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!!