Dar es Salaam Diary

Perspective

2007-05-28T11:49:00.000+03:00

The past week has been marked by the arrival of two wageni (guests). Undeterred by the hardships detailed in my previous blog post, these two brave souls have each decided to abandon the U.S. of A. for a good part of the summer and spend it here in TZ. The first is a dear friend from college; the second a summer intern at HakiElimu.

Showing them around and answering their questions has given me a chance to see Tanzania (and my life here) with fresh eyes. For the most part, this is fun, energizing, and also provides me with some (oft-needed) perspective – basically a reminder that I am quite far from home and things are quite different here and so it makes sense if things are sometimes confusing or difficult or frustrating.

That said, being under the wageni microscope does re-awaken certain insecurities about my life here (Why don’t I have more Tanzanian friends? Is my lifestyle overly decadent or frivolous? What exactly am I doing here? Why isn’t my Swahili better?)

But again it’s mostly just fun to be able to share my experience and interesting to hear others’ impressions.

For instance, Erin (college friend), who also lived in a Southern country (Venezuela) for a year, was struck by how undeveloped Dar is as a city. (Not sure if she’d put it in exactly those terms – to see exactly which terms she would use, you can check out her blog here!) Upon arriving at my house from the airport, she remarked that if there were a prize for who really lived in the ‘third world,’ I would win. She also noted that whereas Caracas (her former home) and Dar both have about 4 million residents, Caracas is “like New York” compared to Dar. This takes me back to my first impression of downtown Dar (essentially, this is it??!)

I haven’t yet had the chance to pick the summer intern’s brain as he only just arrived Sunday morning and was somehow managing to stay conscious as we trekked around town despite having been unable to sleep during his long journey. We spent much of Sunday attempting to run errands such as getting him a cellphone (the cellphone shop was closed), buying a map of the city (the bookstore was out of maps), and visiting the office (also closed). We fortunately succeeded in getting him cash and feeding him Tanzanian food (“kiti moto” or grilled pork) and showing him where the office is located. This process involved subjecting the poor guy to riding no fewer than six different daladalas, causing him to remark that the transportation system here is “somewhat different from New York.”

Both wageni also fulfilled a duty that befalls most visitors from the motherland – that of the mule. Thanks to them, my stocks of chocolate, sugarless chewing gum, magazines, books, bikinis, and cute cotton tops have been fully replenished. I just might survive until my parents come in July!

Tanzania Bites (Nibbles?) Back

2007-04-18T14:20:00.000+03:00

On Sunday evening, my housemate Michelle and I were discussing how much we enjoy living here in Tanzania. She's been here about six months longer than I have, and both of us plan to stick around for another year, at least. We were talking about how we just feel really at home and comfortable here, how we like the community we've found, and how it's still just kind of incredible that we can go to the (gorgeous) beach every weekend. All in all, we decided that there's nowhere else we'd rather be just now.

And then Tanzania said, "Oh, yeah??!"

The weekend had been sunny and bright, with a nice breeze and relatively low humidity. Perfect beach weather. But come Monday, we were reminded that it is, in fact, the rainy season. The rain turns the road from our house to the main road into a mess of mud and murky puddles of varying depth. A misstep might mean you're up to your knees... There's also an issue of, shall we say, inefficient waste disposal, which can make these puddles pretty stinky (and leads to cholera outbreaks in the poorer areas...) The rain also makes the morning traffic even more of a nightmare. Add being stuck in traffic to being crammed into a daladala that is not quite tall enough to stand up in comfortably, and you have my not-very-fun (but pretty typical) commute to work.

Then that night we had a power outage. The blackout did not last so long, but turned into a very annoying semi-power outage, in which the bulbs glow a faint orange providing just enough light so that you don't bump into anything, but not enough to read, or power any appliances. So the food in the fridge spoils, and the fans turn at a maddeningly, tauntingly slow pace.

The rain also brings out some of God's noisier and more annoying creatures. A recent visit to Google Earth revealed that we live right across the street from a large swamp. So the frogs who live there create a cacophony while one tries to sleep (a process that is not abetted by the fact that the fan is barely turning). And then of course the rainy season means more mosquitoes.

Finally, potentially unrelated to the rain, there is our rodent problem. For a while now, we've suspected we had a mouse (OK, there is probably never just a mouse, but still) but he kept a pretty low profile. The occasional nibbling on old papers, or scurrying across the pantry, but for the most part, he did not bother us and we did not bother him.

But suddenly, as if inspired by all the other annoyances enumerated above, he has become emboldened. And joined by a number of his rodent comrades, of both the mouse and rat persuasion. On Tuesday night, I was kept awake by various bumps and thumps, as these insidious creatures ran around my room, gleefully (well, I imagine) knocking things over with reckless abandon. I awoke to find a "present" of mouse poop on my bathroom sink, and also to discover that they had chewed a large hole in one of my favorite purses in order to get at the crumbs from an empty packet of cashew nuts I had bought weeks before...

Anyway, we've decided it's time to call in the pros, and so by early next week, the esteemed gentlemen from DISPOSITEK will have hopefully gotten rid of these unwelcome additions to our household...

OK, I realize this rant is not the best advertisement to those of you planning to visit me, or who I have been begging to come. Perhaps I should take a minute to say that Tanzania still does have a great deal to recommend it, and I'm certainly not ready to pack my bags and return home. Especially these days, when the U.S. appears to be gripped by one scandal and tragedy after another.

So come! But just be sure to pack your flashlights, your earplugs, your bug spray, and your rainboots... (And your cat?)

My Surreal Life

2007-03-22T16:44:00.000+03:00

So this past Saturday I attended my first high society event here in Dar - the St. Patrick's Day Ball, hosted by the Irish Society of Dar es Salaam.

Not having expected to be attending such posh functions when I packed to come here, I didn't have anything appropriate to wear. Fortunately, I live around the corner from the amazing Mama Tina, tailor and fashion designer extraordinaire! She charges a bit more than most tailors (there are a ton all over town) but definitely worth it, and still pretty reasonable. So, I went to her a few weeks ago and explained that I needed a ball gown and I needed it to be green. Luckily for me, she had just finished making a wedding dress for a Midsummer Night's Dream themed wedding, and so had a swatch of gauzy, green fabric. I loved it, and so we set about designing my dress. The whole thing was a bit of a process, involving numerous fittings and pin-pricks, but I was very happy with the end result (even if it was only delivered an hour before I had to leave for the ball!)

I wasn't the only one who made use of Tina's services. See the photo below for additional examples of her work.

As for the event itself, it was a lot of fun. Since I've lately felt that my social life here is kind of like high school (everybody knows everybody else, and thus, everybody knows everybody's business...) the ball really felt like the prom. Tho one did not need a date to attend (lucky, since the women in the young ex-pat crowd far outnumber the men here!)

Anyway, it was quite fun to see everyone all dressed up, and then we also got to enjoy Irish step dancing, a band that had been flown in from Ireland, a Tanzanian group that played all your wedding/Bar Mitzvah faves (no 'Shout' thank goodness) and plenty of good food and drink. A bit too much drink for some... at some later point in the evening a teenaged member of the Irish band was seen swaying on the dancefloor, wine bottle in hand, with a significant amount of that wine on his neon green T-shirt. He was next seen lying on his back in the middle of the dance floor. Like I said, visions of the prom...

Despite having a good time, I do not think I will become a regular on the Dar ball circuit. (Yes, there is such a thing! The English, the South Africans, and even the Americans all throw their own...) Part of the fun of this was the sheer novelty/absurdity. Plus, think of all the new dresses I'd have to get made!!

Sexual Harassment

2007-03-14T15:01:00.000+03:00

"A woman willing to go to Tanzania 'needs to be strong, independent and willing to take a lot of harassment.'"

The above quote is from an article in The Minnesota Daily, the student newspaper of the University of Minnesota. In the article, which has been circulating among my friends here in Dar, a female student describes her rather harrowing experience studying abroad at the University of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. She describes rape attempts, catcalls, and assaults, as well as a general lack of support (and in some cases further harassment) from University officials here.

I found this article highly upsetting. First off, the experiences described are extremely unpleasant, and my heart goes out to this young woman. But at the same time, I was more upset by the implications of this (rather shoddily written) article - that sexual harassment in Tanzania is the norm. There's a somewhat more balanced account of the incidents here (from InsideHigherEd.com) but to a great extent, the same message comes across. As one of the comments on the latter article puts it, "Kind of makes you wonder what our Tanzanian sisters are putting up with on a daily basis. Sobering."

I don't know. I have certainly received more unwanted attention in this country than I did back home. Part of that simply comes from being a white person, and thus, something of a novelty. And since there is not the same sort of Political Correctness filter here, it's not uncommon for people to vocalize the fact that they think foreigners look different and weird.

OK, I have also been proposed to and propositioned multiple times over the past year - on the daladala, in taxis, and via text messages. Most of the time, I have just been able to make a joke of it ("I think you're a little old for me" to the 50-something taxi driver who parks outside of my office, after he explained that he could take me as his second wife since he's Muslim.) There have been a few instances that made me truly uncomfortable, and those were harder to deal with. I basically tried to deflect the more inappropriate advances and also show that I thought the behavior was not acceptable.

Anyway, one thing that upset me about these articles was the way in which they took one woman's experience and generalized it to the whole country, so I don't want to do the same thing with my experiences. But... what the hell, I will make a few generalizations (with the excuse that this is a blog and not a newspaper and therefore journalistic ethics do not apply) based on what I've seen and heard.

As far as I can tell, Tanzania does not have a culture of machismo. That is to say, while I've been propositioned by strangers, I doubt most Tanzanian women have. Sex is not so out in the open here. Men and women often do not even dance together, especially not in the same bump-and-grind style that is so popular in the States. However, it is probably safe to say that "traditional" Tanzanian culture puts men above women, at least in terms of the respect and authority that they command. This leads to certain assumptions about rape and baffling policies like the one that prohibits pregnant schoolgirls from attending their classes, while doing nothing to reprimand the boys who knocked them up.

But I digress. Getting back to the quote that I started this post with, I don't think that any (American) woman coming to Tanzania should necessarily expect "a lot of harassment." Unwanted attention, perhaps. More to the point, she will have to deal with certain stereotypes about American culture (and thus, American women) that are perpetuated by movies, television shows, and images in advertising that come from the West.

I'm not trying to excuse sexual harassment in this country, but rather to understand it. Living abroad, I find that I must constantly walk a fine line between respecting the culture of my new home, and staying true to my own values - that is, respecting myself. And choosing my battles.

In light of all of this, I'm excited for next Saturday, when I will be attending a Tanzanian production of The Vagina Monologues. (Apparently it was a huge hit last year - among Tanzanians as well as ex-pats.)

One year in...

2007-03-10T10:46:00.000+03:00

Well! Today is my one-year anniversary of living in Tanzania. It's funny - on the one hand the time has absolutely flown by, and I find it rather hard to believe that it's already been a whole year. But then on the other hand, I really do feel pretty well-adjusted and settled here. In many ways, I find my life here to be a bit surreal, but it's still my life.

In thinking about the significance of this milestone, I am reminded of a friend's New Year's ritual. Rather than making New Year's Resolutions, this friend looks for New Year's Revelations - things she's learned over the past year that have some effect on her outlook for the coming year (at least that's how I interpret it). So, forgive this bit of navel-gazing, but I would like to share my One-Year-in-Dar Revelations with you, in terms of three main themes...

Learning. I have learned an incredible amount in the past year - about Tanzania, about the business of 'development,' about America's place in the world, and about myself. I have found that a number of things that I took for granted are simply not true. Or at least not as black and white. What the hell am I talking about? Well, take 'development.' I think in the West (the Global North? What's the PC terms these days?) it's easy to assume that the main issue behind global inequality and injustice is that some countries have a lot of money and some countries have very little money. So the clear solution would appear to be to have the richer countries give the poorer countries some money. I must admit I subscribed to this rather simplistic view. But living in a 'developing' country (in case you can't tell, I kind of hate that term) you realize there are so many other factors at play, and that the whole business of development is characterized by a lot of arrogance, and perhaps something more sinister. This is not to say that there aren't people with good intentions, but it can just feel very patronizing. And when you think about it, the development business has no incentive to make poverty history (Thanks, Bono.) since then there would be no more use for the development business! Especially in the current lingo of the World Bank (where all citizens are considered to be "clients"), it really doesn't make good business sense to get rid of poverty.

Another eye-opener has been the politicization of civil society in Tanzania (and I think it's safe to assume in a lot of poorer countries). What I mean by this is that the civil society sector has been in large part artificially created. Why? Well, richer countries did not want to give their money to corrupt governments to squander, so they poured money into a parallel sector, which would presumably be more accountable. But what this has meant is that civil society often gets dismissed as being constrained by external priorities, which creates a difficult environment for groups that represent more 'organic' priorities. Also, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), and especially international NGOs (such as CARE, World Vision, ActionAid, VSO, etc.) tend to pay much better than local organizations or government jobs, so they suck away a bunch of qualified people.

Yikes! I fear I must appear rather cynical at this point. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention some of the good things I've learned too... My eyes have also been opened to the abundance of natural beauty in this country. The white-sand beaches along the coast, and lush green landscapes to the north, which contrast with red, red earth, and blue skies that offer glimpses of majestic Mount Meru and Mount Kilimanjaro. It's also just been great to get to talk to people and gain an understanding of how they think about politics, relationships, education...

I can't say that I've learned that despite all our differences and distances we are all the same. If anything, I've learned more about the ways in which culture and context make it harder to find common ground. But trying to relate to people from a different culture/context, while not always easy, has its rewards.

Friends. I have made some wonderful, close friendships in the past year. Being so far from home, and family and friends, one sort of has to build a support system from scratch. I think this helps to explain the intensity of the friendships that I have been fortunate to form while in Dar. It can be a bit hard, since the community is rather transient, but I do have faith that some of the friends I've made here will remain in my life after we leave Dar.

One thing that has been disappointing is the lack of Tanzanians in my close circle of friends. This goes back to the difficulties I've experienced in terms of relating to people who come from such a different context. But sometimes it honestly feels like a moral failing. I try to remember that it's a two-sided thing. While I could certainly push myself to go further outside of my comfort zone, in some ways I think Tanzanian culture is just relatively closed, and if other people aren't making the effort, then it's not entirely my "fault."

Home. As I said at the outset of this post, I really feel pretty settled here. And while I miss my family and friends and certain aspects of the U.S. and Western culture, I do not wish I were back in the States right now. In fact, I sometimes experience a feeling of relief that I'm not there. The current political situation, the emphasis on consumerism, the (relative) lack of community... I'm glad to be away from it! But at the same time, I can't say I completely consider Tanzania my home, and I don't see myself settling down here for good.

So, what next? At this point, I really have no idea. My boss just explained that he's trying to find a nice Tanzanian man for me to marry so that I'll have to stick around longer then another year. Not sure about that but it's nice to feel appreciated, I suppose! OK, I must be off and finish up some work (it is Saturday after all) and then raise a glass to myself. Happy Anniversary to me!

(Lots of new photos on Flickr... check out scenes from the Zanzibar Music Fest, our rocking Mardi Gras party, and a night out in Dar!)

I could get used to this

2007-03-05T18:23:00.000+03:00

So I’m sure it gets old, but so far I’m a big fan of this travelling for work business. Yes, the jet lag is a bitch, but it’s pretty cool to be flown half way around the world and put up in a nice hotel in a cool city. And I’ve been enjoying the work part as well. Over the past four days, I’ve had a chance to network with people doing very interesting work in Pakistan, Ethiopia, Indonesia, Malawi and other places. I have found it really energizing to interact with people who are engaged in the same type of work as me (albeit in very different contexts).

There has been some Power Point overload, which I fear is common at these types of workshops, but also some really interesting presentations. For instance, the organization that is hosting us here convened a group of local journalists to come and talk to us about their craft. The Mexican journalists were all rather glamorous (though perhaps that’s just in comparison to us schlubby NGO types) and a tad arrogant, but it was eye-opening to see things from their perspective and we had a lot of fun with them.

I must now share a bit of workshop humor from their presentation. One of the journalists was trying to explain the difference between being committed and being involved. It’s like ham and eggs, he said. With eggs, a chicken is involved, whereas with ham, the pig is committed. Ha.

I’ve also had a chance to check out some of the nightlife in Mexico City. The other night I went out dancing with my Tanzanian colleague and a workshop participant from Guatemala. Following one of our host’s recommendations, we started our evening at a salsa club called Meneo. The scene there was a bit weird – kind of a Miami-in-the-late-‘70s aesthetic, with smoke machines, and Latin music videos playing on huge screens all around the club. Despite the weirdness, I wouldn’t have minded taking a whirl on the dance floor, but my companions were not into the music, plus it was almost exclusively populated by couples, so we decided to make a move.

Our next stop was La Zona Rosa, a neighborhood we had been cautioned to stay away from by one of the translators (because of the prevalence of gay people) and one of our hosts (because of the prevalence of prostitutes). Of course these warnings just made it sound more interesting, and so we ended up wandering its notorious streets until we found a club that would pass muster with my friends. The Zona Rosa was really not so sketchy after all, though we did get some comments as we walked. At one point a guy yelled, “Africa! Club! Africa!” as we walked by. I was all prepared to get offended on behalf of my Tanzanian colleague, but then we turned the corner and came upon an establishment called, “Club Afrika.” Oops.

We didn’t feel like paying the steep cover to go to “Afrika” and so headed on to a loud, crowded gay club. Our Guatemalen friend was slightly scandalized (Did you see those boys kissing??!), but once she got over her initial shock we had a great time and stayed there til the wee hours, making new friends, and taking in a fabulous drag show.

First Impressions of Mexico City

2007-03-01T12:20:00.000+03:00

It's 3 in the morning here, so I should probably be trying to fall back asleep, but this wireless Internet credit is only good for 24 hours, and I might be too cheap to buy another one tomorrow, so figured it was a good time to share some preliminary impressions of Mexico City. Hmm. Apparently jet lag induces run-on sentences.

Anyway, I have only seen the part of MC between the airport and my hotel (located in the Centro Historico) out of the window of a cab. But that glimpse left me eager to explore. Yes, there was an oppressive layer of late afternoon smog, but the city strikes me as a colorful, lively place. I was overwhelmed by how much stuff there is everywhere. All the shops we passed were bursting at the seams -- with different colored bouncy balls or bicycles or yards of fabric. Indeed the city seems to be organized by stuff. Like all the bouncy ball shops were clumped together, then came a bunch of bike shops, and for a long time we were driving down formal dress avenue, with countless stores selling satin ball gowns (in lime green, sky blue, coral pink...) or strappy heels.

The centro historico should be fun to explore on foot. Lots of winding, stone streets, and just around the corner from our hotel is this huge plaza, flanked by ornate stone buildings. The plaza was filled with people milling around, taking pictures, selling things -- and I saw a few street performers, which is always fun. I love these public meeting spots that are set amidst some historical grandeur -- so you can just sit back and take it in, while chatting with friends and passing around a bottle of wine... (OK, now I think I'm back in Italy -- I suppose here it's cerveza... Assuming Mexico does not have an open container law!)

It has also been amusing to note a number of more familiar restaurants -- McDonald's everywhere, and our hotel even has a Starbucks! (The only American restaurant chain in Tanzania is Subway, oddly enough. The Tanzanian Subway experience is rather frighteningly similar to the American one, though we do have a few more locally influenced options, such as the Chicken Tikka sub, which I have yet to try.)

Unfortunately, I won't be able to do quite as much exploring as I'd like, since I'll be spending the bulk of the next 4 days in this very hotel (which is rather swanky, I must say! At least compared to my digs in Dar...) But our flight out on the 5th isn't until the evening, so should have some good time for wandering and souvenier-shopping then.

Alright, I suppose I should attempt to go back to sleep now. Must appreciate this luxury of sleeping on a mattress with springs, and having it be cool enough to need a light blanket. Also no mosquito net!!

Dar Diary: International Edition

2007-03-01T05:13:00.000+03:00

Greetings from Amsterdam!* Or rather, the lovely Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. I am just stopping here for a few hours on my way to Mexico, but figured I had better update now or else I would fail to achieve my goal of at least one post per month**, thus signalling something of a death knell for this little blog. So, where have I been? Well, there is the obvious excuse that I have simply been too busy experiencing life to find time to chronicle it. Some truth to that, I suppose, but I’ve also just gotten a bit lazy. Fortunately, the experience of an airport layover is sufficiently less than thrilling, so I can finally take some to reconnect with you, my dear readers. (Or perhaps at this point, I’m just down to reader… Hi Mom!)

So, I find it rather amusing that I should be making my first trip to Mexico via Tanzania, rather than my considerably closer country of origin. But I’m not complaining. Especially since it’s all for free! I’m travelling to attend a conference sponsored by the International Budget Project, the international division of my former employer in D.C. A Tanzanian colleague and I will be representing HakiElimu at a workshop designed to hone advocacy and communication skills, and connect us with nine other organizations from around the world that IBP is also supporting to do similar work (budget analysis in the public interest).

Unfortunately, my trip has been cut short due to the fact that I became ill the day before I was supposed to travel. Nothing exotic like malaria or West Nile Virus or Rift Valley Fever, but enough of a bug to make travelling on Monday evening seem like a very bad idea. Fortunately, I was able to delay my flight until the next night (KLM has a standing red-eye from Dar to Amsterdam) and here I am.

This was the first time I’ve been sick enough here to take time off from work, and my colleagues were duly concerned. When I came into the office on Tuesday afternoon to finalize a few things before my departure, I received a Pole sana, Dada Ruth! (“Very sorry, Sister Ruth!”) from practically everyone who saw me, often followed by further exhortations of how grateful they were that I had returned and was doing better. My favorite reaction to my illness came from our director for Finance and Administration, who gave me his Pole sana and Nashukuru (I am grateful) but then followed it up with an explanation that as a man of faith, he had to say that suffering actually brings us closer to God, and so we should not complain in light of suffering, but actually be grateful for it. Well. Thank you, Lord, for my flu! OK, enough blasphemy. To be honest, it was really nice to experience such an outpouring of concern from my colleagues about my welfare.

I am still sort of wondering about the wisdom of my decision to make this trip, since while I’m feeling better, I’m still not feeling great. Two hours into my flight here, one of the stewardesses asked in slightly shaky voice if there were any doctors on board, as a passenger needed immediate medical attention. OK, she wasn’t referring to me, but still it seemed like some sort of a sign that an airplane is no place to be if you’re sick.

Fortunately, there was a doctor on board. In fact, he was seated in my row! He rushed to the front of the cabin and helped attend to the poor passenger (who was apparently having a seizure) and after about 30 minutes returned to his seat. Since everything was dark, it was unclear what had happened. I wanted to ask the doctor, and congratulate or thank him, but somehow these urges seemed inappropriate (too ‘American’) and so I just let him go back to sleep.

Not knowing what had happened to my fellow Sick Person on the Plane added to the general anxiety I’ve begun to experience recently when flying. (I know it’s much more likely to die in a car crash than a plane crash – certainly not hard to believe if you’ve been on the road in Tanzania – but flying still just feels like tempting fate a bit too much…) While I waited for a restroom that had been occupied for an inordinately long period of time, I managed to convince myself for a brief moment that the poor siezing passenger had expired and the flight crew had stuffed him or her in the loo for lack of a better option.

Happily, I was reassured when the door opened to allow its fully live occupant to exit. And upon landing a member of the flight crew came by to thank the doctor for his help, and present him with a token of gratitude, which presumably she would not have done had the passenger croaked. (Two mini-bottles of house wine and a ceramic figurine were his reward. One would think they could find something slightly nicer from the duty-free stock for a lifesaving feat, but perhaps this kind of thing happens all the time.)

This incident made me reflect on how doctors (at least those with some sense of moral responsibility) can never be entirely “off.” Having the social utility of one’s profession be so obvious must be gratifying, it must also be something of an annoyance at times. The chances of a passenger needing “immediate budget analysis” on my next flight are rather slim, which I must say is something of a relief!

*OK, I'm actually in Mexico now -- was too cheap to go online at the Amsterdam airport.
**It's still February in Mexico City!!

Umevuka salama?

2007-01-03T11:05:00.000+03:00

The literal translation of "Umevuka salama?" - a common question one is asked at the start of a new year - is "Did you cross over peacefully?" I like the concern and care the demonstrated by the question (Did you make it? Are you with us?) as opposed to the command implied in "Happy New Year!"

Well, I am pleased to report that I did arrive safely in 2007, even if I can't quite believe it. (I never really got used to 2006.) And what better way to cross over than on the beautiful island of Zanzibar.

My New Year's Eve was spent on the east coast of the magical island, at a small beach hotel in the village of Jambiani. I have been to the beach on the north coast (at a village called Kendwa) and it was incredible, but the east coast is equally, if not more, spectacular. The water is light turquoise color, dappled with darker patches where seaweed is growing on the ocean floor. Twice a day, the tide goes out so far one can't help but feel a bit abandoned, and wonder if it just might not come back.

The tidal patterns on the east coast make it less than ideal for swimming -- it is possible to go when the tide is in, but the water doesn't get any deeper than waist-high even after you've waded out for ages. Of course, one can go out further and faster by boat, and the snorkelling and diving are supposed to be fantastic. But this time around, I was perfectly content to lounge on the shore. Salama kabisa.

Krismasi in Korogwe

2007-01-03T10:21:00.000+03:00

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.

Lazy

2006-12-22T11:58:00.000+03:00

In one hour I will leave the office for a much needed 4-day holiday. That means I should be finishing up my work, I suppose, but I fear I'm already in vacation mode, so it seemed more important to update my blog! However, I'm afraid I'm going to be a bit lazy and reprint a piece that I just came across in one of the local English-language dailies (The Guardian). I'm copying the whole thing below -- it's a bit long, but offers a taste of the local journalistic flavor, plus tells you a bit more about my place of work (HakiElimu) as well as my trusted means of transportation (the daladala). Thus this post should still fulfill Dar es Salaam Diary's stated mission to Inform And Entertain. (Sorry, just back from 9-day planning retreat, so still thinking in terms of Strategic Goals, etc.)

Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!!!

For once, there was civilisation in a daladala

2006-12-22 09:03:35
By Chris Joe

Daladala commuters in Dar es Salaam and elsewhere where daladalas operate will understand when I say it is both interesting and irritating to ride in these vehicles, depending on the mood of the day, which invariably determines the mood of the driver, conductor and the passengers.

Some days the conductor wears quite a foul mood, shouting at commuters, and particularly school children at peak hours, mouthing really dirty, abominable words that would even leave Satan himself (or herself depending on the sex of the creature) beside himself/ herself with shock.

Come to think of it, ladies and gentlemen, what sex is the devil? Could it be a hermaphrodite?

Indeed, that would be interesting to find out, but I guess it is of no consequence here.

What I am certain of, though, is that the devil is evil, and I would accordingly advise you to keep a very long distance from it, because it’s sole aim in this world is to destroy and to kill you dead now and in the life to come.

Well. I was talking about the conductor and the devil, or rather, the conductor’s foul mouth. Ok, the same, though to a lesser extent, with the driver. Less because the driver’s contact with the passengers is minimal. The passengers, too, are no holier.

Sometimes they become nastier than the conductor, reducing him to a novice as far as bad-mouthing is concerned.

That is why daladala commuters are always advised not to board the same daladala with their mother- or father in-laws.

You may wish to jump out of the window to hide your face. Some people can be vile, you know!!. But that was beside the point.

The advice is, however, as valid as it has always been. What’s more, it is free.

All this notwithstanding, however, sometimes you may chance to sit near some couple or a small group of sane people who discuss issues, and national issues for that matter, seriously or with some light touch.

The other day, I had this rare chance of listening to some sane guys talking about national development.

I must say I was lucky that day, because almost all the passengers in the daladala decided to be civilized, talking to each other like brothers and sisters of the same father and mother.

The couple I was interested in was talking about some television programmes or jingles by the controversial Haki-elimu.

I assume most of you are aware of this NGO, which, in the recent past, irritated the government so much that its activities were suspended for some time.

This organisation seems to specialise in making annoying jokes at the government of the day by pointing out anomalies in some government programmes.

Let me state from the outset that I find nothing wrong in these jingles.

Indeed, if anything, I think haki-elimu should be given a pat on the back (if they have any) for volunteering to be the government’s free adviser or a prickler.

The couple in the daladala was arguing on whether or not to allow haki-elimu to air such jingles.

The first jingle was where a radio announcer is heard expounding on the successes made in the economy, that people now live a better life, that Mkukuta (poverty reduction programme) was successfully fighting poverty of individuals.

But the people listening to the announcements are devastatingly poor and in tatters.

”What is this supposed to mean if not to ridicule the government?” asks one. ”No,” says the other gentleman, ”it is supposed to remind the government that what it is saying is contrary to the reality on the ground; that the percentages and figures mean nothing to the people, that the people are still very poor if not poorer.”

They argue a bit here with the other fellow pointing out that haki-elimu could have delivered the same message differently, without embarrassing the government. They agree to disagree.

Another episode is when a government official visits a newly rehabilitated school and the official seems to be impressed by the state of the buildings and tells the headmaster of the school to concentrate on teaching now that they have better buildings. The official leaves in his shangingi.

A seemingly dejected head teacher walks down a down a thorny path to his dilapidated house.

He is met by his granddaughter who asks him whether their ramshackle house would be repaired as well. The head teacher shakes his head miserably.

The second man says: ”Here, haki-elimu is trying to tell those responsible for education that while rehabilitating classrooms, they should also remember to improve the teachers’ houses to boost their morale.

The human resource is, in fact, more important, don’t you agree?” His friend grants a ’maybe’, reluctantly.

Then they discuss the episode where a teacher asks her class to study privately as she travels to the district headquarters for her salary.

A naughty child whispers to his colleague that that means she will be away for at least three days.

The teacher borrows some money for her fare to the district headquarters promising the shopkeeper to return the money the same day because it is their payday.

Alas!! There is no salary and the salary people ask her to go back the following day.

The gentleman who had been saying haki-elimu was being unfair to the government almost jumps from his seat saying that that was true.

”My daughter undergoes such torture every month, I don’t know what is wrong with this government.

His colleague smiles at him and the fellow looks around sheepishly, realising that he has lost his argument to his friend.

Recovering quickly, he murmurs: ”But haki-elimu should air something positive, some of the time.” And, having reached my destination, I got off the daladala happy that for once there had been no dirty words.
SOURCE: Guardian

Reverse Culture Shock and Reverse Reverse Culture Shock

2006-12-04T14:41:00.000+03:00

Well! I am back in Tanzania after 3 weeks rest and relaxation (and overeating) in the good old U.S. of A. My journey to the States was long, but relatively painless. I flew direct from Dar to London (about 10 hours) where I spent the night with a friend (and former housemate here in TZ). I experienced a minor panic attack upon leaving Heathrow Airport. I find London to be rather overwhelming in general, and I also had this irrational urge to go up to everyone I saw and explain to them that I'd just spent 8 months in Africa so they would understand just how much like a fish out of water I was feeling.

My immediate reaction to landing on American soil was less dramatic. As I explained to a former coworker in DC, I had been in Tanzania long enough to adjust to the culture here, but I had not been gone from the States long enough to completely forget the culture there... Still, I did have a few moments of "reverse culture shock." The escalator at the Dupont Circle metro station in DC induced a mild case of vertigo, as did the swirling crowds at Union Station. (Who are all these white people?!!)

I was also struck many times at how much stuff there is in the States - the bounty of food in the grocery stores, the infinity of shops selling outrageously priced clothing and completely useless objects, and the billboards and TV and print ads convincing one of the dire need for the outrageously priced clothing and useless objects. As I've said before, I'm not exactly roughing it here in Tanzania, but I am living a bit more simply, and getting on just fine. The notion that consumerism culture preys upon our insecurities (and creates new ones) certainly rings true. After a few weeks in the States (especially the last one in New York City) I couldn't help but feel a bit inadequate about the fact that I didn't have (and could not afford to buy) the latest, coolest clothes and things. Would I not be a slightly better person if I owned a pair of skinny jeans? Isn't my 2004 iPod hopelessly clunky and out-of-date?!

Despite these nagging flickers of self-doubt, I can report that I thoroughly enjoyed my time at home. In addition to catching up with people that I love and have missed greatly, it was delicious to walk down a busy street and be completely unnoticed, to wander through bookstores and sit in cafes, to take long walks in the park with my dog... And then of course there was the food! Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, but this year it was even more delicious. I also indulged in baked goods and Thai and Mexican... Unfortunately, this indulgence is now evident in the bit of added girth that I brought back with me to Tanzania. I have already been told by a coworker that I gained weight (a compliment here, but still!) and more tellingly, popped a button on my skirt! Given the fact that I can't exactly hide under a bulky sweater at the beach, I think I had better head back to the gym.

So, in terms of "reverse reverse culture shock," the thing I have been most struck by upon my return to Tanzania is the heat. Dear god. It is SO HOT. And I'm in for 3 months of this, if not more!!! I've also managed to experience a blackout at the airport (tho only for a few seconds while I was waiting in line at customs, so it was more amusing than inconvenient) and there hasn't been any running water at home. (See above comment about living simply!) I'm afraid I've lost my touch w/ the bucket shower, so feel as if parts of me are still covered with a thin film of soap. Add to that the thin film of sweat that is pretty unavoidable in tropical climes, and well, yeah, it's pretty gross.

That said, I do feel happy to be back. By the end of my visit to the U.S., I was ready to come back to a place where I had more of a purpose, a routine, and a community of people with whom I share a context. I'm still not quite sure where "home" is, but for now, Dar is feeling pretty good. A bit sticky, but good.

Frivolity, continued

2006-10-31T10:28:00.000+03:00

The highlight of this past weekend was a bit of cultural diplomacy in the form of Dar's finest and most frightening Halloween bash (OK, that was a direct quote from our text-message invite...). My housemate Michelle had just returned from the States, bearing candy corn, fake cobwebs, a pumpkin-carving kit, a giant trash-bag spider, and various other trappings of the holiday, so we were set.

The biggest challenge was choosing a costume. I wanted to be sure that it would be something that people who weren't necessarily familiar with the holiday would "get." My first thought was to go as a daladala (local minibus) conductor, since their trademark jumpsuits can be purchased on the side of the road, and my only prop would be a pile of coins to shake in people's faces. However, I worried that this choice of costume might be un-P.C. so I opted to go as the "Party Police," and outfitted myself with a nightstick (really a toilet-plunger handle), badge, and book of tickets with which to issue "beverage penalties."

I had an undercover partner in law enforcement, my friend Masse, who doused himself in cologne and hair gel in order to masquerade as one of the Miami Vice guys. Together we were able to keep things reasonably under control...

It turns out I need not have worried much about being P.C. as our party guests included two blonde American girls dressed as Masai warriors, and a number of African chiefs. (The latter costume choice was more acceptable, since most of the disguised were actually African. Indeed we had quite impressive Continental representation - Kenya, Angola, Cote d'Ivoire, South Africa, in addition to Tanzania...)

The best costume prize was nabbed by an American who came dressed as the World Bank. He had come straight from a wedding, so made the best of his formal suit, accessorizing with a brochure he had produced to convince developing nations to sign their countries away. The brochure explained the benefits of a petroleum-based economy, among other things, and included some very, very fine print with the details of such an agreement.

In terms of cultural diplomacy, I think we successfully conveyed the spirit and meaning of Halloween, at least as it's currently observed in the States. Apparently when the U.S. Embassy threw a Halloween party last year, the local media reported on the event as a gathering of devil-worshippers!

In case you were under any illusion...

2006-10-25T17:11:00.000+03:00

A friend recently sent me an update with some of the latest gossip regarding parties and friends and crushes, concluding that it all might seem shallow to me now that I'm living in Africa. Similarly, another friend e-mailed a while back and said he was sure I was "doing a lot of good over here." While I appreciate being held in such high esteem, I can assure you that I do not spend all my time here mulling over global poverty and attempting to save the world. In fact, much of it is spent just hanging out and being silly. I also manage to stay relatively up-to-date on my American pop culture in the form of cinema (the Tanzanian premiere of Snakes on a Plane!!), music (a Jay-Z concert last week), and letters (old People and US Weekly magazines stolen from the American Embassy). Tho I do feel I have a bit more "authentic" perspective on the whole Madonna adoption debate...

This frivolity is of course all preparation for re-entry, as I'm headed back to the States in a mere 2 and a half weeks!!

Quick update

2006-10-25T16:47:00.000+03:00

A few months ago, my aunt commented that a significant amount of time had gone by since my last blog entry. She was not so surprised, however, and shared the wisdom of an Indian psychiatrist she met in Dharamsala, who had remarked to her that right after one arrives somewhere, the desire is to write a book about it; the longer one lives there, the less interesting the prospect becomes.

So I will excuse my recent absence as evidence of the fact that I've reached this point where the novelty of My Life In Africa is starting to fade. However, for the sake of historical record, my own vanity, and you, my devoted audience, I will not let this blog die!

A Week in the Bush

2006-09-11T11:34:00.000+03:00

This past week I escaped Dar’s traffic, noise, and ranks of wazungu to venture into "the bush," as colonials and their descendants refer to any non-urban patch of Africa (that is, the majority of the continent). Along with the rest of HakiElimu’s program staff (all non-administrative personnel, about 25 people), I was participating in a “learning field trip.” We fanned out across the country in groups of three or four people with three primary objectives in mind. Our collective mission, as articulated in the very official HakiElimu Program Learning Field Trip Terms of Reference was:

1. To better understand the reality on the ground regarding basic education, access to information; democracy and accountability

2. To better understand citizen agency – the extent to which ordinary people are able to be informed, take interest and act to make a different and hold government accountable; and

3. To better understand people’s perceptions of HakiElimu and its work, and to document evidence of the reach and impact of our work.

Needless to say, a rather ambitious program for a single week! In order to meet these objectives, we conducted individual interviews, held focus group discussions, visited schools and local government offices, and generally tried to take in the scene. I traveled with two coworkers to the district of Tandahimba, which is situated in the south of the country, just north of Mozambique.

(A brief aside: Mainland Tanzania is comprised of 22 or so regions, which are subdivided into about 115 districts. Each district contains a number of wards, which are made up of a handful of villages. The villages are then divided into neighborhoods, and finally “hamlets,” which are clusters of about 10 households. Leaders are elected or appointed at each level, and with the current Government program of “Decentralisation by Devolution” or “D-by-D,” more power is being granted to local leaders. The whole system is a bit confusing, to say the least, and the extent to which the decentralisation program is succeeding is the subject of hot debate. There appears to be a fair amount of political infighting, perhaps unsurprising given the number of cooks in the proverbial kitchen…)

Anyway, I’ll stop my schpiel on local government politics to say that in short, the week was really great. Given that my Swahili is still at a rather basic level, I was not leading any of the interviews or group discussions, so mainly just did a lot of listening and watching. But I did catch enough of what was going on to gain some real insight into the lives of “ordinary” Tanzanians. I have read in the papers and discussed with HakiElimu colleagues issues like the pressing teacher shortage, but it was an entirely different experience to actually speak with a young man who was on his third day as the only teacher for a secondary school with 76 students. This man was scarcely older than his students, having begun teaching after a month-long teacher training crash course, which he attended just after completing secondary school himself. (Crash courses for teachers are part of a new Government initiative to address the teacher shortage which has resulted from current efforts to expand access to secondary education. Currently less than 10 percent of primary students go on to secondary school.)

At a neighboring primary school, there were eight teachers to serve approximately 450 students. They reported that the book-to-student ratio was about 1:5 and also complained about the fact that they had to travel to a bank over 60 km away in order to pick up their salaries (which were often not deposited on time). In turn, the villagers being served by that school complained that these teachers often failed to show up for work, and that when they did, they were often drunk.

It is hard not to completely despair when faced with circumstances such as these, but the trip was not without its inspiring moments as well. For instance, the residents of Mwembe Mmoja (“One Mango Tree”) village responded to district officials’ decision to build a new school in the district seat, rather than close to the village (as initially promised), by raising the funds themselves to build a school that would be much more accessible. The rookie secondary school teacher I mentioned above seemed extremely committed despite his daunting responsibility, and when we saw him outside of school hours, he seemed relaxed and comfortable in his new surroundings.

The trip was also a great opportunity to practice my Swahili. I spoke Swahili the whole time – resorting to English only when I needed to get a point across to my travelling companions. This meant that I was not the most active participant in our conversations over meals of chapati, chicken, rice, chicken, ugali, french fries, and more chicken, but I was able to get some of the jokes, and even make a few of my own, which I regarded as a small triumph.

In some ways I found myself wishing I were doing something that would afford more time in “the bush,” and thus greater immersion into Tanzanian life and culture. I think I will look for opportunities through work to escape Dar, such as going to a zonal meeting of the Friends of Education (HakiElimu’s country-wide network of grassroots activists). That said, I could see that spending two years in a rural village could be rather lonely and/or a bit boring, once the novelty had worn off. Upon arriving back in Dar yesterday afternoon, I went on a bit of a binge of Western-style comforts and entertainment. I first spent a few hours in the air-conditioned splendor of the city’s fanciest gym, then ate an Italian meal with my dearest (ex-pat) friends, and finally ended up at Dar’s only bowling alley, drinking beer and rolling gutter-balls under black lights, as Bollywood tunes blasted from the speakers.

UPDATE: Photos just uploaded!

Just Another Typical Day...

2006-08-07T16:27:00.000+03:00

Yesterday did not have the most auspicious beginning. I awoke at 8 AM after a night out to the sad sound of my ceiling fan grinding to a halt (beginning a day’s worth of power cuts). My sleep was further disturbed by someone’s loud radio blasting Gospel music across the street (perhaps trying to tell me that I should be in church on a Sunday morning rather than bed). Then, more curiously, I heard loud footsteps running back and forth past my door, and my housemate yelling at someone, or something, to get out. Despite these distractions, I turned over and was able to catch another 45 minutes of shuteye.

When I finally emerged from my room, my housemate informed me that she had spent the last hour chasing our neighbors' rabbits out of our house! These unlikely pets have been becoming less and less timid, and we figure the wind blew the door open during the night at some point, and they hopped right in the house. We’re not sure how long they were running around, but they did manage to dig up one of the houseplants and deposit a large pile of dirt in the corner before they were finally removed.

After securing the door against rabbits and any other would-be intruders, I left the house to walk to the gym. As usual, I did not completely blend in with my surroundings, but I was a bit surprised, not to mention rather annoyed, when multiple people started laughing and pointing at me as I walked down the street. It soon became clear that I was actually not the primary object of amusement (for once!) I turned around to see a man riding the tallest unicycle I had ever seen and another guy on stilts that appeared to be made out of bicycle parts.

The day ended with a great lesson of the “be careful what you wish for” variety. As has happened many a weekend, our water was shut off on Saturday morning. Normally, these water outages only last until 6 or 7 PM on the same day, but this weekend our water was still off on Sunday morning, and remained off when we all left the house to go about our various wanderings. Given that my house is currently occupied by four females who are reasonably fond of being clean, two days without water was a bit of a chore, and we all grumbled and willed the water to return. Well, someone must have heard our wishes, because when we all reconvened at the house on Sunday evening, the water was back. And there were about two inches of it on the dining room floor.

In our vain hopes to restore running water, we conducted multiple tests of various faucets throughout the house, including one just next to the dining room. Apparently we had left it on by mistake, thus creating the mini-flood that greeted us when we returned home. Fortunately there were five of us, and we were able to devise an elaborate system involving buckets, towels, sheets, a mop, a broom, a dustpan, and successfully maneuver most of the water out of the house in under and hour. Still, it was rather exhausting.

Ah well, just another typical day in Dar!

Working Out

2006-08-07T15:38:00.000+03:00

The other day at lunch, our Finance and Admin manager expressed concern at the amount of food on my plate. “Utashiba?” he asked (“Will you be satisfied?”) I assured him that I’d taken enough, and he shook his head, saying, “We want you to return to America two times your weight!” For reasons pertaining to my health, as well as American standards of beauty that I have not yet been completely able to discard, I do not share this goal, so in addition to monitoring my portions at lunch, I have been trying to get some exercise.

Now that it’s “cold” here (think highs of 85 rather than 95) running outside is a nice option, especially since I can run along the beach. But it gets dark rather early, so I can’t always go after work. Plus it can be nice to have some variety. So, I’ve been checking out a few of the local gyms.

If I’m feeling like a splurge I can go to Coliseum, a super-fancy ex-pat haven on the peninsula, with state-of-the-art machines and a beautiful pool. However for $10 a pop ($12 now to help them pay for the generator that keeps the A/C on now that we’re having power cuts) I can’t make it a regular thing. Nor would I really want to, as spending all my time at an overpriced gym does not exactly seem like a good reason for having come all the way to Tanzania.

Thus I much prefer going to Gator’s Gym, which is about a 10-minute walk from my house and has a bit more local flavor. Gator’s can boast neither A/C nor state-of-the-art equipment, but they do have aerobics classes 5 nights a week, which are consistently hilarious (not to mention a good workout).

The classes are supposed to follow a schedule (Monday is “Samurai Taebo,” Tuesday is “Circuit Challenge,” etc.) but they generally just involve a similar combination of semi-coordinated jumping around, with the occasional use of assorted props like long wooden sticks, steps, and yoga mats. Other than myself and my wazungu girlfriends, the attendees are generally middle-aged and somewhat out-of-shape Tanzanian men. We are led by one of two instructors, also men, accompanied by a tape of disco and pop hits, which usually has to be rewound at least twice during the hour-long class.

My favorite instructor is a squat, pumped-up guy with enormous biceps, short dreadlocks, and a perpetual grin. He clearly means business, but it is almost impossible not to burst out laughing at the sight of him bouncing around in his muscle-T and counting out our steps in his trademark style: “One! Two! Three! Four! Five! SEXY!”

Despite Tanzanians’ predeliction to add a “y" to the end of many English words (For instance, a Tanzanian giving you directions might tell you to go “lefty" then “straighty” then “righty”) we kind of think our instructor’s pronounciation of the number “six” as “sexy” is deliberate, since he always gets a sly look on his face when he says it.

As I said, these aerobics classes are serious business, and definitely hard work. Sometimes the instructors like to speed up the tape, which makes following the somewhat ridiculous combinations even more challenging. Fortunately, aerobics class shares a sense of solidarity, and one can always count on encouragement from a classmate if one is falling behind. The other night, when I was clearly struggling to keep up, a vigorous 50-something man in the front row turned around and smiled (while continuing to run in place) and shared the following nugget of wisdom: “When the going gets tough… you have to... get tough!”

Not quite Cannes, but still pretty cool

2006-07-21T08:27:00.000+03:00

When I told a friend from home that I would be going to the Zanzibar International Film Festival, she breathlessly asked (well, as breathless as one can be over e-mail) whether it would be like Cannes, and if I would be brushing elbows with celebrities. Well, I can report that I did have a few run-ins with famous people, but perhaps not exactly who she envisioned.

The most famous person I saw last weekend in Zanzibar was not an actor, nor does he have anything to do with film. He was, however, probably the most noteworthy guest, at least in certain circles. I am referring to the esteemed architect of the Iraq war, and current President of the World Bank, Paul Wolfowitz. Wolfie and co (a bunch of Secret Service looking types in suits and sunglasses) hurried past us on one of Stone Town’s narrow streets on Saturday afternoon. Alas I was not able to snap a photo. He had been on the mainland earlier in the week to meet with President Kikwete and World Bank officials in Tanzania (the Bank just gave TZ a huge loan) and I guess decided to take advantage of the festival and pop over to Zanzibar.

The other Famous Person I encountered is a whole lot cooler: the actor/writer/director/activist Melvin van Peebles, the father of the blaxploitation genre and independent cinema in America. He’s also credited by some (including himself) as being the brains behind Shaft. Allegedly, the film was originally set up as a standard detective story with a white lead. But under Melvin’s influence, the lead was transformed into the baaad motha we know today.

Melvin was the main guest of honor at the festival, and was first introduced on the third evening of the festival, having arrived hours before. He then proceeded to do the sound for the “cine-concert,” which involved a German string quartet providing live, original musical accompaniment for the screening of the German Expressionist horror film Nosferatu (a Dracula story). This event was held in the large stone ampitheatre behind the old German fort. The ampitheatre has the feeling of Roman antiquity, but apparently was built rather recently. Anyway, it worked, and the whole thing was pretty neat.

The Zanzibar International Film Festival is an annual event and lasts for 10 days. Sadly I was only able to go for four of them, since couldn’t swing a whole week off. In addition to film screenings, there are concerts, lectures, art exhibitions, and dance performances. While a number of the films were from Tanzania and other African countries, it was truly an international festival, with films (and other art) from all over the world. In addition to the cine-concert, some of my favorite things at the festival included a great but harrowing documentary about prostitution and HIV/AIDS in Dar called Hyena Square, a creepy Senegalese film about haunted Baobab trees (and democratic elections), and a concert by this great Ugandan group whose name I have forgotten, who played these crazy instruments made out of huge gourds.

It was very hard to leave, but fortunately I know that I will probably return soon. Zanzibar is only 2 hours away on the ferry (only 20 minutes by plane!) and with my residence permit, it’s pretty reasonable. What’s neat is that while it’s so close, the island just has a totally different feel from Dar. Stone Town (the major port city) in particular. Its winding streets and magical feel remind me of Venice. The scooters whizzing around the narrow corners at breakneck speed also help. Though their riders are often swathed in full Muslim garb, so it doesn't entirely feel like Italy.

Urban Village

2006-07-06T13:45:00.000+03:00

I’m not sure what triggered it, but about two weeks ago, I experienced a distinct change in terms of my feelings about living here. It’s hard to describe, but it was a combination of relief and peace and shoulder-shrugging resignation: OK, this is my life now. This is not to say I don’t still have my ups and downs, and don’t still continue to question what I’m doing here, what “right” I have to be here, how my current experience fits into my Life Plan, etc. but at least those thoughts are no longer at the forefront of my mind. Basically, I think I’m finally over culture shock, which manifested itself in a weird, subtle way. Rather than having trouble with the obvious differences like the heat, the ridiculously overcrowded public transportation, the water and power outages, and the lack of certain comfort foods (the cheese here is NOT good), it was this general feeling of outsider- and different-ness that was the biggest challenge.

Anyway, a friend recently commented that I spend so much time recounting my “quasi-existential musings” in this blog that it can be hard to really get a sense of my surroundings. So I will try to rectify that imbalance to an extent in this post…

A Tanzanian acquaintance recently referred to Dar as an “urban village” and I think that’s a pretty apt description. Before I got here I went through two phases of vague expectations. In the first, I imagined Dar as a dusty, impoverished place, with a bunch of huts and very little infrastructure. But then when I learned (after sending a rather embarassing e-mail to another American living here) that there were luxuries such as running water and paved roads, I began to imagine Dar as a gleaming metropolis. So much so that when I first saw the the decidedly less-than-gleaming city center, my first thought was, Wow, what a dump!

Well, Dar has grown on me since then, and what’s interesting is that it’s managed to live up to both sets of somewhat misconceived expectations. It is very dusty, and can be quite smoggy, dirty and, well, “third-world,” for lack of a better descriptor. Squat toilets are the norm in many places (including the Alliance Francaise and a co-worker’s home that I recently visited). It’s also not uncommon to see polio victims dragging themselves down the sidewalk on their hands (the more fortunate use hand-crank wheelchairs made from recycled bicycle parts). It’s also not uncommon to have people ask you for money. This latter disturbance is often perpetrated by brazen children who have made a game of asking the unsuspecting mzungu for cash (or a pen or a photograph) rather than by starving people asking out of genuine need. However, the other day I realized after a trip to the ATM that I was walking around with more money in my wallet than the average person in this country makes in a year... It can be hard to draw the line – most of my mzungu friends here are decidedly not rich (by Western standards): we are young and working for little or no pay, many of us worried about paying back student loans and wondering how we’ll pay for grad school. On the other hand, it can be hard not to recognize your relative fortune when you think that a few dollars can buy someone food for a week, or pay for a month of school.

Living in Dar, however, it can be quite easy to forget about the dire poverty that affects so many people in this country. One of my officemates recently explained to a visitng friend that if he wanted to see the “real” Tanzania, he would have to get out of Dar. Indeed, if you were to spend all your time on the Peninsula, it would be easy to forget completely that you were in Tanzania. The Peninsula can feel a bit like Palo Alto, except more tropical. Even in the center of town, there are a number of oases of Western comfort and privilege – such as the Kempinski Hotel, where one can eat sushi while checking one’s e-mail on the free Wireless Internet, and shivering from the intense air-conditioning.

My Dar experience is somewhere in the middle of these two extremes (though a lot closer to the latter, if I am honest). I cram into the overcrowded dala-dalas and try to ignore their squeaky, maybe-failing brakes. However, I take taxis after dark and am considering buying a friend’s Suzuki 4-by-4 for more peaceful transport. I am happy eating dirt-cheap nyama choma (grilled meat) and fried bananas and washing them down with dirt-cheap beer (75 cents for a half liter! And it’s really good!!) at the outdoor bar across the street. However, I’m also happy to indulge in the various finer dining options that Dar has to offer, including Thai (at the rooftop restaurant in one of the fancy hotels downtown), Italian, and Middle Eastern cuisine.

I live in a house that has flush toilets but no hot water, and sometimes no water at all. My mother called the other night when I was in the middle of taking a bucket shower by headlamp. I recounted that fact to her with some pride, but by my third bucket shower that week, I was kind of over the novelty, and began making arrangements with our landlord to put a reserve water tank on the roof.

My neighborhood is neither exclusively ex-pat nor totally Tanzanian, and has a range of accomodation. The road leading to our house is unpaved and littered with enormous potholes, but these do not seem to present too much of an obstacle for the chickens, bicycles, dala-dalas, and Land Rovers that are all frequent passengers.

One thing that both that haves and the have-nots of Dar can enjoy is the Indian Ocean. Dar's beaches are not Tanzania's most beautiful, but there is just something wonderful about having the ocean in your backyard. Being able to walk along the beach with with bare feet on the sand, looking out into a seemingly endless stretch of tropical blue water can make up for pretty much anything.

Attempting to Answer My Existential Musings, or, More Than You Ever Wanted to Know About My Job

2006-06-23T09:11:00.000+03:00

So I’ve devoted a decent amount of space on this blog to questioning what the hell I’m doing here in Tanzania, but I realize I haven’t really attempted to explain what the hell I’m doing here, in terms of what (barely/sort of/not entirely) pays the bills.

In a previous post, I referred to myself as an “Excel maven.” I think this description is still apt, but I have been honing my other talents, and I think at this point I am also a certifiable Word Wizard, not to mention a Power Point Pro… (OK, and clearly a big nerd.)

Before I expand upon what I do beyond demonstrate my skills with Microsoft Office applications, I should say a bit about my employer. HakiElimu is a non-governmental organization with a staff about 40 people, all of whom are Tanzanian, with the exception of myself, two other “international volunteers” (a Swiss and a Canadian) and another American who joined us on Monday as a summer intern (and who has also become my third housemate). As I may have mentioned previously, “HakiElimu” means “right to education” but our work covers a range of issues beyond those relating specifically to schools (which is fortunate, given certain current restrictions on our work that I’ll explain below.)

The broad theme directing our activities, as I understand it, is enhancing public participation in democracy in Tanzania. So, while much of our work focuses on education policy, we also look at issues relating to freedom of information, governance, and other development buzzwords.

HakiElimu is divided into four program units - Community Engagement, Information Access, Media, and Policy Analysis and Advocacy. I am not entirely clear on all of the precise distinctions between the units, but generally speaking their activities are divided as follows:

The Community Engagement unit works to strengthen a network of grassroots partners (the ‘Friends of Education’); the Information Access unit works to popularize our materials and disseminate them widely; Media does some information dissemination work as well, primarily with newspapers, and also monitors how HakiElimu issues, and the organization itself, are portrayed by the press. Finally, the Policy Analysis and Advocacy unit (PAA), where I work, conducts research and “high-level” advocacy (networking with the media, Members of Parliament, and other like-minded civil society organizations) in areas related to our core issues. For example, my PAA colleagues coordinate HakiElimu’s working paper series, contribute to a weekly newspaper column, translate key Government documents into Swahili, and participate in various coalitions, among other things.

As for the restrictions mentioned above… HakiElimu is currently subject to an interdiction on any activity that involves doing research in schools. The ban came about last year when some of our findings about Tanzania’s recently implemented education reform program (what I like to call “Tanzania’s No Child Left Behind”) were found to be unpalatable by the former Minister of Education. So we were banned for “defaming the Government” or some such. Since then, a new Minister of Education has been appointed under the recently elected new President (Kikwete). While word on the street is that the new Minister is much more receptive to our position, the politics of lifting the ban are rather sensitive, since an abrupt reversal of any of the previous government’s policies would be viewed as a slap in the face. But we hear that behind closed doors there is progress being made (in fact the other day an article ran in the newspaper proclaiming “Government Set to Unban HakiElimu”). So we’ll see. We certainly have enough to keep us busy in the meantime!

One of the less glamorous things keeping us busy is the intense amount of planning. As one of my officemates put it the other day, we do a LOT of planning, a LOT of review, and a little bit of implementation. Next Wednesday the full staff will be meeting to review our activities in the past quarter, and plan our activities for the next. Yesterday we were supposed to have a unit meeting to prepare for this (yes, a planning meeting for a planning meeting) but my manager mercifully decided that perhaps that was not necessary. I managed to get out of last quarter’s review and planning meeting since I was away at language school but could not finagle an excuse this time around.

So, the bureaucracy has made me a bit cynical, but I still think HakiElimu is a pretty cool place to work. The staff includes a number of really interesting, dynamic, and thoughtful people. A lot of former journalists, plus folks with a range of experience with other NGOs.

Also, since we are a “learning organization,” we have weekly “learning sessions” for the entire staff held each Thursday morning. These are typically involve a 20-minute presentation by a guest speaker (though they are sometimes facilitated in-house, and in fact last Thursday yours truly attempted to inform the staff about the recently enacted budget. I’m pleased to report that no one fell asleep…), and then 20 minutes of Q & A. We also have a weekly book club that meets to discuss scholarly and popular articles on a range of topics. I haven’t yet managed to attend a meeting of the book club, but today I learned that they serve ice cream, so that sort of changes everything…

Roughing it

2006-06-12T10:18:00.000+03:00

Since I always like to look on the bright side, I’ll put it this way: my experience just got a lot more... authentic. This past Thursday, the Tanzanian government announced that from now until December they would be rationing electricity – imposing blackouts in most areas from 6 AM until 6 PM seven days per week. For the past three years Tanzania has been afflicted by drought, which means that the water level at the main hydro-power dam is too low to sustain full energy production. In light of this, the government is planning to build two new power generators, but they won’t be completed until December. Hence the need to ration in the meantime.

Daily 12-hour rationing won’t have as devestating an impact as it might seem, since the blackout hours will likely be reversed in areas that are heavily commercial (so that power can be on during business hours) plus a lot of offices (including mine) have generators. Also, as is not entirely shocking, the schedule for the blackouts has not been adhered to all that strictly thus far.

That said, it is still rather an inconvenience, since daily power outages mean you can’t really keep anything in the fridge. And the generators are often overworked and can be unreliable. They also make an infernal racket. At work, ours is usually on from 8 AM until 1 PM, at which point it takes an hour lunch break, and is then turned back on until about 4:30 or 5:00 PM. While this is nice since it precludes working late, it can be a big pain if you’re really up against a deadline.

I was bitching about the power cuts the other day to my manager and he expressed his sympathy, saying he knows that in the States electricity “flows like milk and honey” and if there’s a blackout it’s front-page news. I was a bit chagrined, remembering the spate of articles in the New York Times after the blackout a few summers ago. (As an aside that hopefully won’t sound *too* holier-than-thou, I was somewhat struck by the level of triviality of many of the articles on the New York Times website when I went to check it recently. That said, I then proceeded to scour the Internet for the latest information on such high-minded issues as Katie Holmes’ pre-nup and Brangelina’s spawn… Shiloh?!! Why is it that celebrities insist on naming their children such awful names? You would think they could have at least given her [Thanks, Leigh Anne for cluing me in on Shiloh's gender!!] a nice “African” name after spending all that time in Namibia…)

Walking to Work

2006-05-30T08:47:00.000+03:00

So I’ve gotten in the habit of walking to work. It takes about an hour, which means I have to leave my house at the ungodly hour of before 7 AM, but with the traffic in the morning I really don’t save much time by taking the dala-dala. Plus it’s nicer to arrive at work without the neck cramp and residue of sweaty, awkward embraces that a morning dala-dala ride necessarily entails. It also affords a chance for some daily meditation and low-impact cardiovascular exercise! (Multi-tasking, so American…)

I tend to lose myself in thought as I make my way, whether attempting to determine how my being in Tanzania contributes my (extremely nebulous) “life plan” and the good of the world, trying to make sense of a Larium-enhanced dream, or simply marveling at the fact that I’m awake, out of bed, dressed, and on my way to work at 7 in the morning. These deep thoughts are frequently interrupted since, as I may have mentioned once or twice, I don’t entirely blend in.

The taxi drivers around the corner from my house have eternal hope that I’ll abandon my morning constitutional for a ride to work and are always quick to offer their services. When I politely decline, they commence with a volley of greetings that feels like a Swahili quiz:

Karibu! (Welcome!)
Asante. (Thank you.)
Habari za asubuhi? (What’s the news of the morning?)
Nzuri. (Good.)
Za kazi? (How’s work?)
Nzuri. (Good.)
Mambo vipi? (How are things?)
Poa. (Cool.)
Salama? (Peaceful?)
Salama kabisa. (Totally peaceful.)

In addition to the taxi guys I can count on a few other regular encounters as I make my way to work. First is usually my buddy with the shiny, bald head and bright red tie, who deftly maneuvers his hand-crank wheelchair up the hill, always stopping to give me a grin and occasionally admonishing me for being late. Then there is the tiny old man with who acknowledges my “Shikamoo” (an expression of respect for one’s elders) by clasping his hands over his heart and making a little bow, smiling until his eyes squeeze shut.

Unfortunately most mornings I also have to avert my eyes from the half-naked (yes, that half) junkie who wanders along the side of the road by Selander Bridge, a somewhat notorious spot, if perhaps only due to his presence.

The other day I made a new friend, this one fully clothed, and about 6 feet tall, with a white skullcap and matching beard. As is more often the case than not, I was running late, and thus trying to walk quickly in order to arrive at work somewhere within the realm of on time. One of the men I brushed past caught up with me and said something in Swahili that I didn’t quite catch. When I asked him to repeat himself he did so in English, explaining that he was complimenting me for being a “good walker.” We began chatting and he explained that he had lived in the States during the Johnson administration, having gone to Atlanta, Georgia to study fingerprinting and handwriting analysis! He was quite pleased when I exclaimed, “So you’re a detective!” and explained that he now works “independently” but if I had any problems that could be solved by identifying fingerprints and analyzing handwriting, I should look him up.

This being Tanzania, my new Private Eye friend being a man, and me being a woman, he was quick to ask me whether I was married. I answered with my practiced “Bado.” (Not yet!) He assured me that he didn’t think it would be long because I was a “good, cheap woman.” Um, excuse me? He explained that he could see that because I was walking I wasn’t one of these women who is always asking for money for the bus or a taxi or something else. I laughed and said that yes, I enjoy walking and am in no hurry to get hitched. He seemed to think this was a wise choice, and encouraged me to go and further my studies before settling down with a family. Apparently despite being past 70, he is still supporting 9 of his 14 children… Hopefully he will get a jewel heist or lucrative forgery thrown his way soon!

Zits

2006-05-30T08:43:00.000+03:00

Not sure if it’s the humidity or the fact that dinner out is often greasy bits of roast meat and fried banana eaten entirely with one’s hands, but living in this country is not good for my skin. However, having gotten over most of my painful adolescent self-consciousness, I was finally convinced that my occasional acne is not necessarily the first thing people notice when they look at me. Well, there goes that milestone of self-actualization.

Acne is apparently another novelty here in Tanzania, and my recent bout of bad skin has been the subject of vocal concern of more than one of my acquaintances. The other day neighbor insisted that I should go to a doctor to get “that stuff” checked out and my manager at work suggested that I might have “malaria of the face.” Sigh.

Athleticism, alcoholism, and inanity

2006-05-22T14:27:00.000+03:00

I know a young woman here in Dar who is pursuing a Ph.D. in Geography, conducting research on the way different groups of people relate to the city. She calls herself an “urban geographer.” Lately I’ve been feeling a bit like an amateur urban geographer, interacting with and observing different subcultures and activities as I seek to expand my social network. This past weekend my research subject was the Hash House Harriers, an eclectic group with a shared fondness for drinking beer, running, singing raunchy songs, and verbally abusing each other.

Hashing is a global phenomenon, started by a British military guy in Malaysia, according to hash lore. Basically, a hash is kind of like a scavenger hunt for runners, except nothing is being “scavenged” and as far as I can tell it’s basically an excuse to drink a lot of beer… The person leading the hash (the “hare”) goes ahead and marks the course, using small piles of flour or shredded paper, occasionally leading the hashers down dead ends (which are marked with X’s). The hashers then go out and attempt to run the marked course to the finish without getting lost. They are rewarded for their efforts with (lots of) beer, which they drink while singing the aforementioned raunchy songs and performing rituals such as pouring beer on their heads and on each other. All hashers have “hash names,” most of which refer to sex, drinking, or, well, that’s about it. (I feel a bit remiss that I did not learn the real name of a new Kenyan friend who said I could stay with her if I ever visit Nairobi. I fear I’ll be a bit too embarassed to ask around for “Global Dick Teaser,” or “Teaser” as she was more affectionately known…)

Anyway, I was afforded the opportunity of observing the hashers in their native habitat by receiving an invitation to participate in the annual Dar-to-Bagamoyo Hash Relay. Actually it was Rachel who got the invitation, since she sometimes joins the more serious Dar running group (many of whom are hashers too) for their weekly Thursday evening run. The 72 km from Dar to the beach-resort town of Bagamoyo were split into 17 legs of running, walking, and biking, which were shared among the 12 or so people on each team. We were accompanied by two motorcyclists, a beer truck, an ambulance, and the “Blunderbuss,” a van that served to transport the athletes to the start of each leg. The driver of the Blunderbuss, like many of the other participants, started drinking at the beginning of the day (7 AM!) Despite his increasingly belligerent state, he was not relieved of either his driving duties or his megaphone, but somehow we all survived… I waited until the relatively late hour of 10:30 AM to pop open my first Kilimanjaro of the day, and it was actually the only one I consumed during the run.

I somehow managed to run/walk nearly 14 km total (something of a feat considering that I’ve hardly been running lately) and I’m proud to report that my team (Hare and Tortoise) came in second out of a field of six.

My fellow hashers were, as noted above, an eclectic bunch. The majority of the participants were wazungu, but there were some Tanzanians, as well as a visiting team of Kenyans. Americans were the distinct minority; many more Brits, and South Africans, with a few Irish and Aussies thrown into the mix. Basically a lot of reasonably sunburned and pudgy folk (beer drinking in copious amounts does not exactly contribute to the most athletic of physiques). A bit vulgar at times, but quite nice. My evening concluded with a British fellow slurredly telling me that while he hated American politics, the “rednecks” he had encountered in the States were “some of the most salt-of-the-earth people” he had ever met.

So, while I did meet some nice people, I’m not sure if I’ll be a regular on the Dar hash circuit. As Rachel put it, the whole scene has a somewhat cultish feel, and while I do enjoy drinking beer, singing silly songs, and verbally abusing my friends (who doesn’t?!) I fear not in quite the quantity that the hash requires…

Fun with Power Point

2006-05-17T14:54:00.000+03:00

This past Saturday I was awarded the dubious honor of being asked by my boss to go with him to the annual World Bank/Government of Tanzania meeting on public expenditure monitoring and poverty reduction. Apparently this meeting used to be about a week long, with four days spent discussing public expenditure reviews and two spent discussing implementation of Tanzania’s poverty reduction and growth strategy (or, MKUKUTA as it is more commonly known by its Swahili acronym), which is the joint agreement between the World Bank and the GoT laying out a long-term plan for, you guessed it, poverty reduction and growth. In any case, this year the meeting was condensed into two days, with the stated rationale that public expenditure reviews should inform implementation of MKUKUTA and vice versa. Another view is that the whole meeting is largely a formality, so who cares if it’s only two days long. In any case, a look at the schedule was rather telling in terms of the faciliators’ priorities… Over the two days, “civil society representatives” had about 40 minutes total to speak, whereas there were two separate cocktail receptions, one of which was two hours long…

Unfortunately I did not stick around for the cocktails, but I did get to shake hands with the World Bank country director for Tanzania and Uganda, a somewhat stern but plucky seeming woman… I particularly enjoyed when she pumped her fist in the air in response to a “shout-out” she received during one of the morning. (I suppose the World Bank did just agree to give TZ 200 million bucks this year, so she deserved her props). Another highlight was the inappropriate use of Hanukkah clip-art during one of the Power Point presentations. A Tanzanian World Bank guy was giving a presentation on the Public Expenditure and Financial Accounatibility Review (did I mention this was how I spent my Saturday?!) and got to a section in which he was recounting “highlights.” In order to underline the fact that he was presenting the highlights, he had adorned the Power Point slide with three huge menorahs superimposed on Jewish stars… The humor of his choice was lost on much of the audience but I did hear a few other stifled laughs.

So anyway, I think that there was a lot about this meeting that I didn’t really understand or fully appreciate, but it was an interesting glimpse into the political landscape here in Tanzania. It’s especially interesting being here after working in Washington, D.C. for two years since the scene is so different.

Different how, you ask? Well, perhaps since I’m still in Power Point mode, I will enumerate those differences in three bullet points:

• The lack of a true multi-party system
• The proliferation of donors
• The politicization of “civil society”

Tanzania has a somewhat unique political history in from independence (in 1961) until the 1980s it was a socialist, one-party state. Tanzania’s first president was the much-loved Julius Nyerere (he’s up for beatification, I believe), by many accounts a visionary and an inspiration, but by others the cause of great “backward” strides in terms of economic development. Tanzania only became a multi-party democracy in 1992 and while there are now about 10 political parties, all the three presidents who have followed Nyerere (Ali Hassan Mwinyi, Benjamin Mkapa, and the recently instated Jakaya Kikwete) have been members of the current iteration of Nyerere’s party (the Chama Cha Mapinduzi, or the Revolutionary Party). Tellingly, in the last election, Kikwete received over 80% of the vote, and few people are able to articulate what the differences are between CCM and the opposition parties. The Kikwete regime is also referred to as the “Fourth Phase” government, as in the fourth phase of the CCM’s rule. So, this means that “the Government” is a pretty united entity. Perhaps this makes it more effective since not plagued by the partisan gridlock we suffer in the States, but I’m not sure…

The second point, which I have touched upon briefly before, is the ubiquitous presence of donors (foreign development agencies, such as the U.S. Agency for International Development, or USAID) in Tanzania. Last year, over half of Tanzania’s budget was funded by foreign aid. As I noted earlier, the West is fond of giving Tanzania money since this is an African country characterized by relatively low corruption, stable institutions, and peace. This might at first seem like an unequivocal good thing, but it actually ends up creating significant problems for the Government, since Tanzania does not have the channels for effectively absorbing all the money that is pouring in. To put it in development policy wonk jargon, Tanzania is having significant challenges in terms of “operationalizing” all of the donor funds. Furthermore, since money talks, the Government often finds itself more accountable to donors than to the citizens. In addition, donor support is often uncoordinated and disjointed. In response to this lack of coordination, there is a current push for donors to provide what is called “general budget support,” whereby all aid money is put into one big pot that can be used at the government’s discretion. But this raises further questions about accountability (it might be easier to skim off the top of the pot without anyone noticing, e.g.), and many donors are still not so keen on the idea, since they still want to fund their pet projects.

The government is not the only recipient of donor money, however. The other major beneficiaries are non-governmental organizations (NGOs), such as my own dear employer. Perhaps the fact that the government and NGOs are competing for donor funds is what is behind the politicization of civil society. I was struck at Saturday’s meeting by the level of defensiveness on the part of government officials regarding the role of civil society. There was a lot of harsh rhetoric about how NGOs should stop telling the government to be transparent and should open up their own books, etc., etc. This sort of ire is nothing new after spending nearly two years of D.C., but it’s weird when civil society as an institution is under attack, rather than different political parties facing off against each other.

So, to grossly oversimplify, in D.C. I was used to the “good guys” and the “bad guys” being the two major political parties (you can use your judgement as to which is which). Whereas here the main division seems to be between civil society and government (again I’ll let you use your judgement…) What’s more, the amount of donor money being thrown around makes everything a bit murkier, as does the fact that TZ has a relatively non-confrontational culture and so “advocacy” as we understand it in the States is in its infancy. As I’ve lamented previously, the whole scene reeks of neo-colonialism at times, but I also don’t think it would be the best thing in the world if all the donors just pulled up stakes and left…

OK, I think that’s enough political babble for now, especially as I’ve been sitting in complete darkness for the past hour and a half and the reserve battery on my laptop is about to run out (Apparently they’ve started rationing the power again, which is a bit annoying…)

For proof that I do more than ponder over the political ramifications of the current world order in Tanzania, please see my photos, which have been updated with pics from our recent housewarming party (and my new, it’s-perpetually-hot-and-humid-and-I-didn’t-pack-a-blowdrier haircut!!)

Reflections on “Mzungu-ness,” Continued, or How the “Other Other Half” Lives

2006-05-08T10:31:00.000+03:00

This past week afforded further glimpses into the lifestyles of other Americans here in Dar, which in turn led to further self-reflection on my current role (yes, more quasi-existential musings!), which of course I now feel compelled to share with you, my captive audience.

I’ve never been much of a patriot, and in general do not conceive of my being American as one of my defining characteristics. But I do always notice that I have a much stronger sense of national identity when I’m spending time abroad. As my world-travelling aunt put it to me early on in my stay here, “You’ll be surprised how happy you will be to meet another American, even if he’s a fascist!” Not sure about fascists, but I have found that the people I have clicked with most easily here have also been Americans.

However, I have retained enough discernment (some might say latte-sipping, East Coast liberal elitism) to recognize that there are some pockets of the American ex-pat community in Dar that will remain sufficiently foreign to me despite certain commonalities.

Take, for instance, the scene at the American Embassy this past Thursday. It was my first time inside the Embassy walls and an experience in and of itself. The Embassy is truly a fortress – a reasonably enormous compound with large white buildings, lush green grass, and a miniature version of the Capitol’s reflecting pool! The high level of security is understandable given that the former U.S. Embassy was bombed in 1998 by terrorists. However, some aspects of the Embassy are a bit more difficult to understand – for example the fact that every single thing within the walls is imported from the States, down to the grass seed!

The event which brought me behind the Embassy walls was the weekly happy hour at the Marine house (there are approximately seven U.S. Marines guarding the Embassy). Some of my friends are fond of going, especially because the happy hours usually feature the screening of a recent movie outdoors. (This is a treat since while Dar is home to Tanzania’s only movie theater, the options tend toward outdated action and kids’ movies and 4-hour Bollywood extravaganzas so can leave something to be desired.) This past Thursday, however, there was no movie being shown since three Marines were being bade farewell as they were leaving their post here.

The scene, as my housemate Michelle put it, was like a Midwestern barbeque. I was kind of overwhelmed by all the blondes… Lots of young families and Southern accents. It was also just a bit awkward to be participating in an emotional farewell for three people who I had only just met, one of whom is proudly heading off to guard the U.S. Embassy in Iraq. But, the happy hour was held the day before Cinco de Mayo, so we honored the holiday with the requisite margaritas and Mexican snacks. (Also a treat, as I know that the tortilla chips they were serving retail at the local supermarket for over 7 bucks a pop!)

This past Saturday gave me another chance to see how the “other other half” lives, when some friends and I went over to the house of a U.S. Embassy employee for dinner. I spent a fair amount of time gawking at the contents of his cupboards and refrigerator, which were stocked with American goodies such as Rice Krispie Treats and Kraft Mac & Cheese that are almost impossible to find here, or are ludicrously expensive. Embassy employees are allowed to ship over their worldly goods in huge containers, and it was clear that our friend had done some serious shopping at Sam’s Club before coming to TZ. As we admired the ocean view from the screened-in balcony on the third floor, enjoying some respite from the frigid A/C that permeated the rest of the house, I marvelled at the fact that this guy, like all of his Embassy coworkers, is receiving “hardship pay” – a bump up in in his salary to account for the fact that he is having to “rough it” here. (I suppose 7 dollars for a bag of tortilla chips is a hardship of sorts…)

Our friend is sufficiently savvy of this irony, it seems, and has been known to refer to his experience here as “Africa Lite.”

So, I suppose the point of this somewhat snippy set of anecdotes is to comfort myself that while I am reaping some benefits of my mzungu privilege, I am experiencing a bit more of the “real” Tanzania than many of my compatriots – namely, annoying fluctuations in my power and water, a lack of air-conditioning at home and at work, squishy dala-dala rides, and to top it off, no hardship pay to offset the cost of ridiculously expensive Mexican food!

Worth a million words...

2006-05-01T18:03:00.000+03:00

OK, I'm definitely flattering my photographic abilities, but I just wanted to direct your attention to my photos as I have posted some new ones of my house and my recent trip to Zanzibar.

The house is still coming together, but this weekend we finally got (kind of ridiculous, crushed velvet, overstuffed) couches so it's starting to feel a lot more like home.

Reflections on "Mzungu-ness"

2006-05-01T16:22:00.000+03:00

Warning: the following post contains quasi-existential musings and academic buzzwords!!

As noted in my previous post, mzungu (plural: wazungu) is the catch-all term used to refer to any white person in Tanzania. In general it is not meant to be derogatory, but the constant reminder of one’s obvious difference can get a bit tiresome. And it really is constant. Children are fond of chanting “mzungumzungumzungu!!” when you pass by; dala-dala drivers will brag loudly should they have an mzungu passenger; and if someone doesn’t know your name, they’ll just call you “mzungu”. (As in, “Mzungu! Habari gani?” which roughly translates to “Hey, whitey! What’s up?” And actually, after my run on Saturday morning, someone did just shout, “WHITEY!!” as I passed by.)

In general I don’t really mind it, perhaps because I’m still enjoying the fact that I’m something of a novelty here in Tanzania. However, there are certainly days when I would prefer to be anonymous, and that’s not really ever an option here. Moreover, I’ve been struggling with the place in society where my “mzungu-ness” necessarily locates me. Basically, the history of wazungu in Africa is a rather sordid one, and while I don’t have any personal links to colonialism, it is difficult to ignore the fact that many of the privileges and comforts that I am afforded here are owed to its legacy. Perhaps more to the point, these comforts and privileges result from the fact that I am a person from one of the richest countries in the world currently living in one of the poorest countries in the world.

Tanzania is one of the biggest recipients of international aid in Africa, since its relative political stability and low level of corruption make Western governments feel good about giving the country money. While I don’t doubt that there are genuine altruistic urges behind these funds, the manifestation of donor money into a profusion of ex-pat “technical advisors” and “experts” creates a scenario that bears an unsettling resemblance to colonialism – that is, a bunch of white folks coming into a country and presuming they know better than the native inhabitants.

Locating myself in this landscape can be tricky, especially as I find myself wondering what tangible skills I really have to offer (or to use the cringe-worthy lingo of the international NGO world, what my “value-add” is…) I mean, I know I’m an Excel maven, but sometimes I’m jealous of people like doctors who can help in more direct, concrete ways.

It’s also just kind of weird to be living in Dar, since the fact that all the embassies, U.N. agencies, and a number of international NGOs are located here means that the ex-pat community is very large, and has the potential for being very self-contained. Indeed the majority of ex-pats in Dar live, work and play exclusively in the mzungu ghetto that is the Msasani Peninsula (though it is far from “ghetto,” with sprawling beach-front estates outfitted with satellite televisions, tennis courts and kitchens stocked with American groceries). My salary – as well as my squishily-defined reasons for being here – precludes my living on the Peninsula, however I do find myself socializing primarily with other wazungu. My (white, American) roommate and I have lamented our lack of Tanzanian friends, and wondered if we might be having a more “genuine” experience if we were rather living in some remote village where ours were the only white faces for miles around.

But anyway, enough self-flagellating over-analysis. Suffice it to say that I am having a “genuine” experience as an mzungu living and working in Dar es Salaam! I may not know what the hell I’m doing here, but hopefully attempting to figure it out will be part of the adventure…

“A Dala-dala is Never Full” or “Dala-dala Bill Y’all” or “Pimp My Dala-dala”

2006-04-23T18:11:00.001+03:00

What follows is an ode to the dala-dala, my preferred mode of transport these days. Dala-dalas comprise the public bus system here in Dar and indeed all over Tanzania. Though perhaps ‘bus system’ is a bit misleading, since calling a dala-dala a bus is a bit of a stretch – and their operation is not exactly systematic…

Dala-dalas are usually 12-seater, Hitachi minivans, though again this is a bit of a misleading description as I’ve had the pleasure to ride with at least 25 other passengers at one time. I remember the first time I rode one with my coworker Elisabeth. She let me enter first and I initially thought we’d have to get off, as all the seats were taken and there wasn’t much standing room. But then the other passengers folded down two tiny seats in the aisle. Ah, I thought, now it’s full. (We were about 14 at that point). But no, at the next stop I counted about seven more people get on, and by the end of the ride we had proceeded to pick up a few more.

As for etymology, the term has something to do with U.S. currency. According to my Swahili teacher, there was once a time when one Tanzanian shilling was equal to one U.S. dollar (a bit hard to believe as the U.S. dollar now buys about 1,200 Tanzanian shillings…) and that was how much it cost to ride. So “dala-dala” = “dollar, dollar,” which is what the “conductor” would have called out for passengers to pay. Something like that. (A brief aside: An American friend and I were discussing some of the great, English-influenced names we’ve encountered here. He told me he once met a guy named U.S. Dala. Clearly this person is destined for a successful career in the hip-hop industry…)

Fortunately (for those of us on a budget) it no longer costs a whole dala but a mere 200 Tanzanian shillings (about 17 cents) to go anywhere in Dar. The route the dala-dala will take is indicated by a colored band around the bus, as well as a placard announcing the destination on the front. In addition, most dala-dalas are adorned with graffiti-style paint announcing various slogans or names, which pay heed to Islam and American pop music. For instance, “INSHALLAH” (God willing), “ALLAH AKBAR” (God is Great), “Boyz II Men,” and my personal favorite, “TRACY CHAPMAN,” emblazoned in sparkly, silver bubble letters at the top of the windshield.

Most of the stops are clearly designated, but there are no schedules. A classmate of mine at Swahili school recalled asking someone what time the dala-dala was scheduled to leave. The response: What time? Why, of course when it’s full!

As an mzungu (literally, European, but generally used to refer to all white folks in Tanzania) riding the dala-dala, one is bound to be a bit of a novelty, since most ex-pats prefer to get around in Land Rovers. Perhaps they are heeding the warning featured in the State Department’s Consular Information Sheet for Tanzania, which I recently received in my e-mail inbox. It describes the dala-dalas thusly:

Travelers should be wary of using the ubiquitous microbuses (dala-dalas), which are frequently overcrowded, poorly maintained, a common site of petty theft, and whose operation is generally unsafe.

Nothing like living on the edge…

A Night Truly Different from All Other Nights

2006-04-23T17:26:00.000+03:00

This post is terribly overdue, given that Passover is now over, but I think the novelty of my attending a seder here in Dar es Salaam is still worth writing about. Anyway, during my first week here, I met two other American young women who will also be in Dar for two years and who are also members of the tribe. (That’s the Jewish tribe, for you non-chosen people.) One of them is now my housemate, Michelle. The two of them thought it would be nice to observe Passover in some way, either holding their own seder, or trying to find one to attend. Word got round, as it tends to do in the ex-pat community here, and on the Sunday before the first day of Passover, Michelle received a text message from a woman named Pamina, who said she had heard we were looking for a seder.

Michelle called Pamina back and we were summoned to her house that evening to consult on plans for the seder. In the movie version of this story, Pamina would be played by a slightly younger Anjelica Houston…. She is Israeli, 56 years old (over 20 of which have been spent in Tanzania), a chain-smoker and font of unsolicited and often excessive, personal information. It was a bit unclear as to why she needed us there to plan the seder – perhaps she just wanted someone to kvetch at besides her three adult daughters (all of whom have spent almost their entire lives in Dar and speak English, Hebrew, and Swahili fluently). She explained that she was used to hosting large seders here (50 people or more) but had been away from Dar in the past couple of years, and since then the small Jewish community seems to have splintered. But she was determined to resume her hosting duties this year as she had been contacted by two American rabbis who were spending three weeks in East Africa.

After we had been at Pamina’s restaurant for about an hour, the rabbis came to join in the preparations. When I heard that rabbis were coming, I was expecting older, staid men of few words (at least not for a non-religious Jew such as myself). Rather, they were both 22, fresh out of rabbinical school, and only too happy to talk with us, in their strong New York accents, about anything and everything, at great length and with great enthusiasm. They were thus a good match for Pamina. When one lamented his lack of life experience and worried that this would affect his ability to advise members of his congregation, Pamina said, “Well, you may not have experience, but I do. Here are some stories.” And launched into the complete stories of her two marriages and subsequent divorces…

In keeping with their strict dietary restrictions, the rabbis had brought enough food over to hold them for the entire three weeks. Their stash included 100 kilos of chicken schnitzel, which they had frozen, wrapped in newspapers, and packed in suitcases!! This level of precaution was met with a fair degree of scorn from Pamina and her daughters, who explained to the rabbis that Dar’s large Muslim population means that it’s possible to get halal meat everywhere, and halal is the same as kosher. The rabbis were of a different opinion, and proceeded to get into a very heated debate, which Michelle and I were finally able to escape when I was no longer able to conceal my yawns. (At this point we had been “planning” the seder for a good three hours, it was past 10 PM, and we still had not eaten dinner!)

The seder itself was a bit anti-climactic. Or at least different from what I had expected. There were only about 16 of us, and Michelle and I managed to be late, which further soured our hostess’s bad mood. The rabbis were clearly very nervous, and I think in what was an attempt to not offend or bore anyone, they skipped over or rushed through a lot of key elements of the seder. Despite some of the guests grumbling that we were not doing things properly, we cut the ceremony short to eat, as Pamina informed us that the food would burn otherwise. The chicken schnitzel had been transformed into meatballs, which were served “Chinese style,” “Cajun style,” and “Tanzanian style.” All very tasty, but I actually don’t think the rabbis ate ANY after all their protesting. I think they still were not satisfied with how it had been prepared… I also think one of them was coming down with something, as he put on his jacket midway through dinner, and it’s really NEVER cool enough in Dar to merit putting on a jacket…

Food and a bit of too-sweet kosher wine put everyone (with the possible exception of the rabbis) in a more relaxed mood, and we were able to resume the official business of the seder after eating. We concluded by singing the songs that more than one person could remember and were finally sent home with excess homemade matzo (also imported from New York City).

I can only hope that the rest of our rabbis’ visit has been a success. The “Tanzanian way” of accepting and adapting to one’s circumstances with limited worries and stress is not exactly conducive to a strict adherence to the laws of Orthodox Judaism (or a strict adherence to anything that matter). But if nothing else, I’m sure they’ll return home with a few good stories.

Compendium of Inevitable Clueless-American-in-Foreign-Country Moments

2006-04-13T16:22:00.000+03:00

So when I started this blog, I made a promise to myself that I would do more than talk about how DIFFERENT everything is when you're living in a **FOREIGN COUNTRY**. But, I'm sorry, sometimes everything is just really, well, different when you're living in a foreign country. These differences can have a number of consequences -- some frightening, some embarassing, some just downright weird. In the past few days, I've had a number of such experiences, and so I now feel compelled to list them without further ado:

(I will try to write a more comprehensive update soon... Just to keep you in the loop, I have returned to Dar with some competence in the Swahili language, and have moved into my house!!!)

So, to begin, a bathroom story... On Sunday I got to spend another 8 hours of my life on a "luxury" bus (it was actually pretty nice and we even had a stewardess and 2 movies!). Despite my best intentions I had managed to drink enough on the ride that I needed to use the disgusting bathroom (I haven't quite adjusted to the squat toilets...) at the highway restaurant where we stopped for lunch. Knowing what to expect, I had brought my own toilet paper, so I thought I was prepared. But then I couldn't figure out how to flush. There was nothing on the tank, so I thought I'd try a faucet in the middle of the wall next to the toilet. Well it turned out that I had managed not to flush the toilet but to turn on THE SHOWER. I managed to not get totally soaked, but my hair did get visbly wet, as did my shirt and pants... Let's just say I got even more weird looks than usual when I finally emerged from the bathroom, and the rest of the ride was not so pleasant.

My theme of embarassing myself continued later that night when I checked into my budget motel in the center of town (sadly my guest house was full, and I didn't yet have a bed so couldn't move into my house, so work had set me up with a room at the Econo Lodge, described by multiple people as "not great, but OK." I'd say it lived up to the description.). I had gone out to dinner so was getting back at around 9... I went to get in the elevator and right before the doors shut, this short Tanzanian guy ran to join me. (We were the only people in the elevator.) He did not push a button and proceeded to get out at my floor. I thought I'd let him go first since he kind of creeped me out, but he kind of hung back and ended up following me to my room. When we got to my door, I turned sharply and said in a loud voice, "UNAKWENDA WAPI?!!" (Where are you going?!!) He then explained that he was hotel security..... So I laughed and apologized and tried to explain, which potentially made him think I was coming on to him. ("Oh... where did you THINK I was going..." *suggestive eyebrow raise*) But I was relieved, to say the least. I concluded the evening by thinking I had locked myself in the bathroom (about 5 minutes of sheer panic, especially considering the fact that the only person who might hear my cries for help was the somewhat sketchy security guard) but fortunately I was mistaken once again.

Other incidents of note in the past few days have included my cab ride with the police... I was riding home with a friend who got dropped off first. As soon as we turned the corner we were stopped by 3 policeman, all of whom proceeded to enter the cab!! My look of horror convinced the 3rd one to get out and avoid sitting on my lap, so then I just got to ride with two... They insisted that I "worry not," complimented me on my Swahili, and assured me that they were just dealing with a "previous offense" that the driver had committed. I was of course certain that they were not real policeman, but friends of the driver, who would proceed to drive me out to some godforsaken corner of Dar and beat me up and take all my money. Fortunately this did not occur; I just got taken to my motel and they went on their merry way. I felt a bit bad for the driver, but less so after he conveniently did not have any change and I ended up paying him about 5 times my fare.

And to conclude, a few words on shopping for a bed, Tanzanian style. In Dar es Salaam, it is possible to buy absolutely ANYTHING along the side of the road. This proved quite convenient on Monday, when I purchased my bed from a parking lot along the main road. Fortunately, a Tanzanian friend had gone to the bed vendor earlier in the day to secure the price, but when we arrived later we were still MOBBED. As soon as it became clear that I was going to buy something, I was surrounded by about 40 men vying for my attention (I could get used to this... OK not really) and passing mattresses over my head. When I had finally selected the bed I wanted, they proceeded to disassemble it and stuff it into the back of the world's most dilapidated taxi... The poor car was seriously on its LAST legs: We stopped for "gas" which entailed taking a gallon jug of some clear liquid out from under the hood, but not turning off the engine, because if we had we would have needed to start the car again... But we and the car made it alive to my house, and then the driver carried my bed inside and put it back together again! Now that's service...

But now I must be off as we have a 4-day holiday for Easter, and I have a trip to plan! (If all goes well I'll be in Zanzibar at this time tomorrow)

Chakula cha Tanzania

2006-04-02T20:51:00.000+03:00

In the three weeks that I have spent in Tanzania thus far, I have been fortunate to sample a variety of food (chakula), often in rather copious quantities. Thus, as part of Dar es Salaam Diary’s stated mission to inform and entertain, I would like to use this post to take you on a gastronomic tour of my new home.

Every Friday afternoon here at “camp” is set aside for “cultural time,” meant to help us wazungu cope with adjusting to our new home. Last Friday the theme was time management, Tanzanian style. We saw a skit and participated in an in-depth discussion with the main point being that people here do not like to hurry. They will be late for meetings, will notice your being late but never own up to being late themselves, and that there’s nothing much we can do about it, so we should just accept it as a fact of Tanzanian life and deal. Hamna shida. Hakuna matata. (In just two weeks of Swahili lessons, I’ve learned approximately 6 different ways of saying “no worries.”) If you know me at all well, it’s likely that you’ve had the experience of waiting around for me at some point, so this is one cultural barrier that I think I should have no great problem with.

Anyway, the theme for this Friday’s cultural time was food, as a number of us had expressed a desire to learn how to cook traditional Tanzanian dishes. So, at around 2:30, my classmates and I gathered with one of our teachers, mwalimu Rehema, and four of the chefs here who had graciously agreed to show us how to prepare chakula cha Tanzania. Four and a half hours, and at least as many cups of oil later, we had made a feast!

As for what we made… The primary staple of the Tanzanian diet is ugali, a stiff porridge that is something of an acquired taste. (Though it’s actually rather tasteless…) None of us have quite developed the appreciation that ugali perhaps merits, but we were still curious to see how it’s made. Basically, it’s just water and maize flour, but the process of boiling and stirring can get a little tricky (especially when you’re squatting over a small, hot charcoal stove!) Fortunately, no one expects you to eat ugali by itself. Rather, it serves as a base for stews of meat (nyama) or veggies (mboga).

Tanzanian food also includes a number of dishes with Indian roots. We made two of these: chapati and sambusas (samosas). In each case, the main ingredients were flour, water, and a generous amount of oil. The sambusas were filled with a delicious mixture of ground beef, onions, garlic, ginger, and peas. Quite fun to make, though rolling the dough thin enough proved rather difficult.

Next on the menu was spiced chicken (kuku), which was marinated in a mix of ginger, garlic, salt, pepper, and lime juice, and then fried in boiling oil for about 15-20 minutes until brown.

We also made okra (bamia), stewed veggies (mboga), fried green bananas, and beans with coconut milk. And while we were washing up, our patient teachers prepared stewed spinach, carrot salad, and cut up some fresh avacadoes.

As perhaps inferred from the time, this was a rather labor-intensive process. Case in point: the coconut milk. Rather than simply opening a can, we had to shred fresh coconut by hand using a nifty little folding-seat contraption with a spiky bit coming out of one end. You basically straddle it and then use the spiky end to scrape all of the flesh from the inside of a half coconut. Those with a bit more experience make this process look easy and quick, but I would say I averaged about 20 minutes per half coconut, and my back was rather sore afterward… Once you have all the shavings, you put them in warm water, and squeeze, then run through a strainer.

Our hard work was finally rewarded with a delicious (though rather heavy!) meal, pictures of which you can see here.

On Saturday I was still recovering from the feast, but had promised a fellow classmate and one of the MS-TCDC drivers that I would go out for nyama choma (grilled meat) so I got to have another culinary adventure that evening. The nyama in question can be chicken, goat, beef, or mutton (also fish at some establishments). Before sitting down, you go to the counter and select your meat. Sometimes it’s already cooked, I am told, but in our case I got to point to a big hunk of raw beef hanging from a hook in the ceiling to indicate how much I wanted and from what part of the animal. (Not exactly a vegetarian-friendly dining experience…) We then sat down to wait for it to be prepared, with some cold Kilimanjaro to help pass the time. After about 30 minutes, we were presented with a large silver platter of grilled beef chunks and some more fried green bananas. Also hot chili on the side. No silverware, as nyama choma is always eaten with one’s hands. Another round of beer was necessary at this point to counter the spice of the meat. All in all, a thoroughly delicious meal, and definitely a value (About $9 for 6 beers and food for three…)

Dessert does not appear to be such a big thing here (perhaps it’s superfluous by that point?) but one’s sweet tooth can certainly be satisfied by the delicious fruit and fruit juices. In particular, mango, pineapple, guava, passion fruit, and papaya.

Extracurricular activities

2006-03-27T18:06:00.000+03:00

So, when I was in third grade, we had this project where we had to take a shoebox and use it to create a diorama of some far-flung region of the world. I chose the African savanna, and so my shoebox was painted bright blue and green, and had little cardboard cut-outs of zebras, giraffes, and elephants. Either because my parents love me very much, or because they haven't done a whole lot of redecorating over the years, I believe it is still on display in our home in Pittsburgh. Anyway, where I'm going with this is that on Sunday I had the experience of feeling like I had stepped inside that diorama.

Along with two of my fellow "campers" (Kiwi Sandra and German shrink Miriam) I went on my first safari to nearby Arusha National Park. We were able to arrange the trip through MS-TCDC's transport officer, and so bright and early at 9 AM, a man named Aziz was waiting for us at the reception in a sturdy four-by-four. After about 15 minutes down the main road and another 20 or so on a rather rocky dirt road, we were at the front gate. We hadn't even passed through the gate when Sandra ran to get me from the bathroom to show me our first giraffe.

That giraffe (or twiga) would be the first of at least 100 that we saw yesterday. In addition, we saw a number of punda milia (zebras, literally "striped donkeys"), nyati (buffalo), mbango (warthogs), and a glimpse of two hippos bathing. I've posted a few of my favorite pics on Flickr.

In addition, we caught a glimpse of Mt. Kilimanjaro, though it was swathed in clouds for most of the day. Much more prominent, and quite beautiful, was Mt. Meru (which we can also see each day from "camp.") A lot of people climb Meru as a "practice run" for Kili, though word on the street is that it's actually a more technically challenging climb. However, it's a bit lower than Kili, so people don't suffer so much from altitude sickness. It's also a hell of a lot cheaper to climb, so I'm thinking that might be a fun activity for the dry season.

But back to our safari... Most of our time was spent in the car with Aziz (who served as a tour guide and Swahili teacher as well as driver), stopping and getting out of the car when we wanted to take pictures or simply stare. We also wanted to walk around the park a bit, so after lunch we had one of the (required) armed guards lead us on a little hike. He was quite the knowledgeable guide as well (I now know about 20 different uses for Sodom's apples -- a small green fruit that was quite prevalent in the park -- but perhaps I'll save that for another post).

I would have to say that my main impression of the giraffes was that they just strike me as highly improbable animals. They are just so incredibly tall. And given that there really weren't that many tall trees in the park, their height seemed kind of unnecessary. But they do have a certain elegance about them. And serenity. In fact, nearly all of the animals that we saw just seemed to be extremely peaceful, languishing on tree branches, playfully nudging each other, loping around, or contemplating a mouthful of grass. I suppose we humans are fond of romanticizing and anthropomorphizing our non-hominid fellow inhabitants of this planet, but I did feel as if maybe they have figured out something that we've yet to grasp.

COLOR WAR!!!!!!

2006-03-20T20:18:00.000+03:00

I only thought I was kidding... but here I am, writing this post from my color-coded cabin (go Green!!!) after a tasty dinner in the dining hall and a day that included activities such as a group sing-a-long. I suppose one major difference is that Swahili Summer Camp has such amenities as wireless Internet (and a bar on-site), but still...

Anyway, the MS Training Centre for Development Co-operation (a.k.a. camp) is located just outside of Arusha, which is a city in the northeast part of the country, near the border with Kenya as well as Mt. Kilimanjaro. So, getting here was a bit of an ordeal: 10 and a half hours in an un-airconditioned bus. Fortunately I am a veteran of the Chinatown, so it really wasn't too bad. And the scenery as we got closer to Arusha was really incredible -- lush, green, and just vast. Our journey was somewhat delayed at the first weigh station. Apparently the bus was overweight, so they made about 10 passengers get off and then weighed the bus again. According to my seatmate Bakuza, this was to show that it was not the luggage that was making the bus overweight, but the passengers. This didn't really make sense to me (maybe has to do w/ distribution of weight?) but it all worked out eventually and we got back on the road (with all of our portly passengers) after about half an hour.

I didn't get to see much last night as we arrived after dark (I actually had to bust out my headlamp to get from the road to the reception area!) but today I have enjoyed wandering around in during class breaks. It's really a different climate from Dar, definitely cooler, and as mentioned above, very green. The whole grounds are also just very nicely kept, with distinctive touches like a big "banda" where we all break to drink our chai, and little gazebos to facilitate studying outside. We're well off the road, so it's very quiet apart from the crickets (cicadas? something else?) and monkeys (!) at night.

As for the other "campers" -- there are 11 of us total in the Beginner's class, quite a varied bunch. My classmates include a nun (Sister Mary Magdalena) who is also an X-ray technician, a Swiss girl spending her "gap year" coordinating the nursery school on a coffee plantation, a German psychiatrist who looks to be about 12 years old until you get really close to her, and then two older couples. I'm the only American.

We didn't really do much today in terms of learning Swahili -- it was all more orientation stuff. But we did learn about 10 different ways of saying hello, my favorite of which is the slangy "Mambo!" (the appropriate response to which is "Poa!" or "Fresh!")

Some Reflections on the First Week

2006-03-18T11:10:00.000+03:00

So, one full week in Tanzania! Let's see what I have to show for it... a peeling sunburn, a number of mosquito bites (tho no malaria, hooray!), a few words of Kiswahili vocab, a mountain of work-related reading, and, despite the initial difficulties of adjustment, a strong sense of excitement about my next two years here.

Work has improved, I would say, in terms of getting to feel like I know my place here. My officemates have opened up a bit to me as well (which may be the result of my opening up to them, of course). One amusing exchange: Chambi was asking me what sort of things I do for fun, if I play any sports, etc. Then he asks, "So, would you consider yourself a nerd?" I didn't understand what he was asking, given his accent, so he had to spell it out for me: "A NERD. N-E-R-D." I laughed, and had to admit that yes, I do consider myself a nerd. Not sure what the translation is in Kiswahili...

So, one rather unexpected aspect of day-to-day like at HakiElimu: the intense level of planning and bureaucracy. Each year, the board goes on a retreat to formulate the annual plan, which is subsequently divided into four quarterly plans, which are subsequently divided into weekly plans. The plans list the activities (or "outputs") that are expected during the week from each person, as well as the proposed budget. In addition, before beginning an activity, one is supposed to complete an "activity memo" outlining exactly how one expects to complete the activity, including a time frame. And then at the end of each quarter, each division is assessed on its performance in relation to its plans. My division meets every other Friday to go over how we're progressing -- in theory the meeting should run from 2 to 5, but yesterday it was more like 2 to 6:30!!! I managed to miss the first half hour because I had to run to the bank... Needless to say, it's certainly a change of management style from that which I had been used to.

But anyway, enough about work and onto some more sexy topics like alcohol and prostitution! Last night was my entree into the ex-pat social scene and I must say it is a bit bizarre. I have been hanging out quite a bit with this girl Rachel, who actually used to live in DC (and thus we have some mutual friends). She is here for two years as well, working with the Harvard School of Public Health, and has been here since August. Anyway, we went out last night, first to a traditional Tanzanian dance performance, which was really great (somehow we ended up on stage at the end... I guess those African dance classes paid off!) While watching the performance, I got my first taste of Kilimanjaro beer, which I thought was quite tasty! Then we went to Steers (the South African version of McDonald's) so Rachel's roommate Kenji could get some food, and finally we hit up one of the main ex-pat watering holes: a place called Q-Bar.

The crowd at Q-Bar was a mix of ex-pat types around our age (20s and 30s) and then a number of older white men (50s, 60s, 70s, and one who could have definitely been 80) accompanied by lovely Tanzanian young women. Anyway, it was a bit hard not to gawk. As Rachel put it about one of these men: "That guy's my grandfather's age. And my grandfather's dead!" So, yeah, it was a bit gross.

Another interesting sight was a Masai warrier getting his groove on. (Chances are, if you've seen a coffee table book on Africa, you have seen pictures of the Masai, wearing red robes, carrying spears, and walking across some deserted piece of scenery. Our friend, on the other hand, had accessorized his robe with sparkly scarf, replaced his spear with a beer, and was holding his own on the dance floor to the band's renditions of Shaggy and Bob Marley songs.)

Tonight I'm hoping to see a different side of the Dar es Salaam scene, as I'm going out with one of my (Tanzanian) officemates.

And then tomorrow I'm off to Arusha for "Swahili Summer Camp"!! I'm hoping that my Chinatown bus experiences will help me survive the 8+ hour ride that awaits.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears: A Typical Day at the Office

2006-03-16T07:31:00.000+03:00

OK, so there hasn't been any blood (so long as I don't keep scratching my mosquito bites), but there has been a considerable amount of sweat (no air-conditioning! see previous post regarding living near the Equator), and yes, there have been a few tears...

Today is my fourth day a full-time employee at HakiElimu. So far, it has been... challenging. My first day began with the Monday morning meeting -- a two-hour long, full staff meeting conducted almost entirely in Kiswahili. (Kiswahili is the more correct/P.C. term for Swahili, as I currently understand it.) Needless to say, I felt a bit out of my element. Unfortunately, things did not really improve when I got back to my office (which I share with three others). Rakesh (HakiElimu's executive director) had warned me that people mainly speak Swahili around the office, but I still don't think I was totally prepared for it. My officemates all speak very good English, but not only were they not speaking much English to me, they weren't really speaking to me at all.

I was still feeling somewhat frustrated yesterday when Rakesh called me into his office for a meeting. He asked how things were going, to which I meekly responded "fine." But he pressed a bit more, saying, "that was a pretty unconvincing fine" which unfortunately induced a bit of blubbering on my part as I explained how things had not been entirely and completely wonderful thus far. He responded by giving me a substantive assignment, and also reminding me that adjustments are always rather difficult, even when language is not an issue.

Anyway, despite these initial difficulties, I remain extremely excited about working at HakiElimu. Yesterday was also the first day for a new arrival to my department (the Policy Analysis and Advocacy division) -- a guy named Kajubi, who may in fact become the manager of our division. Currently Rakesh serves as de facto manager, but since he is also HakiElimu's executive director, he is stretched a bit thin. Kajubi's arrival afforded Rakesh an opportunity to talk to both of us a bit more about HakiElimu, our role here, as well as some broader comments on the state of civil society in Tanzania. I can honestly say I found the conversation not just interesting but inspiring. In outlining his broad vision for HakiElimu, Rakesh said that without meaning to be presumptuous, what he really wants to do is plant the seeds of a social movement. While certainly many of my former colleagues at CBPP might have similar goals, it was exciting to hear my boss be so explicit. Basically, his vision is a Tanzania where the citizens are truly engaged, in terms of having the confidence and ability to make the decisions that affect their lives.

But back to the day-to-day stuff... There have been some interesting commonalities as far as work goes. Once again, I have been blessed with officemates who are fond of working long hours. I have been the first one out of the office every day so far, tho I have managed to get here before them. And given that work starts at 8, this has been quite a feat! Indeed, today I arrived at 7:28 AM. But my newfound punctuality if probably largely a result of this weather -- it's hard to sleep in once the sun comes up and it starts to get hot.

Yesterday I also participated in another familiar office ritual: cake for someone's birthday! Tho the singing was in Kiswahili, and there was somewhat more clapping. And then the day before, we gathered for a meeting that was called to announce the departure of our IT person, Connie. Again, it was all in Kiswahili, but I kind of got the gist that she was telling everyone that she was leaving. But then she kept talking and then began to cry. And then a number of other women around the room began to cry. So I was of course thinking that she had revealed some terrible tragedy, which was forcing her to leave. But no, I was assured by another colleague, that she had simply been offered another job, and her tears were simply related to her sadness at leaving HakiElimu. So that seems like a good sign...

Life near the equator

2006-03-12T17:12:00.000+03:00

This may seem obvious to those of you who are more geographically adept, but on Friday I realized that when you live close to the equator, the days are about the same length all year long. I found this kind of neat. So that means that in Dar, the sun rises at around 6:30 AM and sets at around 7:00 PM every day. I have also learned that between those hours the sun is FIERCE. At least this time of year. I spent much of yesterday walking all around Dar, and am currently sporting the watch and farmer tans (rather, burns) to prove it. Also 3 mosquito bites, which of course I'm sure means I'm about to come down with a raging case of malaria, but hopefully that will not be the case!

There is much more to report, but I'm afraid I'm out of time, so I will just leave you with these profound insights for now. Tomorrow is my first day of work (which starts promptly at 8 AM!!!) so I'm sure I'll have much to add after that.

Oh, finally, I got a Tanzanian cell phone, so shoot me an e-mail if you would like to get my number. I'd post it, but you never know with those pesky telemarketers...

Karibu Sana!

2006-03-10T23:22:00.000+03:00

Well, I made it! I have now been on Tanzanian soil for approximately 3.5 hours. My journey was rather uneventful, tho I did manage to pop into London for a few hours during my layover, where wandered around in the rain for a bit, and then stopped in a pub for a pint (which definitely helped me sleep during the next 10-hour leg of my trip here).

I was a bit nervous going through immigration, since I was told that I should just apply for a 3-month visitor's visa at this time. Apparently it's taking HakiElimu a while to get my official work permit, so that was the best interim solution. So I handed my passport and a crisp 50-dollar bill off to an official, who handed it to another official behind some glass (there were about 10 customs officials behind the glass, whose main activities seemed to be passing things between each other and stamping things). I then waited for about 20 minutes, when finally another official motioned for me to step forward, and asked me one question only: Are you married? He then pondered my passport for a bit longer, and finally relinquished it to me along with my visitor's visa. Whew!

After getting my bags, I was met by a man holding a sign bearing my name (I must admit I found that kind of exciting) who drove me in the official HakiElimu van first to the guest house where I will be staying for the next 10 days, and then over to HakiElimu's office, where I am currently writing this post.

Anyway... first impressions. I definitely feel that I am in Africa whatever that means... As in: there is dust; it is HOT; there are women in brightly colored garments carrying all sorts of things on their heads; there are shacks and huts along the road with laundry hanging outside; I see no other white faces... (OK, this is not Hemingway, I realize, but I'm jet-lagged!!!) There were lots of billboards on the way from the airport, mostly cell phone ads, but one that caught my eye in particular was a big ad for condoms, picturing a man and woman in the rain under an umbrella (get it????!!!!) So that says something about social mores, I think. I mean, I don't think we have condom billboards in the states... There were also people walking through the (busy!) streets selling all manner of items: knives, towels, car accessories... My favorite was a guy selling patches and stickers, one of which was a large red circle that said: This car is protected by the blood of JESUS. The way some people were driving, that might not be such a bad idea...

As for first impressions of HakiElimu... Wow! It's hard to know where to begin. I get the sense that the organization is a tightly run ship, tho people also seem pretty relaxed and there appears to be a fair amount of autonomy. Kind of like CBPP! Chambi, a program officer in the Policy Analysis and Advocacy division (with which I will be working) has been showing me around. Most people I've met have been very nice -- many have said they've heard a lot about me, they are glad I'm finally here, etc. etc. My lack of Swahili knowledge is glaringly apparent. Everyone says "Karibu" (Welcome) or "Karibu sana" (You are very welcome). I knew those phrases before arriving, but then I'm not sure how to respond, so they say things like, "Do you even know one word of Swahili??" Perhaps I should have spent a bit more time with that book! But hopefully I will come back after "Swahili Summer Camp" and wow them all...

OK, we're having lunch in a bit, then I think I may go try to nap back at the guest house. This evening Elisabeth (Swiss international volunteer at HakiElimu) and Aika (another colleague in the Policy Analysis and Advocacy division) are planning to have dinner with me, so I feel appropriately looked after. Looking forward to my first taste of Tanzanian food!!!

My first foray into the blogosphere

2006-03-08T10:02:00.000+03:00

Approximately 20 hours til departure... Rather than do something sensible like, oh, you know, finish packing, I thought I'd finally get started with this blog that I've been talking so much about. So, allow me to share my vision for Dar es Salaam Diary (note: I am accepting suggestions for a snappier title, but that's all I've got for now). I'm heading off to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania for the next two years of my life, and this blog will be an attempt to chronicle my adventures -- hopefully not a completely narcissistic exercise. I will do my best to inform and entertain.

Thursday, February 22nd was my last day at the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, where I was employed as a research assistant in the Budget and Tax Policy Division. Through CBPP's International Budget Project I got hooked up with a Tanzanian NGO called Haki Elimu , where I will be working for the next two years. Haki Elimu's main focus is education policy, but they are looking to expand into more general analysis of Tanzania's budget, a goal which I will be helping to further.

I'll get to Dar on Friday morning, where I will be greeted at the airport by someone from Haki Elimu, and then I'll head to my Dutch guest house (as far as I understand, a guesthouse is a step up from a hostel but a step below a hotel...) where I'll be staying for my first 10 days in Dar. Then on March 20th I'm off to language school for 3 weeks at the MS Training Centre for Development Co-operation (a.k.a. Swahili Summer Camp). When I return to Dar I'll move into more permanent housing, which I hope to secure during my first 10 days.

The best way to get in touch with me at this point is probably via e-mail. (ruthcarlitz_at_gmail.com) I plan to get a cell phone when I get to Dar, and also learn how to use the Skype account that I set up a couple of days ago. (My account name is ruthcarlitz.)

OK, there's a suspiciously large amount of room left in one of my bags, which means I'm surely forgetting some important items. Kwa heri for now... next post from Tanzania!!