphatically state that if their children were unable to attend my school, they would prefer they stayed home and forego an education, rather than be subjected to the mistreatment that was evident in other institutions.

Money continued to be my greatest concern, and with the school budget stretched to the maximum, I was forced to cease spending on my own basic needs in an effort to preserve my funds. I had begun to miss meals – predominantly feeding myself from anything that remained after the students had eaten – and although I was blatantly losing weight, I was more worried about my abdomen which was constantly bulging. Despite the general consensus that I was in dire need of returning to the hospital, I was not willing to sacrifice the money, so instead resorted to accepting home remedies from several of the neighbours. Throughout the day, Sadiki would often pass me a cup of the polluted water mixed with salt, and instruct me to quickly drink the contents, which acted as a purgative. I would then rush behind the school to vomit, before gingerly returning to her side. She would look at me with concern, so I would mutter that I felt fine, even though there was rarely any improvement.

I had recently received a month's supply of firewood, but it was much less than the amount I had expected and I was doubtful it would be enough to last the month. Radhi was dismissive of my dissatisfaction, and explained that fluctuating prices determined the size of the load that was supplied. That may have been the case, but I would have been surprised if I had half of what I would normally receive.

"Radhi, I don't think this will be enough to last the next two weeks," I said, trying to make him understand the importance of the situation. "I can't afford to buy firewood every fortnight – there has to be a cheaper way."

"Well, we can go to the forest," Radhi suggested, "But it is so far."

I knew the location he was referring to, which was probably no more than a thirty minute walk in each direction.

"Let's do that next time. It's cheaper, you say?" I asked, seeking clarification that it was definitely a more cost effective option.

"Of course, we can go there and pay nothing," he explained to me. I was stunned he had never considered this information would be of interest to me. "If we go at night we can be tricking them and we are able to take as much firewood as we are needing."

"Why the fuck have I been buying it, then?" I asked, furiously calculating all the money I could have saved on an apparently free resource.

"There is a guard in the forest and maybe he is finding us," Radhi reasoned.

"Oh, so what happens then? We'd get arrested or something?" I said, accepting the potential downside.

"No, Jackie," Radhi assured me. "We will just pay him a small bakshishi and then he will pretend he is not seeing us. It is very cheap."

"So, this whole time I've been paying for pushcarts of firewood when we can get it for free and at worst I would need to pay a bribe, which would still be less than a pushcart," I said with frustration. "Next time we're going to the forest to get firewood."

"No problem, Jackie. We can do it," said Radhi.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I was nervous that my visa was taking much longer to process than anticipated, despite assurances from Nadia that there was no problem, and the delay was simply to be expected. I had been ringing her several times a week to receive updates on the status of my application, until Nadia demanded that I stop contacting her. She was scared that if anyone discovered she was assisting me, there would be negative repercussions to her job, so insisted she would call me when my residency had been approved.

Nadia eventually phoned to apologetically inform me that the Department of Immigration were not satisfied with my application. Apparently, it was more difficult to process than usual, and as the founder of a national organisation I was subject to more stringent criteria, which I had failed to meet. Nadia was adamant the situation could be rectified by providing my university certificate of completion, but I had never finished high school, let alone attended university. It was alleged that there was a man in Arusha who was proficient in forgeries, so she directed me to him with specific instructions of what was needed. Within days I was presented with an embossed certificate – testimony of the Bachelor of Education I had received from a well known Australian university – which I promptly forwarded to Nadia so she could continue the application process.

I had considered the possibility that too many people in the government and Immigration department had been bought, and although I did not want to admit it, I thought it increasingly likely I may never receive my visa. Radhi and I had begun to debate alternative options should Nadia ultimately be unable to secure my residency. I thought the simplest method would be to arrange a sham marriage, which was highly possible considering all the proposals I had received, assuming I would become a Tanzanian citizen because of the binding contract of the relationship. We had nominated a list of potential candidates, but after some research, Radhi discovered that as a male I would keep my citizenship with the country of my birth, while the prospective wife would be forced to apply for Australian citizenship.

Radhi already regarded me as an African, often dismissing my Western background because of the way I had assimilated into the community and the apparent ease with which I had adapted to the local way of life. He, and Sadiki in particular, would defend me against any criticism I received from the public. Many of the locals had cast me aside as an outsider, but it was the people closest to me who would often point out that I was no different from them due to my ability to speak their language, drink their water, eat their food, and perform their chores. Sadiki adamantly assured people I was a true native, as I possessed the qualities that defined a Tanzanian. Radhi had spoken to a lawyer, and was now convinced that I could relinquish my Australian citizenship, then obtain the services of a corrupt government official to covertly submit me as a rechristened Tanzanian. Ultimately, I would receive the same rights as any other citizen, including the ability to vote in future elections. I liked my life in Tanzania, and I desperately wanted to continue my work, believing I had a purpose which I had not found in Australia, but I was not Tanzanian and never would be. I was Australian, and a proud one at that, honestly believing I hailed from one of the best countries in the world. I took pride in patriotically representing my country whilst abroad and I would never be prepared to lose my citizenship of birth. Radhi could not understand my allegiance to Australia though, when I was obviously prepared to live in Tanzania as a local, so he continued to proceed with his idea. But I quietly prayed for Nadia to succeed in securing my residency visa, so I would not have to consider Radhi's proposition.

I had accepted that my health was unlikely to improve, believing the water I had drunk directly from the highly polluted stream whilst farming was to blame for my poor condition. For weeks I had suffered worsening symptoms, but continued to think positively, desperate to convince myself the illness was running its course. I was suffering fatigue and had started to regularly sleep past sunrise, having to force myself out of bed to begin the day. I had awoken suddenly one morning when Sadiki called to me through my door. Her soft voice was full of concern, as she was aware of my deteriorating condition. I staggered out of bed to greet her, wrapped in a blanket.

"Jackie, where is the tank?" she asked with confusion.

"In the kitchen," I said densely.

Sadiki shook her head, filling me with dread as I sidestepped her and approached the kitchen with trepidation. I stared at the spot where my water tank had previously stood, while Sadiki nervously approached me to offer her sympathy. After every testing experience I had negotiated in Usa River, the theft of my water tank almost broke me. I simply stared without emotion – not angry, not sad – just empty.

I did not want to be around anyone, simply wanting to find solitude, so muttered to Sadiki that I had to tend the vegetables, then walked away in a daze. After having been unable to install a water tap at the school, I had opted for a large tank, which could be filled by connecting a hose to the neighbours tap at night when the pressure was optimal. Although I had chained the tank to a post, it had served as more of a visual deterrent than being able to offer truly uncompromising security. I believed that the heavy weight of water in the tank would prevent it from being moved, but as I had not filled it the previous night – due to my bad health – it had become vulnerable. Even so, I had thought this would not be a problem. I had considered the water tank to be immune to theft, as it directly benefitted the local disadvantaged children, which indirectly, aided the wider disadvantaged community. I had assumed the locals would have the foresight to understand the gain which would be shared by the community if the school was ultimately successful. But the over-riding survivalist mentality, and selfishness of some people who were searching for a high yield short term gain, jeopardised the continuing boost I was trying to offer the village.

It had been raining heavily and many of the roads were impassable, flooded by fast flowing water, my anger increasing as I was unable to find a navigable path to the farm. My stomach was grossly bloated and painful, and I was struggling to walk due to the festering burn on my toe. Only days earlier I had been stirring a large pot of porridge for Sadiki, when it had boiled over and landed on my toe. I had since been unable to wear a shoe on this foot due to the pressure it placed on the blistered skin, so I was restricted to thongs, but the burn had now become grossly infected because of the constant exposure to dirt, rubbish, and stagnant water in the village.

I had begun to limp painfully back to the school, having realised it would not be possible to reach the farm. A voice in my head was screaming abuse at the locals, offering a reminder that the majority of the population treated me with disdain and exclusion. I questioned the motives of the thief. It was not me that had ultimately lost, but once again, the children that would be affected worst.

"Jackie?" a woman called, causing me to look up. The mother of a Tumbiri student was waving to me from under a shelter, as she cooked over a small kerosene stove.

I waded through the mud to join her, happy for an excuse to move out of the rain. In the past, I had seen her regularly when she had worked on the main road – grilling corn on the cob – but had lost contact with her after she disappeared from her stand. Mama Kevin explained that she had managed to pay off her compounding loan supplied by Jonathan, and was now free of his influence. After completing the repayments, she had finally been able to secure her son's release from the Tumbiri school. Many of the students at Jonathan's school had been selected by him so that he could closely control their mothers, most of whom were enrolled in his microfinance scheme and were therefore locked into binding loans.

Mama Kevin had accepted a job cooking chapatis by the roadside in the mornings. She quickly washed a plate and mug as we talked, then offered me a chapati and chai tea. Her unconditional generosity was enough to restore my faith in the goodwill of the general community. I returned to the school, prepared to put this episode behind me and focus on more positive aspects.

The loss of the tank had already received widespread attention from many of the neighbours, who had come to inspect the scene of the crime and confer on the likely culprits. Radhi had finally arrived with his mother, furious that I had allowed the theft of the tank to occur.

"Jackie, why are you doing nothing?" he thundered.

"Fuck you, Radhi," I said, as we glared at each other in the centre of the school yard, surrounded by a growing audience. "Don't you ever question my commitment to this school. If I had heard anything, I would have been out there so fast to kill those fuckers."

"Ah, phsst – you cannot tell me they are taking the tank and you are not hearing anything," he said, clearly accusing me of negligence.

"You'd want to be careful, Radhi," I threatened. "I will have no problem beating you to the ground in front of your mother and sister. The rain was that fuckin' heavy last night you could have beat drums outside my door and I wouldn't have heard it."

"I do not believe you," he challenged.

"Do you think I stole my own tank, fuckhead," I retorted, as I began to look at him suspiciously.

Radhi seemed to be overly angry, quickly directing the blame at me, as if it would distract my attention from anyone else. I had not filled the tank because Radhi had insisted that I go to bed, as lately I had been getting insufficient sleep. So, for the first time in weeks, the tank had become vulnerable. I had got the impression that Radhi had begun to lose interest in the school – his once unwavering faith, that I would be able to secure a visa of residency and generate a sizeable profit through my local ventures, finally beginning to fade.

"We can find it," I said, confident of our chances to locate the tank. My belief did not falter despite Radhi's indifference to the suggestion. "Nuh, bullshit, Radhi. This is Usa River – someone will know where that tank's gone."

"No, Jackie, we will not find it," said Radhi.

"How do you know? You know some dodgy people – ask them. The tank has to be in the village somewhere. Sooner or later these assholes are gonna try to sell it, then if enough people know, someone will tip us off," I said, offering a solution that I thought was guaranteed to succeed.

We began to spread the word amongst the morally questionable people in the community, who we believed would receive notification when the tank became available on the black market. We responded to every whisper of its whereabouts – storming unannounced into houses, which were occupied by known thieves, then searching the premises, but we continued to walk away without success.

The public debate continued throughout the week as we had been unable to find the tank, then Sadiki approached me with a potential lead. "Jackie, I am speaking to Baba Christina, and he say: 'I am seeing Shabani looking through Jackie's window.'"

I clenched my teeth in rage. I remembered Shabani well – he was a friend of Radhi's. I had once loaned him money so he could take his child to the hospital, but he had never settled the debt. I had overlooked his failure to repay it, aware that Tanzanians rarely settled their debts amongst each other, but recently I had begun to pressure him about the money as I needed funds to allow the school to remain open. He had assured me he would repay the loan, but then suddenly disappeared from Usa River to allegedly accept employment in a neighbouring village. Radhi had apparently ended their friendship, disgusted by Shabani's poor integrity.

I took a seat and waited for Radhi, who eventually arrived at the school and casually greeted me. "Radhi, I think Shabani might have stolen the tank," I said, watching him blanch at my suggestion.

"Why are you thinking this, Jackie?" Radhi queried.

"Well, Baba Christina was walking to the toilet the other night and he saw Shabani near the kitchen. I thought he was in Maji ya Chai?" I said innocently, pretending to sound confused.

"That fuck!" said Radhi in outrage, scandalised by the actions of his former friend. "I will go to investigate."

He disappeared next door to speak to Baba Christina before returning a short time later, disappointment etched across his face. "Ah, I do not know what is wrong with him. Baba Christina, he is confusing himself," he explained. "He is seeing me one night when we are filling the tank. I ask him when he is witnessing this, and it is not even the right date."

I recalled the night Radhi was referring to, the final occasion we had filled the tank before it had been stolen. "So, you're saying Baba Christina saw you behind the school, wearing a black jacket," I said slowly, as Radhi nodded in confirmation. "But he didn't see me... standing in the open... wearing a bright green jumper..."

"He did not see you – he is just seeing me. He is confused, Jackie," he maintained.

"Everyone sees me, I'm white," I reminded him. "I don't think he's confused. I think that fuckhead Shabani stole my tank, because he's pissed off I've actually got the nerve to ask for the money he owes me. So, you can tell him that I want my tank returned, or the money for it, he can choose... Otherwise, he can come here and I'll beat the shit out of him."

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jonathan had decided to celebrate some obscure event, using it as an opportunity to promote his 'goodwill' to the many invitees, who were from an affluent area of the village. Although I was obviously not amongst the invited people, many of my neighbours encouraged me to gatecrash the function in order to represent the struggling community, in which I lived. I had considered the proposal, but realised it would make me a target for retribution if I was to openly antagonise Jonathan, who may choose to alert law enforcement that I remained in Usa River without the correct visa. Since departing the Tumbiri school I had attempted to avoid Jonathan, who seemed to have begrudgingly accepted my presence in the village. I thought he probably felt less threatened by me, as he continued to receive volunteers and had not been investigated by any government or non-governmental agencies, either national or international. A great fear of his having been the effect I could have on his organisation through my supposed contacts to the Western world. But although he allowed me to focus on my own interests, he continued to destabilise my efforts by creating negative publicity about me and my school, and spreading it throughout the community. However, due to the success of my school I felt I was finally winning the battle against the competing charities, so had taken to ignoring the propaganda spread by Jonathan and the other directors.

Several weeks earlier, Radhi and I had been walking up Ngarasero Road – about halfway between Tumbiri and our school – casually chatting with many of the people that lived and worked on the street. It was the same road Jonathan had once driven along, campaigning against the abuse I allegedly inflicted upon local children. Many people had jovially called out to me, so I greeted them and casually joked with some, as we made our way to the main road.

"Jackie, you should have seen Jonathan's face," Radhi had cried with glee, roaring with laughter.

"Huh?" I had said in bewilderment.

"You did not see him?" Radhi had asked, laughing even harder. "You were so close, I think you are bumping shoulders. Everyone is calling out to Jackie, but no one is saying anything to Jonathan."

Against my wishes, Radhi attended Jonathan's celebration, where Lumbwi had been invited to be a guest speaker to honour Jonathan's 'selflessness'. Apparently, Lumbwi had recently parted company with Merah and MAUA after collecting his inheritance from the death of his father. He and his brother, Fedha, were planning to combine their inheritances to establish a new charity, which was often regarded as the next most profitable venture behind operating a church.

Radhi returned to find me at the school, just as evening was approaching. He was stumbling around the yard, unable to focus on me and speaking incoherently. "Jackie," he slurred. "I am at the party and Machupa is confronting me. You know, he is abusing me and talking all kinds of blah blah about our school, so I fuckin' punch him in the nose. Everyone is so scared that they are making me leave, but I am yelling to Machupa: 'Fuck you! Come to my school and I will fight you.'"

"What the fuck, Radhi?" I exploded, immediately fearing the likely repercussions because of my association with him. "You selfish bastard. Jonathan's looking for any reason to fuck me off from Tanzania, and you get in a fight with Machupa and actually invite him here. We're gonna get fuckin' destroyed because of this."

"Do not worry," Radhi assured, sounding proud of his actions while he swayed slightly, struggling for balance. "When Machupa is coming here, I will fuckin' kill him."

Early the following week I received a call from Nadia. She informed me that three members of the government were aware I was residing in Usa River, and operating an organisation without the correct documentation. A warrant for my arrest had been reissued and the police would soon descend upon the village in search of me. I had pressured her to use any clout she possessed to delay the police, but she was unable to influence their decision, so, becoming desperate, I had begged her to meet me in Usa River. She had never seen the work I was doing, but I felt I could manipulate her so she would try harder to secure my visa if she had the opportunity to witness my young students and the positive impact I was having on the community.

Nadia arrived late in the afternoon, finally allowing me the opportunity to present the school to her. I proudly showed her the facilities I provided for the kids, but also the conditions in which I had been forced to live because of the money I had lost bribing members of government offices, the police, and the Department of Immigration. It was the biggest and best nursery in Usa River, yet it was nowhere near the standard I expected due to the amount of money I had spent elsewhere. I explained to Nadia that if she was unable to secure me a long-term visa, and I was forced from the country, the children would lose every opportunity I could provide for them. Ultimately, it would not be my life that was negatively affected as I could return to a more prosperous one in Australia, it would be that of Tanzanian children, the future of her country. Whatever hatred people felt for me, it was the children that would bear the consequences if I was to be expelled from Tanzania.

Nadia looked at me with sadness in her eyes. "Why do these people hate you so much? Khalfani is telling the government you were abusing his children when you worked for him."

"Who?" I queried, confused for a moment.

"Khalfani. In Shangarai," she answered, referring to an orphanage in a different village, closer to Arusha.

"Nadia, Khalfani doesn't know me," I said honestly. "I've never been to Shangarai."

"He is always talking about you to the government," she said. "And this Mama MAUA is really hating you. She has come to the Immigration office many times, but I am not liking her. She is a bad person." Nadia studied my reaction for a moment. "Tell me, Jackie, what has happened? You are in so much danger."

I explained everything to Nadia. From my arrival in Usa River as a teacher at Jonathan's school, followed by my discovery of the abuse he was inflicting on the community. I told her that because of that abuse, I had reached the decision to build my own school, in an effort to provide a solution to the problems. But when my visa had approached its date of expiry I had been forced to find a sponsor, selecting Merah, who had agreed with my vision, before our association turned sour. The story I related to Nadia, regarding my relationship with Merah and MAUA, offered much greater detail than the vague description I had previously revealed, but I was desperate for her unconditional support.

Radhi and I had eventually been contacted by a source, who explained that Merah had never been interested in developing a school. Apparently, she had presumed I would have a much less active role in the project, simply providing the money directly to MAUA, so her organisation could 'develop' the school. She had become incensed that I was controlling my own assets, and would therefore, be unable to profit. Since then I had established my school, expanding it to what it was now – an entity free of corruption, completely separate to any previously existing charity.

"Nadia, I need to be here. These are my kids and my staff. If I go, they will lose everything I can provide for them," I said emotionally, choking up with tears as I spoke.

The entire time I had been talking to Nadia, I had been looking passed her at Sadiki, who was washing laundry across the road in her uncle's yard. There were so many reasons I could offer to explain why I had accepted such extreme persecution, but above all else, it had been for Sadiki. I had promised to give her a life of freedom and to protect her from any danger. Had I never met her, I would never have contemplated staying in Usa River for as long as I had. I tried to explain to Nadia the importance of me remaining in Tanzania, but each time I tried, the words would catch in my throat as I was overcome by a fresh wave of tears.

"You really care, don't you?" she said sadly. I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I am trying so hard to help you, Jackie, but there is nothing I can do. The police will be coming to arrest you tomorrow."

"They don't have to come," I reasoned, hating myself for the suggestion I was about to make. "I could offer them a 'gift'."

At first, Nadia did not speak, only looked at me with sympathy, but then agreed that my intended bribe would be enough to deter any unwanted visitors. She left shortly after, assuring me the visa would soon be ready.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Najma had moved in with her husband, in a different area of the village, but I still saw her occasionally. One day, when she was babysitting a young nephew, she came to visit me. The moment the child saw me he began to scream hysterically, clinging to Najma. She shrieked with laughter, while I stood awkwardly near her, uncertain of the problem.

"Goodluck is scared of you. You are white," she explained. "Do not worry, Jackie, he is scared of everything."

"What do you mean 'everything'?" I asked.

"I mean, he is scared of everything. Watch," she ordered, placing Goodluck on the ground and stepping away from him. He began to scream uncontrollably, until she picked him up which caused the noise to immediately subside. "See, he is scared of everything."

"What about ducks?" I quizzed, watching a mother waddle passed with her ducklings.

"He is scared of everything," she said confidently. Prepared to challenge the theory, she bent over and held Goodluck close to the ducks. Once again he began to scream, until she stood up and moved him away. She looked at me with a victorious smile as he stopped crying, but I was not convinced. At my insistence, we repeated the experiment several times with other nearby things – including a dog, and incredibly, flowers – but Najma was correct. Goodluck was indeed scared of everything.

An older neighbour walked passed us as we were talking, so we paused the conversation to respectfully address the person.

"I know you are not saying shikamboo any more," she said slyly, giggling at my obvious embarrassment.

I had continued to use the term for weeks, as it always received a laugh. But I never realised that it was an actual word, innocently believing everyone found my improper pronunciation of the respectful term to be devastatingly funny. Finally, a confused observer inquired as to the reason I continued to say 'penis,' when greeting respectful members of the community. I was appalled, as I thought of all the people I had unknowingly yelled 'penis' to over the proceeding weeks, while everyone around me collapsed into fits of laughter.

Although the vegetables I had cultivated could generate a profit, I would not always be able to rely on a successful yield. Almost anything that could provide a high ratio of income versus money invested was in some way illegal, but I was willing to overlook that if it would allow me to successfully provide for the school. Radhi had suggested it was a simple procedure to import drugs from Kenya and distribute them in Tanzania, but ethically I was completely against the drug trade and refused to support it.

We had been returning from the market one day with our supply of food for the following month, discussing potential money making schemes, when I questioned Radhi about the possibility of brewing our own alcohol. I had heard rumours of an illicit alcohol trade in the village, but knew little of the secretive operation. Radhi assured me it was a possibility, as there was a high demand. Apparently, there was always space in the market for a new producer, and if one could brew a cheap and powerful formula he could hypothetically create a monopoly. He promised to take me to the local brewers that were known to him, so I could receive advice and lessons on brewing techniques.

Sadiki saw us as we approached the school and stared at me with amazement. I winked at her, as I lowered the sack of rice from my head. It was only recently that I had developed the confidence to carry objects on my head and this was the first time Sadiki had witnessed the occurrence, making her glow with pride. Although my indoctrination as an African was far from complete, I continued to exceed everyone's expectations.

Radhi began escorting me to the covert alcohol dens, where we would quietly sit in a corner and study the customers shuffling into the darkened huts. Apparently, they were only interested in finding the most powerful – but cheapest – alcohol available. Taste was irrelevant. The owners provided us with samples of their brews, explaining the details of the business in the process. But as I tried to politely listen, I would often gag as I sipped their brews, because of the overwhelming strength. People often experimented with different methods, including a cooked corn paste that was aged in the Sun to increase the alcohol content, which resulted in a potent, thickshake-like drink. But, generally people brewed simple variations of water, sugar, yeast to achieve the desired effects.

The true profit was in the direct retail distribution of the bootlegged alcohol to the public consumers, as opposed to the marginal profit the distiller made when he sold his product to the retailers who operated the secret alcohol dens. Although it would potentially attract more attention from the police, the operation of an unlicensed bar would generate a reasonable profit. The police would often act on tip-offs from competitors – raiding the bar and fining the operators, then allowing them to reopen their business a short time later. Ultimately, it proved to be a lucrative trade for everyone involved.

Mama Radhi refused to have any active involvement in our latest entrepreneurial venture, but gave us permission to use her hut after Radhi spoke of our need for a suitable location. I felt guilty about my spiralling descent into illegal activities, but nonetheless, accepted the opportunity to remodel her hut as a covert bar. It was a simple matter to deter the unwanted attention of the police. All that was needed was to buy the support of a high ranking officer, who would then provide protection for our bar. As much as I regretted implicating Mama Radhi in the scheme against her will, I was only doing it in an attempt to find a way to support the school. I convinced myself that my decision to involve her was justified, due to the fact that two of her children were employees of mine. After all, the income from the illegal distribution of alcohol would be used to pay their salaries.

I had been discarding rotting vegetables in my office – which doubled as my bedroom and storeroom – when I heard a scream. I had run out to the street to find Radhi punching and slapping Najma. She was crying, and trying to break free of his grip, when I reached them and dragged Radhi away from her.

"What the fuck, Radhi?" I yelled furiously.

"That bitch! She is insulting me," he yelled, trying to push me away in an attempt to get to Najma, who was already hurrying away. "She say I am crazy."

"You are fuckin' crazy," I said, watching Najma disappear from view.

It was impossible for me to think that any man could hit a woman, particularly one who was heavily pregnant, but it was not the first time I had witnessed such an incident. Many of the women had shaven heads, supposedly to prevent the spread of lice. But I had once been told that without hair, the husband had nothing to hang onto when he grabbed his wife to drag her into the bedroom in order to beat and rape her.

"Everyone is fuckin' crazy in Tanzania," I muttered darkly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It was late on a Sunday afternoon, and I had been walking through the marketplace, when I was called over by Mama Sara, who was seated on a bucket, selling husked corn. Her daughter, Sara, was one of my youngest students, not yet three years old. She was a gorgeous girl, but had a propensity to pee herself, after which she would approach me for a reassuring hug. I would always oblige, offering an awkward embrace as I tried to avoid the affected areas of her clothing. Mama Sara always had a glowing smile and I enjoyed talking to her, so I sat beside her on a spare bucket to hear the latest gossip.

"Happy says for me to say hello, Jackie," the vendor next to Mama Sara said, leaning across to speak to me.

I looked at her with confusion. Although I recognised her by sight, we had never spoken and I had no idea who she was referring to.

"From Tumbiri," she said with a laugh. "I am her mama."

I broke into a smile as I asked about her daughter, Happy, one of my favourite students from Tumbiri.

"Where are you coming from?" Mama Happy asked.

I pretended to show confusion. "I'm Tanzanian," I said. Then explained the elaborate history of the life Radhi and I had created, while Mama Sara began to laugh.

"You are Maasai?" said Mama Happy, looking sceptically at me through narrowed eyes. She then greeted me in the tribal language of the Maasai people.

Although I had learnt the basics of the language, in the event that this situation occurred, I had always struggled with it, and found it difficult to recall any of my vocabulary. I hung my head and admitted that I obviously was not Maasai, but I was in fact from Mbulu, Sadiki's village.

This time it was Mama Sara who adopted an expression of disbelief, before performing a similar test by greeting me in Kimbulu. I looked at her confidently and, much to her amazement, responded correctly. She raised her eyebrows and asked how I was able to speak her tribe's language.

"I told you! I am Mbulu," I said with a laugh, before receiving a comprehensive lesson to expand my knowledge of the language by an excited Mama Sara.

Night was starting to fall, so I farewelled her as she began to pack away her unsold corn. I wandered back toward the village, surrounded by hundreds of people returning from the market, before I was stopped by Sadiki. She was seated on a bench, next to the roadside, with a toothless, old man, who was displaying an open trunk of potions. It was one of the rare occasions I had seen Sadiki wearing a dress and make-up, and I could not help but stare at her radiance.

I only stayed a short time, but as I turned to leave I said goodbye to her in Kimbulu, a word I had only just been taught by Mama Sara. Sadiki gasped in surprise, marvelling at the sudden improvement in my ability to speak her language.

"Jackie, you are knowing Kimbulu," she said excitedly, then turned to the old man to proudly explain my understanding of her tribe.

"I know," I said quietly, staring at her wistfully.

I had persevered with learning Sadiki's tribal language – despite it being redundant in Usa River, as it was so far from the region where it was widely spoken – purely to share a more intimate bond with her. It had been she, who had initially inspired me to improve my understanding of Swahili – my sole intention to be able to communicate with her with less difficulty.

I had been eating dinner one night with Radhi's family when we heard a knock on the door, followed by Mama Mwasiti stepping into the hut. Her daughter had been one of the last admissions I had accepted, before closing enrolments to the school. I had immediately regretted it, and strongly considered expelling Mwasiti. Every morning, as soon as her mother left the school for work, she would begin to cry uncontrollably, then repeatedly try to escape throughout the day, until her mother returned to collect her in the afternoon. We had persevered with her though, in the hope that she would mature. Unsure how to calm Mwasiti, I had yelled at her in frustration and smacked her in anger a number of times, but I had also spent countless hours, cradling her in my lap, rocking back and forth to comfort her. We had finally succeeded, and she had begun to willingly participate in class, enjoying the time spent at school.

Mama Mwasiti had come to thank me for the positive development she had noticed in her daughter, then presented me with a bouquet of flowers to show her gratitude. As I accepted the gift, I was overcome by emotion. I had not built the school with the expectation of receiving anything, and although many people in the community had positively commented on the difference I had made to their lives, no one had ever offered me anything. The sincerity with which she appreciated the commitment I had made to her village made everything worthwhile.

Radhi had called Nadia to receive the latest update on my visa application, as once again, the time frame she had nominated had elapsed without success – causing me to worry. But after a brief phone call Radhi returned to me, shaking his head.

"Jackie, I think we are in trouble," he admitted, shaking his head. "Fuckin' Nadia, she say she do not know who I am talking about. I say: 'What is happening with Jackie's visa,' and she is saying: 'Jackie who? I do not know any Jackie.' I do not think she can help."

"Well, that's it then, Radhi. I'm fucked," I said quietly, slumping into a chair with defeat. I had always had the will to continue fighting, whatever adversity I had been confronted with, but it had finally evaporated. "I don't know what else I can do. I've tried everything to get a visa."

"I know, I know," said Radhi in obvious disappointment.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I had originally intended to leave the school, when it had become self-sustainable, in the control of the locals, assuming they could simply maintain the operation. But from what I had witnessed, there were no Tanzanians that possessed the work ethic or integrity to operate it. I honestly believed Radhi wanted the children from his community to benefit, but I also knew he wanted to benefit as well. I feared that if I was not there to mediate his actions, the school could descend into a corrupt business, no different from Tumbiri, as Radhi followed the example set by the likes of Jonathan, for his own profit. Unless I could quickly discover a new trick to allow me to remain in the country, I would soon be forced to leave. I felt that my only option, once I had left, was to pass the control of the school to a Westerner living in Tanzania, who would ensure that it continued to be operated in accordance with my core principles.

I lived a life completely separate to the expatriate community, having no association with them while I had been in the country, but I had recently become known to them. I had contacted a number of human interest programmes in Australia, trying to raise awareness to the plight of Tanzania. One of the networks, who were interested in the work I was doing, had contacted the Australian directors of a nearby English school they had once reported on, in the hope they could offer confirmation of my authenticity. The directors of the school had never heard of me, but one of them had become curious, so inquired about me amongst the local community, and finally made contact after discovering I existed.

I was familiar with the basic story of the School of St Anne's, which was a well established English medium school in the Arusha region, founded by an Australian woman. The email I had received from Liz, the deputy-director, had suggested we should meet one another, but it had never happened, due to both of our busy schedules. Facing an imminent departure though, I rang Liz and invited her to my school, at her soonest available opportunity.

She agreed to meet me in the carpark of the bank, on the edge of the highway, as she was unsure of the directions to the school – which was about one and a half kilometres away. As we walked to the school, I explained my involvement in Usa River, and the problematic living conditions I had experienced, mindfully trying to evoke a sympathetic reaction, before she had the chance to meet my students. She understood the adverse conditions I had operated in, which differed from the experience of most Westerners that arrived in the developing world. It was rare for them to witness the hardships, because they lived in a community where they would receive the same luxuries they were accustomed to in the Western world. Liz, herself, had arrived in Tanzania ten years earlier as a member of a small team that had set about establishing St Anne's.

She appraised my school, expressing awe at what I had managed to achieve, causing me much embarrassment.

"It's nothing like your school," I said bashfully. St Anne's was comprised of three separate campuses with around 1500 students.

"We would have never survived without Stephen," she said, referring to the local Tanzanian husband of Julie, the founder. "His father is the local village chief. They protected us so much when we started out." She paused to look at the school once more. "Who helped you?"

"Well, I set it up with Radhi," I said.

Liz snorted in scepticism. "Yes," she said, sounding as if she was doubtful of the degree of assistance I may have received from Radhi. "But who actually helped you?"

"It's my school. I did everything," I admitted, realising that she assumed I had worked with Westerners to develop the school.

"Don't underestimate what you have done here," she implored. "No matter what happens... What you have achieved here is incredible."

I looked at Liz, knowing that she was my only chance. She was the one person to whom I would be able to entrust the school, ensuring it would continue to operate in favour of its key objectives. She had now seen the school and met my students, who were my bargaining tool. I had allowed her time to form an opinion of the school, and to create the basis of an emotional attachment to those who were benefitting, before I explained my story to her. It was the same story I had told to Nadia, when she had visited the school, and it still evoked the same emotions from me, but this time I added that with my visa application refused, I now had no choice but to leave the country.

"Do you have someone that will take over from you here?" Liz asked.

I did not quite meet her eyes, as she gave me a penetrating stare. I was convinced she already knew where the conversation was leading, and dreaded the answer she was likely to provide. "St Anne's can absorb my school and use it as a feeder to grade one," I stated. "I can guarantee you, my kids would be the smartest in their year when they got to St Anne's. Some of them are probably already smarter than some of your grade one and two kids."

Liz sighed. "We can't take on your school," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Firstly, the problems Jonathan and Merah have caused you would be transferred to us."

"Nuh," I said, forcibly denying the possibility that she may be correct. "Their problem is not with the school, it's with me. They'll forget about it if I'm not here."

"And second," she continued, disregarding my assurances. "It would be too much work. Our resources are already stretched to breaking point. St Anne's would need to create a new department just to manage this school."

"No way," I contradicted. "I've already set everything up – it's finished. I've established a strong system of administration. Everything is documented and recorded. I just need someone trustworthy to oversee the operation."

Liz offered a small smile. She did not doubt that I had created a well managed school – she had seen the evidence of that as soon as she had arrived. Nor did she doubt the position I now faced with my current dilemma – I had protected the school for so long and was unable to trust those around me to offer the same commitment and values once I was gone. Liz understood the ethics and behaviour of the locals only too well. She had experienced it for the last decade.

"Jake, St Anne's can't help you," she said apologetically. "We're struggling to keep our own doors open. St Anne's relies on donations from the Western world, but since the Global Financial Crisis, many of our donations have dried up. I couldn't even tell you what the future of our school will be. There's every chance we won't survive in the coming years."

I accepted her reasoning. Many people were trying to help Tanzania in the way they deemed most beneficial to the country, but ultimately, we were all fighting our own battles.

We fell into silence. I was already considering other potential handover options. "Are you okay? How's your health?" Liz asked with concern.

I looked terrible. "I'm okay, bit of a stomach ache though," I replied.

"Does your family know what condition you're in? Does anyone know what you've done here," she said. I shook my head demurely – although I had remained in contact with my family, the reality of where I was living and what I had done was a completely foreign concept to them. "I will talk to Julie, but I don't think she'll be interested in taking on another project," she said.

"Jackie, was that your mama?" Sadiki asked, sitting down beside me after Liz had left.

I had not yet told her it was increasingly likely that I would soon be leaving. "Just a friend. I hope she can help us," I said cryptically, unable to make eye contact with her. I was dreading the moment when I would no longer have the chance to see her again.

Chapter Forty

I had been lying in the dark on the cement floor of the office, trying to reduce my spiking body temperature, when Sadiki walked in. Recently, we had begun to spend more time together than usual, as if she could sense we would soon be without the opportunity to do so. My bulging abdomen was rock hard and she was scared of the possible dangers to my health. She softly placed a hand on my body.

Sadiki had often jokingly asked how many children I had, to which my answer would increase to correspond with the number of students I had enrolled. "Sadiki," I said seriously. "I think I must be pregnant. Soon I'll have forty-nine kids."

"Oh, Jackie," she gasped, shrieking with laughter. "You are pregnant?"

Sadiki had retold my proclamation to everyone she encountered in the following days, the joke continuing to attract a similar reception. Such was the humour of a Tanzanian, who, as they correctly observed, I was male so therefore could not possibly be pregnant. All of a sudden, I understood why everyone found Sharabaro, the male television character notorious for wearing a wig and dress, overwhelmingly hilarious.

Statements were often taken quite literally. Only recently, I had said to Sadiki that she may need to resort to cutting off my badly infected burnt toe, while she had been applying a whisked egg to it – the home remedy of a neighbour, which was apparently guaranteed with success. Sadiki had stopped to consider the merits of the idea, before telling me we would continue with the current treatment for the time being. If my toe did not soon show signs of improvement, she agreed that we would resort to amputation.

My health had become crippling, and there was much concern for me being alone during the night, so I moved back in with Mama Radhi, who was able to monitor the warning signs.

I was sitting at the school, when Soutay approached looking relieved to see me. She was a neighbour, who had trafficked drugs between Kenya and Tanzania years earlier for a white man, and although overly exuberant, was a caring person.

"Jackie," she said, sitting next to me and talking quietly. "You are safe... Last night, there is a group of men arriving at your room with knives, but they are seeing it is padlocked and they are leaving."

"Oh, that's lucky," I agreed, pretending not to be concerned. "I was with a friend last night." Soutay's warning had scared me – I had become blase about my safety, but it was a reminder that I was still in grave danger. Even though many people were supporting me, they would not always be able to offer me protection. For the remainder of my time in Usa River I would always have my machete with me.

Nadia had re-established contact with me to issue one last warning. "Jackie, you are in trouble," she said, speaking hurriedly. "Everyday, people here – they are talking about you so much. I think they are planning to do something very bad to you. You are not safe in Tanzania."

I began to cry as she disconnected the call, finally admitting to myself that it was no longer possible for me to remain in the country.

Najma had been walking passed, but stopped to inquire as to my distress. "Why are you crying, Jackie?" she asked timidly.

"Your country hates me, Najma," I told her with resignation.

"But we love you, Jackie. We love you, we love you, we love you," she sang.

I was grateful for her reassurance, but the people that loved me did not possess the power to influence my right to stay in Tanzania.

Radhi and I assembled Sadiki and the two teachers, after dismissing the students, so I could tell them I would be leaving the country. It was the hardest speech I had given, feeling as if I was letting them down. I looked away from the women as I spoke, unable to maintain eye contact. Latifa and Furahini sat in shocked silence, accepting my words, but Sadiki had looked to the ground, beginning to cry.

I had angrily stared at the tears streaming down her face, incredulous of her reaction. A voice in my head was savagely screaming abuse at Sadiki. "Fuck you. We could've been together. I asked you and you said no. You could've chosen me, and now you sit here crying that I'm going to leave." I was angry at her, I was angry at Tanzania, but I did not want to face the prospect of leaving her. It was easier to try and hate her for the emotional distress she had caused me. As I looked at her in pain, I could feel my heart breaking into pieces.

Sadiki approached me in the evening, having accepted the realisation that I would soon be gone from her life. "Jackie, I am wanting a photo with you," she said. Sadiki was notoriously camera shy, but was willing to make a concession on one of the final occasions we would be together.

Chapter Forty-One

It had come to my last day in Usa River, and I was sitting on the ground watching the sunrise – reminiscing about many of my experiences in the village – when Sadiki arrived.

"Jackie, are you hearing the news?" she asked. "Kitwana is dead."

"What happened?" I said in surprise.

"Yesterday he is fine, then in the afternoon he is going to the hospital, and during the night he is dying," she explained.

It was as if a Greater Being was at work, who was proving there was something more powerful controlling the events taking place in Usa River. I was resigned to the fact that my school would likely crumble into a state of disrepair once I was gone and the other corrupt organisations would reassert their dominance over the village. But then, I had begun to hear rumours that the Tumbiri school would soon be evicted because Jonathan had reneged on the payment of his rent, which was later confirmed by his landlord. Now Kitwana, the director of PAKA, had suddenly died, putting the future of his school in jeopardy. The three of us operated the biggest centres in the village, and if none of us could continue, for differing reasons, many of the children would be without an education. Although I had been inspired to offer what I felt was best for the people, I had become somewhat philosophical, questioning if perhaps in some way, I was also perpetuating the cycle of poverty. Perhaps the services I had provided for the children had been just as detrimental to their development as those offered by Jonathan or Kitwana.

Ever since the arrival of the first missionaries, Africans have been benefitting without offering anything in return. In an effort to indoctrinate the local population into the church, the white settlers had bribed them with gifts and discouraged them from believing in the deities they worshipped.

After the initial scepticism and exclusion the missionaries had experienced, they managed to convert many of the locals, by spreading propaganda about their religious beliefs and guaranteeing salvation in the afterlife. Anyone willing to convert would not only be welcomed into Heaven, but would also receive help cultivating their fields and constructing their buildings.

The population has come to rely on the wealth and superficial 'help' of Western donations and volunteers, which has inadvertently sentenced the people to an economic infrastructure of financial dependence. Time and again, throughout the history of the colonisation of continental Africa, this has proven to be a problem. To achieve economic independence and prosperity, Tanzania and other developing nations, must learn how to help themselves in order to succeed. They must be encouraged to believe that their own ideas and manpower can be implemented to better their lives. If the locals can find a way to redirect their core mindset and status quo acceptance toward enthusiasm for innovative new projects, Tanzanians will create their own socio-economic well being without the need to rely on Western support.

For centuries foreigners have been arriving in Africa with the best of intentions to develop the struggling nations, but we may have been doing them a severe disservice. By offering them a free solution, we have never encouraged them to develop critical thinking, problem solving abilities, initiative or work ethic. The core attributes which established the Westernised world. Due to their failure to accept responsibility for their nation, they have outsourced their resources to other countries, such as China, causing them to relinquish control of their future. Despite the billions of dollars of foreign aid donated to the country each year, the disparity in the wealth between upper and lower classes is increasing, as more families fall beneath the poverty line. The foreign aid being blatantly misused by the national government.

Tanzania, itself, is one of the largest recipients of foreign aid in Sub-Sahara Africa, donations equating to 35% of government spending. The impact of diseases prevalent to the area, the poor level of education, and the heavy corruption, persist as the major challenges to the country's development. But the current political stability, and considerable resources contribute to Tanzania's great potential for sustained growth, which relies on industries driven by tourism, mining, trade and communications. Despite the gains, the percentage of people living in poverty has decreased only marginally over the past ten years. The rapid growth in population however, has increased the number of people living in poverty, overwhelming the fragile social service system. Tanzania is unlikely to achieve the Millennium Development Goal to halve the proportion of people living in poverty by 2015.

"Jackie," said Sadiki timidly, regaining my attention. "We will go to see Teacher Fahamu in Mto wa Mbu?"

"One day," I said quietly, looking at her sadly. We had always talked about travelling together to Teacher Fahamu's village, which would allow us the opportunity to be free from the overbearing influence of others in Usa River – possibly giving our relationship the chance to exist.

Liz had agreed to meet me in Usa River in the afternoon, then drive me to the central bus station in Arusha. But before I left, I went in search of Sadiki for a final farewell. I discovered her in the yard of her uncle's house, hand washing a pile of laundry. As I approached her, she stood up and walked toward me, drying her hands on her skirt. Neither of us spoke, as we looked at one another.

I took her hands in mine and stared into her eyes. "Sadiki, I will remember you forever," I said.

We stood in silence for a moment before she began to drag me by the hand to her house, where she directed me to an armchair, and presented me with a gift wrapped Bible. I sat quietly as I thumbed through the worn pages of her well-used New Testament, speechless that she had made the effort to provide me with a gift. Her face lit up with a radiant smile in reaction to my expression. Sadiki had no excess money to spend, struggling to cover her basic needs alone. As I accepted the present, I could not help but wonder if our relationship may have been permissible had I done things differently.

I stood up, desperate to leave while I was still able to control my emotions.

"Jackie, you will visit me when you return?" she asked hopefully.

"Where will you be?" I said, my voice cracking slightly.

"I will be here..." she offered assuringly.

I could not even look at Sadiki, as I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. I simply offered a slight nod of my head, unable to articulate an answer. I was doubtful that we would ever see each other again, as I turned and walked away from her for the last time. She was the only woman to have ever stated her love for me, but I had loved her too. Everyday.

***

"Hmm, someone's died," Liz commented, as we drove passed Kitwana's funeral on our exit from Usa River.

"Kitwana," I said with little emotion.

"You know him?" she asked with interest.

"I know he got what he deserved. Died from AIDS. He won't be the only one either – it'll get them all eventually," I said bitterly, thinking of the likelihood that Jonathan would also eventually succumb to the disease.

Jonathan had experienced a turbulent time in the previous months. In addition to his arrest, he had been admitted to hospital twice for extended periods of time, and had looked progressively sicker on the rare occasions I had seen him. Many had commented that his health problems were likely stress related, the levels of which had continued to rise with the increasing success of my school.

"Did you find someone to manage your school?" Liz asked.

"Radhi," I said simply. Now that he had experienced the success we had achieved, I clung to a glimmer of hope that he would continue to operate the school by the ethics with which I had established it.

Liz pursed her lips, refraining to comment on the appointment, but was philosophical about the opportunity I had provided the local community to accept responsibility for their own destiny. She encouraged me to feel proud of my achievements in a country which was intolerant to change, reminding me that I could never expect to save them if no one from inside the country was willing to fight beside me. Her realistic approach to the situation in Tanzania was often incorrectly mistaken to be a pessimistic attitude, by those unfamiliar with the developing world.

I knew she was right, but at that moment I was unable to feel proud of anything I had done in the country. I was in pain, and I felt like I deserved to be. Simply, I had lost. I had been unable to deliver what I had promised. Sometimes good intentions were just not enough.

"You know, it was never my dream to have a school. I never wanted any of this," I admitted to Liz. "I only did what I felt was right. I'd always planned to pass it on to the locals when it was ready, but I don't think there is anyone here that will properly manage it."

Liz nodded her head but remained silent. Any words of consolation would be untrue. We both understood the mentality of the locals well enough to predict the likely future of the school that I had created, and it was not an outcome I was ready to accept.

"Promise me you'll visit a hospital once you're outside Tanzania," she said, as we reached the bus station. "You need proper treatment from a tropical diseases specialist. Many of the doctors here don't have the means to run the appropriate tests."

I nodded, then hugged Liz and thanked her for the instant support and understanding she had been able to offer, before boarding my bus. She had only been familiar with my most obvious symptoms and ailments, as I had concealed the true extent of my deteriorating health, in order to prevent her further concern. I was constantly in pain, which was greatly exacerbated whenever I ate or drank, and I was becoming increasingly worried about my impending flight, due to an ear infection which had developed in the last week and was worsening. I felt indebted to Liz – she had been the one person, to see the life I was leading, that could understand the sacrifices I had made. To the locals, it was simply their way of life – the only existence they had ever experienced, and therefore, the only one they could understand. I was living apart from everyone but the poorest members of a struggling community of one of the world's poorest countries, and my body, unaccustomed to the lifestyle, had suffered accordingly. When Liz had visited my school and discovered my physical condition, she had encouraged me to prioritise my health. After neglecting it for so long, she had forced me to consider myself and take responsibility for my condition.

I arrived in Dar es Salaam late into the night, stepping from the bus to be swarmed by a mob of taxi drivers, who had noticed a Westerner onboard. I largely ignored the group, who were offering their fares at grossly inflated prices, then began to make my own inquiries for a reasonably priced passage to the airport.

"Ah, friend, I will take you to the airport for cheap price," offered a driver in basic English, placing an arm around my shoulder and attempting to steer me away from the others.

"Yeah, no problems, I can speak Swahili," I said, reverting to the local language, as I shrugged off his arm.

"Ah, very good, friend," he said in English once more, before slowly enunciating some basic words in Swahili he assumed I would recognise.

I looked at him in disgust and reeled off a sentence loaded with slang, much to his surprise. He broke into a wide smile and yelled out to a friend that I was proficient in 'street talk,' then his demeanour toward me changed completely. He engaged me with amiable conversation in Swahili, now willing to truly assist me.

"I don't have much money, I'm leaving Tanzania," I explained. "I need to go by motorbike or boda boda – a car is too expensive."

He nodded, then began to search for a suitable option as our posse increased in size. We were accompanied by about ten people, all wanting to know how I could be familiar with their language at the most basic level of colloquialism.

"Jackie, here," they yelled, directing me to a motorbike, whose driver was waiting for a passenger.

He looked at me and stated an exorbitant fare. "What? Is this a car? You must be stupid," I said, unimpressed by his attempted extortion. Instantly, everyone around us shrieked with laughter, taunting the driver in accordance with my slur.

"Me – stupid?" he said angrily, offended by my comment. He quickly started the motorbike, roaring away from me, while the group continued to laugh.

One of the women took me by the hand and led me across the highway, out of sight of the group. "I will help you," she said, dragging me into an unlit alley, causing me immediate concern as I thought of the opportune robberies which often occurred in these neighbourhoods. Finally, she delivered me to the driver of a boda boda she knew, who was willing to take me to the airport for a fair price.

I had been seated at the airport waiting for my flight, when a young woman approached me cradling her baby. "Do you know where I am able to change my clothes?" she asked.

"The toilet is over there," I said, pointing to the corner.

"Will you hold my baby?" she said, offering me the sleeping child.

I gladly accepted the child, who was only four months old. The woman disappeared into the bathroom while I held the young boy close to me, and looked at him sadly. I was angry at Tanzania as a whole, and bitter at the circumstances of my departure, resentful that I was being forced from the country. I was jealous that I would no longer be able to share their continued examples of camaraderie. It would be the togetherness of random strangers that I would miss most. The group of taxi drivers, realising I would not travel with them because their car fares were too high, who had then searched with me for an alternative. The woman at the airport, entrusting me with her child, then continuing to allow me to hold him after she had returned. Despite everything I hated about the country, I was envious of the values Tanzanians took for granted.

As I flew out from Tanzania, I could clearly identify Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru thousands of metres below. I pressed my nose against the window, staring with longing at the location where Usa River lay.

Part Five

### Uhuru: The Search For Freedom

Chapter Forty-Two

I wanted to be anonymous. At no stage had I been in Tanzania and felt as self conscious as I did upon returning to the Western world. Although I had grown up with the luxuries of a developed country, I had come to resent the trivial comforts of the Western world as Usa River had become my home. As I travelled by bus from the airport to the hospital, I was now forced to accept the clinical public transport system that had become completely foreign to me, as I had become so used to the chaotic system of Tanzania.

I staggered off the bus and entered the hospital, timidly approaching the receptionist with awkwardness. "I am sick. I need to see a doctor," I explained, clinging to the counter. I spoke to her slowly as my English faltered, having rarely spoken the language during my time in Tanzania.

She looked at me sympathetically and led me to a waiting room. I collapsed in a seat and waited until the doctor arrived, who then escorted me to her office. She proceeded to systematically assess my condition, and performed a much more thorough evaluation than anything I had ever received in Tanzania, allowing me to have confidence in her diagnosis. As with most people, her main concern was the local water I had continued to drink, which was likely to have aggravated an infection of organisms that had developed in my body and was consistently reinfecting me. She was satisfied with the medicines I had brought from Tanzania, but in addition, prescribed several other courses of antibiotics and medicines to be taken as well.

With time, I recovered from my various ailments, but as much as it could be contributed to the medicine, it was probably more to do with the change in environment. I returned to a Western diet, and was able to go to bed at night without obsessively checking the door was secure and sleeping with a machete. Many of my habits lingered, though. For months to come, I continued to sit in a corner with my back against the wall whenever I was in a crowded room, fearful of leaving myself open to attack. I had returned to my family and the life I had always known but I felt empty and alone, struggling to accept what I had been forced to leave behind. Each day my thoughts would return to Sadiki, as I clung tighter to her fading memory. She had made my life more special, even if her image was not quite as clear, her voice slightly muted in my recollection.

I had heard of a Tanzanian lecturer at a local university, so I scheduled a meeting with him in the hope he could help to bring me closure. Although he had lived in Australia for decades, he understood the problems that continued to plague his country. I explained the school I had developed and the opposition I had faced, but nothing I said came as a surprise to him.

"And of course, you cannot trust the police," he said passionately. "They are useless, they don't care about helping anyone. The police in Tanzania are even worse than the government." He paused, and considered our conversation for a moment. "You are going to return to Tanzania?"

At times I had become overwhelmed by the desire to return to Usa River but I did not know what it would achieve. If I assumed control of the school again, I would be stunting the opportunity for the locals to become responsible for their lives. I had established a functioning school, which could continue to operate effectively if the locals considered it an important part of their community. Radhi's dream had been to direct a successful charity assisting his village, and through working with me, he had received a registered organisation and the required knowledge to achieve that dream.

"It's very difficult for me to return. The government doesn't want me in the country," I explained, not needing to elaborate. He already understood the corruption that controlled Tanzania.

I passed him a letter Sadiki had once written to me – expressing her love – and asked his opinion of Tanzanian marriage. I had done everything in my power to offer a well managed school that the people of Usa River could trust, so the continued success would be reflective of the locals, but it was my relationship with Sadiki that still caused me the most pain. Most people provided a distorted version of the truth in Tanzania, so I was unable to convince myself Sadiki had ever genuinely cared for me.

The lecturer read the letter several times before returning it to me. "Her writing is very poetic," he said, bringing a smile to my face as I momentarily reminisced about her.

I thought back to my last moments in Tanzania, sitting alone in the airport, waiting for my flight to board. My phone had started to ring, so I had answered it, to hear Sadiki's strained voice breaking up due to a poor connection. It had been an awkward conversation, most of it consisting of silence before the call was disconnected, but I would continue to mentally return to our brief exchange, wondering for what purpose she had contacted me.

"This is a problem in Tanzania," he said, regaining my attention. "The women have no confidence, they have no rights, they just do what they are told. She is not bound to her husband, she can make the choice to divorce him, but she is scared about what will happen to her – not just from the husband but also from her family. You can understand why the men think they own their wives, when they must pay a price to the family of a bride. The woman becomes a possession. If you have bought a wife, you would not want to lose her through divorce because of what she has cost you already."

I could accept his explanation, but all I had wanted was for Sadiki to experience freedom and happiness. I was not certain if I had been able to give her either of those rights, though.

"It is the women of Tanzania that need to be liberated," he said. "They need to be empowered to do what is best for them. Tanzania will never become a developed country while the women remain oppressed."

Despite no longer living in Usa River, I felt my work there was not yet finished because of the abruptness in which I had been forced to leave. I did not feel as if I had completed my objectives, as I had been unable to implement my dreams of change. Upon my return to Australia, many had touted me as a humanitarian, but it was a term I refused to accept. No one was familiar with what I had actually done, the blurred line I had walked between right and wrong, other than the basic explanation that I had established my own charity and built a school for an impoverished village in Tanzania. I had challenged the country's status quo: their hierarchy, their socio-economic standards, the inequality between men and women.

Before I left Tanzania, Liz had implored that it was my duty to bring awareness to the true scope of problems blanketing the developing world. Westerners had a distorted understanding, often hearing of the improvements occurring in these nations, but it was generally an unrealistic account. While some advances had been made, they would often be negated by the local governments and populations that had not established the initiative to improve their countries, and therefore had no respect or responsibility for maintaining the changes. Liz had said: "People only hear one aspect of the situation here. They're led to believe that we are being supported by the local governments and everything is improving, but someone needs to speak the truth."

I had approached different outlets of the media and was ultimately interviewed on a radio program about my experiences in Tanzania. The producer and host spoke to me privately after the interview and offered a warning, sharing a story they were both familiar with.

"One of the reporters we used to work with was working on a story in Africa. He was ruffling a few feathers amongst the government and some of the local businesses. One day, he pulled up at a set of traffic lights and some bastard rode up next to him on a motorbike and shot him through the window. They never arrested anyone, not that they tried very hard," the producer said bitterly. "You have to be so careful over there – they don't like people going to their countries and trying to change their ways. It's not profitable for them."

I nodded my head. Their story was not an isolated incident, but one of many anecdotes I had heard about the perpetuation of corruption which ran rife amongst the developing nations.

"Just remember – you'll never be able to change anything if you're dead," he advised me ominously, before they both wished me luck at the exit.

I was beginning to accept the situation for what it was, slowly becoming emotionally detached from my direct involvement in Usa River and the relationships I had developed. Since the early days of my return to Tanzania, my objectives had changed. The service I had provided affected only a small population and had been dependent on my continued support, so even though I had been helping this marginalised group, they had remained heavily reliant on me instead of taking charge of their lives. After reviewing my journal, recorded during my time in Africa, I took the advice I had been given and started to write a book about the plight of struggling countries, set against the backdrop of my experience in Usa River. It was emotional to reassess events I had suppressed, but it was the legacy I could bestow – not just to a specific group or village or country, but hopefully the world.

The existing cultural differences can be bridged, but it will never eventuate with the current level of understanding. While the struggling nations are largely responsible for their own development, the people of the West are not without fault. The willingness to listen to only one side of the debate, and choose to believe that the situation is being rectified, does nothing but perpetuate the problems. Change will only begin when people are ready to challenge their perceptions and accept that the truth can sometimes be ugly. We are defined by our limited understanding, but knowledge is power.

***

As I started writing, Liz would send sporadic emails offering advice, drawing on her years of experience working in the developing world. She had been branded with many negative labels over the years, by people with much less experience and understanding in the field, because of her honest approach. Her letters, specifying the opposition I was likely to receive, did not deter me, though. Instead, I became more convinced about the importance of speaking openly of a subject laden with heavy stigma, unconcerned with any negative repercussions I may face.

Emails from Liz, such as:

Jake, one thing I meant to say – remember, when writing your story, that most readers will not have been to, or more importantly, worked in Africa, so any negative comments about the locals or the "way things are done here" will be seen as racist slurs. I was reminded of this by someone today who came to tell me about some negative experiences she has had working here and said, "I kept thinking as things were unfolding, Liz told me all that would happen, but I never believed her – just thought she didn't understand the locals or was being racist." And then she admitted that she could see that I was just being factual and not judgemental (as I had told her). It takes people a long time to work out the "way things are done here" and they only really understand if they have worked at a grass roots level. Just give the facts and the truth will speak for itself – people will still not really get it, but there is not much we can do about that. Let's face it, even the governments of the developed world don't get it yet, and keep sending aid that doesn't actually aid anyone except the corrupt politicians and businessmen.

And:

The only thing you need to steer clear of is any emotional or subjective negativity. I know I'm repeating myself, but remember that people who have not worked on the ground here, or any third world country, have no concept of the vast differences between cultures and "the way things are done" in other countries. You don't want to get people offside as a "colonialist" or "racist." I faced a bit of that on the recent PR tour when some people questioned what we were doing – why are we enforcing Western values on the students, etc. In awe of your writing the book – you deserve great success with it.

***

I reflected upon one of my first experiences in Tanzania. I had only been in the country for a few days when I met a Dutch couple, who had been travelling throughout Africa for eight years. After crossing the continent several times, they felt they had finally tapped into the African psyche.

"Jake," said the husband, as he lit a cigarette. "You have to understand, things are done differently here. You can't ever expect things to happen the way you're used to. Let me tell you a story: so, there's this peasant Tanzanian, farming the cassava root. Each day the man tends to his crop of cassava, and by the close of the day he has one root ready to be harvested. It's enough to feed his family, so of course he's happy and satisfied. But once every so often, he pulls a bad cassava root from the ground. It can't be used for the family's dinner so they will go hungry that night. A wiser man suggested that perhaps he could farm two cassava roots each day, then, even if one was bad the family could still eat. The idea was rejected by the farmer, who didn't want the added workload, when at most, it was only one bad root each month. It was suggested he could sell the remaining root if his family did not require it, but once again the idea was turned down. For what purpose did his family need the money from the sale of the root, as long as they had their one cassava for dinner most nights, they had everything they could want."

I often referred to his story, considering the differences between the Western life I had experienced and the African life I still struggled to understand at times. They were not trying to be a Westernised country. They had their own way of life, which the vast population were comfortable living. It was not that they could not adapt to the changes necessary to become a Western society, they were just unwilling to modify their lifestyle accordingly.

***

"We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirementsof life, when all that we need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about."

—Charles Kingsley

***

### Author Bio

Jake Combe was born in Adelaide, Australia in 1987, and educated through the public school system, until his deferral from studies at the age of sixteen. Entering the work force, he held a number of different positions of varying levels of responsibility. After working as many as three jobs concurrently, he left home at 19 years of age to travel abroad by himself, in what would become a 'coming of age' adventure. It was during this time away from Australia – when he spent four months travelling through Africa, including Tanzania – that he became fascinated with the differences in lifestyle and culture of the developing world. At the age of 23 he returned to Tanzania – the preceding story detailing the events which occurred. Months after his forced departure, through further investigation, he discovered that the school could no longer continue operation despite the efforts of the locals. The teachers and Sadiki being forced to search for alternate employment. Not a day has passed since his eviction from the country, that he has not thought about Usa River or his involvement amongst the community, and the many people with whom he had developed close bonds.

