Jonathan’s Blog

The Road to Maasi

4/17Saturday afternoon’s entertainment was a hike to the East end of the island and the village of Maasi. Because it’s such a long hike, Bob and Dorothy had been there only one other time in their two years here. In all it’s probably no more than 2 miles, but it is a very difficult 2 miles. There are several steep inclines both up and down, and at several places the trail disappears entirely into fields of 8 foot high grasses where we would have to go back to find our way. And when there was a trail it could be even more difficult because the earth has been packed down from the near nightly rains to form a substance as slick as ice, so that every step must be deliberate. On the way I probably slipped 4 or 5 times, but caught myself on each occasion. First we walked up the hill just behind the house, and at the top found the same herd of cattle we passed on the way to Lashonga, only this time they were huddled together in a corral made of tree braches and fastened together like Lincoln Logs. There were also a couple of pigs. I can’t imagine what just a couple of pigs are good for here except for maybe a long term investment like a dowry. I have not once seen pork served. A little further down the road and at the top of the hill the trail flattened out and we could see the Lake surrounding us on all sides. A couple of boys, no older than 10 and 12, were walking ahead, frequently looking back at us. Each was carrying a hoe and a large recycled plastic container for water. The older boy had a radio, and when we caught up I noticed it was playing Madonna’s Like a Prayer. I pointed out to them (in English) that I knew this song. That it was Madonna. They just looked back and laughed, but kept walking until they turned off of the path to a cassava field where their day’s work lie ahead.After another 40 minutes or so of struggling to find our path (with the cell tower as our only bearing),we climbed over some igneous rocks harkening back to Bumbire’s volcanic origins and came upon the island’s only elementary school. The building was one story concrete structure, no larger than a trailer, and at one time painted with a solid coat of blue paint which was now mostly faded. There were two classrooms inside, each with conjoined wooden desks—enough to hold 50 or so students at most. Outside of the nearest classroom door hung from a rope attached to the tin roof a rusted-out tire rim. This must be their bell. Some of the local kids who easily spotted the Wzungu (which by the way literally means “people who go in circles”) had stopped by to have their pictures taken. I did. And in return they gave us a tour of the classrooms. The children here must think that every white person they meet has camera on them at any given time. Of the wzungu they’ve seen, they’re probably right. Polaroids would be a big hit here. Inside the classroom the wall almost almost blends in with the scratched surface of the blackboard. The equations on the board looked to be permanently there, as if any attempt to erase the board might cause it to crumble to dust. The kids then led us outside the school where there was a well maintained field framed at either end by soccer goals fashioned from tree branches. It only now realized the harsh reality of how inaccessible this school was to the vast majority of children, not only on this island, but on the chain of islands that make up Bumbire. I imagine that most kids instead get their education working in the fields like the two boys we ran into earlier. We continued on a ways and passed the humming monstrosity that is the cell phone tower, protected by barbed wire fencing and outside of that a guard seated beneath a grass hut. On Bumbire there is really nothing that can compare to the tower either with respect to size or impact on the lives of the people. While every other technology over the last 75 years seems to have passed the island’s inhabitants by, cell phones have taken a foothold. Even the women, who don’t have pockets in their Kangas, carry phones in a case which hangs by a string around their neck. Baby in back, phone in front. I’m told that nightly entertainment on the island often consists of games built into the phone. I imagine the whole family huddled around the 2 inch screen watching Dad go for the high score in Snake. I could also envision a devoted group of islanders erecting a shrine at the base of the imposing structure and praying to ward off dropped calls: Church of the Cell Phone Tower. “Though shall not call during dinner”. After another 10 minutes were at the top of a steep hill looking down over a jungle at the base of a cliff and next to it the Lake. We carefully descended down the rocky trail the missionaries refer to as “Jacob’s Ladder” and into the jungle below. We were now out of the hot sun and under a canopy of banana leaves and other subtropical trees with their hanging vines. We were in Maasi. Here the plant life was so dense that the houses were hidden and barely visible from either side of the path that lead through town. Those that did appear looked more permanent than those on the other side of the island, and were constructed of brick and cement. I imagine generations of people have lived in this village relatively unchanged and untouched by outside influence (except of course cell phones). We crossed a small brook and came upon a brick house which out front had a green flag hanging limply from a 20 foot bamboo pole. A man spotted us and beckoned us to his front yard where the rest of his family was seated on the straw surface. There he set out chairs for each of us. He told us he was the Berazi (ambassardor), as signified by the green flag, and presided over 10 family units. In all there were 90 households in Maasi. Being a good ambassador, he gave his guests a tour of the village. He took us down to the Lake shore and pointed out the much smaller island across the way where he can buy medical supplies. He knew Flora from her trips to the mobile clinic there, and although he said he was Roma, he also knew James. He took us past the house of the Chairman who was in charge of the nine Belazi. The cement house was in the center of town, and unlike any other I’d seen in that it was painted on the outside with a blue and yellow floral pattern. He then escorted us to the edge of the village where he gave us his contact info. There we also ran into a man from Lashongo selling on a mobile wooden easel various items: belt buckles, girls’ dresses, men’s shirts, coats, etc. He followed us back up Jacob’s ladder and turned off at the road to Lashongo on his daily round trip of the island.After another 2 hours and a quick detour by the vast pineapple plantation we were back. We each enjoyed a well-earned ice cold coca-cola followed by grilled cheese and tomato soup. I was exhausted and turned in around 9 o’clock.