When I typed in blogspot.com on this computer at the internet cafe, it immediately opened to my account, all signed in and everything...which is really weird because I have never used this particular computer before. Hmm...
My days have started to blend together. Lucas and Evalina and I had a very sincere debate last week about what day of the week it was, and all seven possibilities were up for consideration. We couldn't even eliminate weekends.
The fact that weekends are no different from weekdays here brings up the concept of "work" and what it means in this cultural context. In some ways, the people here work harder than we as Americans can even imagine. Washing clothes by hand in a bucket, planting, tending and harvesting crops, pounding cassava into flour and making flour into food, building homes from thatch and mudbrick...Evalina sometimes asks me about "machines in America," and I try to explain washing machines and ovens to her. They are almost impossible to imagine here. And this is all accomplished while raising eight or ten or twenty kids; I've even heard of families with over thirty children. In their homes and gardens, the people--or more accurately, the women--of Kiganza work tirelessly. But as far as actually having a job outside the home, or working for money rather than subsistence, I have seen no evidence, at least not in Yared's family compound (inhabited by about 30 people.) Many of them are supposedly employed by GOSESO (whether in a full-time or paid capacity I don't know), but apart from the lovely garden, I really don't see evidence of much work being done. Lucas, for example, seems to be the organization's Number Two, or at least its Number Three, but it really appears as if he does nothing but walk me around the forest in the mornings and hang out on the patio with the other local men in the afternoons and evenings. Someone with his local knowledge could surely be creating valuable progress for the organization, but whether from a lack of direction from the upper management or from a dearth of ability or motivation, he really doesn't seem to be doing much of anything. When I asked him how many trees he plans to plant this year, his rather enigmatic response--"fifty thousand hundred"--left me puzzled. I asked him to write the number, and he scratched 500,000 into the dirt...which would mean well over 1000 trees per day. Since I've been here over a week and have witnessed the planting of precisely none, it seems likely that they will fall short of this ambitious goal. (It is also possible that Lucas didn't know the answer and was just making something up, as I get the feeling he does sometimes.) I can't judge the situation. My American work ethics simply don't apply. There is just a marked difference in the way work is done here.
I taught some of the villagers hopscotch the other day. I was meandering through the garden by myself one evening because I didn't have anything better to do and didn't want to seem antisocial by reading all day (though that option really would have been fine with me.) As usual, two half-naked toddlers began following me at a safe distance, giggling and murmuring about the mazungu. I ducked behind a giant banana tree leaf and played Peek-a-Boo for a minute, and then, encouraged by their laughter, I grabbed a stick and drew a hopscotch board in the reddish dirt. When I began drawing I had an audience of only two. Around the third square I heard a shuffle, looked up, and was surprised to find that the crowd around me had quintupled in the past sixty seconds. By square five a young teenage girl was standing over me and shouting to Mama Fubusa a play-by-play description of what I was doing, and before I reached ten Mama was there herself. I then began a completely wordless demonstration of how to play, using a rock as a beanbag. The game didn't last long, as only a few children were brave enough to give it a try (though Mama Fubusa was daring enough to play up to the second square!) I think that, for the gathered audience, I was more of an attraction than the game was. I left wishing that it had caught on a little better but still really satisfied that I had been able to interact with the children and some of the villagers with whom I don't have much contact.
For the past three evenings, Lucas has taken me to watch the Catholic church's choir practice in the dried-up cassava fields behind someone's house. On the second day, he informed them that I would return the next day and bring a Moving Camera, and it would be a Very Big Deal. This caused quite a stir, making me feel awkward about the fact that I will have no way to share the video with them, since they don't have computers or TVs. I did take a short video with my camera, though, and it turned out really nicely.
On the way home from the practice on the second night, Lucas took my by the home of an older couple. The man spoke very good English, and while the woman didn't, she made up for it with the gusto of her welcome. As the four of us were walking from their front door, through the house, and into the backyard/shed/cooking area, the woman suddenly reached out and caught my arm with such force that my camera flew out of my hand; it was only by some miraculous and uncharateristic instance of bodily coordination that I was actually able to catch it midair with my other hand. I thought she was preventing me from stepping on a snake or a baby or off a cliff or something. Instead she compressed me to her chest, my back arched by the strength of her vicelike hug and by the fact that I was trying to keep my feet back so as not to step on hers (and also, if we're going to be honest, from an effort to stay back as far as possible.) With her ample bosom crushed into my stomach, she wrenched her face from my collarbone and looked up at my confused and somewhat alarmed face with what may have actually been tears of joy in her eyes. In her thickly accented voice, she emotionally proclaimed, "I love you!" I managed a lame "Thank you," and a smile that was part honored, part frightened, and part I-can't-wait-to-tell-people-about-this. Most people here have been very--though luckily not equally--welcoming to me.
I can't wait to hear update from all of you--I look forward to your emails!!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Indoor/Outdoor Biology
I was in the middle of writing a post a while ago when the electricity at this internet cafe went out...we'll see if it works this time.
I've now been in Kiganza for a week and my schedule is somewhat regular. Yared, the master of all that is GOSESO, is not actually here (he arrives July 1), and I have been under strict instructions from him to spend my first two and a half weeks here "getting to know the culture" and avoiding any sort of work. While this seems like an inefficient use of over two-sevenths of my time here, I can't argue, so it works for me...hakuna matata, as they say (thanks for teaching me, Disney!)
I get up each day around 8:45 or 9 (bordering on inexcusably late for an agrarian village, but without an alarm clock it's really the best I can do right now.) Breakfast is waiting for me on the dining room table when I emerge, and there must be some sort of village-wide signal that means "Amanda is up" (the cook probably sees me heading for the detached bathroom) because within minutes I am invariably joined by several locals. There's always Evalina, the girl around my age who has either chosen or been appointed as my almost constant companion, and Lucas, the similarly-aged guy who seems to sort of be in charge around here (or at least in charge of me.) Breakfast hasn't really changed since I've arrived: several (three-ish) fried eggs with onion, two slices of buttered-beyond-belief bread that have been toasted over charcoal, and a banana from the garden. One day I actually got three fried eggs with a side of two hardboiled eggs; Evalina got half my breakfast that day. I'll have to get my cholesterol checked when I get back.
After breakfast Lucas usually leads me on a long walk somewhere, usually thorough the GOSESO forest, though the objective of these trips is not always clear to me. More interesting than where we go, though, is often who we go with. Wherever I wander in this village (or in this country, it seems), I attract a sizeable following. Parents Beware: If I walk through one end of your village, your children will follow me out the other!! So Lucas and Evalina and I start off from my house, collecting a random assortment of fifteen or so children and adults as we go, and by the time we reach the forest I'm like the Pied Piper of Hamlin with half of Kiganza in tow.
We've been back to the forest hut frequented by the baboons several times now, and they (and I) have gotten much bolder with each other. The younger ones now climb all over me, and the older male allows it as long as I don't really move while his family is around. If I move, he bares his teeth, lunges, and shrieks, causing me to remember with some regret the rabies shot I turned down at the travel immunization clinic. The baby baboon is unbelievably adorable, though. It snuggles me and hugs my neck like a human child.
In domestic news, the lizard finally ate the tarantula off my walls a few nights ago. I watched the whole thing go down (literally and figuratively). I can't say I'm too sorry for the loss, though the wildlife of my bedroom has certainly not depleted. Last night around midnight, as I was carrying my candle into my room, I noticed a shadow on the floor that looked suspiciously alive. Upon closer examination with my flashlight, I saw that it was some crazy-looking bug that actually resembled nothing so much as a crab. And it was huge--as long across as my palm. One bad thing about having a cook and therefore no access to the outdoor kitchen--and there really aren't very many bad things about that situation--is that I also have absolutely no access to dishes. This is a minor problem when I need to do things like sterilize my toothbrush (which I did the day before yesterday, as I had zoned out and stuck it under the tap--Yikes!!). Or when I need to cover the world's largest crustacean/insect combo creature and scoot it out the door. It did occur to me that I could just drop my Lonely Planet on it, but I felt sorry for the poor thing, and plus, I didn't want to clean up a mess like that. I tried covering it with one of the slightly-concave saucers that we put candles on, but the thing was way too big (though amazingly tolerant), so I finally threw my towel over the thing and dragged it all the way through the house and out into the courtyard, muttering all the way about how it had better be grateful for all I was doing for it.
No sooner had I gotten back to my room and tucked myself into my mosquito net, though, than I heard an unmistakable squeak and scratch coming from under the bed. I tried to pretend it was outside and go to sleep, but I didn't want to end up with holes in my backpack, so I grudgingly got up again to try to shake the mouse out of my pack. I opened my bedroom door first, hoping it would get the idea, and then picked up my bag and SHOOK it by the bottom. The mouse was having none of it, though; I don't know how, but it held on with the tenacity of a pitbull playing tug-of-war. So for the second time that night, I dragged one of my belongings, and a creature with it, out into the courtyard. I shook and shook and shook that bloody thing, but the mouse would not come out. Finally I used my phrasebook to write MOUSE on a scrap of paper, set it next to my pack, and left it in the courtyard. This was three a.m.
Six a.m.: a frantic rap on my window. A flashlight beam comes through the dark room. "AMANDA!!! AMANDA!!! Welcome outside!!" someone bade me. So I sleepily fumbled out into the courtyard, where the guard had found my pack (but not my note--or perhaps he can't read) and had freaked out, thinking that I had been abducted in the night or something. He'd woken Lucas, who was standing there confused and half-dressed, and apparently half the rest of the village as well, because a huge crowd formed around me. I said it was only a mouse, no problem, I'm sorry, everyone, it's okay, and so they looked through my pack...and of course the mouse had absconded in the night. Mouse, they said...right. And trudged off, likely thinking what an idiot I was to have panicked the whole town before dawn. And of course the pronoucement by Filipo, one of the village's most respected men, that "There is no mouses in this house" didn't help my case any. Like he'd know since he doesn't live there...anyway.
Okay, the party bus from Kiganza has been waiting outside for me for way too long, so I will post again later.
I've now been in Kiganza for a week and my schedule is somewhat regular. Yared, the master of all that is GOSESO, is not actually here (he arrives July 1), and I have been under strict instructions from him to spend my first two and a half weeks here "getting to know the culture" and avoiding any sort of work. While this seems like an inefficient use of over two-sevenths of my time here, I can't argue, so it works for me...hakuna matata, as they say (thanks for teaching me, Disney!)
I get up each day around 8:45 or 9 (bordering on inexcusably late for an agrarian village, but without an alarm clock it's really the best I can do right now.) Breakfast is waiting for me on the dining room table when I emerge, and there must be some sort of village-wide signal that means "Amanda is up" (the cook probably sees me heading for the detached bathroom) because within minutes I am invariably joined by several locals. There's always Evalina, the girl around my age who has either chosen or been appointed as my almost constant companion, and Lucas, the similarly-aged guy who seems to sort of be in charge around here (or at least in charge of me.) Breakfast hasn't really changed since I've arrived: several (three-ish) fried eggs with onion, two slices of buttered-beyond-belief bread that have been toasted over charcoal, and a banana from the garden. One day I actually got three fried eggs with a side of two hardboiled eggs; Evalina got half my breakfast that day. I'll have to get my cholesterol checked when I get back.
After breakfast Lucas usually leads me on a long walk somewhere, usually thorough the GOSESO forest, though the objective of these trips is not always clear to me. More interesting than where we go, though, is often who we go with. Wherever I wander in this village (or in this country, it seems), I attract a sizeable following. Parents Beware: If I walk through one end of your village, your children will follow me out the other!! So Lucas and Evalina and I start off from my house, collecting a random assortment of fifteen or so children and adults as we go, and by the time we reach the forest I'm like the Pied Piper of Hamlin with half of Kiganza in tow.
We've been back to the forest hut frequented by the baboons several times now, and they (and I) have gotten much bolder with each other. The younger ones now climb all over me, and the older male allows it as long as I don't really move while his family is around. If I move, he bares his teeth, lunges, and shrieks, causing me to remember with some regret the rabies shot I turned down at the travel immunization clinic. The baby baboon is unbelievably adorable, though. It snuggles me and hugs my neck like a human child.
In domestic news, the lizard finally ate the tarantula off my walls a few nights ago. I watched the whole thing go down (literally and figuratively). I can't say I'm too sorry for the loss, though the wildlife of my bedroom has certainly not depleted. Last night around midnight, as I was carrying my candle into my room, I noticed a shadow on the floor that looked suspiciously alive. Upon closer examination with my flashlight, I saw that it was some crazy-looking bug that actually resembled nothing so much as a crab. And it was huge--as long across as my palm. One bad thing about having a cook and therefore no access to the outdoor kitchen--and there really aren't very many bad things about that situation--is that I also have absolutely no access to dishes. This is a minor problem when I need to do things like sterilize my toothbrush (which I did the day before yesterday, as I had zoned out and stuck it under the tap--Yikes!!). Or when I need to cover the world's largest crustacean/insect combo creature and scoot it out the door. It did occur to me that I could just drop my Lonely Planet on it, but I felt sorry for the poor thing, and plus, I didn't want to clean up a mess like that. I tried covering it with one of the slightly-concave saucers that we put candles on, but the thing was way too big (though amazingly tolerant), so I finally threw my towel over the thing and dragged it all the way through the house and out into the courtyard, muttering all the way about how it had better be grateful for all I was doing for it.
No sooner had I gotten back to my room and tucked myself into my mosquito net, though, than I heard an unmistakable squeak and scratch coming from under the bed. I tried to pretend it was outside and go to sleep, but I didn't want to end up with holes in my backpack, so I grudgingly got up again to try to shake the mouse out of my pack. I opened my bedroom door first, hoping it would get the idea, and then picked up my bag and SHOOK it by the bottom. The mouse was having none of it, though; I don't know how, but it held on with the tenacity of a pitbull playing tug-of-war. So for the second time that night, I dragged one of my belongings, and a creature with it, out into the courtyard. I shook and shook and shook that bloody thing, but the mouse would not come out. Finally I used my phrasebook to write MOUSE on a scrap of paper, set it next to my pack, and left it in the courtyard. This was three a.m.
Six a.m.: a frantic rap on my window. A flashlight beam comes through the dark room. "AMANDA!!! AMANDA!!! Welcome outside!!" someone bade me. So I sleepily fumbled out into the courtyard, where the guard had found my pack (but not my note--or perhaps he can't read) and had freaked out, thinking that I had been abducted in the night or something. He'd woken Lucas, who was standing there confused and half-dressed, and apparently half the rest of the village as well, because a huge crowd formed around me. I said it was only a mouse, no problem, I'm sorry, everyone, it's okay, and so they looked through my pack...and of course the mouse had absconded in the night. Mouse, they said...right. And trudged off, likely thinking what an idiot I was to have panicked the whole town before dawn. And of course the pronoucement by Filipo, one of the village's most respected men, that "There is no mouses in this house" didn't help my case any. Like he'd know since he doesn't live there...anyway.
Okay, the party bus from Kiganza has been waiting outside for me for way too long, so I will post again later.
Digging with Sticks
Hey all!!
I have much to say but less than 10 minutes at this internet cafe, so I will have to make it short. I have arrived in Kiganza! This is a village on the far western border of Tanzania close to Kigoma (where I am currently in order to access the internet.) Everyone in Kiganza knows everyone else--I think they may all be related, in fact--and they have been SO NICE to me. I had a welcoming party bus at the airport (a contingent of seven or eight or nine that kept growing and shrinking as we picked up friends seen walking along the road, dropped off people at the market, and gave rides to random police officers.) I am staying in Africa's most amazing house. I was expecting poor conditions out here--most people do in fact live in mud huts with thatched roofs--but Yared (the guy who runs this nonprofit) has built a lovely place. Several bedrooms, detached kitchen and bath (with Africa's only Western toilet, I think!!!!), and only one lizard and one tarantula on the walls of my bedroom (sleeping under a mosquito net really gives one a sense of security.) All my meals are cooked over a fire and provided for me--still no electricity, but I hardly notice now. Lots of rice, beans, eggs, pineapple, and bananas.
This whole village is involved in GOSESO (Yared's nonprofit). The gardens are huge (where all my food comes from), and they have a big reforestation program going, with little seedings in plastic tubes. I dug into the dirt with a stick yesterday and planted some!! I also saw three baboons and what I think was an Ituri monkey...something like that. The people here pet them and let them climb onto their laps like rambunctious cats. I have to admit that I was a little freaked out by them, and they were obviously interested in me, squaking and chattering around me, though not daring to touch.
One minute left!! Gotta go, will try to get more internet time soon.
I have much to say but less than 10 minutes at this internet cafe, so I will have to make it short. I have arrived in Kiganza! This is a village on the far western border of Tanzania close to Kigoma (where I am currently in order to access the internet.) Everyone in Kiganza knows everyone else--I think they may all be related, in fact--and they have been SO NICE to me. I had a welcoming party bus at the airport (a contingent of seven or eight or nine that kept growing and shrinking as we picked up friends seen walking along the road, dropped off people at the market, and gave rides to random police officers.) I am staying in Africa's most amazing house. I was expecting poor conditions out here--most people do in fact live in mud huts with thatched roofs--but Yared (the guy who runs this nonprofit) has built a lovely place. Several bedrooms, detached kitchen and bath (with Africa's only Western toilet, I think!!!!), and only one lizard and one tarantula on the walls of my bedroom (sleeping under a mosquito net really gives one a sense of security.) All my meals are cooked over a fire and provided for me--still no electricity, but I hardly notice now. Lots of rice, beans, eggs, pineapple, and bananas.
This whole village is involved in GOSESO (Yared's nonprofit). The gardens are huge (where all my food comes from), and they have a big reforestation program going, with little seedings in plastic tubes. I dug into the dirt with a stick yesterday and planted some!! I also saw three baboons and what I think was an Ituri monkey...something like that. The people here pet them and let them climb onto their laps like rambunctious cats. I have to admit that I was a little freaked out by them, and they were obviously interested in me, squaking and chattering around me, though not daring to touch.
One minute left!! Gotta go, will try to get more internet time soon.
Africa Time
(From June 15, 2008)
Hey again, all!
I still have easy internet access because I'm still in Dar es Salaam--long story, I'll get to that later--but I figured I'd go ahead and post again while I can.
On Friday afternoon I ventured off by myself to the Village Museum, which is a collection of huts built in the styles of various Tanzanian tribes. Getting there was an adventure, as I decided to walk rather than try to figure out the haphazard dala-dala route. I took Lauren's Rough Guide map with me, and two different people at her office drew me maps too, but within a hundred yards of her office door I had completely lost my orientation. There are no street signs anywhere, though some of the roads do supposedly have names, and not even the mapmakers were quite sure how they all connect (there are plenty of spots on the Rough Guide map that are just left blank.) It was a long walk--about an hour and a half--and close to the end I was sure I was irrevocably lost. I finally got out my new Swahili phrasebook, stopped a guy on the street, and tried to ask him if he spoke English. Of course, I couldn't even get that sentence out, so I ended up just pointing to it in my book. Because his answer was no, I just pointed to the museum on the map and made a confused face. He waved his arms, pointed this way and that, and finally just said "Too far!" It was only half an hour until the beginning of the traditional dance performance at the museum, which I really wanted to see, so I decided to get a cab. This in itself is a process in this city, because cabs are in no way labeled as such and I would be a fool to get in the car with any of the 1000 guys per day who yell "Taxi, sister!" at me. I just happened to be right beside one of the nicest hotels in the city, so I went in and asked one of the army guys who was lounging around doing nothing if there were cabs in the area. He waved one over, I got in and showed the driver the map, and he looked at it for a really, really long time. Finally, he gave me a confused look and pointed out the window...at the Village Museum, whose driveway we were sitting in. Silly mazungu (whitey).
The traditional dance performance, staged under a big tree in the museum's yard, was nothing short of hilarious. There were four elderly drummers and one young guy who played a metal chair with a stick (very innovative!). There were also four middle-aged-to-elderly performers who chanted and danced. Half the time they looked like they weren't sure what dance they were supposed to be doing, but the one old man in the bunch really made up for the confusion with the gusto of his hip-waggling. I was also the only audience member, so he sometimes felt compelled to really include me in the performance by approaching and waggling in my direction, which was a little awkward. Near the end of the show, the lead drummer came over, unceremoniously poked me with his drumstick, and pointed with it to a "donations" plate which was apparently not so voluntary. Of course I was going to tip! The show just wasn't over yet. I thought that was rather rude, though not entirely suprising, as I definitely am regarded by some as a walking bank account.
Regarding the Rich Mazungu issue... nearly everyone I pass here is at least noticibly surprised or interested in my presence (there are almost literally no white people here). Most people are also helpful and kind, even saying nice things like "welcome to our country" as I pass. A significant and vocal minority, though, are really mean and pernicious. It makes it easier sometimes to not understand Swahili, because I can just brush off the insults. No one has yet attempted to pickpocket me--at least not that I've felt or noticed later--though both Lauren and her roommate, Gaia, have been nabbed twice in the past day. (I also don't keep anything in my pockets--not even the front ones--so maybe there have been fruitless attempts.) Two of the four incidents have been really interesting. One was at an incredibly crowded outdoor market, where the following happened twice within a few minutes: a man stuck out his foot right where Gaia was about to step so that she stepped on it. He would then throw a fit, grab and twist her arm so that she was nearly bent over, and scream about how she hurt him (I imagine). The first time this happened, I thought maybe he was trying to get her to pay for damages or something (she just smacked him off and kept going), but the second time she felt his accomplice's hand in her pocket. That time was really fascinating, though, because the entire crowd around us--dozens and dozens of people--stopped what they were doing and started making some loud, repetitive, threatening noise. The hand in her pocket let go of whatever it had grabbed and ran off; the crowd was protecting us. It was an experience that made me both doubt and trust human nature. The other great theft experience was at a soccer game yesterday, when a guy grabbed the equivalent of about $18 out of Lauren's pocket (that she had just that very second put in her pocket to pay for a second ticket to the game, as her first ticket had also been stolen). She snatched him by the back of the neck and screamed, "HEY!" at him; he dropped the money and ran. I don't know if I would have had the guts to do that--it may not be worth risking a punch to the face in my book--but it was totally awesome to see. I just avoid the situation by keeping my pockets empty.
The funny thing underlying all these Dar es Salaam experiences is that I'm not supposed to be here anymore. I was supposed to fly to Kigoma on Friday, but the guy picking me up got the departure time wrong and we missed it. Then I was supposed to leave yesterday morning. The flight was at noon, so we agreed that he'd pick me up at 10am at Lauren's office. I called him about 10:15, and he said Ack! On my way, I'll be there in five minutes...by 10:45 I was preparing to call him again, but a one-legged man hopped into the office and Lauren and I both had our phrasebooks out and were trying to figure out what he wanted. My ride finally showed up at 11:15 and we tore through the city on its dirt roads that would put any BMX bike track to shame, lurching into sofa-sized potholes and sending pedestrians and chickens hurling themselves into the bushes (we even hopped the ditch and drove on the sidewalk for a while). When we arrived at the airport at 11:59--seriously--we were told that the pilot had decided to take off early that day. The plane had left at 11:00...they had tried to call him, they said, but they couldn't get through so they just cancelled my ticket. Hmmm. We were able to reinstate my ticket for Monday, though, so we'll see how that goes. The guy driving me will be out of town, so he's sending another dude from his office...I may still be here when I fly home in August. Oh well, it's fun.
Went to the Cameroon/Tanzania 2010 World Cup qualifying match yesterday...that was very exciting, with 60,000 in the stadium...it was a 0-0 tie. I would have been nervous to see what would have happened if they had either won or lost, so I guess a tie was the safest outcome for me.
Ok, this is long enough. Yes, I'm being safe, no, I'm not walking after dark, yes, we lock our doors. Lauren lives in a really safe neighborhood, too. I'm always aware of my surroundings.
Take care, everyone!!
Hey again, all!
I still have easy internet access because I'm still in Dar es Salaam--long story, I'll get to that later--but I figured I'd go ahead and post again while I can.
On Friday afternoon I ventured off by myself to the Village Museum, which is a collection of huts built in the styles of various Tanzanian tribes. Getting there was an adventure, as I decided to walk rather than try to figure out the haphazard dala-dala route. I took Lauren's Rough Guide map with me, and two different people at her office drew me maps too, but within a hundred yards of her office door I had completely lost my orientation. There are no street signs anywhere, though some of the roads do supposedly have names, and not even the mapmakers were quite sure how they all connect (there are plenty of spots on the Rough Guide map that are just left blank.) It was a long walk--about an hour and a half--and close to the end I was sure I was irrevocably lost. I finally got out my new Swahili phrasebook, stopped a guy on the street, and tried to ask him if he spoke English. Of course, I couldn't even get that sentence out, so I ended up just pointing to it in my book. Because his answer was no, I just pointed to the museum on the map and made a confused face. He waved his arms, pointed this way and that, and finally just said "Too far!" It was only half an hour until the beginning of the traditional dance performance at the museum, which I really wanted to see, so I decided to get a cab. This in itself is a process in this city, because cabs are in no way labeled as such and I would be a fool to get in the car with any of the 1000 guys per day who yell "Taxi, sister!" at me. I just happened to be right beside one of the nicest hotels in the city, so I went in and asked one of the army guys who was lounging around doing nothing if there were cabs in the area. He waved one over, I got in and showed the driver the map, and he looked at it for a really, really long time. Finally, he gave me a confused look and pointed out the window...at the Village Museum, whose driveway we were sitting in. Silly mazungu (whitey).
The traditional dance performance, staged under a big tree in the museum's yard, was nothing short of hilarious. There were four elderly drummers and one young guy who played a metal chair with a stick (very innovative!). There were also four middle-aged-to-elderly performers who chanted and danced. Half the time they looked like they weren't sure what dance they were supposed to be doing, but the one old man in the bunch really made up for the confusion with the gusto of his hip-waggling. I was also the only audience member, so he sometimes felt compelled to really include me in the performance by approaching and waggling in my direction, which was a little awkward. Near the end of the show, the lead drummer came over, unceremoniously poked me with his drumstick, and pointed with it to a "donations" plate which was apparently not so voluntary. Of course I was going to tip! The show just wasn't over yet. I thought that was rather rude, though not entirely suprising, as I definitely am regarded by some as a walking bank account.
Regarding the Rich Mazungu issue... nearly everyone I pass here is at least noticibly surprised or interested in my presence (there are almost literally no white people here). Most people are also helpful and kind, even saying nice things like "welcome to our country" as I pass. A significant and vocal minority, though, are really mean and pernicious. It makes it easier sometimes to not understand Swahili, because I can just brush off the insults. No one has yet attempted to pickpocket me--at least not that I've felt or noticed later--though both Lauren and her roommate, Gaia, have been nabbed twice in the past day. (I also don't keep anything in my pockets--not even the front ones--so maybe there have been fruitless attempts.) Two of the four incidents have been really interesting. One was at an incredibly crowded outdoor market, where the following happened twice within a few minutes: a man stuck out his foot right where Gaia was about to step so that she stepped on it. He would then throw a fit, grab and twist her arm so that she was nearly bent over, and scream about how she hurt him (I imagine). The first time this happened, I thought maybe he was trying to get her to pay for damages or something (she just smacked him off and kept going), but the second time she felt his accomplice's hand in her pocket. That time was really fascinating, though, because the entire crowd around us--dozens and dozens of people--stopped what they were doing and started making some loud, repetitive, threatening noise. The hand in her pocket let go of whatever it had grabbed and ran off; the crowd was protecting us. It was an experience that made me both doubt and trust human nature. The other great theft experience was at a soccer game yesterday, when a guy grabbed the equivalent of about $18 out of Lauren's pocket (that she had just that very second put in her pocket to pay for a second ticket to the game, as her first ticket had also been stolen). She snatched him by the back of the neck and screamed, "HEY!" at him; he dropped the money and ran. I don't know if I would have had the guts to do that--it may not be worth risking a punch to the face in my book--but it was totally awesome to see. I just avoid the situation by keeping my pockets empty.
The funny thing underlying all these Dar es Salaam experiences is that I'm not supposed to be here anymore. I was supposed to fly to Kigoma on Friday, but the guy picking me up got the departure time wrong and we missed it. Then I was supposed to leave yesterday morning. The flight was at noon, so we agreed that he'd pick me up at 10am at Lauren's office. I called him about 10:15, and he said Ack! On my way, I'll be there in five minutes...by 10:45 I was preparing to call him again, but a one-legged man hopped into the office and Lauren and I both had our phrasebooks out and were trying to figure out what he wanted. My ride finally showed up at 11:15 and we tore through the city on its dirt roads that would put any BMX bike track to shame, lurching into sofa-sized potholes and sending pedestrians and chickens hurling themselves into the bushes (we even hopped the ditch and drove on the sidewalk for a while). When we arrived at the airport at 11:59--seriously--we were told that the pilot had decided to take off early that day. The plane had left at 11:00...they had tried to call him, they said, but they couldn't get through so they just cancelled my ticket. Hmmm. We were able to reinstate my ticket for Monday, though, so we'll see how that goes. The guy driving me will be out of town, so he's sending another dude from his office...I may still be here when I fly home in August. Oh well, it's fun.
Went to the Cameroon/Tanzania 2010 World Cup qualifying match yesterday...that was very exciting, with 60,000 in the stadium...it was a 0-0 tie. I would have been nervous to see what would have happened if they had either won or lost, so I guess a tie was the safest outcome for me.
Ok, this is long enough. Yes, I'm being safe, no, I'm not walking after dark, yes, we lock our doors. Lauren lives in a really safe neighborhood, too. I'm always aware of my surroundings.
Take care, everyone!!
(Mostly) Arrived!
(From June 13, 2008)
I flew out of Washington Dulles on Tuesday night (actually, I think it might have been Wednesday morning before the plane actually took off--bad weather or something. Because I had the world's longest layover awaiting me, though, I was in no distress.) I got to skip part of the REALLY long line at the ticket counter because someone came through yelling for passengers traveling alone. This happened to me on another international flight once, and I got bumped up to an empty seat in business class for free, which pretty much made my year. Hoping that this might be the same case, I was quick to identify myself as a solo traveler. Unfortunately, this time it was actually the opposite of the business class situation...they had one seat left that no one wanted, so they gave it to some poor sucker (i.e., me) with no travelmates to feel bad for her. I got the middle seat in the middle section of the Ages 2 and Under row...and if you've never been on a 13-hour flight with two toddlers on each side of you and a kindergartener kicking the back of your seat, well, you've never really flown. The good news, though, was that it was the bulkhead row, so the extra legroom actually made it worthwhile...maybe.
I landed in Doha, Qatar around 7:30pm local time. It was already completely dark out, and I didn't have a visa anyway, so I just made myself at home in the airport. As far as airports to spend the night in, Doha was far from the worst. They had a designated quiet room with darkened lights and minimal PA announcements that I spent a few hours in pretending to sleep, but I finally gave up and went back out to the main area around 3am to wander around and read more about Tanzania in my Lonely Planet. Sunrise was early--well before 5am--and unimpressive, with a yellow ball of heat rising in a completely gray, dusty sky. The air in Qatar was a color I had never seen before. I don't know if it was pollution or just an incredible amount of dust and sand everywhere, but everything was gray and visibility was so low that you would have thought it was snowing out there. There was no wind, though, so a sandstorm didn't seem likely. I don't know what it was.
I flew out later that morning and was even able to phinangle a change to a window seat from the lady at the ticket counter. The flight was truly incredible...we flew over Saudi Arabia and then south, so I got to see the Persian Gulf and part of the desert before the attendants came around and made us all close our window shades. I don't know why--maybe they thought people were disturbed by the light or something--but I was rather put off by that. Heaven forbid I should see the Arabian Desert out the window if the light disturbs someone else's ability to watch Die Hard III. I did see, however, a section of really bizarre, huge dark circles, hundreds of them, in the sand. I might guess they had something to do with oil drilling, though I don't know.
Approaching Dar es Salaam by air was really interesting and, I think, a great way to get a feeling for what the city might be like before seeing the city itself. There were about three big paved roads, each going vaguely either N-S or E-W, but that was it. After those three roads, everything else was dirt. But not dirt roads like you might imagine, either, because they didn't even really look like roads. Nothing is straight; the houses and buildings are all in a massive jumble. It looked like someone had picked up the city, shaken it up in a tin can and thrown it back out again. Tin roofs were everywhere, on top of each other practically, at weird angles and with irregular spacing. There were no straight roads because buildings were built right in the middle of them.
I was met at the airport by a board member from the organization I'll be working with who also happens to be the chief economist for the Ministry of Health or something like that. He was very helpful and took me to the office where my friend Kim's friend Lauren is working for the summer. She and I took a bus called a dala-dala into town to find some dinner. The dala-dalas aren't actually buses, but gutted minivans with their tops hacked off and some weird carpet things installed instead in order to make the roof a foot or so higher. You stand inside them as best you can, which means that I was significantly hunched over, but it's really the teeming mass of humanity that can fit inside these things that amazed me. Twenty people in a minivan? Riding in luxury! Thirty? Just put that dude's head in that other guy's crotch and we'll fit. Thirty-five? Everyone on the left can stick their torsos out the window, right? If the people in the back need to get off, those glassless windows can also double as doors. Here we go! At 25 cents a ride, it wasn't such a bad deal.
Staying at Lauren's has also been fun. There's no electricity, though there is (brown) running water, so I showered by candlelight last night. The bathroom itself is truly a testament to innovation, as the whole thing is tile (so no need for a tub or basin) and large hole in the floor drains both the "sink" (a spigot low on the wall) and the shower while also serving as the toilet. Yep, the toilet hole's in the shower--shower shoes are even more important here than they were in my freshman dorm. When I stepped in a wet place in the road outside Lauren's house where the mud enveloped my entire foot and ankle and nearly sucked off my shoe, Lauren joked that I was experiencing Africa with all five senses on my first day, and she was totally right.
Leaving tomorrow by plane for Kiganza, the village where I'll be staying--I was supposed to leave today, but there was some confusion--anyway, I should be there by tomorrow afternoon. I'm excited to see what real life in the bush is like. I'll try to get internet access as often as possible.
Many hugs to you all and I look forward to hearing from you soon!!
I flew out of Washington Dulles on Tuesday night (actually, I think it might have been Wednesday morning before the plane actually took off--bad weather or something. Because I had the world's longest layover awaiting me, though, I was in no distress.) I got to skip part of the REALLY long line at the ticket counter because someone came through yelling for passengers traveling alone. This happened to me on another international flight once, and I got bumped up to an empty seat in business class for free, which pretty much made my year. Hoping that this might be the same case, I was quick to identify myself as a solo traveler. Unfortunately, this time it was actually the opposite of the business class situation...they had one seat left that no one wanted, so they gave it to some poor sucker (i.e., me) with no travelmates to feel bad for her. I got the middle seat in the middle section of the Ages 2 and Under row...and if you've never been on a 13-hour flight with two toddlers on each side of you and a kindergartener kicking the back of your seat, well, you've never really flown. The good news, though, was that it was the bulkhead row, so the extra legroom actually made it worthwhile...maybe.
I landed in Doha, Qatar around 7:30pm local time. It was already completely dark out, and I didn't have a visa anyway, so I just made myself at home in the airport. As far as airports to spend the night in, Doha was far from the worst. They had a designated quiet room with darkened lights and minimal PA announcements that I spent a few hours in pretending to sleep, but I finally gave up and went back out to the main area around 3am to wander around and read more about Tanzania in my Lonely Planet. Sunrise was early--well before 5am--and unimpressive, with a yellow ball of heat rising in a completely gray, dusty sky. The air in Qatar was a color I had never seen before. I don't know if it was pollution or just an incredible amount of dust and sand everywhere, but everything was gray and visibility was so low that you would have thought it was snowing out there. There was no wind, though, so a sandstorm didn't seem likely. I don't know what it was.
I flew out later that morning and was even able to phinangle a change to a window seat from the lady at the ticket counter. The flight was truly incredible...we flew over Saudi Arabia and then south, so I got to see the Persian Gulf and part of the desert before the attendants came around and made us all close our window shades. I don't know why--maybe they thought people were disturbed by the light or something--but I was rather put off by that. Heaven forbid I should see the Arabian Desert out the window if the light disturbs someone else's ability to watch Die Hard III. I did see, however, a section of really bizarre, huge dark circles, hundreds of them, in the sand. I might guess they had something to do with oil drilling, though I don't know.
Approaching Dar es Salaam by air was really interesting and, I think, a great way to get a feeling for what the city might be like before seeing the city itself. There were about three big paved roads, each going vaguely either N-S or E-W, but that was it. After those three roads, everything else was dirt. But not dirt roads like you might imagine, either, because they didn't even really look like roads. Nothing is straight; the houses and buildings are all in a massive jumble. It looked like someone had picked up the city, shaken it up in a tin can and thrown it back out again. Tin roofs were everywhere, on top of each other practically, at weird angles and with irregular spacing. There were no straight roads because buildings were built right in the middle of them.
I was met at the airport by a board member from the organization I'll be working with who also happens to be the chief economist for the Ministry of Health or something like that. He was very helpful and took me to the office where my friend Kim's friend Lauren is working for the summer. She and I took a bus called a dala-dala into town to find some dinner. The dala-dalas aren't actually buses, but gutted minivans with their tops hacked off and some weird carpet things installed instead in order to make the roof a foot or so higher. You stand inside them as best you can, which means that I was significantly hunched over, but it's really the teeming mass of humanity that can fit inside these things that amazed me. Twenty people in a minivan? Riding in luxury! Thirty? Just put that dude's head in that other guy's crotch and we'll fit. Thirty-five? Everyone on the left can stick their torsos out the window, right? If the people in the back need to get off, those glassless windows can also double as doors. Here we go! At 25 cents a ride, it wasn't such a bad deal.
Staying at Lauren's has also been fun. There's no electricity, though there is (brown) running water, so I showered by candlelight last night. The bathroom itself is truly a testament to innovation, as the whole thing is tile (so no need for a tub or basin) and large hole in the floor drains both the "sink" (a spigot low on the wall) and the shower while also serving as the toilet. Yep, the toilet hole's in the shower--shower shoes are even more important here than they were in my freshman dorm. When I stepped in a wet place in the road outside Lauren's house where the mud enveloped my entire foot and ankle and nearly sucked off my shoe, Lauren joked that I was experiencing Africa with all five senses on my first day, and she was totally right.
Leaving tomorrow by plane for Kiganza, the village where I'll be staying--I was supposed to leave today, but there was some confusion--anyway, I should be there by tomorrow afternoon. I'm excited to see what real life in the bush is like. I'll try to get internet access as often as possible.
Many hugs to you all and I look forward to hearing from you soon!!
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