Working on a Satuday

Day 3: 20/12/09

The past few days have been tough going, but I woke up this morning feeling slightly better. I was told I would be assisting a researcher called Audax with his work. He was interviewing people about the performance of the local MP.

I was just getting breakfast sorted when I noticed that a small plume of smoke had emerged from the wires of the multi-socket that was plugged into the wall. Naturally I panicked a bit and switched everything off at the wall and tied up the curtain for fear that the whole rotunda would start blazing. Having informed my host and upon his inspection, the wire had burnt into other wires and the lovely scent of burning plastic was wafting around. Professor Maliyamkono (my host) checked the wire and noticed that when he pulled the bits of cable apart the wire snapped through. Not quite so good for safety.

The working day started at a local bar/hotel/cafe which very soon got battered by some tremendous rain and wind. It was my first experience of real rain in Africa. It was the kind of rain that would have brought Britain to a standstill. A healthy sort of rain. This continued for a while whilst Audax chatted to his brother in law about arranging meetings for these interviews. We eventually got a taxi to the main high street of town with the rain still pouring. I finally picked up my new SIM card so I would have something that I could contact people with and something that people could contact me with. It was quite a relief to finally have it.

In town we hired a taxi driver for the day. His car had the spicy odour of the sweat of a thousand people and the driver liked to clear his lungs of phlegm on far too regular a basis to suggest that he was healthy. Our first stop was to pick up an umbrella so we could handle the rain. I got the blue flowery one, Audax and his brother in law (who I am sure said his name was Barry – but I know that can’t be right) got the pink and purple brollies.

We moseyed on to the local Roman Catholic Church. Father Herbert was a tremendously thin priest with a keen passion for football, not unlike most Tanzanians. He was a very welcoming chap who thought that the MP was performing quite well. He was slightly more interested about me, assuming originally that I was German; he was more than impressed when I told him that I was Irish. He then expected some jokes from me. Not wanting to seem like a performing monkey, I told him that he may get a joke out of me...eventually. I am not sure why but this sent the man into hysterics, he couldn’t help but laugh at that. Sometimes my brilliance amazes me. Following this visit we went to see the Rector of a seminary which is not too far from where I am staying. This priest was more concerned about the interview, and less concerned about me origins.

The early afternoon saw the rain stop...thankfully, and people were walking along the streets undeterred. On the way we stopped some local people and Audax interviewed them from the comfort of the car. Two or three of these interviews later and we were on the way to see the local mayor. We had just got out of the car to find him getting into his. This was just outside his house where we were greeted by some dogs. We chatted briefly to the mayor, but we could not interview him because he was off out somewhere. The chap has been politically active in Tanzania for years and used to represent Bukoba in years gone by. After the brief chat we were just backing away to head to the car and I nearly stepped on one of the dogs. This created a vast amount of laughter... I reckon they were saying “Look at that bumbling foreigner!”. They would not be far wrong.

We traipsed of to the other wards of the constituency, and these places can only be described as ‘Rural Africa’. People were poor, but very happy. Everyone seemed keen to talk and we went through Kibeta, Bumebwe and Kashai, amongst others that I can’t spell or begin to pronounce. One thing that I have noticed about the Tanzania population, they all seem to be beautiful people. Everyone has a face that can only be described as ‘friendly’ and people take pride in their appearance. The taxi driver for instance, even in his state of coughing up parts of his lungs, had the most pristinely ironed shirt and respectable trousers and shoes. The areas of ‘Rural Africa’ were the same. The kids were wearing shirts (albeit several sizes too big in some cases) but still retained the illusion that they took great pride in their appearance. I myself stand at an optimistic 5 foot 8 inches...but over here I may as well be classed as a midget. The people are all very tall and normally quite slender. Most working men are very muscular and those who are office based, and have been for a number of years, tend to stand out. The women are also generally quite tall, but come in a variety of shapes...for want of a better phrase. So far I have encountered two types of Tanzanian woman. The first tends to be the majority: they are well rounded and very loud with booming laughs, you cannot miss them. The second is almost the polar opposite: these women are quite thin but also very shy and softly spoken. I have read in guide books that it is not uncommon for women to greet each other by asking them if they have put on weight. Being heavyset in women is seen as a sign of wealth and eating well. This is in essence a role reversal for genders between Tanzania and England. My point is furthered by the fact that Father Herbert saying to Audax (who has worked at a desk for the University of Dar Es Salaam) that he should get out to play more football. Adding on to this, my host, Professor Maliyamkono, complains that he is getting too fat in Bukoba because he doesn’t do the same amount of exercise here as he does in Dar. I tell you, this is a topsy-turvy world in which Tanzanians live in! Or maybe it is England?

Having sent a barrage of questions to the local people of the minor settlements of Bukoba, we stopped at Victoria’s Perch Hotel, a place that came highly recommended to us. Food was quite slow coming, and my order was not right, but I am a foreigner so I kept my mouth closed about that. Tradition in Tanzania states that the guest must be the first to start eating so I embark on the rice and chicken. As the rest of the food arrived I noticed my hosts’ not using cutlery. I explained away the use of such tools as force of habit, and furthered my argument by saying I am taking my time getting used to the culture. Despite this, I was very embarrassed that I had forgotten all about the lack of cutlery use in Tanzania. Food, seemingly no matter what type, is always eaten by hand...specifically the right. The reasons for this are very old and relate to hygiene from a past time...this I find to be slightly ironic as each of my hosts has proceeded to wipe their mouth with their left hand. Such is the silliness of tradition. I was then informed that if I was to pay for my part of the meal then it was going to start raining again. By this point, the sky had cleared and was its refreshing blue with the big ball of fire gently steaming the water out of the soil. I even had to wear my hat!

Our last interview of the day was the Muslim leader of the district. I am not sure what the exact title is but I can know everything! This was a very welcoming man, who expressed his sorrow at me not being able to understand his answers to the questions as they were in Swahili. My knowledge of Swahili is possibly 10 words. Throughout the interview my thoughts kept drifting to the interviewees’ lazy eye...or possibly eyes. Combined with the opposing direction that each eye was pointing in, the poor man’s front teeth seemed to be playing a similar game. I honestly thought that this man was the personification of diverging plate margins (for all you non-geography geeks diverging plate margins are when two tectonic plates are moving in opposing directions...for examples see The Great Rift Valley, Africa, or the North Atlantic Trench, Atlantic Ocean,). The man may have been slowly getting split apart.

We stopped for a beer on the shore of Lake Victoria and I sampled Kilimanjaro lager...it was bubbly and tasted of lager. But of course I had to agree that it was the best beer in the world...it wasn’t though.

I couldn’t eat when we arrived back so I went straight to bed, but then I couldn’t sleep and I started thinking of home again. As soon as I stop doing something I find it is very difficult not to think of home. I was told to expect homesickness, but I honestly never considered that it would be so bad. My aim is to develop a routine so that I can keep busy at times when I need to be...this however is much harder than it seems...especially when I don’t know what I am doing here still. Nor do I know when I am going to start working for real. And nor do I know when I am moving to Dar Es Salaam. Basically everything is so far up in the air still that I am not sure what I’ll be doing in the next hour. I could do with finding out details...but these are not forthcoming.

Right, I’ll sign off now. Until next time...