22nd February 2010
As I am sure you must have guessed by now, dalla-dalla’s are by far, the most fun form of transport that is available on land in Tanzania. On Friday I endured a beast of a trip up to the campus of the university. There were 23 people and a whole lot of luggage in the dalla-dalla, and I was one of the lucky ones who got to stand for the journey. Behind the driver’s seat there is a metal bar that runs just above waist height, I think it is designed to let people hold onto it when they are standing. So as I clutched for dear life as the psychotic driver bounded up the meandering road, I got turned around by the movement of people and bags as they got on and off the bus. The bus eventually got to the fun point where the speed bumps are. As you are standing, far from upright, and feeling as though you would really benefit from being a hunchback of some form, you can’t see out of the windows. This makes the speed bumps an unpleasant surprise for those standing. You get thrown into the metal bar (thrown is quite accurate as the driver seems to think that speed bumps are a recommendation to slow down, not a requirement), and if you are very unlucky, like yours truly, you manage to experience a rib realignment service. My ribs were crushed to oblivion (not really, but they were impacted quite impressively) and this continued for a short while after.
A similar experience was had on the way back down on Friday, and I got in just as the rain started. The rain came down with the ferociousness of a thundering waterfall...for about 5 minutes, and then it stopped! This strange behaviour on behalf of the weather continued into the early morning of Saturday.
Saturday morning was another overcast day, which was quite disappointing because I was hoping to get on a ferry and go to one of the beaches south of Dar. Knowing how heavy the rain can be, and knowing how quickly it will come, I put of the trip, and told myself that I would go on Sunday instead. I needed to check my finances so I headed up to the University to make use of the internet. This time I had a whole dalla-dalla to myself. It was unbelievable; I’ve never seen one empty for so long. A few people got on at the stop before mine but it was still so quiet. I’m starting to think some of the students have gone home for holidays. The lack of people on the dalla-dalla, and the large amount of luggage that was taking up space the day before all seemed to point to this conclusion.
The rest of my exciting Saturday involved me heading to the shops to get some pencils. I’ve taken it upon myself to start sketching. My photography lately has been quite poor, and I can’t figure out why, so I thought I would see if I could get my eye into things a bit more and see if that will improve the pictures that I am taking. I spent the evening hunting around for things to draw and then felt shattered so I went to bed.
Sunday came and threatened once again to rain. It did not disappoint. The rain came down pretty heavy once again, but then the skies cleared, and the afternoon was available for me to go and play. I decided not to go to the beach because the weather was so unpredictable. Instead I went roaming around the city centre.
I jumped on a dalla-dalla to the Mwenge bus stand or as I like to call it, the haven for thieves and vice. The dalla-dalla sounded very ill indeed. It was quiet once again, and I am guessing that it had recently broken down. Every time the driver changed gears it would feel as though the floor was about to drop out. Somehow the struggling van managed to make it to the bus stand where I made a very swift beeline for a city bus to Posta. The pick pockets must have had the day off as it was a Sunday so I was undisturbed on my mission to get the bus. Making sure I sat on the non-greenhouse side of the bus, I had a nice relaxing journey. The bus was clean and quiet, and in surprisingly good health for a motorised vehicle in Dar. All was well until everyone got off the bus and moved onto another bus that was much grubbier, and far less comfortable. I don’t really know why they made us change bus, but it wasn’t too bad. I got a front seat, next to the driver, and was amazed by the approach to the city centre. The bus heads down a gently sloping road, which is tree lined, and has a few trees in the central reservation of the road. The road leads the eye to the built up area of the city, and it looks aesthetically pleasing...from a distance. As you get nearer to the city, there is a valley that looks slightly like it is supporting a shanty town. The view reminded me of the sort of image that you would see in a Year 9 Geography textbook. To the right hand side is a hotel called “Valley View Hotel”...it seems strange that the hotel would advertise and boast of such a view.
Jumping off the bus, I headed down past the Askari Monument, and was heading towards the sea front. There are a couple of churches on the waterfront that are quite fancy...especially when they are compared to the surrounding architectural monsters. I was hoping to go and have a quiet day of photography and sketching. This was not to be so.
A local man was following me since I had got off the bus, and he was shouting at me in Swahili, I only realised that it was me that he was shouting at after he started talking in English. He was looking to show me around the town, but having had a guided tour from Hans, I was okay without. He started talking to me about England, and football. The two staple conversation pieces of new-found Swahili speaking friends. He told me that I walked fast, and I responded that it was because I am European, and everything we do is at a faster pace than the people of Africa. We had got down to Anzio Front, and I eventually figured that if I tell the guy that I have been in Tanzania for 2 months then he may take the hint an leave me to my own devices. This worked, with surprising efficiency.
However, about 5 minutes later, a guy carrying a book on Globalisation by Joseph Stieglitz came up to me. He too wanted to show me around the city. I told him that I was okay, and all I wanted to do was to draw the buildings opposite me. He then took it upon himself to offer me the book he was carrying...for a mere 10,000/-. I really didn’t want the book and when I told him so he took off in search of someone else to try and sell the book to.
I sat and sketched the Lutheran Church for a short while, but then a guy from Angola came up to me. Sitting in the shade of a tree, with the figures of the angular tiles of the church in the background, he started chatting to me about England, in particular, Sunderland. He was a nice chap, and he had been a merchant sailor for a number of years. He’d travelled the best part of the world on the boats, and was now in Tanzania for a short while. We chatted about the politics of Africa, and I struggled to sketch whilst he was talking, in hindsight, this may have appeared to be rude! But he was the one who approached me so I don’t feel too bad. We chatted about the African Cup of Nations which had just happened in Angola, and we somehow got back on to politics. It turns out that a couple of years ago, the chap had stepped on a landmine in Angola. He had been in Tanzania to get a prosthetic leg, as he lost his left leg, just below the knee. He was stranded in Tanzania until he could get enough money to head back to Angola, and he asked me for a rather reasonable sum of 500/- so he could get some food. Whilst I don’t normally give people money in the street I did to this man. Earlier on in the day a local teenager had asked me for 2,000/-...just because he thought I was rich. The Angolan guy was sleeping on the floor at the Lutheran church each night, until he could find a means to get home. Although he used a sob story to get money from me, he did seem like a genuinely nice guy who had just fallen upon hard times.
I walked down along the front, and eventually came across the ferry terminals. Here I was hounded by several men from a variety of businesses who thought I was in the area because I wanted to get a ferry to Zanzibar. They didn’t seem to understand that I had no immediate plans to get to Zanzibar, and they kept asking when I will go. Just to shake them off I told them I would be back next week...I won’t be.
St. Joseph’s Cathedral is a clean looking building, that seems out of place in the slightly run down area of the Anzio Front. I was still being swarmed around by people offering to take me to Zanzibar, and I was quite conscious about having my camera out in an area that was quite obviously suffering from a lack of investment, and employment opportunities. I took a couple of quick snaps, and I didn’t even bother to try and draw the building. Instead I started making towards the markets.
I had managed to get about 500 metres before a drunk man stopped me and kept saying: “Try to understand what I am saying!” The man had good English, and I could understand him perfectly well, but he kept coming out with the same comments! I was getting annoyed at not being able to have a couple of minutes to myself that I told the man that my bus was coming (a purple city bus had just rounded the corner) and that I had to get back. Leaving the man in his strong odour of alcohol, and possibly in danger of catching alight if a naked flame were passed too close to him, I ran onto the bus and headed for Mwenge. I was a bit bugged by the fact people wouldn’t just let me be, and I probably shouldn’t feel that way, but it seemed as though my good way to spend the day was actually not panning out.
I walked through the pit of vice and theft (Mwenge bus stand), and plodded up towards the Mwenge Craft Market. Just outside the market I saw a couple of white guys who were looking very confused. I said hello, and it turns out that they were (and presumably still are) Italian Navy crew. They were looking for a shop called Game, which is in the shopping centre near to my apartment so I told them that I would walk that way with them. So Franceso and Victorio joined me on my able up the road. They had been in Dar for about a week, and they had some time out. They had been at sea for three months and they were spending two weeks in total in Dar before sailing to Mombasa and then to Egypt, before heading back to Italy. Somehow I was a fairly good guide to show the guys around the local area, and to explain a bit about life in Tanzania. They were both amazed when I said I was 23, and they couldn’t get over the fact that someone so young was living in a place so different from their home. I suppose it’s a bit rare, but it’s certainly not unheard of.
I dropped the guys off at the shopping centre, and then headed back to my apartment. Something strange then occurred. I stopped at the fruit stand (my equivalent to a green grocer) and Swahili poured out of my mouth. The proper greeting was issued, and I had asked for a couple of mangos without giving it any thought. It was the most bizarre thing! And to add to this miracle of miracles, I couldn’t for the life of me think what an embe was in English (embe is mango in Swahili).
Feeling pleased with myself I got into the apartment, ate a mango, and looked at my appalling photos from the day. Then the electricity cut out, and came back on, and cut out, and came back on, and cut out...and then came back on, and stayed on.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Pick pockets, sweat, treks, buses and markets...
18th February 2010
Yesterday I decided that I had enough of sitting around in the apartment, and occasionally flitting up to the university and across to the shop. The builders have finished adding another floor to the offices/apartments and now they are endeavouring to put up a roof. It’s a corrugated iron roof, so rather than the sleepy activity of putting up tiles, I instead have to endure a consistent pounding of hammers. This started early yesterday, so as I was just finishing off the report I had the lovely feeling as though there was a series of metallic vibrations flowing through my body.
I took a quick escape up to the university where I spent about an hour sitting in the ridiculous heat on the internet. I got back to the apartment in the hope that the roofing was happening at the other end of the building, but they were still above my head so after lunch I resolved myself to getting out.
I jumped into a dalla-dalla and headed to the Mwenge bus stand. I’ve been there a couple of times before, but mainly just passing through. The bus stand is a hot, compressed, exhaust filled, bed of hustle and bustle. There are crowds of people getting on buses heading to a variety of suburban locations, and some of the inner city areas. I worked my way through the crowds and hunted for the bus that was heading to Posta. Eventually, after passing five or six busses, I found the right one to get on. Just as I joined the cosh of people getting onto the bus, I noticed that my bag had developed an extra attachment. There was a person’s lower arm sticking out of the front pouch which led me to believe that his hand must be in the bag itself. So after a swift attempt to swing around and grab the bloke’s arm (all the while being pushed by the crowd to get onto the bus!) the little thieving bastard left me well alone and disappeared. The front pouch of the bag is a Velcro pocket, but you can get into the side of it without breaking the Velcro itself. I never store anything of value in that pocket for that very reason, but had he had ventured into the zipped main pocket he could have had access to the camera.
Less bothered by this attempt at pick pocketing than I thought I would be, I managed to get a window seat on the bus and soon enough we began the bumpy journey to Posta. Posta is one of the districts in the city centre. It is slightly further north than Kariakoo and there are lot of things to see and do in the area. The journey from Mwenge to Posta was about 30 minutes or so. Unfortunately, having never been on that particular bus, and not knowing the route that it takes, I was sat on the side where the sun pelts down upon you. Fearing sunburn and sweating something chronic, the guy next to me offered to move to another seat once the bus had cleared a bit, but being the over accommodating fool that I am, I said to him to move only if he wants to. Which he didn’t. The bus passed markets and street vendors, and houses and hotels, and eventually we pulled up outside the Holiday Inn hotel.
I had noticed on the map in my guide book that the Holiday Inn was right next to the Botanical Gardens, so I jumped out. However, the Holiday Inn has relocated since the book was published, and is now a couple of stops ahead of the main Posta dalla-dalla stand. I probably should say that I was in a city bus, rather than a dalla-dalla, these things resemble real buses, and with the exception of the number of people who run alongside the bus and try and squeeze in to stand for the journey, the conditions are generally less crowded. It’s probably worth telling you that there is little difference between the smells of the varying types of buses! And although city buses are less crowded, personal space is still something that would make the characters in a “Where’s Wally?” book feel claustrophobic.
So, where did I get to? Oh yes, I had jumped off the bus at the new Holiday Inn and I started heading down the road in the direction that I thought the Botanical Gardens would be. I passed the YMCA (which is handily displayed on my map!) and I had another look to see if I was heading in the right way. As I was there with my nose in the book, a local guy came up to me and started chatting away. The usual questions were asked, who am I, what am I doing in Tanzania, where am I from. We got to chatting, the guy had very good English, he said that he learnt it from the street, which made me chuckle as I had an image of a person with their ear pressed up against the pavement, listening to an English lesson. I think I may take some things a bit too literally! I was still a bit apprehensive of this chap, especially as one of his fellow countrymen had enjoyed hiding his hand in my bag a short while ago. We stood around and chatted for a bit, and he asked if I had been to the Botanical Gardens yet, he was heading in that direction. This I thought was a stroke of luck, so we walked that way. Eventually he told me his name was Hans, which possibly has something to do with the German colonisation in the nineteenth century. As it turns out, this guy goes by a few different names, depending on which part of Dar he is in. It seems as though he knows everyone, and he has been given different nicknames for the different way people know him. My favourite, and the only other one I can remember, was Taliyano. I like the sound of the name, but I don’t know why!
We strolled down Azikiwe Street until we got to the Askari Monument. This is a little statue on a roundabout which was put up in memory of the Tanzanian soldiers who fought in the First World War. As the road was pretty busy, I thought I would save a close up look at that for another day. Turning left, we headed up Samora Avenue, past the National Museum, and then into the Botanical Gardens. The gardens are much smaller than they used to be. The development in the city has restricted the space that the gardens can take up. However, in the small space there were a large variety of trees and plants that are found across Tanzania. Plants like Acacia trees, Royal Palms, Angel Palms, Mahogany trees, African Blackwood trees, and African Ironwood trees. There was a time when all of the trees were labelled, but these days only a few trees have their plaques. Towards the northern side of the gardens there were a troop of Vervet Monkeys. Hans told me to go ahead on my own. He was saying that the monkeys are more scarred of black men than white men, as the black people have hunted them for years. I was surprised that the monkeys let me get so close, and even stayed put when I had my camera pointed at them. There were several young monkeys, and directly above my head there was a mother with a baby holding onto her. The dominant male was in another tree; he was less keen for me to take his photo and bolted to the top of the tree as soon as the camera was raised.
We headed towards the coast along Chimara Road where Hans wanted to show me a huge Baobab tree. Baobabs are trees that have immensely thick trunks and quite spindly branches. They are very odd shaped, but the locals seem to prize them, almost as a national tree! The tree was in the gardens of the Ocean Road Hospital. Ocean Road Hospital was built in 1897, and is no longer operational. The architecture is incredible, and its beauty is set off nicely with the gorgeous bay view. It’s another site that I want to go back to for some photographic fun. The hospital looks out over the Indian Ocean, in particular over Dar es Salaam Bay. This small, natural bay is very photogenic; there are lovely headland cliffs, and white sand beaches. The tide was in, so the green grass on the cliff tops set off the blues of the sea nicely. The water reflected the pure blue sky, and the dhows and other fishing boats bobbed gently with the ebb of the waters.
We sat under the shade of a palm tree for a couple of minutes. Hans was telling me that he was an artist, but had recently had his work confiscated because he was selling it on the street without a license. This seemed a bit strange to me as hundreds of street vendors sell anything from fruit, to wood carvings, from telephone top up cards, to plastic tennis racquets. Hans was saying that he faces a fine of 1.5 million /- (£750) to get his paintings back. That is the official line, as it turns out, he could get the paintings back if he was to approach the right official, and offer him a bribe. We sat under the tree for a short while talking about corruption in the country, and about the art work that Hans produces. He had managed to smuggle five paintings from the officials, and he was looking to sell them so he can afford to buy the raw materials he needed to get started again. He had lost something in the region of 50 paintings, and if they were of the quality of the ones that he had with him, then I am sure that they would have been able to make the fine that he had to pay. He offered a price of 25,000/- for his paintings, because he had been speaking to me for a couple of hours at this point. Similar paintings are sold for 40,000/- in the Mwenge craft market. I paid him 40,000/- for the painting, and to pay for him to be my guide for the rest of the day.
We got up and headed towards the fish market on the shorefront, near Kivukoni Front. Heading into the market, after rolling up the trouser legs, we were met with the intense scent of fresh fish. Some of the fish smelt lovely, whilst others had an odour that was something close to oppressive. We wandered around looking at the fish that were being sold, and the fishermen took an interest at the Mzungu that was loitering in their midst. Down at the very back of the market Hans was talking to a fisherman who had just arrived in his hollowed-out bark boat. It was filled with different things like bed heads and plastic containers, and of course, a few baskets of fish. The fisherman had just come across from Zanzibar, and had bought a few bits that he was planning on selling once the boat had been unloaded. Heading out of the fish market, past the auction section (which was the worst smelling of the whole area), we crossed Ocean Road and headed into the fruit market. This was much less impressive than the fruit and vegetable market in Kariakoo, but had a friendlier atmosphere, and people were happy for me to be given a tour. I became very highly educated on the different fruits that were available in the market, and the custard fruits were the most impressive things that I had seen there. I have had custard fruit before, I think it was when I was in the Caribbean, and I’ll definitely be trying to find some in my local area, and if I can’t then it’ll be back to the Ocean Road markets for me!
From the markets we headed down Ghana Avenue, and past the embassies and foreign commissions. There was a beautiful peacock making a racket, with its plumage looking grand enough to nearly attract me as a mate. I was just about to pull my camera out of the bag when Hans grabbed my wrist and told me not to. There were signs a little bit further down the fence that quite clearly stated that no photographs were to be taken. I had read about this is my guide book and other books on customs and culture in Tanzania. I’ve no idea how I had forgotten not to take pictures of government or military buildings. No harm done though. We went along Ohio Street and headed towards the Mövenpick Hotel and to Nyumba ya Sana. Nyumba ya Sana is a local artists gallery, and on every couple of Fridays they have traditional dances and music being performed for a very reasonable sum of 3,000/-. We didn’t venture into the gallery at this point, it was getting on for 5 o’clock, and I was wary about travelling around at night. We passed Salum as he drove by us, having dropped the Professor off for tennis, and we headed up Mwinyi Road. The bus back to Mwenge runs along this road, and as we went further and further up the road, the traffic got heavier and heavier. The weather had cooled to a nice heat, and so we walked up the road, avoiding the buses because they were absolutely crammed from all of the office workers beginning to make their way home. We managed to keep pace with a bus for a few kilometres, before we headed down Kinondoni Road. We were a few kilometres from Mwenge still so we carried on walking. After a while a private bus passed us, and Hans ran after it. He caught up with it and the driver let him in as he shouted at me to join him. The driver of the bus was one of Hans’ many contacts so we got an easy ride for a kilometre or two.
We jumped off the bus and headed towards Hans’ house, which was in the Kinondoni area of Dar. We walked through what should be considered as authentic Tanzanian city suburbs, with low buildings and people sitting around outside with a beer, or just chatting in groups of six or seven people. We stopped and said hello to many people, this was the area that Hans has lived in for years, and he is apparently a popular person. We came to a traditional Swahili house, and I was ushered in. Hans lives with his aunt, her sons and daughters, and his grandmother who is quite ill. He dropped his bag into his room and changed from his trainers into flip-flops. I was told to sit down and I managed to say hello to the aunt, and to the children. When the grandmother came out, I used the wrong greeting (I said Mambo, when I should have used Shikamoo). I was corrected by the grandmother, and suitably embarrassed I was once again on my feet and heading out the door with Hans.
We walked for a couple of kilometres around some winding roads and paths, and took short cuts through social clubs, out of their back doors and through tiny alleyways. We were heading for an area where I could get a Bajaj from. It took about half an hour to get there, and once again, many people were greeted en route, and many hands were shook. Eventually finding the Bajaj owners, they were expecting 5,000/- for a journey that would cost only 3,000 at most. I noticed a couple of city buses passing, both of them heading towards Mwenge, so I told Hans that I’d rather jump on a bus and pay 250/- rather than fork out 20 times that amount on a short journey. I said my goodbyes to Hans as once again I wash crushed onto the bus by the crowd of people.
I’d managed to get a window seat and I was enjoying watching the sunset, and looking at the orange clouds that soon vanished into the darkness of night. Just as I got off the bus, I was called by my mum, so I thought I would walk up from the bus stand to the apartment, rather than jump into another overcrowded dalla-dalla. I had got home at about 7 o’clock, and was shattered. A quick feed of noodles was closely followed by a look at the photos from the day. Apparently I had left the camera on a low light setting from the night before (I was trying to take a picture of a beetle with a huge horn), and so most of the pictures were significantly over exposed. It’ll either take a lot of work on Photoshop, or I’ll have to go back and explore the same way again another day!
Yesterday I decided that I had enough of sitting around in the apartment, and occasionally flitting up to the university and across to the shop. The builders have finished adding another floor to the offices/apartments and now they are endeavouring to put up a roof. It’s a corrugated iron roof, so rather than the sleepy activity of putting up tiles, I instead have to endure a consistent pounding of hammers. This started early yesterday, so as I was just finishing off the report I had the lovely feeling as though there was a series of metallic vibrations flowing through my body.
I took a quick escape up to the university where I spent about an hour sitting in the ridiculous heat on the internet. I got back to the apartment in the hope that the roofing was happening at the other end of the building, but they were still above my head so after lunch I resolved myself to getting out.
I jumped into a dalla-dalla and headed to the Mwenge bus stand. I’ve been there a couple of times before, but mainly just passing through. The bus stand is a hot, compressed, exhaust filled, bed of hustle and bustle. There are crowds of people getting on buses heading to a variety of suburban locations, and some of the inner city areas. I worked my way through the crowds and hunted for the bus that was heading to Posta. Eventually, after passing five or six busses, I found the right one to get on. Just as I joined the cosh of people getting onto the bus, I noticed that my bag had developed an extra attachment. There was a person’s lower arm sticking out of the front pouch which led me to believe that his hand must be in the bag itself. So after a swift attempt to swing around and grab the bloke’s arm (all the while being pushed by the crowd to get onto the bus!) the little thieving bastard left me well alone and disappeared. The front pouch of the bag is a Velcro pocket, but you can get into the side of it without breaking the Velcro itself. I never store anything of value in that pocket for that very reason, but had he had ventured into the zipped main pocket he could have had access to the camera.
Less bothered by this attempt at pick pocketing than I thought I would be, I managed to get a window seat on the bus and soon enough we began the bumpy journey to Posta. Posta is one of the districts in the city centre. It is slightly further north than Kariakoo and there are lot of things to see and do in the area. The journey from Mwenge to Posta was about 30 minutes or so. Unfortunately, having never been on that particular bus, and not knowing the route that it takes, I was sat on the side where the sun pelts down upon you. Fearing sunburn and sweating something chronic, the guy next to me offered to move to another seat once the bus had cleared a bit, but being the over accommodating fool that I am, I said to him to move only if he wants to. Which he didn’t. The bus passed markets and street vendors, and houses and hotels, and eventually we pulled up outside the Holiday Inn hotel.
I had noticed on the map in my guide book that the Holiday Inn was right next to the Botanical Gardens, so I jumped out. However, the Holiday Inn has relocated since the book was published, and is now a couple of stops ahead of the main Posta dalla-dalla stand. I probably should say that I was in a city bus, rather than a dalla-dalla, these things resemble real buses, and with the exception of the number of people who run alongside the bus and try and squeeze in to stand for the journey, the conditions are generally less crowded. It’s probably worth telling you that there is little difference between the smells of the varying types of buses! And although city buses are less crowded, personal space is still something that would make the characters in a “Where’s Wally?” book feel claustrophobic.
So, where did I get to? Oh yes, I had jumped off the bus at the new Holiday Inn and I started heading down the road in the direction that I thought the Botanical Gardens would be. I passed the YMCA (which is handily displayed on my map!) and I had another look to see if I was heading in the right way. As I was there with my nose in the book, a local guy came up to me and started chatting away. The usual questions were asked, who am I, what am I doing in Tanzania, where am I from. We got to chatting, the guy had very good English, he said that he learnt it from the street, which made me chuckle as I had an image of a person with their ear pressed up against the pavement, listening to an English lesson. I think I may take some things a bit too literally! I was still a bit apprehensive of this chap, especially as one of his fellow countrymen had enjoyed hiding his hand in my bag a short while ago. We stood around and chatted for a bit, and he asked if I had been to the Botanical Gardens yet, he was heading in that direction. This I thought was a stroke of luck, so we walked that way. Eventually he told me his name was Hans, which possibly has something to do with the German colonisation in the nineteenth century. As it turns out, this guy goes by a few different names, depending on which part of Dar he is in. It seems as though he knows everyone, and he has been given different nicknames for the different way people know him. My favourite, and the only other one I can remember, was Taliyano. I like the sound of the name, but I don’t know why!
We strolled down Azikiwe Street until we got to the Askari Monument. This is a little statue on a roundabout which was put up in memory of the Tanzanian soldiers who fought in the First World War. As the road was pretty busy, I thought I would save a close up look at that for another day. Turning left, we headed up Samora Avenue, past the National Museum, and then into the Botanical Gardens. The gardens are much smaller than they used to be. The development in the city has restricted the space that the gardens can take up. However, in the small space there were a large variety of trees and plants that are found across Tanzania. Plants like Acacia trees, Royal Palms, Angel Palms, Mahogany trees, African Blackwood trees, and African Ironwood trees. There was a time when all of the trees were labelled, but these days only a few trees have their plaques. Towards the northern side of the gardens there were a troop of Vervet Monkeys. Hans told me to go ahead on my own. He was saying that the monkeys are more scarred of black men than white men, as the black people have hunted them for years. I was surprised that the monkeys let me get so close, and even stayed put when I had my camera pointed at them. There were several young monkeys, and directly above my head there was a mother with a baby holding onto her. The dominant male was in another tree; he was less keen for me to take his photo and bolted to the top of the tree as soon as the camera was raised.
We headed towards the coast along Chimara Road where Hans wanted to show me a huge Baobab tree. Baobabs are trees that have immensely thick trunks and quite spindly branches. They are very odd shaped, but the locals seem to prize them, almost as a national tree! The tree was in the gardens of the Ocean Road Hospital. Ocean Road Hospital was built in 1897, and is no longer operational. The architecture is incredible, and its beauty is set off nicely with the gorgeous bay view. It’s another site that I want to go back to for some photographic fun. The hospital looks out over the Indian Ocean, in particular over Dar es Salaam Bay. This small, natural bay is very photogenic; there are lovely headland cliffs, and white sand beaches. The tide was in, so the green grass on the cliff tops set off the blues of the sea nicely. The water reflected the pure blue sky, and the dhows and other fishing boats bobbed gently with the ebb of the waters.
We sat under the shade of a palm tree for a couple of minutes. Hans was telling me that he was an artist, but had recently had his work confiscated because he was selling it on the street without a license. This seemed a bit strange to me as hundreds of street vendors sell anything from fruit, to wood carvings, from telephone top up cards, to plastic tennis racquets. Hans was saying that he faces a fine of 1.5 million /- (£750) to get his paintings back. That is the official line, as it turns out, he could get the paintings back if he was to approach the right official, and offer him a bribe. We sat under the tree for a short while talking about corruption in the country, and about the art work that Hans produces. He had managed to smuggle five paintings from the officials, and he was looking to sell them so he can afford to buy the raw materials he needed to get started again. He had lost something in the region of 50 paintings, and if they were of the quality of the ones that he had with him, then I am sure that they would have been able to make the fine that he had to pay. He offered a price of 25,000/- for his paintings, because he had been speaking to me for a couple of hours at this point. Similar paintings are sold for 40,000/- in the Mwenge craft market. I paid him 40,000/- for the painting, and to pay for him to be my guide for the rest of the day.
We got up and headed towards the fish market on the shorefront, near Kivukoni Front. Heading into the market, after rolling up the trouser legs, we were met with the intense scent of fresh fish. Some of the fish smelt lovely, whilst others had an odour that was something close to oppressive. We wandered around looking at the fish that were being sold, and the fishermen took an interest at the Mzungu that was loitering in their midst. Down at the very back of the market Hans was talking to a fisherman who had just arrived in his hollowed-out bark boat. It was filled with different things like bed heads and plastic containers, and of course, a few baskets of fish. The fisherman had just come across from Zanzibar, and had bought a few bits that he was planning on selling once the boat had been unloaded. Heading out of the fish market, past the auction section (which was the worst smelling of the whole area), we crossed Ocean Road and headed into the fruit market. This was much less impressive than the fruit and vegetable market in Kariakoo, but had a friendlier atmosphere, and people were happy for me to be given a tour. I became very highly educated on the different fruits that were available in the market, and the custard fruits were the most impressive things that I had seen there. I have had custard fruit before, I think it was when I was in the Caribbean, and I’ll definitely be trying to find some in my local area, and if I can’t then it’ll be back to the Ocean Road markets for me!
From the markets we headed down Ghana Avenue, and past the embassies and foreign commissions. There was a beautiful peacock making a racket, with its plumage looking grand enough to nearly attract me as a mate. I was just about to pull my camera out of the bag when Hans grabbed my wrist and told me not to. There were signs a little bit further down the fence that quite clearly stated that no photographs were to be taken. I had read about this is my guide book and other books on customs and culture in Tanzania. I’ve no idea how I had forgotten not to take pictures of government or military buildings. No harm done though. We went along Ohio Street and headed towards the Mövenpick Hotel and to Nyumba ya Sana. Nyumba ya Sana is a local artists gallery, and on every couple of Fridays they have traditional dances and music being performed for a very reasonable sum of 3,000/-. We didn’t venture into the gallery at this point, it was getting on for 5 o’clock, and I was wary about travelling around at night. We passed Salum as he drove by us, having dropped the Professor off for tennis, and we headed up Mwinyi Road. The bus back to Mwenge runs along this road, and as we went further and further up the road, the traffic got heavier and heavier. The weather had cooled to a nice heat, and so we walked up the road, avoiding the buses because they were absolutely crammed from all of the office workers beginning to make their way home. We managed to keep pace with a bus for a few kilometres, before we headed down Kinondoni Road. We were a few kilometres from Mwenge still so we carried on walking. After a while a private bus passed us, and Hans ran after it. He caught up with it and the driver let him in as he shouted at me to join him. The driver of the bus was one of Hans’ many contacts so we got an easy ride for a kilometre or two.
We jumped off the bus and headed towards Hans’ house, which was in the Kinondoni area of Dar. We walked through what should be considered as authentic Tanzanian city suburbs, with low buildings and people sitting around outside with a beer, or just chatting in groups of six or seven people. We stopped and said hello to many people, this was the area that Hans has lived in for years, and he is apparently a popular person. We came to a traditional Swahili house, and I was ushered in. Hans lives with his aunt, her sons and daughters, and his grandmother who is quite ill. He dropped his bag into his room and changed from his trainers into flip-flops. I was told to sit down and I managed to say hello to the aunt, and to the children. When the grandmother came out, I used the wrong greeting (I said Mambo, when I should have used Shikamoo). I was corrected by the grandmother, and suitably embarrassed I was once again on my feet and heading out the door with Hans.
We walked for a couple of kilometres around some winding roads and paths, and took short cuts through social clubs, out of their back doors and through tiny alleyways. We were heading for an area where I could get a Bajaj from. It took about half an hour to get there, and once again, many people were greeted en route, and many hands were shook. Eventually finding the Bajaj owners, they were expecting 5,000/- for a journey that would cost only 3,000 at most. I noticed a couple of city buses passing, both of them heading towards Mwenge, so I told Hans that I’d rather jump on a bus and pay 250/- rather than fork out 20 times that amount on a short journey. I said my goodbyes to Hans as once again I wash crushed onto the bus by the crowd of people.
I’d managed to get a window seat and I was enjoying watching the sunset, and looking at the orange clouds that soon vanished into the darkness of night. Just as I got off the bus, I was called by my mum, so I thought I would walk up from the bus stand to the apartment, rather than jump into another overcrowded dalla-dalla. I had got home at about 7 o’clock, and was shattered. A quick feed of noodles was closely followed by a look at the photos from the day. Apparently I had left the camera on a low light setting from the night before (I was trying to take a picture of a beetle with a huge horn), and so most of the pictures were significantly over exposed. It’ll either take a lot of work on Photoshop, or I’ll have to go back and explore the same way again another day!
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Not an awful lot to discuss...
14th February 2010
Whilst I myself haven’t been doing much, I still have the occasional musing to ensure that you have something to read whilst you underperform at work. The past week has been uneventful, and relatively dull. In fact, I don’t think that I have any personal experiences of adventures and ramblings to amuse you with.
I have had to do a bit of work, which has been something of a challenge as intermittent electricity supplies have caused havoc with life in general! I have been expanding my previous report on the BDA which is all fun and games, and it’s a great way to express a degree of self importance, especially when it is considered that the recommendations that I am making will change the way that the agency operates. So as I have been plugging away at the report, fighting the monster that it a lack of electricity, I’ve decided to try and examine the immediate area of Mwenge through a sensory capacity.
I’ve been in Dar for about 5 or 6 weeks (I’m beginning to lose count) and it has got to the point where the heat, the colours, the attitudes of people, the smells, the sounds and just about every other factor that batters the senses has become a norm. I was sitting outside last night whilst waiting for the electricity to power my air conditioning unit and restore my apartment to a walk in freezer, and I was giving some thought to the fact that I should have been doing something other than sitting in on a Saturday night. Somewhere, lost in my bored musings, a big sigh must have come out of my body, followed by a standard deep inhalation. It struck me that then that most of what should still be a new experience seemed to be washing over me. I picked up the familiar fruity smell of the early evening and I was swamped with the thoughts of when I had first arrived to the apartment, and how, although it was only 3 or 4 weeks ago, I had been feeling then. And that started my time of reflection.
As it turns out, my progresses since arriving in Tanzania has been going at unsteady paces. It seems to cascade between intense periods of acclimatisation and engagement in new experiences, to the mind-numbing boredom of waiting for something to happen. I’ve been trying to motivate myself to get up and get to experiencing as much as I can, but self-motivation has not been one of my strengths. I’ve attributed my recent lack of effort to a few factors, and most of them are regarding my ‘boss’. I’ve still not seen my boss since I have left Bukoba. I was meant to go to Dodoma with him, but that didn’t emerge. He was meant to be in Dar to see me a couple of weeks ago, but instead he went to Bukoba. He had arranged to meet with the Professor and me on Friday; this didn’t happen for unknown reasons. And then hopes were put up that he would appear on Saturday, but needless to say, this also didn’t come about. I have not been paid since the end of December, and my visa is threatening to become invalid. I’m trying to work out how to tackle that particular issue, but I’ve not found an alternative solution to me leaving the country, and then coming back. Whilst I realise that business runs differently in Africa, and I realise that I am not the most significant issue that my boss has to deal with, I am feeling a touch undervalued. It doesn’t seem right to put someone on the backburner when they haven’t properly started the job. Once a meeting has been arranged (and actually conducted) I am sure I will feel more positive about the scenario.
Right, that is enough of my disjointed rambling, and seemingly abrupt trains of thought. Let me tell you about the lack of events this week.
As I have said, much of the week has involved doing some work on the report. However, during the moments of power outages and the evenings of seamless boredom, I have tried to get out of the apartment here and there. Possibly one of my favourite discoveries during these jaunts out and about has to be the monkeys! There is a troop of monkeys that live on UDSM campus. If I am not mistaken they are vervet monkeys. According to the Lonely Planet guide to Tanzania, the vervet monkeys are the species of primate that epitomises East Africa. They are a black faced, light brown backed, off-white fronted, long-tailed monkey that has some fantastic blue and red colouring that flares up when the monkey gets excited! As I have only seen one troop so far, and they are near to the northern gate of the campus, I would not hesitate to guess that there may be more hiding around! The campus of UDSM is huge. There are trees, and grassy areas, a road that meanders through the grounds, occasional houses (owned by the lecturers), large tower blocks which house the students who live on campus, and then there are the smaller buildings which are where the learning happens. The campus is probably about 5km squared. There are lots of little paths leading off from the main road, and each one looks like it could lead anywhere on campus! When I head up to UDSM I am usually in a dalla-dalla and I don’t tend to get out until I am up on the hill and right outside the computing building. I think that I will have to head off the beaten track and explore some of the mystical paths!
I go running a couple of times a week, and I normally run up to the university on the same route as the dalla-dalla, but this week I broke that habit and went running along the dirt road that is just off from the main campus road. It’s a flatter route, and easier to run but it uncovered a couple of small lakes that are part of the university campus. There are a variety of huge birds that nest around the lakes, and I have made it my mission to try and photograph them when I venture off the campus next. The dirt road eventually comes out to the main road, south of the apartments. I had planned to walk along the road and see what was along there, but now I am glad that I didn’t. There is nothing of interest when you head in that direction, nothing except a road and cars.
I think that these two excursions are actually a bit dull. I am sure you’ll be fascinated to know that I have been buying local papers to keep up with current affairs. By local papers I mean East African editions of the Guardian and I have bought one copy of the Express, just for a change. The Guardian is of a similar vein to the Guardian in the U.K. It basically sits back with a gentle nonchalance occasionally making the point that perhaps something should be done to ease the suffering of those who aren’t located in the stately home. On the other hand, the Express has done nothing but appal me! It is less a newspaper, and more a scrapbook of articles that should have made the news several years ago. The lack of journalistic talent is displayed as subtly as the number of teenage pregnancies in Portsmouth. ‘Articles’ litter the first 7 to 8 pages telling you absolutely nothing about the current political discussions, instead they will discuss the facts behind Princess Diana’s death, and the growth of some trees that were planted several years ago. Flipping the paper over to see if anything notable has happened in the world of sports, once title struck me as breaking news...”Ferguson is not sorry to have let Beckham go”. Having moved to Real Madrid several years ago, and then ventured across the Atlantic to play for L.A. Galaxy, it seemed odd that this story was making its way into the paper. The only thought that I have that could possibly explain this strange way of reporting the news is that as the Express is a weekly paper they are catching up on all the stories that they may have missed when they actually happened. Having enjoyed reading this historical document, I turned to the puzzles section, on a page called ‘Kiddies Corner’. Here were some easy puzzles that may have been designed for kids, but I am not so sure. The spot the difference which is meant to have 5 differences only has 4, and yes I have thoroughly examined it, the crossword had some very bad numbers place in it, and spelling mistakes littered the clues. But most importantly, the opposite page has content that may not be suitable for children. A large picture of a ‘glamour girl’ is present, and so are some rather inappropriate jokes. These jokes were the sort of thing that you wouldn’t even see in The Sun. It was like the newspaper had managed to put down a discussion that you would from some vulgar builders, who happened to be sitting in Weatherspoons. Now all in all, this is not a crime, but to put it right next to the page that the children will be attempting to find the missing difference in the pictures...that is borderline child abuse.
Now with that rant out of the system, I think the majority of the ‘interesting’ events have been discussed. I’ll leave you with the thought that a mango that I had purchased was filled, rather pleasantly, with teeny-tiny maggots. Yummy.
Oh no, hang on....wait a second. I did have something else to tell you. I went over to the Professors house on Tuesday night and had dinner with some of his friends who live in Arusha. There was a local lady who moved to England with her husband (the husband was not present), her daughter Victoria, and a Dutch woman called Harriet. The evening was quite enjoyable, and it was good to have some of Charles’ cooking again. I’ve missed the bananas and beans, and the curries and spinach and all of the other yummy goodness. The Dutch woman was possibly in her mid-40s and she was incredibly irritating. She was under the impression that several local guys, who were around 25-30 years old, were completely taken with her. She is not an attractive lady, physically or personality-wise. I wonder whether she was exceptionally deluded and if she was in a perpetual state of drunkenness. She started to attempt to flirt with Kim, the Professor’s son. This was concerning. Victoria’s mother (I can’t for the life of me remember her name) and Victoria had been living in England for the past few years, possibly since Victoria was born, judging by her accent. And as conversation went on, the inevitable question of where I came from came up, I said Brighton, and they laughed. This concerned me, and my immediate thought was relating to the stereotype of many Brightonian dwellers. It turned out that they live in Eastbourne, so my paranoia was unnecessary. It was nice talking about England with people who know it, but conversation ended up drifting back to more African issues, such as, how to prepare grasshoppers in different ways. That was a less exciting tale to regale to you than I thought it would be.
On a final note, the Swahili word for bug or insect is mdudu. Remember it, it is likely to come up in the test.
Whilst I myself haven’t been doing much, I still have the occasional musing to ensure that you have something to read whilst you underperform at work. The past week has been uneventful, and relatively dull. In fact, I don’t think that I have any personal experiences of adventures and ramblings to amuse you with.
I have had to do a bit of work, which has been something of a challenge as intermittent electricity supplies have caused havoc with life in general! I have been expanding my previous report on the BDA which is all fun and games, and it’s a great way to express a degree of self importance, especially when it is considered that the recommendations that I am making will change the way that the agency operates. So as I have been plugging away at the report, fighting the monster that it a lack of electricity, I’ve decided to try and examine the immediate area of Mwenge through a sensory capacity.
I’ve been in Dar for about 5 or 6 weeks (I’m beginning to lose count) and it has got to the point where the heat, the colours, the attitudes of people, the smells, the sounds and just about every other factor that batters the senses has become a norm. I was sitting outside last night whilst waiting for the electricity to power my air conditioning unit and restore my apartment to a walk in freezer, and I was giving some thought to the fact that I should have been doing something other than sitting in on a Saturday night. Somewhere, lost in my bored musings, a big sigh must have come out of my body, followed by a standard deep inhalation. It struck me that then that most of what should still be a new experience seemed to be washing over me. I picked up the familiar fruity smell of the early evening and I was swamped with the thoughts of when I had first arrived to the apartment, and how, although it was only 3 or 4 weeks ago, I had been feeling then. And that started my time of reflection.
As it turns out, my progresses since arriving in Tanzania has been going at unsteady paces. It seems to cascade between intense periods of acclimatisation and engagement in new experiences, to the mind-numbing boredom of waiting for something to happen. I’ve been trying to motivate myself to get up and get to experiencing as much as I can, but self-motivation has not been one of my strengths. I’ve attributed my recent lack of effort to a few factors, and most of them are regarding my ‘boss’. I’ve still not seen my boss since I have left Bukoba. I was meant to go to Dodoma with him, but that didn’t emerge. He was meant to be in Dar to see me a couple of weeks ago, but instead he went to Bukoba. He had arranged to meet with the Professor and me on Friday; this didn’t happen for unknown reasons. And then hopes were put up that he would appear on Saturday, but needless to say, this also didn’t come about. I have not been paid since the end of December, and my visa is threatening to become invalid. I’m trying to work out how to tackle that particular issue, but I’ve not found an alternative solution to me leaving the country, and then coming back. Whilst I realise that business runs differently in Africa, and I realise that I am not the most significant issue that my boss has to deal with, I am feeling a touch undervalued. It doesn’t seem right to put someone on the backburner when they haven’t properly started the job. Once a meeting has been arranged (and actually conducted) I am sure I will feel more positive about the scenario.
Right, that is enough of my disjointed rambling, and seemingly abrupt trains of thought. Let me tell you about the lack of events this week.
As I have said, much of the week has involved doing some work on the report. However, during the moments of power outages and the evenings of seamless boredom, I have tried to get out of the apartment here and there. Possibly one of my favourite discoveries during these jaunts out and about has to be the monkeys! There is a troop of monkeys that live on UDSM campus. If I am not mistaken they are vervet monkeys. According to the Lonely Planet guide to Tanzania, the vervet monkeys are the species of primate that epitomises East Africa. They are a black faced, light brown backed, off-white fronted, long-tailed monkey that has some fantastic blue and red colouring that flares up when the monkey gets excited! As I have only seen one troop so far, and they are near to the northern gate of the campus, I would not hesitate to guess that there may be more hiding around! The campus of UDSM is huge. There are trees, and grassy areas, a road that meanders through the grounds, occasional houses (owned by the lecturers), large tower blocks which house the students who live on campus, and then there are the smaller buildings which are where the learning happens. The campus is probably about 5km squared. There are lots of little paths leading off from the main road, and each one looks like it could lead anywhere on campus! When I head up to UDSM I am usually in a dalla-dalla and I don’t tend to get out until I am up on the hill and right outside the computing building. I think that I will have to head off the beaten track and explore some of the mystical paths!
I go running a couple of times a week, and I normally run up to the university on the same route as the dalla-dalla, but this week I broke that habit and went running along the dirt road that is just off from the main campus road. It’s a flatter route, and easier to run but it uncovered a couple of small lakes that are part of the university campus. There are a variety of huge birds that nest around the lakes, and I have made it my mission to try and photograph them when I venture off the campus next. The dirt road eventually comes out to the main road, south of the apartments. I had planned to walk along the road and see what was along there, but now I am glad that I didn’t. There is nothing of interest when you head in that direction, nothing except a road and cars.
I think that these two excursions are actually a bit dull. I am sure you’ll be fascinated to know that I have been buying local papers to keep up with current affairs. By local papers I mean East African editions of the Guardian and I have bought one copy of the Express, just for a change. The Guardian is of a similar vein to the Guardian in the U.K. It basically sits back with a gentle nonchalance occasionally making the point that perhaps something should be done to ease the suffering of those who aren’t located in the stately home. On the other hand, the Express has done nothing but appal me! It is less a newspaper, and more a scrapbook of articles that should have made the news several years ago. The lack of journalistic talent is displayed as subtly as the number of teenage pregnancies in Portsmouth. ‘Articles’ litter the first 7 to 8 pages telling you absolutely nothing about the current political discussions, instead they will discuss the facts behind Princess Diana’s death, and the growth of some trees that were planted several years ago. Flipping the paper over to see if anything notable has happened in the world of sports, once title struck me as breaking news...”Ferguson is not sorry to have let Beckham go”. Having moved to Real Madrid several years ago, and then ventured across the Atlantic to play for L.A. Galaxy, it seemed odd that this story was making its way into the paper. The only thought that I have that could possibly explain this strange way of reporting the news is that as the Express is a weekly paper they are catching up on all the stories that they may have missed when they actually happened. Having enjoyed reading this historical document, I turned to the puzzles section, on a page called ‘Kiddies Corner’. Here were some easy puzzles that may have been designed for kids, but I am not so sure. The spot the difference which is meant to have 5 differences only has 4, and yes I have thoroughly examined it, the crossword had some very bad numbers place in it, and spelling mistakes littered the clues. But most importantly, the opposite page has content that may not be suitable for children. A large picture of a ‘glamour girl’ is present, and so are some rather inappropriate jokes. These jokes were the sort of thing that you wouldn’t even see in The Sun. It was like the newspaper had managed to put down a discussion that you would from some vulgar builders, who happened to be sitting in Weatherspoons. Now all in all, this is not a crime, but to put it right next to the page that the children will be attempting to find the missing difference in the pictures...that is borderline child abuse.
Now with that rant out of the system, I think the majority of the ‘interesting’ events have been discussed. I’ll leave you with the thought that a mango that I had purchased was filled, rather pleasantly, with teeny-tiny maggots. Yummy.
Oh no, hang on....wait a second. I did have something else to tell you. I went over to the Professors house on Tuesday night and had dinner with some of his friends who live in Arusha. There was a local lady who moved to England with her husband (the husband was not present), her daughter Victoria, and a Dutch woman called Harriet. The evening was quite enjoyable, and it was good to have some of Charles’ cooking again. I’ve missed the bananas and beans, and the curries and spinach and all of the other yummy goodness. The Dutch woman was possibly in her mid-40s and she was incredibly irritating. She was under the impression that several local guys, who were around 25-30 years old, were completely taken with her. She is not an attractive lady, physically or personality-wise. I wonder whether she was exceptionally deluded and if she was in a perpetual state of drunkenness. She started to attempt to flirt with Kim, the Professor’s son. This was concerning. Victoria’s mother (I can’t for the life of me remember her name) and Victoria had been living in England for the past few years, possibly since Victoria was born, judging by her accent. And as conversation went on, the inevitable question of where I came from came up, I said Brighton, and they laughed. This concerned me, and my immediate thought was relating to the stereotype of many Brightonian dwellers. It turned out that they live in Eastbourne, so my paranoia was unnecessary. It was nice talking about England with people who know it, but conversation ended up drifting back to more African issues, such as, how to prepare grasshoppers in different ways. That was a less exciting tale to regale to you than I thought it would be.
On a final note, the Swahili word for bug or insect is mdudu. Remember it, it is likely to come up in the test.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Just a short one...
7th February 2010
Hi and hello.
As it has only been a few days, which in honesty have been relatively uneventful, I have decided I would fill you in on the interesting elements of the days gone by. Friday evening, at about 10:30-11:00pm, the sky got very angry. There was a whopping electrical storm and some immense rain. It was like a series of unfortunate events had occured in the heavens and Zeus and his friends were desparately upset, and so they had a bit of a cry...only they flung their tears to the earth with an intensity and anger that is unrivaled. It was amazing to listen to the thunder and the rain, and to get the eyes tested by the incredible flashes of lightning that illuminated an already lit room. It was the first significant rain that I have experienced in Dar. All was good until this one flash of light (and very soon after, clap of thunder) provided me with a split second of the kind of white that Daz can only give. And then nothing. The lightning had struck the building, or at least near by, and the electricity had been wiped out. Now as I was trying to read, I found the pitch blackness to be something of a hinderence. So I got up and went outside to the fusebox. Having waited for the next burst of lightning I quickly reset the trip switch and went back into my air conditioned room thinking that I probably shouldn't play with electrics during the storm.
A brief snooze later, and it was early morning, around abou 5:30ish. There was no gentle hum from the air con, so I went and investigated the fuse box again to find the switch tripped once more. I tried resetting it, but it was not working. It turned out that lightning had hit Dar with some cursed efficiency and had wiped out the electrics. Luckily I have mosquito gauze on my window frames now so I cracked open the windows and attempted to get the breeze flowing through the apartment. I had decided to spend the day working, and the Professor's brain child seemed to evolve something chronic in my mind. I now have plenty to do to keep me busy. It got to about 6 in the evening and there was still no electricity so I went off to buy some candles. I sat around for much of last night reading by candle light. I was feeling a bit anti-social so I decided against venturing out for the evening. At about half 9 I went to visit the fuse box to see if I could get some air conditioning going, and to provide some power to my fridge. Somehow I had electricity for a while. But then it tripped out again...only to be restored.
And so all was well this morning, until the electrics went again. I headed up to here (UDSM) so that I could come and tell you all of my life without electricity. I am sure you care. I am really just wasting time before going back to the heat trap, that is, my apartment. I may go for a swim if there is no power. I fancy a swim! Hmmm...swimmy swim swim.
Oh yes, must mention my journey home the other day. The dalla-dalla had 21 people in it, which isn't bad, but not my record, but I was sitting at the door, and that is possibly the worst seat to have! I got the privilage of sharing the front seat this morning. Three of us, on two seats, when there should be a central panel/arm rest...Tanzanian's know how to use space effectively...of course at the expense of comfort!
Toodles.
Hi and hello.
As it has only been a few days, which in honesty have been relatively uneventful, I have decided I would fill you in on the interesting elements of the days gone by. Friday evening, at about 10:30-11:00pm, the sky got very angry. There was a whopping electrical storm and some immense rain. It was like a series of unfortunate events had occured in the heavens and Zeus and his friends were desparately upset, and so they had a bit of a cry...only they flung their tears to the earth with an intensity and anger that is unrivaled. It was amazing to listen to the thunder and the rain, and to get the eyes tested by the incredible flashes of lightning that illuminated an already lit room. It was the first significant rain that I have experienced in Dar. All was good until this one flash of light (and very soon after, clap of thunder) provided me with a split second of the kind of white that Daz can only give. And then nothing. The lightning had struck the building, or at least near by, and the electricity had been wiped out. Now as I was trying to read, I found the pitch blackness to be something of a hinderence. So I got up and went outside to the fusebox. Having waited for the next burst of lightning I quickly reset the trip switch and went back into my air conditioned room thinking that I probably shouldn't play with electrics during the storm.
A brief snooze later, and it was early morning, around abou 5:30ish. There was no gentle hum from the air con, so I went and investigated the fuse box again to find the switch tripped once more. I tried resetting it, but it was not working. It turned out that lightning had hit Dar with some cursed efficiency and had wiped out the electrics. Luckily I have mosquito gauze on my window frames now so I cracked open the windows and attempted to get the breeze flowing through the apartment. I had decided to spend the day working, and the Professor's brain child seemed to evolve something chronic in my mind. I now have plenty to do to keep me busy. It got to about 6 in the evening and there was still no electricity so I went off to buy some candles. I sat around for much of last night reading by candle light. I was feeling a bit anti-social so I decided against venturing out for the evening. At about half 9 I went to visit the fuse box to see if I could get some air conditioning going, and to provide some power to my fridge. Somehow I had electricity for a while. But then it tripped out again...only to be restored.
And so all was well this morning, until the electrics went again. I headed up to here (UDSM) so that I could come and tell you all of my life without electricity. I am sure you care. I am really just wasting time before going back to the heat trap, that is, my apartment. I may go for a swim if there is no power. I fancy a swim! Hmmm...swimmy swim swim.
Oh yes, must mention my journey home the other day. The dalla-dalla had 21 people in it, which isn't bad, but not my record, but I was sitting at the door, and that is possibly the worst seat to have! I got the privilage of sharing the front seat this morning. Three of us, on two seats, when there should be a central panel/arm rest...Tanzanian's know how to use space effectively...of course at the expense of comfort!
Toodles.
Friday, 5 February 2010
A bit of culture...
5th February, 2010
Somehow it has been nearly a week since I last wrote anything on the Bloggy blog space. Much has happened in the past week, but it was not as expected. Let me start this tale for your enjoyment...
As I may have mentioned in the past couple of blogs, I was supposed to be heading to Dodoma with Kagasheki to see if how Tanzanian parliament operates. This trip did not materialise, I am yet to see and hear the sights and sounds of Dodoma. As it turns out, Kagasheki had a motion rejected, so I think he has run off with his tail between his legs a little bit. It was Sunday, the day I was meant to be leaving, at about 10 in the morning, about 2 hours before I was meant to be leaving, that I got a call from the Professor with this information. Since I have been in Dar, I have not actually heard from my boss. It’s a strange scenario.
The Professor himself had gone off on a jaunt to Nairobi for a couple of days, so I was free to do as I wanted. I took this opportunity to stretch my travellers’ legs a bit. I did some touristy things to pass the time, and this my friends is the tale of my roaming around Dar.
Having consulted the guidebook for advice for things to do, I spent most of the morning highlighting passages, and areas on the maps in the book so I would have an idea of what I’d like to be doing. Most of Monday morning was wasted looking through the book and using my pretty highlighter! In the afternoon I decided I would go to Mwenge Craft Market, and possibly to the Village Museum. They looked like they were located close to each other on the map in the book. As it turns out they aren’t. I was able to find the craft market as I had accidently stumbled upon that the other day, but I carried on past that to see if I could find the museum. It turned out that I couldn’t find it. Nevertheless the Craft Market provided me with lots of entertainment.
The market is a little square of tiny shops that are filled with various craft items, some of which are made onsite, right before your eyes. Most of the crafts are wooden sculptures of different things, ranging from chess sets to elephants, to outlines of the African continent. Some items are quite simplistic; some are carved with intricate details. Much of what is found in one shop is found in another, and it must be the case that prices are so competitive. It doesn’t make sense to have so many people selling the same products. Yet, having been into one shop, you are encouraged by the shop owners to go into another, and what could take a couple of minutes to walk around, eventually makes you spend the best part of an hour (and that is with avoidance of most shops) walking around and talking the shop owners. I snapped a couple of photos of people who were crafting away in the shops, and one of the owners has asked me to send him some of my photos. I didn’t spend any money at the market, mainly because I didn’t have very much with me at the time, but I’ll be going back to visit them again, because there are a few bits and bobs that I really liked the look of. I also would feel bad if I didn’t buy anything...the people are so friendly and welcoming, even if it is just to make a quick buck, it’s still nice! I had to explain to every shop owner that I spoke to that I live in Mwenge, and it’s not far for me to come back and make regular trips!
That evening I had a call from my mother, who told me that she and my father are coming over to see me at the end of March. I have still not told the boss that I will be spending time with them whilst they are here, but he hasn’t exactly made himself available to chat. They are coming over for a couple of weeks, during the Easter holidays, and I was asked to see if I could book them a hotel for a couple of nights. So that was my mission for the next couple of days...book a hotel.
As my explorations on Monday were only partially successful, I decided to set out and see some of the things nearer the city centre, starting with the National Museum. The National Museum takes the visitor on a historic journey of the political history of Tanzania/Tanganyika. Starting with the tribal ruling, the early explorers (e.g. Livingstone, Speke, Burton) then the German colonisation, then the British protectorate after World War One, and then to Independence, about 30-40 years later. The downstairs of the museum is primarily a photographic tour of the ages, and there is a number of cracking photos that go with the text. A couple of items are around, but most of the main artefact collection were either upstairs or in the other building. As you head upstairs there is a large airy room which houses the collection of fossils and stone tools, all relating to prehistoric man. The pinnacle item is the Australopithecus Boisei (or Zinjanthropos), which is a skull of an early human ancestor. It was found up near Arusha in the ‘70s by Mary Leaky (or so is claimed by the museum and most programmes featuring the skull, but in reality, a local Tanzanian found the skull and then told the Leakey’s about it). It is considered to be one of the most significant finds in anthropology related archaeology, and it is the main item in the museum. It would possibly be held comparable to the big-ass dinosaur in the main hall of the London Natural History Museum. A few other fossils of somewhat diminished significance are displayed, as are a small collection of small stone tools that were used over 1.7 million years ago. As you follow the room around there is a series of casts taken from various skull, but there is also a cast of some fossilised footprints. The footprints, which are also found near Arusha, are some 3.6 million years old, and they show the tracks of 3 early ancestors. The footprints have been preserved by a seemingly impossible combination of climatic circumstances and the presence of some freshly expelled volcanic ash. Nowadays the site is covered to preserve the footprints from the elements, but there are a number of casts that have been taken to show people in the worlds of museums. Across the courtyard of the museum there is a second building that houses a cultural and natural history section. The cultural room has a large collection of traditional Tanzanian items, which range from hand axes to spears, from baskets to traditional dresses, and other items such as musical instruments, and an example of a traditional house. The natural history collection has lots of coral and crustacean examples, it also has a large number of photographs of wild animals, all of which were taken by one photographer, and unfortunately I can’t remember his name. There are a series of stuffed animals, namely the ones that I saw running around Serengeti and Ngorongoro, so these seemed a bit tedious having seen their alive cousins. There are skulls of a dolphin and a manatee, and also a whole manatee skeleton, and a large model of one. I think they are pushing the conservation efforts on manatees as they have a tendency to be chopped up by boat propellers. Outside of the second building there is a small path that leads to some cars that were owned by Julius Nyerere (the first Prime Minister of The United Republic of Tanzania). There are a couple of beaten up Mercedes and also a couple of very nice Rolls Royce. The Rolls were far more impressive than the run of the mill Mercs.
The plan was to visit the Botanical Gardens whilst I was in the area, however, due to the fact that I am a fool, I completely forgot to bring my other memory card for the camera, and I had used up the one I had with me at the museum. This annoyed me greatly, but it also means that I have something that I can go and see one day when I have nothing to do. On the return journey in a taxi, the driver was talking about the Village Museum. We drove by the museum, which happened to be on the way back to the apartment, and I had a good idea of what I would be doing the following day.
So as Tuesday predictably turned to Wednesday, I ventured out in the afternoon, following a very lazy morning. I jumped in a Bajaj and gave directions to the driver on how to get to the Village Museum. My experience at the National Museum the day before had left me a bit cagey about visiting more museums. Whilst the content of the National Museum is good, I found it quite depressing to see how little investment has been used for the facility. I went to the Village Museum with the notion of not getting my hopes up. When I got to the Museum I was eventually admitted by a friendly clerk, and I chatted to an American guy who is a World Bank consultant with a Nigerian wife. There is a split path as you enter the museum grounds. The term grounds needs to be used as the museum is and outdoors museum. It holds 14 or so different traditional huts that are found in various regions of Tanzania. Each hut is accessible by the public, and you can go in and around the buildings. Some are made from clay that has baked hard, others from bamboo, and others from wood with thatched roofs. There is a couple of notice boards that explain a bit about the people who live in the particular hut, what they do to survive, how they build the hut, and other information that is relevant. It was fantastic to see the traditional huts, and it was brilliant noting how people from the particular region came down to Dar to have their region represented by museum. Some of the huts themselves had different rooms, and you could enter into a fairly light room, and find yourself feeling along the walls of the next room which is pitch black. In the background as you go around the Museum there is a drum being beaten by a local musician. I had just got to one of the last huts before a woman came up to me and asked me for some money to dance. In normal circumstances I would have found this a bit odd, but the guidebook had prepared me by saying something about traditional dances that are performed for a small fee. I sat down on the benches and five women came dancing out from behind a tree, whilst four people played a variety of drums and they all sang. It was brilliant to see and hear, and I wouldn’t hesitate to go to the museum again. It all seems very authentic and it’s an experience that you are unlikely to come across! There was a guy sitting at the Swahili house, who was crafting some clay sculptures. These things had incredible detail, and the guy was so talented. He wouldn’t let me take a photo of his work, but I will go back there with the parents and I will have to buy something, just because it is so amazing! Another guy was selling some paintings that he had done, and some of them were postcard sized so I ended up getting a couple of nice things which I’ll stick into a frame when I get back to England.
As Wednesday dipped its toe into Thursday, I wasted the morning thinking that I would see the Professor at some point. I had seen him the evening beforehand where he had told me about his jaunt to Nairobi. He told me that he’ll try getting the car from Kagasheki so I can start learning how to drive, and he gave me a couple of mangos and a pineapple. I was given a bit more work to do on the BDA, which is a relief because I am getting a bit worried about sitting around and having a long holiday in Tanzania and then having nothing to show on my CV at the end of it. As it happened, the Professor wasn’t around during Thursday day time, so I went to Picolo Beach for a swim and to book my parents into the hotel. Bakari, Ezra and Seif were all there to say hello to me, and I must say that I get treated very well by these people! There was nothing too exciting about Thursday, well except for the electricity tripping during the night.
This morning there was a power cut for a few hours so I went up to UDSM to use the internet and to do some research for the work that I am doing. Then I had a quick trip to the shop before heading back to the Uni which is where you find me now. I am not sure what the weekend has in store for me, but I am hoping that it’s going to involve something. I may even try to do some work on Saturday, mainly because I have wasted a while today writing this thing for the blog. I hope you appreciate it!
Toodles for the time being.
Oh yes, today I was in a dalla-dalla which had another 24 people in...two people had to stand. I think that has to be record breaking!
Somehow it has been nearly a week since I last wrote anything on the Bloggy blog space. Much has happened in the past week, but it was not as expected. Let me start this tale for your enjoyment...
As I may have mentioned in the past couple of blogs, I was supposed to be heading to Dodoma with Kagasheki to see if how Tanzanian parliament operates. This trip did not materialise, I am yet to see and hear the sights and sounds of Dodoma. As it turns out, Kagasheki had a motion rejected, so I think he has run off with his tail between his legs a little bit. It was Sunday, the day I was meant to be leaving, at about 10 in the morning, about 2 hours before I was meant to be leaving, that I got a call from the Professor with this information. Since I have been in Dar, I have not actually heard from my boss. It’s a strange scenario.
The Professor himself had gone off on a jaunt to Nairobi for a couple of days, so I was free to do as I wanted. I took this opportunity to stretch my travellers’ legs a bit. I did some touristy things to pass the time, and this my friends is the tale of my roaming around Dar.
Having consulted the guidebook for advice for things to do, I spent most of the morning highlighting passages, and areas on the maps in the book so I would have an idea of what I’d like to be doing. Most of Monday morning was wasted looking through the book and using my pretty highlighter! In the afternoon I decided I would go to Mwenge Craft Market, and possibly to the Village Museum. They looked like they were located close to each other on the map in the book. As it turns out they aren’t. I was able to find the craft market as I had accidently stumbled upon that the other day, but I carried on past that to see if I could find the museum. It turned out that I couldn’t find it. Nevertheless the Craft Market provided me with lots of entertainment.
The market is a little square of tiny shops that are filled with various craft items, some of which are made onsite, right before your eyes. Most of the crafts are wooden sculptures of different things, ranging from chess sets to elephants, to outlines of the African continent. Some items are quite simplistic; some are carved with intricate details. Much of what is found in one shop is found in another, and it must be the case that prices are so competitive. It doesn’t make sense to have so many people selling the same products. Yet, having been into one shop, you are encouraged by the shop owners to go into another, and what could take a couple of minutes to walk around, eventually makes you spend the best part of an hour (and that is with avoidance of most shops) walking around and talking the shop owners. I snapped a couple of photos of people who were crafting away in the shops, and one of the owners has asked me to send him some of my photos. I didn’t spend any money at the market, mainly because I didn’t have very much with me at the time, but I’ll be going back to visit them again, because there are a few bits and bobs that I really liked the look of. I also would feel bad if I didn’t buy anything...the people are so friendly and welcoming, even if it is just to make a quick buck, it’s still nice! I had to explain to every shop owner that I spoke to that I live in Mwenge, and it’s not far for me to come back and make regular trips!
That evening I had a call from my mother, who told me that she and my father are coming over to see me at the end of March. I have still not told the boss that I will be spending time with them whilst they are here, but he hasn’t exactly made himself available to chat. They are coming over for a couple of weeks, during the Easter holidays, and I was asked to see if I could book them a hotel for a couple of nights. So that was my mission for the next couple of days...book a hotel.
As my explorations on Monday were only partially successful, I decided to set out and see some of the things nearer the city centre, starting with the National Museum. The National Museum takes the visitor on a historic journey of the political history of Tanzania/Tanganyika. Starting with the tribal ruling, the early explorers (e.g. Livingstone, Speke, Burton) then the German colonisation, then the British protectorate after World War One, and then to Independence, about 30-40 years later. The downstairs of the museum is primarily a photographic tour of the ages, and there is a number of cracking photos that go with the text. A couple of items are around, but most of the main artefact collection were either upstairs or in the other building. As you head upstairs there is a large airy room which houses the collection of fossils and stone tools, all relating to prehistoric man. The pinnacle item is the Australopithecus Boisei (or Zinjanthropos), which is a skull of an early human ancestor. It was found up near Arusha in the ‘70s by Mary Leaky (or so is claimed by the museum and most programmes featuring the skull, but in reality, a local Tanzanian found the skull and then told the Leakey’s about it). It is considered to be one of the most significant finds in anthropology related archaeology, and it is the main item in the museum. It would possibly be held comparable to the big-ass dinosaur in the main hall of the London Natural History Museum. A few other fossils of somewhat diminished significance are displayed, as are a small collection of small stone tools that were used over 1.7 million years ago. As you follow the room around there is a series of casts taken from various skull, but there is also a cast of some fossilised footprints. The footprints, which are also found near Arusha, are some 3.6 million years old, and they show the tracks of 3 early ancestors. The footprints have been preserved by a seemingly impossible combination of climatic circumstances and the presence of some freshly expelled volcanic ash. Nowadays the site is covered to preserve the footprints from the elements, but there are a number of casts that have been taken to show people in the worlds of museums. Across the courtyard of the museum there is a second building that houses a cultural and natural history section. The cultural room has a large collection of traditional Tanzanian items, which range from hand axes to spears, from baskets to traditional dresses, and other items such as musical instruments, and an example of a traditional house. The natural history collection has lots of coral and crustacean examples, it also has a large number of photographs of wild animals, all of which were taken by one photographer, and unfortunately I can’t remember his name. There are a series of stuffed animals, namely the ones that I saw running around Serengeti and Ngorongoro, so these seemed a bit tedious having seen their alive cousins. There are skulls of a dolphin and a manatee, and also a whole manatee skeleton, and a large model of one. I think they are pushing the conservation efforts on manatees as they have a tendency to be chopped up by boat propellers. Outside of the second building there is a small path that leads to some cars that were owned by Julius Nyerere (the first Prime Minister of The United Republic of Tanzania). There are a couple of beaten up Mercedes and also a couple of very nice Rolls Royce. The Rolls were far more impressive than the run of the mill Mercs.
The plan was to visit the Botanical Gardens whilst I was in the area, however, due to the fact that I am a fool, I completely forgot to bring my other memory card for the camera, and I had used up the one I had with me at the museum. This annoyed me greatly, but it also means that I have something that I can go and see one day when I have nothing to do. On the return journey in a taxi, the driver was talking about the Village Museum. We drove by the museum, which happened to be on the way back to the apartment, and I had a good idea of what I would be doing the following day.
So as Tuesday predictably turned to Wednesday, I ventured out in the afternoon, following a very lazy morning. I jumped in a Bajaj and gave directions to the driver on how to get to the Village Museum. My experience at the National Museum the day before had left me a bit cagey about visiting more museums. Whilst the content of the National Museum is good, I found it quite depressing to see how little investment has been used for the facility. I went to the Village Museum with the notion of not getting my hopes up. When I got to the Museum I was eventually admitted by a friendly clerk, and I chatted to an American guy who is a World Bank consultant with a Nigerian wife. There is a split path as you enter the museum grounds. The term grounds needs to be used as the museum is and outdoors museum. It holds 14 or so different traditional huts that are found in various regions of Tanzania. Each hut is accessible by the public, and you can go in and around the buildings. Some are made from clay that has baked hard, others from bamboo, and others from wood with thatched roofs. There is a couple of notice boards that explain a bit about the people who live in the particular hut, what they do to survive, how they build the hut, and other information that is relevant. It was fantastic to see the traditional huts, and it was brilliant noting how people from the particular region came down to Dar to have their region represented by museum. Some of the huts themselves had different rooms, and you could enter into a fairly light room, and find yourself feeling along the walls of the next room which is pitch black. In the background as you go around the Museum there is a drum being beaten by a local musician. I had just got to one of the last huts before a woman came up to me and asked me for some money to dance. In normal circumstances I would have found this a bit odd, but the guidebook had prepared me by saying something about traditional dances that are performed for a small fee. I sat down on the benches and five women came dancing out from behind a tree, whilst four people played a variety of drums and they all sang. It was brilliant to see and hear, and I wouldn’t hesitate to go to the museum again. It all seems very authentic and it’s an experience that you are unlikely to come across! There was a guy sitting at the Swahili house, who was crafting some clay sculptures. These things had incredible detail, and the guy was so talented. He wouldn’t let me take a photo of his work, but I will go back there with the parents and I will have to buy something, just because it is so amazing! Another guy was selling some paintings that he had done, and some of them were postcard sized so I ended up getting a couple of nice things which I’ll stick into a frame when I get back to England.
As Wednesday dipped its toe into Thursday, I wasted the morning thinking that I would see the Professor at some point. I had seen him the evening beforehand where he had told me about his jaunt to Nairobi. He told me that he’ll try getting the car from Kagasheki so I can start learning how to drive, and he gave me a couple of mangos and a pineapple. I was given a bit more work to do on the BDA, which is a relief because I am getting a bit worried about sitting around and having a long holiday in Tanzania and then having nothing to show on my CV at the end of it. As it happened, the Professor wasn’t around during Thursday day time, so I went to Picolo Beach for a swim and to book my parents into the hotel. Bakari, Ezra and Seif were all there to say hello to me, and I must say that I get treated very well by these people! There was nothing too exciting about Thursday, well except for the electricity tripping during the night.
This morning there was a power cut for a few hours so I went up to UDSM to use the internet and to do some research for the work that I am doing. Then I had a quick trip to the shop before heading back to the Uni which is where you find me now. I am not sure what the weekend has in store for me, but I am hoping that it’s going to involve something. I may even try to do some work on Saturday, mainly because I have wasted a while today writing this thing for the blog. I hope you appreciate it!
Toodles for the time being.
Oh yes, today I was in a dalla-dalla which had another 24 people in...two people had to stand. I think that has to be record breaking!
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Irish Bar...
30th January, 2010
So it is well after 1 o’clock on the 30th January. I have just been to an Irish bar with Chris. At this point I have had one too many so I will tell you about Chris...even if I have told you about him before. Chris is Danish. He has recently, i.e. within the last year or so, set up his own I.T. peripherals distribution shop. So far he has sold USB stick primarily, but he seems to have monopolised the market. He is 22, and is going out with a local girl called Monica. They’ve been together for about 2 months now. He seems to have the patience of a saint...she seems rather pushy and a touch irritating. I may be judging critically here because she made a joke at my expense lasting that little bit too long.
We have just been to the Irish Bar, which is located at Oyster Bay, on the northern side of
Dar. But before we get into the details of the evening, let me just tell you about my day so far. I was not thinking that I would be writing before I went to Dodoma, but this has been an eventful night, and my drunken musings will provide entertainment for all.
As the contractors were at my apartment today I was told that I should be evicted until about 7 in the evening. The labourers were fixing a decent electrical mains switch to my power supply as the last one was a nice fake from China, and the others were adding mosquito gauze panes to my windows. This allows me to open windows whilst stopping insects from coming in, and invariably eating my feet. I collected the essentials, and then left, knowing when I am not wanted. I headed first to the internet café which is about 2 minutes from my apartment.
I spent the day at Picolo Beach hotel, where I saw Ezra, Bakari and the rest of the happy gang. Somehow I managed to get sunburnt under the parasol which is quite the achievement, and now I am in quite a substantial amount of pain, how and ever, the alcohol coursing through my blood is having a nice cooling/numbing effect. I read, and I swam, and then I returned back to the apartment at about half 6. They were just finishing up at that time (which is odd because they said to come at 7, and African time is not quite the same as time in the rest of the world – If in doubt see A Geography of Time [I can’t remember the author]).
Having dropped my kit off at the apartment, and then calling Chris, I went and ventured to the Irish Pub. I got a rickshaw (or Bajaj as they are locally known) which got me to the edge of Mwenge (the area around my apartment) before it broke down. The driver wanted payment, despite the fact he broke down, so I paid him half what he wanted. There was no way the journey was worth the 2,000/ he was after. I jumped into a neighbouring rickshaw and told the driver where I wanted to go. After a while it became apparent that he didn’t know where the Irish Pub was. We asked several people en route, drove past the building more than once, and the eventually arrived. Luckily he still only charged me what we had agreed on, 6,000/.
At the Irish Pub (called none other than O’Willies) I eventually found Chris. He was with a guy called Arnold who had been in Demark for the past three years, although he is a Tanzanian native. We talked about many a thing whilst they finished their food, and I ordered mine. Of the most interesting topics to note, there was the issue of having multiple wives (polygamy). Chris made some outrageous claims that he would happily turn Muslim if he could have many wives. I made the counterpoint that there would be more people to please, but he was having none of this. After a brief while with Arnold, he decided it was time to go home to his one wife...but not after his point of having 4 wives, one skinny, one fat, one short, one tall. Chris and I sat and discussed his business for a while, and then Monica (Chris’ girlfriend) and Janet turned up. They were needlessly abusive in a funny way to the two Mzungu boys. We sat, we drank and then it was time to go inside.
Before we ventured in, I had met Justin, the owner of the Irish Pub. He was from somewhere to the north of Ireland, but not Northern Ireland (I think he said Hollyhead). We had a great chat where I ended up insulting him about the lack of the ‘Irish Bar experience’ to which he replied...”I still make money!” He had once been an overland goods driver, and he decided to set up the bar with another Irish fellow and his wife. He ended up buying out the other partners so the business is his alone. He was dressed in pyjamas (it was a pyjamas party) and I found it hard to take him seriously. But nevertheless (incidentally nevertheless is my favourite word as it is actually comprises of three words) he was a sound guy. I think I will be a patron of his establishment for the next while. He has a lovely Irish accent which is nice to hear in person; apparently I miss that when I am not at home listening to my mother and father.
And so we sat, and we drank, and then we eventually got home, but in a much less roundabout way than before. Monica drove me back to my apartment, which is where I am typing this lovely note for you all, and then she drove off with Chris and Janet towards Kariakoo (which is one of the central districts of Dar).
I am quite looking forward to the next adventure with Chris et al, but that may not be until next weekend. Oh yes, I met a guy from The Netherlands, I can’t remember his name, but he seemed nice enough and he was wearing scrubs! I think that is all that I have to say right now. I am sure that more will spring to mind, but whether or not I will tell you these finer details will remain to be seen.
I bid you adieu.
So it is well after 1 o’clock on the 30th January. I have just been to an Irish bar with Chris. At this point I have had one too many so I will tell you about Chris...even if I have told you about him before. Chris is Danish. He has recently, i.e. within the last year or so, set up his own I.T. peripherals distribution shop. So far he has sold USB stick primarily, but he seems to have monopolised the market. He is 22, and is going out with a local girl called Monica. They’ve been together for about 2 months now. He seems to have the patience of a saint...she seems rather pushy and a touch irritating. I may be judging critically here because she made a joke at my expense lasting that little bit too long.
We have just been to the Irish Bar, which is located at Oyster Bay, on the northern side of
Dar. But before we get into the details of the evening, let me just tell you about my day so far. I was not thinking that I would be writing before I went to Dodoma, but this has been an eventful night, and my drunken musings will provide entertainment for all.
As the contractors were at my apartment today I was told that I should be evicted until about 7 in the evening. The labourers were fixing a decent electrical mains switch to my power supply as the last one was a nice fake from China, and the others were adding mosquito gauze panes to my windows. This allows me to open windows whilst stopping insects from coming in, and invariably eating my feet. I collected the essentials, and then left, knowing when I am not wanted. I headed first to the internet café which is about 2 minutes from my apartment.
I spent the day at Picolo Beach hotel, where I saw Ezra, Bakari and the rest of the happy gang. Somehow I managed to get sunburnt under the parasol which is quite the achievement, and now I am in quite a substantial amount of pain, how and ever, the alcohol coursing through my blood is having a nice cooling/numbing effect. I read, and I swam, and then I returned back to the apartment at about half 6. They were just finishing up at that time (which is odd because they said to come at 7, and African time is not quite the same as time in the rest of the world – If in doubt see A Geography of Time [I can’t remember the author]).
Having dropped my kit off at the apartment, and then calling Chris, I went and ventured to the Irish Pub. I got a rickshaw (or Bajaj as they are locally known) which got me to the edge of Mwenge (the area around my apartment) before it broke down. The driver wanted payment, despite the fact he broke down, so I paid him half what he wanted. There was no way the journey was worth the 2,000/ he was after. I jumped into a neighbouring rickshaw and told the driver where I wanted to go. After a while it became apparent that he didn’t know where the Irish Pub was. We asked several people en route, drove past the building more than once, and the eventually arrived. Luckily he still only charged me what we had agreed on, 6,000/.
At the Irish Pub (called none other than O’Willies) I eventually found Chris. He was with a guy called Arnold who had been in Demark for the past three years, although he is a Tanzanian native. We talked about many a thing whilst they finished their food, and I ordered mine. Of the most interesting topics to note, there was the issue of having multiple wives (polygamy). Chris made some outrageous claims that he would happily turn Muslim if he could have many wives. I made the counterpoint that there would be more people to please, but he was having none of this. After a brief while with Arnold, he decided it was time to go home to his one wife...but not after his point of having 4 wives, one skinny, one fat, one short, one tall. Chris and I sat and discussed his business for a while, and then Monica (Chris’ girlfriend) and Janet turned up. They were needlessly abusive in a funny way to the two Mzungu boys. We sat, we drank and then it was time to go inside.
Before we ventured in, I had met Justin, the owner of the Irish Pub. He was from somewhere to the north of Ireland, but not Northern Ireland (I think he said Hollyhead). We had a great chat where I ended up insulting him about the lack of the ‘Irish Bar experience’ to which he replied...”I still make money!” He had once been an overland goods driver, and he decided to set up the bar with another Irish fellow and his wife. He ended up buying out the other partners so the business is his alone. He was dressed in pyjamas (it was a pyjamas party) and I found it hard to take him seriously. But nevertheless (incidentally nevertheless is my favourite word as it is actually comprises of three words) he was a sound guy. I think I will be a patron of his establishment for the next while. He has a lovely Irish accent which is nice to hear in person; apparently I miss that when I am not at home listening to my mother and father.
And so we sat, and we drank, and then we eventually got home, but in a much less roundabout way than before. Monica drove me back to my apartment, which is where I am typing this lovely note for you all, and then she drove off with Chris and Janet towards Kariakoo (which is one of the central districts of Dar).
I am quite looking forward to the next adventure with Chris et al, but that may not be until next weekend. Oh yes, I met a guy from The Netherlands, I can’t remember his name, but he seemed nice enough and he was wearing scrubs! I think that is all that I have to say right now. I am sure that more will spring to mind, but whether or not I will tell you these finer details will remain to be seen.
I bid you adieu.
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