March to June

So.. yet again a much neglected blog. Thinking back over the last few months I’m trying to recall significant and interesting events, but of course it’s those little magic glimpses of life here that pass in a moment that are really the ghosts we want to trap most… so I’ll try and think of a few:

1. Wondering why children are dragging round bits of string or rope, to be told it’s their imaginary cows;

2. Being welcomed home by familiar faces; the stall holders where I buy my yoghurt, fruit, washing powder…

3. Being given 200 shillings by Fizza, a little girl who visits, for no reason that I can discern other than kindness;

4. Friendly greetings as I whiz about on my bicycle.. ”Lifti” is my personal favourite.

5. Being summoned from the street by a cacophony of demanding voices: any number of local children, who come and sell juice or help their mothers at the night market; or the truly awful noise the little street cat and her grubby kittens make to get attention! Hideous!

Hmm they are tricky these fleeting moments.. guess a handy note book is necessary for capturing more of them.


So, other bigger news:

Hospital visits; I’ve done a few since I’ve arrived as it’s normal and expected behaviour to visit friends and colleagues when they are ill. The first visit was to my night guard’s elder daughter in the main hospital here, Mnazi Moja. I was wary of what to expect as I mounted the stairs and headed into the female ward.

There were none of the hideous scenes our western imaginations might suggest, but the ugly and uncomfortable realities are much more subtle. No sheets on the beds, no mosquito nets and no food, who knows what else. It was quiet. Families bring food and care for their own, as well as covering all costs.

Later that month I visited a colleague in the Muhibili hospital in Dar, following a major operation. This time it was a male ward. I waited my turn with the women waiting with food, feeling guilty that I had only thought to bring juice. When at last we were admitted I was alarmed to see the women handing over the food and leaving. No body was visiting except me. I was pointed in the direction of my colleague. I focused on his friendly face as I stepped over and between men in various stages of serious illness.

Later in the taxi, the driver, Bakari didn’t believe me when I told him about the private car parking charges in UK hospitals.


Trip to Lushoto, in the Usambara Mountains. March.
http://picasaweb.google.com/janey.brodigan/LushotoMarch#
Easter weekend my Canadian friend and I took the plunge and ventured off the island. We headed north out of Dar on a 6 hour bus journey up into the mountains. The last hour is stunning; the bus slowly winding its way up through the low hills into the mountains.

We called our recommended guide, Agrey, from the bus to book the next day’s hike and he said he’d arrange accommodation too. He met us off the bus and took us to our low-budget residence. The place seemed over-run with Indian families, escaping from Dar. It was perfect.

We enjoyed putting on jumpers and sleeping under a duvet; being chilly is a real treat after the unrelenting heat and humidity of the Zanzibari Summer.

The next day, Easter Sunday, we hiked up through the valley into the mountains, passing many churches on our way: Anglican, Catholic, Lutheran, and an Evangelical hut right up high. The air was fresh, the sun shone and music and ululation rose up into the hills.

Bagamoyo; East Coast Tanzania, April.
Again, I escaped off the island, this time to visit Bagamoyo, to the north of Dar, famous for once being the main slave port on the East African Coast.

I visited the small museum there, crammed with information about the Slave Trade. Millions of people were sent from here across to the Middle East, The Americas and Europe. Those few of them that made it that far, that is.

Bagamoyo has an old district where the colonial buildings lie in ruins, interspersed with art cooperatives from the burgeoning population of artists and sculptors who live here, products of the successful art college.

Bagamoyo has a lovely relaxed atmosphere, so different to the urban weight of Dar and the frenzy of Stone Town. Two, lovely things happened:
Walking down the old road along the coast, passing the ruins of the Old Post Office and Town Hall I was greeted by a couple of ladies sitting with their children outside their home. They were seated around a plate of something that was white, creamy and steaming. As is custom they said, “Karibu” and motioned to the food. Usually I would say thank you and decline the mushy pile of beans and rice being shoveled eagerly into a hungry mouth by the man’s fingers, but this looked too good to miss. I sat with them and exchanged introductions and asked what they were eating; it was cassava in coconut with fish. It was delicious. I enjoyed a few mouthfuls, chatted about this and that and then was on my way. Nice.

Venturing into the first art cooperative I braced myself for the usual enthusiastic greeting and flurry of offensive selling techniques. One step, then two steps into the shop I stopped, looked around and sure enough there were men there, engaged in a variety of activities: playing the drums, carving, twiddling a cigarette, but no, none of them had noticed me. I braved a greeting, to which they replied politely and continued in their employment. No hassle, no interest in me what-so-ever. What joy! I shook my head slightly in a sense of pleased relief and browsed contentedly. I bought some nice cards and went happily on my way.

Goodbye Nadin
So, all good things come to an end. My beautiful and glamorous friend Nadin, one of the few ex-pats I know with a proper job left, on to fabulous new things. We sent her off in style with a lovely dinner at a little resort up the coast. We gorged ourselves on fine wine, wonderful food and large amounts of silliness. Not to mention the burlesque mosquito spray application routine! Pics to follow I hope.

Home visit, May
It was just lovely to fly home.
My friend Nadin (who I flew with) and I were quite clearly the friendliest people Heathrow had received since the last lot of Tanzanian ex-pats ventured home. We fell easily into the lengthy greeting procedure with immigration officials and airport staff; I just managed to stop myself asking the man stamping my passport how is home and family were. Phew.

It felt just great to have time to spend with folks, with no horrid work getting in the way. The sun shone, much fun was had. Lovely.

Power Cut
So Zanzibar, well Unguja island, where I live, has just been redeemed from the month long electricity blackout caused by who knows what. We had a few nasty days with poor water supply too, but luckily for me when I was in the UK.

Rural folks were ok as they live largely without electricity and running water, being supplied by the well and urban folks were helped out with large generators in districts to pump limited water in their homes. But semi-urban people had it worst; no power or well. Some are still without water at home.

For me, apart from the generator’s erratic timetable at work, things were largely fine. The weather is cooler, so I didn’t miss my fan and I enjoyed the early nights and the challenge of ‘camping at home’ with kerosene lamps and stove. I am particularly proud of the new skill I have of balancing the torch on my head while reading. These days, a lamp just isn’t the same.

Everything was made more enjoyable with the arrival of my lovely new house mate, Mary Ann, a VSO Vol from the Philippines. She’ll be with me ‘til I leave.


East Coast heaven, Paje, June
http://picasaweb.google.com/janey.brodigan/EastCoastWithMichelle#5257895671950664754
The power ‘outage’ gave my shiny, sparkly friend Micelle and I a good excuse to escape to the East Coast. Two nights and two days of sun, massage, swimming, food, wine and chatter. Just lovely.

Jozani Forest, June
http://picasaweb.google.com/janey.brodigan/ColubusMonkeys#
The advantage of new folks and guests is that it gets you off your butt to see some of the sights this place is famous for. It’s so easy to get locked into an easy and lazy routine of doing as little as possible. So the trip to the forest in the interior of the island was a triumph!

Mary Ann, Jim (an American Tourist Michelle adopted) and I set out on the bus to the forest. After an hour we hadn’t progressed further than the outskirts of town, but after another hour of being bumped and squished into oblivion (at one point Mary Ann counted 34 people on the bus designed for about half that number).. we arrived... And the heaven’s opened.. Still, after an hour spent chewing on cold chips the rain stopped and we headed into the forest with our impressively knowledgeable guide. We walked, admiring trees of various kinds and his extraordinary ability to spot things that were hardly there: a tiny frog, a land crab, a lizard..

Then there they were, the monkeys feeding in low trees, completely undisturbed by us, happy to be within a few metres. Beautiful red Colubus Monkeys, unique to the island and the larger Blues. Mothers and babies, old ones and teens.. just amazing and peaceful and wonderful to see.