Dar es Salaam Diary

Despite defining my religious affiliation as "more-Jewish-than-anything-else," I grew up celebrating Christmas. Well, not for the first four years of my life, but then one December my parents and I went to stay with a non-Jewish aunt, and I got to decorate a tree for the first time in my life and ate so much chocolate I got sick. There was no turning back. And so Christmas became something of an institution chez Carlitz. We acquired more ornaments over the years (more than one Jewish star, lovingly-if-not-so-expertly crafted origami fish, strands of popcorn and cranberries) and finally, after years of resistance, my father finally allowed us to put lights on the tree. Discreet, non-colored lights, of course. Although I never believed in Santa Claus, I would still wake up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning in eager anticipation, well into my teens (or, you know, last year). Christmas dinner was always a relatively small affair, to which we would invite a small group of Jewish and atheist friends who wanted to take a break from the Chinese food that year.

Thanksgiving still trumps Christmas for me in terms of being the holiday that necessitates family togetherness, but I was still a bit sad to be so far from home for Christmas. My dear friend Miriam was feeling similarly bereft, albeit of slightly different traditions. (She is German, and a legitimate Christian.) Thus, despite the lack of snow, family, and old friends, we managed to create a bit of Christmas here in Tanzania.

Miriam lives in Korogwe, which is a small town at the foot of the Usambara mountains, in the northeast region of the country. About a five-hour bus ride north of Dar. I arrived with provisions from the big city (wine and an assortment of cured meat) and Miriam was ready with her own stash of canned sausage and vacuum-packed sauerkraut from the homeland. Thus we feasted and exchanged gifts, and even decorated a tree! (I could have bought a bough of imported pine in Dar for $30, but fortunately Miriam was prepared with a cutting of a local tree, which is close enough -- it's actually called "mi-Krismas" for precisely that reason.)

On Christmas Day, we went to church, where we were serenaded by two choirs and a brass band. The sermon was in Kiswahili, but I was able to follow a fair amount, particularly the part when the pastor (minister? priest?) encouraged us to give to the poor. That suggestion was actively encouraged by three different opportunities for giving contributions, which involved confusing and choreographed parading to the altar (women on the left, men on the right!) and dropping different envelopes in different boxes.

We also managed to make it up into the mountains for a night, where we did a bit of hiking, and luxuriated in the cool air. At night it was cold enough for sweaters, which we wore while sipping tea by the fire at our hotel, the picturesque Muller's Mountain Lodge.

The Usambara Mountains were popular among German settlers, apparently because the region reminded them of Saxony in October. I have never been to Saxony, in October, or otherwise, but as we were hiking, Miriam kept remarking that we could have been in Germany. Except for the occasional palm tree, that is.