Boats, Bajajs, Beaches and Beers...

7th March 2010

I’m sitting here tapping away at the keyboard wondering how on earth I am so tired. It’s about half one and so far all I have managed to do is make beans on toast, have a cup of coffee, have a shower, and think about going out. Everything seems quite tricky today. Once again I’ve left a week between writing anything down on this blog so I’ll regale you with the tale of the first week of March!

For the past week or so I have been working on writing a chapter in a biography on a politician in Tanzania. I’m co-writing the chapter which outlines the local and national political contributions that the MP has made in the past five years. The research I am working off of is from a series of interviews that were conducted by the other author of the chapter, and this makes it very tricky to get the work done. I’ve been finding using the outcomes from interviews that I didn’t conduct very hard indeed. As far as academic work goes, working from the outcome of someone else’s research may be the hardest thing to do ever! There are so many questions that pop into your head which could take the direction of the chapter in an alternative, and all ego aside, a more informative and relevant direction. However, not having the answers to the questions that pop up means you can’t write about it, so the work stays along a stringent path. The first draft of the chapter was put together by the other author, and for the past week I have been going through it, paragraph by paragraph, and sentence by sentence to try and get the work to be structured, and to ensure that the English is all in order. The co-author, who I’m keeping anonymous, is a PhD student and lecturer in UDSM. By looking at the first draft you would not think that this is actually the case. There is so much work that has been done so far, and still so much to finish by the end of the next week that I’m predicting a slightly hermit-esk existence.

So between working on the chapter, and a touch of gentle procrastination, I’ve been kept out of trouble. The Professor however brought me some news which made me question what I am doing here though. I’ve not seen my boss (Kagasheki) in over 2 months, I’ve not had a phone call, and none of my texts have been replied to. It seems that all the conversation is happening between the Professor and the politician, and I get summarised reports of the feedback. One of the outcomes of these chats that they have had relates to the work that I am doing. They’ve decided that it would be good for me to work with the BDA in a closer capacity than I have done. This will mean that I will have to move back to Bukoba and work in the office there. Initially I was not too impressed with that situation. I’m now settled in Dar, I’ve become confident enough to mosey about and talk to strangers, and I’m actually enjoying the exploration side of my stay here. Bukoba however is a stark contrast, it is very small town Africa, it’s very picturesque and friendly, but there is not a vast deal of activities to do to pass the time. In addition to this move to Bukoba, I was told that the position may only be until the end of June. The run up to the elections will be starting intensely then, and so there will be less time, if that’s possible, for the boss to assign me any work. I was told that it could be possible to finish in June, but with the opportunity to come back next May (if all things go well during the elections) and do the job that I initially signed up for. So after occasional conversations with the Prof I’ve managed to negotiate the deal a little bit. It’s not been finalised but I could be moving to and from Bukoba and Dar on a monthly basis, this way I can still work for the BDA, but I can also have some of the creature comforts that Dar offers me. A negotiation of extra pay has been put forward (without my suggestion), and the provision of the car is an essential part of the deal. The car was promised to me for when I arrived in Dar, but it is yet to materialise. I can only assume they are making it from scratch.

After a week or so of bouncing ideas of the work I am doing, the move to Bukoba, and the general chit chats that I have with the Prof, he had a thought about some extra work that I could do if/when I head to Bukoba. He’s suggested to look into a project relating to the impacts of refugees, it’s not finalised, but there is scope for so much work to be done, and it would be such an interesting topic to study. On top of this, there is a lot of potential to get the paper published, both as a political document, and as an academic article. The concept of such work has really buoyed my spirits so I’m pinning my hopes on that particular piece of work. It sounds very exciting, and it could be so much fun to study!

Aside from these slightly mundane and rather self-involved reports, the weekend has once again has provided me with ample amounts to write about. Like all good stories this one shall start at the beginning, on a very hot Saturday morning.

The day started much the same as most days, the sun was trying its very best to ignite my curtain at about half six. Having got used to the early morning wakeup call where the sun renders your eyelids useless, I got up and tried to get myself into the land of the living. A quick cup of coffee was had, and as the realisation that I had no bread sunk in I toyed with the idea of leaving the house. But I didn’t...oh no, that would have been too easy. Instead I did some washing (all clothes are hand washed because washing machines are unnecessarily expensive and unreliable). I’d been lazy during the week so I had a fair amount to actually clean. It took a while, but then the need for bread overtook all else in the world. I’m infatuated with the bread in this country; it’s all so fresh, and really cheap! I do tend to eat the best part of a loaf of bread in a day!

As you can see, the day started with some unrivalled entertainment, washing clothes and buying bread. I got blasted by the sun when I was walking to get the bread, and I thought about cowering inside for the best part of the day because it would be too hot for my poor self. But knowing of the possible fun that I could have, I bounded out regardless of the weather. I found a bajaj driver who was willing to take me to Msasani Slipway for a reasonable sum of several thousand shillings. The traffic was very heavy, so the standard avoidance tactic was deployed...driving on the path to get past the stationary cars. Having feared for my life for a short while, I was safely dropped off to the Slipway.

Just walking through the courtyard area, there were several mzungus enjoying the sunshine and the excessively priced soft drinks. I plodded through the tourists who were enjoying their home away from home experience and headed for the jetty. There is a hut at the end of the jetty where you buy tickets to jump on a boat and sail to Bongoyo Island. The boat sails every couple of hours so there were already a few people waiting to board. I bought a ticket for 25,000/- (about £12.50) and that included the Marine Reserve fee, and the transport.

Bongoyo Island, as I am sure you will have worked out from the last sentence is a Marine Reserve, its 7 km off the coast of the Msasani Peninsula, and can only be described as a paradise island cliché. We’ll get to that in a minute. I sat down with the rest of the waiting passengers and became quite concerned about the sun burning my recently shaved head! A small boat was approaching as I pulled on my ridiculous hat and one by one the waiting passenger folk stepped from the jetty onto a small, blue boat which had wooden planks for the seats. After a wobbly start, the boat made a move towards a slightly larger and slightly healthier looking boat. The wooden seats seemed to be made of some sort of wood that you’d find in a forest in hell. They were burning, and for a short while I was worried that my trousers may ignite from the heat. Luckily it was only uncomfortable for a short while as every jumped ship onto the bigger boat.

On the boat I chatted to a couple of fellow mzungus, a girl from Sweden called Adela, and a girl from the states called Christa. The journey to the island was about half an hour, and in the short and fairly smooth crossing we went through the motions of standard chit chat! The obvious conversation starters were employed, where are you from, how long have you been here, what are you doing, how long are you around for etc. etc. Conversation was occasionally halted by the need to take some photos of the approaching island, and the beautiful blue Indian Ocean.

Adela was (and presumably is still) from Sweden, and she’d been in Tanzania for seven weeks. She was involved in a study relating to the communications system in Tanzania, in particular with mobiles. She was living in an apartment near Msasani, and had been to Bongoyo Island before. Christa was from Oregon in the U.S. and had arrived in Dar the night before. She was staying in the Slipway Hotel and decided to go venturing out to see the sights. She was going to be heading to a small village just outside Iringa, which is a small town towards the centre of Tanzania. She has been a qualified nurse for the past 5 years and had come over to do some volunteer nursing in the village.

So as the happy gang we were, we jumped off the boat, into a smaller boat again, and went to the blinding white sands of the beach. It was like the sand itself was a natural lighthouse. I reckon it would still be white in the dead of night. I dangled my hand over the side of the boat into the warm water and we passed through the dark blue of the deeper waters to the turquoise waters of the sandy shallows. The little boat bounced its way through the water and ploughed onto the sand where it wedged itself nicely for us to jump off. There were a fair few others on the boat too, but they seemed to keep to themselves for the most part.

Jumping off into the lovely sand we plodded up the slight hill and saw the thatched Bandas and the bar. We got under one of the Bandas and into the shade where we chatted for a while, mainly asking Adela about the island as she had been here before. A man soon came by with a menu and we ordered food, and then he asked when we’d like to have it ready by which surprised me a bit as it seemed as though the people on the island were in some way lacking the usual standards of organisation. Pleasantly surprised, I set off into the little forested area in search of the mystical toilets (which I didn’t actually find) so I could change into some shorts! There was a path leading into the woods and many a mosquito buzzed about patiently waiting for some fool to wander in so they could have some dinner. I found a secluded spot, changed, and then moved out of the reach of the mosquitoes and back to be beach. I was told upon return that there are apparently snakes in the forest, the information made me think that Adela’s flip flops (which I’d borrowed) were a bad choice of footwear.

So we sat and chatted for most of the day, occasionally one or two would disappear off to have a swim or to have a look around the island a little bit. I’d just gone off for a swim when one of the guys who works on the island waved at me to indicate that the food was ready. For a very reasonable sum, I had some fresh calamari and chips. The chips were pretty greasy, but the squid was rubbery enough to suggest it’d been caught very recently indeed!

The day passed with the conversations ranging from previous travel jaunts, to potential parasites that are in Tanzania, and then from life stories from home, to more discussion about illnesses, and then a bit about customs and language in Tanzania, and back to the parasites. I can only imagine that being a nurse and coming to a place where health care, hygiene and bugs all come in doses that seem to be at ratios out of the ordinary is likely to be a cause for worry! I became quite apparent that my own nonchalance to health worries abroad was probably not great, but I am convinced that my attitude won’t change...at least until I get sick. At one point I used the phrase ‘angry tears’ to describe how heavy the rain could be, to me it made sense, but apparently the real message of the conversation got lost as I was told I should write poetry...of a sarcastic nature! I don’t see why...I’m not sarcastic ever.

The two ladies had just gone off to the shore when I noticed a German man, equipped with the typical Speedo stereotype, came running up the sand shouting to his German companions. About a minute later another man came hobbling up the sand with one leg raised, and what looked like most of his weight resting on the shoulders of what I presume was his daughter. I immediately recognised he signs...the fool had stepped on an urchin. The man hobbled his way over the burning sand towards his Banda. At this point I feel I should tell you what a Banda is, in case you don’t know. It’s like a thatched umbrella or parasol, and the best way to imagine them is like a round thatched roof house without walls. Listening intently, and chuckling a little bit unnecessarily, I heard tell of a variety of methods to remove the spines of the urchin. The ones near the surface of the skin can be picked out like splinters, but the deeper ones require other means for removal. One person suggested keeping the leg dry for two days so that the spins cause the surrounding area to puss up, apparently you can then squeeze out the horrible bits. The other suggestion, from a local guy, was to rub the milky juice of a papaya on the area, as it apparently brings out the spines somehow. Unfortunately for the German guy there were now papayas around. I have to say I could sympathise with the guy because he had to sit down and do very little until the boat returned so he could head back to mainland.

I walked around the beach a bit and took some photos which are comparable to any beautiful beach scene, and I walked through the water enjoying the cool, but still quite warm wash of the waves over the feet. Towards the east side of the beach (the beach is in the south-east corner of the island) were a series of rock pools. I jumped from rock to rock looking at the little ugly fish in the pools. I started heading back to the Banda through a large pool and the water was actually hot. It was like walking through a really long pool of bath water. I’d go as far to say that it was actually hotter than any of the showers I have had in Tanzania. The rest of the island trip was whittled away with little else of note. It was a really nice day.

We left the island on the last boat to mainland, it was about five o’clock and the sun was still beating down. The standard transfer from little boat to big boat happened and soon we were bobbing up and down on the roll of the waves as we crossed the water back to Slipway. It was the last day that Adela was in Tanzania for, and so we arranged to meet up for a drink in the Irish Bar later that evening. We exchanged numbers and invited Christa to come as well as the Irish Bar is about 5 minutes away from the hotel, and it would be almost impossible to get lost between the two locations.

I jumped in a slightly overpriced Bajaj and went down a few very bumpy backstreets on the way back to Mwenge. The driver was keen to get me to my destination and was weaving rather frantically in an attempt to get past the wedding party that were in front of us. Apparently interrupting the wedding convoy is not considered rude...I thought it was though. It was nearly six by the time I got back to the apartment. The sun had started to drop behind a huge mushroom shaped cloud creating some awesome lighting effects. If I had a better view I would have got the camera out and taken some shots. For a short while the idea that mushroom clouds came from nuclear explosions was on my mind, but then I thought that it was in a northerly direction from Dar, so if there had been a bomb dropped it would have been into an area of nothing. This put my irrational fears to bed.

I had a shower, admired the very pink colouring of my back and ate some dinner. Thinking that I didn’t want to be in pain I had a couple of Neurofen and went in search of a mode of transport to get me to the Irish pub. I had a really bad feeling about getting a Bajaj so I went for a taxi instead. We were just heading towards the main road when the driver noticed a lot of traffic. In the distance there was a really bright white light, almost like a firework because there were sparks coming from it. The driver swung the car the wrong way around the roundabout and explained that it was an electricity pylon that was about to catch alight. As he said this, there was a bright flash, and as if on cue, there was a fire where the really white light had been. We bumped down a side street towards the main road, and eventually stopped outside a bank to pick up Adela and her flatmate Wendy.

The Irish Bar was not as busy as I had expected, and there was live music (by a rather poor quality cover band). We sat outside in the very hot night, and we continued with a vast array of conversation and jokes, and discussion about the cat that was roaming around...the same cat from the week before. We’d arrived at about half nine and had few drinks. There was a lot of talk about cockroaches, mosquitoes, ants, mice, rats, geckos and cats...each one hated quite distinctly by at least one of us. For some reason we got stuck on some grotesque conversations involving the various ways that the pests (and the cats) had been dealt with.

Wendy is a VSO volunteer working on a media project in Dar. She’d been in Tanzania for about 7 or 8 months, and will be here until June 2011. She was from the U.S. (two in one day...what are the odds!), in particular from Washington D.C. and seemed quite fun. She had a wicker-esk tiny handbag which got a lot of abuse because I kept making jokes about tiny hot air balloons. Conversation ventured into the world of bookshops which made me miss working in Waterstone’s. However, in Washington there is a bookshop that is open 24 hours a day. I can only guess as to the nutters that would go into a bookshop at 3 in the morning, craving a bit of Chaucer or Dickens, or Dan Brown...all of the classics! Regular patrons of book shops are strange enough, but with the cover of darkness you are bound to have some winners in the oddity competition.

After a few hours, which passed very quickly with the conversation, we were told the bar was going to close so we headed out into the night in search for a taxi. Here I learned a way to get some very cheap taxi journeys. Wendy had figured out that by offering a counter price to the one that has been offered, and not budging from that price at all, then walking away when the driver says no, the driver very quickly calls you back, or drives and catches you up, agreeing to the very reasonable sum of money. I was more than impressed with this technique but I am yet to try it myself. I wonder if it’ll work for men...I’ve only seen that tactic used by women. I’m sure that I’ll have some story to tell you about how I got along with it sometime soon!

I got in just before 3, and the guard had to unlock the gate to let me in, whilst restraining the dog. I had no idea that there was a guard dog for the apartments/offices. I don’t think I’ll roam around too often at night...unless of course I get to meet the dog in some sort of social capacity first. I may have to avoid telling it that I like cats too though.

Soon enough the sun rose, and I was quite unimpressed with my very short amount of sleep. But luckily it was Sunday, and I could do absolutely anything I wanted...which was nothing. I tried staying in bed, but this doesn’t work well when the sun is trying its very best to ignite your curtains. I’ve also found out that my eyelids are essentially rendered useless by the ridiculous amount of sun that seems to be so apparent in Equatorial climates.

And that is the story of my weekend. I hope you like it. But before I go, let me tell you about Salum’s greatest conversation with me. Bear in mind it was a conversation in passing:

ME: Hello Salum.
SALUM: Hi, Mr. Steve.
M: How are you?
S: I am okay. What about the weekend? (Roughly translating into “How was your weekend?”)
M: Good, thanks. How about yours?
S: Thank you, sir.

I love these conversations...it’s quite fun having to work out what is being said...even when it’s in English!