Memoirs of my village life.

Few months after the start of the brand new year, 1970 so I'm told, the expected Mom, Ma Fraisica Rweyemamu travelled to her husband's homeland, rural Kangantebe in Muleba district for maternity reason. There in her womb a very tiny human was struggling to breath. I was born on the midnight, 29th march 1970 at the mission hospital known as Kagondo hospital.

One vital observation; My Dad was wealthy, affluent, and educated. Robert Rweyemamu, ( Bob) belonged to African emerging bourgeoisie class. By late 1960's he was among very few properly polished journalists in the country. Ben Mkapa( retired President) was his colleague at Daily News. He was residing in an up-market location, Upanga,( Seaview). With the above colorful personality, why did he send heavily pregnant wife to the rural kangantebe for delivery? Surely fransisca could have been attended prestigiously at neighbouring Aga Khan hospital. The answer paints a picture of our well being as a country by then. Tanzanian rural was far better as compared to the present one. Kagondo hospital in Kangantebe was well funded by catholic missionaries at time when medical care was at its peak. The goverment had yet to nationalize commanding heights of the economy. MyDad was really proud of his home land;Mtu kwao bwana. Would you tell florian to send his beautiful wife to kangantebe for delivery? big joke!

Life has changed a great deal for the last 40 years or so. Tanzania economy by then was at per with South Korea on GDP terms . As of now we 're at the bottom four while South Korea is among the flourishing emerging economies.

Baby florian stayed in the village up to the age of 4, playing and going to the booze with babu Ta
Joseph Kachunkwa Kambuga. The late Ta Kambuga would'nt leave me at any given time, not in the banana field nor in his own rubisi joints! I was his constant companion.

Though great enthusiasts of their haya heritage, my parents, Mr and Mrs Robert Rweyemamu could'nt resist temptation of living without their own flesh and blood, I joined them in a that sparsely populated Dar es salaam city in 1974. As a family we kept a vigil of visiting kangantebe on regular basis up to the age of 7 when it was decided that I had to stay with my grandmom for a year. This was an important time to learn haya language and its sacred culture.


Ma Anna-Maria Marcialle was a strong and a well disciplined grandma. She treated her grandchildren not softly but with an iron hand. She instituted her own law and order to be followed by all of the grandchildren in the homestead. Customs such as not to talk while eating, catholic prayers, and hard field work could not be diverted by members of the house. Together with my brother Albert we had a hard time coping with those military disciplinary standards.

Life wasn't thrown to us on a golden plate. Just as other kids in the village we're expected to get up early on every morning ready for school. Akabanga( Hill) primary school was a walking distance by village standards. We'd that advantage of having urban parents, thus our school bags were relatively good, shoes were nice and uniforms had that modern touch. Yet we thought that uniformity was necessary, it would'nt be proper to wear shoes in a class full of bare-footed pupils.That was Nyerere spirit, the ujamaa nature, we're all equal, HAKI ELIMU. One thing would definetely prove us wrong, JIGGERS. Every now and then those harsh eyes of our gran could search for jiggers in our toes, or sometimes one would be spotted squezzing his feet along the wall enjoying the feeling of a immature jigger, whips would follow without notice.

Yes, we'd a relatively upper hand when compared to other kids in the village! yes we enjoyed tea with occasional taste of sugar when mom or other urban relatives visited. Yes we enjoyed ekibuza amagezi ( rice) on chrismas times, but still village life was tough. We'd to fetch water as far as nyankele( a distance location) and we're good in positioning a bucket on the head. Of course grandma was lucky among village women, she'd a good number of grandchildren that her tasks were a bit relaxed. In most rural africa water is an issue and Kilimilire was'nt an exception. The commodity was really precious that proper bath could be enjoyed on saturdays' ready for sunday service. We're not expected to wash clothes on daily basis as a good measure of minimizing consumption of water. And mind you! my grandma was rich, she could afford to hire a shamba boy. Bukoba has classes and among the lowest rank, Burundi folks counted as our servants. They would tend farms, fetch firewoods, and brew rubisi ( local brew).

And food! no I could not enjoy banana at all! this was a typical staple food and balance diet was not in my gran vocabulary. Banana left over in the morning ( ebihoro), banana with beans in the afternoon, and again banana with beans for supper. Occassionally we would enjoy fish or meat with banana. In those days I would wonder why the field was not short of banana. She would get up every morning with a machete( panga) and definitely lunch was guaranteed. Perhaps lack of mixed culture was a reason for the malnutrition. Kagera of 70's was typical haya! unlike Dar Es Salaam that was multi-cultured with lots of tribes, haya remained sole controlling ethnic group in that part of Tanzania. In Dar Sukuma brought ugali,haya brought matoke, makonde brought chashwnuts, and pogoro came with cassava but haya culture remained intact. The result to urban kids was not very impressive, my baby sister, Devota was malnurished as she stayed in Kangantebe for some months. When my mother went to fetch her, she sobbed sadly, her daughter's chicks were disfigured, stomach blown out of proportion, and skin could be mistaken of the an old woman.

It was not that land was not fertile, it was not that other crops could not withstand the soil, the reason of a single diet was rigidity of haya. A family eating ugali was seen as impoverished! maize were grown not as staple meal but just for taste. Of course soil could not support rice cultivation, but come on haya, cassava was plenty and this could give us ugali wa muhogo. Fruits like oranges, pawpaws, apples, mangoes, avacado, pineapples and lots of others could be seen rotting in the field. There was no reason at all for my baby sister to get malnutrition. We would eat mangoes not in an organised way as a part of the dinning menu but on the field as one passes along. Again lack of external cultural infusion could be a reason for this poor dieting! a white man influenced appetite of the urban dwellers like Dar es salaamites. Visits dining tables of most urban families, and fruits will be part of the menu. Furthermore technology has a role to play here, we have lots of food processing gadgets in our urban families that make life more easier.

Tanzania is most disorganised country! yes indeed it is. While Mwanza, Shinyanga, and Tabora accomodates lots and lots of cows, other regions are left out. Kilimilire as a village is really left out. Kagera is a periphery region, a region that is not connected to other areas logistically. Kilimilire has lots of fruits rotting in the field while sukuma keep cows for prestige. My grandma had no option of selling his fruits so as to get money of buying meat, but sadly enough supply of meat is still not adequate to fill the demand, hence manultrition.

Economically Kilimilire was a single crop subsistence agricultural village. I would'nt find any other activitivity apart from banana plantation. We'd only one cooperative shop that served the whole village with the same merchandise like matchboxes, sugar ( bought on xmas time), and keresone.

And what about electricity?

As a little lad, vibatari complicated my stay in the village. Even todate, electricity availability is mainly in urban centres that its only 11% of Tanzanians enjoys this service. I remember walking in the darkness with a torch that chances of being knocked down by poisonous snake seemed to be very likely.Forget about evening studies, it was really difficult to enjoy studies in the darkness, those vibatari strained my precious eyes and again grandma would'nt allow me to waste kerosene on studies.

Amid all of the above hurdles, something along was looming, an event that would transform my life for good!

Closing months of 1977 were clouded with rumours of imminent war with our neighbouring country, Uganda. If those hearsays were true there was a danger of Ma Anna Maria village to be among the first casualties.Already Kilimilire was on alert and there were some signs that Amin would strike. I remember one day as we're saying evening prayers the sound of helicopter was heard on top of our corrugated roof. My uncle alarmed the devoted gran, "Mae lekela enshala twafaaaaa" ( Mom stop praying we're dying). Stupidly I rushed towards the compound and observed a soldier eating banana. Later on we come to realise that the helicopter belonged to Tanzanian forces.

My Dad, journalist with information on the tips of his fingers couldn't take those rumours lightly.The family life was at stake, thus one early morning while washing our feets ready for school, a big man, heavely bearded, ( My Dad) appeared in our compound,i.e eirembo!. It was unexpected visit, what brought him to kilimilire? We'd no mobile phones that he could've phoned beforehand, even letters could'nt reach us on time.In our angelic mind his visit could not be imagined, there he was looking for his two precious sons, albert ( 9) and florian (7). Of course Grandma pleaded to him that if war was the case, then why should he not take all of the children? The answer was NO. If my dad was responsible enough, so should be the other parents. We're gone in an hour.

The rest was history, the war lasted for a year, and I would only follow the battle episode from afar ( Dar Es Salaam). I felt sorry for other kids in the village, and most importantly my own extended family.


My last visit to Kagera Region was 18 years ago! Gosh 18 years, its a hell of a life time!. My nephew, Nisela who lives with me was born that year.

1991 was a year my lovely grandmom passed away, hence a visit.

kagera town was really dusty, I could only spend some hours walking around that dingy town centre! goverment buildings were old and dilapidated. Haya folks mind you, I am not publishing that ugly picture of ours worlwide with bad intention, but this is a reality.

Yes, I found old and outdated buildings, but modern construction technology is not ours! it was brought by colonialists and we are only trying to imitate other people's invention. Yes we jumped into Toyota Hilux of our Babu Ta Alfonce as if we were lose cargo! again cars were only brought into our land recently by colonialists. It was only when I arrived at Kilimilire village that our own heritage/ civilisation could be seen.

One of those assets that haya people are really proud of, is the language.We're good with our venercular, we're really proud bwana!, even in Bukoba town the language would be spoken in market place, police post, bank office, post office and more importantly in church. I attended a church service in my mom's village, kilimilire and all of us would sing angelically haya songs loudly. Priests were expected to know the language and of course one wouldn't think of having a sukuma priest in that village. Todate, haya tribe is among very few local languages published worldwide. We have our own version of bible, misale ya waumini and lots of other publications. While in UK, a good friend of mine, Raymond Mwombeki gave me a wonderful little book, enshererwa ne enshwerere lya buhaya, a very good book that transfers rituals and customs from one generation to another. Todate, its not by accident that wahaya speak their language fluently.


We had a good funeral of my grandmom! mind you I was the eldest among the grandsons and daughters, I was expected to dance for the departed Ma Anna Maria-Marcialle. Mmmh I was shy and ignorant of haya dance though now I adore those songs very much. We buried Ma Anna at her own homestead( obwaifo) with attendance of her siblings, Fr Deo Mutefunya omu bajungu ( now deceased), Ma Marcelina, Ma Kandida, Ma Matrona, Ta Alfronce, and Ta Paulo. Note that Ta and Ma represents titles, just like englishman would say Mr or Mrs! who told you that haya are not civilised, think again. Also present were her own sons and daughters, Ma Fulai ( haya version of Fransisca), this is my own late mom, Ta Deus Kaizilege( my departed uncle), Ta Fred Luiza, Ta Salvandi Rwegasira, Pelagia Blassius ( deceased), Patricia Blassius( deceased), Victor Mgodo, and Afredina Alfonso. According to haya and most of african tribes its a curse not to attend funeral of your own mother, thus a reason of that big occassion. All of her sons and daughters had travelled from as far as Dar es Salaam just to attend that last celebration of their mother. What about food & drinks! oh Lord! we'd plenty, we eat matoke bwana, and that is a thing I miss about bukoba, women as far as nyankele na akabanga gathered at my grandmom's house and prepared big dishes of matoke, fish, meat, nsanyuse, ntongo, biimba etc etc etc. Goats were slaughtered, chicken ambushed and a cow was slaughtered too. Perhaps it was supposed to be called a party, not a funeral. By then I could'nt think of that to be a wonderful thing, but now after living with white people for so many years I envy our natural richness.

Forget about GDP, forget that slaggish talk about africans surviving on less than a dollar per day, by then Haya were naturally rich! those matoke were expensive and are still expensive by global standards. Visit TESCO supermarket in London and you'll spend a fortune buying just a bunch of banana. There I was at Kilimirire village eating matoke not as a fruit but as a staple food. One would compare that staple with mashed potatoes. English man, might be having snacks in the afternoon, but a haya man enjoys a big meal consisting of matoke ( a bowl full of banana) and fish! Those bibi's and mama's who cooked at my grandma funeral did not charge a penny and yet we ate to the full. Yes, even by today's urban standards, we hire people to cook at our funerals and weddings. It is not that way in the naturally rich Kilimilire village. People junga elyalwa and cook ekitoke and then present to the family at no cost. Add up the value of that and you'll get the real GDP of kilimilire folks!!!! it's well above one dollar per day. Only today, after living in a capitalist society that I appreciate our own wealth. Think of kumoisa ( a traditional ritual of cutting the hair of the family after burial ceremony) that ritual was performed free of charge! who says that barber service is free in modern world? In calculating GDP of most of african villages a white man standard does not take into consideration lots of services rendered freely.

I stayed in the village for two more days, and then I decided to visit my father's village, Kangantebe. Very early in the morning, I boarded a bus known as Champion. Mmmh I had to wait inside a bus for one hour or so! a patient driver was waiting for some famous faces(abarangira) i.e mamwinyi to board the bus as the service was the only one on that day. While waiting, banana bunches were being packed on board ready to be transported to the town market. Around 06.30 we started the journey.

It has been 18 years since that last visit! Is kagera still the same? I will have to visit one of these days.

ciao for now!