Some odds and ends

Africa » Tanzania » East » Dar es Salaam
September 9th 2005

Published: September 9th 2005

I am at an internet cafe that is close to the FOGOTA office, waiting for Thomas to pick me up. Ali has left for the weekend to go back to his home country in the south to visit a sick cousin. So I thought I would try to give you a better idea of what daily life is like.

First the weather. It's always around 30 degrees in my room, day or night, give or take a degree. I think it's definitely hotter than that outdoors during the day, but the only thermometer I have is on my travel alarm clock in the room. I know people feel sorry for me because even though I seldom mention it (I don't want them to think I'm unhappy) it's quite evident that I'm feeling the heat. It's always sunny, although occasionally there are a few clouds, but I've only felt a drop or two of rain since I've been here. This is not the rainy season. It's very dusty here and the roads are mainly dirt. Even where the roads are paved there is tons of dust, I think because there isn't much grass because of the heat. Consequently my clothes get absolutely filthy. Laundry is an ongoing challenge. I generally have something soaking in a bucket in my room at all times. The good thing is that everything dries fast! For the most part the clothes I brought with me are totally appropriate, so I have been wearing them, with the exception of my sleeveless tops which I am sleeping in. Nobody here goes sleeveless. Muhalley told me that they understand that we have a different culture and dress differently, but truly if you want to be taken seriously, modesty is the way to go. But trust me when I say that in this type of constant and unrelenting heat, the absence or presence of small sleeves makes virtually no difference.

The other thing that takes up a lot of my free time is the pursuit of water. My whole world has been reduced to water -- do I need some, how much is it, where will I buy it. You cannot drink the tap water here and even some of the bottled water is dodgy but I have been instructed on which brands are preferable and fortunately they're readily available. I struck gold last night with two five-litre bottles for about $1.75. That means I can go at least a day without buying more. It's amazing what constitutes an exciting moment for me these days. And speaking of excitement, I'm a kid on Christmas morning when I go somewhere and unexpectedly find a flush toilet. My room has one, and the Swiss Aid/FOGOTA compound has one, but in many many other places it is literally a hole in the ground. A nicely finished hole, with tile all around and a modicum of privacy, but a hole nonetheless. You just squat over it and you're off and running. My new golden rules is to never NEVER go anywhere without kleenex. Enough said.

Most things here are sold in sort of huts by the side of the road, which they refer to as kiosks, although there are some bigger supermarket type stores, in the loosest sense of the word. When the daladala is stopped, people come up to the windows with things to sell. That seemed a little odd to me at first but I have come to understand the logic of it after being here a while. Having somebody offer you a bottle of water, a little package of nuts, a newspaper, can be a good thing. However it has gotten stranger and stranger to me as time goes by. I know I'm a foreigner, but do I really look like the kind of woman who buys her underwear from out the window of a public bus? But the funniest was the other day when a guy came buy selling car mats. I have been dying to ask if anybody really buys this stuff. Finally I asked Thomas, when I felt comfortable enough with him, and he laughed so hard at my bewilderment I thought he would choke (I'm a constant source of amusement to those around me here). He said it was an example of poor business, that most of these guys don't really know what they're doing, they just sell whatever they can get their hands on trying to get money. It was somewhat of a relief that this practice is in some ways as crazy to the average Tanzanian as it is to me.

Being Mzungu (white person) I am often targeted for sales pitches because of the assumption that I have a lot of money. One day I was walking along and I stopped to admire some tops a guy was selling. He said, 4000 shillings, which is about $4.00 US. I said no thanks, I'm not really buying today. He said, 3000 shillings. I said no thanks, and walked away. As I was leaving I heard him call, "Sistah, sistah, what can you pay?" So I think that was my first lesson in bargaining. I do need some new tops, but I want to have a better idea of what I'm doing first.

The Msimbazi Centre, where I am staying, is quite comfortable and very convenient to the FOGOTA office and to the bank. We are surrounded by other things as well, I think a school for one, and what all else I'm not sure. A couple of nights ago I listened to a choir practising. No instruments, just a capella voices in four part harmony, singing African music right outside my door. It was pretty incredible, pretty overwhelming, a true African experience. They were not performing for white people as a cultural event, they were just hanging out with their friends and singing in a choir, because that's an activity here. Things like that just fill me with awe and wonder and the fact that I am here and how far my life has come from some very bad places. It's very moving for me when these things happen.

Speaking of Mzungu (and I was a minute ago), the watoto (children) of Dar es Salaam are always interested to see me. They will call out "Mzungu, mzungu" and when I wave or say "Jambo", they call, "how are you?" They love to practice their English. When I say "good thanks, how are you?" they call back "fine", then dissolve into giggles and run away. Except for some of the more brave, who might trail me for a while. It's delightful, I have to say. Sometimes I get stressed from the traffic and the heat and the dust and the not knowing anything, but that never fails to bring a smile to my face.

One funny thing I keep seeing is babies, tied to their mothers' backs with pieces of colourful cloth, who are wearing what could only be described as knitted wool toques. It looks hysterical when you are used to seeing them only on wintery days. I asked Thomas about it and he said that the mothers are afraid they will get pneumonia, or will suffer from the effects of the wind. Thirty degrees and I am dripping sweat, but at least I'm not wearing a toque!

And speaking of dripping sweat...it's too funny. IPeople have taken to turning on fans when I enter a room...they don't say a word they just reach over and turn it on. In general the Tanzanians dress very nicely and their clothes are always clean and pressed. Especially at work where many of them dress in western style (or an approximation -- their own style always shows through) and the men will be in long sleeved shirts and often ties, with the women in long skirts. They look cool and fresh like they are sitting in an air conditioned lounge somewhere, even when we are walking around outside. Me on the other hand...well, let's just say it's not pretty. I constantly pour sweat, and at any given time I look like I slept in whatever I had on, and like I rolled around in the dirt for an hour before I got here. It's pretty rough but I'm hoping I will acclimatize a bit. The funny thing is that I am not suffering terribly. About once a day, usually in the evening, I feel like I will never be cool again and that my body is just this enormous heat producing furnace. That's not so good. But most of the time I am involved in whatever is going on and don't pay it much attention.

I am running out of time so I guess this better be all. Thanks for all your emails and support. I am doing great and I know it's in large part because of your support and prayers, so thank you very much. I'm in Africa! How cool is that? Hopefully the internet will cooperate and I will be able to stay in touch, but know that I am happy and okay either way.

Hey Uncle Tom, the Casino Rama water bottle that I bought appears to leak...I thought you'd enjoy that.

Mama, I got in to my Laurier account, so don't worry about forwarding the stuff. Sorry about the panic! Hee hee hee.

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