My final day in Africa is November 23rd. I am so excited to finally go back to the Western world. Thus, the blog is almost done. I will try to get Robyn to post some thoughts. Then, maybe I will too. I need some time to gain a better perspective though. By the time I get on the airplane, I will have been here one day longer than 10 months. Simply put, the longest, toughest, most frustrating months of my life. But, I lived through it. (Knocking on wood) I have avoided any major illnesses or any seriously uncomfortable situations. I paid no bribes. I only had to jump out of a moving bus plummeting down a mountain with no brakes once.
I am really anxious to see everybody. I can't wait to eat a medium rare steak, have soft serve ice cream, and watch Comedy Central.
I am on my way back home!!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
2008 Election
It is 1:30 AM in Tanzania. I am sitting in my house staring at the TV, wishing I were in the United States for this historical occasion. This could be a true turning point for America. I took a three-hour nap so I could stay up late to watch the election results. It is tough because TZ is eight hours in front of the Eastern Time zone. Staying up through the night is the only way to watch the election results as they come in. I would have a tough time sleeping anyway since I am so excited.
I am mainly watching CNN, but am switching to Aljazeera every so often (actually a really good news organization, regardless of the demonization of the network in the States). A storm just passed through, cutting off the satellite feed. All I had was black screen. It only lasted about 15 minutes, but I really realized how far away I am. I wish I were back in America, sharing in this experience with my family and friends. We are witnessing a special moment in history
There is one thing that people back in the States will not be able to appreciate-how invested the rest of the world is in this election. They are truly excited at the possibility that Barack will win. I know the US media has pointed out on ocassion that Barack would win a global election by a landslide, but it really amazing how much people are drawn to him. They see him as a shining example of change. He is a force. If elected, the view of the America is instantly elevated a majority of the world. This is a good thing--a great thing coming off eight years of disillusionment with Bush/Cheney.
This makes me proud to be an America. The world is involved and invested with the election. I am proud that there is a real possibility that we will elect a black man for the POTUS. This is an extremely powerful example of the American dream, and the world is watching. They are hoping that this happens, because it signals that anything is possible. It signals that America is sorry and apologizing for Bush. That America is ready to engage the world again. Electing Barack is the key to repairing our image around the globe. God, I hope he wins.
5:38 AM Obama just was projected to win Ohio!!!! He now has 194 electoral votes, with California worth 55, Obama only needs 21 more votes. We are so close to a historical moment! I am breathing much, much easier.
7:00 AM CNN just called it for Barack!! A New Day!!!! I cried.
7:30ish AM A thunderstorm hit Bagamoyo and knocked out the satellite feed again, right in the middle of McCain’s concession speech. I missed Barack’s speech. I am sad that I couldn’t see the crowd’s response when he first walked out onto the stage. I am sure it was electric.
So I walked into work in the pouring rain with the biggest smile on my face, grinning like an absolute fool. All my co-workers were very happy with what happened. When they saw me, they all got big grins on their faces, shook my hand and congratulated me. I have never felt prouder to be an American than at this time—being congratulated by Tanzanians that we Americans stepped up and made the right choice or our nations' future. God Bless the USA!!!
I am mainly watching CNN, but am switching to Aljazeera every so often (actually a really good news organization, regardless of the demonization of the network in the States). A storm just passed through, cutting off the satellite feed. All I had was black screen. It only lasted about 15 minutes, but I really realized how far away I am. I wish I were back in America, sharing in this experience with my family and friends. We are witnessing a special moment in history
There is one thing that people back in the States will not be able to appreciate-how invested the rest of the world is in this election. They are truly excited at the possibility that Barack will win. I know the US media has pointed out on ocassion that Barack would win a global election by a landslide, but it really amazing how much people are drawn to him. They see him as a shining example of change. He is a force. If elected, the view of the America is instantly elevated a majority of the world. This is a good thing--a great thing coming off eight years of disillusionment with Bush/Cheney.
This makes me proud to be an America. The world is involved and invested with the election. I am proud that there is a real possibility that we will elect a black man for the POTUS. This is an extremely powerful example of the American dream, and the world is watching. They are hoping that this happens, because it signals that anything is possible. It signals that America is sorry and apologizing for Bush. That America is ready to engage the world again. Electing Barack is the key to repairing our image around the globe. God, I hope he wins.
5:38 AM Obama just was projected to win Ohio!!!! He now has 194 electoral votes, with California worth 55, Obama only needs 21 more votes. We are so close to a historical moment! I am breathing much, much easier.
7:00 AM CNN just called it for Barack!! A New Day!!!! I cried.
7:30ish AM A thunderstorm hit Bagamoyo and knocked out the satellite feed again, right in the middle of McCain’s concession speech. I missed Barack’s speech. I am sad that I couldn’t see the crowd’s response when he first walked out onto the stage. I am sure it was electric.
So I walked into work in the pouring rain with the biggest smile on my face, grinning like an absolute fool. All my co-workers were very happy with what happened. When they saw me, they all got big grins on their faces, shook my hand and congratulated me. I have never felt prouder to be an American than at this time—being congratulated by Tanzanians that we Americans stepped up and made the right choice or our nations' future. God Bless the USA!!!
Monday, October 13, 2008
That's How We Dhow It.
I had fun yesterday. Why, you might ask? Well, it is because I went sailing in a dhow. A dhow is a traditional coastal Tanzanian boat used for fishing and for transport of people and goods to and from Zanzibar, which is about 3 to 4 hours from Bagamoyo with a good wind. The dhow we went out on was probably identical to the ships that have sailed the waters of the Indian Ocean for past couple of centuries. The only modern conveniences on our boat were the nylon ropes, the plastic water containers and the bucket used to bail out the steady flow of seawater from the bottom of the boat. Everything else on this boat was old school--like 1800's old school.
We decided to head out on a dhow earlier in the week, because as inhabitants of Bagamoyo, it would be disgraceful to never have ridden in one. I texted a co-worker asked him if he could hook us up. My friend seems to know everything and everybody you would ever need to know in Bagamoyo, so within 30 minutes, he had deposited a semi-high dhow captain on my doorstep. He casually said, “[Insert name here] is a dhow captain. He will take you out. He said 80 dollars, but you can deal with him. Good-bye.” Ummm...okay. Luckily, the bargaining went well. Usually the process starts off with him offering a price anywhere from 2 to 5 times the “correct” price, and then you spend the next five to ten minutes talking about how poor he is and why he thinks I crap 200 dollars worth of gold bullion after every meal. Not this time though. I said firmly, “We are not paying 80 dollars. We will pay you 50,000 TZ shillings. You know that is good money.” He stared at me glassy-eyed and slowly said, “Okay”. Great. It is wonderful bargaining with a high-on, he was so happy. I should have offered him ten thousand and Snickers bar (sadly, I had no Snickers bar). We then spent the next ten minutes agreeing to meet him in three hours, at 1 PM.
To my “surprise” he showed up an hour early, but was content to hang out with our guard on the swing. When 1 rolled around we headed down to the fish market to where all the dhows were parked. As they didn’t have a dingy to pick us up (how rude!!),so we swam out to the boat. After getting dragged aboard, we met the crew of this love boat. It was four young gentlemen: the captain, a dude wearing only spandex shorts, a red-shirted dude, and a guy I named “the hashish guy” (who appeared to have just walked out of a opium den and/or hash house). Awesome. So they then proceeded to run around the boat moving sandbags, pulling on ropes and shouting while trying to get the sail up and get the boat moving. It took so long and looked so disorganized that I could have sworn they were on something. They finally hoisted the sail and off we went. To reward themselves for a job well done, the red-shirted dude (with soon to be matching red-eyes) and Mr. Hashish decided to fire one up—or three--over the next two hours. I didn’t think it was possible to hot box a dhow, but they gave it their best effort. I figured that they functioned moderately well when baked to high heaven, as I am sure that they didn’t spend their money on their wardrobe or going to the opera. Reassuringly, shore was only a mile away if we capsized, so we relaxed into the ride.
The trip was pleasant and uneventful. I was trying to imagine what the shoreline would have looked like over 130 years ago when Morton Stanley was coming over from Zanzibar on his quest to find Dr. David Livingstone. It was hard to do, not because the coast has been developed, but because nearly all the trees along the coast have been cut down (likely for firewood). Ahh well, it was nice to be out on the ocean, smelling the breeze and enjoying the views.
After making a big loop around the area, we pulled back into port in one piece. Even though I hadn’t raised I finger during the entire trip, I was ready for a nap. We thanked the crew, jumped off the boat into the ocean and swam back to shore. Overall, not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
We decided to head out on a dhow earlier in the week, because as inhabitants of Bagamoyo, it would be disgraceful to never have ridden in one. I texted a co-worker asked him if he could hook us up. My friend seems to know everything and everybody you would ever need to know in Bagamoyo, so within 30 minutes, he had deposited a semi-high dhow captain on my doorstep. He casually said, “[Insert name here] is a dhow captain. He will take you out. He said 80 dollars, but you can deal with him. Good-bye.” Ummm...okay. Luckily, the bargaining went well. Usually the process starts off with him offering a price anywhere from 2 to 5 times the “correct” price, and then you spend the next five to ten minutes talking about how poor he is and why he thinks I crap 200 dollars worth of gold bullion after every meal. Not this time though. I said firmly, “We are not paying 80 dollars. We will pay you 50,000 TZ shillings. You know that is good money.” He stared at me glassy-eyed and slowly said, “Okay”. Great. It is wonderful bargaining with a high-on, he was so happy. I should have offered him ten thousand and Snickers bar (sadly, I had no Snickers bar). We then spent the next ten minutes agreeing to meet him in three hours, at 1 PM.
To my “surprise” he showed up an hour early, but was content to hang out with our guard on the swing. When 1 rolled around we headed down to the fish market to where all the dhows were parked. As they didn’t have a dingy to pick us up (how rude!!),so we swam out to the boat. After getting dragged aboard, we met the crew of this love boat. It was four young gentlemen: the captain, a dude wearing only spandex shorts, a red-shirted dude, and a guy I named “the hashish guy” (who appeared to have just walked out of a opium den and/or hash house). Awesome. So they then proceeded to run around the boat moving sandbags, pulling on ropes and shouting while trying to get the sail up and get the boat moving. It took so long and looked so disorganized that I could have sworn they were on something. They finally hoisted the sail and off we went. To reward themselves for a job well done, the red-shirted dude (with soon to be matching red-eyes) and Mr. Hashish decided to fire one up—or three--over the next two hours. I didn’t think it was possible to hot box a dhow, but they gave it their best effort. I figured that they functioned moderately well when baked to high heaven, as I am sure that they didn’t spend their money on their wardrobe or going to the opera. Reassuringly, shore was only a mile away if we capsized, so we relaxed into the ride.
The trip was pleasant and uneventful. I was trying to imagine what the shoreline would have looked like over 130 years ago when Morton Stanley was coming over from Zanzibar on his quest to find Dr. David Livingstone. It was hard to do, not because the coast has been developed, but because nearly all the trees along the coast have been cut down (likely for firewood). Ahh well, it was nice to be out on the ocean, smelling the breeze and enjoying the views.
After making a big loop around the area, we pulled back into port in one piece. Even though I hadn’t raised I finger during the entire trip, I was ready for a nap. We thanked the crew, jumped off the boat into the ocean and swam back to shore. Overall, not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Friday, September 26, 2008
MNF or TNF
Being over in Africa has deprived me of most American sports. Contrary of what Americans think, the rest of the world really doesn't care about our sports--it likes soccer, lots and lots of soccer-with a bit of rugby and cricket thrown in for good measure. So our house Bagamoyo has a TV, and this TV is hooked up to satellite service. Luckily we have ESPN, but it is the foreign/South African version. For some reason, the Africans seem to love fishing, hunting, indy and stock-car racing, drag racing, soccer, pool, and poker as they are the majority of programing. I mean seriously, I have to watch drag-racing over basketball? Really?Though, on special occasions, they show some pro baseball and pro football.
To get my fix of football (don't care too much about baseball), I can watch both Sunday and Monday night games. But since I am not going to tune in a 3:00AM to watch it live, I have the pleasure of watching it tape delayed at 5 PM the following day. So Monday Night Football now becomes Tuesday Night Football. The only draw back is deftly avoiding the score on the internet all Tuesday. Ahh well, I think I can make the sacrifice for a small piece of Americana. I only wish that I could watch it with a good old American beer like Budweiser-oh wait-nevermind, they Belgian now. Okay, I guess a Kili or a Tusker will do just fine. Pass the unsalted Cassava chips please!
To get my fix of football (don't care too much about baseball), I can watch both Sunday and Monday night games. But since I am not going to tune in a 3:00AM to watch it live, I have the pleasure of watching it tape delayed at 5 PM the following day. So Monday Night Football now becomes Tuesday Night Football. The only draw back is deftly avoiding the score on the internet all Tuesday. Ahh well, I think I can make the sacrifice for a small piece of Americana. I only wish that I could watch it with a good old American beer like Budweiser-oh wait-nevermind, they Belgian now. Okay, I guess a Kili or a Tusker will do just fine. Pass the unsalted Cassava chips please!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Getting Old
When reading the title of this blog entry, you might have though it would be about getting old in Africa; after all, Robyn did just turn 30! Well, as much as I would like to talk about how many more wrinkles or gray hairs I have since moving to Africa, this blog is about something else. This "something else" is the word Muzungu, or more accurately, the use of Muzungu directed towards me. It is getting really, REALLY old.
The word means something like "white person" and is usually not outwardly hostile or derogatory, which is the only good thing about this word. When almost every individual under 16 years old calls out, “Muzungu! Muzungu!” when you walk by, the novelty wears off—fast. They say it with a smile on their faces, they shout it out from 100 yards away, and they say it behind my back. I think it is one of the first words they learn (I am not kidding). It would be understandable if the Tanzanians in Bagamoyo or Dar rarely saw white people, but this is simply not the case. I didn’t realize that we (white people) were that interesting as to warrant the announcing of our presence so that everyone in the nearby vicinity knows that a white person is walking through the town.
I have been trying to think of a way to describe this experience to you all. It is not like getting called “nerd” or “jock” or “cracker”—those are too negative. It is more like every young person (and a few adults) you walk by at the mall, super market, or restaurant calls out your home state, “Michigan” or “California”. It is not offensive, you don’t feel threatened, and when little kids say it, it is even kind of cute. But imagine that being your identifier to everybody in town for the rest of life. And this nickname is not your own; everybody shouts it out towards all your friends and family. Over time, it moves from being funny to being really annoying.
I recently read a blog entry from my cousin Jon who is a Peace Corp worker in Mali, where he writes that he gets called “taubab” frequently, so it appears that this phenomenon is not unique to Tanzania. That’s nice. Oh well, I am not going to change the culture, so guess I just have to grin and bear it for now. However, I am beginning to learn new ways to respond, as ignoring it just makes them shout it louder. Nothing mean or derogatory, but I say it with enough fake enthusiasm and sarcasm that that the older ones get the message that I don’t appreciate the word. Regardless, life continues to be good here in Bagamoyo, though it is about time for another adventure.
The word means something like "white person" and is usually not outwardly hostile or derogatory, which is the only good thing about this word. When almost every individual under 16 years old calls out, “Muzungu! Muzungu!” when you walk by, the novelty wears off—fast. They say it with a smile on their faces, they shout it out from 100 yards away, and they say it behind my back. I think it is one of the first words they learn (I am not kidding). It would be understandable if the Tanzanians in Bagamoyo or Dar rarely saw white people, but this is simply not the case. I didn’t realize that we (white people) were that interesting as to warrant the announcing of our presence so that everyone in the nearby vicinity knows that a white person is walking through the town.
I have been trying to think of a way to describe this experience to you all. It is not like getting called “nerd” or “jock” or “cracker”—those are too negative. It is more like every young person (and a few adults) you walk by at the mall, super market, or restaurant calls out your home state, “Michigan” or “California”. It is not offensive, you don’t feel threatened, and when little kids say it, it is even kind of cute. But imagine that being your identifier to everybody in town for the rest of life. And this nickname is not your own; everybody shouts it out towards all your friends and family. Over time, it moves from being funny to being really annoying.
I recently read a blog entry from my cousin Jon who is a Peace Corp worker in Mali, where he writes that he gets called “taubab” frequently, so it appears that this phenomenon is not unique to Tanzania. That’s nice. Oh well, I am not going to change the culture, so guess I just have to grin and bear it for now. However, I am beginning to learn new ways to respond, as ignoring it just makes them shout it louder. Nothing mean or derogatory, but I say it with enough fake enthusiasm and sarcasm that that the older ones get the message that I don’t appreciate the word. Regardless, life continues to be good here in Bagamoyo, though it is about time for another adventure.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Fresh Prince of Bagamoyo
Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith stopped by the lab today. Will is going to be a spokesperson for Malaria No More, an international non-profit to fight malaria through distribution of mosquito bed nets and other activities. They brought them here for a briefing about malaria and to get some video footage before they head off on their holiday. So Brandt and I were just sitting out on the porch with our laptops, they walked out to admire our ocean view and were whisked off for their hospital tour. We played it cool so we didn't talk to them. Although I'm kind of regretting that now. It's not everyday that you get to meet Will Smith in Tanzania. Oh well. It was still better than any celeb sighting I ever had in the 2.5 years I was in Santa Barbara. The IHI communication guy got some nice photos- in spite of the insistence of Will's entourage that no photos were to be taken. Hopefully Brandt will be able to get his hands on one or two eventually.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Birthday in the Bush
I had a spectacular 30th birthday extravagenza! Friday was a Tanzanian national holiday, Nane Nane, which conveniently made a long weekend getaway possible for the employed members of our Dar family (Cathryn, Chris and Nicole). We packed up Chris’s Land Rover (which was celebrating it’s 20th birthday this very weekend) until after midnight Thursday night. After a few hours sleep, Chris, Nicole, Cathryn and Brena (California’s latest emigrant to Tanzania) headed up to Saadani National Park. Brandt and I stayed behind to pick up Jeff and Gabi, two friends from Santa Barbara, who were flying in for a 5 week holiday in Tanzania. They were total troopers- from a 30+ hour flight straight to the bush for 4 days without a shower! Saadani is Tanzania’s newest national park unique for having both wildlife and beach all in the same park. Chris, who (a la Boogie) recently nicknamed himself The Kingpin, came through with the connections and got us permission to camp at the site of a future lodge that he and Cathryn will eventually be landscaping and saved us $20 per person per night(!!) on camping fees inside the park. The Santa Barbara crew rolled up in the afternoon to find the Land Rover unpacked and equipped with a cooler of cold beers ready to go for a game drive. We jumped right out of Nicole’s car and hopped onto the top of the Land Rover (there is a benefit to the completely lack of traffic laws in Tanzania) and headed off to the park. The game viewing wasn’t spectacular but we did manage to spot a lot of baboons, a few giraffes and a variety of hoofed critters.
We returned to “lodge” to find our path blocked by 15 Tanzanians unloading huge sacks of charcoal from a truck and carrying them to the sea for transport by dhow (traditional Swahili sailboat) to Zanzibar- a fairly suspicious activity to be going on in an isolated village that happens to be completely surrounded by a national park. Charcoal is the only source of fuel available to the average Tanzanian and it takes 4kg of wood to make 1kg of charcoal. The resulting deforestation is a huge and growing problem over here.
We enjoyed a delicious Braai (South African for BBQ) for dinner and chatted by the fire. Chris got us all going with a tall tale that when he went in to pay our park fees, the officials were concerned that we weren’t camping at an official campsite with an armed guard and that once we put the fire out and went to bed we shouldn’t get out of our tents for any reasons because there would be lions and hyena around. Poor Gabi. Brandt and I already had her worried about their belonging with our (true) tales of thieving and now Chris had her thinking she could become lion food if she had to pee. Welcome to Africa. We managed to work out that he was kidding before we went to bed so no one lost any sleep. I have to admit, I was strangely disappointed that there wouldn’t be lions roaming through our campsite. Saturday morning we were up early and off to a nearby safari lodge for a morning river safari. We cruised up the Wami River checking out hippos, crocs and loads of birds including the apparently rare and uniquely vegetarian palm nut vulture. This information also came from Chris and so needs to be verified by a credible source. The river was great! The only disappointing aspect being that we paid $40 each for what was advertised as a half day river cruise but was only 90 minutes on the water. Oh well. Africa Wins Again.
After lunch we went on another game drive on overgrown “roads” through beautiful countryside. There were signs of wildlife everywhere- matted trails through the grass, tracks in mud and lots of droppings but the grass was tall and we didn’t spot much. Up until recently this area was a game reserve with a huge poaching problem so the animals there are not as cooperative as they are in Serengeti where they know people and vehicles are not a threat. We did spot some giraffes and warthogs and the grande finale was a few elephants heading off into the bush as we were heading back to camp. I even got my birthday spanking in the form of a tree branch to the head while we were cruising around- I guess that's what I get for sitting on top of a Land Rover and looking the other direction.
Sunday morning we had a champagne birthday breakfast. My mom, always over the top when it comes to a party, mailed Jeff 4 packages of birthday loot to bring over to Tanzania. The birthday party was in full effect complete with Tanzanian and American presents and me decked out like a fool! Thanks again Mom for all the party favors.
Then it was time for Chris, Nicole and Brena to head back to Dar for work on Monday while the rest of us went out to the beach for a relaxing afternoon on the warm Indian Ocean. Monday morning it was time to break down and pack up camp. The Land Rover was fully loaded when Cathryn went to start it up. The battery was dead. Ahead of where it was parked there was a very very gradual and short slope to the mangrove-lined creek. If we could push it out of the sand it was currently parked in and get it rolling down the “slope” maybe Cathryn could pop start it. It was a pretty big IF. The four of us couldn’t budge the thing. We called over the 3 villagers that had been serving as our watch guards for the weekend. Nothing. Jeff dug out the sand from in front of the wheels and we advanced the car as far as he dug. With my new Swahili skills, I’d been acting as our spokesperson for the weekend. I asked them to bring more friends to help push. With I don’t know how many people, we got the car crawling down the “slope”. Jeff looked at me- there’s no way this is fast enough. I agreed. Cathryn rapidly running out of ground yells when do I try? Ummm…now? The Land Rover made a pathetic noise- this isn’t going to happen and then it miraculously reved to life. Birthday wish come true! We shouted and celebrated with high fives all around as Cathryn carefully navigated the grass trying not to stall the thing. We piled into the truck, gave a bag of candy to the villagers that helped us (wrappers immediately littering the ground) and were off.
The last task of the trip was getting Jeff and Gabi on a bus to Arusha so they could go on their tour-operated safari to the big parks. I assured them it’d be no problem flagging a bus down on the main road. We’d done it and we’d seen it done on every bus we’d been on and there are a lot of bus going between Arusha and Dar so I wasn't concerned. We get out to the main road and pulled over. The first few buses whizzed by without so much as slowing. Desperate for a shower and to sleep in a bed, Jeff and Gabi looked at me incredulously. Those buses were probably just full. Don’t worry, we’ll get one we confidently assured them. Sure enough, the next bus that came by pulled over. Let’s just say it was not one of the nicer buses I was hoping to get them on but it was going to Arusha and I didn’t want to take any chances waiting for another one. So in an unnecessary amount of hustle and bustle (the crazy mzungu had drawn a crowd from the village while standing on the side of the road trying to wave down buses), people were “helpfully” taking their bags and herding them chaotically into the bus as I negotiated the price with the ticket guy. Gabi looked back at me like a deer in headlights. It’s fine. Don’t worry, I shouted to her as I yelled the agreed upon price to Jeff. In a flash, they were gone. Brandt and I look at each other. They’ll be fine, right? Yeah, they’ll be fine. Back to the Land Rover- next stop, Bagamoyo.
After a shower and a nap, we rapped up my 30th birthday by unpacking the duffle bag of crap that we had had shipped (yay for www.CVS.com!!) or asked Jeff to buy and bring over to us. I’m sure it’s not normal to be sooo excited about deordorant, Kraft parmesean cheese and Hidden Valley Ranch dressing. We were so thrilled about all our American treasures that we arranged them up on the kitchen counter and took photos. Cathryn thought we had gone completely mad and maybe she’s right.
We returned to “lodge” to find our path blocked by 15 Tanzanians unloading huge sacks of charcoal from a truck and carrying them to the sea for transport by dhow (traditional Swahili sailboat) to Zanzibar- a fairly suspicious activity to be going on in an isolated village that happens to be completely surrounded by a national park. Charcoal is the only source of fuel available to the average Tanzanian and it takes 4kg of wood to make 1kg of charcoal. The resulting deforestation is a huge and growing problem over here.
We enjoyed a delicious Braai (South African for BBQ) for dinner and chatted by the fire. Chris got us all going with a tall tale that when he went in to pay our park fees, the officials were concerned that we weren’t camping at an official campsite with an armed guard and that once we put the fire out and went to bed we shouldn’t get out of our tents for any reasons because there would be lions and hyena around. Poor Gabi. Brandt and I already had her worried about their belonging with our (true) tales of thieving and now Chris had her thinking she could become lion food if she had to pee. Welcome to Africa. We managed to work out that he was kidding before we went to bed so no one lost any sleep. I have to admit, I was strangely disappointed that there wouldn’t be lions roaming through our campsite. Saturday morning we were up early and off to a nearby safari lodge for a morning river safari. We cruised up the Wami River checking out hippos, crocs and loads of birds including the apparently rare and uniquely vegetarian palm nut vulture. This information also came from Chris and so needs to be verified by a credible source. The river was great! The only disappointing aspect being that we paid $40 each for what was advertised as a half day river cruise but was only 90 minutes on the water. Oh well. Africa Wins Again.
After lunch we went on another game drive on overgrown “roads” through beautiful countryside. There were signs of wildlife everywhere- matted trails through the grass, tracks in mud and lots of droppings but the grass was tall and we didn’t spot much. Up until recently this area was a game reserve with a huge poaching problem so the animals there are not as cooperative as they are in Serengeti where they know people and vehicles are not a threat. We did spot some giraffes and warthogs and the grande finale was a few elephants heading off into the bush as we were heading back to camp. I even got my birthday spanking in the form of a tree branch to the head while we were cruising around- I guess that's what I get for sitting on top of a Land Rover and looking the other direction.
Sunday morning we had a champagne birthday breakfast. My mom, always over the top when it comes to a party, mailed Jeff 4 packages of birthday loot to bring over to Tanzania. The birthday party was in full effect complete with Tanzanian and American presents and me decked out like a fool! Thanks again Mom for all the party favors.
Then it was time for Chris, Nicole and Brena to head back to Dar for work on Monday while the rest of us went out to the beach for a relaxing afternoon on the warm Indian Ocean. Monday morning it was time to break down and pack up camp. The Land Rover was fully loaded when Cathryn went to start it up. The battery was dead. Ahead of where it was parked there was a very very gradual and short slope to the mangrove-lined creek. If we could push it out of the sand it was currently parked in and get it rolling down the “slope” maybe Cathryn could pop start it. It was a pretty big IF. The four of us couldn’t budge the thing. We called over the 3 villagers that had been serving as our watch guards for the weekend. Nothing. Jeff dug out the sand from in front of the wheels and we advanced the car as far as he dug. With my new Swahili skills, I’d been acting as our spokesperson for the weekend. I asked them to bring more friends to help push. With I don’t know how many people, we got the car crawling down the “slope”. Jeff looked at me- there’s no way this is fast enough. I agreed. Cathryn rapidly running out of ground yells when do I try? Ummm…now? The Land Rover made a pathetic noise- this isn’t going to happen and then it miraculously reved to life. Birthday wish come true! We shouted and celebrated with high fives all around as Cathryn carefully navigated the grass trying not to stall the thing. We piled into the truck, gave a bag of candy to the villagers that helped us (wrappers immediately littering the ground) and were off.
The last task of the trip was getting Jeff and Gabi on a bus to Arusha so they could go on their tour-operated safari to the big parks. I assured them it’d be no problem flagging a bus down on the main road. We’d done it and we’d seen it done on every bus we’d been on and there are a lot of bus going between Arusha and Dar so I wasn't concerned. We get out to the main road and pulled over. The first few buses whizzed by without so much as slowing. Desperate for a shower and to sleep in a bed, Jeff and Gabi looked at me incredulously. Those buses were probably just full. Don’t worry, we’ll get one we confidently assured them. Sure enough, the next bus that came by pulled over. Let’s just say it was not one of the nicer buses I was hoping to get them on but it was going to Arusha and I didn’t want to take any chances waiting for another one. So in an unnecessary amount of hustle and bustle (the crazy mzungu had drawn a crowd from the village while standing on the side of the road trying to wave down buses), people were “helpfully” taking their bags and herding them chaotically into the bus as I negotiated the price with the ticket guy. Gabi looked back at me like a deer in headlights. It’s fine. Don’t worry, I shouted to her as I yelled the agreed upon price to Jeff. In a flash, they were gone. Brandt and I look at each other. They’ll be fine, right? Yeah, they’ll be fine. Back to the Land Rover- next stop, Bagamoyo.
After a shower and a nap, we rapped up my 30th birthday by unpacking the duffle bag of crap that we had had shipped (yay for www.CVS.com!!) or asked Jeff to buy and bring over to us. I’m sure it’s not normal to be sooo excited about deordorant, Kraft parmesean cheese and Hidden Valley Ranch dressing. We were so thrilled about all our American treasures that we arranged them up on the kitchen counter and took photos. Cathryn thought we had gone completely mad and maybe she’s right.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Birthday Girl!
On August 11th, 2008 Robyn will be celebrating the big 3-0!! Make sure you drop her a quick note razing her about joining the over 29 crowd (and finally joining me in the wonderful 30-39 age bracket). Robyn won't be reading this blog for the next 5 or 6 days, because we will be heading up to Sadaani National Park for four days of camping with the hippos, crocodiles, monkeys, and lions. My job is to keep Robyn from stumbling into a croc pit or wandering into a lion's den.
Happy birthday baby!!!
Happy birthday baby!!!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Riverside Swahili School
When Robyn and I first knew we were going to move to Tanzania, we decided to get the Rosetta Stone computer software program to learn some Swahili. Learning a bit of the language before hand would make the transition easier (how little did we know what was coming!!). We said we were going to practice three times a week. Well, three times a week rapidly declined into 3 times a month, and we showed up on Tanzania’s dirty doorstep (Dar) knowing how to say really useful things like the dog under the table and man and woman are walking. Since then, we’ve picked up some more practical bits and pieces and we were managing to get around on the dalas, give a cabby directions and buy fruit and vegetables the market, but that was about it.
At the end of June, knowing that the following two weeks were going to be slow at work, Robyn and I made plans to go to a Swahili school recommended by my Swiss co-worker. The language school is run by Tanzanians teachers and is affiliated with the Riverside Campsite, which located right on the Little Ruaha River about 20km outside Iringa. At $230/person/week for classes, 3 meals a day and a tented banda, the price was right and we were off on another journey. The experience was so refreshing, fun, enlightening that we decided to break this experience into a multi post blog on the surroundings, the people we met, and the trip home. This one pertains to the class stuff only.
I haven’t been to school in years and I guess my brain forgot what it was like to be pushed to its limit for 5 hours a day. I had a dull headache the whole time. I had so much stuff swimming around my head I could hear the water slosh. Regardless, I learned a ton. I hate to admit it, but Robyn rocked the house. She was a day or two ahead of me at all times. Even the teachers were impressed- asking her if she’d studied lingustics or something. I guess that that degree from Cornell might really mean something.
It was a great experience. Even though we had 5 teachers over ten days of class, all the teachers were great. They were friendly, patience, and knowledgeable. The patience is a necessary virtue, as they listen to foreigners butcher their native language 5 days a weeks, 50 weeks a year. I simply couldn’t do it without breaking multiple objects. So a big shout out to our teachers—Sayi, Mayi, Moshi, Ishmail, and Tunku. Extra props to Tunku, as he was the one who was stuck with us and taught us over the last four jam-packed days.
After two weeks at Riverside, I could proudly complete a 3rd grade level reading comprehension exercise and speak in simple sentences in past, present and future tenses! I still have a tough time understanding when a non-teacher speaks to me in Swahili, mostly because the words are slurred together and feel like they are coming at me at 100 mph. However, give me some time and practice, I will be an old pro.
Despite the obvious advantages of being able to function in the native language of the country I now live in, I think the best part about learning Swahili is that when Robyn and I are back in the States and we want to say something around other people and not have them know what we are talking about, we can bust out our sweet Swahili and say whatever we want. Slander in a foreign language—awesome!! Rafiki beware!
At the end of June, knowing that the following two weeks were going to be slow at work, Robyn and I made plans to go to a Swahili school recommended by my Swiss co-worker. The language school is run by Tanzanians teachers and is affiliated with the Riverside Campsite, which located right on the Little Ruaha River about 20km outside Iringa. At $230/person/week for classes, 3 meals a day and a tented banda, the price was right and we were off on another journey. The experience was so refreshing, fun, enlightening that we decided to break this experience into a multi post blog on the surroundings, the people we met, and the trip home. This one pertains to the class stuff only.
The classes started at 8:10 am and went until 1:00PM, with a small chai (tea) break at 10:30AM. The teachers were used to teaching people who would be there least one month (missionary families stay for 4 months), so when Robyn and I showed up and said we wanted to learn as much as thy could cram into two week, they were kind of reluctant to accommodate us. This was a real problem at first-it wasn’t going to do us any good to take the first two weeks of a 4 month course. But after a couple of days realized that these Wamerikani (Americans) weren’t going to stop complaining and they gave in and adjusted.
I haven’t been to school in years and I guess my brain forgot what it was like to be pushed to its limit for 5 hours a day. I had a dull headache the whole time. I had so much stuff swimming around my head I could hear the water slosh. Regardless, I learned a ton. I hate to admit it, but Robyn rocked the house. She was a day or two ahead of me at all times. Even the teachers were impressed- asking her if she’d studied lingustics or something. I guess that that degree from Cornell might really mean something.
It was a great experience. Even though we had 5 teachers over ten days of class, all the teachers were great. They were friendly, patience, and knowledgeable. The patience is a necessary virtue, as they listen to foreigners butcher their native language 5 days a weeks, 50 weeks a year. I simply couldn’t do it without breaking multiple objects. So a big shout out to our teachers—Sayi, Mayi, Moshi, Ishmail, and Tunku. Extra props to Tunku, as he was the one who was stuck with us and taught us over the last four jam-packed days.
After two weeks at Riverside, I could proudly complete a 3rd grade level reading comprehension exercise and speak in simple sentences in past, present and future tenses! I still have a tough time understanding when a non-teacher speaks to me in Swahili, mostly because the words are slurred together and feel like they are coming at me at 100 mph. However, give me some time and practice, I will be an old pro.
Despite the obvious advantages of being able to function in the native language of the country I now live in, I think the best part about learning Swahili is that when Robyn and I are back in the States and we want to say something around other people and not have them know what we are talking about, we can bust out our sweet Swahili and say whatever we want. Slander in a foreign language—awesome!! Rafiki beware!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Geo-Science and Politics
The purpose of the trek to Moshi was to attend the meeting launching the United Nation’s International Year of Planet Earth (IYPE) in Africa. Since I’m sure you haven’t heard of it, IYPE is essentially United Nation’s sponsored campaign to raise awareness of Earth Sciences around the world. A few of the Tanzanian scientists I’ve met were involved in planning the African kickoff event and they invited me to participate. The meeting was held at a nice lodge resort at the base of Mt. Meru, Tanzania’s second highest peak (see above picture). About 200 government officials, scientists, and students from all over Africa attended. The Opening (and mostly scientifically accurate) addresses were given by Tanzania’s current and former presidents along with statements from assorted UN officials. This was followed up by a polished performance of a song about saving the world by a group of Tanzanian school children. It was all very impressive….and made me feel like I had somehow passed into an alternative dimension because it in no way resembled the Tanzania that I know.
I’ll spare you the details of the meeting and just cut to the cocktail hour(s). Brandt came down from the more modest lodge up the road where we were staying for a fraction of the price. We sipped on wine and watched the entertainment- a band of bongo drum players followed by a pretty amazing acrobat act. Eventually, I started chatting to the guy next to me. He turned out to a parliamentary staffer who was accompanying a member of the parliament of Zambia, who arrived and joined us about 5 minutes later. Brandt and I had a fascinating geo-political conversation with them for over an hour which ended with them changing their accommodation to stay at the place we were staying and plans to have dinner the following night. When they left, we grazed our dinner from the various appetizer trays, mingled some more and had some interesting chats about (the lack of quality) education in Tanzania, (the lack of) women in science in Africa and everyone’s favorite- American politics. Many Tanzanians are suspicious about Bush’s 4 day visit here back in February (does he want to build a military base here? is there oil somewhere?). Suprisingly, they are perhaps even more skeptical of Barak Obama. You’d think as Africans they’d be excited about the possibility of a black, half-African man as president of the U.S. Nope. And why? We don’t really get many straight answers on that one but it seems to be just the simple fact that Barak’s father is Kenyan. Talk about missing the forest through the trees.
After the all-star parade of the first day of the meeting, the second day was…interesting, but not because any cutting edge science was being presented. Let’s just say, we were back to the good old Tanzania that I knew. Everybody wanted to make a speech, sound smart, and show off how much they know (which was very little) by rambling on in front of the microphone. The result was one million words spoken and zero chance of these words resulting in anything.
Following the gab-fest, dinner with Mr. Member of the Zambian Parliament and his very smart sidekick was great. Beyond the fact that Zambia is south of Tanzania, I didn’t know much about Zambia. It was fascinating to hear about the State of Africa from an actual African politician, especially considering many of the problems in Africa stem from or are exacerbated by the unabashed corruption that has plagued the governments on this continent. Just as we were getting into it, Debbie, the petite Zimbabwean owner of the lodge rolled up and joined the conversation. She almost immediately went after him for Zambia (and every other country) for doing nothing about Mugabe. You’ve (hopefully) heard something about the scam elections, the violence and the inflation. We’ve met a few Zimbabweans here and the tales we’ve heard are so unbelievable that we should write a post just about that at some point. For now, I’ll just say this- in the 1990s Zimbabwe had a population of 12 million people and produced enough food to feed 16 million. Today, Zimbabwe has a population of 8 million people and they only produce enough food to feed 4 million. The rest of Africa sits idly by as what was once one of the most prosperous nations in sub-Saharan Africa descends into violence and chaos. The Bush Administration, with all its rhetoric about defending and spreading democracy through the world also sees fit to do nothing. I, for one, find that suspicious.
It was funny watching this little women destroy this Member of Parliament on a variety of issues. It is sad that those who should run the country, those that could make a difference, are not the ones in office. Following this interesting discussion, the MP and his sidekick invited Brandt and I to Zambia and then headed off to bed. Something like this would never happen in the States, we don’t have the money to spend two hours over dinner talking politics to a Senator or Representative. Though, I don’t think a lot of Africans would have the same opportunity as we had.
Overall, the experience was a good one. I saw the president and ex-president of TZ talk, had dinner with a MP from Zambia, and had a good laugh at some of the posturing during the talks of the second day. Beats an average weekend at home.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Six month-aversary!
We've officially survived 6 months in Tanzania! We're still malaria free but we will be celebrating the occasion with a ceremonial deworming. Yummy! In a way, it seems like we've been here a lot longer than that but I guess that's because it takes a week to do what can be done in an hour at home. It warps your sense of time. Anyway, to celebrate this great milestone, I thought I'd spruce up the blog with an interactive reader poll! I hope you all are as excited as I am! The first one is a big one. Brandt has begun the process of negotiating a contract to continue his work here while simultaneously applying for a couple of jobs back in the U.S. We've been living month to month in the best of times and day to day in the worst and our future is completely up in the air. We flip and flop on a daily basis on whether we want to stay or go. So we figured we might as well hear what our beloved family and friends have to say.
I also thought it was about time to change out the photo for one of us here in Tanzania. So now we have a self-portrait of us taken outside the little burger shack (and when I say shack I literally mean shack) that serves as Bagamoyo's take on McDonald's (it's not fast but it is real food so it's a good tradeoff I think). We've fallen about way behind on the blog but we're trying to get caught up and hopefully we'll have some posts up soon on our new life in sleepy Bagamoyo.
e-hugs,
Robyn
I also thought it was about time to change out the photo for one of us here in Tanzania. So now we have a self-portrait of us taken outside the little burger shack (and when I say shack I literally mean shack) that serves as Bagamoyo's take on McDonald's (it's not fast but it is real food so it's a good tradeoff I think). We've fallen about way behind on the blog but we're trying to get caught up and hopefully we'll have some posts up soon on our new life in sleepy Bagamoyo.
e-hugs,
Robyn
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Arusha National Park
Robyn had previously been on an amazing one day safari (“safari” in Kiswahili means trip or travels) while she was in Mwanza, so I was all excited for my first opportunity to see stuff in the wild that I had only seen in zoos or on the Discovery Channel. After talking to the one of the owners of the lodge we were staying at, we decided that we would do a one-day safari into Arusha National Park. While the park is quite small (we saw most of it in one day), it offered an opportunity for a walking safari. Now, most people think of an African safari as a rough and rugged adventure. Typically, it is rough because the roads are so bad and rugged because of the bathroom facilities (poop in a hole). However, the safari companies just drive you around all day in the back of a jeep or truck and feed you like a pig, so you are often in worse shape coming out of a game-watching safari vacation than going in. That isn’t to say that they are bad, because they are almost always awesome experiences. But, if you have a chance for a safe walking safari, take it, it is worth the extra 20 bucks and effort to set foot to ground over here. So, we signed up for a 4 hour walk with an armed park ranger.
We were excited as we had a sneak preview of the park earlier in week. Luckily, our lodge (Mt. Meru Lodge) was only a 15 minute walk from the entrance of the park. There is no fence around the park but there’s an archway marking the boundary. On one side there are houses, a school, crops, children playing- a completely human-dominated landscape. On the other side of the arch, there were thick bushes, trees and about 20 giraffe. It was awesome! Some were no further than 10 yards away from us. They would just stare at us while they chewed their cud—often for minutes at a time. They are amazing, and huge, creatures. We decided to plop down on the side of the dirt road and watch them watch us. We spotted a small hill along the border of the park and we climbed up for a better view. Town on the left, herd of giraffe on the right. One really big one walked into path we had taken so I had to walk directly at him when it was time to go and hope he moved out of our way. Now, giraffe are essentially little more than a cow with long necks, long legs, and pretty spots. They seem to be relatively dumb and harmless. However, when you are walking towards one that is over double your height and is four to five times your weight, it is a bit daunting.
We spent the next few days at a scientific meeting (more about that later) and on Saturday it was safari time! Robyn and I ate breakfast and then climbed into our pimped-out safari van and headed off. On our drive to the point where we would start our walking trek we saw giraffe, water buffalo (mean looking animals), wart hogs (super funny when they run), baboons, and blue monkeys. Nothing like Robyn’s Serengeti experience, but not bad for an early Saturday morning drive. We finally arrived at the ranger station, grabbed our pack lunch and headed up into the forests at the base of Mt Meru. The first thing we saw dart in front of us was a dik dik, which look like tiny, elvish deer about the size of a house cat. I didn't even know anything like this existed.
Well, we walked and walked and walked. I am not going to bore you with a step-by-step description, but I’ll list the highlights:
-Highlight #1--About 45 minutes in our hike, we heard a very loud snap in the forest off our right, like a small tree breaking in half. In the park, there are mountain elephants, and startling an elephant only means bad things. Our guide immediately side stepped, bolted his rifle, and told us wait. We waited in silence for a few, long minutes; my heart was pounding, ears straining for any noise, both hoping that an elephant would come rumbling out of the forest and hoping that no elephant was anywhere near us. We listened for a bit longer, then the culprit popped into view- colubus monkey. So we plunged into the thick forest to watch the colubus. We trekked a bit and then heard and saw these huge, beautiful, black and white, long-haired monkeys running and jumping through the tree canopy right over our heads. We were the only people around, so it was just us, the forest and the monkeys. It was incredible. They are apparently pretty shy as monkies go so this is why walking safaris are a must.
…Until we were heading out of the park. As dusk was settling in over the park, our driver saw it first. A leopard…about 30 yards ahead of us on the road. Our driver was excited as he has been doing safaris in the park for several years and this was only the second leopard he has seen. For the next 10 minutes, we slowly followed it; we would get to close, it would faint like it was heading for the bush, we would stop, then it would continue on. Awesome! The park was closing and we had to call it day soon. The leopard went up into the bush on the side of the dirt road. As we slowly drove past the spot where he/she had disappeared. We assumed she was gone, sick of being followed by our van. But there she was! Sitting just inside the weeds yards from our van. Holy shit! All I saw was its face and glowing yellow eyes staring at us. Robyn and I yelled at the driver to stop. We stopped about 8 yards beyond where it was hiding us. At first we said back up, but then realized that it could easily jump into the truck, so decided to stay put. After a few tense moments, it finally took off, and so did we. Overall, the safari was a great experience, we got to see things few people ever get to see. It is because of times like this that you fall in love with TZ.
-Highlight #1--About 45 minutes in our hike, we heard a very loud snap in the forest off our right, like a small tree breaking in half. In the park, there are mountain elephants, and startling an elephant only means bad things. Our guide immediately side stepped, bolted his rifle, and told us wait. We waited in silence for a few, long minutes; my heart was pounding, ears straining for any noise, both hoping that an elephant would come rumbling out of the forest and hoping that no elephant was anywhere near us. We listened for a bit longer, then the culprit popped into view- colubus monkey. So we plunged into the thick forest to watch the colubus. We trekked a bit and then heard and saw these huge, beautiful, black and white, long-haired monkeys running and jumping through the tree canopy right over our heads. We were the only people around, so it was just us, the forest and the monkeys. It was incredible. They are apparently pretty shy as monkies go so this is why walking safaris are a must.
-Highlight#2--After about 2 hours, we came upon this really big, really interestingly shaped fig tree with a hole through the trunk so big that you could drive a truck through it. As we arrived, a troop of about 60 baboon showed up and all climbed up into the tree. Seeing 60 baboons hooting, hollering, and eating is overall pretty entertaining to watch. Figs rained down from the tree but luckily, Robyn and I avoided being pooped on.
-Highlight #3—After the baboons, the ranger got it in his mind to find us an elephant. We then spent the next hour tracking elephants. We were walking on paths through the forest and bush likely made by elephants, making sure to avoid stepping in the elephant dung. It is really intense to be walking in elephant footprints, it makes everything seem a bit more real. The guide was leading us quietly through the trail with his gun at the ready, periodically stopping to listen. Sadly we didn’t see any elephants, but it was a great time nonetheless.
After the walking part of the safari, we clambered back into our truck and saw the rest of the park. It was pretty, but saw nothing super interesting…
After the walking part of the safari, we clambered back into our truck and saw the rest of the park. It was pretty, but saw nothing super interesting…
…Until we were heading out of the park. As dusk was settling in over the park, our driver saw it first. A leopard…about 30 yards ahead of us on the road. Our driver was excited as he has been doing safaris in the park for several years and this was only the second leopard he has seen. For the next 10 minutes, we slowly followed it; we would get to close, it would faint like it was heading for the bush, we would stop, then it would continue on. Awesome! The park was closing and we had to call it day soon. The leopard went up into the bush on the side of the dirt road. As we slowly drove past the spot where he/she had disappeared. We assumed she was gone, sick of being followed by our van. But there she was! Sitting just inside the weeds yards from our van. Holy shit! All I saw was its face and glowing yellow eyes staring at us. Robyn and I yelled at the driver to stop. We stopped about 8 yards beyond where it was hiding us. At first we said back up, but then realized that it could easily jump into the truck, so decided to stay put. After a few tense moments, it finally took off, and so did we. Overall, the safari was a great experience, we got to see things few people ever get to see. It is because of times like this that you fall in love with TZ.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Road Trip
Robyn and I decided that I would meet her up in Moshi following her week of work up in Mwanza. She was going to fly to Moshi, I was going to take the bus. I am detailing this trip to give you a sense of how travel via public transport works over here. To any Tanzanian, my journey would be totally unremarkable. However to me, it was an immense pain in the ass (literally).
The buses for Moshi/Arusha typically leave from Dar between 7 and 10 AM each day. So I started my trip with a two hour dalla ride from Bagamoyo to Dar. I paid 1500 tsh ($1.30) for the 60 km trip. I definitely got what I paid for--I was cramped into the back seat, packed into a space over the left rear tire well, with my large backpack on my lap (and partly on the lap of guy next to me). It was an typical trip, down in just under two hours. I got to Dar, decompressed out of the dalla, and started my mile hike through mud and water holes that engulfed major portions of the side “road” that would bring me to the front steps of Chris and Cathyrn’s place. All of this was done in the dark.
I rolled into the haven of peace that is C and C’s house, unwound, and went to bed early since my day would start at 6 AM (which is very early for me). I awoke the next morning excited to get up to Moshi and see a new part of Tanzania. I walked out the door at 7 AM the next morning, and retraced my steps through the water obstacle course I conquered the previous night. As always, I got plenty of stares from locals, amazed as that a mzungu was actually walking and not taking a taxi or driving an SUV. I arrived at the dala dala hub of Mwenge and jumped on a dala for a short 20 minute trip to Ubungo to get a bus to Moshi.
So the dala stops about 100 meters outside of the bus station. Before my feet hit the ground, I was absolutely swarmed by people determined to help me find a bus. I knew this was coming, but it is still a bit overwhelming. Not really dangerous, just crazy. I just ignored them and plowed my way towards the station. As I got close, a woman in a uniform grabbed my left wrist. I told her twice to let go of me, but she obviously was trained in the ways of the Force to thwart attempts of getting her to release her vise-like grip. So she literally dragged my into a ticket office all the while fended off other people who wanted my business. So she succeeded in capturing her prey. However, she gave me a reasonable price (for a mzungu) of 17,000 tsh to get to Moshi, wrote me out a receipt, then sent me off with a runner who walked me to the bus. The bus supposedly left around 9:00, it was 8:30, so everything seemed to be on track.
Now, the bus station at Ubungo is complete chaos; buses, taxi, vendors, and travelers everywhere. The buses sit idling for hours, spewing noxious exhaust, as the operators try coerce anybody who drifts by to fill the seats so their bus can take off towards their various destinations. Here, you actually see bus line operators chasing other operators away from potential customers. It is a big, smelly, noisy chicken fight.
After sitting on the bus for 90 minutes waiting for it to fill up (apparently the departure time was just a guess), our bus finally took off. In 7 to 8 hours, I would be in Moshi. This is assuming no blowouts, breakdowns and/or accidents which are almost as frequent as mosquito bites.
As you have read previously, Tanzanians don’t exactly follow any rules while driving. Well, except for the “bigger car/truck/bus always wins” rule. So buses are one of the big boys on the TZ highways, and the drivers drive like it. Driving as fast as they can, potholes and speed limits be damned. They pass slower moving cars at will, often just squeaking back into the proper lane before careening headfirst into oncoming traffic. I find it best to never, never stare out the front window of the bus, it is simply too terrifying for your own good.
So I settled into my window seat and plugged into my I-pod. Over the next eight hours, the Tanzanian man seated next to me and I proceeded to get to know each in a very physically intimate way (at least to me). This middle-aged man decided to press his left shoulder, mid-section, hip, leg, and foot into my right shoulder, mid-section, hip, leg, and foot. If I shifted to put some air between us and regain my dignity, he would immediately shift to occupy said space. I don’t even hug Robyn this hard. I got annoyed and pressed back, but he never seemed to get the hint (btw, Tanzanians have a completely different idea of personal space than Americans). After the trip ended, I wondered if it was Tanzanian custom for him to ask my hand in marriage.
Anyway, over the first four hours we only stopped quickly for patrons to board the bus. At these stops, hoards of venders swarm the bus selling water, cashews, oranges, grilled ears of corn (presented on the end of coat hangers stuck into the end of a stick), gum, candy, bread, wooden spoons, newspapers, etc, etc, etc. It is crazy. This is how you mainly feed yourself over the course of the trip. To feel like a true local, just toss your trash out the window when you are done—you get extra points if you hit a chicken or a goat. Also, you must realize that there are very few opportunities to use the choo. We only stopped twice for bathroom breaks: once at a road-side food-stand area and another time when the bus just pulled over and people got off and ran off into the bushes (if you were a woman) or just pissed on the side of the road (if you were a man). Ahhhh..the joys of public transportation.
That about sums up a typical bus trip in Tanzania. I got to Moshi in one piece and feeling only slightly violated. We need to get a car!!!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Carnivory
When I left for Tanzania, it had been over eleven years since I willing ate meat. The last few months in Santa Barbara I started practicing eating meat so that if I got into a culturally sensitive situation here I’d be able to do what needs to be done. By the time I left SB, I was choking down single bites of steak and sausage. The first couple of months here when we didn’t have a fridge it was pretty much all beans and rice at home. Then we went out to dinner at a Tanzanian restaurant with friends. The menu was beef, chicken, goat, ugali (a Tanzanian staple- flavorless corn mush), rice, and fried potatoes. I was officially off the wagon. I ordered the beef. I think Brandt may have written about this already, but meat isn’t really prepared the same here. At home, a cow would be butchered into different cuts of meat. In Tanzanian, they just take a big axe and dice up the carcass. It’s served well done in roughly cubed pieces that may contain bone, tendon, rubbery lard, whatever. In fact, the unofficial motto appears to me the tougher to chew, the better. So while I was very proud of myself for tackling the plate of meat on my own (see photo!), I ended up picking through to find the pieces that happened to be only meat and causally shoveled the rest onto Brandt’s plate.
My downward spiral hastened when we moved in with Chris and Cathryn. I think the average South African eats meat 7 times a day, which is impressive considering there are traditionally only 3 meals in a day. Let’s just say there was no need to ask “Where’s the beef?” when it came to dinner. But I did good. I even made a pretty good meatloaf for dinner when it was my turn to cook. Then I went to George’s and his housemate asked me to make sure the stew of chicken livers and other miscellaneous organs didn’t dry out or burn while they played racquetball. Ummm…ok. So I dutifully stirred and added water to the bloody, meaty stew. Fortunately, George realized that one would be over the line for me and didn’t even attempt to serve it to me. Not a problem since there were 3 other forms of meat on the menu. When I left Mwanza, I was running to get back on the old vegetarian wagon. My excursion to the dark side is officially over. Sorry Lynne. I tried. J
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Serengeti...Wildlife...Finally!!
Mwanza is less than two hours from the western gate of the Serengeti. Since I had only seen African wildlife from the train and bus on the Ifakara trip and George hadn’t ever been to the Serengeti even though he’s lived in Tanzania for 5 years, Cathryn, George and I anted up $200 each (!!) for a day trip into the famous park. The best time for wildlife viewing is early morning and early evening so to make sure we got the most out of our $600, the driver picked us up at George’s at 5am. We saw a beautiful sunrise over the plain on our way and by 7am were through the park gate. The roof of the land cruiser pops up so we can stand up inside and look around in all directions. We saw wildlife almost immediately- a few wildebeest that didn’t bother migrating to Kenya with the bulk of the herd mingling with zebra and gazelle on the right and a pair of ostrich on the left. We were cruising along slowly taking it all in when a cheetah strolled across the road about 25 yards in front of the truck and into the tall grass on the other side. He sat watching us with just his head peaking out for awhile and then stood up looked back at us and continued on his way. Cheetahs are endangered and not all that easy to see so our day was off to a good start.
A little ways up we say a huge giraffe that was almost completely black- a sign that he was old and looking for a mate. The day went on with barely a dull moment- warthogs trotting off with their tails pointing straight in the air, baboons with babies on their backs, monkeys, mongoose families, a jackal, and more types of herbivorous than I could ever remember. Cathryn was an incredible spotter- there’s this, look at that…she was on fire! Shortly before lunch, we pulled up to the Grumeti River to find hippos floating in a pool on the upstream side of a bend and huge crocs on the other side. After lunch besides the river, we found tree eating twigas (Swahili for giraffe), a lone elephant drinking and spraying water from his trunk out on the plain, and more zebras, antelope, wildebeest, Cape buffalo, storkes, etc. The wildlife was plentiful and because we entered through the less used western gate and it was the middle of the rainy season, the people were not. We passed a few other cars on the road but all our we had all our wildlife viewing experiences to ourselves. From what I’ve heard, this is not the norm in the Serengeti and other popular parks on the Tanzania safari circuit. However, there was one safari gem that was eluding us. We hadn’t seen any lions. I had been on the As the day went on, the only thing that was eluding us was lion. I had been on the lookout for lions all day but all I was managing to spot was dead logs and rocks. The driver headed towards some circling vultures and we found a heard of zebra with a hyena in front with a zebra leg hanging out of his mouth. The vultures, who were just as tall as the hyena when sitting up, were inching their way for a piece of the action.
As we were watching, the driver says, I think there are lions in that tree and he points to this bushy tree a ways off. I looked with my camera lens, George did the same with his even bigger lens and we both saw nothing but a bushy tree. He said he was pretty sure there’s a lioness with 6 cubs in the tree. Cathryn took the binoculars and also saw nothing. We thought he’s out of his mind. To prove his point, he turned the truck and drove towards the bush. Sure enough, out popped a lioness and two subadults (teenagers) and four cubs. We couldn’t believe it. The subadults led the cubs to a nearby bush with the mother kept an eye on us, grunting her dissatisfaction with our arrival. It was awesome to see (even though we probably shouldn’t have been disturbing them). After her family was relocated to another bush, she just sat looking out over the Serengeti in an idyllic safari scene.
On our way out of the park, Cathryn and George assured me that game viewing really doesn’t get much better than the day we had. But it wasn’t over yet, we came across a pack of bull elephants (George could tell they weren’t females somehow). Usually packs are all female and males are solitary but occasionally they form batchelor herds…yet another unique sight. They were tramping along right besides the road. Although we had seen a couple of elephants throughout the day, they had all been loners and at a distance. This pack was basically in a line marching down the side of the road. They were so big and surprisingly graceful for their size. It was a beautiful sight. The perfect end to a great day! It makes it all worth it.
Swahili bootcamp
We're going to Swahili bootcamp in Iringa for a two weeks! I'm not sure if we'll have any internet access while we're there so there may not be new posts for awhile. We hope everyone is well and enjoying summer!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Good Times in Mwanza
I was joined by friends from Dar for a getaway weekend in Mwanza. Here's Cathryn and I at the Hotel Tilipia, Mwanza's poshiest (and I think only) lakeside hotel/restaurant/bar.
Here's George and I on top of the boulders on Mwanza's Capri Point. George used to live with Chris and Cathryn in Dar but he recently moved to Mwanza to work for Goodyear selling gigantic tires for earthmovers to the mining companies near Mwanza. He now lives in an amazing house overlooking the lake. The sunset picture in the last post was taken from his deck.
And here's the group of us having Habachi dinner at the Tiliapia.
I love Mwanza!!
Here's George and I on top of the boulders on Mwanza's Capri Point. George used to live with Chris and Cathryn in Dar but he recently moved to Mwanza to work for Goodyear selling gigantic tires for earthmovers to the mining companies near Mwanza. He now lives in an amazing house overlooking the lake. The sunset picture in the last post was taken from his deck.
And here's the group of us having Habachi dinner at the Tiliapia.
I love Mwanza!!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Science in the Bush: Lake Victoria
With my research permit finally in hand, I booked a flight to Mwanza on the southern shore of Lake Victoria to join up with a graduate student I met at the University of Dar es Salaam that’s doing research complimentary to what I’m hoping to do. All the delays meant that I was able to make it out to the lake just in time for her last two days of data collection. Not what she and I had planned but at least enough for me to scope out the site and make a plan for next time. Mwanza is Tanzania’s 2nd largest city and the setting of a documentary film called Darwin’s Nightmare about the social impacts of the overseas exportation of Lake Victoria’s massive and nonnative Nile Perch and how it provides a cover for the illegal smuggling of weapons into Africa. My expectations for Mwanza were based on this film (which I highly recommend to all you Netflixers out there) and to put it plainly, I was a bit scarred to be venturing there on my own. In Darwin’s Nightmare, Mwanza was a helacious place filled with poverty, prostitutes and homeless street children. My fears weren’t assuaged when I asked Baraka, the student I was meeting, if she could book me a room where she was staying. Her response was “I don’t think it would be good for you to stay where I’m staying. It would be safer for you to stay in town.” Ummm…ok. So I booked myself a room at the Christmas Tree Hotel and hoped for the best. I headed to the airport the next day for my first AirTanzania flight. I’m told they usually run about 5 hours late which would have put me into Mwanza at midnight. Not good. Luckily we boarded on time and the only weird thing was that you had to stop and pickout your bags from the pile of checked bags strewn on the runway and put them on a cart to be loaded on the plane yourself. Apparently the baggage tags that clearly say MWZ for Mwanza are just decorations. Baggage retrieval on the other end was even more sketchy. The plane was a full (and surprisingly nice) 737 which must seat about 200 people. Baggage claim in Mwanza was a tiny room with 3 one meter square openings in the concrete wall which dudes shoved everyone’s bags through. It was pretty much mass chaos. After a few minutes in the baggage mosh pit, I decided a better strategy was to wait by the door and make sure no one was taking off with my bag. When the dust settled (literally), I got my bag and braced myself for Mwanza. Before we reached the city I got my first glimpse of Lake Victoria. I could immediately see why the British named it for their queen. Sparkling blue water as far as the eye can see with a lakeshore of rolling green hills covered by huge, round granite boulders stacked awkwardly on top of each other (kind of like Joshua Tree for those that have been). Then we crossed the bridge and entered the town. My first thought was am I still in Tanzania? Mwanza was perfect. Nicely paved roads with curbs and sidewalks! Brightly painted buildings, traffic circles and everyone calm driving following basic traffic laws, and no litter! This place is a well kept secret.
The next morning I headed down to the research station to go out on the lake. We loaded up gear into a long wooden boat with an outboard engine and cruised down Mwanza Gulf to Baraka’s field site near the mouth of the Isanga River. It was breathtaking- miles of virtually untouched hilly shoreline covered in these awesome rock formations. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera because I couldn’t risk getting it wet (which I would have for sure). Baraka is studying how nearshore plants filter and alter the quality of the water entering the lake from the river and the watershed. One of these plants is water hyacinth, which is native to South America and invasive in Lake Victoria. In the late 1990s, this plant, which grows in these huge floating mats, was choking almost all the bays and nearshore areas of the lake causing major problems with on-lake transportation, fishing, water in-takes, etc. It declined through the early 2000s and is now rebounding. My interest is in the affect of these plants on water flow into the lake. We got to the bay into which the river flows to find that a huge, island-sized mat of water hyacinth, papyrus and reeds growing 2 meters tall had floated across and completely blocked the entrance sometime in the last 2 days since Baraka was last there. We cruised to a tiny lakeside village where people probably subsist mostly by fishing and only access to the rest of the world via the lake and hired 3 dudes with machetes. We took them back to the site and they climbed up onto the mat and started hacking away at the plants to make a passage for our boat. Imagine cutting down shrubs with a machete while standing on air mattress that you float on in a swimming pool that’s covered with broken tree branches. When they got a chunk loose, they tied it up and we dragged it away with the boat. It took hours just to cut it down enough so that we could push and pull the boat across the top of the vegetation for 20 feet to the channel of open water on the other side of the mat. It was arduous work and these guys all cut up and soaking wet. We collected the samples, saw a baby crocodile and headed back out through the path to find another island of vegetation was closing up the bay further out. There was only a boat width left for us to pass through and just after we crossed out to the open water we watched this “island” move across and seal off the bay. If we had taken 2 minutes longer, they would have had to hack a path through this island too. Insane. We dropped the guys off at their village and stopped along the way back to research station to buy fresh Nile tilapia from local fisherman who were in some cases out fishing on nothing more than a few tree branches tied together with vines just big enough to sit on and only partially floating in this lake where there are massive Nile crocs. We arrived back at the research station just as the sun was starting to set. It was a great great day!!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Holy Bureaucracy Batman! (Part 3: The Bittersweet End)
Like all epic stories, this one is a trilogy...With my stamped carbon copy bank deposit receipt in hand, I headed directly back to the accounting department at COSTECH. The accounting guy accepted by deposit receipt, pulled out his ledger and gave me a COSTECH receipt. I take that up to the clearance guy, he says ok, come back tomorrow and pick your research clearance. Victoriously, I leave COSTECH and head to Ardhi University where I’ve been trying to workout an alternative research collaboration since my original plans fell through to check on my immigration letter from them. Although I’d been making research plans with them for close to two months, they decide that they need for me to apply to be a student at the university, which amongst various forms and documents requires copies of my diplomas, before they can write me an immigration letter. Since my diplomas are in boxes in a storage space in California and therefore impossible to get to, I try to appease their bureaucracy, with copies of my transcripts from my B.S. and M.S. from my application file at UCSB. For three days, I went back and forth with variations on the fax number to Ardhi University with the administrative assistant at UCSB over email because the fax won’t go through and the 11 hour times change means we can have only one email exchange in a day (Brandt had exactly the same problem when he tried to have his transcripts faxed to IHRDC. Apparently the fax machines in the offices here are purely decorations). Finally she scanned and emailed them and I forwarded them on to the professor at Ardhi gently reminding him how urgently I needed that letter. When I arrive to pick up my letter, it’s this weird and very vague statement about my conditional acceptance to Ardhi University, pending the receipt of copies of my diplomas. Trying to hide my frustration, I explain that it is impossible for me to get copies of my diplomas and that my transcripts clearly state that I have received my degrees and say that the letter wasn’t really what I was expecting as it said nothing about the research project I had agreed to help with. He said well just try this one and if it doesn’t work, come back and I’ll write you another one. Great. So I take my letter, at least it had all sorts of official stamps on it which really seems to be the most important thing.
Meanwhile, I go back to COSTECH the next morning. A woman who works in the clearance guy’s office tells me he’ll be in a meeting all day today. Here’s your research clearance. It looks like it’s all ready but for some reason he didn’t sign in. You should come back tomorrow. I get the guys cell phone number so I can call him in the morning to make sure he’s there and on the second try I get my research clearance. With my letters, clearance, 5 passport photos, transcripts, financial guarantee, and $US 120 exchanged from shillings at an exchange bureau rather than the bank, I embark on the two dala journey to Dennis’s office. There I fill out the application form, in triplicate with carbon paper. I love that use of carbon paper is still alive and well in Tanzania. I think it faded out of existence in the U.S. when I was in elementary school. Meanwhile, Dennis drafts a letter on behalf of his boss who’s currently in the U.K. stating something about my affiliation with the local Rotary Club. Chaos breaks out when they can’t find the boss’s official stamp. I also love the stamping of everything. The only way it could be better is if they busted out wax seals for closing envelopes. Dennis asks me for my passport photos- I hope the background is blue he says. Fortunately it was, I think I may have lost it if I had to go get two more sets of photos made (they come in 4s and of course the application requires 5) because the background was the wrong color. In the end we assemble a file that is a half an inch thick which Dennis hands off to his sidekick Robert to take to the immigration office. At this point, I have 5 days left on my current visa. Don’t worry. No problem they tell me.
Done with Dar, I say bye to Cathryn and hop on the dala to beautiful Bagamoyo. I get up here to find that IHRDC has done almost nothing about Brandt’s residency permit. Four days tick by and I hear nothing. A bit panicked, I call Dennis. He tells me to bring my passport down and they’ll get me a month extension. I ask if he can get one from Brandt as well since all anyone at IHRDC does is tell him not to worry about it. In the end my residency permit came through about 4 days before the extension expired. Brandt is still waiting for his. It was probably a bit unnecessary for me to bore everyone with a trilogy but it consumed my life for 2 weeks and the ridiculous details of this story really illustrate what it takes to get anything and everything done in this country. There is no such thing as a simple task here. It’s all a journey.
Meanwhile, I go back to COSTECH the next morning. A woman who works in the clearance guy’s office tells me he’ll be in a meeting all day today. Here’s your research clearance. It looks like it’s all ready but for some reason he didn’t sign in. You should come back tomorrow. I get the guys cell phone number so I can call him in the morning to make sure he’s there and on the second try I get my research clearance. With my letters, clearance, 5 passport photos, transcripts, financial guarantee, and $US 120 exchanged from shillings at an exchange bureau rather than the bank, I embark on the two dala journey to Dennis’s office. There I fill out the application form, in triplicate with carbon paper. I love that use of carbon paper is still alive and well in Tanzania. I think it faded out of existence in the U.S. when I was in elementary school. Meanwhile, Dennis drafts a letter on behalf of his boss who’s currently in the U.K. stating something about my affiliation with the local Rotary Club. Chaos breaks out when they can’t find the boss’s official stamp. I also love the stamping of everything. The only way it could be better is if they busted out wax seals for closing envelopes. Dennis asks me for my passport photos- I hope the background is blue he says. Fortunately it was, I think I may have lost it if I had to go get two more sets of photos made (they come in 4s and of course the application requires 5) because the background was the wrong color. In the end we assemble a file that is a half an inch thick which Dennis hands off to his sidekick Robert to take to the immigration office. At this point, I have 5 days left on my current visa. Don’t worry. No problem they tell me.
Done with Dar, I say bye to Cathryn and hop on the dala to beautiful Bagamoyo. I get up here to find that IHRDC has done almost nothing about Brandt’s residency permit. Four days tick by and I hear nothing. A bit panicked, I call Dennis. He tells me to bring my passport down and they’ll get me a month extension. I ask if he can get one from Brandt as well since all anyone at IHRDC does is tell him not to worry about it. In the end my residency permit came through about 4 days before the extension expired. Brandt is still waiting for his. It was probably a bit unnecessary for me to bore everyone with a trilogy but it consumed my life for 2 weeks and the ridiculous details of this story really illustrate what it takes to get anything and everything done in this country. There is no such thing as a simple task here. It’s all a journey.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Holy Bureaucracy Batman! (Part 2: The Bank)
The saga continues....Yes, making a $300 deposit in a bank account is worthy of a blog post all by itself. It should be a simple and straightforward task. But not in Tanzania. For starters, I only have US$ 250 in cash and a $50 traverlers check. I go to the National Commerce Bank (NBC) branch in a nearby mall to make the deposit. I stand in a massive line for some ridiculous amount of time. No sorry we don’t take travelers checks and the ATMs have been down for 2 days so I can’t pull out any more Tanzanian shillings to convert into dollars. So I tell him just to deposit the $250 and I hope that COSTECH will accept the travelers check. One of my hundred dollar bills has a tiny tear in it (like someone stuck a tack through it at some point. The teller looks at the bill, looks at me and shakes his head. He runs all the bills through some machine that confirms that they are in fact U.S. currency and then tells me that he can’t accept the bill. I don’t even bother to argue. I take my money and leave. The next morning, I take a tiny piece of tape and tape the tiny tear back together, Cathryn lends me enough shillings to buy $50 and we go to different branch of NBC. I go to the teller line while Cathryn goes to customer service to deal with some issue she’s having with her account there. I get to the teller and I can’t hear a word she’s saying through the inch thick glass because they are blaring ABBA out of the speakers in the bank lobby. I tell her I can’t hear her because of the music and she just keeps talking in the same voice. So I proceed to tell her that I need to first buy fifty dollars and then deposit $300 into this account. She responds but I can’t hear her. I continue to tell her I can’t hear her until the teller next to her gets up and walks over turns done the music just enough so that if I strain I can hear the woman tell me that what I want to do is impossible. That’s right. Exchanging currency and making a deposit. Two very basic bank functions that are for some reason impossible. I go to customer service where I find Cathryn saying to the women there, “Do you know what NBC stands for? It stands for No Body Cares.” The response was a very literal, “No madame that’s not what it stands for. It stands for National Bank of Commerce.” I can see I’m in for it already. My attempts at attaining customer service were no better than Cathryn’s. However, I did learn that the music is blaring in celebration of customer appreciation week. Oh the irony. Moving on to the manager’s office, the first thing out of his mouth is they can’t help me because I don’t have an account there. Cathryn responds, “Well I do, at least for now but I’m going to close it because the service here is so bad.” At this, the manager says he’s got to go figure out what the exchange rate is (at the branch I was at yesterday they had it posted on the wall so I know I’m not making a completely off the wall request here). While the manager is doing that, one of the customer service women comes in and asks me why I didn’t just go to an exchange bureau somewhere and exchange the money before I came to the bank. Ummmmm…maybe because this is the bank and banks exchange currency! She leaves. The manager comes back with a print out with a horrible exchange rate. I think about arguing but really what’s the point. He tells me how much in shillings it will be for US$50 and sends me back to the teller line. I rejoin the disco party in the bank lobby and wait my turn. I’m lucky enough to get the same teller as last time. The manager brings her the exchange rate print out. I give her my shillings. While she does her thing, I fill out the deposit form which is three sheets with carbon paper slide in between and requires a ridiculous amount of my personal information. Then comes time to hand over the dollars. I slipped the torn and taped hundred in the middle of the other bills and crossed my fingers. She scanned them through her little machine. Tore off the bottom carbon copy, stamped, signed and dated it and hand it back to me. Mission accomplished. Sweet Success!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Holy Bureaucracy Batman! (Part 1: The Bribe)
Today is a proud day for me. I am officially a Class C Resident of the United Republic Tanzania. I’d sing the Tanzanian national anthem if it knew it. Attaining this revered status was one of the most ridiculous and convoluted experiences of my life. Since I bailed on the jerk professor I had intended to work with, I couldn’t get my residency through the University of Dar es Salaam as planned. My scholarship is through Rotary International and one of the local Rotarians is conveniently the president of Toyota Tanzania. He told one of his HR people, Dennis, to help me get my residency permit. I would never ever have managed it on my own. So Brandt left for Bagamoyo and for two weeks, I ran around Dar like a chicken with my head cut off, taking dalas all over the city (as many as 5 in day) to round up all the paperwork. On the top of the list was my research clearance from the Tanzanian Commission for Science and Technology (COSTECH). I had sent my research clearance application last October, 3 months before I left for Tanzania and heard nothing. My emails inquiring about the status of my clearance have all gone unanswered so I decided to just show up at the office to figure out what the deal was. The guy whose job it is to process research clearances for all foreign scientists claims he hasn’t received my application (or any of my emails and assured me I hadn’t sent any emails because he always responds to every email always). He sends me down to accounting to see if there is a record of my application fee. The accounting guy takes me to a woman who pulls out a ledger book and casually flips through the pages looking for my name. No computer. No electronic records. No way of knowing whether my application was received or not. I go back upstairs and ask if I bring all the application materials (including another $50 travelers check for application which is probably the reason the original application has magically disappeared), how long to get my clearance approved? It will take 3 months. I ask if there’s anyway to get it any sooner and he just smirks. I go home and forward the guy the emails that we had previously exchanged to jog his memory. I get no response. I go back to Dennis. He says he knows this guy. He paid him a $300 bribe less than a year ago to get research clearances for a group of students that came over to work in one of the regfugee camps. So Dennis gets on the phone with the guy and sets up a meeting for the next day. We have a little chat which is mostly this guy making up excuses for not doing his job. Then they send me out of the room to go (re)pay my $50 application fee. When I come back, Dennis is ready to go. All I have to do is go deposit $300 into the COSTECH bank account and bring back the receipt and my clearance will be ready to go. It was like magic!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Food and Capitalism
One of my favorite Tanzanian street foods is sugar cane (miwa). The street venders buy a couple of full stalks (which can be six feet tall), then use machetes to flay off the hard husk and chop it into pieces as thick as a good steak and about the same diameter as an Oreo cookie. They then put five or six pieces into a small clear plastic bag and sell them for 100 tsh (9 cents!!). You bite off a chunk and chew and suck the sugar crystals from the woody pulp. After you are done chewing, you have a mouthful of dry wood-like fiber. If you want to fit in, you just casually spit out the remains onto the ground. When in Rome…
Other common street food is grilled quarter pieces of corn, peeled green oranges (the oranges are greenish yellow, so for the longest time I refused to get them because I thought that they were unripe and sour), handfulls of peanuts, hard-boiled eggs, and coconuts. Everything but the coconuts are 100 tsh (coconuts are 600-700), so they are all quite popular with the local Tanzanians. The results in that the vendors are everywhere, the roasted corn and orange venders are usually in the same place everyday, while the others just roam an area. It is capitalism in its most pure and basic form.
In fact, capitalism is in full effect in Tanzania, at least from my experience in Dar and Bagamoyo. Everybody is selling something. Though most people selling their stuff from a small duka (store), many just roam the streets with their wares in their hands. I have seen these portable, one-man stores selling kitchen wear, pillows, boot-legged DVD’s, women’s clothes, shoes, knifes, books, etc. The funniest two walking stores I have seen so far where the dude selling a balance--not balances--just one balance. I think this gentleman did not really understand his buying public. The other guy was carrying one coat rack (yes, a full coat rack), clothes hangers, and pillows. He just stood by the edge of the road looking like wished he was anywhere but where he was at that moment. I guess if they make one or two sales a day, they are okay.
Back to the small dukas, they line the streets everywhere. And the funny thing is that you will have three stores in row all selling the exact same thing. Then down the street, you’ll see three dukas all selling the same again. These stores are usually small; most are nothing more than a tin-roofed shack with no electricity. They really don’t advertise, other name a small name directly over the entrance. So you have to walk around looking into each store to often find what you want, but if you look hard enough, you can find anything. It is really interesting to see all the people all doing their thing, finding their niche, and making an honest living.
Other common street food is grilled quarter pieces of corn, peeled green oranges (the oranges are greenish yellow, so for the longest time I refused to get them because I thought that they were unripe and sour), handfulls of peanuts, hard-boiled eggs, and coconuts. Everything but the coconuts are 100 tsh (coconuts are 600-700), so they are all quite popular with the local Tanzanians. The results in that the vendors are everywhere, the roasted corn and orange venders are usually in the same place everyday, while the others just roam an area. It is capitalism in its most pure and basic form.
In fact, capitalism is in full effect in Tanzania, at least from my experience in Dar and Bagamoyo. Everybody is selling something. Though most people selling their stuff from a small duka (store), many just roam the streets with their wares in their hands. I have seen these portable, one-man stores selling kitchen wear, pillows, boot-legged DVD’s, women’s clothes, shoes, knifes, books, etc. The funniest two walking stores I have seen so far where the dude selling a balance--not balances--just one balance. I think this gentleman did not really understand his buying public. The other guy was carrying one coat rack (yes, a full coat rack), clothes hangers, and pillows. He just stood by the edge of the road looking like wished he was anywhere but where he was at that moment. I guess if they make one or two sales a day, they are okay.
Back to the small dukas, they line the streets everywhere. And the funny thing is that you will have three stores in row all selling the exact same thing. Then down the street, you’ll see three dukas all selling the same again. These stores are usually small; most are nothing more than a tin-roofed shack with no electricity. They really don’t advertise, other name a small name directly over the entrance. So you have to walk around looking into each store to often find what you want, but if you look hard enough, you can find anything. It is really interesting to see all the people all doing their thing, finding their niche, and making an honest living.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Skype Ready
We are officially skype-able on the weekends!! The wireless internet at the lab where Brandt is working is super slow during the week when everyone is here but we just did a weekend test run with my mom and had crystal clear reception and video!! If you want to talk with us, our log in names are brandtph and robyn.smyth . I think we'll be online again tomorrow afternoon (morning in U.S.) Yay!!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Kwahari (Goodbye) Dar!!
Sorry about the delay in getting this blog entry up. Robyn said that I had better do it soon, as I was creating a “blog-jam”. She thought she was pretty witty coming up with this play on words…ahhhh, the delusions of grandeur. Anyway, we finally moved out of Dar is a Slum. Hallelujah! We packed our bags a couple of weeks ago and moved 70 kilometers north to a sleepy town called Bagamoyo.
Bagamoyo, TZ is a small town located right along the coast. It is an old town that the Germans colonized in the late 19th century. Before that, it was a bustling port town where East African slaves where shipped to Zanzibar and then onto the Arabian Peninsula. However, over the past century, most of the buildings have decayed into ruins about town. The TZ government doesn’t allow them to be torn down; so many these beautiful buildings are derelict and falling apart. Though, this decay makes for an incredibly picturesque walk between home and work. Bagamoyo has money from tourism and the fishing industry, and I guess that a European company is building a pilot sugercane/biofuel plant just north of town, so the people here are relatively well off. In town, there are a couple of small art schools, a larger performing arts college, and the national TZ dance company. Because of this, the town has a very artsy feel to it. The other night, as I was strolling home around dusk, after stopping to watch some league soccer game (both teams had jerseys), I walked by the performing arts college's small auditorium and heard singing. They were putting on a free show—TZ rap, traditional music, free-form brass band jazz, etc. It was pretty incredible. I guess Africa isn’t so bad now!!!
So we have moved to a little paradise up the coast, but why? Well, I finally found a great volunteer opportunity with IHRDC (the same research group that we visited out in Ifakara). Traditionally, their focus is on all things malaria--epidemiology, surveillance, treatment options, control strategies, etc. However, they are currently planning on expanding into the other major public health diseases that are a huge problem in Africa, HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis (TB). So, at the IHRDC’s Bagamoyo site, they are planning to construct a high containment laboratory (a BioSafety Level 3 lab, or BSL3 lab) to begin clinical trials of TB-related drugs and vaccines. They also want to expand into basic epidemiological research of TB and set up Masters and PhD level programs for TZ students. My role is to consult on setting up the lab, help in developing the research program, train new workers, and write grants. In the US, this would be a challenge, but here in Africa, it will be an adventure (to say the least). In exchange for my services, they've rented us a nice, clean, safe, furnished 2 bedroom cottage with a fridge, hot water and even air con. Just what we needed! So whereas we are gone from the source of pain, suffering, and humor than was Dar, I am sure that some of that void will be filled with stories from my work.
I think I should describe the working conditions for a bit, so you all have a mental framework for all future happenings. My “office” is directly looking out at the Indian Ocean (maybe 75 meters away). I feel the cool ocean breeze coming off the water, watch the smaller dhows (a traditional fishing boat from this region) come in late afternoon from fishing all morning. I believe that this is pretty much the nicest office one can have (Yes, even better than the lab back at UCSB). However, I say “office” because it is actually just a plastic chair, a rickety wooden table, and my lab-top. I move these items about the first floor of the building depending on sun placement, whether it is raining, and whether I need a power outlet. I often set up on a corner of the patio in the back. Luckily they have wireless. They are fixing up the second floor for offices, but they have been doing this for the past year. So even though they look like they are almost done, it may be a couple more months of my wall less office existence.
The research building in which we are going to set up the BSL3 lab is on the grounds of the Bagamoyo District Hospital. But, this hospital is nothing close to what we think of as a hospital in the US, or even in Dar. It is a set of 10 to 12 long, one-story, block-buildings set on about a 10 acre plot. There is one ambulance for the whole district (90,000 people). If you are sick and are staying in the ward, you have to have people bring you food, since the hospital does not provide it. So often a whole family sets up around the hospital grounds for the duration of the stay. It feels more like a camp for sick people. But instead of wood campfires, they burn medical waste—right by the road in an open fire pit. I recently saw the trash men picking up the remains using rubber gloves, masks, shovels and small plastic garbage bins. They were dumping it into the back of an open bed truck. Nice. Regardless of the above, it is not a dreary place, and people seem relatively calm and content.
So hopefully, the blog-jam has been cleared out and more blogs will come. So until next time, “safari salaama”.
Bagamoyo, TZ is a small town located right along the coast. It is an old town that the Germans colonized in the late 19th century. Before that, it was a bustling port town where East African slaves where shipped to Zanzibar and then onto the Arabian Peninsula. However, over the past century, most of the buildings have decayed into ruins about town. The TZ government doesn’t allow them to be torn down; so many these beautiful buildings are derelict and falling apart. Though, this decay makes for an incredibly picturesque walk between home and work. Bagamoyo has money from tourism and the fishing industry, and I guess that a European company is building a pilot sugercane/biofuel plant just north of town, so the people here are relatively well off. In town, there are a couple of small art schools, a larger performing arts college, and the national TZ dance company. Because of this, the town has a very artsy feel to it. The other night, as I was strolling home around dusk, after stopping to watch some league soccer game (both teams had jerseys), I walked by the performing arts college's small auditorium and heard singing. They were putting on a free show—TZ rap, traditional music, free-form brass band jazz, etc. It was pretty incredible. I guess Africa isn’t so bad now!!!
So we have moved to a little paradise up the coast, but why? Well, I finally found a great volunteer opportunity with IHRDC (the same research group that we visited out in Ifakara). Traditionally, their focus is on all things malaria--epidemiology, surveillance, treatment options, control strategies, etc. However, they are currently planning on expanding into the other major public health diseases that are a huge problem in Africa, HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis (TB). So, at the IHRDC’s Bagamoyo site, they are planning to construct a high containment laboratory (a BioSafety Level 3 lab, or BSL3 lab) to begin clinical trials of TB-related drugs and vaccines. They also want to expand into basic epidemiological research of TB and set up Masters and PhD level programs for TZ students. My role is to consult on setting up the lab, help in developing the research program, train new workers, and write grants. In the US, this would be a challenge, but here in Africa, it will be an adventure (to say the least). In exchange for my services, they've rented us a nice, clean, safe, furnished 2 bedroom cottage with a fridge, hot water and even air con. Just what we needed! So whereas we are gone from the source of pain, suffering, and humor than was Dar, I am sure that some of that void will be filled with stories from my work.
I think I should describe the working conditions for a bit, so you all have a mental framework for all future happenings. My “office” is directly looking out at the Indian Ocean (maybe 75 meters away). I feel the cool ocean breeze coming off the water, watch the smaller dhows (a traditional fishing boat from this region) come in late afternoon from fishing all morning. I believe that this is pretty much the nicest office one can have (Yes, even better than the lab back at UCSB). However, I say “office” because it is actually just a plastic chair, a rickety wooden table, and my lab-top. I move these items about the first floor of the building depending on sun placement, whether it is raining, and whether I need a power outlet. I often set up on a corner of the patio in the back. Luckily they have wireless. They are fixing up the second floor for offices, but they have been doing this for the past year. So even though they look like they are almost done, it may be a couple more months of my wall less office existence.
The research building in which we are going to set up the BSL3 lab is on the grounds of the Bagamoyo District Hospital. But, this hospital is nothing close to what we think of as a hospital in the US, or even in Dar. It is a set of 10 to 12 long, one-story, block-buildings set on about a 10 acre plot. There is one ambulance for the whole district (90,000 people). If you are sick and are staying in the ward, you have to have people bring you food, since the hospital does not provide it. So often a whole family sets up around the hospital grounds for the duration of the stay. It feels more like a camp for sick people. But instead of wood campfires, they burn medical waste—right by the road in an open fire pit. I recently saw the trash men picking up the remains using rubber gloves, masks, shovels and small plastic garbage bins. They were dumping it into the back of an open bed truck. Nice. Regardless of the above, it is not a dreary place, and people seem relatively calm and content.
So hopefully, the blog-jam has been cleared out and more blogs will come. So until next time, “safari salaama”.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Insane Traffic + Horrible Roads + Massive Rain = Total Mayhem
So when they say rainy season, they’re not kidding. The rain comes down in sheets for hours at a time, sometimes multiple times a day, every day. The paved streets here are lined with open gutters that are about 3 feet deep and one foot wide. Before the rains started, they were about a third full with this festering, green, smelly water and, of course, various forms of trash. These are the city’s storm drains. With the first big rain, they immediately filled with the massive amounts of water pouring off the street, got clogged up by all the trash, overflowed, and flooded the streets. Brandt was with Chris in his Land Rover as he drove down a stretch of road close to two football field lengths that was flooded in at least 3 feet of water. There were teenage boys standing by to get paid to run through the water in front of the car to show you how deep it was. At a semi-dry high point mid-way through people were waiting to jump on the top of the truck to get a lift the rest of the way. So if you have a real SUV, and you know how to drive it, I guess this no problem. But many people are confused or delusional and they go driving their piece o’ crap sedan into the water, where it promptly stalls. And this is where it really gets interesting. The second a car is stopped for any reason, all the cars, trucks, daladalas drive directly up to it’s bumper door as if they are going to drive over/through the stopped vehicle. Unfortunately, the laws of physics still apply in Tanzania and it is not possible to drive through another solid object and so a massive traffic jam results. We have seen this over and over again. One night we were with Cathryn going to meet friends for dinner and we sat in a traffic jam for an hour and half. It was on one of the main roads going downtown. It’s one lane going each way and a third lane under construction. Cars are already driving in the half finished lane. As soon as the traffic stops moving, cars coming from behind start driving in the oncoming traffic lane. This is standard practice. That lane promptly filled up with a line of cars and came to halt so they they just started making more lanes on either side until there was a giant blob of traffic 5-6 cars wide all trying to drive down the one lane that goes in that direction. We inch along in the proper lane. Brandt who is sitting in the truck bed part of the car starts getting cranky starts yelling out the window asking the drivers of the growing blob of cars if they think they’re special. Obviously this is a rhetorical question because clearly they are all special because why else would they be driving on the wrong side of the road/in drainage ditch/through the yard of the business along the road. When we finally get to the intersection that was probably only a hundred yards away when the jam started, we find a six lane blob of cars from the other direction driving directly into the 6 lane blob from our direction, a bunch of overwhelmed, untrained traffic cops discussing the weather or something not very useful over their radios (I think I’m going to devote a separate post entirely to the traffic cop situation), and a couple of random dudes attempting to direct cars through the one car width space between a tree and the road along one side of the intersection. It was truly unbelievable. The dirt roads have become gigantic mud pits. We have to walk about a mile from Chris and Cathryn’s to get to a place where we can get a bus or taxi. It’s essentially an obstacle course. Three steps on that high patch of grass over there, then hop across the flowing stream on the rocks that someone kindly placed there, try to find some semi-solid mud to walk on over to the other edge to get around the foot deep, swimming pool sized puddle. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to being on Double Dare, the Nickolodean game show. The main difference is that the slime is brown instead of green and it smells gross. I’m seriously contemplating investing in some waders. They live behind these huge factories and there is some fluorescent purple stuff coming out of one of them and mixing with all the water on the street. I’m worried I’m going to start growing a sixth toe or something. And of course all the while, every local I walk past feels compelled to remind me that I’m mzungu (definitely not going to be forgetting that any time soon) and about a quarter of them ask me for money. Apparently the fact that I’m walking through the mud pit obstacle course is not enough of an indication that I don’t have a lot of money to spare.
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