i love the smell of DEET in the morning

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I think I’m starting to get used to the smell of my DEET-saturated skin. But somehow I keep ending up with more mosquito bites each morning.

Diving never happened yesterday, which is a real bummer. I think the woman flaked out on me, or else her story about there not being enough tanks of air was true. But I was all dressed, packed, nourished, and ready to go before I heard from her. So I went back to bed for a little. And now it looks like I might not have a travel buddy for Zanzibar. There is a warning from the State Department and some of the Embassies that foreigners should be wary because the national election is October 30 and things could get heated. No one seems worried, but since my friend is working for the Japanese government, she is most likely not permitted to travel. I have to find out if it will be safe for me to go alone. If not, double bummer! Maybe a chimpanzee trek instead?

I spent yesteday afternoon at SlipWay, which is a shopping area next to one of the nicer hotels in Dar. I walked around the craft stalls looking at traditional African arts and crafts, walked through the Western supermarket to see how it compare to those in Kathmandu, and checked out a book store called A Novel Idea. I had pizza for lunch at a place called the Waterfront and unknowingly sat at a table next to the owner. I overheard his entire business meeting with a potential partner that was trying to get him to expand the area and build another restaurant on the water. The area is pretty, but it’s no Cape Town waterfront, that’s for sure. Dar es Salaam is still dealing with the challenges of rapid urbanization and modernization—no good trash system and a lack of paved roads. And parts of the beautiful beaches are starting to accumulate bottles and burnt trash.

I met the security guard sitting at one entrance to the complex, whose name was Jeremy, I think. At least that’s what it sounded like. “Are you married or single? Husband? Children?” He was not trying to pick me up, but this is a standard conversation starter for Tanzanians, much like we might ask someone what they do for a living or where they grew up. And everyone here wants to know why my husband is not with me. I’ve learned to just say he’s coming later to avoid a long explanation.

On my way out of the complex, Jeremy was not half asleep under his tree post as I walked by. But I soon heard, “Mami!” and there he was. I gave him my left over pizza, and he asked for my mobile number. I told him I didn’t have one, but I knew where to find him. So maybe he was trying to pick me up….

Today was another day at the office, making arrangements to push back all of my arrangements for the malaria study due to pending paperwork from the Tanzanian IRB (that gave us ethics approval a few weeks ago). Things work on an African schedule here, so you can plan all you want, but your timeline is always shifting. So while I was hoping to go into the field on Wednesday, I’d say I’ll be lucky if I get there Friday. In the meantime, I will be training the interview staff for the next two days. I am working with a man who has a PhD in sociology (he is supervising the research team), but I think because he is a well respected academic in Tanzania, he feels that he was not included enough in the planning process of the research, especially since he has experience in qualitative research. So tomorrow I have to make him feel important and let him lead the training, if he wants. PhDs are rare in the U.S., but to have one in Tanzania is like being a god.

I found out that the security guards at my hotel are from the Maasai tribe. There are only about 1 million Maasai total left in Tanzania and Kenya, and you can recognize them by the red cloth they wrap themselves in and the large sticks they carry. I heard from one of the JHU drivers that Maasai men carry the sticks to beat off attackers or lions should they come into contact with one, and that most also carry large knives. I’m not sure if our Maasai guards have knives, but they leave their sticks propped up against the gate when they are on guard. They have funky sandals, the traditional red wrap for clothing, and shaved armpits. According to Wikipedia, the Maasai that have come to the cities often work as security guards or watchmen. The Maasai tribe ritually circumcises both their boys and girls (but the costs are much greater for girls). I find the whole culture fascinating.

I wonder if they would think I was weird if I requested to take their photo?

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