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I can’t sum up my year in Africa. Nor could I bring home all the things that I loved. But here are some of the things I miss, and the memories that make me smile.
1. Buying cheap produce on the street. There’s nothing like leaning out of a bus window and buying an already peeled orange for 15¢.
2. While it can also be frustrating, the “no rush attitude” is precious. Hakuna matata, right? The sense of calm and tranquility in everything ranging from business transactions to daily activities is mind-blowing. But the level of stress associated with this attitude is minimal, and things always work out in the end.
3. The people make do with what they have, and they do so happily. For the things they don’t have, they certainly don’t lack creativity. Want to play a game of soccer and don’t have a soccer ball? Just collect some plastic bags, roll them all up into a ball and tie them with a string. Can’t afford a toy? All you need is four bottle caps (as wheels) and a plastic bottle (as the body of the car) and a stick to pull your new toy car along. My parents will tell you the story about the man in Zanzibar who was using a wheelbarrow with a flat tire but used a string to lift the weight off the tire. You have to admit that they are pretty damn creative.
4. When my family and Elior came to visit, Elior thought he was going to Kenya. Pretty much up until he boarded the flight for Tanzania.
The right clothes for safari. Just the wrong country. No big deal.
5. Tanzanians are huge on greetings and it is rude to ignore this custom. While at first I found it annoying to ask 20 questions when I only wanted to know where something was, the idea sort of grew on me. By the end of the year, not a taxi ride went by without me asking about their house, family, marital status and health of their children.
6. Swahili. It was exhausting for me to speak Swahili, but the response and look on peoples’ faces upon seeing the white girl speak Swahili was priceless. There are some words and aspects I really like about the language too. For example, shikamoo, a greeting used to show respect for your elders. Or pole (polei), a word that literally means sorry and is used for everything from a person tripping or sneezing to a death in the family. Or calling everyone either dada (sister), kaka (brother) or shemegi (in-law) even though you just met.
7. Speaking of Swahili, things often got lost in translation – or so we thought. This story was written so well by Julie that instead of rewriting it, I’m just going to provide the blog link: Funny Hot Dog Story.
8. They sell alcohol in a bag. It is a little 2 oz. packet that is so easy to smuggle into the club. What a smart idea.
Julie and I pouring Konyagi into a coke
9. When I stayed in Tofo, Mozambique I didn’t wear shoes at all. Not to the beach, not to the market and not even to the bar at night. It is such a small beach town and all the roads are made of sand that I didn’t even bother to put on a pair of flip-flops for the week. People who know me well know this is my ideal living situation: no shoes.
10. In the beginning, the rain pounding on a tin roof in the middle of the night would always wake me up. But then I started to like the sound – it was soothing. There was something beautiful about the rains in Africa. Maybe because it meant I was excused from everything. Drainage isn’t up to par, so the roads quickly become rivers. Unless you want to swim to your next destination, you just stay where you are.
11. To continue with the rain theme, when I was a little girl, my sisters and I would float bottle caps in the water on the sides of the road after it had rained. When it rained in Tanzania, it poured. And as the roads turned to rivers, I couldn’t help but think that floating bottle caps as a kid in Tanzania would have been way more fun.
My street after a quick rain
12. The sense of community. I would often see 3-year-olds wandering down the street alone. I thought it was crazy until I realized that everyone in the community was looking out for them. Pretty admirable and respectable, considering I don’t even know my own neighbors. This sense of community is also why group loans in microfinance have been so effective.
13. The lack of confrontation. There’s nothing like seriously bargaining for something while laughing and smiling, even though the likelihood was that I was annoyed and angry for being charged “mzungu prices.”
There’s plenty more, but I’ll leave you with a funny story.
14. One day I was waiting for a dala-dala at Posta, one of the main stops. To get to my apartment from Posta, I had to take two buses, which meant switching and paying twice. There was a direct dala-dala but it didn’t come very often. I decided to wait for the direct bus. When it arrived and started to slow as it neared the stop, I did what I knew all the Tanzanians would do. I ran alongside the bus and started throwing elbows as I pushed and shoved my way onto the bus. I don’t even think the dala-dala ever came to a complete stop as people got off and on. I know, it sounds crazy, but if you don’t go along with it you’re likely to end up face down on the road as you get trampled on. I got a seat by the way, and with traffic the ride took about an hour.
The next day, Rita, the Kiva coordinator at Tujijenge had a funny story to tell me. She was on a dala-dala entering Posta when someone on her bus said, “Look! Even the mzungu (white person) is running and pushing to get on the dala-dala.” As Rita looked out the window to see this spectacle, she realized that “this mzungu” was me. She didn’t understand why I was running for a Posta-Mwenge bus when they come so frequently. But when I explained that it was in fact a Posta-Kawe bus, Rita said, “Oh, good thing you ran, that bus is very rare. Did you get a seat?”
Me painting on Emily's wall in her NYC apartment
Well, I’m back in the US now so I guess this is the end. Thanks to everyone for reading!
Another dala dala story…
Little kids often sit on peoples’ laps on the bus, and not exclusively their own parents. I’ve had little girls or boys of 4 or 5 years sit on my lap before. Today, I got on a full bus and the conductor made a little boy get up for me. Once I sat down, I said “kaa hapa,” meaning sit here [on my lap]. He sat down and I asked him how old he was, thinking he was 7 or 8. Well I guessed wrong, because he answered me in English that he was 12. Everyone on the bus started laughing, because it was clearly inappropriate for a 12-year-old to sit on my lap. He played it cool, and sat quietly on my lap until a seat opened up and the conductor made him move. But there is no doubt he will tell all his friends that he sat on the lap of an mzungu. At the very least, he will now be the cool kid in school.
If you get a seat on the dala-dala, you never give it up. Not for old women or young schoolboys. But when a mother gets on with a small baby or child, she’ll give her child to a stranger with a seat to hold. Today I told a little boy of 4 to sit on my lap. Although reluctant at first because I am white, he hopped on my lap.
Seriously, would you ever give your baby to a stranger? And as you get off, let that stranger pass you your baby through the window? Yup, that happens here in Tanzania.
I’m pretty sure that riding the dala-dalas can keep my blog going all year. I can take up to 13 buses a day for work, so that means lots of stories!
I was on a dala-dala yesterday and it was going straight for about 15 minutes. By that point, I was pretty settled into my standalone seat. Then we turned left, and I had this sensation I was falling. Turned out I was. The seat was broken, and as the dala-dala turned left, me and my seat fell right. Not surprising because as I mentioned in my blog entry “Flying and Hot Buns,” the buses are in bad shape. I think most of my bruises come from riding the dala-dalas…
Although several Tanzanians warned me about taking dala-dalas during rush hour, I figured it was no big deal. So I would be squished and sweaty, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I took one from work to the city center and I even got a seat! At that point I was thinking, “Why did everyone make such a big deal? This is totally fine.” Then, as we pulled into the main bus station, I finally understood. A group of 20 people or so were running alongside the bus, hanging on by a few fingers and trying to squeeze through the closed door. Seeing what we were up against, everyone on the inside stood up immediately and headed towards the door. Once we finally slowed to a speed of 5 mph, the door was forced open and people pushed their way in as we attempted to push our way out. When it was my turn (and that’s all relative), I sort of leaped out of the bus. There were so many people trying to get on that I stayed perched in mid-air. One of my flip-flops managed to reach ground but I continued to float. A few words were thrown around, including Mzungu, and I finally managed to make a safe landing. But I wasn’t done yet. I was ready to do almost anything to get on the rare Masaki route bus. When I saw it pulling in I ran with the rest of the crowd, throwing elbows and pushing my way through. I made it in the bus but wasn’t lucky enough to get a seat. I was told to sit on the ledge behind the driver, and with my leg in the crotch of the man across from me, I was feeling pretty comfortable and accomplished. But as the engine roared and we took off, I realized my butt was super hot. Not surprising considering I was sitting on the engine of a decrepit bus that my sister, Risa, wouldn’t dare enter due to safety reasons. It took about an hour with traffic, and although happily on the bus, sweat was dripping down my face and I worried my versatile gaucho pants were bound to be singed.
As I walked to work the next morning, I saw a fight go down on a dala-dala. People were yelling, punches were being thrown, arms were flailing – it didn’t look pretty. As men in collared shirts and ties climbed out of the windows, I realized my hot buns and flying experience was nothing in comparison.
As a side note, dala-dalas in Dar es Salaam put the Zanzibar ones to shame.
Dala-dalas are the island’s form of public transportation. They are either 15-person vans or pick up trucks with two rows of seating in the back. They run all over the island, with the furthest trip (about 2.5 hours) costing $1.85. There is no set schedule, and they typically only leave once they are full. I’ve never waited more than 15 minutes. The question is, when are they full? The obvious answer would be when there are 15 people because there are 15 seats. But you have to remember this is Africa. The dala-dala is only full when the person sitting on your lap has someone on his or her lap. The most we had on our trip to Jambiani was 33 people! And that doesn’t include all the goods thrown on top – goats, potatoes, firewood, luggage, etc. At least they are being efficient.
