It is only recently that I have begun to enjoy eating pawpaws. As the saying goes, too much of everything is harmful. The story is a long one.
Way back in the 1960s, I was a young boy in primary school, growing up in the then Njombe District in the Southern Highlands.
My late father was a teacher at what was then Madilu Primary School, now Wangama, on the slopes of the imposing Mount Livingstone ranges.
Madilu was a rich agricultural area with vast farms of wheat, Irish potatoes, peas and beans, in addition to maize and banana plantations.
For us young boys and girls growing up in the area, however, the abundant availability of such mouth-watering fruits as peaches, apples and pears—“Ma-Berlin”, as the locals called the latter, on account of their having been introduced by Evangelical Lutheran Church missionaries from Berlin, Germany—was a heavenly buffet.
We would spend hours foraging through the locals’ orchards, picking these fruits and eating to our fill. Indeed, we had a wonderful time.
Yet these amazing times were not as fulfilling as the holiday seasons when my family visited our maternal grandfather, the late Lutangilo Merere, at Uhambule village in the centre of the Ubena lowlands, in what is now Wanging’ombe District.
My father would literally march us down the slopes of the Mount Livingstone ranges to Uhambule, some 49 kilometres away.
My grandfather was quite a unique character. From the lineage of the Sangu Chief Merere, he had abandoned the privileges of royalty and joined the Lutheran Church, where he became a priest and relocated to Ubenaland.
He played a major role in establishing the Lutheran Church mission in the Southern Highlands, founding parishes in Kidugala, Ilembula and Yakobi, to mention but a few.
In the early 1960s, he settled at the Uhambule Lutheran Church mission centre. He was so committed to church work that when the Berlin Mission wanted to give him a Land Rover to assist in his duties, he refused.
Instead, he requested a huge church bell. The half-ton bell was shipped from Germany to Dar es Salaam, and from there ferried by porters to Uhambule—a journey that took six months. The bell continues to call the faithful to church in the village to this day.
But my grandfather had another passion—establishing and managing a rich orchard. Here, one would find many succulent and mouth-watering tropical fruits, including grapes, bananas, mangoes, guavas and of course, pawpaws.
It was the pawpaws that greatly appealed to me. I would enthusiastically run into the orchard, gather as many pawpaws as possible, then sit down to enjoy them.
Then came the day when my sumptuous pawpaw consumption turned against me. After going through two generously sized fruits, my body revolted. I began vomiting heavily and subsequently collapsed.
I was immediately rushed to the village dispensary, where I was stabilised.
From that day until a few weeks ago, I would feel like vomiting whenever I tasted the fruit. It was only after thorough consultation with a clinical expert that I have begun to enjoy it again—but in moderation.
And that is my chequered story with pawpaws.
