Olympic-Sized Hype

When Robyn and I got to Dar three years…I mean…months ago, one of the first things that caught our eyes while we were aimlessly wandering the streets of Dar were the giant billboards announcing that the Olympic torch would be passing through the glorious streets of Dar es Salaam on April 14th, 2008. At the time, we both thought this could be a really great cultural experience for us to check out. So, we put the date into our mental calendars.

As most of you know, over the past 3 months, China has been clamping down on the Tibetans, showing their true colors in Sudan, etc. As such, many Western countries are being called upon by their people to boycott these Olympics, and as manifestation of this anger, the torch relay has met with strong and physical demonstrations from London to San Francisco.

I recently learned a little history of the relay itself. It was stopped after the 1936 Berlin Olympics and was successfully revitalized for the 2004 Games in Athens, Greece. So this is only the second torch relay since WWII. For the 2008 Beijing Olympics, China decided that the torch would have a singular touchdown in all of Africa. Fortuitously, that location happened to be our home away from home--Dar is Aslum, Tanzania. As result of this honor, and President Bush’s recent unprecedented 4-day visit, Tanzania is experiencing a lot of national pride. It seems to Tanzanians that Tanzania finally matters to the rest of the world.

So a couple of days before the actual relay, the Chinese rolled into town all decked out in their newly acquired Olympic gear. The day before the event (Saturday), Robyn and I were helping some friends set up a ballroom for an annual drunk-fest, the Tanzanian Rugby Ball. The Rugby Ball was taking place in one of the nicest hotels in Dar, which the Chinese had obviously heard about, because they had set up camp right next to us. All Saturday afternoon, evening, night, and late night (they were still buzzing at 2 AM) swarms of eager Chinese were running around talking on cell phones, typing away on lab tops, writing stuff on various sized paper products, and having important-looking meetings. I was kind of amazed that they traveled with so many people (at least 200) and were working so frantically for simply running a torch two miles down a road. It seemed we were in store for something exciting.

Beyond the giant billboards that had been up for months, there was little information available about the actual event. We ended up having to get information on the time and the route from the American Embassy website. The relay was to start at the Tazara train station (the train-line we took out to Ifakara, which was constructed by the Chinese) at 1 PM and was to proceed 2 miles to the stadium where there was going to be some type of fancy ceremony starting around 3PM. Awesome! Our friend Luis picked us up and we headed down to the national stadium. Upon arriving at the stadium at about 2:20PM, we found hundreds of people milling about in a drizzling rain, but found nothing indicative that there was anything exciting about to happen. Although there had been no mention anywhere, you needed tickets to enter the stadium but how to get tickets was a complete mystery to everyone there. We only saw Chinese people entering the stadium. After a solid ten minutes of waiting and milling and wondering when something cool would happen, the police/troops rolled up to the scene. In the States, a similar scene would not fill me with any feeling other than apathy--“Okay, the cops are here. Whatever. Where's the torch?" Ummm…let’s just say that the cops in Tanzania give off a completely different “vibe” than your average American police officer (see pictures). They don’t exactly instill in you feelings like, “Wow, they obviously have everything under control”, and “Yes, I trust this wide-eyed, overwhelmed, undertrained 20 year old male to properly wield that grenade launcher/assault rifle”. In addition, there were too many of them that seemed ready to beat the shit out of someone for no reason. I also felt particularly exposed as a white man entirely surrounded by black people who were all 6 inches shorter than me (see picture). It was all a bit unnerving. This was definitely NOT the cultural experience I was expecting when we arrived.

The troops arrived in the back of a couple of beat-up old trucks, obviously having NO idea of what to do or where to stand. There were a couple of older, fatter cops who showed up a few minutes later and walked around like roosters pushing the troops into place. Then the "crowd control" began to take place. Instead of coolly and calmly telling the citizens that they had to move from a certain area, the cops seem to decide that a better way to get people to move was by driving a truck slowly and directly into the crowd. In addition to the threat of crushing injuries, the cops also use good old physical force. One older cop decided to move a particularly seedy-looking Robyn aside by grabbing her breast. So to avoid further groping, our group moved away from the stadium entrance to a less crowded spot 200 yards up the road. So we waited for 40 uneventful minutes. Finally some dude shows up in a brand-spanking new Olympic jogging outfit. It appeared that he would be carrying the torch for this leg (a couple hundred yards). Knowing Tanzania, he was either a: A) corrupt politician, B) corrupt businessman, or C) an old Tanzanian sport figure. I really didn’t care what he was, to me he was just some dude half-assedly stretching, hoping not to blow out his hammy jogging 200 yards. Olympic Fever—Catch It!!!

So we continued to wait and wait. Finally around the corner about 400 yards away, the torch caravan arrived. As I mentioned earlier, the torch relay was attacked by protestors recently, so the organizers (rightfully so) decided to increase the security around the runners. However, based on the fact that you literally have to punch a Tanzanian in the face just to get him to say something negative, I feel safe in saying they went overboard—way, WAYYYY overboard. You could barely see the torch- it looked like an oversize match that was about to go out- and you could not see the runner because there was a platoon of soliders jogging as a solid wall along either side of the road. The pictures below are an accurate representation of what every person, 8 feet and under, experienced as the torch mob passed by.

Sadly, the 2008 Beijing Olympic torch relay was an absolute joke, disappointment, waste of time, and embarrassment in every conceivable manner. Though this event was all those things and more, one thing it was not, was a surprise. After all, T.I.T.S! I just wish that it had been something special, something unique we saw while we were over here. But even more so, I felt bad for the Tanzanian who was hopefully expecting (and deserved) more than a poorly executed political PR campaign by the Chinese and Tanzanian governments. Though maybe they knew exactly what they were in for that day and just enjoyed being in the spotlight for that one Sunday afternoon.

Mmmmm....stuff from home

A bunch of you have inquired about where to send us stuff here. We still don't a PO Box because we're still trying to figure everything out but Cathryn said we can use her PO Box. There is the distinct possibility that it will never get here so don't send anything valuable. Things like ripped DVDs, candy, magazines would be awesome! In the Newsweeks we are reading, Mitt Romney and Fred Thompson are all the buzz. I think keeping the packages small will make them look less interesting. We've also heard the secret to success is to make the top layer tampons and/or pads. Apparently that really scares off would-be thieves and it's a bonus for me because tampons are hard to find and expensive here. Let us know if you send anything so we know to be on the lookout. The address is Robyn Smyth c/o Cathryn Morris P.O. Box 106028 Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.

We've got lots of good posts coming up...the Olympic torch relay, the ridiculous insanity of getting our residency permits and most importantly moving out of Dar. We'll try to put up more pictures. I really don't carry my camera around with me too much. I don't want it to get stolen before I go on safari. Very selfish I know. Anyway, stay tuned!

Where's the Love?

We're starting to feel lonely and unloved again because hardly anyone has been posting comments even though the hit counter keeps counting. Where is the love people? Please send us some comments or emails about what's going on with you so that Brandt will stop crying himself to sleep at night. For this month, The Commentor of the Month Prize goes to Cris, representing the Cotter lab. We haven't decided what Commentor of the Month gets you but I'm pretty sure you don't want to miss out. e-Hugs all around!! Robyn and Brandt

Morning Mugging

I was getting a lift to the bank with Cathryn today. She drives this South African version of an El Camino-it's low to the ground and like a car in the front but has a pickup bed with a cap in the back. The Middlebury womens' ultimate team used to sing this cheer about the El Camino...the front is like a car, the back is like a truck, the front is where you drive the back is....well anyway, Cathryn and Chris have an upstart landscaping business here in Dar and every morning she drives around and picks up her staff at the dala stops and delivers them to the work sites. So this morning I was along for the ride because it sucks walking along the flooded roads to catch the dala myself. The crew had just loaded themselves into the back and we were off to drop them at the site. We were stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn when a man ran up beside the car, reached through the open window and ripped Cathryn's gold locket from her neck. It happened so fast that by the time she screamed, the man was across the busy road and long gone. We have another friend, Luis, who is also from South Africa where crime is bad, and whenever we're in the car with him he's always telling us to put our bags or whatever on the floor. I've always complied but sort of felt he was being a bit paranoid. Apparently not. I can't believe something this actually happened. Cathryn drove on to the first site and when she got out othe car her hands where shaking and she showed me the huge red scratch marks at her neck where he grabbed at her. The necklace wasn't super valuable but it was a going away gift from a friend in South Africa, something to replace a similiar necklace from her mother that she had lost in an armed robbery in her apartment in Johannesburg shortly before moving to Tanzania. At the site, she told one of the guys that worked there what happened. He said that over the weekend someone grabbed a cell phone off someone at the very same intersection and the thief was caught by a mob of civilians and beaten to death. We don't know if that is true- I've heard tales of violent mob justice in this country but I have a hard time imagining the passive, non-confrontational Tanzanians beating someone to death over a cell phone. The whole incident really doesn't compute with me. I definitely scope out the scene and hold my bag tightly when I walk down the street but I haven't had any incidences or even seen anything that makes me think that could happen here.

So Cathryn said she thought she should go to the police station to report it. Not that she thought anything would be done about it, it certainly won't, but just for the sake of crime statistics. I've heard enough about the police and experienced enough of the bureaucracy to think that doing that would be a complete waste of time but I guess Cathryn is a better samaritan than I. She dropped me at the bank and went to the police station. So I got the rest of the story tonight when she got home. Really this part is just as crazy as the mugging itself. The woman at the station pulled out a blank piece of newsprint, got a ruler and made lines on the paper creating a form. She wrote up the headings with lines, wrote out by hand a statement about the government act of whatever that says who knows what and then questioned Cathryn about her personal information including her religion and marital status. She made some more lines and went to dictate Cathryn's statement. Cathryn asked if she could write it. No that is against procedure. So Cathryn started her statement, which the woman didn't take word for word but rather injected all sorts of qualifiers into the story. Cathryn said well I didn't say that and she said no this is procedure. This is how it get should be written. Having been in Tanzanian long enough to know a losing battle, she gives up and lets the woman write it out how ever she wants. That should be the end of it but apparently no. They must go to the scene of the crime! Cathryn asks why? Procedure. Way more patient that I would be, Cathryn drives a police officer to the scene of the crime in her car. He inquires about her religion...well specifically what kind of Christian are you? ...and her marital status along the way. He asks for her phone number. She says its on the form. No, he wants her phone number because he wants to take her out on a date. Isn't that nice. I'm pretty sure that falls into the category of sexual harrassment in the good old U.S. of A but anyway we are clearly not there. Absolutely nothing useful happens at the crime scene and the officer wants a ride back to the police station. She tells him to walk and gets on with her day.

This is the end...

As you all know, our housing situation has been crazy to say the least. Well, we are now officially out of 432 Kinondoni Road. As with everything else that has happened to us here, there is grand ole tale accompanying the event.

It started out as a good day. Robyn and I headed off to meet with the head of the Ifakara research group that we visited two weeks ago. We went to talk about moving to and working at the station. The meeting was supposed to start at 11:00 AM, but he left us sitting outside his office until 11:40 AM. Near the end of our meeting, we heard the rumble of rain starting to fall. The average rainfall in March in Tanzania (the start of the rainy season) is about 15 inches. It was March 26th and we had gotten only a couple of inches of rain so far. Well, in the following four hours, the rain gods decided to get things back on track. Tropical rainstorms are awesome, so when I say it was raining, it was actually pouring water sheets of water.

After the meeting, Robyn and I stepped outside and decided to wait for the rain to subside so we could walk to the nearby daladala stop. So we waited, and waited, and waited. An hour passed by with absolutely no let up. We called a friend with a car to come pick us up. We went and got lunch and as we causally munched on pizza, the faucet continued to run and run. We finished, paid, and got dropped off at a dala stop about three miles from home. It was about 2:30 PM. We stood under a nearby tree as didn’t bring our umbrellas or raincoats…Oops!! The tree, however, provided no protection from the rain, and Robyn and I were soaked-to-the-bone, sopping wet when we stepped into the dala. Extreme moisture and overcrowding do not for a pleasant dala ride make. And yes, it was every bit as miserable as it sounds. About 100 yards into our trip home, the driver recognized that traffic was not moving, and decided to take a short cut through the back roads. Whereas the rain had slowed traffic to a standstill on all of the major paved roads, the pothole-riden, unpaved side streets where were far worse and even farther under water—at least two feet of milky brown, refuse-laden water in most places. The sewer system in Dar barely works on a dry day, but you throw three or four inches of water at the system over four hours and you get massive flooding. There was another significant contributor to the flooding in the streets…trash. Since everybody uses the streets, and especially the open stormwater canals, as trash bins, when the rains come hard and fast, the trash plugs up all the storm drains. Apparently this happens every year but everyone seems content to just let it happen. Well done people of Dar!

So our packed, damp, and smelly daladala was off to surf the back waterways of Dar. I fully expected the dala to get stuck and force us to walk through the flood waters. We turned a random corner to find a sedan stalled sideways across the middle of the road in 2 feet of water. Chaos reigned supreme as everyone decided that the flooding gave them the right to disobey every traffic rule ever invented by man and just drive straight towards the stalled car eliminating any possibility of getting it moved. So after 45 minutes of holding our breath, I was elated when we actually made it through the waterways to a main road about a half a mile from our house. Robyn and I jumped out and walked the rest of the way home; and in the process we seemed to give a lot of Tanzanians a good chuckle as they watched two totally soaked mzungu slosh their way trough the flooded streets.

We finally made it home at about 4:30 PM; three miles in two hours, I could have moon-walked to our house faster than that. We then opened the gate to our plot and found a wading pool of stormwater where the parking area used to be. We sloshed through and down the steps to the front door. As the door swung inwards, Robyn and I saw that a foot of brown sewer water was covering the floor of the entire house (see the beautiful color pictures). The water wasn’t pouring over the stairs into the house so we were surprised to see the flood inside. Turns out, the backed up drainage system was causing the water to pour into the house via the toilets. That’s right, the toilets. I cut the main power into the house knowing the wiring in the house is suspect at best. Robyn rushed to our bedroom to see if our computers, which we often leave on the floor, and her $1,200 camera, which was in a cupboard that sits on the floor, were okay. I walked into our other bedroom (the bloody rat room) and found that all of our clothing and our bags had been spared (Thank goodness!) because they weren’t on the ground. Robyn shouts that our computers are okay. We were sooo lucky, if our computers had been ruined, we would have probably headed back home to the States—the loss would have been too much. The camera’s case was wet but not yet saturated. We did lose a bunch of other electronic stuff—a hard-drive, battery charger, cables, etc. So we dug in and quickly and silently packed up all of our stuff trying not to think too much about what we were standing in. Checking the cupboards in the small room we don’t really use, I reached in to grab something dark. It was a rat. It seems fitting that they got in one more dig before we left. Without words ever being spoken, we knew that we were done living there. All jokes aside, living there was a horrible experience. It really cast a dark shadow over our first two and a half months in TZ. So to be completely honest, walking in and finding that our house was now without a doubt unlivable was not a huge blow, it was almost seemed like a sign that it was time for us to move on. So we called our friends, Chris and Cathryn and asked them if we could spend the night. They said, “Certainly!” We took the important stuff with us and put the rest of the bags in the highest points in the house. We then went outside to dig up a cab in the massive traffic jam. After hearing our story, they invited us to stay as long as we needed to figure out what to do next. We owe them a lot—really, we owe them our whole trip because without their hospitality, I think we would have given up. Thank you Chris and Cathyrn!!!

The next morning, I headed back to the house to get the rest of our stuff and found that our housemother had started to clean the house. I told her that we were leaving that day and not coming back. She was quite shaken, as she is almost part of the house and is employed by who ever rents the house. We signed a six-month contract, so she thought she had six months of guaranteed work. She promised me she’d clean it all up and that it was fine to come back but there was no freaking way. We felt bad, but we had to do what was right for us. We paid her an extra half a month’s pay and gave her a bunch of household goods. I think she understood that we just could not live there and be happy.
So now we are out of the hellhole known as 432 Kinondoni Road. We don’t miss it and won’t even say “goodbye”, because there was nothing “good” about it. Hopefully this is a turning point of our time over here and we only have better things ahead.

Beach House Test

After Ifakara, it was seriously depressing to be back “home” in Dar. The guy that we needed to follow up with about the visit to Ifakara was out of town for a week so nothing but more waiting on that front. We only had to last a week before we could get away again. One of our friends knows a guy that’s building a 5 star beach lodge for a British architect about 30km south of Dar. It isn’t done yet but the guy wanted to get some feedback so we got to go stay there for a fraction of what it will cost when it’s completed. There were 6 of us and we had the whole place to ourselves. This is kind of experience is definitely a perk that comes with living here. You don't get these opportunities as a tourist. It was a beautiful house up on the hill with a boardwalk through mangroves down to the beach which we had all to ourselves. There was big deck out over the cliff where we sipped wine and watched the full moon rise out over the Indian Ocean. Brandt and I went snorkeling on the coral reef every day at low tide. We weren’t that far from Dar and the ocean there is disgusting so I really wasn’t expecting much but there were tons of life...fish, urchins, sea cucumbers, a hermit crab the size of my two hands and the real prize was the octopus. I was floating over the top of a coral head when this big bulbous thing scoots off and down the side. It took me a second to realize what it was. I swam around to the other side and the octopus had tucked his tentacles into a gap on the coral head and was changing his color and texture to blend in with its surroundings. We would have never been able to pick it out if we hadn’t seen it swim there. We just floated there and watched it scurry around. I know most of you are probably tuning in to be amused by our trials and tribulations but we do have our moments when it all seems worth it. The trick is making those moments come close enough together to get through the crap. Speaking of crap…check back soon for the next post...

Return to Dar is a-Slum

We very reluctantly boarded the bus in Ifakara to return to Dar is a-Slum, as we are now fondly calling it. When we bought the tickets we got assigned two seats in a row of three. The bus filled up and no one sat next to us so we started to hope we’d get the extra seat to ourselves. Wrong. The largest Tanzanian woman we have ever seen squeezes herself into her seat and half of Brandt’s. Luckily he’s lost 20 pounds since we got here so he doesn’t really need a whole seat. Half an hour after the bus is supposed to depart, it starts up and drives about 4 blocks and stops again for another 20 minutes. We’re clearly in for a long trip. Tanya warned us that they would play loud music videos on the bus. I said, “Oh that’s ok, we’ve got our ipods.” She just smirked. For the first few hours it was blaring Tanzanian hip-hop. There is clearly one music video producer in Tanzania and he watched 15 minutes of MTV, developed his formula and then made 50 videos that were exactly the same. Male vocalist dressed like R. Kelly raps while woman in tight clothes stands next to him swaying from side to side, man chills with his gansta homies, woman shakes her ass, random English phrase such as “peace brothers” is shouted out as the video ends. I can’t really surf the web for the perfect video but a quick search on Q-Chillah, the one artist whose name I happened to remember produced this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0YWlzRVo-8 My connection isn’t fast enough to watch it so you’ll have to report back. So this went on for a couple of hours. And then it was Celine Dion time. Oh how they love that woman here. Now that she’s done in Vegas, she should really consider moving to Tanzania. I think they would consider granting her deity status. For the last few hours they busted out what must have been the Tanzanian old school stuff. Essentially the same bongo beat was used in each song, someone would sing a little in the beginning and then the background music would repeat for 5-10 minutes while they showed groups of people doing variations on 5 dance steps in very 80’s outfits. It is hilarious and my description really doesn’t do it justice. When, or should I say if, I get a good internet connection, I’m going to try and track down a clip on the internet somewhere. If I can’t find anything, you’ll have to wait for Brandt’s rendition when we get home. It’s awesome. He was voted best dancer in high school afterall. Aside from the sweet videos, we saw at least a dozen elephants chilling by the side of the road when the bus passed through the Mikumi National Park. We were practically hanging out the window to look at them and everyone else on the bus couldn’t have cared less. Can you imagine living in a place where elephants are “Eh, whatever.”?!?

The Insanity Of It All

Hey all,

Sorry about not posting lately, we will be back in the next couple of days. Quickly, some words you will see in upcoming blogs: octopus, one, foot, of, sewer, water, house, rats, homeless, visas, corruption, bagamoyo, and (hopefully) job. Tanzania just keeps giving and giving...