Life in the City

Yesterday I was exhausted by the end of the day. In large part it was due to the relentless pursuit of the street vendors. Everywhere I turned, they seemed to hover around me like a swarm of bees, refusing to take no for an answer. They are part of the fabric of life here and really add to the colour of Africa. It is important to find a way to be courteous, yet firm and clear; if you indicate any indecision you will become easy prey. It is always a problem re-learning this each time. In Canada, we are used to a lot of personal space. Here there is no such thing. No one thinks twice about approaching a complete stranger. I hate to be cynical, but strangers are probably viewed by street vendors primarily as opportunities for sales. In the photo above, Kosiano, in the center, and I are visiting the batik designer, on the right. Kosiano does not hassle me anymore because we are now "business partners"...so long as he holds up his part of the deal.

Before I had even left my room this morning, Lazaro was outside in the hall with the message that a woman was in the entrance way waiting to see me. Here at the Lutheran Center, the door leading up to the hostel rooms can only be opened with a key, which is welcome extra security. I hurried past the can of “Doom: Fatal Kill” sitting on a stand outside the bathroom door and down the stairs. It was Mama Janet from St. Constantine’s School looking for a package I had brought from her sister in Canada. We chatted a bit, she helped me fix my cell phone, and I agreed to be in touch once I figured out my schedule. I promised her sister, Dora, from the Tanzania High Commission in Ottawa, that I would visit her “old mama” who lives between Arusha and Moshi, and Janet will take me there.

Wow! This was a little unsettling. I am writing this in my room and it is 4:40 pm. The sound of voices gathering above the noise of traffic grows and grows. I open the curtains and below my window, near the corner where Boma Rd. meets the Clocktower, someone in a red shirt, in the middle of a mob of people, is getting pretty roughed up. Then, to add to the drama and mayhem, a car backs into another one, the driver probably distracted by the scene. (Do they have insurance here? I don’t know. Many cars couldn’t possibly qualify.) Crowds have gathered on both sides of the street and are overflowing onto the road reducing the already congested traffic this time of day to a single one-way lane. It looks like there is a security officer or policeman in the tangle. Then a large truck carrying people pulls up and the man is hoisted up and thrown over the side and into the open back, while others are trying to pull him down. Next a large sack of grain is thrown in, followed by three or four boxes of fruit and vegetables. A few more men climb in on their own and the truck drives off, a killing averted, I am sure. The location in on the edge of the Oryx Gas station where three women regularly sell fruit each day. Was he moving in on their territory? Did he try to snatch something he shouldn’t have? Who knows, but everything is back to normal now.

After Mama Janet left, I decided to stop and see some bead makers around the corner, on my way to confirm some March safari dates with Lisa at W.S. Safaris. They weren’t there. I had time so decided to stop in to see a man I call “Mr. Tailor” because he made Marian and I some shirts a year ago. His shop had been closed yesterday when I passed by on the way home from the batik makers with Kosiano. It was still closed so I went into the shop next door, knowing the shopkeeper and his wife were related to “Mr. Tailor”. I was stunned to hear that our friend had died three months ago. The doctor thought it might be his heart but tests did not indicate this. He was put on heart medication anyway, but died. He was not quite 50 years old, a warm man with a pleasant smile and manner. I asked about his wife and was told she has been observing a Muslim ritual since her husband’s death. She will stay within the walls of her home until March 16. Luckily that is just before I leave Tanzania so I will be able to see her again, this time to express my sympathy.

I stopped in at the Sidewalk Café on India St. for a small, totally unhealthy but tasty pan-fried doughnut, since I had only had coffee in my room before leaving. I had not seen this café before but I knew I would definitely be back. It is quaint, very clean, freshly painted pink with white wooden tables, and the two young women in the small open kitchen were engaging. Nice to support women in their business ventures.

After booking the safari, Lisa, at W.S. Safaris, recommended I get some cream for the flaky skin on my elbows at a nearby pharmacy. She told me the name and said it cost 60 shillings and that it had really worked for her. Later, on my way to the pharmacy on Soikine Road, I was greeted by an older man who insisted on accompanying me. He saw, from the tag on my back pack, that I was from Canada which prompted him to begin listing off places in Canada he knew: Manitoba, Vancouver, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec. I was impressed! No one here has ever heard of anyplace other than Toronto, Montreal or Vancouver. Seems he attended secondary school as a child and loved geography. Then he began to quiz me, as we wove our way through the crowded street, on my knowledge of basic Swahili. Do you know what karibu means? Welcome. What does asante sana mean? Thank you very much. How do you say water, I asked? Maji, he replied. I was glad for his company, since we ended up going to three places I would never have found on my own before finally getting the cream for 1000 shillings. I checked the expiry date before we left.

I have been reading a book called, Finding Our Way – Leadership for an Uncertain Time by Margaret Wheatley. I am taking it as a gift for Dr. Steven Kiruswa in Longido, from two Project TEMBO supporters. It’s very inspiring and I will suggest that Steven loan it to Ndinini at MWEDO when he is finished reading it. Steven and Ndinini, both founders and directors of organizations that we partner with, are keen to develop leadership and promote empowerment among the Maasai. Here is a passage I read last night:

The path of self-organization can never be known ahead of time. There are no prescribed stages or models. “The road is your footsteps, nothing else,” as the South American poet Machados wrote. Therefore, leaders begin with a strong intention, not a set of action plans. (Plans do emerge, but locally, from responses to needs and contingencies.) Leaders must have confidence in the organization’s intelligence. The future is unknown, but they believe the system is talented enough to organize in whatever ways the future requires.

Sounds very organic, just like so much of life here. I often wrestle with how to best promote development. There is so much of Western culture that I want to shield Tanzanians from, while still allowing people here to make their own choices. I’ll keep on reading.