Photo links:
In Dar es Salaam, Arusha, Ngorogoro Crater, the Serengeti,
and Zanzibar we experienced the Republic of Tanzania. In retrospect we seized the wrong approach to
explore Tanzania. There is no ambition
to return *as a tourist*. Yet, I would wholeheartedly
participant in a development program. Those people we met who were in the
country as part of NGOs or humanitarian projects seemed to have a much more
positive experience. The month we spent
in the Republic was a fascinating orientation to this impoverished
country. The overall impression is one
of being exploited for our money while being forced into the captivity of golden
cages. Real life occurs elsewhere. It was our most expensive travel adventure,
ever. To put it into perspective, we
spent more per day than the average person in Tanzania earns in a year.
It is straightforward:
The tourist is eagerly invited and politely welcomed…to be
unapologetically exploited. Polite ‘eat
or be eaten’ seems to be a pervasive street sentiment. To travel with our usual custom of making
sincere contact with local people was prohibitively difficult in Tanzania. Men were clearly and singularly interested in
our money. By tradition, women remained modest, subservient, and unapproachable
behind their jilbaab, abaya, or kanga. Children
practiced, (with gleeful difficulty), their *mean glare look* while extending a
hand, palm up, gesticulating demands for gifts, expecting us to strip ourselves
of our watches, hats, sunglasses, rings and shoes. After experiencing such activity on the
streets of Dar, Arusha, and Stone Town, we gladly accepted the invitations from
private drivers who whisked us away to our heavily barricaded plush tourist
hotels well guarded by Masai morani. In
the gilded cages of the private car or hotel, we stared at all that was new to
us, wishing for another way to participate comfortably in quotidian life. While providing the necessary safety, the
barriers stifled personal activity and liberties we take for granted in the
U.S.
It is not to say that the tourist agencies were not
good. Quite the contrary. Masai Wanderings for safari and Pongwe Beach
Hotel for Zanzibar were excellent choices and live up to their online
reputations. The U.K. ex-pats who
operate these businesses knew exactly for what we were searching, and supported
us, to the degree that Tanzania allows tourists. Highlights were the visits to tribal villages
offered through local connections of Masai Wanderings. We visited the Iraqw, (agriculturalists and
brick makers), the Datoga (blacksmiths), the Hazabe (bushmen hunter gatherers),
and the Masai (warrior nomads). While
better than museum exhibits, it was a bit of a put off that these visits were
clearly orchestrated as displays for the tourists, therefore, as artistic
versions of daily life. Admittedly, if
we were to ‘go native’ authentically, I agree that we would have been much
distressed by the harshness of daily life, and in my case, the imbalance of
work and subservience of the women.
While there is variety, most families live in stick and mud single room
huts with open air windows (if any) and dirt floors. The women and children carry from great
distances daily water and firewood supplies.
Food source is as much from what can be extracted from the surrounding
earth as what is purchased or traded at informal street-side tiny markets. Publicly organized sanitation methods are
rudimentary, if existent.
More to say:
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Jambo!
Karibu! Akuma matata!
Lala salama! Asante sana!
We learned to exchange Swahili pleasantries from citizens who hold
politeness in high esteem. Americans
could learn a lesson or two in politesse.
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Proud people: Modestly, cleanly, and elegantly clothed
women and men. Americans could learn
another lesson or two in personal grooming and presentation when in public.
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Ecological balance in the Serengeti: We watched for an hour as a cheetah finished
his kill and meal of a wildebeest. Once
satisfied, he shuffled away with full belly hanging nearly to the ground. Meanwhile, the hovering vultures began to
attack the remaining meat, only to be pushed away by arriving hyena. First one came loping through the grass, then
it was followed by hordes of others who travelled great distances from hiding
and to the killing field. The hyena’s
cackling laugher and crunch of jaws breaking bones disturbed the otherwise
quiet scene. A jackal hovered for a
surreptitious grab of a few shards of meat.
The argumentative vultures returned for the final scraps. Within one hour we had witnessed the finish
of a kill and complete consumption of the wildebeest, leaving only a neatly
cleaned skull as evidence that a violent meal had just taken place. Except for these short term acts of violence,
most on the Serengeti is quiet beautiful serenity. Animals, if they move, do move in a slow and
graceful dance with nature. Animals
resourcefully consume while keeping their habitat clean and sanitary. Why can’t urban humans do the same?
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Hazabe bushmen kill and consume a kudu in 45
minutes: Masai Wanderings arranged
for us to join a Hazabe clan for their daily hunt. After an early morning fireside greeting
ceremony that included the hunters smoking copious amounts of marijuana, we
trotted behind a dozen young men clad in dirty skin or kanga chest cloths and
soiled shorts, wearing sandals crafted from the rubber of old truck tires. Their weapons: belt knives and self-made bows with poisoned arrows. For several hours we quietly followed the
hunters as they searched for prey. We were
constantly falling behind as we delicately extracted hair, clothing, and skin
from the pervasive thorn bushes, trying not to cry or say ‘ouch’ too
loudly. It was an embarrassment of our
ineptness. We missed the actual shot
from the bow, yet moments later, the victorious hunter ‘clicked’ the story of
his success and rounded up his fellow hunters to help him track down the poisoned
male kudo. Within minutes, the now dead
kudo was dragged out of the bush and the young chief began to skin the beast
whilst the youngest started a fire, (from stone and stick). Before we could count, the flesh had been
sectioned, ribs barbequed and eaten, poisoned bits fed to the fire, and other
waste given to the domestic bush dogs trailing the hunters. The butchering field was cleaned until there
was no trace of it with branches of bush.
After more drags on the marijuana pipe, the lumps of flesh were hefted
back to the home hearth around which stories of the hunt were ‘clicked’ to
those who had remained behind. A victory
dance was performed, we were taken to meet the womenfolk who had been hiding in
the bush, and we drove back to camp for our own breakfast. With newfound respect for the skill of these
bushmen, we marveled at our experience.
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Tippu Tip’s house in Stone Town: Tippu Tip is famous for being one of the most
ruthless slave drivers in Africa’s history.
His house still stands in Stone Town.
Normally, it is not open to the public for it is a private apartment
building. As luck would have it, one of
the dwellers noticed us admiring the architecture and invited us inside for a
tour. I could swear that he was a
descendant of the man himself, looking just like the photos, right down to the
elegantly wrapped head scarf. I don’t
know what was more eye-opening: the
history of Tippu Tip’s life, as recounted by the kind guide, or what we saw of
the current apartment home life within. When slavery was legally banned Tippu Tip
surreptitiously continued his business by bringing the slaves from a boat
through a tunnel and into the ground floor of his house via a hidden staircase
accessible through a stone covering in the vestibule floor. While the slaves were secretly chained below,
his family lived above! Now, the
building shows only decayed signs of it’s earlier days of elegance. As we ascended multiple staircases I
discretely used the art of rock climbing, (ensuring that at least two of my
appendages were firmly grasping ‘solid ground’), in event that the staircase
would collapse underneath me. Apartment
dwellers, who were modestly dressed muslim women and girls, cast unpleasant
stares at Karoline and me from behind their veils while crouching inactively on
the floors, lingering in the vestibule and hallways, away from public life. The shared kitchen was nothing more than an
open air room with a charcoal fire pit in the middle of the floor and vats of
water lining one wall. Austere rooms
furnished with barely a piece of warped, unfinished and instable furniture
allowed room for our voices to echo throughout the building. Dirt, garbage and filth left us feeling
uneasy. Even though we generously tipped
the gentlemen for the private tour, nevertheless, the children lined the staircase,
tugged at our clothing hems, hands out, asking for more.
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Hilarity cast in brick: An Iraqw host proudly escorted us around his
village of farmland and brick factories.
Pausing at his cousin’s brick making concern, we made acquaintance with
young men, (14-16 years old?), who were in the midst of shoveling earth into
pits, mixing with water, then scooping the mud into wooden molds. Yet other young men would carry the filled
molds into the sun for drying. One of
these handsome carriers was an obvious admirer of Karoline. Upon noting her gaze towards him, he
quickened his step in proud display of his deftness. However, as he jogged up an incline to the
drying field with a newly filled frame in hand, he slid, lost balance, and did
a face plant into the brick mud. Slowly,
his face came out of the mold, and, looking sheepish, he wiped the dripping mud
from his face. In shame, he ran away to
wash off his face. Karoline’s eyes grew
as round as a Caucasian’s. His uncles,
who had arrived a few moments earlier to gape at us, cruelly guffawed. We took a peek in the affected brick mold and
saw there a lovely face imprint with the nose deep set in ooze. Still now, we can’t help but to have tears in
our eyes from laughter over this youth’s misfortune in gallantry.
- Colorful kanga-clad sashaying
women: The favored outer garment for
Tanzanian women is the kanga. It is a
most versatile garment used as skirt, blouse, head scarf, baby and goods
carrier, or cushion for carrying a load on top of the head. I use mine as beach cover up, beach towel,
blanket, and tablecloth. Kanga patterns and colors carry meaning. Each has a printed saying (originally in
Arabic, now, more commonly in Swahili).
The ones I purchase say in Swahili “Wish God to celebrate the new day”,
“Wish for you to be happy with our kids”, “I live with somebody for happy times
and bad times”, and, “If somebody give something it is difficult to take off”. More about kanga traditions: http://archive.lib.msu.edu/DMC/African%20Journals/pdfs/political%20science/volume1n1/ajps001001011.pdf
. How to wear a Kanga: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw4FI-9rlYA . How to tie a head wrap: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P886cwAoAnc&feature=related . How
to wear a kanga/sarong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUtETAb96TA .
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Ramadan white: While waiting for our flight from Cairo to
Dar, we shared the café space with hundreds of white clad Muslims observing
Islamic traditions during the first days of Ramadan. Most seemed in destination for Jeddah. They brought their own meals to share with
one another. It is too early for Hajj,
yet this seemed to be what they were doing.
Men, clad only in Turkish towels, spent hours in the hallway and
bathroom, splashing water around such that it flooded beyond the doors of the
bathroom. Gerhard was unable to use the mens
room as it was overrun by devote men and performing ablutions.
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The Zanzibar hotel Emerson and Green rooftop
restaurant provides a wonderful venue to avoid the chaos of the Stone Town
streets below and a panoramic view of the city while enjoying a sundowner. The Serena hotel is a lovely place for
sipping a sundowner and watching the dhows carry tourists on sunset tours.
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Tanzania could compete with Cairo for the
honor of the ‘place that never sleeps’.
Sounds and activity constantly abound.
Early morning on Pongwe beach the sing song voices of women and children
pass with the breeze from their low tide attentions to shellfish gathering and
seaweed harvesting. An alarm ‘coos’ and
we blame each other for falsely setting our various digital alarms, only to
realize that a bird just outside our room sings with the same gusto and melody as
our electronic devices. The surf pounds
on the beach. Beach boys exclaim ‘Jumbo,
Mambo’, willing us into lengthy negotiation for their trinkets. At night in the Serengeti animals of all
sorts crush brush underneath just outside our camp tents. Lions roar and elephants trumpet. In Stonetown, callers herald the time for
prayer from the multitude of mosques. At
evening prayer, melodic chants escape from behind mosque doors. Gospel song reverberates from walls of
Christian churches. Late into the
evenings we hear the melodic thump of drums as locals enjoy Taraab music. From their palm tree homes, from dusk to
dawn, bush babies cry with an alarmingly ear penetrating “caw, caw, caw”.
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Blessed are we in the U.S. to enjoy the
privileges of civilized society, (except when it comes to cellular coverage). By ‘civilized’ I mean publicly planned and
managed infrastructure for the good of all.
Obstacles to daily living abound in Tanzania. Newspapers write of increasing human and
domestic animal deaths from wildlife encroaching on human territory. Masai children must travel many kilometers on
foot for school – there are no other viable transportation options – and must
risk their lives for fear of hyena attacks.
Public education is available, yet must be paid for at the equivalent of
$60 per student, (in a country where the average annual income is around
$300). Personal safety must always be
guarded. Highway robbers not only steal
but also kill. Our home exchange family
from Rome told the story of their friend who was killed for her pocket change
will on a motorcycle trip in Zanzibar.
Gerhard was deftly pick pocketed on a busy shopping street in Dar during
broad daylight. Drivers locked our car doors
as soon as we entered. Police roadblocks
are set up frequently to inspect cars.
Each hotel sits behind a high fence, with private guards on 24x7 alert. I buy a $3 street map of Stone Town and within
3 hours it had been lifted from the outer pocket of my backpack. I read a newspaper article that offered
safety tips to women, citing street and domestic violence as a pervasive national
problem, with few legally implementable support services. Cars were lacking petrol: the government reduced taxes by 9% with the
command that gas stations must reduce their prices accordingly. Gas stations refused, having bought their current
inventory on the old/higher prices, therefore, claimed they were ‘out of
inventory’, and closed. Our driver, for
a 25% premium, bought gas on the black market for our return drive from the
Serengeti. Most roads are rough dirt
that encourage frequent automobile breakdowns.
Meanwhile, repair services are few and far between. Small business owners are thwarted by
primitive transportation options.
Railroad had been a dream, yet now the 30+ year old system is in
unreliable decay. Electrical power needs
far outstrip available supply. Hotels
must build in generators. One hotel had
back up capacity for only 6 hours, whereas the power outage lasted far longer. We were eating dinner by candlelight and
could not take hot showers. While water
is a plentiful clean resource in Tanzania, the infrastructure to supply it
falls far short of need. Many villages
we explored had no local source so women and children had to walk kilometers,
returning with water basins on their heads.
All water from taps cannot be drunk and we were obliged to drink from
plastic bottles. These plastic bottles
are dropped everywhere and create urban—even rural--filth. We stayed in one public camp site for 4 days,
during which half the time we had no water.
Given that 120 people were sharing 4 toilets, 2 sinks, and 2 showers,
with no supply of water, it is left for your imagination to understand our
predicament. Double the grotesqueness of
your vision and that is likely to be the disgusting experience that was
ours. And, remember, we were paying for
these services. It was explained that
elephants had broken into the water pipeline as a source for their own drinking
water. The (now permanent) back up
system of trucking in water simply does not meet the demand. This was not an isolated experience, yet
brought personal recognition to the newspaper’s description of villages without
consistent water supply or sanitation systems.
Due to power outages and further telephone company limitations, internet
service, even in 4-star hotels, is slow and intermittent. Despite promises in advertising, it was
rarely available to us. Strikingly, cell
phone coverage is better and consistently available (even in the Serengeti)
than what we have in Berkeley, CA.
Perhaps the explanation is that the cell phone companies are private,
highly competitive, and run their own infrastructure separate from the
state-owned telephone company. Picture
with me that which we saw consistently:
cloth and bead draped Masai in bare feet with cell phones planted to their
ears, even while herding cattle in the barren hinterlands!
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The land of sea and spice: Yum yum fresh seafood was in plentiful
supply on Zanzibar. Everywhere it was
easy to buy exotic fruits and juices.
Spice plantations harvest the most lucrative of spices. Swahili cuisine takes advantage of these
supplies, yet is not to my taste.
Nevertheless, I was impressed by our safari cook’s skill and the decent
meals served in the hotels.
Unfortunately, not once did we enjoy the restaurant cooking or ambience
experienced in Tanzania. Even so, I am
happy to report that we did not see a single McDonalds or Kentucky Fried
Chicken.
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Spice
cure for acne: Our spice plantation
guide gives us the tip for a topical cure of acne. Concoct a mixture of tumeric, egg white, a
pinch of salt and as much water as is needed to make a paste. Apply overnight and wash off with warm soapy
water.
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What to wear and bring: For safari, 2 pair light weight long
pants and long-sleeved collared shirts to protect against sun, dust and
mosquitoes. Bring a wide brimmed sun
hat, sunglasses, the best binoculars and camera equipment you have, and a
battery operated headlamp with spare batteries.
Expect it to be a challenge to recharge batteries. For the feet, bring 1 pair of covered walking
shoes, 2 pair of socks, and a pair of flip flops. Don’t bother buying expensive clothes and
stay away from whites. Everything
catches the dust which is impossible to completely clean away. It is probable
that you will encounter rain and cold so bring a light raincoat and a fleece
jacket. Bring a towel (I used a cotton
sarong/kanga for this and multiple other purposes), baby wipes, small packs of
tissues, fluid soaps for hair, body and clothes and mosquito repellent. A first aid kit will likely come in
use—google for recommended contents.
Don’t bring hard-sided luggage, as the driver needs to include other
equipment in the 4-wheel drive vehicle and space is limited. For safari hotels, resorts, and city
street dress conservatively by wearing outfits that cover shoulders, top of
arms, and reach at minimum just below the knee.
This applies to both men and women.
Remember not to wear jewelry or expensive watches (so as not to become a
target for exploitation).
Related reading:
Out of Africa, Blixen
Memoirs of an Arab Princess,
Sayyida Salme
Tippu Tip
The Sultan's Shadow: One
Family's Rule at the Crossroads of East and West
Thorn Trees of Thika
Petals of Blood, Njugi wa
Thiongo
Journey to the Jade Sea, John
Hillaby
Into Africa: The Epic Adventures
of Stanley and Livingstone
Paradise or Admiring
Silence by G. Abdulan
North of South – An African
Journey by Shiva Naipul
A Tourist in Africa by
Evelyn Waugh
Masai Dreaming by Justin
Cartwright
Cadogan Guide of Tanzania
White Masai, Corrigan
Facing the Lion: Growing Up
Maasai on the African Savanna (National Geographic)
Green Hills of Africa and
other Hemingway writing
Joseph Conrad books
No Man’s Land by George
Monbiot
Movies:
The Gods are Laughing (for
approximation of the bushmen)
The Lion King
Tarzan
The Jungle Book
Music:
Freddie Mercury (raised in
Zanzibar)
genre Taarab
Khadja Nin (and her album
“sambolera”)
The song “bingo bango bongo, I’ll
stay right here’
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