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.