Rain, Dalla-dallas, More rain, Churches and Italians...

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.