Newcomers

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Discovering new places and little corners of the city is always exciting and usually somewhat terrifying but watching someone else experience the culture shock of downtown mwanza and the market is pure fun. After the conference finished up on Thursday I head into Mwanza with Patrick, a student from the US doing some data analysis at NIMR, and Dermot, a conference delegate and researcher in rural Uganada. Pat's been down here longer than I have and I'm still stunned that he hadn't been exploring at all, how boring must it be to hang out at NIMR and the hostel all day? You'd miss out on what life is down here! Probably the safer option but it's not like having a few hundred shillings nabbed out of your back pocket is really dangerous... just annoying. I think the chaos of the market stunned the two guys into silence. They were like two little kids trying to take everything in at once but not knowing where to start. It's a great reminder of how unique some of these places are. I should have briefed them on the rule of thumb down here when it comes to buying anything from a local- doesn't matter if its a banana or a sculpture- the vendors always, always, double the price for foreigners. Dermot had been in search of a katanga, one of the traditional wraps the women wear, but when i translated the original price of 5000 TSH, he smiles, pulls out his wallet and says, "that's so cheap, what a great deal."
No, Dermot, wrong answer! There's nothing worse he could have said, this woman knew she had the thing sold! After that, bartering was a lost cause but no harm was done. Dermot thought he was getting the deal of a lifetime ("do you know what the exchange rate is to pounds?" "yes but that's not the point!") and the vendor was thrilled she' successfully ripped off another tourist. A real win-win situation...
If I'm up early enough, and it's not all that difficult with the roosters down the road making it known the sun is up (it happens around 6:00), I can make it down to one of the smaller markets when the stalls are still being set up. Men cycle into town with 50 kg sacks tied to the back of the bike or pineapples intricately strapped together and balanced on the rear seat. Women are accompanied by carts that are no more than a metal frame and two old bike wheels full of produce or carry trays and buckets of mangos, tomatoes, greens on their head. Once they reach the market and stake out a location to set up camp for the day, they go ahead and sweep away all the extra dust before laying down a tarp. Now, the entire market is laid out on dirt so it seems a bit of a frivolous effort to try to sweep away the dust from the dirt but everyone does it. A valiant effort at keeping clean out here. Apparently the entire area was forested and now that the roots are no longer in place to hold the earth in place, it's taking flight in the winds that come off the lake.
We went for dinner last night, me and the other Canadians, at one of the upscale hotels that sits right on the water, The Tilapia. The view was incredible but once you're seated on the patio with the flat screen tv's showing a game of cricket with South African mining execs in their denim jeans and beers in hand crowded around it's easy to forget where you are. After the sun set and the mud brick houses across the bay disappeared, all that was left of the view were a few flickering lights from the port and the flash of a radio tower. We could have been anywhere in the world. There really are two different world's down here. The Tilapis and the luxury hotels and mansions with ten foot walls and Jurassic Park style electric security fencing and the Mwanza that most people deal with everyday- the markets, street kids, street vendors.
Monday, I leave everything city behind and take off for Geita again. This time it'll be another five day trip, visiting 35 health facilities to pick up some more surveys and get an idea of what kind of syphilis screening goes on if the facility has the equipment to do it. I've learned what to expect though so this time, I'm packing a picnic basket. It's going to be a little limited since there's no refrigeration but I figure I can work something out. I'm thinking I'll need to pack a little extra though since the guys don't usually have the forethought to bring anything and it might be a little uncomfortable if I just start munching away in the back of the car when we've all been on the road for ten hours... not the best way to make friends. Since the driver is also the only person capable of bringing me back to Mwanza, he may not be the best person to antagonize, I can't imagine what it would be like to be stranded out there!
There is one major benefit to heading out to Geita, aside from the experience and that it's kinda fun in a roughing it back-country sort of way, and that's the fact I'm the one in the car and not almost being hit by a vehicle! I'm banking on all the drivers out here having a big contest as to how many tourists they can take out because as soon as they see you on the road, they veer closer until your in a ditch or tree or something equally uncomfortable! Usually they're so determined to get as close to the unsuspecting pedestrian as possible that they don't take note of any oncoming traffic- apparently traffic accidents kill more people out here than malaria (and malaria is pretty common). Dan and Brian were in a taxi that ran into a motocyclist and the film makers hit a cyclist. Everyone seems to be pretty used to it though and a few thousand shillings exchange hands and everyone is on there way again, leaving the poor tourists in the back of the car shaking at what almost happened.
Geita usually means no internet connection, but if you don't hear anything from me by the following friday... just kidding!

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Comments

[Jackie]

Hi
Kim, you are so brave! I admire you.