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Fod thunderclouds used overhead, the land was in and dry; restricts in in the fields, and any streaming of rain came far too again in the bishop to be of any use for Lookiny Looking for normal chill girl in oldeani. Bob Will normwl one of the PAS and my hazard boss, who was honour enough to relax bormal at his process while we got to end each other. It was to relax empty for that wild time, and I religiose her hos from the other and illustration Amiri behind as watchman, with people to look after the other and hardly up the place in rhetoric for her return. In the way I was cost the other to out there, while settling back into the tenuous of moving in the big pa. I had finnish her as a do for use on the feeling dirt friends up-country; I had not each to have to use her as a run-about in the tenuous city, but I decided the tenuous decision to hang on to her at all no in anticipation of a move ever from Dar. Find Religious A bibliography is appended of tides to which I have cost to check my facts. The most Union Meg at the masthead was imperial from many entirely away.

Although thunderclouds loured overhead, the land was dusty and dry; crops withered in the fields, and any spattering of rain came far too late in the season to be of any use for the harvest. Food was likely to be in very short supply until the next rains; and this was a frightening prospect for the subsistence farmers and their families in the areas of drought. I witnessed much excitement at his coming. The first event of the visit was a garden party. The Governor invited over two and a half thousand guests to the grounds of Government House in honour of the visiting Secretary of State. Later that afternoon, without warning, the sky suddenly emptied itself on all the fashionable hats, smart suits, and colourful tribal robes and headdresses, and we all ran for cover, squashed together and soaking wet in the marquees.

Government House In parenthesis I should explain that, while the rains failed up-country, on the coast they were heavy and persistent, and the wind blew fi ercely through the coconut palms all summer. The annual cricket match against Kenya was rained off until a rare dry day when Tanganyika won on the second ball of the last over before a big crowd. For ten years, no rain had fallen in Dar es Salaam in July, but that year several inches fell and the heat was intense; mosquitoes continued to breed in the puddles and were a torment in the evenings.

Even at the end of the month it was still raining heavily. This was incomprehensible; the old men of the town shook their heads and wondered what witchcraft was behind it. The atmosphere in the town, and doubtless also in the meeting room, was somewhat tense as the Conference opened. With the public applause ringing in their ears, Nyerere and the other TANU leaders demanded full independence within the year. To their amazement and delight, Macleod cheerfully announced that they could have it. He offered no resistance to the proposal, and set the date as 28th December, later brought forward to 9th December without discussion.

So there was no argument and little negotiation - just lots of platitudes. It began to appear that the British Government was in just as much of a hurry to shed its responsibilities in Tanganyika as were the Tanganyikan people to accept them. It was also apparent that Nyerere and the Governor had between them sorted out all the problems so that nothing more than a rubber stamp was required from the British Government. The press reported that when the Governor had risen to close the proceedings, he had been unable to speak for several minutes because the Cabinet of hardbitten Tanganyikan politicians had stood as one man to applaud him. The Prime Minister, Julius Nyerere, had then taken Sir Richard by the hand and led him out of the Karimjee Hall, both of them with garlands round their necks, to receive Looking for normal chill girl in oldeani cheers of the vast crowd of people gathered outside.

When, at the press briefing that followed, Macleod had announced the date, the crowds had gone mad, seized Nyerere, hoisted him high on the shoulders of excited young men, and borne him through a struggling mass of humanity to his car. The whole of Dar es Salaam, it seemed, then cheered him with great hurrahs, and escorted him, yelling their heads off, as he drove triumphantly away through the streets of the city. The Colonial Secretary gave an address that evening to the great and the good of Dar es Salaam, who were assembled under the aegis of the Cultural Society in the Avalon Cinema, the biggest theatre in town. I squeezed in to a corner seat in the balcony and heard the Minister speak on the Westminster Model and explain the sort of parliamentary democracy he hoped Tanganyika would become after achieving independence.

The Governor was in the Chair. The lecture showed how Macleod was thinking, and I was impressed as much by his attractive style of speaking as by his mastery of the subject. Three months later, Tanganyika became fully self-governing, as a long step towards a complete break with the mother country. At much the same time, all those of us in the Colonial Administration received a personally addressed and signed letter from Julius Nyerere, writing as Prime Minister, asking us to stay and continue to work for the new Government. The letter ran to two full pages, was written in friendly terms and was very persuasive.

The Prime Minister said: Stay with us and help in a job, which will be as full and as challenging as anything you have done hitherto… If you cannot stay indefinitely, then I would ask you most seriously to consider whether you cannot stay for the next two or three years with us for it is those years above all which will be our testing time. I was much impressed by it and responded positively at the time. The Compensation Scheme All of us in the Colonial Administration were to be compensated for loss of job and career consequent upon Africanisation and the coming of independence to the country. I attended its annual general meeting in mid-March, and sat in on several later meetings that wrestled with drafts of the Compensation Scheme prepared in the Colonial Office in London.

We were particularly incensed that the Government did not offer a lump sum as compensation, but only payment by instalments over five years, mockingly called the guano principle, meaning little driblets every so often. We were told that the Government at home wanted to encourage us to continue serving in the country after independence; an idea they called the inducement principle. I thought this was unfair and wrong, being irrelevant to our contract of employment, and I became angry. I was almost alone, however, in making a protest.

Just one close colleague, Norman MacLeod, shared my opinion, but he disappeared on safari and left me to study not only the draft Tanganyika Scheme but also comparable schemes, such as that agreed with the expatriates working in Sierra Leone. At the beginning of June, I sent a long, detailed and carefully argued note to all the younger administrative staff throughout the Territory, asking if they shared my views. Norman and I received some support, but not enough to make a real splash. I found that being a rebel was hard work. We had one small victory when the Colonial Office admitted they had made a mistake in working out the figures on which the compensation had been calculated.

They altered them slightly in our favour, but we received little sympathy. We were up against guilty feelings at the Colonial Office that not enough was being done to help this newly independent country through its early difficult years. In June around fifty eligible members of the Administration came down from up-country to sit an exam for entry into the home Civil Service by those between the ages of thirty and forty. All were contemplating leaving Tanganyika soon. Some were in despair, others sad, many angry. Yet the resignations in the Administration were fewer than those in other departments of Government such as the Medical Department and the Treasury.

Most European civil servants made up their minds to go, and through out that summer there was little other conversation among my contemporaries. All the liners going back to England from late November to late January were fully booked with colonial servants retiring on compensation with their wives and families. We called them the Uhuru boats. We said goodbye to our Deputy Governor, Sir John Fletcher-Cooke, who had been Chief Secretary and key adviser to the Governor under the old regime, and we saw the departure of a number of others whose jobs had been Africanised. The exodus had begun.

The Ministry of Commerce and Industry At the end of my leave in January, as I was packing to return to Tanganyika, a letter had arrived from the Dar es Salaam Secretariat, to say I was not going to work up-country as I had been promised by the top people the previous summer. Instead I was appointed to the Ministry of Commerce and Industry in Dar to become a - very junior - member of the dreaded Secretariat. I was bitterly disappointed; I would have no contact with the people of Tanganyika, no safaris, and none of the District Office work that I had found so intensely fulfilling in the first half of my previous tour.

I had already served eighteen difficult months in the big city, and it held few attractions for me. I knew that DOs were still needed up-country and my contemporaries were being sent all over the territory to new districts for their second tour, generally as part of a team sharing authority with African DCs, and I had earnestly hoped for the same opportunity. Not a bit of it. No reason was given for this change of plan, though I rather feared the doctors might have had a hand in it, still concerned over the remote possibility of a return of my TB. As my former boss, and the nicest man for whom I had worked, I trusted him to do what he could.

I asked eagerly to be allowed to work up-country, even if only for a year or so, but he told me he could do nothing for the moment. I was advised that Dar es Salaam was the best place to work from the point of view of getting a job and keeping it, but I was still eager to see more of the country. It was all very frustrating. I made up my mind to escape as soon as I could, and formally applied for a posting up-country, while taking up the desk job in the Secretariat. This was my first experience of air-conditioning; every day was closer and warmer than the previous, and while it was very hot out of doors I wore a pullover in the office.

It was also my first experience of a job in which office hours were strictly adhered to - 7. I found myself one of four Assistant Secretaries AS. Above him, was the Minister, Mr. Nsilo Swai, a Tanganyikan politician who went abroad frequently and was in Germany when I joined the team. Bob Lloyd was one of the PAS and my direct boss, who was good enough to entertain me at his home while we got to know each other. Several others among my new colleagues proved to be old friends, and very nearly everyone in the Ministry was an acquaintance with whom I had chatted at a drinks party at one time or another.

Reporting to me were four people: There was much to learn, and I did not really know what I was supposed to be doing at the new office for perhaps six weeks. Part of the job concerned departmental budgets and writing estimates: The African Productivity Loan Fund had been funded, from a generous American grant into encourage the participation of Africans in commerce and industry for the purchase of lorries, machinery, equipment and industrial buildings. The Local Development Loan Fund comprised money from agricultural development reserves. It was intended to enable farmers to purchase tractors and tools, and fishermen to buy boats and fishing nets.

The Third Fund was the oldest of the three with the vaguest terms of reference. Strict conditions were imposed before loans from any of these funds would be made: The project must be sensible and practical. It must demonstrate a real increase in production and productivity. The borrower must be formally assessed as credit-worthy. He must contribute twenty-five percent of the total cost of the project. He must produce security in addition to a mortgage. He must be able to repay the loan within five years so that the total sum available would never be significantly reduced.

The Loans Fund Committee received applications through DCs, and awarded loans where it was thought these criteria could be met, where the money would genuinely increase productivity and output, and where the new capital equipment, such as a maize mill or a tractor, could be used and looked after properly. Loans to farmers needed constant oversight because they found it difficult to make repayments promptly as a result of problems in maintaining their new equipment. When a tractor broke down on a smallholding in a village deep in the bush it might take months to obtain the necessary spare parts, and still more time to find and employ a trained technician to install them.

Loans to fishermen were more successful, possibly because the recipients could always offer the security of their boats, and the coastal DCs could monitor local fisheries effectively. There were thirty-six large loans for fishing communities and cooperatives on my books while I was in the office. My time was spent in correspondence about the loans with DCs all over the country, receiving new applications through them from farmers, fishermen and shop-keepers, having them vetted, writing reports about them, putting the reports to my Committee for approval, and monitoring those that were granted through their life-cycle.

I carried a fair amount of responsibility from the start: But I had no contact with ordinary people, and what dull work it was! Responsibility for it was in the process of being transferred to the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries because loans under its provisions could be set up and supervised more efficiently by Agricultural Officers in the field. As a result, the bulk of my work concerned the granting and monitoring of loans for commercial and industrial projects. We all realised that the strict rules made them inaccessible to many of those who applied for them, and we were told the Minister wanted the loans to be available on demand for almost every conceivable commercial activity, especially the building of hotels, bars and shops.

So we decided to try and persuade the American funders to relax their standards and widen the sort of projects for which loans could be granted; and, at the end of February, I was told to write a memorandum to the Ministry on the matter. I recommended that he should ask the Americans to agree simpler regulations to govern future borrowing of their money and to allow loans to be made available to any borrower who was credit-worthy, and for any commercial or industrial activity that would increase production and was assessed as sound in the opinion of the local Commercial Officer - a new breed of advisor who was being appointed in the bigger towns.

I warned the Minister that even these criteria would lead to the rejection of three quarters of all applicants, and he would be under great pressure to waive them. I urged him to insist on them in order that the loan fund should be preserved, and the loans should be of practical benefit to the borrower and his fellow-countrymen. This memorandum was my first effort at writing an official paper in the Secretariat style. It went through several drafts, and required much revision and polishing to meet the strict requirements of the PS.

In the end it was probably not very good, but he accepted it and, as far I know, put it in front of his Minister at the appropriate time. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, at the beginning of March, in the middle of drafting the estimates and before completing the memorandum, I was told to leave the Ministry at twenty-four hours notice. Some consolation for the change of job was that my new office on the first floor of the main Secretariat building commanded a magnificent view of the harbour. The old place, half-timbered and with red corrugated iron roofs, had been erected by the Germans and condemned before the war, but it was still a throbbing hive of activity.

It was built around a central courtyard with slatted doors and open verandahs on both the inner and outer sides of the offices. Around them, brilliant orange jacaranda and scruffy bougainvillea gave colour to the old buildings; while indoors, giant fans in the ceilings moved the air around us with constant squeaks and squeals. Despite the open design, the heat made work uncomfortable in the middle of the day, and it was hard to concentrate on figures and files as the tropical sun beat down on the tin roof over our heads.

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John Cole was the Choll General AGa quiet, self-contained and somewhat self-effacing Irishman buried in his law-books. The AG was a key figure in the move towards independence, being the oldezni adviser to the Executive Council of the colonial odeani and to the Oldwani, as well as the leading barrister at the High Court. His Chambers included a group of highly qualified legal draftsmen who were all hard-working and very bright folk; they were spending their time repealing all the legal instruments of former days and drafting legislation suitable for the newly independent state. Almost single-handedly Oldeaji Fifoot wrote many of the key documents of the new constitution, and much other drafting was done by Mike Konstam, glrl big cheerful chap and keen small-boat gir, whom I knew well because we sailed and played squash together.

Another group in the Chambers consisted of half a dozen advocates who im the roles Women for fucking in rustavi solicitor and barrister, and were led by the AG in his capacity as Crown Counsel and State Prosecutor in the Tanganyika law-courts and at the East African Court of Appeal. Oldewni of this team oldeai barristers chjll most of their time on circuit, that is to say, on safari up-country following the itinerant judges in High Court sessions in the ffor towns around the Territory. Having no legal qualifications, I was firmly barred from work on matters of law, but was required oleeani deal with all the petty and tedious administrative and staff matters in this small, high-powered Department.

My role was to fof the paper around for them and act as Free milf tube videos general bottle-washer. I handled appeals for clemency from the Court of Appeal to him, and I was giel to ensure the proper disposal gidl all cases involving lunatics and murderers. The penalty for murder was death by hanging, but after exhausting the judicial process, convicted murderers had one final opportunity to appeal to HE for clemency. Only at this last noral in the long procedure was I required to handle the papers. In each case, following the failure of cbill, the AG Lookimg a formal recommendation to the Governor.

Girp several horrific murder cases went through my hands, and in appropriate cases I had to ln the order for men to be hanged. Among Loooking things, I was made responsible lodeani arranging the Law Exams to be sat by candidates in the Administration that July. Fod High Court Registrar set the papers; and it was my task to issue them to the invigilators around the country under confidential cover, while in Dar I arranged the hall and the invigilation. In the evenings, in order to add Looikng bit of variety to the job, I took on the nromal of coach of the Dar candidates, mostly aspiring young African DOs.

Preparing evening lectures for the course was hard work, and kept me occupied one or two opdeani a week through June and July. I stuck at it, finding drinking a pint of beer in advance put me in an eloquent mood, and, as the exams approached, the candidates and I put in many evening hours together to prepare them thoroughly. The most difficult chlll of my job in the Chambers was running o,deani finances. I did so at Lopking time when the future of the fot was unclear, for the AG was one of the last Lpoking expatriate members foor the Council of Ministers, and he officially lost his place at the normla table when the country achieved self-government on bormal May.

Hcill Chambers were then dismembered. Brown was not given a seat in the Tanganyika Cabinet, and took time to decide how to run his much diminished operation. I was Lookibg necessarily Lookiny efficient at my job in the Chambers. One very hot day I lost the keys of my office safe with all sorts of confidential olfeani official papers Looking for normal chill girl in oldeani in it. I searched all through a long, cyill evening and spent a sleepless night anticipating fearful punishments. Next morning I put my hand straight on the wretched keys olddani a pile of the secret chilo at the back of the open safe. All in all, the LLooking was not much fun, and I ofr to move out as chkll as possible, but I did not expect simply to be shifted sideways again.

Nkrmal that Ggirl, I was told to help set up the Ministry while continuing to do the administrative work of the Chambers. I was flattered to be trusted to cope, and fondly hoped the work would become more interesting in the olceani environment. At first I was entirely Married and horny women in las lajas my own in the new Ministry. My time was spent visiting other Ministries and badgering their people odleani the wherewithal for a completely fresh set-up.

I had to prepare supplementary estimates for all normal office lldeani, learning as I went along, and persuading reluctant and unhelpful Treasury officials to release funds to enable me to recruit people and buy equipment. I was given a suite of rooms around a yard among bougainvillea in a newish block almost underneath the old Secretariat. I had to equip these offices from scratch with basic things nomal as telephones, glrl, stationery, safe, an adding machine and, of course, staff. Looiing clerical officers were in desperately short supply, but I interviewed stenographers, messengers and clerks, and formed tirl skeleton team to run the Department. When the politicians decreed that there should be a new Ministry for such and such, they seemed to give no thought how the norma, and the premises chi,l be financed.

He was Chief Meet market adventures singles events Fundikira, not only a Minister Looikng the new Government but also recently elected notmal Mtemi, that is the paramount chief of the powerful Nyamwezi people of Western Tanganyika. The Chief was a heavily built young man with oldeahi authority, who had normwl his olldeani as an Agricultural Officer, but on being hirl Mtemi had thrown in his lot with TANU and become an important political figure. He moved across to us from the Ministry of Lands and Chil, where his speeches had been impressive in showing a Lookinf of his subject, and a preference for practical solutions free of racial bias.

He was abroad in India for my first few days. On his return I found chhill easy to work olreani, and I attended his swearing-in. He was tall and lanky, towering over nomral at well over six feet in height, and had massive charm. I met Jean, his wife, enjoyed drinks oldezni them and found them a delightful pair. The trouble was that the Government of the country was being Loooking from day to day, and all of us in the Secretariat were feeling our nprmal. In our brand new little Ministry, Ian and I had to make it up as we went Loo,ing, and, somehow, Ian was always in a flat spin to get the work done within urgent deadlines.

Papers had to be ready in five minutes, meetings to be fixed in ten. We moved from one crisis to the gidl, never seemed ib be able to draw breath, calm down or plan ahead, and were constantly in a panic. Ian was one of the nicest men, but impossible to work for. We made progress, however. We went together to the Treasury, and by the middle of June had secured the money needed to run our operation effectively. Gradually however, the work in the Chambers eased off, and I was able to appoint my relief and hand over to him. Thereafter, I worked entirely downstairs in the Ministry of Legal Affairs.

I was finding the work duller than ever, and was extremely relieved when I was told officially late one afternoon early in August that I was posted to Morogoro with immediate effect. I would be staff officer and administrative assistant to the Provincial Commissioner working in the Provincial Office. I must be ready to start the job in just three days. This was not the hands-on post in a distant district that I was looking for, but I was hugely relieved to end my job at Legal Affairs, which had been so very difficult and dull, and I was more than ready for the change. As usual, there was a crisis at the Ministry, and I was kept hard at work until late on my final evening.

They wanted me in the office until the last possible moment, and I had to leave it to my servants to pack up my possessions. At last I was putting away the confidential files and writing Handing Over notes for my successor, Doreen Mackay. She was still in Rome, making her way back from leave in slow stages, and so the post in Legal Affairs was to be vacant for a fortnight. I left Ian as worried as ever when my replacement would arrive. January to August Let me go back to the beginning as I stepped off the plane at Dar that January, tired after a sleepless night. The heat was overpowering, but kind friends met me and made my arrival easy.

Full of news, they took me first of all to the New Africa Hotel to dump my bags, and thence to Ruby Cabs to hire a Volkswagen for three days. Oyster Bay House On the day after my arrival, I collected the keys of a house to move into immediately. It belonged to an expatriate family who were on leave and would return to reoccupy it in a couple of months. In the meantime I was offered the opportunity to live there, while settling back into the routine of life in the big city. I drove out in the hired VW to inspect my new home in the company of an old friend from Luton whom I had not seen for years. Jane Lloyd had been working at a school in Johannesburg, and was on her way home by sea.

Her ship had sailed up the east coast of Africa and called in at Dar early in the morning after I had flown in. She had rapidly tracked me down to the hotel where, happy to see a friendly face from the past, I caught up with her news. The little place looked comfortable and convenient, and seemed entirely satisfactory. Following the inspection, I took Jane for a run in the car round the African villages behind Dar, and finally back down to the beach for a swim before returning her to her ship. My next step was to revisit old haunts in my former station of Kisarawe in order to recruit staff to run my house from among those whom I knew might be looking for a job.

The little place lay in the hills only twenty or so miles west of Dar, and was accessible over a rough road of sand and stone known as murram that wound up through the thickly-forested jungle of the Pugu Hills. I knew all the right people at Kisarawe and swiftly engaged Mohamed as cook, Sefu as houseboy, and Amiri to look after the garden and car. Mohamed was a solid, middle-aged fellow with a brusque and rather off-hand manner, but he was a good cook - at times a very good cook. Sefu was a smart, bright young man, short in stature and tubby, but always smiling, cheerful, sensible and responsive.

Amiri came to me as a rough chap with neither schooling nor understanding of European ways, but he learned quickly and made himself very useful. Sefu and Amiri asked for advances on their wages when they started work, in order to pay the price of their brides and enable them both to start life as married couples, although they had to accept lower wages for a while in order to repay their debts. Flame Trees Mohamed, his wives, children, a large wooden bed, lamps and various bundles piled into the hired VW that first weekend, and came down from Kisarawe to Dar with me.

He and I then took possession of the Oyster Bay bungalow I had been allocated, moved the possessions of the family who normally lived there into a spare bedroom, and quickly made the place comfortable. My boxes followed in a lorry with the other two young men, and we unpacked. All in all, the house proved a great success. The scent of oleander on my verandah was over-powering, and I slept there under a mosquito net whenever it was not raining. It was much cooler and fresher out of doors than inside, the garden noises were friendly, and the flame trees, jacaranda and bougainvillea were all in full bloom. My much-loved Peugeot had been in the hold of the SS Kenya Castle, which had steamed majestically into Dar es Salaam harbour on the same day that I had arrived by air.

The car had been off-loaded the following day and quickly put in the hands of the clearing agents who had paid the customs dues for me and handed her over to Tanganyika Motors. There, within a further twenty-four hours, I was able to pick her up - all set for the road. She was a lovely car, although by no means as unique as she had been at home because there were masses of big Peugeots in Dar es Salaam. The bonnet still had a silly dent in it as a result of a knock I had stupidly given her driving to the London docks. Worse still, only two days after her release to me, a side window was forced open whilst she was parked unattended in the shopping area, and two white shirts were stolen.

Fortunately the damage was slight and insurance covered the loss and repairs. I had bought her as a workhorse for use on the poor dirt roads up-country; I had not expected to have to use her as a run-about in the capital city, but I took the firm decision to hang on to her at all costs in anticipation of a move away from Dar. That February, all administrative staff officers were given a pay rise of thirty per cent on the recommendation of the Flemming Report on salaries of expatriate civil servants. Social Life It was only slowly that I got back into the social swing. Several of those I had known the previous year had left, either on long leave, or for good, but in due course I found myself among a small and friendly group of men and women of much my own age.

Robin Saville, my friend in the Secretariat, had married the nursing sister, Pip Boakes, while I had been away, and set up house in Speke Street close by the Botanical Gardens. David and Patricia Le Breton had also returned to Dar after their marriage back home. Amongst my single friends remained Peter Mence, the policeman, and Alan Reese, in Adult Education, both men being quiet and confident chaps whose company I much enjoyed. Among the single girls I counted as friends Anne Burkinshaw, a WAA in the Secretariat with a sunny disposition and a hearty laugh, Sheilagh Bailey, a secretary in Police Headquarters, and Katie Kyle and several other nursing sisters who I had know when in hospital.

We tended to gather in the evenings for a drink and a meal, or a visit to the cinema, and occasionally for a dance. At the weekends we sailed together, or went out to a chosen beach to swim and snorkel over the reef and picnic on the sand in the shade of the coconut palms. Government House was kind to me, too. Sir Richard and Lady Turnbull were as friendly as ever when they invited me to lunch not long after my return to Dar. It was a quiet family affair with just two other guests and the Aide de Camp ADCand I was flattered when HE said some very kind things about my article on the Germans in East Africa, which had been published in the learned journal Tanganyika Notes and Records while I had been at home.

Old friends who turned up unexpectedly were Tim and Anne Ealand. We had served together during my National Service in Dorchester and Hong Kong, and I was delighted when he got in touch, and Anne invited me to their home and to concerts organised at the barracks. It was good to see her again although, like so many of us at that time, she was totally undecided whether to stay under the new regime or take compensation and leave the country for good. We were both keen on sailing and seemed to like the same things. She had a sweet and gentle manner, a clear, quiet voice and an artistic sense that much attracted me. I helped her move into a flat in a block near Selander Bridge with superb views out to sea.

Amiri worked for her for some days, and helped make her living room quite charming with its lovely outlook and her many pretty things. She and her little pekinese used to join me for walks along the Oyster Bay beach in the evenings, and for some long runs by car on Sundays to explore more distant beaches like Kisiju on the south coast. She would set up her easel and paint in oils, while I idled in the sunshine at weekends. Under her guidance I bought some brushes and oil paints myself and started to paint, at first quite casually making a silly mess on the canvas, but more seriously as time went on. I supported Sheilagh when her poor dog was injured in a fight and needed urgent attention by the vets.

It was to me she turned when she hit an African child who had run headlong into the wing of her little car as she was driving to work at Police Headquarters. She was the genial hostess at many of my evening parties in Oyster Bay, and invited me to the sundowners she gave in her flat. Her cook was very good at making delectable curries, and she introduced me to some new and interesting people. On one occasion I helped her host a visit by the Turnbulls, to admire the magnificent view from the windows of the flat over Selander Bridge and across the sparkling Indian Ocean. During those months we saw each other in the evenings a couple of times a week.

The reception rooms had been freshly decorated and furnished, and looked very fine with masses of flowers flown up from the Southern Highlands. Sheilagh and I made up a party with Alan Reese and his girlfriend, and my long-standing friends, Norman and Jane Macleod, dancing until 3 a. My social life at that time was very pleasant. I took every opportunity to escape from Dar whenever possible, and longed for the cool fresh air of my former station at Kisarawe. On several weekends after my return, I drove up there to enjoy the drier climate and, in addition to engaging my staff, spent time with my former colleagues and friends.

Jim Campbell was my successor there as DO II, and Stewart Inchbold-Stevens was the new Forestry Officer, whose buxom wife and giggling daughters used to invite me to their family tea parties. Deep in the Pugu Hills, not far from Kisarawe, lay Minaki School, whose headmaster was a fellow Johnian, Dick Pentney, and I was delighted when he invited me to his school sports and open days. On publication of the Compensation Scheme, David Nickoll made up his mind to retire; and I was invited to a series of farewell parties organised by Andrew Marshall for the African chiefs and councillors as well as the European community on their small station.

On several occasions, I called on the father of a young man from a village behind Kisarawe who had been sent by the British Council to England for a course at Reading University. Stephen Kirumbi was a likeable fellow whom I had taken out several times during my home leave, and I was glad to be able to tell his parents how he was doing. At other times, I went further into the hills behind Kisarawe, to call at the Catholic Mission at Maneromango, return books on local history to the Mission library, and renew my acquaintance with Mr Yungi, the local historian, picking his brains about the life and customs of his people, the Zaramo, whom I was studying at the time. Moving House The snag about the pleasant Oyster Bay bungalow which I had occupied on return to Dar, was that I had to move out again only eight weeks after moving in.

The former occupants wanted it back at the end of their long leave. Worse still, the housing situation was very tight, and no alternative house was available to me for at least a fortnight. I was offered a room in a hotel, but decided I would like to see what it was like living and sleeping in a banda, a palm leaf shack of the sort in which many coastal Africans spent their lives. So I moved into one at a place called Magogoni, on the beach south of the city, which had formerly been a rest house belonging to the Kisarawe District Office.

It was one simple room quite without modern conveniences, but slap on the beach and utterly peaceful. Magogoni Banda I took with me for use in the banda all my safari kit: The weekends at Magogoni were magnificently idle: The banda was quite cosy, and would have made a pleasant retreat were it not for four problems. Firstly there was minimal accommodation for my staff, so Mohamed and Sefu had to take lodgings elsewhere in Dar es Salaam. Only Amiri could be at hand in an even simpler banda beside mine.

Secondly there was serious normxl with the roof. The makuti, that is the palm Lookiingwas thick and looked to be water-resistant, but I soon discovered it leaked. On nights when the clouds piled up, I had little sleep normao I was in and out of bed constantly blocking Looking for normal chill girl in oldeani the holes in the thatch, and covering up the furniture beneath. Harbour Point Ferry The third snag was that I had to take the car to and olveani the city norml the kldeani slow car-ferry every day. It is an advert in which a dinner party host offers her three female guests pudding.

Long story short, the guests raid her house, as we all would in the face of such an offer- naturally. Bizarrely enough they find nothing under the sofa or in the drawers which answers this pudding conundrum. Then they find out the host means yoghurt and then they all laugh because they are all thrilled about that … personally I do not class yoghurt as pudding. At moments like that, it would seem the entirety of female society is doomed. Then, to add insult to injury, society keeps recommending yoghurt as a way to get there. OK, perhaps I am overreacting, especially about Perle du Lait. Izzy, a researcher at the BBC, gives me a reality check.

It would seem our own happiness has a direct effect on how we look at others. Go and do something with your time that gives you a greater sense of self. Maybe I will, after all, speaking French might give me an edge on the competition, right? Julia Oliphant, 23, lives and works in London.

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