Diplomatic status to take a picture of a monkey
On Zanzibar, there is only one little forest remaining, however, its main attraction, some Colobus monkeys, attract a lot of tourists; Obviously the government of Zanzibar recognized this potential soon, and now charges tourists for entering the forest as well as taking pictures. We were biking across the forest on the main road linking the East with the West coast, and stopped at a group of monkeys in a tree. When I had my camera out, it did not take long until a guard appeared trying to charge me money for the photos. While I refused to pay, arguing to stand on a public road where he could not charge me for taking any photos, he called over his colleague with a gun flung over the shoulders, and both then had a hand on my bicycle. Not a comfortable position for myself. I was persuaded about my right and determined not to pay a single shilling – finally it was however only my diplomatic status that made the guards give up and let me catch up with my fellow cyclists again!
Friday, 10 August 2007
Day and Night
Our neighbour in Switzerland was interested in Tanzania. As a farmer, he naturally was particularly interested in crops and the weather and climate down there. I told him that in Tanzania, so close to the Equator, seasons would be little developed, and it would be hot and humid all year round. He looked at me sceptically, and then asked, if at least there would be such a thing as day and night in Tanzania?!
Our neighbour in Switzerland was interested in Tanzania. As a farmer, he naturally was particularly interested in crops and the weather and climate down there. I told him that in Tanzania, so close to the Equator, seasons would be little developed, and it would be hot and humid all year round. He looked at me sceptically, and then asked, if at least there would be such a thing as day and night in Tanzania?!
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Rules and Rules in the Airport Security Zone
We finally had overcome all the obstacles and barriers to send our dog from Dar es Salaam to Switzerland. The day when phisically he had to be brought to the airport, locked into a sky kennel and transferred through customs had come. My husband accompanying the dog, the dog itself and his kennel were thoroughly inspected for arms, illegal drugs or dangerous illnesses, before finally allowed into the airport's security zone. Big was however their surprise, when all of a sudden exaclty into this security zone two big lorries over and over packed with dozens of mourning people, and a coffin entered, descended from their vehicles, surrounding the dog's cage. Obviously none of them had been security checked - but accompanying a deceased friend on his last journey back to his home town of Mwanza at the other end of Tanzania obivously requested the application of different rules.
We finally had overcome all the obstacles and barriers to send our dog from Dar es Salaam to Switzerland. The day when phisically he had to be brought to the airport, locked into a sky kennel and transferred through customs had come. My husband accompanying the dog, the dog itself and his kennel were thoroughly inspected for arms, illegal drugs or dangerous illnesses, before finally allowed into the airport's security zone. Big was however their surprise, when all of a sudden exaclty into this security zone two big lorries over and over packed with dozens of mourning people, and a coffin entered, descended from their vehicles, surrounding the dog's cage. Obviously none of them had been security checked - but accompanying a deceased friend on his last journey back to his home town of Mwanza at the other end of Tanzania obivously requested the application of different rules.
Monday, 7 May 2007
Dark Skin and flat Noses
The skin of the artist we met had become lighter during the 30 years he had spent in London. When he returned to his native Zanzibar as an internationally recognized designer, his fellow Zanzibari told him not to go into the sun and to carry an umbrella when walking in the streets to continuously keep his skin light. There is a saying, that the darker your skin is, the more difficult it is to make a career in Tanzania. Not surprisingly, there are adverts for a cream that should make your skin lighter all over the place.
The same artist got arrested in the weeks before the 2005 elections in turbulent Zanzibar when during a curfew he wanted to bring some food to an elderly single lady. When police asked for his tribe, he answered to be an African. However, the policemen got pretty angry at him and told him that he could not be an African, as all Africans would have flat noses, and dark skin!
Descendants of Arabic origin, which traveled centuries ago in their boats along the East African cost, still live in Zanzibar, and have mixed with the local African population manifold. Many however fled during the revolution in 1963 when the Sultan was dethroned.
The skin of the artist we met had become lighter during the 30 years he had spent in London. When he returned to his native Zanzibar as an internationally recognized designer, his fellow Zanzibari told him not to go into the sun and to carry an umbrella when walking in the streets to continuously keep his skin light. There is a saying, that the darker your skin is, the more difficult it is to make a career in Tanzania. Not surprisingly, there are adverts for a cream that should make your skin lighter all over the place.
The same artist got arrested in the weeks before the 2005 elections in turbulent Zanzibar when during a curfew he wanted to bring some food to an elderly single lady. When police asked for his tribe, he answered to be an African. However, the policemen got pretty angry at him and told him that he could not be an African, as all Africans would have flat noses, and dark skin!
Descendants of Arabic origin, which traveled centuries ago in their boats along the East African cost, still live in Zanzibar, and have mixed with the local African population manifold. Many however fled during the revolution in 1963 when the Sultan was dethroned.
Only the Bible
A colleague of mine stayed in Morogoro for some months, and was desperate for a book to read. She visited each and every shop in the town counting no less than 240’000 souls, but could not find any other book than English beginners’ school booklets*. Then she changed her strategy, and asked all the Tanzanians she knew for a book. Finally, she asked her landlady for the only book in the house: a bible. So from this day on every evening she read a chapter from the bible. When she returned to Dar, what she was most interested in was to consult my book shelf!
*English is, beside Kiswahili, the second state language of Tanzania.
A colleague of mine stayed in Morogoro for some months, and was desperate for a book to read. She visited each and every shop in the town counting no less than 240’000 souls, but could not find any other book than English beginners’ school booklets*. Then she changed her strategy, and asked all the Tanzanians she knew for a book. Finally, she asked her landlady for the only book in the house: a bible. So from this day on every evening she read a chapter from the bible. When she returned to Dar, what she was most interested in was to consult my book shelf!
*English is, beside Kiswahili, the second state language of Tanzania.
Patient Tanzanian Children
On a small motor boat in the Rufiji River Delta; The one year old is knotted to the chest of his mother in a colorful cloth. With big eyes the baby boy observes his environment, the huge traditional sailing boat passing by, or a crocodile lying in the sun on the river bench, when his mother is not once again putting another cloth over his head, covering the face. Sweat pearls on his face, flies in the edges of his mouth, some drops of dirty water to drink, but not a single outcry during the three hours journey under the bright hot tropic sun!
On a small motor boat in the Rufiji River Delta; The one year old is knotted to the chest of his mother in a colorful cloth. With big eyes the baby boy observes his environment, the huge traditional sailing boat passing by, or a crocodile lying in the sun on the river bench, when his mother is not once again putting another cloth over his head, covering the face. Sweat pearls on his face, flies in the edges of his mouth, some drops of dirty water to drink, but not a single outcry during the three hours journey under the bright hot tropic sun!
Relative danger
The waiter in the Mikumi National Park Lodge asked me about my early morning drink wishes. I said a cup of coffee at 6.30 would be nice. All of a sudden, he changed his mind. And he argued that this very morning there had been a lot of dangerous buffalos between the kitchen and the cottage where I was staying, and therefore it would be dangerous for him to bring me the coffee. If alternatively, I could not come to the kitchen and pick it up by myself?
The waiter in the Mikumi National Park Lodge asked me about my early morning drink wishes. I said a cup of coffee at 6.30 would be nice. All of a sudden, he changed his mind. And he argued that this very morning there had been a lot of dangerous buffalos between the kitchen and the cottage where I was staying, and therefore it would be dangerous for him to bring me the coffee. If alternatively, I could not come to the kitchen and pick it up by myself?
Social Control
Who regularly goes to church in Morogoro, a town some 200km West of Dar es Salaam, is expected with an envelop with his or her respective name on it. And when leaving the church – after a three hours mess - the envelope is supposed to contain some money, too, and somebody will check on how much Mama and Bwana have contributed!
Who regularly goes to church in Morogoro, a town some 200km West of Dar es Salaam, is expected with an envelop with his or her respective name on it. And when leaving the church – after a three hours mess - the envelope is supposed to contain some money, too, and somebody will check on how much Mama and Bwana have contributed!
Street Bribery
Early morning down at the port in Dar es Salaam, waiting for the ferry to set me across the harbor; A police man in full uniform encounters a fisher man, just a few meters in front of the waiting cars, numerous drivers watching what is going to happen next. The policeman removes the banana leaves that covered the fish in the basket, inspects one fish after the other lifting them all out of the basket, and finally chooses the freshest and biggest to walk away, without paying a single shilling.
Police in Tanzania is very corrupted, 1000s of them stay along endless roads in smart light blue or sandy color uniforms, cashing money for nothing directly into their pockets.
When the newly appointed Attorney General wanted to make believe the Swedish ambassador in my presence, that there is no such thing as street bribery, I could not resist the temptation to invite both of them on a ride with a local minibus. The attorney changed the subject, and luckily the Swedish ambassador has forgiven me my diplomatic insult and is still greeting me!
Early morning down at the port in Dar es Salaam, waiting for the ferry to set me across the harbor; A police man in full uniform encounters a fisher man, just a few meters in front of the waiting cars, numerous drivers watching what is going to happen next. The policeman removes the banana leaves that covered the fish in the basket, inspects one fish after the other lifting them all out of the basket, and finally chooses the freshest and biggest to walk away, without paying a single shilling.
Police in Tanzania is very corrupted, 1000s of them stay along endless roads in smart light blue or sandy color uniforms, cashing money for nothing directly into their pockets.
When the newly appointed Attorney General wanted to make believe the Swedish ambassador in my presence, that there is no such thing as street bribery, I could not resist the temptation to invite both of them on a ride with a local minibus. The attorney changed the subject, and luckily the Swedish ambassador has forgiven me my diplomatic insult and is still greeting me!
The omnipresent party
You see them everywhere in Tanzania, the little green flags ragged in the wind, speared up on a bent stick or in the crown of a tree in a seemingly no different garden than the one of the house to its left and right. However, there is a big difference. The green flag, on which, if it is not yet completely washed out, you can recognize the hammer and sickle like party symbol of the ruling CCM party, marks the home of a ten cell leader. He is supervising another ten families in their daily life following rules and regulations of what once was the official single state party, be it marriage or dispute, divorce or illness, and all it gets accurately noted down into a big book!
You see them everywhere in Tanzania, the little green flags ragged in the wind, speared up on a bent stick or in the crown of a tree in a seemingly no different garden than the one of the house to its left and right. However, there is a big difference. The green flag, on which, if it is not yet completely washed out, you can recognize the hammer and sickle like party symbol of the ruling CCM party, marks the home of a ten cell leader. He is supervising another ten families in their daily life following rules and regulations of what once was the official single state party, be it marriage or dispute, divorce or illness, and all it gets accurately noted down into a big book!
Tour de Tanzania
Early in the morning, they line the roads: Heavy loaded Chinese bikes, with a single gear only, made of solid steel, and, most important, a very stable luggage rack. One can transport ones wife and children on it, sitting sideways, usually over passing us on our bikes when the road goes downhill, however with no helmets on…But early in the morning, the bikes are transporting goods into town: 30kg heavy charcoal bags, three at once; baskets full of tomatoes, bananas, coconut...carefully covered with banana leaves and stitched together. They bike in little groups, and when encountering a tree big enough to give shade to all of them, so go for a stop. It is incredibly hard work, and we always think if given the latest model of light weight street bike all of them could compete for the maillot jaune in the Tour de France!
Early in the morning, they line the roads: Heavy loaded Chinese bikes, with a single gear only, made of solid steel, and, most important, a very stable luggage rack. One can transport ones wife and children on it, sitting sideways, usually over passing us on our bikes when the road goes downhill, however with no helmets on…But early in the morning, the bikes are transporting goods into town: 30kg heavy charcoal bags, three at once; baskets full of tomatoes, bananas, coconut...carefully covered with banana leaves and stitched together. They bike in little groups, and when encountering a tree big enough to give shade to all of them, so go for a stop. It is incredibly hard work, and we always think if given the latest model of light weight street bike all of them could compete for the maillot jaune in the Tour de France!
Sunday, 6 May 2007
What a pain for simply graded coconut
Zanzibari chefs and housewives prepare most delicious meals with coconut – vegetables or prawns in a smooth coco nut sauce, or simply rice with a soft coconut flavor, to only mention the most popular ones. What we consider the milk inside the coconut, they drain down the drain when they hit one nut against another to break them. Then the flesh gets graded and soaked in water and finally pressed out for the real coco nut milk.
Grading is a huge job – Zanzibari women use a blade fixed to a wooden, carved construction that can be opened to sit on it, to fix it while grading. Early in the morning in every yard of a Zanzibari house, you would meet at least one women grading the days coconut demand.
However, we learned about an even harder job in order to get coco nut milk. In the Uluguru Mountains, more than 1000m above the town of Morogoro and more than 400km away from Zanzibar, along incredibly steep and narrow paths we encountered boys and young men in completely ragged clothes, carrying huge and heavy packages of these wooden constructions to fix the blade on their shoulders. No need to say that they were a lot faster than we were, despite their load and bare feet. And even higher up in the tropical forest well hidden away we found the craftsmen camp, only equipped with some hand sores and sharp carving knives. They were happy to see us, but under conditions that no photos were taken. What they do in the strictly protected forest, the catchment’s area of Dar es Salaams drinking water supply, is highly illegal.
A package of about half a dozen of these instruments with a liana string around it, is less than three dollars worth to the middlemen that buy them from the locals, and transport them to Zanzibar.
Adding the pain the craftsmen go through to fell the trees by hand and carve the instruments equally be hand, the young man carrying the heavy load on their shoulders down to Morogoro, only to re climb another 1000m in altitude to get more of them, and finally the grading Zanzibari ladies, spending their mornings with this monotonous work, we realized what a precious thing a coconut flavored dish actually is, never reflected in its real price, as food, at least for us, remains extremely cheap!
Zanzibari chefs and housewives prepare most delicious meals with coconut – vegetables or prawns in a smooth coco nut sauce, or simply rice with a soft coconut flavor, to only mention the most popular ones. What we consider the milk inside the coconut, they drain down the drain when they hit one nut against another to break them. Then the flesh gets graded and soaked in water and finally pressed out for the real coco nut milk.
Grading is a huge job – Zanzibari women use a blade fixed to a wooden, carved construction that can be opened to sit on it, to fix it while grading. Early in the morning in every yard of a Zanzibari house, you would meet at least one women grading the days coconut demand.
However, we learned about an even harder job in order to get coco nut milk. In the Uluguru Mountains, more than 1000m above the town of Morogoro and more than 400km away from Zanzibar, along incredibly steep and narrow paths we encountered boys and young men in completely ragged clothes, carrying huge and heavy packages of these wooden constructions to fix the blade on their shoulders. No need to say that they were a lot faster than we were, despite their load and bare feet. And even higher up in the tropical forest well hidden away we found the craftsmen camp, only equipped with some hand sores and sharp carving knives. They were happy to see us, but under conditions that no photos were taken. What they do in the strictly protected forest, the catchment’s area of Dar es Salaams drinking water supply, is highly illegal.
A package of about half a dozen of these instruments with a liana string around it, is less than three dollars worth to the middlemen that buy them from the locals, and transport them to Zanzibar.
Adding the pain the craftsmen go through to fell the trees by hand and carve the instruments equally be hand, the young man carrying the heavy load on their shoulders down to Morogoro, only to re climb another 1000m in altitude to get more of them, and finally the grading Zanzibari ladies, spending their mornings with this monotonous work, we realized what a precious thing a coconut flavored dish actually is, never reflected in its real price, as food, at least for us, remains extremely cheap!
Working hours of the Police
My French friend expressed that she hates to drive in town when it is raining. Slightly puzzled, I asked her why. Because all the police men go home when it rains, and there is a traffic jam at every junction, she answered!
When in the beginning of 2006 guests of a well known Indian restaurant were forced by heavily armed criminals to lay down and at gun point deliver all their valuables, a cook of the restaurant managed to escape through the back door, and ran a long way to the nearest police station, only to find it abandoned, at 9pm in the evening. A kitchen boy had managed to look himself into a toilet, and desperately tried to call the 112 emergency number with no success – no one replied!
The next day, it was all over in the newspaper, and the highest police commander was forced to resign, or better to say, was sent into early retirement. Many had said about him before that he had gone for profitable agreements with criminals on a routine basis. His house in Morogoro is surrounded by a wall as high you cannot even see a glimpse of the actual building, and one can only guess its splendor. However it needed a huge scandal and new president to replace him!
My French friend expressed that she hates to drive in town when it is raining. Slightly puzzled, I asked her why. Because all the police men go home when it rains, and there is a traffic jam at every junction, she answered!
When in the beginning of 2006 guests of a well known Indian restaurant were forced by heavily armed criminals to lay down and at gun point deliver all their valuables, a cook of the restaurant managed to escape through the back door, and ran a long way to the nearest police station, only to find it abandoned, at 9pm in the evening. A kitchen boy had managed to look himself into a toilet, and desperately tried to call the 112 emergency number with no success – no one replied!
The next day, it was all over in the newspaper, and the highest police commander was forced to resign, or better to say, was sent into early retirement. Many had said about him before that he had gone for profitable agreements with criminals on a routine basis. His house in Morogoro is surrounded by a wall as high you cannot even see a glimpse of the actual building, and one can only guess its splendor. However it needed a huge scandal and new president to replace him!
The Magic of Twasalie Village
Twasalie, a village at the end of the world, in the Rufiji River Delta, to reach only by a several hour long boat trip, and another hour of walk; There is laughter until late in the night. The women take me away from the men and show me their small mud hut, where they run a little café place, renovating it step by step, and adding new mud on the construction made of mangrove sticks and liana branches. Early in the morning, a hundred cocks are crying. Women in colorful Kanga wraps enjoy to be pictured – a rare exception in Tanzania. In one part of the village, the CCM flag, the majority party, is fluttering in the wind, in the other the CUF flag, the main opposition party, equally peaceful fluttering in the wind. Heated discussions end up in laughter. Men and women sit for hours on hard benches and in the sand under a huge mango tree, waiting, with careful attention to their clothes not to make them dirty. Patience, endless, and modesty; And always the good will that remains.
Twasalie, a village at the end of the world, in the Rufiji River Delta, to reach only by a several hour long boat trip, and another hour of walk; There is laughter until late in the night. The women take me away from the men and show me their small mud hut, where they run a little café place, renovating it step by step, and adding new mud on the construction made of mangrove sticks and liana branches. Early in the morning, a hundred cocks are crying. Women in colorful Kanga wraps enjoy to be pictured – a rare exception in Tanzania. In one part of the village, the CCM flag, the majority party, is fluttering in the wind, in the other the CUF flag, the main opposition party, equally peaceful fluttering in the wind. Heated discussions end up in laughter. Men and women sit for hours on hard benches and in the sand under a huge mango tree, waiting, with careful attention to their clothes not to make them dirty. Patience, endless, and modesty; And always the good will that remains.
Wednesday, 2 May 2007
Illegal Working Hours
A friend of mine is often working at night in Dar es Salaam, doing research on Mosquito. One night, she was stopped by the police and asked what she was doing. She explained, however the Policeman responded that working hours in Tanzania would be from nine to five, and beyond that working would be illegal, and that he had to take her to the post. She managed to sort out the situation later after a lot of negotiation. However she could also have asked the policeman what he was doing at this time of the day, if not work?
A friend of mine is often working at night in Dar es Salaam, doing research on Mosquito. One night, she was stopped by the police and asked what she was doing. She explained, however the Policeman responded that working hours in Tanzania would be from nine to five, and beyond that working would be illegal, and that he had to take her to the post. She managed to sort out the situation later after a lot of negotiation. However she could also have asked the policeman what he was doing at this time of the day, if not work?
Tuesday, 24 April 2007
Rare sights
Just outside Selous National Park, there is a fantastic, locally run camp site right on Rufiji river, with gorgeous sunsets and a view on the water and the hippos. We had recommended it to our friends that never before had been to Africa, however reminded them not to walk at night into the surrounding bush, as wild animals are not keeping exactly to the borders of the park. Anxiously, they inquired about snakes, but we reassured them that snakes would be a very rare sight, and we had only seen one since our arrival in Tanzania. Satisfied and relaxed they left. Upon their return they had a different story to tell: while preparing food during sun set, a snake crossed their camp site, and even stopped under the table on which my friends had taken refuge, dangerously showing her tongue at them! Finally, after she had several times crossed the camp the snake left for good and my friends relaxed for dinner around the fire enjoying the beauty of the place, only to turn their heads a moment later at a huge male elephant intending to cross the camp, exactly across the fire place, threatening them with his flapping ears! Two rare sights in just one evening for the newly arrivals to Africa! Despite all, they loved the place and even decided to return in 2008 for another visit again!
Just outside Selous National Park, there is a fantastic, locally run camp site right on Rufiji river, with gorgeous sunsets and a view on the water and the hippos. We had recommended it to our friends that never before had been to Africa, however reminded them not to walk at night into the surrounding bush, as wild animals are not keeping exactly to the borders of the park. Anxiously, they inquired about snakes, but we reassured them that snakes would be a very rare sight, and we had only seen one since our arrival in Tanzania. Satisfied and relaxed they left. Upon their return they had a different story to tell: while preparing food during sun set, a snake crossed their camp site, and even stopped under the table on which my friends had taken refuge, dangerously showing her tongue at them! Finally, after she had several times crossed the camp the snake left for good and my friends relaxed for dinner around the fire enjoying the beauty of the place, only to turn their heads a moment later at a huge male elephant intending to cross the camp, exactly across the fire place, threatening them with his flapping ears! Two rare sights in just one evening for the newly arrivals to Africa! Despite all, they loved the place and even decided to return in 2008 for another visit again!
Multifunctional Mosque
“Do you have a local radio?”, we were asking in a not so remote village along the main road from Iringa to Mbeya, searching for ways on how to spread the news about our ongoing project. “No”, people answered, but a smile spread over their faces: “But we do have a mosque with a loud speaker!”
About half the people of Tanzania are Muslim, and the Muezzin calls them for prayer at four thirty in the morning for the first time. The two mosques in our immediate neighborhood regularly remind us so. However, in the early evenings we are equally regularly rewarded with beautiful, quite often long lasting songs of the very same muezzin while the tropical night is falling. The particular thing about it: unlike in many Arab country's the call of the Muezzin is always life!
“Do you have a local radio?”, we were asking in a not so remote village along the main road from Iringa to Mbeya, searching for ways on how to spread the news about our ongoing project. “No”, people answered, but a smile spread over their faces: “But we do have a mosque with a loud speaker!”
About half the people of Tanzania are Muslim, and the Muezzin calls them for prayer at four thirty in the morning for the first time. The two mosques in our immediate neighborhood regularly remind us so. However, in the early evenings we are equally regularly rewarded with beautiful, quite often long lasting songs of the very same muezzin while the tropical night is falling. The particular thing about it: unlike in many Arab country's the call of the Muezzin is always life!
Wednesday, 18 April 2007
Guarding the guards
All house is guarded 24 hours a day. One should therefore feel very safe. However, one evening I returned and found one of the guards in the process of stealing diesel from the barrel next to our generator. His explanation of our gardener having instructed him did not persuade me at all, and I sent him to hell while he fled with his cloth, a big bottle of diesel under the arm in the uniform of the company to never be seen again. A few days later, I was approached by another guard, he told me that I should better lock our garage gate inside the compound day and night, as the spare wheel on our car would definitely be worth 30’000TzSh on the black market in Kariakoo. So one ends of guarding ones own guards instead of being guarded by them…
All house is guarded 24 hours a day. One should therefore feel very safe. However, one evening I returned and found one of the guards in the process of stealing diesel from the barrel next to our generator. His explanation of our gardener having instructed him did not persuade me at all, and I sent him to hell while he fled with his cloth, a big bottle of diesel under the arm in the uniform of the company to never be seen again. A few days later, I was approached by another guard, he told me that I should better lock our garage gate inside the compound day and night, as the spare wheel on our car would definitely be worth 30’000TzSh on the black market in Kariakoo. So one ends of guarding ones own guards instead of being guarded by them…
Monday, 16 April 2007
Not a mzee-like mzee
We were waiting for a friend of my colleagues to pick us up, but he was late. Next to the ferry terminal for Zanzibar, taxi drivers were numerous and eager to get us as their clients. The longer we waited, the more they pestered us, with all kind of stories what could have happened to our expected driver, and the excellent prices they would made us if we took their services instead. They really stood on our toes. One was particularly unbearable, an elderly gentlemen. He went on and on and on until my colleague lost his nerves and told him "Piss off!". A wave of shock went through the younger taxi drivers and bystanders, and finally they shouted out: " He is a mzee, you cannot treat him like this!" Swift was my colleague in responding "Then behave like a mzee!". A mzee is a "an elderly" with much respect in the Tanzanian society - he will respond your greeting with an offer to kiss his feet, and usually tells his younger fellow citizens to behave properly, for example not pestering guests from abroad!
We were waiting for a friend of my colleagues to pick us up, but he was late. Next to the ferry terminal for Zanzibar, taxi drivers were numerous and eager to get us as their clients. The longer we waited, the more they pestered us, with all kind of stories what could have happened to our expected driver, and the excellent prices they would made us if we took their services instead. They really stood on our toes. One was particularly unbearable, an elderly gentlemen. He went on and on and on until my colleague lost his nerves and told him "Piss off!". A wave of shock went through the younger taxi drivers and bystanders, and finally they shouted out: " He is a mzee, you cannot treat him like this!" Swift was my colleague in responding "Then behave like a mzee!". A mzee is a "an elderly" with much respect in the Tanzanian society - he will respond your greeting with an offer to kiss his feet, and usually tells his younger fellow citizens to behave properly, for example not pestering guests from abroad!
Sunday, 8 April 2007
How to operate Mobile Phones without any network and electricity
We met with villagers in a village with no network coverage. However, they had about 20 mobile phones in the village. How come we were asking? Well, they said, over there, on that hill some 10km of foot walk away there WAS network coverage!
In another village, there was network coverage. However, there was not electricity. When all the mobile batteries are flat, one guy of the village takes them all in his pockets, and cycles some 20km to the pulp and paper mill to charge them again!
Communication means make an enormous difference in these remote villages. And if only to find out, that on the near by market, prices for their products are 20 times higher than what the middle men visiting them in their villages offers!
Der Gebrauch von Mobiltelefonen ohne Strom und Netzwerk
Das Dorf, das wir besuchten, hatte keinen Mobiltelefonempfang. Trotzdem zählten wir 20 Mobiltelefone. Wofür, fragten wir? Die Dörfler zeigten auf eine Hügel etwa 10km Fussmarsch entfernt, und meinten, dass der Empfang von diesem Hügel aus gut sei!
In einem anderen Dorf gab es Mobiltelefonempfang. Dafür gab es keine Elektrizität. Wenn alle Batterien der Mobiltelefone leer sind, packt einer sie alle in seine Hosentasche, und radelt 20km zur Papierfabrik, um sie wieder aufzuladen!
Moderne Kommunikationsmittel machen einen Riesenunterschied für das Leben im Dorf. Zum Beispiel um herauszufinden, dass die Preise für ihre Produkte auf dem nächst gelegenen Markt 20 Mal höher sind als die Preise, die die Mittelmänner, die sie in den Dörfern besuchen, offerieren!
We met with villagers in a village with no network coverage. However, they had about 20 mobile phones in the village. How come we were asking? Well, they said, over there, on that hill some 10km of foot walk away there WAS network coverage!
In another village, there was network coverage. However, there was not electricity. When all the mobile batteries are flat, one guy of the village takes them all in his pockets, and cycles some 20km to the pulp and paper mill to charge them again!
Communication means make an enormous difference in these remote villages. And if only to find out, that on the near by market, prices for their products are 20 times higher than what the middle men visiting them in their villages offers!
Der Gebrauch von Mobiltelefonen ohne Strom und Netzwerk
Das Dorf, das wir besuchten, hatte keinen Mobiltelefonempfang. Trotzdem zählten wir 20 Mobiltelefone. Wofür, fragten wir? Die Dörfler zeigten auf eine Hügel etwa 10km Fussmarsch entfernt, und meinten, dass der Empfang von diesem Hügel aus gut sei!
In einem anderen Dorf gab es Mobiltelefonempfang. Dafür gab es keine Elektrizität. Wenn alle Batterien der Mobiltelefone leer sind, packt einer sie alle in seine Hosentasche, und radelt 20km zur Papierfabrik, um sie wieder aufzuladen!
Moderne Kommunikationsmittel machen einen Riesenunterschied für das Leben im Dorf. Zum Beispiel um herauszufinden, dass die Preise für ihre Produkte auf dem nächst gelegenen Markt 20 Mal höher sind als die Preise, die die Mittelmänner, die sie in den Dörfern besuchen, offerieren!
Middle men of hunger
In 2005 the “short rains” did not reach Tanzania. In 2006 the “long rains” arrived late, and did not stay long at all. A drought spread as devastating as it has not been since 1952. People started to sell their cows for a price 20 times lower than normal. Many animals died on the way to the cattle market. In despair, people cooked crop residues, and in the local hospitals hundreds of malnourished children were treated however many of them will carry life long damages from this drought. Almost 40% of children in Tanzania are stunted due to malnutrition.
Others however made good business of the drought. Middlemen let desperate villagers sign contracts that in return for a tin of maize they would have to deliver two bags of maize after the next harvest – the equivalent value of seven tins of maize! Many villagers live in a never ending vicious circle of debts, and to overcome one disaster already contributes to the next one they will face.
Mittelmänner des Hungers
Im 2005 blieben die „kurzen Regen“ in Tanzania aus. Im 2006 kamen die „langen Regen“ verspätet, und blieben überhaupt nicht lang. Eine Dürre breitete sich aus, so schlimm wie das letzte Mal in 1952. Viehzüchter verkauften ihre Tiere für Preise 20Mal tiefer als der übliche Marktpreis. Viele Tiere starben auf dem Weg zum Viehmarkt. In ihrer Verzweiflung versuchten die Menschen Erntereste zu kochen. Uberall wurden unterernährte Kinder in die lokalen Spitäler eingeliefert. Sie werden Schäden fürs Leben von der Dürrer davontragen. Beinahe 40% der Kinder in Tanzania sind wegen Mangelernährung kleinwüchsig.
Andere nutzten die Dürre zu einem guten Geschäft. Mittelmänner liessen verzweifelte Dorfbewohner Verträge für eine Büchse Trockenmais gegen zwei Säcke frischen Mais nach der nächsten Erne untschreiben – im Gegenwert von sieben Büchsen Trockenmais! Viele Dorfbewohner leben in einem nie endenden Teufelskreis der Armut. Um eine Katastrophe zu überkommen, tragen sie bereits zur ihrer nächsten Katastrophe bei.
In 2005 the “short rains” did not reach Tanzania. In 2006 the “long rains” arrived late, and did not stay long at all. A drought spread as devastating as it has not been since 1952. People started to sell their cows for a price 20 times lower than normal. Many animals died on the way to the cattle market. In despair, people cooked crop residues, and in the local hospitals hundreds of malnourished children were treated however many of them will carry life long damages from this drought. Almost 40% of children in Tanzania are stunted due to malnutrition.
Others however made good business of the drought. Middlemen let desperate villagers sign contracts that in return for a tin of maize they would have to deliver two bags of maize after the next harvest – the equivalent value of seven tins of maize! Many villagers live in a never ending vicious circle of debts, and to overcome one disaster already contributes to the next one they will face.
Mittelmänner des Hungers
Im 2005 blieben die „kurzen Regen“ in Tanzania aus. Im 2006 kamen die „langen Regen“ verspätet, und blieben überhaupt nicht lang. Eine Dürre breitete sich aus, so schlimm wie das letzte Mal in 1952. Viehzüchter verkauften ihre Tiere für Preise 20Mal tiefer als der übliche Marktpreis. Viele Tiere starben auf dem Weg zum Viehmarkt. In ihrer Verzweiflung versuchten die Menschen Erntereste zu kochen. Uberall wurden unterernährte Kinder in die lokalen Spitäler eingeliefert. Sie werden Schäden fürs Leben von der Dürrer davontragen. Beinahe 40% der Kinder in Tanzania sind wegen Mangelernährung kleinwüchsig.
Andere nutzten die Dürre zu einem guten Geschäft. Mittelmänner liessen verzweifelte Dorfbewohner Verträge für eine Büchse Trockenmais gegen zwei Säcke frischen Mais nach der nächsten Erne untschreiben – im Gegenwert von sieben Büchsen Trockenmais! Viele Dorfbewohner leben in einem nie endenden Teufelskreis der Armut. Um eine Katastrophe zu überkommen, tragen sie bereits zur ihrer nächsten Katastrophe bei.
A lot of childrenZipora, a power lady working in the South West of Tanzania almost lost her temper when we drove through the villages of her project region. “If men here have a little money left, they buy another wife, and want to have children with her, Muslim, as well as followers of traditional belief alike!” I started to ask questions. After the 6th child, community nurses tell women not to fall pregnant again and – secretly – facilitate their access to anti baby pills; however, many men would dislike this. The only way to make men not to have more children would be to put pressure on them. I was asking Zipora, what that meant? She would tell them what a shame it would be if they could not afford to send all children to secondary school!
I lost my temper a little later, too. Our driver drove like hell, neither taking care of his passengers, nor any pedestrians. That shortly before I had learned about his wife, with whom he had four children, and his three girl friends, with which he had another child each, did not help to smooth my comments on his driving skills!
Viele Kinder
Zipora, eine Powerfrau in Südwest Tansania, verlor fast die Geduld, als wir duch die Dörfer ihrer Projektregion fuhren. „Wenn Männer hier ein wenig Geld übrig haben, kaufen sie eine neue Frau, und wollen ein Kind von ihr, ganz unabhängig davon, ob es Muslime oder Anhänger einer traditionellen Religion sind!“ Ich begann Fragen zu stellen. Gemeindeschwestern raten den Frauen nach dem 6. Kind, nicht erneut schwanger zu werden, und erleichtern ihnen diskret den Zugang zur Antibaby Pille; Viele Männer seien allerdings dagegen. Der einzige Weg, Männer davon zu überzeugen, nicht mehr Kinder zu haben, sei sie unter Druck zu setzen. Ich fragte Zipora, was das bedeuten würde? Sie würde ihnen sagen, was für eine Schande es wäre, wenn sie nicht alle Kinder in die Sekundarschule senden könnten!
Ein wenig später verlor auch ich beinahe die Geduld. Unser Fahrer fuhr wie ein Henker, ohne Rücksicht auf Passagiere und Fussgänger. Dass ich kurz zuvor von seiner Frau mit vier Kindern, und drei Freundinnen, die je ein Kind von ihm haben, erfahren hatte, trug nicht dazu bei, meine Kommentare über seinen Fahrstil zu mässigen!
Lunchbreak for the Street Sellers
On our way home, there is one corner, where you can hardly protect yourself from the street sellers, offering whatever you can imagine, from flowers to the latest or not so latest edition of the TIME magazine, from mosquito nets to such bulky items as a bag of half a dozen footballs, independently if you are on foot, a bike or in a car. Like flies, they land on every potential client, and in my desperation, I usually tell them that I would immediately leave before buying anything if they could not keep at least half a meter distance from me.
However, if you pass there between 12 am and 1pm, you would not recognize the place. The street sellers are deep asleep in the shade of the near by trees, and even if you wanted to buy flowers for a whole wedding, you would not receive any!
Mittagspause der Strassenverkäufer
Auf meinem Weg nach Hause gibt es eine Ecke, an der man sich gewöhnlich kaum retten kann von den Strassenverkäufern. Sie verkaufen alles, was man sich vorstellen kann, von Blumen zur neusten (oder auch nicht wirklich neuesten) Ausgabe des TIME Magazins, Mosquito Netzen bis zu so sperrigen Dingen wir ein Sack mit einem halben Dutzend Fussbällen, unabhängig davon ob man zu Fuss, im Auto oder auf dem Velo unterwegs ist. Wie Fliegen stürzen sie sich auf jeden potentiell Kaufenden, und in meiner Verzweiflung drohe ich ihnen jeweils, sofort und ohne etwas zu kaufen weiterzugehen, wenn sie nicht mindestens einen halben Meter Distanz von mir nehmen würden!
Zwischen 12 und 1 Uhr mittags ist die Ecke allerdings kaum wiederzuerkennen. Die Strassenverkäufer schlafen tief im Schatten der Bäume, und wer Blumen für ein ganzes Hochzeit kauen möchte, würde keine bekommen!
On our way home, there is one corner, where you can hardly protect yourself from the street sellers, offering whatever you can imagine, from flowers to the latest or not so latest edition of the TIME magazine, from mosquito nets to such bulky items as a bag of half a dozen footballs, independently if you are on foot, a bike or in a car. Like flies, they land on every potential client, and in my desperation, I usually tell them that I would immediately leave before buying anything if they could not keep at least half a meter distance from me.
However, if you pass there between 12 am and 1pm, you would not recognize the place. The street sellers are deep asleep in the shade of the near by trees, and even if you wanted to buy flowers for a whole wedding, you would not receive any!
Mittagspause der Strassenverkäufer
Auf meinem Weg nach Hause gibt es eine Ecke, an der man sich gewöhnlich kaum retten kann von den Strassenverkäufern. Sie verkaufen alles, was man sich vorstellen kann, von Blumen zur neusten (oder auch nicht wirklich neuesten) Ausgabe des TIME Magazins, Mosquito Netzen bis zu so sperrigen Dingen wir ein Sack mit einem halben Dutzend Fussbällen, unabhängig davon ob man zu Fuss, im Auto oder auf dem Velo unterwegs ist. Wie Fliegen stürzen sie sich auf jeden potentiell Kaufenden, und in meiner Verzweiflung drohe ich ihnen jeweils, sofort und ohne etwas zu kaufen weiterzugehen, wenn sie nicht mindestens einen halben Meter Distanz von mir nehmen würden!
Zwischen 12 und 1 Uhr mittags ist die Ecke allerdings kaum wiederzuerkennen. Die Strassenverkäufer schlafen tief im Schatten der Bäume, und wer Blumen für ein ganzes Hochzeit kauen möchte, würde keine bekommen!
Ill and dead fathers
A colleague of ours and manager of a development partner funded project in Central Tanzania, had not prolonged the work contract of one of his collaborators. This collaborator could hardly take this; he threatened his former employer and sent all sorts of accusing mails and letters, some even from his own lawyer. Alarmed, my colleague consulted his lawyer as well, and finally even crosschecked proceedings with the work officer of the district. The latter confirmed that all the steps he had taken were perfectly in accordance with the law.
A couple of days later, the work officer called again, inviting him to his office a second time. He confirmed once again, that my colleague had taken all the right steps. But, he added, his father was very ill, and if my colleague could not lend him the Tanzanian equivalent of 350 US$?!
The employee my colleague had not prolonged the contract of, at one occasion had declared that his father had died, in order to get leave from work. A year later, my colleague discovered that his father was still happily alive.
Declaring fathers ill or dead is also a way to earn money!
Kranke und gestorbene Väter
Ein Kollege und Leiter eines Internationalen Zusammenarbeitsprojektes in Zentral-Tansania hatte sich entschieden, den Arbeitsvertag eines Mitarbeitenden nicht zu verlängern. Der Mitarbeitende trug sich schwer mit dieser Entscheidung, drohte, seinen Anwalt einzuschalten, und sandte eine Reihe von vorwurfsvollen Briefen. Alarmiert, konsultierte unser Kollege seinen eigenen Anwalt, und liess sein Vorgehen schliesslich sogar vom lokalen Arbeitsamt überprüfen. Der entsprechende Chefbeamte bestätigte ihm, dass alle Schritte rechtsmässig gewesen seien.
Einige Tage später rief der Chefbeamte wieder an, und lud unseren Kollegen zu einer Tasse Kaffee ein. Er bestätigte ihm erneut, dass sein Vorgehen korrekt gewesen wäre. Aber, fügte er an, sein Vater sei sehr krank, und ob er ihm nicht 350US$ leihen könnte?!
Der Mitarbeitende des Kollegen, dessen Vertrag er nicht verlängern wollte, hatte eines Tages auch deklariert, dass sein Vater gestorben sei, und zog die ihm zustehenden Freitage ein. Ein Jahr später fand unsere Kollege allerdings heraus, dass dieser Vater nach wie vor glücklich am Leben war.
Väter krank und tot zu deklarieren ist auch ein Weg, um Geld zu verdienen!
A colleague of ours and manager of a development partner funded project in Central Tanzania, had not prolonged the work contract of one of his collaborators. This collaborator could hardly take this; he threatened his former employer and sent all sorts of accusing mails and letters, some even from his own lawyer. Alarmed, my colleague consulted his lawyer as well, and finally even crosschecked proceedings with the work officer of the district. The latter confirmed that all the steps he had taken were perfectly in accordance with the law.
A couple of days later, the work officer called again, inviting him to his office a second time. He confirmed once again, that my colleague had taken all the right steps. But, he added, his father was very ill, and if my colleague could not lend him the Tanzanian equivalent of 350 US$?!
The employee my colleague had not prolonged the contract of, at one occasion had declared that his father had died, in order to get leave from work. A year later, my colleague discovered that his father was still happily alive.
Declaring fathers ill or dead is also a way to earn money!
Kranke und gestorbene Väter
Ein Kollege und Leiter eines Internationalen Zusammenarbeitsprojektes in Zentral-Tansania hatte sich entschieden, den Arbeitsvertag eines Mitarbeitenden nicht zu verlängern. Der Mitarbeitende trug sich schwer mit dieser Entscheidung, drohte, seinen Anwalt einzuschalten, und sandte eine Reihe von vorwurfsvollen Briefen. Alarmiert, konsultierte unser Kollege seinen eigenen Anwalt, und liess sein Vorgehen schliesslich sogar vom lokalen Arbeitsamt überprüfen. Der entsprechende Chefbeamte bestätigte ihm, dass alle Schritte rechtsmässig gewesen seien.
Einige Tage später rief der Chefbeamte wieder an, und lud unseren Kollegen zu einer Tasse Kaffee ein. Er bestätigte ihm erneut, dass sein Vorgehen korrekt gewesen wäre. Aber, fügte er an, sein Vater sei sehr krank, und ob er ihm nicht 350US$ leihen könnte?!
Der Mitarbeitende des Kollegen, dessen Vertrag er nicht verlängern wollte, hatte eines Tages auch deklariert, dass sein Vater gestorben sei, und zog die ihm zustehenden Freitage ein. Ein Jahr später fand unsere Kollege allerdings heraus, dass dieser Vater nach wie vor glücklich am Leben war.
Väter krank und tot zu deklarieren ist auch ein Weg, um Geld zu verdienen!
The laptop on the headIn Tanzania, loads are carried on the head, irrespective of whether they are buckets of water, huge bundles of fire wood or the very latest rucksack model with super comfy carrying straps! However, one morning I met a woman carrying a laptop on her head. Carefully I made big detour around her on my bike so as not to in anyway frighten her!
Das Labtop auf dem Kopf!
In Tanzania wird alles auf dem Kopf getragen: Rucksäcke mit den ausgeklügeltsten Tragsystemen und neu erstenden für die Kilimanjaro Besteigung, Kübel randvoll mit Wasser und riesige Feuerholzbündel.
Heute morgen traf ich eine Frau, die ihr Labtop auf dem Kopf trug! Vorsichtig fuhr ich mit dem Velo einen grossen Bogen, um sie auch ja nicht zu erschrecken!
Accounting and counting
The Lady Member of Parliament and Deputy Chair of the Local Government Accounts Committee complained a lot about their long working hours in the Committee. They would start as early as nine, and finish as late as five...which would be a lot more than the (official) eight hours working time!
Members of Parliament tend to go for long lunch breaks.
Buchhalten und Rechnen
Die Parlamentarierin und Stellvertretende Vorsitzende des Finanzkommission für die Lokalregierungen beschwerte sich sehr über die langen Arbeitszeiten ihres Kommittes. Sie würden schon um neun Uhr morgens beginnen, und bis um fünf Uhr abends arbeiten, deutlich länger als die offiziellen acht Arbeitsstunden pro Tag!
Parlamentarierinnen und Parlamentarier gehen für gewöhlich auch in lange Mittagspausen.
The Lady Member of Parliament and Deputy Chair of the Local Government Accounts Committee complained a lot about their long working hours in the Committee. They would start as early as nine, and finish as late as five...which would be a lot more than the (official) eight hours working time!
Members of Parliament tend to go for long lunch breaks.
Buchhalten und Rechnen
Die Parlamentarierin und Stellvertretende Vorsitzende des Finanzkommission für die Lokalregierungen beschwerte sich sehr über die langen Arbeitszeiten ihres Kommittes. Sie würden schon um neun Uhr morgens beginnen, und bis um fünf Uhr abends arbeiten, deutlich länger als die offiziellen acht Arbeitsstunden pro Tag!
Parlamentarierinnen und Parlamentarier gehen für gewöhlich auch in lange Mittagspausen.
Traditional Healers in TanzaniaBagamoyo is kind of a centre for traditional healing in Tanzania. Usually, becoming and being a traditional healer is inherited. That is also why the Swahili expression for traditional healer – “mganga wa jadi” – reads approximately "a doctor of the ancestors".
The ancestor, a grandmother or grandfather, or a mother or father, has chosen him or her to keep up with the tradition. Passing over the responsibility is quite a challenge. In the case of the traditional healer we met, the ancestor had to find the left over reed of an elephant's meal, tie seven knots into the reed and fix it to the tongue of his successor, before boiling a strong tea from the reed for the new healer to drink. Then, he had to swear an oath on an axe, a knife or a gun that he would use his abilities only for the good or otherwise kill himself with the respective tool.
The healers are split into two groups. The ones where knowledge is passed orally only, and the ones that work from books. Becoming a traditional healer goes along with a lot of cleansing and several years of apprenticeship. The healer keeps instruments – inherited from their ancestors - and ingredients in baskets, among else, a mirror to show the problem to patients. The analogy to modern psychotherapy could not have been more obvious! His claim, that he could not only heal cramps, headache, impotency, hernias but also epilepsies and cancer challenged us to ask about HIV/AIDS. He said indeed, on the treatment of HIV/AIDS they would still be working…
The borders between fortune telling, witch craft and traditional healing are blurred. Politicians would consult a traditional healer to get enlightened on their election campaign strategy. Our colleagues left no doubt, that candidate Kikwete – then most probably to become the new president of Tanzania (and so he did in December 2005) - himself originating from Bagamoyo, had been consulting traditional healers. Our traditional healer claimed to also have returned a lost child of a Swiss couple from the US, and he could keep a house safe of thieves.
Healers deal a lot with good and bad spirits. Spirits come by themselves, or they are given to you, or you simply have them. To comfort a bad spirit, it has to be given blood, whereas animal blood can work as a substitute. Due to this, many healers have infected themselves with HIV/AIDs, and more and more campaigns target specifically on healers. Also, there are plans to include traditional healers into the retro virus treatment programme.
There is a saying that traditional healers cannot cure themselves. Tragically, the healer we met was an example of confirmation. On one foot he had already lost four toes to leprosies, and on the other foot, open wounds and a steady stream of aunts having their feast were proof of infection, too. While his handy was ringing, he obviously refuses conventional leprosies treatment.
A ride on the Dala Dala
We are all waiting, anxiously observing the sky. Finally it arrives, the Dala Dala, as the local minibuses are called, and just before it starts to rain cats and dogs again, we huddle in – almost all of us. The ones that did not make it were the school boys, which the driver had been sending out again. He would want paying clients and no little boys! However, two of them sneaked in never the less.
It is raining through the window, one of the scrapers breaks apart, while the other bravely continues, fixed with a short piece of string. The lady next to me is big, but delighted about my Kiswahili – and asks me first, if I would know Ugali, the “national dish” of Tanzania. It is impossible to live in Tanzania for more than a day, and not to know Ugali. But that we in Switzerland would eat Ugali – Polenta – too, the lady hardly wanted to believe it, and once again I was amazed how Millions of people declare such a simple dish as their favorite one. Maybe because even Ugali has been missing on their table many times?
Without interruption, the lady diverted talk to the question of religion. That I used to be a protestant but not any longer, she did not really want to hear, However, when I denied going regularly to church, and not even praying, I got a real telling off. I would have to thank God for my life and a lot more was preached over my head in a very loud voice, and under the attentive eyes and open ears of the whole Dala Dala staff and passengers! Luckily, the lady had to leave at the next stop, my Kiswahili lesson came to an end, and I had more space to sit again.
Coffee vendors, with their jugs fixed on a bed of coal, a bucket of water with tiny little coffee cups swimming in it, and delicious Zanzibari sweets on a tray on top wait at each station; freshly roasted corn are getting wrapped in green leaves for sale, and for the ones that cannot afford a complete one, centimeter pieces are available, too. A few stalls further, a tailor is working, and a woman puts coal into her iron, a model we nowadays in Europe would find in museums ….so each Dala Dala drive becomes a city sightseeing tour of its own, only that at points the sights pass by way too fast…
Eine Dala Dala Fahrt
An der Busstation warten wir alle, den Blick ängstlich in die schwarzen Wolken gerichtet – dann kommt es doch noch, das Dala Dala – wie die lokalen Minibusse liebevoll genannt werden - und vor dem Wolkenbruch sind wir drinnen in Sicherheit. Nicht so die Schulbuben, die mit uns gewartet haben, der Fahrer hat sie wieder aus dem Auto geschickt, er wolle Kunden, und nicht Schüler, die gratis mitfahren dürfen – zwei von ihnen haben sich dann doch eingeschlichen.
Es regnet zum Fenster hinein, der eine Scheibenwischer bricht ab, während der andere, mit ein wenig Bindfaden fixiert, tapfer weiter wischt. Die Dame neben mir ist ausladend, aber begeistert von meinem Kiswahili – und fragt gleich, ob ich die Nationalspeise Ugali kenne! Selbstverständlich, unmöglich in Tanzania mehrere Monate zu leben, ohne Ugali zu kosten. Dass auch wir in der Schweiz Ugali – Polenta – essen, will die Dame allerdings nicht glauben, und ich bin einmal mehr verwundert darüber, dass Millionen Menschen ein so einfaches Gericht zu ihrer Lieblingsspeise erkoren haben. Weil es in ihrem Leben oft Ugali, oder nichts anderes gegeben hat? Nahtlos geht die Rede über in meine Religionszugehörigkeit – dass ich Protestantin war aber nicht mehr bin, entgeht ihr wohl, dass ich nicht zur Kirche gehe, beunruhigt sie schon mehr, und als ich ihr auch noch gestehe, nicht zu beten, geht ein zweiter Schauer über mich nieder: dass ich Gott alleine mein Leben zu verdanken habe, und vieles mehr wird mir da gepredigt, wachsam beobachtet und mitgehört von der Besatzung des ganzen Dala Dalas! Glücklicherweise muss die Dame früher aussteigen als ich, meine Kiswahilistunde kommt zu einem Ende, und ich habe wieder mehr Platz zum Sitzen.
Kaffeeverkäufer, mit ihren Alukannen auf Kohle geschnallt, und einem Kessel Wasser mit ein paar winzig kleinen Kaffeetassen darin schwimmend, warten an jeder Station bereit; endlich, mit dem Regen, gibt es wieder frisch geröstete Maiskolben, die Verkäufer am Strassenrand packen sie in grüne Blätter ein, und wer sich nicht eine ganze leisten kann, darf auch ein paar Centimeter abschneiden. Ein paar Stände weiter sind die Schneider am Werk, eine Frau legt Kohlen nach im Bügeleisen, gleiches Modell wie es sie bei uns nur noch im Museum gibt...und so wird jede Dala Dala Tour zur Stadtrundfahrt, bloss dass die Sehenswürdigkeiten manchmal etwas gar zu schnell vorbei ziehen!
We are all waiting, anxiously observing the sky. Finally it arrives, the Dala Dala, as the local minibuses are called, and just before it starts to rain cats and dogs again, we huddle in – almost all of us. The ones that did not make it were the school boys, which the driver had been sending out again. He would want paying clients and no little boys! However, two of them sneaked in never the less.
It is raining through the window, one of the scrapers breaks apart, while the other bravely continues, fixed with a short piece of string. The lady next to me is big, but delighted about my Kiswahili – and asks me first, if I would know Ugali, the “national dish” of Tanzania. It is impossible to live in Tanzania for more than a day, and not to know Ugali. But that we in Switzerland would eat Ugali – Polenta – too, the lady hardly wanted to believe it, and once again I was amazed how Millions of people declare such a simple dish as their favorite one. Maybe because even Ugali has been missing on their table many times?
Without interruption, the lady diverted talk to the question of religion. That I used to be a protestant but not any longer, she did not really want to hear, However, when I denied going regularly to church, and not even praying, I got a real telling off. I would have to thank God for my life and a lot more was preached over my head in a very loud voice, and under the attentive eyes and open ears of the whole Dala Dala staff and passengers! Luckily, the lady had to leave at the next stop, my Kiswahili lesson came to an end, and I had more space to sit again.
Coffee vendors, with their jugs fixed on a bed of coal, a bucket of water with tiny little coffee cups swimming in it, and delicious Zanzibari sweets on a tray on top wait at each station; freshly roasted corn are getting wrapped in green leaves for sale, and for the ones that cannot afford a complete one, centimeter pieces are available, too. A few stalls further, a tailor is working, and a woman puts coal into her iron, a model we nowadays in Europe would find in museums ….so each Dala Dala drive becomes a city sightseeing tour of its own, only that at points the sights pass by way too fast…
Eine Dala Dala Fahrt
An der Busstation warten wir alle, den Blick ängstlich in die schwarzen Wolken gerichtet – dann kommt es doch noch, das Dala Dala – wie die lokalen Minibusse liebevoll genannt werden - und vor dem Wolkenbruch sind wir drinnen in Sicherheit. Nicht so die Schulbuben, die mit uns gewartet haben, der Fahrer hat sie wieder aus dem Auto geschickt, er wolle Kunden, und nicht Schüler, die gratis mitfahren dürfen – zwei von ihnen haben sich dann doch eingeschlichen.
Es regnet zum Fenster hinein, der eine Scheibenwischer bricht ab, während der andere, mit ein wenig Bindfaden fixiert, tapfer weiter wischt. Die Dame neben mir ist ausladend, aber begeistert von meinem Kiswahili – und fragt gleich, ob ich die Nationalspeise Ugali kenne! Selbstverständlich, unmöglich in Tanzania mehrere Monate zu leben, ohne Ugali zu kosten. Dass auch wir in der Schweiz Ugali – Polenta – essen, will die Dame allerdings nicht glauben, und ich bin einmal mehr verwundert darüber, dass Millionen Menschen ein so einfaches Gericht zu ihrer Lieblingsspeise erkoren haben. Weil es in ihrem Leben oft Ugali, oder nichts anderes gegeben hat? Nahtlos geht die Rede über in meine Religionszugehörigkeit – dass ich Protestantin war aber nicht mehr bin, entgeht ihr wohl, dass ich nicht zur Kirche gehe, beunruhigt sie schon mehr, und als ich ihr auch noch gestehe, nicht zu beten, geht ein zweiter Schauer über mich nieder: dass ich Gott alleine mein Leben zu verdanken habe, und vieles mehr wird mir da gepredigt, wachsam beobachtet und mitgehört von der Besatzung des ganzen Dala Dalas! Glücklicherweise muss die Dame früher aussteigen als ich, meine Kiswahilistunde kommt zu einem Ende, und ich habe wieder mehr Platz zum Sitzen.
Kaffeeverkäufer, mit ihren Alukannen auf Kohle geschnallt, und einem Kessel Wasser mit ein paar winzig kleinen Kaffeetassen darin schwimmend, warten an jeder Station bereit; endlich, mit dem Regen, gibt es wieder frisch geröstete Maiskolben, die Verkäufer am Strassenrand packen sie in grüne Blätter ein, und wer sich nicht eine ganze leisten kann, darf auch ein paar Centimeter abschneiden. Ein paar Stände weiter sind die Schneider am Werk, eine Frau legt Kohlen nach im Bügeleisen, gleiches Modell wie es sie bei uns nur noch im Museum gibt...und so wird jede Dala Dala Tour zur Stadtrundfahrt, bloss dass die Sehenswürdigkeiten manchmal etwas gar zu schnell vorbei ziehen!
HagglingHaggling the price for each and everything, is a way of life in Tanzania. There are some exceptions: a bottle of soda costs to our surprise always the same, independently if chilled or not (a fundamental difference for us!), in Dar es Salaam or transported for hours on bikes and heads into a remote village! A roasted cob of corn, even though this price changes according to season; or a cup of coffee, from the street vendors marching along the houses with their kettle on coals, and a big bucket of water with tiny little cups swimming in it – it only costs 2 cents per cup! So lucky you are, when knowing the price and being able to present the coins self confidently!
Goods by principle have no price tags, unless in a Western style Super market – the price is defined according to the estimated “purchase power” of the customer. So, logically, there are Wazungu prices, and there are Tanzanian prices. From a point of poverty reduction, the reason why most Wazungus do work here in Tanzania, there is nothing wrong with it! Having said so, to find the golden middle is not always easy, as Wazungus are relatively extremely rich, and many services in Tanzania are extremely cheap.
So, when the waiter wanted to charge us the equivalent of 60US$ for a round of beers and sodas in the club just down the road, they clearly overestimated the content of our purse, and we paid no penny more than the local price – the equivalent of about 4US$!
When we wanted to rent a dhow to transport us and our two bikes across the bay in Eastern Zanzibar, it became a bit more difficult. They started with the equivalent of 55US$, which after a lot of calculating in the sand, kilometers (measured by eye), times fuel consumption (did I know their engine?!) times working time, and finally agreed on a commonly accepted price of 15US$. In the final phase of the negotiations down on the beach what seemed like the entire village turned out to surround me and observe. So I felt like having accomplished a master piece in negotiation when entering the sea!
However, I had to learn my lessons, too. In the very beginning I haggled with the vegetable seller, with no idea what so ever but a good portion of humor, while he insisted to offer me a very good price, and even left me a banana as a present. When I wanted to leave, a smile spread all over his face, and he mentioned, that next time it would only be 1800TzSh, and the next time after only 1500TzSh…Loyalty discount the Tanzanian way!
Märten
“Märten” für den Preis von allem und jedem gehört zum Leben in Tanzania. Es gibt nur wenige Ausnahmen: eine Flasche Limonade kostet zu unserem Erstaunen überall gleichviel, ob warm oder gekühlt (für uns ein fundamentale Unterschied!), in Dar es Salaam oder Stunden lang auf Fahrrädern und Köpfen ins hinterste Nest getragen! Ein gegriller Maiskolben, allerdings abhängig von der Saison; Oder Kaffee von einem der Strassenverkäufer, die mit ihrem auf Kohlen geschnallten Kaffeekrug und einem tragbaren Abwaschbecken mit kleinen schwimmenden Tässchen die Runden machen: bloss 2 Rappen kostet eine Portion! Wenn man den Preis kennt, und die abgezählten Münzen selbstbewusst hinstrecken kann, sind das richtige Glücksfälle!
Waren haben aus Prinzip keine Preisschilder, ausser in westlichen Supermärkten – der Preis wird aufgrund der geschätzten Kaufkraft des Kunden festgelegt. Entsprechend gibt es logischerweise Wazungu Preise, und Tanzanische Preise. Vom Gesichtspunkt der Armutsreduktion, der Grund für die Päsenz der meisten Wazunguns in Tanzania, gibt es nichts gegen diese Strategie einzuwenden. Die goldene Mitte zu finden ist allerdings nicht immer einfach, sind doch Wazungungs relativ gesehen sehr reich, und viele Güter und Dienste in Tanzania ausgesprochen billig.
Als die Serviertochter in der Gartenbeiz nicht weit weg von unserem Haus uns eine Rechnung im Gegenwert von 60US$ für eine Runde Bier und Limonade präsentiert, hatte sie eindeutig den Inhalt unseres Portemonnaies überschätzt, und wir bezahlten keinen Rappen mehr als den Tanzanischen Preis – im Gegenwert von 4US$!
Als wir eine locale Barke mieten wollten, um uns und unsere zwei Fahrräder über eine Bucht in Ostzanzibar zu transportieren, wurde es anspruchsvoll. Das Eröffnungsangebot stand beim Gegenwert von 55US$. Nach langwierigem Rechnen im Sand, Kilometer (nach Augenmass) multipliziert mit dem Kerosinverbrauch (kannten wir ihren Motor?!) multipliziert mit der Arbeitszeit, konnten wir uns schliesslich auf 15US$ einigen. In der Schlussphase der Verhandlung umrundete mich das halbe Dorf. Als wir in See stachen, hatte ich das Gefühl, eben ein Verhandlungsmeisterwerk abgeschlossen zu haben!Allerdings hatte ich durch eine harte Schule zu gehen. Während ich mit dem Gemüsehändler märtete, ohne die geringste Ahnung der Preise, aber mit viel Humor, bestand er darauf, mir einen ausserordentlich gutes Angebot unterbreitet zu haben, und legte sogar noch gratis eine Banane dazu. Als ich mich auf den Weg machte, meinte er mit einem schelmischen Lächen, das nächste Mal koste es dann nur 1800Tanzanische Schillinge, und das übernächste Mal sogar nur 1500...Treuerabatt auf Tanzanisch!
Friday, 6 April 2007
Creating markets
When parking your car in Downtown Dar es Salaam, or even stopping at traffic lights, you always have to be attentive to thieves in order not to continue your journey deficient wheel hubs, lights or mirrors on your vehicle. No matter what precautions one takes, it still happens to all of us at some time or other in Dar es Salaam. You then basically have two options – you can either go to the official Toyota dealership, or whatever make your car is, to be told a ridiculously high price for the spare part you look for, and that it will take a couple of monthsto arrive...if everything works out! Or, with a lowered voice, the person at your registered dealership will tell you to go to a certain little shop in Kariakoo*, and there you will find the spare part you are looking for for sure...and a lot cheaper. So, when my friend went to the shop in Kariakoo, in the bustling centre of the African quarter of Dar es Salaam, she was asked when her wheel hub had been stolen. The day before, she responded. After a little reflection, the vendor kindly instructed her to return later that afternoon by which time he would be sure to have exactly that spare part she was looking for! There is no doubt that the shop vendors and the thieves work closely together, operating a steal to order service. It is a vicious circle: a part is stolen from one car to replace the stolen part of another, at the centre of which is the car owner. However, what they do manage but what many development projects struggle with, is creating new markets!
* The name “Kariakoo” derived from the place where the English had stationed their “Carrier Corps”!
When parking your car in Downtown Dar es Salaam, or even stopping at traffic lights, you always have to be attentive to thieves in order not to continue your journey deficient wheel hubs, lights or mirrors on your vehicle. No matter what precautions one takes, it still happens to all of us at some time or other in Dar es Salaam. You then basically have two options – you can either go to the official Toyota dealership, or whatever make your car is, to be told a ridiculously high price for the spare part you look for, and that it will take a couple of monthsto arrive...if everything works out! Or, with a lowered voice, the person at your registered dealership will tell you to go to a certain little shop in Kariakoo*, and there you will find the spare part you are looking for for sure...and a lot cheaper. So, when my friend went to the shop in Kariakoo, in the bustling centre of the African quarter of Dar es Salaam, she was asked when her wheel hub had been stolen. The day before, she responded. After a little reflection, the vendor kindly instructed her to return later that afternoon by which time he would be sure to have exactly that spare part she was looking for! There is no doubt that the shop vendors and the thieves work closely together, operating a steal to order service. It is a vicious circle: a part is stolen from one car to replace the stolen part of another, at the centre of which is the car owner. However, what they do manage but what many development projects struggle with, is creating new markets!
* The name “Kariakoo” derived from the place where the English had stationed their “Carrier Corps”!
Close relatives
„Neighbours and friends are very close relatives according to tradition in Tanzania“; my Kiswahili Teacher sighed, after she had explained to me that every year she and her husband are invited to more than ten weddings, that to each they are expected to contribute financially, help with the cooking, and wear new and assorted cloths!
Recently, I learned the Kiswahili word for “relative” and was amazed. While President Nyerere was known to the nation as “Mwalimu”, the “teacher”, the new President Kikwete bears the title “Ndugu Jakaya Kikwete”, the “Relative Jakaya Kikwete”! The other day when we got a letter from the local administration informing us of a visit by the fumigation team in order to rid our place of rats, cockroaches and other nasty carriers of disease, to whom the letter was addressed? To “Ndugu - relative -...”!
Nahe Verwandte
Mit einem tiefen Seufzer meinte meine Kiswahili Lehrerin: “Nachbarn und Freunde sind im traditionellen Tansania eben nahe Verwandte!“ Sie hatte mir eben erklärt, dass sie und ihr Mann zu über zehn Hochzeiten pro Jahr eingeladen würden. Unausgesprochen geht damit, dass die Familie des Hochzeitspaares mit der Einladung auch eine finanzielle Unterstützung und Hilfe bei den Vorbereitungen erwartet, und alle weiblichen Hochzeitsgäste sich in assortierten identischen und selbstverständlich neuen Kleidern einkleiden!
Kürzlich habe ich das Swahili Wort für „Verwandte“ gelernt, und war erstaunt: Während Präsident Nyerere als „Mwalimu“, „Lehrer“, angesprochen wurde, trägt der neue Präsident Kikwete den Titel „Ndugu Jakaya Kikwete“, der „Verwandte Jakaya Kikwete“! Vor ein paar Tagen flatterte uns ein Brief der Gemeindeverwaltung ins Haus, der uns zu einer Ungeziefervernichtung im Quartier verpflichtete. An wen war das Schreiben adressiert: „Ndugu – Verwandte...“!
„Neighbours and friends are very close relatives according to tradition in Tanzania“; my Kiswahili Teacher sighed, after she had explained to me that every year she and her husband are invited to more than ten weddings, that to each they are expected to contribute financially, help with the cooking, and wear new and assorted cloths!
Recently, I learned the Kiswahili word for “relative” and was amazed. While President Nyerere was known to the nation as “Mwalimu”, the “teacher”, the new President Kikwete bears the title “Ndugu Jakaya Kikwete”, the “Relative Jakaya Kikwete”! The other day when we got a letter from the local administration informing us of a visit by the fumigation team in order to rid our place of rats, cockroaches and other nasty carriers of disease, to whom the letter was addressed? To “Ndugu - relative -...”!
Nahe Verwandte
Mit einem tiefen Seufzer meinte meine Kiswahili Lehrerin: “Nachbarn und Freunde sind im traditionellen Tansania eben nahe Verwandte!“ Sie hatte mir eben erklärt, dass sie und ihr Mann zu über zehn Hochzeiten pro Jahr eingeladen würden. Unausgesprochen geht damit, dass die Familie des Hochzeitspaares mit der Einladung auch eine finanzielle Unterstützung und Hilfe bei den Vorbereitungen erwartet, und alle weiblichen Hochzeitsgäste sich in assortierten identischen und selbstverständlich neuen Kleidern einkleiden!
Kürzlich habe ich das Swahili Wort für „Verwandte“ gelernt, und war erstaunt: Während Präsident Nyerere als „Mwalimu“, „Lehrer“, angesprochen wurde, trägt der neue Präsident Kikwete den Titel „Ndugu Jakaya Kikwete“, der „Verwandte Jakaya Kikwete“! Vor ein paar Tagen flatterte uns ein Brief der Gemeindeverwaltung ins Haus, der uns zu einer Ungeziefervernichtung im Quartier verpflichtete. An wen war das Schreiben adressiert: „Ndugu – Verwandte...“!
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
.jpg)
No wet feetThe long rains have now started in Tanzania. These are tropical rains, so are long lasting torrential downpours that leave deep ponds and pools behind, and turn tracks and roads into impassable mud in no time. In the Mikumi National Park, through which one of the main North-South roads traversing the African continent passes, drivers regularly observe all kinds of animals standing right in the middle of the tarmac road during the rains – elephants, the usually rather shy giraffes, lions, and even leopards which even out in the bush are an extremely rare sight! The reason for this I was told: they too do not like having wet feet!
Keine nassen Füsse
Die langen Regen haben in Tansania eingesetzt. Es sind tropische Regen, es schüttet aus Kübeln und zurück bleiben Pfützen und Weiher überall, und Wege und Strassen sind innert kürzester Zeit mit tiefem Schlamm bedeckt. Im Mikumi Nationalpark, durch den eine der wichtigsten Nord-Südachsen des Afrikanischen Kontinents führt, beobachten Auto fahrende während der Regenzeit alle möglichen Tiere direkt auf der Strasse: Elefanten, sonst eher scheue Giraffen, Löwen, und sogar Leoparden, die für gewöhnlich äusserst selten zu sehen sind! Der Grund dafür: Ich habe mir sagen lassen, das auch die wilden Tiere nicht gerne nasse Füsse haben!
The men in orange
While on my way home, a small open lorry passed me. Bystanders greeted and shouted to the men standing in the back. They were prisoners, returning from their day doing public work. They were not restrained by handcuffs so looked no different than an average free men, apart that is from the fact that they wore bright orange overalls. The uniforms prisoners all over Tanzania wear. They are often to be seen doing public work. There is no protection of their private sphere, but they can leave the prison for the day’s work in and around Dar es Salaam and across the country. Would it be better if they were locked in, away from public eyes, but also forgotten? A difficult choice to make.
Die Männer in Orange
Auf meinem Weg nach Hause überholte mich ein kleiner offener Lastwagen – Passantinnen und Passanten grüssten die Männer auf der Ladefläche, und feuerten sie an. Es waren Gefangene, auf dem Rückweg von der Gemeindearbeit. Sie trugen keine Handschellen, und sahen wie freie Männer aus, wären da nicht ihre leuchtend orange Uniformen gewesen. Es sind die Uniformen, die sämtliche Gefangene in Tansania tragen. Diese Männer in orange sind ein vertrautes Bild in den Strassen von Tansania, wenn sie Gemeindearbeit leisten. Ihre Privatsphäre kennt wenig Schutz, aber sie können das Gefängnis für die Tagesarbeit verlassen. Wäre es besser, wenn sie vor den Augen der Öffentlichkeit geschützt würden, aber auch vergessen?
While on my way home, a small open lorry passed me. Bystanders greeted and shouted to the men standing in the back. They were prisoners, returning from their day doing public work. They were not restrained by handcuffs so looked no different than an average free men, apart that is from the fact that they wore bright orange overalls. The uniforms prisoners all over Tanzania wear. They are often to be seen doing public work. There is no protection of their private sphere, but they can leave the prison for the day’s work in and around Dar es Salaam and across the country. Would it be better if they were locked in, away from public eyes, but also forgotten? A difficult choice to make.
Die Männer in Orange
Auf meinem Weg nach Hause überholte mich ein kleiner offener Lastwagen – Passantinnen und Passanten grüssten die Männer auf der Ladefläche, und feuerten sie an. Es waren Gefangene, auf dem Rückweg von der Gemeindearbeit. Sie trugen keine Handschellen, und sahen wie freie Männer aus, wären da nicht ihre leuchtend orange Uniformen gewesen. Es sind die Uniformen, die sämtliche Gefangene in Tansania tragen. Diese Männer in orange sind ein vertrautes Bild in den Strassen von Tansania, wenn sie Gemeindearbeit leisten. Ihre Privatsphäre kennt wenig Schutz, aber sie können das Gefängnis für die Tagesarbeit verlassen. Wäre es besser, wenn sie vor den Augen der Öffentlichkeit geschützt würden, aber auch vergessen?
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
.jpg)
As if he were a lionIn order to import a dog into Switzerland, it needs to have a machine readable pin code implanted under the skin (or be given a tattoo that is readable). Of course this latest high-tech application has not yet reached Tanzania, so we had to order the implant from a vet in Switzerland. I took our dog Castor to the vet, with a lot of coaxing manouvered him onto the table, and passed the syringe with the little implant inside to the Tanzanian vet. He was sceptical. I told him that it was a simple procedure; he had to insert it under the skin of the dog. He still hesitated and asked me if I was ready to take responsibility in case anything went wrong? I sort of nodded, now concerned about the fate of our dear dog Castor. Finally a smile spread across the vets face. Oh, Yes! He had been doing something like this before also for identification purposes, he recalled all of a sudden. Only on that occaision it was with lions in Mikumi National Park, and administered with a gun! Much to my - and I guess Castor’s - relief he then proceeded to insert the implant with the syringe!
Als wär' er ein Löwe
Um einen Hund in die Schweiz zu importieren, muss er/sie einen maschinen lesbaren pin code unter der Haut tragen. Natürlich hat diese Technologie Tanzania noch nicht erreicht, so dass wir den Code bei einem Tierarzt in der Schweiz bestellen mussten. Ich redete unserem Hund Castor gut zu, hievte ihn auf den Tisch und übergab dem Tanzanischen Tierarzt die Spritze mit dem winzigen Plastikstreifen und dem pin code zur Injektion. Er blieb skeptisch, auch als ich ihm erkläre, dass er den Code ganz einfach unter die Haut des Hundes spritzen müsse. Er zögerte noch immer, und fragte mich schliesslich, ob ich bereit sei, die Verantwortung zu übernehmen, wenn etwas schief laufen würde? Ich nickte schwach, besorgt über Castors Wohlergehen, bis sich plötzlich ein Lächeln auf dem Gesicht des Tierarztes verbreitete. Oh ja, er habe das vorher schon gemacht, erinnerte er sich, auch zu Identifikationszwecken – allerdings an Löwen im Mikumi Nationalpark, und statt mit einer Spritze mit einem Gewehr appliziert! Zu meiner – und ich vermute Castors – grossen Erleichterung hat der Tierarzt seinen Code dann mit der Spritze implantiert!
Sunday, 1 April 2007
The baobab spiritsMbuyu is the kiswahili name of the baobab tree. There are numerous places that are called Mbuyuni, the place of the baobab. Their stems are massive, many meters wide in diameter. There is one standing majestically in the middle of the main road in Dar es Salaam – the two lanes having been carefully built to either side of the enormous tree.
In the dry season the baobab trees can be seen dotting the landscape with their enormous bottle like stems; the white fruit is the last fallback in terms of food when people start to run out of their traditional stocks. It seems amazing that baobab trees are still standing where all other trees have been chopped down for firewood and charcoal. Unfortunately a wide spread situation in Tanzania. We asked why it was that baobab trees were not chopped down. Tanzanians believe that spirits live in the hollow space within the thick stems of the baobab tree. Anyone cutting down a baobab tree would thus destroy the home of the spirit. That spirit would then become a bad spirit in the logger’s house. What a pity, we reflected, that spirits only live in baobab trees! To protect the forests of Tanzania, so many more spirits would be needed!
Die Baobab Geister
Mbuyu ist der Kiswahili Name für Baobab Baum. Flurnamen mit „Mbuyuni“, der Ort der Baobabs, sind weit verbreitet. Ein Baobab Baum steht auf der Hauptstrasse in Dar es Salaam, und die richtungsgetrennten Spuren sind links und rechts vom riesigen Baum angelegt.
In der Trockensaison fallen die Bäume mit ihren riesigen flaschenförmigen Stämmen besonders auf, und die weissen Früchte sind oft das letzte, das den Dorfbewohnern noch zum Essen bleibt, wenn ihre traditionellen Vorräte zu Ende gegangen sind. Erstaunlicherweise stehen Baobab Bäume immer noch, wenn alle anderen Bäume zu Feuerhlz und Holzkohle verarbeitet wurden, ein traurig weitverbreitetes Bild in Tanzania. Wir fragten uns, was die Baobab Bäume schützt? Tanzanierinnen und Tanzanier glauben, dass Geister in den dicken Stämmen der Baobab Bäume leben. Wenn man einen Baobab Baum fällt, zerstört man auch das Heim eines Geistes, und der Geist kann zu einem bösen Hausgeist des Fällers werden. Schade nur, dass die Geister nur in den Baobab Bäumen leben. Um die Wälder Tanzania’s zu schützen, bräuchte es viel mehr Geister!
In good Indian company
It is difficult to find an up to date cinema program in Dar es Salaam. So you just go and chose the film you like the look of most. I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed by the choice the last time I went, but a film about Indian diaspora in London seemed interesting enough to me. I went to the booth to buy a ticket. The African lady behind the counter however was suspicious. “It is an Indian film” she informed me, making no effort to let a ticket appear from her computer. “Yes, I know”, I responded, “but doesn’t it have English subtitles?” Of course it had, but still the lady did not seem persuaded. “You are late”, she made another attempt to change my mind. I said that I was aware, but insisted that as the film had only started some minutes ago I would still like to buy a ticket and watch the film. Finally, the ticket came out of the slot, I paid and headed off to the cinema hall. Indeed, the audience was almost exclusively Asian in origin, and for a brief moment I felt more exposed than normal among Black Africans. When however I learned a little later in the film that the vast majority of Indian women watch cricket with their husbands and boyfriends in order to look at the players firm bottoms I quickly felt to be in excellent - female - company again.
Dar es Salaam has a big and influential Diaspora of Asian origin, which commonly are addressed as “Indians”.
In guter Indischer Gesellschaft
Es ist schwierig, in Dar es Salaam ein aktuelles Kinoprogramm zu finden. So geht man einfach hin, und wählt den Film, der einem am besten gefällt. Ich war nicht gerade begeistert von der Auswahl, aber ein Film über die Indische Diaspora in London sprach mich trotzdem an. So wollte ich ein Billet zu kaufen. Die Afrikanische Frau hinter dem Schalter hingegen war skeptisch. „Es ist ein Indischer Film“, meinte sie, und machte keine Anstalten, ihrem Computer ein Billet zu entlöcken. „Ja“, antwortete ich, „hat der Film keine englischen Untertitel?“. Natürlich hatte der Film Untertitel, doch die Frau schien noch immer nicht überzeugt. „Sie sind spät“, meinte sie in einem neuen Anlauf, mich umzustimmen. Natürlich wusste ich das, und wiederholte, dass ich trotzdem gerne ein Billet kaufen möchte. Schliesslich spuckte der Computer ein Billet aus, ich zahlte und beeilte mich in den Saal. Tatsächlich sassen dort ausschliesslich Zuschauer von Asiatischer Herkunft, und ich fühlte mich exponierter als in einer ganzen Gruppe Schwarzafrikaner. Als ich ein wenig später im Film lernte, dass die grosse Mehrheit der Indischen Frauen Ihren Männern beim Kricket am Fernseher nur deshalb Gesellschaft leisten, um die Spieler von hinten zu sehen, fühlte ich mich allerdings schnell wieder in ausgezeichneter – weiblicher – Gesellschaft!
Dar es Salaam hat eine grosse und einflussreiche asiatisch stämmige Diaspora, die als „Indians“ bekannt sind.
It is difficult to find an up to date cinema program in Dar es Salaam. So you just go and chose the film you like the look of most. I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed by the choice the last time I went, but a film about Indian diaspora in London seemed interesting enough to me. I went to the booth to buy a ticket. The African lady behind the counter however was suspicious. “It is an Indian film” she informed me, making no effort to let a ticket appear from her computer. “Yes, I know”, I responded, “but doesn’t it have English subtitles?” Of course it had, but still the lady did not seem persuaded. “You are late”, she made another attempt to change my mind. I said that I was aware, but insisted that as the film had only started some minutes ago I would still like to buy a ticket and watch the film. Finally, the ticket came out of the slot, I paid and headed off to the cinema hall. Indeed, the audience was almost exclusively Asian in origin, and for a brief moment I felt more exposed than normal among Black Africans. When however I learned a little later in the film that the vast majority of Indian women watch cricket with their husbands and boyfriends in order to look at the players firm bottoms I quickly felt to be in excellent - female - company again.
Dar es Salaam has a big and influential Diaspora of Asian origin, which commonly are addressed as “Indians”.
In guter Indischer Gesellschaft
Es ist schwierig, in Dar es Salaam ein aktuelles Kinoprogramm zu finden. So geht man einfach hin, und wählt den Film, der einem am besten gefällt. Ich war nicht gerade begeistert von der Auswahl, aber ein Film über die Indische Diaspora in London sprach mich trotzdem an. So wollte ich ein Billet zu kaufen. Die Afrikanische Frau hinter dem Schalter hingegen war skeptisch. „Es ist ein Indischer Film“, meinte sie, und machte keine Anstalten, ihrem Computer ein Billet zu entlöcken. „Ja“, antwortete ich, „hat der Film keine englischen Untertitel?“. Natürlich hatte der Film Untertitel, doch die Frau schien noch immer nicht überzeugt. „Sie sind spät“, meinte sie in einem neuen Anlauf, mich umzustimmen. Natürlich wusste ich das, und wiederholte, dass ich trotzdem gerne ein Billet kaufen möchte. Schliesslich spuckte der Computer ein Billet aus, ich zahlte und beeilte mich in den Saal. Tatsächlich sassen dort ausschliesslich Zuschauer von Asiatischer Herkunft, und ich fühlte mich exponierter als in einer ganzen Gruppe Schwarzafrikaner. Als ich ein wenig später im Film lernte, dass die grosse Mehrheit der Indischen Frauen Ihren Männern beim Kricket am Fernseher nur deshalb Gesellschaft leisten, um die Spieler von hinten zu sehen, fühlte ich mich allerdings schnell wieder in ausgezeichneter – weiblicher – Gesellschaft!
Dar es Salaam hat eine grosse und einflussreiche asiatisch stämmige Diaspora, die als „Indians“ bekannt sind.
Saturday, 31 March 2007
Friendly Intelligence Services
Every morning he stands there, on a little patch of green grass at the corner of Toure Drive (which follows the Indian Ocean) and Ali Hassani Mwyni Road (linking the north of Dar es Salaam to Downtown). It is the spot past which all the rich and wealthy living on the peninsula have to pass when they want to reach their office Downtown.
He is hard to overlooked, wearing a neatly ironed Nyerere-style suit in brownish colors, a shiny silver chain hanging from his pocket to which his mobile phone is attached, and on his head sporting a huge cowboy hat! I often wondered what exactly he was doing there; shouting instructions to the policeman standing in the middle of the chaotic early morning traffic jam, and occasionally waving at a passing car with the characteristic short numbers of high level government officials.
The other day while I was cycling home, along he came towards me in his usual outfit but obviously not on duty. I spontaneously stopped and told him that I watch him each morning and was wondering about his job. He laughed, claimed that he did not speak a single word in English, and then introduced himself as Captain M. working for the Tanzanian intelligence service! However now he would be on his way to Friday evening beers with friends and would I like to join him? There I stood in full biking kit: helmet, glasses and shorts, trying to imagine his friends’ reaction had we continued to the beers together. I thanked him warmly for the invitation, and since then each morning we wave to each other. I am possibly the only cyclist in Tanzania who gets the attention of the intelligence services daily!
Every morning he stands there, on a little patch of green grass at the corner of Toure Drive (which follows the Indian Ocean) and Ali Hassani Mwyni Road (linking the north of Dar es Salaam to Downtown). It is the spot past which all the rich and wealthy living on the peninsula have to pass when they want to reach their office Downtown.
He is hard to overlooked, wearing a neatly ironed Nyerere-style suit in brownish colors, a shiny silver chain hanging from his pocket to which his mobile phone is attached, and on his head sporting a huge cowboy hat! I often wondered what exactly he was doing there; shouting instructions to the policeman standing in the middle of the chaotic early morning traffic jam, and occasionally waving at a passing car with the characteristic short numbers of high level government officials.
The other day while I was cycling home, along he came towards me in his usual outfit but obviously not on duty. I spontaneously stopped and told him that I watch him each morning and was wondering about his job. He laughed, claimed that he did not speak a single word in English, and then introduced himself as Captain M. working for the Tanzanian intelligence service! However now he would be on his way to Friday evening beers with friends and would I like to join him? There I stood in full biking kit: helmet, glasses and shorts, trying to imagine his friends’ reaction had we continued to the beers together. I thanked him warmly for the invitation, and since then each morning we wave to each other. I am possibly the only cyclist in Tanzania who gets the attention of the intelligence services daily!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg){kind=link}