he's such a blessing

The guy that sells pirated DVD's where we take Swahili lessons is called Baracka. It mean's blessing in Swahili. It's fascinating to hear these new names that I've never heard before. He seems all free-enterprise like but I'm sure he's a socialist (which is bad, for those keeping score at home). Baracka always comes and says 'hi' when we have our lesson.

In the hall where we study is some 3rd World workout equipment. The boys come and workout here. It is a little to bench press centric but hey, at least they aren't machines. The dumbbells and barbells are made by pouring cement in a bucket and then, umm, cementing a bar in place.

I haven't worked out here but I did take each of the bars for a test drive. The heaviest one is the one made of car wheels. I think it weighs about 180lbs. They also have some dumbbells which weigh about 35lbs. No little pink foamy three pound weights here (lest you think I belittle them, I actually grabbed them to work my rotator cuff when we were at a "proper" gym last week).

Finding our "proper" gym has been a bit of a struggle. Firstly, back in Canada I don't really provide custom to places that don't have a web because I like to suss out exactly what I want, need, and directions. Here I'm finding gyms by word of mouth. The first place we went had bars that were bent from the heavy weight. The second place we went was so impressive we got a 10 visit pass. Now, it doesn't have a squat rack which makes me sad. And it doesn't have a bench rack which is more of a curiousity. I mean, it's the gold standard for assessing strength. And it's an exercise that you can lay down while doing. It's a westerner's dream! That gym also has a pool. I can usually take or leave swimming but it is hot here and I like to swim (in pools, not with crocodiles).

Today I found another gym that had a squat rack (which I found pins for eventually - I was starting to worry that the shorn off pin would shear off again and the weight would drop, sling shot to the other side and take out the window; or me). The same rack could be used for bench pressing. It is also cheaper than our other gym. 7k Tsh (~$5 US (and I'm hearing through the grapevine $5 CAN these days too)). And it's right on the ocean. I want to buy the gym even though it has tile rather than rubber floors.

Josey did yoga overlooking the ocean while I did man stuff inside. Now I need a nap.

double fist pump

I'm giving a double fist pump to the double wave. For, you see, a wave in Tanzania is done with both hands. So, if you see a chum from school across a crowded room, you don't just wave one hand so they see you. You wave both hands (which is impossible to do without a gigantic smile on your face - really - just try it!). Babu just came home in the taxi and the cab driver came around the back of the car and gave us the double wave. I thought we had just won the gold medal in hockey or at least that I was frosh with this guy. This wave is infectiously happy. Normally that would make me loathe it but it is infectiously happy. What can I say? I am exporting this back to Canada.

Our Swahili classes are at Coco Beach. We sit in a hall there and (occasionally) have beers (or that 3rd World stalwart, Fanta Orange) while we learn words (maneno). My Swahili is better than my French now. Which is a large indictment of my French. The Swahili has been fun. I have a theory now that those that are good at "languages" are not shy. Those that excel get in to conversations even without planning out every single word in advance and every possible response. I have to try this. Ironically, the only person I know on this trip like this had the biggest gaffe. While dealing with giardia, she told her colleagues at work for a week that her tummy hurt. Except that tummy was a vulgar verb. Ah, hilarity.

view during grammar review

Incidentally, we heard of a surefire cure for giardia. A malaria worker stormed back to the headquarters from a week in the bush to spend every hour running outside from the dorm to the outhouse. On one such trip he opened the door to find a lioness staring at him. He fell back, his bowels tightened up and he didn't have to go outside again.

party time

Saturday was a going away party for our neighbours. It started at 8. So we made our plans to go to the gym, have lunch, stroll home by 5. Then josey could bake a cake and we could go to the party. It was at 8 Tanzanian time. And that doesn't mean 8:30, 9:00 because appointment times are just rough guidelines (which they are). It meant 2pm. Here is why: the traditional clock in Tanzania is to have 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of night. So, at 7am you would say, 1 morning. 6 would be noon or midnight. So, we, and the cake, missed the start of the party by a few hours.

While we were at the party we heard many raucous stories. Not the least of which is about an elephant that charged this man's Land Rover. Back in 2006, he had been in Tanzania for 4 months when he and his wife drove to Mikumi National Park. They drove along and saw a herd of elephants 200 yards away on their right. Safely away they kept going, came around a corner and an elephant that had been hidden behind a tree was their. Full trumpet, ears out, trunk high (these are apparently what we would call *warning signs* with !!!). Car goes in to reverse, backs up 15 yards. And they are being charged from the side by another elephant. Car goes into a forward gear and just as they take off they get hit in the rear quarter panel (I think this is roughly akin to the elephant fouling off a pitch). The back end is demo'ed but they can still drive. And drive they do off to safety.

Once they were safely home they got to deal with the insurance which apparently was quite fun. Sketches on maps of herds and arrows, was the other party injured? unlikely.

Now, something like this happened to J, our host, when he encountered a mama elephant with her calf (which is likely what happened here). They came around the corner and found a very unhappy mama. They killed the engine and didn't make a sound. The mother made three fake charges at them, by which time the rest of the herd had gathered around the vehicle to suss it out. "Now unfortunately it ruined the entire trip to Africa of my sister but me? I was just busy switching to the wide-angle."

So, there was some positing that what the original story-teller should have done was not moved (backed up the 15 yards) because it was just a warning. A fake charge might follow but not a real charge. Then J suggested when they had backed up they inadvertently charged the original herd and then the gloves were off.

Interjection by pompous Englishman (who was pompous and not because he was English; ie. the Americans were cringing at his brash arrogance): "everybody knows that there is a fake charge, just stay still and get it over with, all the experts say it's a classic display, blah blah blah"

Rebuttal: "Yes, but _____ ________ (leading elephant researcher in the world) says, there are so many dead elephant researchers because even the elephant doesn't know what he is going to do next."

Hey, Motherf*cker

We all know the adorable story of first generation immigrant Mom who learns English by watching Sesame Street. Well, there is a new generation of people learning English by watching HBO apparently. We were taking our Swahili lesson this afternoon in a bar on the beach. There are a ton of locals about and we met many. Our teacher is from the West but has been in Tanzania since 1988. He knows everyone at the bar. One in particular met our greeting with “hey, motherfucker”. Then our teacher explained that he had learned English from watching American tv (side note: at least before 1995, when average folk couldn't get a tv, the kids weren't walking around with their "pants on the ground").

The language class was good. Soon after I used my first full sentence on an unsuspecting local. She laughed but understood. I’m so money and I don’t even know it. And the bill came. Which is what I asked for, I think. Ninaomba bili. Bili is one of those words that arrived late to the language. Like "everybody's working for the wikendi" (hint: week is wiki).

Since we had our class at the beach I noticed that even though there where many locals frolicking in the surf none were pulling any round-off, cartwheel full back flip madness like they were in Stone Town. In Stone Town, the kids were doing this in the hour before sunset (I cringed at every wrench). Now, it wasn’t before sunset when we had our lesson, so maybe they sparked this here in Dar. I will have to check if they do it here or not. If not, why not. Our Swahili teacher will know.

Also, we got some cultural background at our lesson (I had heard part of this before). The Tanzanians put family first, long before country but not tribe at all. Other Africans put family then tribe then country. Tanzanians don’t have much bond to their tribes anymore. When the first, and immensely popular leader, Nyerere came to power in the 1960’s he was a communist idealogue. One of the policies that he implemented completely devastated the economy. He forced most Tanzanians to move to small, rural communities that we’re not based on the traditional lands of the tribes. The creation of these artificial communities made the economy struggle but it also removed the tribal loyalties and rivalries that have so harmed other African nations (like all of them surrounding Tanzania). Rather than tribal languages, the official language was Swahili. And while you could speak your tribal language in your home, it was illegal to speak it in public. Further, because the economy was so terrible, it built a common bond in these newly created communities that had been thrown together.

Of course, if none of the above is accurate, well, I'm not really going to look it up. I'm just repeating what I'm told.

usiku mwema

Zanzibarians II

Zanzibar was a very rich country over one hundred years ago because of the slave and spice trade. In the 1800's over 100,000 slaves were brought to Stone Town and sold. The sultan then used that money to buy guns and secure his grip on the area. Zanzibar is much more Muslim than the mainland because it used to be a part (I use part because it was more than a colony) of Oman (N, our host, still has family in Oman). The travel books ask you to show respect to your Muslim hosts in Zanzibar and cover up and not be loudly drunk in the street. Judging by the spaghetti straps and high skirts, quite a few travellers don't give a shit. Also, on that note, 20-something travellers should be seen and not heard. They make my ears bleed.

We didn't tour any of the slave markets as we figure that will be a tour we do with mom & auntie. Saturday we walked and shopped in Stone Town - I bought some sandals that were made to fit while we went on our merry way. I got a massage while josey and the girls looked for dresses. I met up with them for vegetarian Indian food after eventually finding my way back to the sandal shop. The sandals were 17,000 Tsh. Tanzanian shillings. 15,000 Tsh = $10 US. So they weren't that much. And I even heard him quote somebody else at 17,000. In Tanzania you have to get used to the fact that there is a local price and a white person price. You can bargain but at a certain point you realize that you're arguing about 33 cents or maybe $2. Which reminds me of staying at the resort.

We met a woman who did NGO conflict-resolution work in Nairobi. She told us that when she was booked at the resort she kept it from her colleagues as she felt guilty about it. It is an option that very few East Africans will ever have. ($100 US a night)

Saturday evening was pretty quiet. For dinner I had a gigantic whole perch. Josey had some sort of random vegetarian dish -- I kid, I kid, she had a wonderful soup.

Sunday we saw the first rains of our trip. And they were torrential. We were in Stone Town, fresh out of the cab but not yet at the coffee shop. We stood in the alley (with a shop keeper trying to sell us an umbrella) while the rain pounded on the corrugated roof-tops. There was so much rain and nowhere for it to go that eventually the water was up to mid-shin. Kids kept riding their bikes (are we old because we stop playing or stop playing because we're old?) through the current as it would split and re-unite in various channels. Just rain but it brilliant.

We awaited the ferry in the Mercury Lounge (Freddy Mercury was born in Zanzibar) and left as the rains stopped. We can't wait to go back.

Zanzibarians I

We took the ferry to Zanzibar on Friday. We stayed at a resort north of town (these seem like two pretty straight-forward statements but I already have notes I would like to interject (I feel like I'm interrupting my formal story-telling self after telling him to tell the story but he's not telling it quite right so here is the other me). re. north of town. I think! we're at the equator. At high noon or anywhere withing three hours of that time, I have no idea what direction is where. Here you hear people (expats) cliche-ingly say that you won't take things for granted when you get back home (even though you will). But that's one thing I will take home with me. An appreciation of which way south is. re. resort. We wouldn't normally stay at a resort as we would like to be a little more immersed in the culture. But friends were staying there and we made do. I mean it's wrong on some level but the pool overlooking the ocean and the drinks charged to your room and fleeing the heat of the town just helps you deal with the wrongness.)

We headed into Stone Town which is an impressive collection of maze-like alleyways. As much as eastern seaboard towns in North America are tiny and winding because they were built before cars needed to go from A to B to the suburbs, these were built before that. J, the man of the house, told us he specced out a drainage system for Stone Town that included quotes for pulling in the pipes and equipement on lawn tractors. The man who did the job used donkeys because he knew better.

It was great walking around. Bikes, scooters, and motorcycles travel through the alleyways, ringing constantly for pedestrians to get out of the way. Tiny little shops (some catering to tourists and some for the townsfolk) faced each other, two arm-lengths away across the alley. Well, it was kinda great because at first we still had our bags (just weekend bags but it was hot and I'm 41 and crabby). We stopped at the Zanzibar Coffee House which was on josey's must-see list (we are both coffee fans and josey had been here in the winter). We had two carafes of spiced coffee (later enjoyed by our Indian friend who said they were the same spices she used in her tea). I am under the impression that these are the "spice islands". The coffees were good. Strange not having a bitter after-taste. You really don't realize you need it or even that it was there until it's gone (side note: N, our hostess in Dar, was born in Zanzibar and, yet, when we flew over she asked us to bring her some Tim Horton's - WTF?!).

At the coffee shop, we chatted with a Hungarian and a German. The German hasn't had a vacation in 8 years but was inspired by his friend who ten years ago motorcycled from Germany to South Africa. His friend encouraged him to fly to Dar, "just take a couple of t-shirts and go!". We kept running in to these two guys until Sunday afternoon (when we actually drove past the Hungarian when we were back in Dar).

After going and checking in we went to Africa House ("most popular haunt of backpackers and expats for serious drinking" - uggh - but it did have a great view west for the sunset) to meet our friends. We missed the sunset but continued undaunted. Josey and I then snuck off to the Monsoon restaurant. The food was delicious. I'm trying to think of what I had but can't -- again I had a wonderful coffee. Very finely ground -- I need to research what that is about. Then we walked around the night market which is a bunch of food vendors at the park in front of the palace. They were serving all kinds of seafood, satays, and Zanzibarian pizza (egg, potatoes, onions, etc in a crepe and fried). We made it an early night as our friends stayed out -- for some reason the drinking with expats has the feel of frosh week and we tend to flee (lest you think we're some sort of moral minority, we fled to the hotel bar where we could hear each other talk and we could sit. I like to sit.)

Uzunguni, Uhindini, Uswahilini

"European area, Indian area, Swahili area"

The people in Dar es Salaam are very diverse, hailing from the four corners of the world. The restaurants are fantastic.

When the British took over the colony of Tanganyika (Tanganyika combined with Zanzibar after achieving independence in the ‘60’s to become Tanzania) from the Germans after WWI, the town of Dar was largely divided into three different areas. An area of town for whites, an area of town for Indians, and an area of town for locals. The city is still kind of broken down that way.

Many expats live on the peninsula, which you might have guessed is a pretty ritzy part of town. I don’t really know the neighbourhoods that well so can’t get much more into than that. We are in a Tanzanian neighbourhood but we’re in a compound with a gate and employees. We are not in the typical Tanz household. People around me are gardening and cleaning and letting people in an out of the gate while I drink my coffee, web log, and complain about intermittent internet signals.

Our friend from Canada is here working for 6 months. She is Japanese-Canadian. Here she is called Chinese. There isn’t a differentiation between the various Asian cultures (well, except for Indians and Arabs but you know what I mean).

Her room-mate here is Indian-Canadian. Here she is called Indian. Indians have been traveling and trading here in East Africa for hundreds of years. By some people here, the Chinese and the Indians are disliked. The Chinese because they come here and take jobs from local Tanzanians. The Indians because they come here and open businesses and are upper middle class. Somebody said it is like the Indians are viewed as the Jews of Africa (went to the Anne Frank house while in Amsterdam).

The working wage in Tanzania is not much. You can work a whole day for $1 or $2. The Chinese are disliked because they come and do the very lowest jobs for cheaper than the locals. This is incredible to me. Somehow, it is worth it for a Chinese immigrant to make that long passage and then work for less than $1 to $2 a day. Uggh. When I went to Egypt as a young man (blerg, as a kid) we were told by an Egyptian woman before we went that we would go and see people with nothing and feel sorry for how poor they were but that it was important to remember that they don’t think of themselves as poor. Ok. But still.

Besides my history of Africa book, I’m reading Guns, Germs, and Steel. The author wrote this book because he was asked a question by his friend from the Polynesian islands. “Why do whites have so much cargo (stuff)?” What were the root causes of the material wealth and fortune that Europeans had that other cultures did not?

"we use everything here"

Yesterday I got a tour of the bio-gas system from J, the British expat we are staying with. Essentially this system takes the waste from us humans, takes the methane from that and uses it for water heaters. That's the short story.

The longer version. There aren't septic beds here like there are at home. Here the toilet waste goes into a large tank buried underground. There the weight of the waste compacts it so more can fit (at some point that compacted waste gets added to the back garden). Gas rises to the surface. At the container, J turned on the garden hose, flicked his lighter and flame burned.

Next we walked about 50 feet to two large plastic containers sitting in water. They fill with the gas from the container and J puts weights on the containers so that they sink lower in the water, compressing the gas.

Beside that is his home-made hydrogen generator. This is a couple of electrodes in a pail. The hydrogen is infused into the methane from the bin. An added benefit of adding the hydrogen (besides the obvious that it really pimps out the methane for a better, hotter burn) is that it gives the hydrogen a smell. Pure hydrogen is a colourless, odourless gas that ignites. Adding methane helps you recognize that you have a leak. You know this because, as J says, "it smells like farts".

Lately J has been having trouble getting enough gas to power the hot water heater of babu's apartment so he is using it for the outdoor kitchen. It's not as convenient as it sounds because you can't switch back and forth between systems (ie. methane and natural gas). You have to have a dedicated methane stove.

Also, there is a bore-hole that is used to pull water in to the house. I'm not sure of the difference between that and a well. The grey water from the showers and laundry is stored and used to water the gardens.

That is all. I just wanted to tell that story so I could relay the "it smells like farts" quote.

shikamoo, babu

"I show you my respect, old man."

The response is, "I accept your respect". I like this exchange because it sounds to these western ears exactly like you are not showing your respect, old man. In Swahili greetings are very important. You can just say jambo (hi) but it is appreciated if you can place the appropriate social context in to the greeting.

We were asked to have lunch with babu this weekend. And we were warned, he would eat with his hands and spit seeds and bones in to a bowl. Babu is our host's father. I'm sure he has a lot of stories to tell but the only word we have in common is shikamoo.

We had fish and banana stew and gamely ate with our hands. We were told by our host that we were doing quite well. I'm not sure what poorly would have looked like. At the very start, our host whispered in my ear, "don't eat with your left, it is for your bum." I was prepared for this from Mom's tales of India. Then N told us a trick that the British used, they jam their left hand on their lap to avoid temptation. I shoved my hand under my thigh and plodded on with my less dexterous hand.

Babu passed the message through his daughter that I don't eat enough and she agreed. She said that when he was my age he would have eaten a whole pot of ndizi (banana) stew. I've gained thirty pounds in the last two years and have eaten so much I've often disgusted myself. I haven't heard the you don't eat enough in a long time. I have friends envious of my ability to pack it away. Anyway.

Time for seconds. Josey served our host and then me and then herself. And then our host informed her that was wrong, "a woman serves her husband first, the guests next, and herself last". I loved that but have been paying for it ever since.

Lunch ends with the seeds being separated from the rest of the food waste. The food waste goes in the compost and the seeds are put in the garden. "We use everything here".

week one

Hallo,

We took off from Calgary last Thursday evening and flew all night to Amsterdam. We were a little groggy on Friday but I think at the best of times when you are really on your game, you come very close to getting clipped by a bicycle in Amsterdam. Did I use singular there? I meant a clot or mob of bicycles. They have their own lanes and traffic signals. The order of operations seems to be bikes, pedestrians, cars. We stayed in the Filosoof Hotel which has rooms devoted to different philosophers. We got Confucius. We strolled and strolled and drank beers and complimented the Dutch (to each other) on how organized and smart everything was (the public buses are *new* Mercedes Benzs). We didn't venture out of town but I think the next time we will. It really would be a great place to go on a bicycle tour. We flew out on Monday morning -- the bus driver to the airport refused to let anyone pay as he was a 1/2 hour late (leaving this intrepid user of the Ottawa transit system a little awestruck - they must be still working to rule there...)

We arrived in Tanzania at 10:30pm. The people are shorter here. We are staying with the parents of a friend of a friend. They have a beautiful compound in the city. The evening of the first full day we were here we had a dinner with the neighbours. The neighbours actually live in an apartment in the compound (they are moving out at the end of the month and we will likely move in). There was beer at dinner and I was offered one but I declined (I had near beer like our host, who is an expat who has converted to Islam). His wife is joseyposey's Tanzanian mama and has really taken us under her wing). We have neighbours. J is Irish and P is Brazillian. J is a malaria entymologist who specializes in recruiting the spouses of other entymologists to come and work in East Africa. We heard many tales of hunting and safari and death by lions. Every five minutes or so someone would say, 'welcome to Africa!'

We have breakfast on the patio and it's quite lovely. The first couple of days the housekeeper put out breakfast for us but now we are no longer guests and are fending for ourselves. We're managing. It took us a few days to get what we needed for the googles but we have somewhat interrupted service through the cell system now.

The traffic is amazingly chaotic. The order of operations seems to be cars, pedestrians ........... bikes. I sprinted across an intersection because I had no idea when the traffic cop would allow the next heat of death race 2000 to begin. We made it home ok. josey is thankfully familiar with the neighbourhoods and ins and outs of downtown or I would be completely lost. Even saying hello is complicated but folks light up when they realize josey can speak Swahili. I've been doing a lot of reading as suddenly my history degree with an emphasis on the British Empire seems a little irrelevant. Also, not for the first time when I told someone that I've been to Egypt I've heard that Egypt is not really Africa. Fair enough.

Salaam