Not an easy life

Me with an "African umbrella" on the way to work one wet day.

Today on the walk home I saw a girl of six or seven with a 10L bucket full of water on her head. That’s about 10kg. Girls who grow up in the Tanzanian countryside can definitely have a difficult life. Tanzanian society is male-centred so women are expected to do all the cooking and cleaning. However, it’s often also the women that go and do a lot of the field work, sell produce, go shopping and various other tasks. Aside from their jobs (if they are lucky enough to have one), don’t ask me what the men do, although you can guess who you see filling up the bars and cafes.

There was an article in the paper the other day that brought to mind a conversation that Deo and I had had early in my stay. Given the lack of proper sex education, the social stigma of using birth control, and general boredom when you have few of the modern diversions we enjoy in the west, it’s not surprising that teen pregnancy rates are higher here than in the West. And what happens when an adolescent girl falls pregnant? She is expelled from school. Expelled! When Deo told me this, I nearly fell off my chair. Sure, in Canada many pregnant teens drop out of school because of teasing, bullying or the social stigma, but here they don’t even have the choice – the school expels them! “So how do they continue their schooling?” I asked Deo.

They don’t, was the answer. Rough. Anyway, the newspaper article that I read the other day was an editorial lauding the government for it’s recent move to allow girls to resume their schooling after delivery (though not necessarily to allow them to continue their schooling while pregnant). I guess it’s a step in the right direction.

Despite the rough go they have of it here, the women are tough, mentally and certainly physically. I’d like to see how many Canadian 7-year-old girls could carry a 10-kilo bucket of water on their heads!

Overt racism

MZUNGU

Yesterday evening Deo’s sister arrived from Dar Es Salaam, where she is in her first year at medical school. She had some kind of interview in Moshi today, so she had decided to take a week-long “personal break” from school. We went with Deo’s wife to a restaurant where a wedding committee that she was a part of was having a meeting. While Deo’s wife was at the meeting, his sister and I enjoyed some drinks and chatted about this and that.

It was dark when we left and emerging into the night, I was taken aback by the night sky. Stars were numerous, bright and everywhere, and it took not 3 seconds for me to see a shooting star whiz across the sky. I will be looking forward to more of this on the safari and kili climb.
Just as we crossed the road to catch a dalla-dalla to the next junction, one pulled up. They asked the bus assistant the price, even though they knew it was 300 shillings. The assistant said flat out, “It’s 300, but you’re with a mzungu (white person), so it’s 500 each.”

Shocking, isn’t it, this kind of overt racism? It was the second time in as many days that this had happened. The overt nature and complete lack of shame just bowls me over. Having travelled in third-world countries enough, I’m used to the let’s ask the foreigner for double, quadruple or ten times routine. Usually, though, it’s done to one or a group of foreigners travelling without locals. They don’t know the price and so getting swindled is all part of the game. Though similar in nature, I still find this quite different from the blatant racism witnessed last night that not only affected me but also my travel companions. Fortunately, Deo’s wife and sister both told the guy to take a hike; we’d catch the next one. Even when they rolled on a few metres, stopped, and called out to us again that they’d give us the normal price, we still told them to get lost. Serves them right. I just couldn’t help thinking the kind of reaction (social and legal) that that kind of treatment would produce in Canada. In any business, racism that overt would be suicide!

Arusha

Wow! Didn't expect to see that here!

I guess the fact that I haven’t written anything in 3 days verifies that I haven’t done anything significant over that period. There was, however, an interesting incident at school on Thursday, which you can read about more on the teaching blog. In a nutshell, there was a soccer match between Mangi Sabas and another school further away, played on the grounds of neighbouring Mawella high school. The soccer pitch was sloped in two directions so that the lowest point of the field was the far right corner. Still, it was a great atmosphere for the game, out in the open with the corn and the trees all around. If the skies had been clear, a towering Kilimanjaro would have added to the scene.

The game was good, especially from the Mangi Sabas point of view, since our boys won 4-2. Unfortunately, celebrations at the end disintegrated into post-game fan violence (started by the girls!), and things got out of hand quickly. It was an unreal spectacle to watch. In the end, fortunately, there were no injuries to report.

Yesterday I decided to go to Arusha for the day. About 70km away from Moshi, Arusha is the hub of northern Tanzania and the main centre for safaris in the northern parks (Serengeti, Ngorongoro, Manyara) as well as the departure point for most Kilimajaro treks. When I had mentioned my plan to go to Arusha, Deo volunteered his brother Julius to go with me. I accepted, knowing that getting there and walking around would be much easier with someone in the know. It meant covering all his costs, but at about $8 for the day for transportation and food, that wasn’t an issue.

We arrived in Arusha at about 1:00pm after a 90-minute bus ride from Moshi. Having Julius with me was handy at the bus terminal in Moshi as it is chaotic and there are touts everywhere trying to get you to get on their bus. As a foreigner, you don’t really know what the standard fare is, so they can easily rip you off. With Julius, that wasn’t an issue, so we paid the proper fare to Arusha, 2000 shillings or about $1.65. There’s no real schedule though; the buses leave when they’re full. Fortunately, we got the last two seats on a very full bus and were off in no time.

Arusha has nothing significant to see in itself. It is simply larger, with much more hustle and bustle than Moshi and a few of the streets looked somewhat “city-like,” meaning they were lined with mostly respectable-looking buildings and had some semblance of a sidewalk. The weather there is a few degrees cooler than Moshi as it sits a little higher, on the slopes of Mt. Meru. The mountain gets little recognition since it sits just 70km away from the roof of Africa (Kilimanjaro), but at some 4600m, it’s the 4th tallest mountain in East Africa.

After looking into some flights for June, we simply walked around taking it all in. Julius doesn’t often come to Arusha, and even when he does it’s more to meet friends, so it was a bit of a tourist experience for him, as well. We just went wherever our feet took us, and managed to cover most of the town in the 4 or so hours we were there (it really isn’t that big). Of note was the first traffic light I have seen in a month, although I did only see one. We also found a proper supermarket and even a gelato shop.

Soon enough, though, it was almost 5p.m. and time to head back to Moshi. As the bus pulled out of Arusha, the skies cleared significantly and Mt. Meru was fully visible. With its lower height, it has no snows on the top and its peak is pointed in contrast to Kilimajaro’s rounded top.
After the 90-minute bus ride, the dalla-dalla and walk back home, I was exhausted and was in the door just under a minute when Deo called. “I’m coming home now so we can go out to a club,” he said, and I groaned. I was tired not only from the day but also because his father had woken up and blared his radio and TV (simultaneously) starting at 5:45am this morning.

Despite my numerous excuses, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so within an hour we showered, had dinner, and caught a taxi into town. Why he wanted to be there at 9:30pm was beyond me, as the place had no one in it. Admittedly, it had a charming little atmosphere and the dance floor, while extremely small by Toronto’s standards, had everything necessary for the club experience, minus the go-go dancers. Still, as nothing was happening, we sat and nursed drinks for about 2 hours before things started to pick up. It never really got packed, but by about 11:45 there were a good 50 or so people on the dance floor and others around it, so it did resemble a club atmosphere. Unfortunately, the music was mostly Africa beats, which my body doesn’t move properly to, and Deo doesn’t like to dance anyway (so why did we come??), so we mostly just took in the show. His wife got up to dance a couple of times and just before leaving Deo and I joined in for a bit, but that was about it. Despite the different music, people here don’t really dance any differently than those in the clubs back in Toronto.

Sun out, lights out

More students (can't help it, they come with the territory)

Today started out rainy but in the afternoon, the sun finally came out for a short while. It was, quite literally, the first time we had seen it since last Friday. I took the opportunity to go into town and get online – just for something to do. Another night of coming straight home and snoozing didn’t really appeal.

I didn’t have much time, since I left school at the end of the day, so I decided to take a quick walk around town. I was lucky today as I had no flycatchers. I think I have found the trick.

Today, as I walked I held a newspaper in front of me, pretending to read it as I walked. Not one person disturbed me the whole time I was walking…it was great!

Tonight, the Champions League final was on. Deo’s father, his brother and I were all geared to watch the game and convened after dinner in front of the television. We watched a good first half that saw a great Manchester goal, and then just as Chelsea tied it up with just minutes before the end of the first half, the lights went out. Why?! Why tonight of all nights? Not last night, not tomorrow night, but tonight! We haven’t had any power outages at night since I arrived more than three weeks ago. Why tonight? Likely someone at the power station watching the game and slamming his fist down in frustration on the console after the Chelsea goal. Anyway, we finally saw the sun today and now the lights are out.

Mbege!

Thirsty? Hungry? Mbege's got you covered for both!

Yesterday in the late afternoon, after writing the last entry, Deo and I headed out for a walk just to get some exercise. After watching it rain all day, we decided to head out at 4pm under cloudy skies, umbrellas in hand. We were going to walk up Lema road to the Kibosho area, a slightly uphill climb. The road was muddy after all the rains, but we were glad to get out and I was glad to see a bit of the countryside around town. There wasn’t much except fields and the odd house, along with two very small conglomerations of run-down shack-like shops.

After walking a good hour and 15 minutes, somewhere around 6 kilometres or so, we decided to turn around, but not before stopping for a little refreshment at a café/bar. As we walked through the little village centre, all eyes were on us, since not too many outsiders make it up that way. Still, everyone was friendly. Deo had his beer and I had my Fanta.

After looking through the grill at the various other alcohols on offer, we got talking about mbege, what everyone simply explains as “the local brew.” Basically, it’s homemade moonshine made from fermented bananas and millet. You don’t find it in bottles or anything. You go to a bar and have to ask for it, and it comes in either a 1-litre or 2-litre cup. The alcohol content can be anywhere from 5 to 10 percent, depending on the batch.

Just to show me, Deo decided to order the “small cup.” Although it definitely smells like alcohol, it doesn’t look at all appealing. Think light mud water with sawdust mixed in. Why anyone would want to drink it with all those millet particles about is beyond me. Deo says it’s a drink and a meal all in one. Price may be the reason though; at 15 cents for the 1-litre cup, it’s about 15 times cheaper than bottled beer. A bargain, but you never know where the water used came from, and people getting disease after drinking it is not unheard of. Thanks but no thanks, even if I could drink!

This entry is for the birds

Taken from the bedroom window!

Some things in Tanzania are not so different from Canada. After a work week of beautiful days, this weekend has been a write-off, with heavy rains both mornings and cool, cloudy conditions prevailing for the rest of the day. Laundry was done on Friday, but it still sits sopping wet on the line outside.

Yesterday, after waiting until fairly sure it would rain no more, Deo’s brother Julius and I took a walk into town. I needed to get online since I hadn’t been able to on Friday, and Julius was just there for company and probably something to do. He’s 23 and very easy to get along with. We always have lots to talk about and he’s genuinely curious about how things work in Canada and elsewhere. The walk into town takes about an hour and the round trip made for good exercise and sadly, along with getting online, was the highlight of the day.

Today, more of the same, sans internet. I might crack open the Swahili books. Yesterday, as I was doing some things in my room before heading to town, I spotted some birds out in the garden through the bedroom window. They were amazing colours. There are some small raven-like birds here that are an iridescent blue-green. I also spotted another one with a blue body and long brown tail.Well, that’s all I’ve got. This entry is for the birds!

Delivery!

Delivery of the new desks. No more sharing!

Today, just as I was finishing up my last class, the carpenter’s truck pulled up with the desks and shelves he has been working on for the past two weeks. They look great – all new and shiny with varnish. The students helped offload them into one of the classrooms where they will stay until Monday, when another man comes to stencil a number on to them (so that they can be recorded as school property). The carpenter will now get to work on the furniture for the staffroom.

As it was Friday, I went into town to get online and file my reports to OISE. We had to come into town anyway so that I could get the money to pay the carpenter for the work. After going around to a few shops with Deo (he wanted to show me digital cameras here), I was really hungry but also had to get online before it got too late in the afternoon.

Surprisingly, there’s not much in the way of portable street food here. Not like you can just grab a hotdog or a burger and get on your way, which was all I was looking for. Here, either you sit down and do the waiting game, or you try to get a takeout box and still do the waiting game. Fortunately, near the shop we found a little samosa shop. There are a lot of Indians in Tanzania, actually, some that have just immigrated and many that were born here and have lived here all their lives. They invariably run businesses and manage to avoid the poverty that afflicts a good chunk of the general population. In any case, with samosas at 30 cents a piece, I was happy for their presence!

Samosas in hand, or bag, rather, I went off to the internet café and was immediately disappointed to see the door closed and the Closed sign hanging. Again?!? This happened last week! At the nearby tables in the little front area, the woman was sitting with a friend and told me that there was no power today.

“Again?!?” I asked, “You have no power on Fridays, is that it?”

The two seemed to find this very funny, that this random coincidence seemed like a pattern. Anyway, after eating my samosas I headed home, but not before getting a phone number from them. Next time I’ll call to see if the lights are on before coming.

On the bus home, there were a couple of Scottish girls squeezed into the bus with me, so we got talking. They are the first white people that I’ve talked to in the few weeks that I’ve been here. In fact, Deo and I got talking about that point the other night, just by coincidence. He found it strange that I didn’t start talking to the white people that I pass in the street here.

“Why would I?” I said, “I don’t know them.”

“But they are mzungu (white people), like you,” was his reply.

“So I should talk to them because they are white?”

It’s an interesting point, actually, and one that I’ve faced a lot in my travels. In Japan, there was even a kind of name for it, “the gaijin glance”. When you’re an extreme minority in the surrounding population and you spot someone like you, what are you supposed to do? This person is as perfectly random a stranger as all the other people around you. Are you supposed to say hi or start up a conversation because you’re both white? Because by that simple fact you’re sharing some sort of experience that requires you to bond? For me, I’ve found it makes for a strange situation, like you almost feel compelled to acknowledge this person even though you wouldn’t give them a second glance if you were back home on the street of your own town. Sure, if the circumstances put you in close contact for a period of time, such as a bus ride, I’m not averse to striking up a conversation, but just for people in passing on the street, I don’t feel any reason why I should greet them or chat them up more than anyone else.

Deo thought that might be just my big city coldness. He said that if he were in Toronto, he would talk to all the black people he passed.

“Then you’d be doing a helluva lot of talking!” I replied.

Routine?

Brought the camera out at lunch today and the girls just couldn't get enough of it!

For two days in a row there’s been little going on outside of school. Yesterday I decided to drop by the internet café close to the house here, about a 15 minute walk away. It’s just a dollar an hour, and now I know why. At 5 minutes to load a page, it’s not even worth it at that price. I think from now on I’ll just stick with the one in town that has a (relatively) high speed connection.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, the weather has become virtually perfect here these days. The mornings are cool and comfortable for going to school, we get a little cloud from around 9am to noon, and then the sun comes out, the skies are a stunning blue, the fields all around the school are a brilliant green and it’s not hot but not cool…just right. I could get used to this kind of weather.

I see Kilimanjaro almost every day now, usually in the morning around the time I arrive at the school and then again a little before sunset. In between, while the sky is blue all around, the part just over Kili is clouded over.After tomorrow, there will be just two weeks left here. While it seems I will be leaving the school just as I get things going, I am also very much looking forward to the safari and Kili climb. No plans as of yet for this weekend. Maybe I’ll try to explore a little more of the town. That doesn’t come without its hassles, but it’s probably worth a little look.

Forgot to take a picture with the man who got it all started. D’oh!

This minibus had 28 people in it. But if you think it's full, you must be a naive mzungu (white guy). These buses are never full.

This afternoon after class, I had the pleasure of having lunch in town with Tumaini Minja, the man who arranged this internship for me. It was the first time I had met him as we had been put in touch with each other through a mutual contact at OISE. We had lunch at the top floor restaurant of the KNCU building in town. It was a nice and relaxing place, away from the bustle of the street and with a good view on Moshi and to Kili to the north (it is only a 6 or 7 storey building though).

Tumaini is a lawyer but works mostly right now with causes in the peace and conflict field. He travels an awful lot for a Tanzanian though because of the nature of the work, he extracts very little financial compensation for what he does. Though he does hope to earn more money one day, he is content right now with the experiences he’s having overseas, the charitable work he does, and the people he meets. Unfortunately, I have no photo of him because I forgot entirely to take one.

I mentioned yesterday that it was completely normal here on packed minibus rides for someone to take your bag on their lap if you’re standing and they’re sitting, even if they’re not necessarily sitting near you. I found out today on another packed ride home that that doesn’t just apply to material belongings. We had a packed bus already when we pulled up to a stop where a mother and three of the cutest little girls were waiting. It took only a moment to figure out what to do, and the mother got in the back while the bus assistant swung the kids up on to the laps of two perfect strangers who had the benefit of the front seat next to the driver. Again, seemingly perfectly normal!

Holding down the fort

Evening Kili

There’s little to report today, as most of the action happened at school. Check out the teaching blog (link on the right) to learn why students were asking ME for permission to go home sick.
I made it into town today to get online and had no problems with the fly-catchers. Damn. And I was all ready for them with my sitaki kununua chochotte leo (I don’t want to buy anything today). Never got a chance to use it, although I’m sure there will be ample opportunity in the future.

After an ultra-packed mini-bus ride back home, I was happy to get out of the bus and into the fresh air. People have told me to watch my wallet on these rides, but the reality is, when you’re packed in armpit to asshole, anyone would be hard pressed to wedge their hand into anywhere to get anything without you knowing. What’s amusing on these packed bus rides is that people have no qualms about holding other people’s stuff. Today, for example, I had to get on an already packed bus and had my full backpack with me. In one clean motion, the bus assistant took it from me and swung it onto the lap of a passenger who was lucky enough to be sharing the front seat of the minibus. He took it and sat with it on his lap the whole ride as if it was the most normal thing in the world. That would never happen on the TTC!Getting off the bus and heading through the bean field on my walk home, I was treated to a beautiful surprise. The sky in the north had cleared and there was Kilimanjaro, or the top half anyway, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. It was a rare treat, as Kili has rarely shown itself to me and never before in the late afternoon. I made sure to snap a bunch of photos before heading in for the night.

This panda is doing just fine

Another lazy Sunday. Gotta love lazy Sundays. The weather has become almost idyllic lately, now that the rainy season has essentially ended (seeming a little early) and the cool season has started. Usually by mid-morning the morning clouds have cleared and we have bluebird skies and bright sunshine. The air is also a perfectly comfortable temperature and the humidity, on most days, is at a manageably pleasant level. Think early summer in Toronto.

I woke up at a leisurely hour and had a late breakfast with the family. I’ve never seen so many people chowing down on bread, margarine, jam and tea. Same food as always, just more people. After breakfast, Deo headed into town with a friend and I enjoyed the morning doing some stuff in my room. As I have a corner room with huge windows on both sides that open fully, I was able to sit on my bed with the sun coming in the room and a nice breeze blowing through and almost feel like I was sitting outside.

Mid-afternoon I poked my head out and found nothing happening in the kitchen. Not surprising, since no one was around. I assumed that because of that, the “housegirl” would not be preparing lunch, so I decided to head out for a walk to get some exercise, check out a bit more of the neighbourhood, and find a bite to eat.

I ended up at Panda Chinese Restaurant, the only Chinese joint in Moshi (and out of town at that). And when you’re the only joint in town, you can pretty much charge what you like and the tourists looking for Chinese will pay it, so that’s exactly what they do. I spent a whopping $10 on lunch, which is almost four times more than I’ve paid for any meal since being in this country. And they were all out of mapo tofu. The food was good, but I don’t feel any pressing need to go back. I assumed that the luxury gated house across the road must have belonged to the owners of the restaurant. This is one panda that’s not at all endangered.My next mission will be to find El Rancho, the Indian restaurant with the Mexican name.

A day out of Moshi

With the students at the Ndoro waterfalls.

Today was a really great day and a bit of a surprise. Late in my first week, the two English teachers had asked me if I wanted to go see some waterfalls. I said yes and they told me that the following weekend would be a good day. I was looking forward to seeing some sights around Moshi and thought it was nice that the teachers were willing to take me there.

During this past week, though, they had said nothing and then on Thursday, Deo asked me if I was going on the trip to the waterfalls. “Trip?” I asked. I had thought it was simply the two teachers who wanted to take me on a friendly outing. Turns out it was an actual school field trip.
So yesterday, I piled into one of two minibuses packed with students and teachers (so much so that one student had to stand). Kids were wedged in every which way. After stopping in town for a few things here and there, we got on the road leading to Marangu, a small town in the foothills of Kilimanjaro and a starting point for many of the climbers who have chosen to take the Marangu route (there are four or five ways up the mountain).

It was nice to see the countryside around Moshi. It had already been two weeks since arriving, and I hadn’t seen much except the routes to school (which are very nice themselves) and to town. This region is so lush and green that you don’t have to wonder why that colour along with blue (the skies) figure prominently in the flag of Tanzania. It helps that in this area around Kilimanjaro, the temperatures are cooler than elsewhere in the country. It also helps that we are on the tail end of an exceptionally heavy rainy season. Thus if there were one word I would use to describe Tanzania thus far, it would probably be green.

We sped along the highway with the kids singing to the music being pumped by the bus’ stereo. They were all really happy and excited, and I later learned that this was just the second field trip since the school opened over a year ago. Of course, not all the students were able to afford the four or five dollars it cost to do the trip, so we had about 40 of them, along with about 8 teachers.
There was confusion as to where exactly to go as we arrived in Marangu. Various people got in and out of the bus and then we were driving along some bumpy roads up a hill. We arrived at the end of one road only to find that we had come to the wrong waterfalls (there was no water there), so we had to turn around and backtrack a bit. Eventually, we found the right place.

Despite being a tourist attraction mentioned in my LP, this waterfall, or at least the access to it, is privately owned and there is no set fee. When we arrived, I went with some of the teachers to “negotiate” the fee for our group entry. I didn’t understand anything, of course, but it involved a smiling woman and a grumpy grandfather. In the end, it was settled that each child would pay 1500 shillings. This family is clearly doing well off the waterfall!

It was a steep decent into a very narrow but very lush gorge carved by the river. The waterfall, when we got to it, was quite the thundering beast, probably a good 60 to 70 metres high, though I have to admit my waterfall height judging skills are a little rusty. The energy of the falling water was blowing a pretty good mist down the gorge, so it was difficult for me to use my camera, but I was able to get off some shots of the kids playing around. Some went so far as to dunk themselves in the river, and there was one girl who was in there from beginning to end, splashing about as everyone else looked on and laughed. We spent a good half hour down there as people took turns taking pictures and some tried to climb the rocks in the river. By the end of it, almost everyone had become quite soaked by the continuous shower of fine mist, and some of the kids were shivering. It has to be noted that though the sun was going in and out of clouds, the low 20s temperature was definitely on the chilly side for Tanzanians. Ascending back to where the buses were parked, we had a rest and then got out our packed lunches. Afterwards, the bus drivers turned on some of their music and there was about a 10 minute dance-fest that erupted before we had to get back in the buses and go.

On the return trip, we stopped in the town of Marangu so that some of the kids who hadn’t brought a lunch could buy snacks. During this time, I walked around the town with a few teachers. We came upon a village education centre where there was a craft shop and a real Chagga hut.

Though the Maasai is the tribe that comes to everyone’s minds when you talk about Kenya and Tanzania, in Tanzania they are closer to the parks area of the north-west. Here around Kilimanjaro is the land of the Chagga, so all of the students and teachers at my school speak Chagga. It’s quite amazing, actually, since now that they are learning English in school, they are becoming trilingual already.

In the past, the Chagga lived in huts with a shape somewhere between a dome and a cone. The skeleton was made of wood from the forests while the outside was made of grasses collected and piled on densely. The woman giving us the explanation had herself been born in one of these huts whose base is circular and about 15 feet in diameter. Inside, there was a small section (about ¼ of the hut) to keep cows and goats. The “kitchen”, just a fire really, was in the centre of the hut and sleeping areas were around the centre. The door was built purposely low so that potential attackers could not enter aggressively; having to duck to enter, they were in the perfect position for a club blow to the back of the head or neck from the father inside, who always slept by the door.

Outside, pineapples were grown in a ring around the hut. Curious for sure, at first thought, but as the old woman explained, if you’ve ever seen the leaves of a pineapple, you’ll know that they have serrated, knife-like edges, and that was good for deterring any big game attracted by the smell of cattle or other food inside. Thus, the pineapples were dual purpose: food and protection.
What astounded me the most was being told that the Chagga lived in this kind of hut up until the late 60s and early 70s! Indeed, Deo’s father was born in one and spent the first 10 years of his life living in one. Amazing, when you consider the picture of Canadian life during the same period.

I am a fly

Today I had a run-in with the flycatchers, and not just one but three of them. That is the nickname that they have here for the guys who tag on to foreigners and start to follow them around, offering goods or asking them to come to visit their shop. They are relentless and incredibly annoying, like a fly swirling around your head that won’t go away. Sometimes, if you’re unlucky, you’ll have two going at the same time.

Today I went into town after school to get online. After having a great cheeseburger and chips at Chrisburger (no joke… that’s the name!), I headed to the internet café only to find on arriving that they had no power. Strange, since everywhere else did. They said that it could come back on at any time, so I decided to take a bit of a walk around, since I really hadn’t had much of an opportunity to just wander on my own around town. I had always been with Deo.

After a short walk and a little browsing in one touristy shop, a flycatcher got me coming out of the store. Of course, they start with formalities – how are you, what’s your name, where’re you from, yada, yada, yada. That way, it’s hard to brush them off without just seeming plain rude; all they’re doing is greeting you. Of course, it goes from there into the sales pitch. The shop is just around the corner, come take a look, no pressure to buy, hakuna matata (that’s not just a line from the Lion King). Today, as it were, I had time to kill and though I was loathe to allow myself to be led anywhere by one of these guys, I did so. He said it was a cooperative shop that helped street youth, and true to his word, it was within spitting distance of the main road.

So I went into the small shop and looked around. The guy inside commented on everything my eyes rested upon for more than a fraction of a second, but wasn’t overly annoying. I didn’t see much that I wanted but thought that I’d contribute so I picked up a little bead bracelet in the colours of the Tanzania flag and a flag-coloured bandana. Though I knew they were worth less than 1000 shillings each ($1), I was expecting him to highball me with something like 5000 for the two, after which we could bargain. So when he asked for 14000 for the two, I just put them down. He must have thought I was born yesterday.

I made to go and he started to bargain, but wouldn’t go lower than 10,000 and since I wouldn’t go higher than 5000, there was no sale. But that didn’t stop the guy who brought me there from following me all the way back to the internet café, now joined by some guy who had come out of nowhere and was offering me a similar bandana for 2500. The pestering was unbelievable. You try to be polite, but what do you do when polite just doesn’t deliver the message. By the time I got to the internet café, I was so pissed off with the two of them that even though the second had dropped his price to 1500 shillings, I just told them I wasn’t buying anything and that was that.

I’m sure, as in most 3rd world countries they pester because every sale means a bit more food or whatever, and also because they know that some foreigners will give in to the pestering just to get them off their backs, but I can’t help but wonder if they’d do a whole lot better if they tried to understand that Westerners don’t like to be hounded to death when shopping. That a “no” generally means no. I told them straight out that I had just arrived in Moshi and that I was just looking around for now. When I do get in the mood to buy, I’ll be far less inclined to buy from someone who has hassled me continuously than from someone who has understood me, given me my space, and waited for another day when I might return.

In any case, Moshi’s not that big of a town and the flycatchers remember their pray, so I’m sure that I’ll see these guys again. Time to learn some good Swahili phrases to fend them off.
And after all that, the power never came back at the internet café, and I just had to go home. But not before having to deal with another flycatcher all the way up until the moment I stepped inside the bus. Where’s my @#%$!!# flyswatter?

Work in progress

The carpenter with a desktop in progress.

Today on the way home from school, Deo and I stopped by the workshop of the carpenter that is making the furniture for the school from the donated funds that I collected in Canada. He’s a very nice man and very trusted by Deo for his good work (he made all the desks that the school currently uses), and from what I saw today, with good reason. Work seems to be progressing well. When we arrived today, we saw the cut and planed desktops in production. It looked like they had completed a good 6 or 7 and would likely have the rest done by tomorrow. They still have to varnish them all and cut the rest of the stool portions of the desks.

After grabbing some quick photos, he led us down the street to another craftsman’s shop where the iron frames of the desks were being put together. Here, the structures are all complete and welded together and one of the craftsmen was just applying a coat of red anti-rust paint. Tomorrow, they will finish the job with a coat of black paint. The craftsmen’s goal is to have the desks and 6 small bookshelves (one for each classroom) ready by next week, at which point they will start to work on the larger tables, chairs and shelves for the staffroom.

And as further note on yesterday’s photo of the woman carrying the wood on her head, today on the walk home I saw a woman walking with a 20L bucket full of water on her head! What weight! I could tell it was full because I could just see the top edge and the water leaping up with the back and forth motion of her stride (though she wasn’t losing a drop!) Again, amazing. 20L of water is about 20kg – it’s like walking around with a curling rock on top of your head, and yet they seem to do it so effortlessly. We also passed a wiry grade 4 boy carrying a 20kg bag of rice slung over his back. We sure have it easy in Canada.

As much as I want to take photos of all of this stuff, it’s really difficult. People don’t really appreciate it here, and I suppose it’s not hard to understand why. They see a rich white guy taking photos of their destitution and difficult lives. It can’t make anyone feel very good. I try to snap a few when I can be discreet, but they’re usually hasty ones. What a luxury it is for us to be able to snap photos of the poverty of others just to show friends at home. I think that it’s good to do so when it’s possible, because the photos also have the opportunity to educate, but I’m not able to at the expense of another’s feelings.

The River Ground Nuts runs through it

The morning commute. Heavier than a cup of Timmy's coffee.

Today’s photo was taken from the back seat of a car on the way to our bus stop. I never fail to be amazed at the loads the women carry on their heads here. How much must that weigh?!? I’d like to see a strong man do that in Canada, let alone a woman. And yet here, it is only the women that carry loads on their heads. Deo told me today that it wouldn’t be acceptable for a man to do so, but it kind of nullifies the insult “Don’t be such a girl!” Any woman carrying 20kg on her head without even breaking a sweat is probably more of a man than I am!

Deo and I got really lucky today with rides. This morning, walking down his street, a taxi driver friend of his was heading our way and gave us a ride to KCMC. KCMC is the Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Centre, a major hospital that is jointly owned and operated by the local government and a German organization. It’s always a hub of activity as many people work there and others come to visit patients, especially during the 4:30pm-6:30pm visiting hours. Usually we walk through the bean field to get there, but the free taxi ride saved us about 10 or 15 minutes. We weren’t standing at the KCMC bus stop for long when Deo noticed another friend who had stopped his truck. It turned out to be the principal of another secondary school, and he was going our way, so he gave us a ride a good portion of our way to school. From there, it was just a walk through the coffee plantations to school.

I was treated to a great view of Kilimanjaro today as the skies around it were cloud-free for a good hour or so. There’s a lot of snow and I’m wondering now if the hikers I brought will be sufficient. I’ll have to check with the tour company. Today was a beautiful day with sun from morning to evening, the temperature just comfortable and the humidity low. If everyday could be like this, I’d be a happy camper.

Just before sunset, I went for a walk with Deo’s little brother Julius. He’s 19 and just awaiting the results of his Form VI exams. We walked town the main road for a bit and then cut off into a quiet residential neighbourhood where a lot of Europeans live behind gated walls. We then continued to a point where we looked over a valley with a fairly quick moving river. “That’s the River Kawanga,” he said.

I asked, “Does Kawanga mean anything in Swahili, or is it just a name?”

“It means ‘ground nuts’,” came the reply.

“I see,” I said, “The Ground Nuts River. Alrighty then.”

I’m sure you can probably find a river in Canada with an equally strange name, but some things must be unique to Tanzania, like the practice sentence below from my Swahili lesson book. We just don’t have the chance to say these things in Toronto.

Kili appears!

Mt. Kilimanjaro finally shows itself.

Just a short note today as it is already late and 6:00am comes early. The big news in an otherwise fairly newsless day is that I finally saw Kilimanjaro today! I was watching the morning assembly in the courtyard, and just after it finished, I happened to notice the clouds parting in the north-western sky and then suddenly there it was, rocky, black, and looming in the entire corner of the sky. It’s not often that you see mountains like that spiking up almost their entire height at short range. Moshi is at just 800m, so Kili rises another 5100m from here. That’s a whole lotta rock up in your face. Looks amazing though, and I’m told that as the rains continue to fade and the cool season begins, I should be getting more viewing time.

I made a bee-line for home today after classes ended at 2:20pm. After satisfying an incredible hunger (hadn’t eaten since 7am), I took a rest and typed up a few blog entries. Nice to have a day where two or three hours weren’t wasted at a bar or café.

Anyway, bed time.

Again with the drinks!

By the time that I leave this place, the amount of time I will have wasted away at cafes and bars in the company of Deo will be astounding, I am sure. Today, after a day at school and then spending two hours in the internet café, all I wanted to do was go home and relax. However, since Deo was in town doing some school business and I don’t have a key to his house, he said we would meet up in town after I was finished to go home. I knew what was coming, but there was no way for me to get out of it.

We met at the bus stop, which actually had made me think for a second that we might actually be going home. But my hopes were dashed when he said that Mr.Kimolo was waiting for us at a bar closer to home. Good thing I had my newspaper with me. Mr. Kimolo is a nice man and actually one of the most agreeable persons I have met here, but I have simply grown tired of sitting in bars sipping disgustingly sugary soft drinks (I never drink them at home anymore and certainly won’t when I get back) while Deo goes through a bottle or three (almost always the latter) of beer. When, hours later, if I get some money out to contribute, he invariably hands me the bill telling me the total amount (for all the drinks). I pay, simply because the money ($3 or $4) is not a big deal for me, but it seems to be becoming a pattern that, in principal, I find a little disturbing. I think I’ll leave it at that for now.

On a more positive note, as I headed into town today from school, I was on my own and noticed that I am starting to get a feel for the place and be a bit more comfortable in the surroundings. It sure helps that most adults with even a half-decent education speak English. I don’t think I had mentioned that before but it is in fact the case. Tanzania has two official languages, Swahili and English, and I have yet to meet more than a handful of adults that don’t speak it reasonably well. Certainly, they all have African accents when they speak, but the quality of the English (vocabulary and grammar) is quite exceptional. How people go from the level my students are at to the level I have seen in adults with the instruction that I have witnessed in school is beyond me.

For those who might be curious, I am slowly picking up a bit of Swahili. I haven’t had time to really get down to studying it on a regular basis simply because by the time we get back home after all the time wasted at the bars and cafes, we eat dinner, and then I am tired and still have a blog entry or two to write. However, I am slowly getting the hang of the grammar and very slowly adding new vocabulary, and it helps that Deo was a teacher of Swahili before taking his administrative role as a headmaster. The other helpful thing is that Swahili is written with the roman alphabet and it’s pronunciation is entirely regular. On the flip side, Swahili is a Bantu language in family, and agglutinative in type, meaning that verbs have stems and then the other bits and pieces of information like subjects, tenses and what have you are added as prefixes on to the stem. This can be comfortably regular, but there are also lots of weird exceptions, and having multiple classes of nouns, each having certain rules, helps to make things difficult. Fortunately people are always willing to help and very happy when you manage to spit out a few words of their language.

Well, as the end of my 8th day in Moshi draws near, I have just one thing left to say: I have STILL not seen Mt. Kilimanjaro. Yes, despite eating, sleeping, breathing and working right at its foot, it has still not emerged from the clouds. And I don’t mean just the summit, I mean all of it. Some days here are rainy, although mostly the mornings are cool and grey and the afternoons are brilliantly sunny and hot, but despite the daily clear up, the one part of the sky that never clears is the northwest, where Kilimanjaro sits perpetually clouded from head to foot. They keep telling me that next week I’ll see it. That’s starting to become a familiar refrain though.

Hooray for May Day!

Today was May Day so there was no school. After a leisurely morning, Deo and I went for a walk into town via a road that would take us by Mr. Price, the closest thing to a supermarket I’d seen since arriving. It took us almost an hour to get there, but I was curious to see what was on offer and for what prices because pretty much all shops here are very small, some just holes-in-the-wall, that have a few jars, bags, and bottles of this and that. Often the whole storefront is behind a grill and you just walk up and ask the storekeeper for what you need and they put it in a bag for you. There are a handful of “supermarkets”, if you can call them that, around town (I’ve seen three), and I was hoping to get a peek after having spent $6 on body wash at one of the regular shops.

Well as it turns out, Mr. Price was no bigger than a good size convenience store in Toronto. Products were lined up to look as abundant as possible, but really there were only three or four of every item. What was shocking, however, were the prices: Two dollars for canned peas; six dollars for a box of cereal; ten dollars for a 3-litre container of vegetable oil; generic biscuits for two dollars a pack and apple juice at four dollars a litre. Wow. You start to get a picture of why people have so little here and struggle every day. They make thirty to fifty times less than we do in Canada, and yet their grocery prices are the same, if not double or triple what we pay in Canada. Gas is also about $1.50 a litre here.

We continued on to the outdoor market in town where Deo bought a few things, but where prices still held surprises for me. About 5 pounds of potatoes went for more than $2, while I remember paying about $1.49 for a 10-pound bag in Toronto.

Before going home we went for a drink at a café. Across the street was a store that stuck out like a sore thumb from its surroundings. It was a Starbucks-esque upscale coffee shop, clearly catering to the tourist clientele. Outside were two Maasai sitting and chatting as they filled their role as security guards. It seems this is a common job for them since they have little education but are known to be tough and good with a stick.

Over the course of our drinks, we watched from our 2nd floor perch as customers went in and out of the store – invariably white tourists. Afterwards, curiosity got the better of me and we popped in just for a look. You could have been in any North American city when inside those walls. The only indication of where you actually were was the price of a latte, going for just over $1 – a ridiculous sum for a cup of coffee for any Tanzanian. Deo didn’t even know what a latte was, so I had to explain a few things on the menu to him. We agreed that we’d come back one day so that he could try one out.

While I’m sure that that café in particular had coffee that Westerners would be very familiar with, for the most part people back home would be shocked by what passes for coffee here, especially since this is precisely where some of the finest stuff in the world is grown. Deo’s father is a big fan of coffee, but the tin of soluble instant coffee he has would, when mixed, cause most coffee drinkers in the West to toss it back. It’s not much more than coffee-flavoured water and they dump a ton of sugar in it, likely to make up for the weak taste. It’s an unfortunate yet not entirely surprising situation given the tendency of western corporations to exploit Africa’s resources and people. Most of the coffee plantations around here, producing some of the highest grade beans in the world, are owned by foreign companies (near the school it’s a German one), that export the beans and the profits right out of the country. The local workers, who perform the hard labour of picking the beans by hand and who we see on a daily basis on our commute to the school, get paid a pittance.

A country with the natural resources that Tanzania has should be rich, but I have been told that when oil prices surged and coffee prices crashed in the 70s, domestic companies and cooperatives went bankrupt and the only ones who had money to pick up the pieces were the foreign corporations. I am hoping to bring some beans home to share with the coffee lovers I know, but I’ll have to try look for ones from plantations grown and operated locally.