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    West African Project
    West African Project
    West African Project
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    West African Project

    By Adam Mann

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    About this ebook

    If you’ve ever fancied working in remote parts of the world, you must read this: This book is based on a true story in West Africa, not in the steamy coastal area but in the dry semi-desert plains in the north. Ivan is employed to work as the project agricultural advisor, he learns to speak the local language and finds that the farmer families in the villages good to work with. He has the support of the project director, Mustapha, and finds his widowed daughter attracted to him. The project has many twists and turns over the twenty year period, but manages to survive through wholesale fraud, corruption and contradictory government legislation, and manages to improve the incomes of the farmer families.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherButterflyBooks
    Release dateNov 11, 2014
    ISBN9781311881212
    West African Project
    Author

    Adam Mann

    Adam Mann has lived and worked in Africa and then Asia for many years. He has always been fascinated by personal relationships, and in real life is now enjoying his fourth marriage, after being widowed, divorced, and even had a marriage annulled as this ‘wife’ had forgotten to get divorced.As a result he has extensive experience of social and sexual activities, which he brings into his books in explicit detail. Underlying all these activities is a quest for a loving and ongoing relationship with his partner.Adam Mann is a pen name.

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    • 5/5
      This is an amazing story of cross-cultural understanding, patience, wisdom and love. I would love to meet Ivan and see his African home - and talk about community development, too, of course.
      Well done, Adam Mann!!

    Book preview

    West African Project - Adam Mann

    Butterfly Books

    West African Project

    By Adam Mann

    © Adam Mann 2014

    Adam Mann asserts his rights as the author of this novel.

    ISBN: 9781311881212

    This novel was previously published by the author and Butterfly Books at Smashwords and Amazon, but has been completely revised, corrected, extended and edited in January 2016,

    and again in January 2021.

    Smashwords Edition, 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.

    Tim and I off we went

    Met three shielas in a tent,

    They were three and we were two,

    So I bucked one,

    and Timbuktu.

    Death of a Patriarch

    It was late evening and the sounds of the muezzin were fading into the distance. The old man, Mustapha, lay back in his bed and partially closed his eyes. He made a sound like a sigh, and then instinctively we all then knew it was over as he died.

    His eldest daughter, Aisha, leaned over the bed and closed his half open eyes. His own wives were sitting together on a carpet, but nothing could be guessed from their expressions. But their fingers were busy with their prayer beads, and their lips could be seen moving in silent prayer. There were three of them; he had never bothered to find a fourth wife, which his religion and position in society allowed. Three was enough, he had once said, and laughed!

    The wives knew that it would now be their responsibility to prepare his body for burial, which would take place early the following morning.

    We were all very sad at his passing but none of us cried, then. He had always told us that life would continue and we had to be strong.

    One of their maids realised what had happened and she hastened to tell everyone else in the house, and in the road outside a lament started. His death had been anticipated now for several days.

    Before he died he reckoned that he was eighty, but he did not have a paper to prove it, but he did have knowledge of a series of events which had happened in his own lifetime. He could not read or speak much English, but of course was fluent in his own language, Hausa. As a Fulani his traditional language Fulbe was rarely spoken to my knowledge, unless his family used it to speak together among themselves.

    He did not have a local rank, like an Emir, nor was he a village head, but the local dignitaries all knew him and they would never have come to his village without meeting him and paying their respects, where they would be fed and entertained by Mustapha. He was simply respected!

    The village had slowly grown in numbers, and buildings, and had become a small town over the years, but still regarded as village by the local authorities.

    His sons had all been well educated, and he had five sons of various ages. From them I learned a lot about their life and customs. Unfortunately, none of his sons were interested in farming or agriculture, and as his sons grew up and graduated, they all went off to their professions or vocations in the big cities.

    Fortunately, the youngest wanted to be an engineer, and he and I spent long hours together discussing problems like irrigation. His name was Muneer and he was probably twenty years younger than me.

    It was only after he died that I learned that Mustapha had been the chairman of a local farmers’ society, and then another man I knew was then elected in his place. The new chairman was an adjoining village head who had benefitted a lot from the project activities.

    I learned also from him a very important aspect of power;

    He once told me that an elected politician, which Mustapha was not, had power through his electorate – the people who voted for him. This gave them access to funds and taxation, but in an effort to try to please the majority his funds were not always spent wisely, or carefully.

    In the country at that time where a lot of power hungry politicians, most of whom promised anything and everything to get elected, and then promptly forgot it immediately they were elected, or pleaded higher costs or design problems. Whatever they did do involved a great deal of bribery and some didn’t even bother to issue a contract they just took the money, and ran.

    To local politicians a person like Mustapha was an enigma. He could be either be helpful or a hindrance, and as a hindrance they would try to remove his authority. Over the years one or two had tried that but the farmer families in the villages ignored them. It helped that he was not a feudal ruler, but a local leader with a great deal of respect from the community.

    In many countries the original politicians were their religious leaders, and many would, and did, adapt their secular teachings to suit their political ambitions.

    The alternative to the power of politics was the power of money!

    Several industrialist or business men flaunted their wealth, and used it to buy publicity and even notoriety, and collect lucrative contracts from government, or locals, like selling mobile phones which did not work!

    The third was respect. Mustapha was a powerful local man, and held a lot of sway with local villagers, because they respected him! It was as simple as that. I attended a lot of meetings with him and farmer families and he

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