The Logo (Random)

The Logo : Random

Does anyone really understand the origins of the universe? Albert and I questioned it one day and concluded that although physicists use big and complicated words, our guess is as good as theirs’. Anyway, I mention the conversation because the concept of ‘random’ became part of our discussion and, if you think about it, random can be fascinating.

My cover picture up there, is a sign at the end of a road, erected to advertise the location of Shishtoni primary school. To get there from the sign is still convoluted, but that’s another story. I haven’t written a lot about Tanzanian schools – yet, and since I was working there, there have been many changes, nevertheless it’s good to record history albeit boring for many. Be that is it may, when we were first there, we found few signs to show where things were. There were Coca Cola signs over bars and shops, some of which told the name of the village. But you had to get there first!

The education department brought in a new regulation: all schools were to erect signs in appropriate places to indicate where they were located. This was random regulation which came out of the blue. It was a substantial cost to each school, and many had difficulty in finding the funds, but it was an opportunity to show their artistic talent, as can be seen on the Shishtoni sign. On our last day there, I promised them that there would always be a corner of my heart for Shishtoni, and there still is. I had a made up a logo for our environmental project, and on the sign they copied the logo including the words: Misitu ni Uhai – Forests are Life. Using the logo was the school’s way of giving me a tick. Anyway, I was humbled by it.    

It all began because early on. I found the value of making a show of being official, a letterhead or stamp beside a signature seemed to open doors. At the time even typing paper was too expensive for most, the ordinary Joe Bow had no access to a computer, and certainly I’d missed out on the burgeoning use of computes back home. I faxed a note to my brother-in-law, who I knew had picked up on computer-tec, and asked him to send me a stylised picture of an Acacia tree. It usually took five weeks for mail to arrive but eventually a dozen or so pictures arrived, and when I looked at them, I wondered why I hadn’t drawn one myself, all I wanted was a flat-topped Acacia like umbrella thorn and I’d already collected some seed from the tree.

I chose the picture that was nearest to my ideal and took it to the Stamp Man. Every day I was in town, I spoke to the Stamp Man, because his little kiosk was in an alleyway beside the post office. I know, I’ve written about this in the past, but it’s uncanny how people can be so alike other people despite the colour of their skin. The Stamp Man was the spitting image of Jimmy, our neighbour back home. The way he sat, the way he smiled, even his voice was the same, except the Stamp Man couldn’t speak English. I guessed there was unlikely a living to be made by making stamps for a population of about three hundred thousand, which was why he sold second-hand books as a side-line. Books where in short supply in those days. He seemed happy enough sitting there chatting with passers-by, not selling much.

Using rubber from old car or truck tyres and a razor blade the Stamp Man plied his trade at a small dest. I showed him the picture I had chosen, wrote the words above the tree, Misitu ni Uhai and below, Mradi ya Hifadhi - Conservation Project, and I showed him the size I wanted the stamp to be. He assured me the stamp would be ready the next day. He had pre-made handles to stick the rubber pad onto and sold the ink-pads that made it work. The cost was peanuts so I gave him a bonus. I was more than happy with the result, even though the tree wasn’t quite like the picture, but that didn’t matter. The lettering was accurate, fine and as if done with a stencil! That stamp proved mightily useful.

My contract with Hifadhi came to an end, and in the random way events kept unfolding, I joined a totally different structure that was DME. I asked the Stamp Man to produce a similar stamp, because the new project was going to require more officialdom as the need for an official stamp presented itself. As was policy, the Agency sent us home for a break between jobs, during which time I checked out ways to motivate school kids and others we would be working with. I called on a printing company with the idea of negotiating a cheap deal for pens printed with the project’s logo. It didn’t happen because the company also printed T-shirts, and it turned out that from time to time, they made mistakes with the printing or the colour of the shirts. Much to my interest, they disposed of erroneous shirts by giving them to mechanics for cleaning up engines and machinery! So after a wee chat with the boss lady, they were happy to give us a suitcase-full! We didn’t need to worry about the impact on our flight luggage, because a little bit of negotiation and the cooperation of our airline, Qantas, they supported our project by free-freighting the suitcase!

As prizes for the ‘best tree’ in school plantings, the T-shirts were very successful, but it wasn’t long before we ran out of them. Progress can be a random thing, even in third world countries, and though taking a random walk, I stumbled on a tiny workshop a screen printer had set up in town. His main custom was to supply ‘different’ tourist T-shirts to some outlets around town and for export.  The guy printed onto T-shirts that were supplied to him by the outlets because it was difficult to find plain ones, even though there was a factory locally. I eventually found some in another out-of-the-way shop. Apparently, certain religious groups used them. So to round things off, I asked the Stamp Man cut the stencil of our logo for the screen printer to print onto the brand new, white T-shirts. The head teacher and the environment teacher, along with the student prize-winners at Shishtoni primary school each received one on those shirts.

And that’s why the logo came to be painted there on their school sign. All because of some random tie-up.   

Off to Stewart Island

Off To Stewart Island

Max was in charge of animal control throughout Southland Conservancy. The government called them noxious animals in those days, introduced mammals, prone to damaging our indigenous flora and fauna. His role was to protect the vegetation that protected the soil against erosion and kept our water clean. He impressed Henry with his tales about Stewart Island, its wild weather and diverse flora and fauna. On the island, Max and his crew were supposed to control one of the few populations of Virginian Deer (Whitetail) in New Zealand, but Henry knew Max too well and reckoned he would be managing them, rather than contributing to their total demise. From what Max said, the Forest Service had a big influence on the island, and his crew were building walking tracks and huts for public use.

After a bit of planning, Henry and Hooks arrived at Invercargill airport to catch the tiny Widgeon seaplane across to Stewart Island. At the ticket booth, Henry asked if there needed to be any special arrangements for his dog, Wally.

‘No, he can go in the cabin with you.’ Said the clerk, ‘Just rub some baby powder into him because his smell could upset other passengers and perhaps make them sick.’

They also discussed about getting dropped off and picked up at Chew Tobacco Bay, but the vagaries of the weather and often violent seas, meant that pickup could well be delayed by a week or more, so they opted to negotiate with a fishing boat owner from Oban to drop them off.

The flight over was smooth for a small aircraft and Wally quickly sidled up to a friendly woman who was seated next to Hooks. She stroked the dog’s ears while he gratefully sat there with his head on her lap, sucking up the attention. But Henry became concerned when his sides began to heave in and out, a sure precursor to vomiting! With some urgency but trying not show any panic, Henry tried to coax Wally away from the woman. She smiled warmly and said she didn’t mind in the least and in fact, she found the dog comforting. Henry had visions of an unsightly mess appearing on the woman’s lap! However, the interaction must have taken Wally’s mind off vomiting and soon he settled down to sleep with the woman continuing to stroke his ears.

Talking to Max, Henry had managed to wheedle a night’s stay at Thule Cottage, a sort of backpacker-type camp set up by the Forest Service for its own people. There was nowhere to buy a quick bite, so they decided to cook up a feed, but before doing so, they headed down to the jetty to negotiate with the fishermen for a lift around to Chew Tobacco Bay. Henry had been given the name of a likely candidate and after a bit of toing and froing they found the guy who agreed on an early start next morning. He showed them where his boat was moored and where to meet up.

Mike rowed them out to his boat in a small dinghy. Luckily they didn’t have a lot of gear, and luckily the sea was flat because there was barely any freeboard on the small craft and the top boards on the clinker-built looked decidedly dodgy! After they were aboard and their gear stowed, Mike secured the dinghy to the back of the boat – ok, boating lingo, the stern.  It was a nice calm morning as they steamed out of Halfmoon Bay and into open water, through Carters Passage and south towards Chew Tobacco Bay. The sea took on a swell, but it was quite comfortable as Henry and Hooks watched the rocky coastline and the indigenous bush, bent by salt spray and strong winds, slipping by. Mike hove to some distance out from the bay to allow them to drop handlines to the bottom. The sinker had three baited hooks attached, which were only on the bottom for a moment before there was tugging on the lines. They had each hooked three nice blue cod in one go! Enough fish for a few meals once they set up camp ashore. They discussed arrangements for the pickup while Mike made two trips to row them ashore because the bouncier sea meant that the freeboard would be compromised. Hooks and Henry admired Mike’s expertise because he landed them and their gear without them getting their feet wet. The pair were stunned by the clarity of the sea because even where Mike left his boat moored in deeper water, the bottom was plainly visible.

They landed to the south of the bay, on a wide, silver-sand beach fringed with tall marram grass before the outline of dark green bush. There was a brackish creek, which was the only ‘fresh’ water in the bay. They found to be drinkable only at low tide, but it was lucky for them, otherwise they would have had to rely on collecting rainwater. Once Mike had left them, the pair with Wally at foot, were completely alone and the only sounds were the lapping of the sea and the birds’ daytime chorus.

After setting up camp and collecting firewood, they decided to walk along the sandy beach to look for deer tracks and to get a feel of the place. Hooks hefted his rifle over his shoulder, but Henry had decided he wanted to absorb the wild beauty rather than to hunt, it seemed to be a desecration of the place to shoot anything. They found deer tracks in the sand, indicating that the Whitetails had probably been out during the night, which might mean they are on the beach every night.

They ventured into the bush and soon found the walking track that was part of a network the Forest Service workers had formed around the island. Before long Wally stood pointing. It was natural for Henry and Hooks to be looking for larger animals, so it took a while for Henry to find the kiwi burrow down among the ferns. He hadn’t thought about the possibility of encountering kiwi, nobody had warned him, so he decided not to allow his dog to run free unless he was in sight along the beach. Henry had complete trust in his dog, but if he’d pointed at a kiwi, the bird must have excited him in some way… Wally would just have to stay at heel all the time.

The blue cod cooked in butter made a tasty and filling evening meal washed down with strong, billy tea. After a long yarn beside the campfire, they climbed into their sleeping bags to identify some of the stars and quickly nodded off. Come the morning and during a breakfast of bacon and eggs, Henry had a question.

 ‘Did you wash these plates last night?’ Because he hadn’t.

‘No.’ Hooks replied, ‘I thought you did!’

They both looked a Wally who looked a tad guilty by dipping his ears.

After breakfast, Hooks took his rifle and managed to shoot a deer, which set them up with meat for the rest of their time in the bay, and with enough tucker for Wally. Henry skinned the animal because he reckoned Hooks was too rough to make a neat job of it. Hooks wanted to have the skin treated and use it as a floor mat in his bedroom. There was no point in shooting any more deer after that because there was enough to fascinate them in and around the bay without hefting a firearm all day. They found a myriad of interesting plants and quite high up in the bush, alerted by their noisy walk, they encountered lots of yellow-eyed penguins. Maybe they were filling in time while moulting because there were no burrows and they were far from the sea. At heel, Wally alerted them, pointing at the presence of Kiwi, Weka, Penguins and the odd deer.  He was well behaved, but just the same, Henry carried a length of cord in case a leash was needed for him, Wally hadn’t ever been on a walking-leash. They found the remains of an old whaler’s camp, cauldron and all! What a life those men must have led!

After seven days of walking, fishing and gathering rock oysters, without seeing another soul, they were packed up and were ready at the appointed time when, around the point came Mike to pick them up. The dingy rose and dipped with the moderate swell on the way out and Mike told them he had several craypots to check, so Henry and Hooks paid their way by becoming fishermen on the way back. They hauled the pots out of the water, threw the females and undersized back, and packed the keepers in tubs. They were followed and watched by frowning Mollymawks, big snow white birds with slate backs. They sat on the water, ready to snaffle any easy pickings, paddling to and fro, but they missed out on a meal because crayfish were too valuable. Back in Halfmoon Bay, Mike offered the pair a few crays, rock lobsters, but they need to be eaten fresh and wouldn’t make the trip home.

As they buckled up aboard the Widgeon for the flight back to Invercargill, Henry and Hooks resolved to make a return trip, perhaps to the north of the island. Henry, was suddenly horrified at his lapse, he forgot he’d used all the baby powder on the trip over! But his worry was unfounded. The other passengers didn’t seem to notice any dog-smell, how could they? Hooks had over-indulged in the venison stew and was silently erupting, fizzing at the bung, due to the flatulence-inducing venison combining with his own unnatural enzymes that lurked in his gut! And unsurprising it was Wally who got the blame!

Rotten Eggs

Rotten Eggs

Henry’s mother put him in charge of the hens, even though he was only nine years old and still not very big. There were about forty laying hens, and a dozen or so pullets, kept in a special house with a window of wire netting to let the sun and fresh air in. There was also a run. That’s a big area enclosed by wire netting where the hens could run outside, scratch in the soil and have a dust bath without getting into Dad’s vegetable garden. Henry’s job was to feed them morning and night, make sure they had plenty of drinking water, collect the eggs and also feed them scraps left over from the family’s meals. He also gave them green waste. The green waste was from the garden, like cabbages that caterpillars had eaten and the lawn clippings. The greens made the egg yolks nice and orange. Everyone likes orange yolks!

In the morning he made up a wet bran mix for the hens, bran’s a bit like porridge for hens, it helps them to lay lots of eggs. In the evening Henry fed the hens wheat and collected the eggs. One evening, he was late because he was listening to the Superman serial on the radio, so when the ads came on, he remembered the hens – chooks as he called them – he’d forgotten to feed them! Well, he ran to the henhouse with a potful of wheat, biffed it into the henhouse and scarpered back to listen to the rest of the story. But Dad saw him and he was frowning, he asked Henry if he’d spread the wheat around as he was supposed to. No? Well go back and do it then! Dad wanted it done properly. So Henry missed the end of the story and the best part when Superman said, ‘Up, up and awaaay!’ That taught him to do his jobs properly first time around, because it saves time in the long run. It would have taken only a few seconds more to spread the wheat around the first time!

Sometimes the hens would hide their eggs. There were nice nest-boxes, another job Henry had was to keep clean straw in the nest-boxes so the eggs didn’t break when they popped out, but sometimes he would find their eggs hidden around the henhouse or even in the run. By the time he found them, they were usually rotten. If you shake an egg, you can feel if it isn’t balanced and it sounds slushy inside. He was happy to find rotten eggs though so he kept them in a special place because he had a use for them. Did you know that rotten eggs stink? They really, really stink!

Sometimes the boys in his neighbourhood had mock wars. With pretend guns made out of sticks, and sometimes with hand grenades of lumps of dirt, clods. Errol’s dad used to grow tomatoes, so Errol and his friends would throw rotten tomatoes at Henry and his friends!  Well, Henry and his friends would throw rotten eggs back! If an egg hit Errol or his friends, they would get into trouble with their mothers because their clothes stank so, so much!  Oh yes, Henry and his friends used to get into trouble for tomato stains on their clothes too! But it was fun!

The Heathcote River wasn’t far from where Henry lived, so he, with his mates made eel spears and during months with R in them – eels are only in the river during months with R in them - so those months, they went down to the river to catch eels. The best bait was to use an old, ladies stocking, put some rotten eggs into it, and anchor it in the river. Then smash the eggs! What a stink! But it attracted the eels! They came like black, slithering snakes in the water! One time, Henry poked his spear at a big one, lost his balance and fell head-first into the swirling, hungry eels! Ewww! He knew eels bite really hard and because their teeth are curved, they can’t let go! He felt their slimy skin on his face, hands and legs, but he was too quick to be bitten! He was out of the water like a rocket on Guy Fawkes Night! But then he had to explain to Mum how he got all wet and what the yellow, smelly stuff was on his clothes. Mum always rolled her eyes at his stories!

One day during the holidays, Henry hopped on the tram to go a few stops from Johnny Martin’s shop was on the corner of Valley Road. He was going along the river to meet Kevin, another friend who wanted to catch some of the eels he had seen by his house. He took half a dozen rotten eggs with him in a brown paper bag and sat them on the seat beside him. He was looking out the window and saw a puppy running along the road and worried that he might get run over! He didn’t notice the woman looking for a seat. She was a BIG woman with a big round bum! Well… before Henry could stop her she sat down beside him. Right on top of the rotten eggs! He could smell them straight away! She had a long pointy nose and he was sure she would smell them to!  But no, she didn’t seem to notice, probably because she sprayed a lot of perfume under her arms. Henry thought he was in real trouble now!  As the tram slowed close to the next stop, not the one he wanted to go to, but he was keen to get off! He stood up and was ready to rump out the door as soon as the driver opened them! As he darted off, he took a quick glance at the BIG woman, she was twitching her nose – her bum would be getting wet soon too!

Henry ran straight home! He gave up collecting the rotten eggs! For a while.