I had the craziest dream last night. I dreamed that I was the keynote speaker at some massive political convention being held in a big overrated hotel. I was supposed to be giving a speech praising President Bush because I was supposed to be his best friend. In the middle of my speech, I suddenly decided that I hated George so I changed my speech and started slandering him in the worst language imaginable. For some reason, at a convention that was supposed to be praising the president, my speech elicited a roaring round of applause.
So after the speech, I went into the hotel lounge and sat down to have a drink. Suddenly, First Lady Laura Bush comes in and starts telling me I need to apologize to George because those were mean things that I said. When I woke up, I started laughing first about this because my mind had recreated Laura Bush perfectly, right down to the accent and mannerisms. She managed to convince me, so I went to look for George. I found him in this booth in the corner of the lounge crying because I hurt his feelings. So I apologized and then I woke up. I don’t remember what all we had for dinner, but I hope I don’t dream like that every time we have it.
This morning, the house was full of children and food and laughing and dancing and singing. Mrs. Sabet has established an NGO to instruct young girls and boys in life-skills, moral education, English, and a few other subjects. The English teacher is leaving to go University, so they were having a party to send her on her way. The girls really like to sing! They sing on the way out of the classroom, they sing on the way into the classroom, they sing between lessons, they sing when they’re going home, they sing when they’re arriving. It’s a wonder they get anything done! Ordinarily the singing sounds kind of overly practiced, but this morning it was a little more lively and soulful with some feeling in it.
I decided instead of getting in the way while they were trying to have their party I’d go eat at a Chinese restaurant I pass every day, “The Lilylike House.” It was expensive! I spent $9.00 on an order of dumplings, some tomato-based meat dish, rice, and a Coke. I could have bought an equivalent amount of food on the street for a fraction of that price, but then again I probably wouldn’t have been able to sit down and take my time eating, nor would there have been at least the illusion of sanitary cooking practices. I fully expected to have some “gastrointestinal distress” from the food, but it tasted good and settled well.
The dala dala on the way to the Bahá’í Centre actually had a working radio in it, and even speakers in the back! That’s quite a luxury. The driver had it on a station playing Western music, so I got to hear a Backstreet Boys song and “Lady in Red.” Oddly enough, the man behind me was singing along.
At the Bahá’í Centre, I was taught the correct way to stop the dala dala, as well as the name of the stop for the house and the Bahá’í Centre. The house stop is called “macho,” which means “eyes” in Swahili, because there’s a hospital nearby that specializes in treating the eyes. I spent probably fifteen minutes trying to explain to them that “macho” was an English word, too. They told me the stop near the Bahá’í Centre was “supastah,” but when I asked what it translated into they said it was an English word! It turns out they were trying to say “super star,” but they’ve Africanized it so it doesn’t sound at all like the way I say “super star.” So the word to indicate that you want to disembark is “shusha,” which means “disembark” (duh). It also means to have an orgasm. There are a lot of words here that have multiple meanings, so I guess they just rely on context to figure out which one you mean. Otherwise it seems like there could be some serious mix-ups.
At the “supastah” stop, I was having a terrible time getting a dala dala to stop for me. After two times, this secondary school student came over to me and asked me where I was going. She said they probably weren’t stopping because they were either too full or because I was a mzungu and mzungus don’t usually ride the dala dala. She told me she’d get one to stop for me and then batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly. I thanked her, but it kind of weirded me out. I’ve been “warned” several times that many girls will flirt with mzungus and that before I leave I’ll probably have gotten a handful of marriage proposals, but this girl couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16! It seems that many people have the idea in their minds that they only want to marry a mzungu because they think it means a better life and that they’ll get to leave the country. Dr. Sabet told me that when they were living in Zambia and Mrs. Sabet was out of town once, the maid patted her stomach and asked him, “Sir, can I have your baby?".
31 March 2006
Day Twenty Nine
30 March 2006
Day Twenty Eight
I woke up at 7:00 AM this morning! Can you believe it? And I’ve made it fine through most of the day, despite doing a lot of walking. I always knew there was some hidden reservoir of energy in my body just waiting to be exploited like a multinational corporation on a newly discovered African oil field. =P Most of the day was spent dealing with NTC e-mails and members of the Committee itself, trying to encourage them to do what they’re supposed to in a timely fashion. I guess I’m kind of like a Bahá’í whip.
I had some “adventures” in the sun today. The weather is getting to where it’s almost enjoyable when the sun goes behind a cloud, but if it’s out and blazing in the sky then forget it. I had to walk to the dala dala stop to buy some credits for my cell phone, or “mobile.” The whole mobile process here is unusual. First, you buy the phone, then you buy a SIMM card, and then you buy X amount of credit and put it on the phone. When you run out, you go buy more. It’s sort of like a pay as you go plan. The traditional plans we have in America are totally unheard of. Also, most people use text messaging, or SMS as it’s called here, because it’s substantially cheaper than actually calling. It took a bit of conversation before they understood what I wanted, again highlighting the need to learn more than one word of Swahili a day. Today's word was jangwa, which means desert.
After lunch, I confirmed with Dr. Sabet what I would be doing after the National Convention at the end of April. He’d mentioned that he wanted me to visit home front pioneers, but I didn’t know he meant all of them. There are over 15 of them spread out all over the country! So if I go to visit them one after the other, I’ll basically be traveling for the entire month of May and part of June. Here’s a map of Tanzania so that you can follow along. I’ll be going to Zanzibar, Iringa, Morogoro, Mtwara, Arusha, Singida, Shinyanga, Mwanza, Kigoma, and Mfindi (or Mufindi), and that’s just what I know. I imagine there will be a few more towns along the way.
The Sabets are also discussing going to Brazil for the month of July to visit relatives. I have no idea what they intend to do with me. I’ll likely burn the house down or get robbed or something if I’m alone for a month. Maybe I’ll be able to do some traveling of my own, but it’s so expensive! You have to pay like $100-$200 to get into the national parks. Although I guess if you’re coming to Tanzania for vacation, chances are you’ve got the money to pay it. I bet I can find some cheap stuff to do.
This afternoon I met with a man who lives in Dodoma who is helping me make arrangements for the National Convention. Although he'd been described as a reluctant participant in assisting, he turned out to be very nice and friendly. Depending on his work schedule, I'm supposed to go to Dodoma on either Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday and stay for two days to make various arrangements. He's going to accompany me, which I didn't expect, and show me around Dodoma a bit, so I can see the real Tanzania instead of just Dar. While I was at the Centre, I discussed the whole work situation with the office manager. Basically it boiled down to her wanting me to work from the National Centre instead of home. While I have my own personal opinions about that, I decided it was best to just go with the flow, so I'm going to be at least dropping by the Centre in the mornings three or four times a week to see if there's anything they need help with.
29 March 2006
Day Twenty Seven
Saturday night we went to Janet’s place on the beach for dinner. Her sister from Mali is still in town, so we had food from Mali. It was delicious! A lot of tomatoes were used, so I was happy. I’m sure my parents would die of shock to see the things I’ve eaten since I arrived. I’ve probably eaten more vegetables in the past three weeks than I have in the past three years. Janet had other members of her family over, as well as some of the other Bahá’ís that she knows. Once we’d eaten and socialized a bit, we had a devotional. Imagine a non-Bahá’í organizing a devotional meeting! I sang the version of the short healing prayer that Ameria and Aisha do, which was the first time any of the Tanzanian Bahá’ís have heard me sing. They said I shouldn’t have been hiding the fact that I could sing and liked to sing for so long. One of the other non-Bahá’ís at the dinner said he and his wife would like to have dinner and a devotional, too, so we’re going there on Friday.
What’s been amazing to me is how much the friends do here, and how unafraid they are to have people in their homes. At least twice a week we have someone here at the house, or we go to their home for dinner and prayers or a simple home visit. I’ll be really happy when the Little Rock community gets to the point where we can go to someone’s house on a Thursday and have dinner and say prayers together as a spontaneous expression of our spirituality rather than a defined or laborious exercise.
Yesterday, I went to the American embassy for the first time. When Dermot came into town, he brought the tax forms of some American Bahá’ís living in Iringa and asked me to drop them at the embassy. I should have gone Monday but there was an awful storm. I also took some allergy medicine that made me so sleepy I could barely move.
I’d say the embassy is probably a little more than a mile from the house, so I set originally set out with the intent of walking all the way there. About halfway I decided that it was a terribly ill-conceived plan. It wasn't that humid, but the sun was merciless. I felt like I was being cooked, so I decided to take a taxi. Every day I must have a hundred of them honking at me, but of course they were nowhere in sight. So I had to continue walking until I found one parked under a shade tree.
At the entrance to the Consular Affairs section there’s a little banda with some Tanzanian security guards well-versed in English inside it. One of them stopped me to examine my passport, and then struck up a conversation about how I liked Tanzania, what all I had done so far, if I planned to go on safari, so on and so forth. I’m sure in the process of asking all of these questions with a big smile on his face he was sizing me up or something, but it was at least nice to encounter a friendly security guard. I had to pass through some initial security where my cell phone was taken and my passport examined, and then on to another security checkpoint. The doors are so thick that it takes some serious effort to open and close them! Considering the embassy here was blown up in the 90's, I was a little surprised that security wasn't more prominent. I expected Diplomatic Security personnel with big guns and whatnot, but no such thing. From the road, the embassy looks like a fort, though inside it's very lush and well groomed.
I was ushered into the American Citizens Services booth, which, seemingly like all public areas, is blocked off from the area containing embassy personnel by a thick pane of (I suppose) bullet-proof glass. I slipped the documents to the lady on the other side and after we worked everything out, she asked me how long I’d been here and whether or not I’d registered. I told her I hadn’t, but I’d do it online when I got home. So I have to remember to do that.
I picked up my things on the way out, and the guard at the banda stopped me when I got near the road. “Please, my friend, have a seat while I get you a taxi.” So I sat under the shade of the banda while he flagged down a taxi. On some days it’s kind of fun to haggle with people over prices, but on some days it just gets to be a bother. Just tell me how much something really is and it’ll save us both a lot of trouble. So when the taxi driver dropped me off where I asked him to, he told me, “TSh 6,000.” I said, “I’m not paying you TSh 6,000 to take me a few kilometers. I’m giving you TSh 2,000 and that’s it.” He kind of puffed up like how dare I have the nerve to pay him less than the outrageous and ridiculous price he demanded, but he held his hand out anyway. The joys of Africa. =)
I got into another little spat with May at lunch. There have been plenty of things since the last incident for me to tell her off about; for instance, we were playing checkers and she was upset about losing, so she just wipes her hand over the board and slings the pieces across the room, laughs about it, and tells me to pick them up. But I didn’t say anything. I just got up and left.
At lunch, we’d all finished eating so she was showing us her school pictures that came today. Dr. Sabet put one into a frame but was having trouble with it, so he handed it to me and asked me if I could put it back together. “You have more patience than me,” he said. I started work on it for a second or so before May comes over and tries to rip it out of my hands, saying, “Give me that, you don’t know what you’re doing.” This was one in a long serious of incidents of being treated sub-human by a nine year old girl. She can treat her parents and her servants the way she wants, but she could at least have a fraction of the decency, respect, and courtesy that a Bahá’í child should have when speaking to a guest.
“Who do you think you are talking to me like that?” I asked. “I’m not your servant, and I’m not on your payroll. Don’t speak to me like that.” She started laughing, I guess because she thought it was a joke even though the look on my face should have plainly told her I wasn’t. “Do you see me laughing? It’s not funny; I’m serious. You don’t talk to people like that.” Her parents were paying attention now. Mrs. Sabet looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response, and Dr. Sabet was demanding for her to tell him what she’d said. She didn't say anything, just huffed and puffed and stomped out of the room.
I’ll carry her around the ocean on my shoulders so she can go deeper than she’d be able to go by herself, I’ll chase her around the house, I’ll sing with her, I’ll play checkers with her, and I’ll even watch those insufferable Olsen Twins movies with her, but a person has got to draw a line somewhere. I’ve been trying through less subtle means to instill some manners and respect into her (for instance, I won’t pass her anything down the dinner table unless she says “please” and asks nicely rather than demands) but sometimes it gets to the point where you have to get upset before she realizes what she’s doing. Not only is it just downright disrespectful to treat people the way she does sometimes, but I’m also worried about her own social development. As her own brother asked her mother at the dinner table after one of her fits, “Don’t you worry about what kind of person she’s going to be if she keeps acting that way?”
P.S. - The Internet has been down for three days, and it's still acting a little funny, so please be patient if it takes me a bit to respond to pending e-mails. =) Asante sana.
26 March 2006
Day Twenty Four
Yesterday I saw a little girl who couldn’t have been more than three years old going down the street on little wooden crutches, which she had to use because she either had no feet or her feet were so shriveled that she couldn’t walk on them. It’s alarming to me the degree to which I’m able to pass things like that every day and be able to shut it out of my mind. Shouldn't I burst into tears or feel a knot in the pit of my stomach or something? I’m afraid that my mind is just processing it and storing it in some deep recess of my mind, where at some point it’s going to burst forth and break me. It’s just doesn't seem possible for someone to walk past these things every day without having some kind of major breakdown at some point.
So much has happened since my last posting. I’m feeling better and more comfortable here. I think I’m allowed a bad day every once in awhile. So during the week, I was lucky enough to attend the graduation party of Mrs. Mwahija Mandara, one of the Bahá’ís here in the city. We went to the restaurant owned by Janet, the seeker who lives on the beach that we visited a week or so ago. There was local food: cassava ugali; some kind of soup that tasted like chicken & dumplings; a banana and meat dish; and various vegetables. Both Mrs. Mandara and her husband, Gideon, have enormous families so there were a great many people there. I was able to take some pictures and post them on my Flickr account, but they’re all pretty horrible because I had the setting for the photo quality on the wrong thing. As if it weren’t obvious enough, I discovered at this gathering that I really need to improve my Kiswahili. I’m using it more in greetings and very simple sorts of things, but I’ve resolved to buckle down and really begin an earnest study of it.
On Friday, Mr. Dermot McHugh came to Dar from the Ruaha Secondary School (supported by the Mona Foundation) in Iringa for the National Teaching Committee (NTC) meeting the following day. He was my primary contact before coming to Tanzania, so it was wonderful to finally be able to meet him. Now I’ll be able to go to Iringa and actually know someone at the school. As seems traditional, he stayed with the Sabets for the weekend in exchange for ice cream, juice, fruits, and other goodies that he brought. He’s originally from the U.S., but he’s been in Africa for something like over 30 years in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (yikes!), Cameroon, Madagascar, and Tanzania.
On Saturday, we had the first real NTC meeting, which turned into an all day affair. The meeting was supposed to begin at 9:30 AM. Three of the members were at an institutional conference in Kenya, so Dr. Sabet told the remaining member (besides Dermot) to be at his house at 8:30. Unfortunately, Africans are never timely. I know it’s a part of their culture and “tolerance” is the order of the day, but it has been very hard for me to adjust to the fact that saying something will happen at a certain time doesn’t mean anything at all. In fact, it’s really just a flat out lie because everyone knows they aren’t going to show up at that time. Anyway... So at 9:30 we called her to see where she was, and she told us she was in the bath! After she arrived, we all headed to the National Centre for our meeting, accompanied by Gershom Mpumbiye, an Auxiliary Board Member from Kigoma region, who was assisting us with planning the National Convention.
Even though the NTC has an official Secretary, I’ve become the actual functioning Secretary. The other Secretary is like the Queen and I’m the Prime Minister or something of the sort. Although I’ve been dealing with only filing for the past three weeks, I actually have real work to do now. The most “exciting” thing I have to do is sometime this week or next week travel to Dodoma, the official capital of the country some 7 or 8 hours away by bus, to help select a venue for the National Convention, as well as make arrangements for housing for all of the delegates and guests. There's also the prospect of being responsible for coordinating the activities of 4 or 5 year of service people coming in the next few months. I don't know how to manage people! It's going to be a nightmare.
On Saturday evening, we had guests for dinner. It was a bit of a sensitive issue regarding the External Affairs Office and the participation of the national community in an interfaith organization, so I won’t go into it too much. Everyone was tired and kind of cranky, but the meeting seemed somewhat productive. At the very least it was nice to have guests in the house and the food was good.
Today, I went for devotions at the National Centre; Dr. Sabet went for an LSA meeting; and Mrs. Sabet went for an External Affairs meeting with Peter Kabisa. Peter Kabisa is worth mentioning because he once dated Rigmor Mereness of the Russellville community when they were in school in the United Kingdom. She told me to keep an eye out for him while I was here, but it seemed unlikely that I’d actually see him. He’s going to help Mrs. Sabet with contacting government officials regarding the latest guidance from the Universal House of Justice on the steadily worsening situation of the Bahá’ís in Iran. It was gotten quite bad for them in the past few months, which I’m sure the National Spiritual Assembly of the U.S. will be informing the friends of shortly.
After devotions, we came back home for lunch and then went to the Dar es Salaam Yacht Club at the invitation of one of Dr. Sabet’s colleagues, Colin. He took us out on his sailboat, which was quite an experience! We sailed to one of the many islands off the coast of Dar (Bongoyo or something like that) and swam around a bit in the ocean. We saw the biggest, nastiest, ugliest jelly fish I’ve ever seen in my life (not that I've seen a lot)! The trip to the island was relatively calm and easy, but on the way back the wind had picked up, so we made it in about half the time it took us to get there. There were also a lot of wind gusts, which tipped the sailboat sideways (at a 35 degree angle at one point!). Mrs. Sabet and May were not amused by that, but Dr. Sabet and I were enjoying ourselves a lot.
When we arrived back at our designated moor, Colin asked Mrs. Sabet to tie these buoy type things onto the side of the boat. They're sort of like big foam cyllinders that keep others boats from slamming into the side of the sailboat when you're boarding or disembarking. We'd already lost one at the island, and then all of the sudden there was this big commotion when Mrs. Sabet dropped another one into the water as she was trying to tie it. With the wind and the current, it was quickly swept away from the boat and out of our reach. So I dove over the side of the boat and swam out to get it. That thing was really moving! I almost couldn't swim fast enough to catch it, but I did. Once I got it, I immediately regretted going after it. It's hard enough to swim in the ocean without a giant, awkward, floating cyllinder in your hand. I managed to make it back to the boat but I was exhausted! Dr. Sabet seemed amazed for the rest of the afternoon that I'd done that. Although in retrospect I guess it might seem out of character for me. I doubt many people can visualize me diving off the side of a sailboat into the ocean to retrieve something.
Dr. Sabet is in the process of applying to become a member of the Club and possibly purchasing a boat, so I imagine we’ll be fortunate enough to spend more time there. But something that bothered me was the segregated atmosphere. I have to admit that I’m definitely living the “mzungu lifestyle,” so I don’t have much room to talk. I live with wealthy foreigners in a guarded compound. Dr. Sabet mentioned that the Club seemed like some kind of distant world from what was right outside the walls, and Mrs. Sabet called it “Tanzanian apartheid.” There wasn’t a single African in that Club that wasn’t working. In fact, the Sabets were the darkest people there. There are some Indian and Asian members, but an African is almost unheard of.
I don’t mean to criticize, but despite recognizing all of that, my hosts still want to be members. May is excited at the prospect of the social status that it will confer on her, since most people in her school at members. How do we as Bahá’ís figure into this? The fact that white people can come into this Club and lounge around while Africans outside the walls engage in back-breaking labor for fewer wages in a month than the white people spend on booze at the Club in a day doesn’t seem quite fair, nor does it seem like something that we should be supporting with our participation. But then again Bahá’u’lláh does not urge us to abandon the things that our hard-earned money can purchase us, including (I guess) membership in a Club where we can enjoy ourselves.
The disparity in this country is really becoming apparent to me. It sticks in the back of my mind when I sit down at the dinner table and our African cook, who makes $80 per month, is bringing the food out to place before us. I recall it when I pass a woman with a child on her back, two massive bottles of water in her hands, and an enormous bag balanced on top of her head while I’m in the luxury climate-controlled car. It’s inescapably obvious when I reflect on the fact that I live a more comfortable life in the fourth poorest country in the world than I did in the wealthiest country on Earth. This hardly seems like Justice; and, yet, what is one to do?
22 March 2006
Day Twenty
After such a wonderful Naw Ruz, I should have known something would be lurking around the corner! Today was probably the first day that I felt really homesick and wanted to get back on a plane and come home. I woke up late this morning, so I was rushing to get to the dala dala stop. I managed to hurt my foot – AGAIN! – on the way there. Also, it seems that I am looking extra mzungu-ish today. Let me explain:
When I got on the dala dala, two Muslim women were sitting in front of me. Ordinarily the Muslim women are very shy and reserved in their behavior, but these two certainly weren’t. They both turned around and stared at me for a second and then turned back around, still watching me out of the corner of their eyes. They started speaking in Kiswahili to one another and then finally one of them turns and says something to me in Kiswahili that I didn’t understand. “Excuse me?” I said, looking confused. They both giggled and then the other one said, “Hello! How are you?” I told her I was fine, and asked how she was, to which she replied the same. They both turned back around and started speaking to one another, and then turned back again. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To work,” I replied. Then they burst into laughter and the silent one pointed at the other one, as if making fun of her. I don’t know whether they were trying to be nice and thought I might be lost or they had a bet as to where I was going or what.
Halfway through the bus ride I was dying of thirst, so I got off the dala dala before my stop to step into a café for some water and something to eat. I walked around the neighborhood just to check it out and then I made my way back to the main road to catch the dala dala the rest of the way. I’ve gotten used to every passing taxi honking at me, but some of them are so persistent that it’s not even funny. Today one of them slowed down to a crawl and followed me for a block constantly honking his horn. I finally had to turn around and curse him out to get him to move on. How ridiculous! It seems like every person in the transportation industry in this city thinks that a mzungu doesn’t know how to use his/her legs or something.
I got to a corner and stood waiting for the dala dala, which sometimes you have to flag down if you aren’t standing in the middle of a group of people who are obviously waiting for the bus. I’d never had to do this before, but I’d observed several locals doing it. One of them approached and I waved to indicate I wanted to get on the bus. The driver kind of slowed down a little bit, gave me this weird look like “Did I just see a mzungu waving down a dala dala?”, and then sped off. This happened twice before I got so mad that I just decided to walk the rest of the way. I think the problem is that I’m dressed nicely and I have a leather laptop bag. Most of the mzungu who are riding the dala dala look like poor Bohemian hippies that just took a dirt bath. So maybe I should roll around in the dirt and tear my shirt before I get to the main road so I’ll look poor enough that they’ll actually stop for me.
As I was walking up a hill to get to the National Centre, I passed a dala dala that was stopped and waiting for passengers to board. The driver stepped out of the bus and called to me, “Hey mzungu! You going up the hill?” Slightly perturbed that he’d called me a mzungu (they say it like it’s a terrible thing to be), I told him that I was going to the top. “Come, we’re going up the hill, get in,” he said. I repeated that I was just going to the top of the hill, a few metres away, and I let him know that I wasn’t going to pay him bus fare to take me up a hill when I had feet and legs that could take me there for free. He started to insist again, and I just walked away, having had just about all I could take. In Africa it seems that "no" does not mean "no."
In the alleys leading to the National Centre, I ran into the gaggle of taxi drivers that regularly park themselves there. “Hey, mzungu, you need transport?” one of them asked. “No, thank you, I only have a few blocks to go,” I said. He nodded and smiled and then they all started grinning, which I took to mean they were about to start messing with me. “Mzungu, mzungu,” one of them started in a sing-song voice to get my attention. When I turned around he asked, “Mambo?” Mambo means “things” and is sort of a slang term like “What’s up?”. The appropriate reply is “Poa,” which means “cool,” and that’s what I said to him. I could tell he didn’t anticipate I’d know the right response, so he seemed surprised that his attempt at picking on me had failed. I stuck my tongue out at him for good measure, which got a good laugh from his friends, and then went along my way.
At the National Centre, I found out that there’s been a bit of contention surrounding who I’m supposed to be working for. When I applied for service here I originally applied for an office assistant position at the National Centre. But when I arrived I was told that I would be working for the National Teaching Committee (NTC). When other people expressed an interest in utilizing me they’ve been told that I’m only working for the NTC and I’ve been told that I can’t work for any other agency except the NTC unless the NTC Chairman tells me I can. So when I arrived today the National Centre Office Manager wanted to know why I hadn’t been coming to work. I’ve been doing most of my work here at the house because most of the NTC things are here (one of my hosts is the NTC Chairman). I’m not going to waste money and put myself through the ordeal of the dala dala to go sit at the National Centre all day doing things I can do from the comfort of home.
I explained it to her, and she said that she was under the impression that I was supposed to be working for the National Spiritual Assembly, its agencies, and the National Centre, evidently under her direction. She seemed a little put off that I’d been commandeered by the NTC, and she asked me to clear things up. I’m not sure exactly what it is that I’m supposed to clear up, so I’m going to talk to Dr. Sabet this evening and ask him to speak to whoever needs to be spoken to about clearing up my status.
I personally don’t really think it’s my responsibility to have to deal with this. I came here to serve, not get involved in some inter-agency struggle of control and bogged down by massive inefficiency and a lack of proper communication. I’ve been a little bothered by the total lack of coordination surrounding my service, and I’ve been trying to be patient. There are only a few people trying to do the job of many, but it can still be very frustrating. I can only do what I’m told and the rest of the time I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs while waiting for others to get their acts together.
On days like today, when you feel singled out, vulnerable, and home sick, you want to throw your hands in the air, say to hell with it, and go back home where things operate with some level of efficiency, order, and decency and you don't stick out like a sore thumb.
21 March 2006
Day Nineteen
Late Saturday night, the Sabets decided it was time to do our baking for Naw Ruz. I thought that was a little unusual since it was three days away, but I consented anyway. Dr. and Mrs. Sabet made baklava, and May and I made some kind of banana bread cake. It proved to be an interesting experience, but it all turned out very well. While we were waiting for our cake to bake, May and I played a game of checkers. She almost beat me, and the only reason she lost was through a mistake that she made and not some kind of grand strategy that I’d pursued. She seemed a little upset that she didn’t win but she didn’t complain.
Last night, we had a mini-celebration for Naw Ruz within the family. Hossein conducted this Persian tradition that I can’t remember the name of where you gather seven things that begin with the letter “S” in Farsi. We had fruits, cookies, juices, and teas and took pictures together, celebrating the beginning of the new Bahá’í year and the end of the Fast. The Sabets gave money to their children, and we all stayed up a bit late enjoying one another’s company.
This morning, we went to the beach! After passing through the fish market (blech), we took a ferry to a rural part of
This evening, we went to the National Centre for the
The Patels, a Bahá’í family who are caterers, fed everyone at the event. Imagine cooking for so many people! As I understand it, they are frequently moved to make such enormously generous gestures. I was able to speak to Mrs. Patel for a few moments, and she warmed to me after I shared that a friend of mine was from her state,
I’m exhausted! I hope that everyone had a wonderful Naw Ruz celebration in your respective communities. I missed being home for the holy day, but it was nice to celebrate it Persian/African style. Alláh’u’abhá!
Leia Mais…18 March 2006
Day Sixteen
Last night we went on a home visit to the home of a friend of the Sabets’, Janet, who lives in the same area that they used to. She’s a businesswoman (and apparently a good one) so she’s able to afford beachfront property. We shared some prayers with her and her son and while Mrs. Sabet was visiting with her, I went with Dr. Sabet and May down to the ocean. Although we had only the moon to see by, we shed our shoes and socks and ran out into the waves. The water was cool and the sand was wonderful. We all chased little crabs up and down the beach. They’re so fast!
Dr. Sabet suggested that we go to the beach on Naw Ruz, so we’ll see how that pans out. He’s also considering joining the yacht club and buying a sail boat, and he said we should go sailing before I leave.
I spent most of today inside because it was raining until the afternoon, but once the clouds drifted away it was an exceptionally beautiful day. May had a friend over and they wanted to go swimming, so Mrs. Sabet told me that if I wanted to go I had 2 minutes to get downstairs. So 15 minutes later, I accompanied Mrs. Sabet, May, and her friend Sarah to the Golden Tulip Hotel so that they could swim and the “grown-ups” could lounge around the pool. The weather was wonderful and the sea was beautiful, although it lacked the bright blue color that it has on really sunny days.
Sarah’s mother picked her up, but it was a little early still to go home so we stayed at the hotel for a bit longer before heading to the super market. The last time we were there, the man gave us a loaf of rye bread for free to try. So when Mrs. Sabet and I saw him in the store, she told him how much we enjoyed it. “And your husband?” he asked, motioning toward me. We laughed so hard that we couldn’t even catch our breath. We explained to the poor man, who was looking more and more embarrassed, that I was a guest and not her husband. I don’t know if Mrs. Sabet looks really young, I look really old, or he thought we were slightly scandalous, but she’s 30 years older than me and standing next to each other we don’t even begin to approach husband and wife.
Leia Mais…16 March 2006
Day Fourteen
So Norton Antivirus, which acts more like Norton Antichrist, decided to declare that the Word file containing my journal has a virus. Not only did it make such a declaration, but it also permanently removed it from my hard drive. All without my knowledge, until I tried to open the file and it prattled on about what it had done. I didn’t even know it could do that! I know I certainly don’t recall giving it that kind of authority. Thank goodness I’m keeping the journal online, too, otherwise I’d just be out of luck.
Today we went to the movies to see "Pink Panther," but on the way I had a little mishap. Mrs. Sabet and I left the house to pick up May to take her with us. We were kind enough to bring her some rice, chips, a drink, and some fruit as a snack, as well as go out of our way to pick her up. We ran into some traffic on the way and immediately she began complaining about it. Not just regular complaining, like, "Oh this traffic is terrible!" but she was actually blaming it on her mother, as if her mother were the one responsible for all the traffic in Dar es Salaam. Not only was it her fault for the traffic, but also her fault that we were going to be late and "miss the entire movie." Then she rejected the food we brought her as if it were nothing (despite the fact that Mrs. Sabet and I are fasting, doubly rude) and demanded that we go out of our way to pick up some other food for her, overlooking the fact that it would make us even later for the movie that she was so desperate to see the entirety of.
She went on and on like this for ten minutes, near tears in all of her complaining, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. In the past every time she's started in, I've reminded myself that I'm a guest in their home and it isn't my responsibility to parent their children. I can feel that anger rising up in me about to explode, but I've always had the restraint to keep it under control but not today. What made me furious is all of this complaining is about material, transitory, and totally superficial things. And when she starts criticizing her mother, it's really painful for me to see because I know how much her parents sacrifice for her. Her mother is a kind, sweet, caring, strong, humorous woman who has done so much work for the Faith and humanity that I can only hope to accomplish a third of the same. Not to mention that right outside our car window it's immediately apparent that we are in the fourth poorest country in the world. Little children are playing in sewage and trash infested rivers while others don't have enough to eat or drink or proper clothes to wear. People toil day after day after day for maybe $10 a week. And here we are in our air conditioned car listening to May moan about not getting the food she wants, the clothes she wants, everything she wants in a timely manner.
So finally I just yelled at her to be quiet and stop complaining all the time, that all she did was complain, complain, complain and it was incredibly bothersome and unnecessary. I could see from the corner of my eye that Mrs. Sabet's eyes grew a little bit, and May immediately fell silent for the rest of the trip. I know it wasn't my place to say, but I just couldn't take it anymore. I can't stand ungrateful, privileged children and it's made all the worse by them being in the middle of one of the poorest countries on the face of the planet. Mrs. Sabet didn't say anything, but I think she was sort of glad that I said it. Or at least I hope she was. The last thing I need to do is offend my hosts.So, the Pink Panther was hilarious. Dr. Sabet is back in town. I've finished the Annual Report, and I'll finish the filing tomorrow and begin working on the National Convention. I'm very tired and still on the fence about what I said today. God is testing me with this little girl, and I don't like it. Leia Mais…
14 March 2006
Day Twelve
There’s a new species on my hit list: Passer domesticus, better known as the House Sparrow. As with so many things, I believe I have the British to thank for introducing them to Africa. The eaves of our house are perfect for the stupid things to roost in, and they make a hellacious amount of noise in the morning. The second you turn your back after chasing them away, they’re right back at the window chirping their heads off. After waking up and eating breakfast at 5:30 in the morning all I want to do is get a few more hours of sleep before work. But the resident house sparrows always seem to have something else in mind.
I brought enough work home from the Centre yesterday to last me all day, but I took a (long) break this morning to do some research on Dar es Salaam. Most people view the city as a place to conduct commerce or, if you’re a mzungu, a place with an airport where you stay a night before going to Zanzibar or on safari. However, I’m convinced that the largest city in the country has more to offer than just hotels. So after my research I’ve produced a few places that should occupy a Saturday or two but not as much as I'd hope. Maybe this really is a city and nothing more.
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This evening, Mrs. Sabet, May, and I went to the University of Dar es Salaam for a devotional being held by one of the students, Oliva. Two of her friends were in attendance, and I was able to chat with them a bit. They’re studying urban planning, which is something that Dar sorely needs. I don’t think they’ve got a Master Plan for this place at all. I guess the British or the Nyerere government or someone paved the roads a few decades ago, but now they’ve all deteriorated into just dirt lanes. And they’re just now installing a main sewage system for the city! They claimed that no one knew that the city would grow to this size and overwhelm the current sewer system, but give me a break! How many cities don’t grow? Especially the largest one in the country!
After the devotional, we went to Sea Cliff to the supermarket to buy some bread, although we left with about 20 things. I’m currently enjoying a Cherry Coke and Snickers, all of which cost me only $2.50. It’s ridiculously priced but it’s nice to treat yourself to a luxury every once in awhile. Besides, I don’t have much of anything else to spend my money on. So far, Mrs. Sabet has been insistent on paying for mostly everything except only a few personal things that I insist on paying for. Hopefully I’ll be able to buy my own toothpaste at least!
This evening at dinner, May, the Sabets’ daughter, told me that I was the first male guest that she’s actually liked. It has been difficult to adjust to her, but over the past few days I think I’ve really put effort into it. Not only am I not accustomed to children, but she has been fortunate enough to have lived a very privileged life thus far. She is bright, outspoken, and opinionated. She is highly praised both at home and at school for her intelligence, and I think all of these things have had an...hmm…impact, shall we say, on her development that has made it particularly difficult for me to handle her at times. Nevertheless, it was a nice thing of her to say and it’s helped to diffuse some of my bottled up words and emotions.
A note to myself is to write about the local perception of Americans tomorrow. It’s a really interesting thing.
13 March 2006
Day Eleven
I slept in a bit this morning before heading to the National Centre. Dr. Sabet left for Botswana yesterday, which seems to depress the rest of the family a little bit. He’s going to be gone for less than a week but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way they’re acting! Only Mrs. Sabet and I were eating at the table this morning before sunrise, and we did so in complete silence.
As per My Fat Aunt's request, I took some more pictures on my way to the National Centre and of the Centre itself, which you can see on my Flickr account. I would have more, but it started to rain so I had to put the camera up. The weather today was unusually cool, made even more so by the rain, and that was a welcome relief. I didn’t mind at all walking to the daladala in the rain. Well, when I say cool, I mean it’s in the upper 80’s with an even higher humidity, but compared to what we’re normally experiencing it seems like an arctic front.
I had an interesting experience with a gaggle of taxi drivers on the way to work this morning. They were all gathered up in one of the alleys between the main road and the Centre, which is an odd place to be. There’s not really all that much foot traffic going through there, especially not people who would be taking a taxi. So here I come walking along and of course as soon as they spotted me they all jumped to their feet, like at any moment I was going to come rushing over and ask for a cab. One of the bad things about being a mzungu is that people think you’re rich and that for some reason you always want a taxi. I get honked at by every single taxi driver that passes by me.
Anyway, a few of the taxi drivers were bold enough to edge over toward me. One of them asked, “How are you?” I’m not going to just ignore him if he’s making an effort to communicate in English, so I told him I was fine and asked him how he was. To which he replied, “How are you?” I gave him an odd look and began wondering if he’d understood me when all the other taxi drivers burst into laughter. One of them came over and said, “My friend that is all the English he knows!” Pretty soon, the whole alley is laughing. Whether they were laughing at me or the driver I don’t know but it was good to see some people laughing. I get tired of walking down the road and smiling at people only to get this dull look in return.
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This evening, Mrs. Sabet wanted to drive to the ocean, roll down the windows, and listen to the waves and smell the sea. So, May and I went with her. May spent a good amount of her time complaining about how someone was going to come rob us or something, and she was nearing hysterics, so we moved down the seafront away from the beach and toward the cliffs of Sea Cliff, an area for tourists. We parked, went down to the cliffs, and sat down to watch the surf roll in. There were a lot of bats flying from under the cliffs to eat the bugs gathering by the lights of the hotel. The waves were wonderful, although the moon was unfortunately obscured by the clouds. You could see the lights of maybe 20 ships out on the horizon. They seem almost ever-present in Dar es Salaam, which is a major port city. The air smelled nice and wonderful until it shifted and brought in the smell rubbish and raw sewage, a very strong reminder that we hadn’t drifted away from all the poverty and destitution right down the road after all.
12 March 2006
Day Ten
Our battle against the mosquitoes continues to evolve into an ever greater struggle. However, through various methods of combat, we seem to be turning the tide of the war. The number of bites on my hands is down from a high of 35 to roughly 20. By conducting a nightly preemptive strike dubbed Operation Kill Them Before They Kill You, we manage to reduce the initial number of combatants in the initial struggle every night. Securing the mosquito net beneath the mattress seems to reduce the likelihood of infiltration of the sleeping zone, while liberal use of DEET acts as a further deterrent. Nevertheless, the struggle continues. Outnumbered and at times outgunned, we will continue, where possible, to take the fight to the enemy and at all times protect the homeland with unwavering determination.
Let it be understood that the enemy is not just a single mosquito but the act of disease-transmitting blood-sucking itself – premeditated, biologically motivated violence perpetrated against innocents. No justification exists for such an act. We will make no concessions to their blood-thirsty demands, nor will we strike any deals with them. We will make no distinction between mosquitoes and those who knowingly harbor or provide aid to them. Mosquitoes will be disrupted and destroyed by identifying and destroying the threat before it reaches the skin. While we will constantly strive to enlist the support of other humans, we will not hesitate to act alone, if necessary, to exercise our right of self-defense by acting preemptively against such mosquitoes to prevent them from doing harm. Using the full extent of our influence, we will work closely with friends and allies to make clear that all acts of blood-sucking are illegitimate, so that they will be viewed in the same light as slavery, piracy, or genocide: behavior that no respectable individual can condone or support and all must oppose.
In the war against mosquitoes, we must never forget that we are ultimately fighting for our democratic values and way of life. Freedom and fear are at war, and there will be no quick or easy end to this conflict. Yet with persistence, determination, and faith, I am confident that we will emerge victorious.
But seriously, the mosquitoes are eating me alive. It seems that in the night, I toss and turn so much in the bed that sometimes my hands end up against the mosquito net. The mosquitoes are so determined to get some blood that they just line up along the net and bite me through it. Despite putting bug spray on my hands that is 30-40% DEET, they still bite me! I’ve never seen anything like it. I haven’t quite figured out what actual role (if any) they play in the environment, but I’m determined to make it a far less significant one by the time I leave.
On Friday evening, we had some guests over for a devotional and dinner. There were three American Fulbright scholars (one Bahá’í, two not); an employee of Oxfam, the British NGO; another “local” American Bahá’í; two Tanzanian Bahá’ís; and the family. The devotional differed greatly from the ones at home in its level of spontaneity. Prayers were said for maybe 15 minutes or so and then we had dinner together. The guests ended up staying for four hours! And while the Sabets and I were lagging there in the last hour or so, it was still nice to be around such lively, engaging, and intelligent people. We spent probably the last hour and a half answering questions about the Faith. The sincerity and interest of the non-Bahá’ís was really refreshing!
The rest of the weekend we’ve just been kind of bumming around the house. Today and yesterday were both really beautiful days so I should have gotten out and gone somewhere, but where? They might have two museums in the whole city, and I wouldn’t even begin to know how to get there on the daladala. I should go to the beach at some point, but I’m terrified that someone is going to mug me. In fact, I think a lot of the reason why I haven’t been very adventurous is that I’m afraid, even though I know I shouldn’t be. There are a lot of thieves and generally bad people walking around, but the same is true about Little Rock.
This evening we went out to pick up pizza, and Mrs. Sabet left me in the car. I locked the doors and every time a group of people would walk by I’d tense up, certain that they were going to bust the windows and rob me. I don’t really know if it’s some kind of xenophobia or not, but eventually I’m going to have to get over it out of necessity. I didn’t come here to sit behind a barbed-wire wall protected by armed guards. It's amazing how travel brings out things in you that you didn't even know were there, both good and bad.
10 March 2006
Day Eight
So last night I managed to fall down the stairs on the way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I accidentally missed one of the steps and stumbled down the last two. Thankfully there’s a big metal gate thing at the bottom of the steps which at night is partially closed, so I managed to catch myself on it. If it hadn’t been there I’m certain I would have broken my little toe. Instead, I just sprained it very badly. In fact, I’ve sprained it so badly that I have to hobble around the house. I’ve had sprained ankles and pulled muscles and whatnot before, but this is easily the most painful. I can still move the toe with relative ease (and extraordinary pain), so I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t even set the foot on the floor without it being painful, which means another day of not being able to get much of anything done. I’m beginning to feel like The Comically Hapless Foreigner.
I really needed to go to the Centre today to finish the filing, but now all I can do is sit in my room and try to entertain myself. At least the power (and fan) is on. Hopefully my toe will be better by Monday, otherwise I’ll just have to suck it up and hobble down to the daladala. Of course between now and then who knows what else I’ll have done to myself.
One good thing is that last night we had a wonderful dish. Mrs. Sabet has been asking a lot of questions about what Southerners eat. After I explained, her son said, "That sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen." I had no choice but to agree. So anyway, last night we had some beef filet and vegetable dish...with gravy! We had some of the leftovers this morning for breakfast and I was sure to finish off the gravy. Mrs. Sabet seemed pleased. She explained that she'd asked the girls (the domestic staff) to leave the juices instead of draining them before plating the dish. Although it didn't come close to what you'd get at home, it's probably the closest thing I'm going to get here (it's not like there's a Mama Bahati's Soul Food Kitchen down the road). I felt it was very thoughtful on their part to do that for me.
08 March 2006
Day Six
Well, I finally managed to upload the few photos that I've taken. It's not much, but it's a start. You can see various places in London, some views from the house here in Dar es Salaam, and a few other random photos. I should have more up by the end of the week, but the problem is I'm afraid to go toting my camera around because someone might snatch it. I'll figure something out. Because I didn't do much of anything today, you can see the photos here in lieu of reading about me doing nothing.
Leia Mais…07 March 2006
Day Five
I’m about to die right now. There’s 2 hours and 45 minutes left of the Fast, and I’m about to die. This morning, Dr. Sabet’s driver collected me from the house and took me to get a “mobile” a.k.a. cell phone. Evidently I could have brought my own from the U.S. but no one told me that. So I had to spend TSh 85,000 (~$85) to buy a new one and a SIM card for it. Doing this was a process in and of itself. He collected me around 8:30 so I assumed that all the shops would be open. Wrong. Wrong. Most things don’t seem to open until 9:30 and even then it’s a gamble. So the driver gave me a tour of a new area of town while we drove back and forth between two shops waiting for them to open. Finally one of them opened, and we went inside. The driver spoke to the shopkeeper and indicated which phone I wanted. There was a bit of an argument between them and finally he motioned to me that we should leave. Outside he explained that the man was trying to charge way too much for the phone because I was a muzungo (white foreigner). You see, there are three prices for things here: one for ordinary people; one for educated, well-dressed people with cars; and one for muzungos. I guess they’re trying to get the West back for hundreds of years of oppression. Or they’re greedy. One of the two.
We went back to the other shop and despite being half an hour past the time it was supposed to open, it was still closed. Insanity! Finally the driver decided to go into town to buy the mobile, even though the traffic is really bad. This time I gave him the money and sent him in to buy it for me so we wouldn’t have to go through this whole muzungo nonsense. Long story short, I have a mobile here now. However, don’t even think about calling me because the costs for phone calls are outrageous – $2.00 per call – so people use texting instead.
After we bought the mobile, he drove me back to the daladala stop I’m supposed to take. He instructed me as to the correct bus to get on, which I did, and then followed me to the stop near the Centre. To get to the Centre, you have to go through this maze of alleys, so he picked me up at the stop and drove me through the alleys. I stayed at the Center for about four hours and cleaned up the filing system. If I have the proper materials when I arrive at the office tomorrow I should be able to finish then. At any rate, there’s no electricity at the Centre, which means no fans. Up until today I was at home under industrial-sized fans set on high, but today I had only the wind, and it wasn’t even blowing. I’m so dehydrated right now it’s not even funny!
I took home some of the Kiswahili documents so I can use my Kiswahili-English dictionary to translate them and figure out how to file them. On the way back home on the daladala (and I managed to get to it, on it, and to the appropriate stop with no problems!) I had to stand because there were so many people. I had a shopping bag and an enormous binder in my hands, which was frustrating my ability to hold onto the bar and keep from bumping my head. So this man next to me reaches up, takes the binder, and places it in his lap, freeing up at least one hand. I was extremely grateful for that bit of unsolicited assistance, and I thanked him profusely, which of course he just waved off as if it were an every day occurrence, which it probably is here.
I had to relate my getting lost on the daladala story again when I arrived at the Centre this morning. Everyone was just thankful that I was okay, and the Secretary of the NSA was able to laugh about it. Above all they were worried about having to call my parents and tell them I’d gotten lost. “They’d have killed us!” the Office Manager exclaimed.
I just noticed that online ads must have some marketing geniuses running them or something. Everywhere I go, there’s at least one advertisement for obtaining an American green card!
06 March 2006
Day Four
So this morning around 5:50 AM, Dr. Sabet bursts into my room, flicks on the lights, and yells, “Bryan! Come!” I thought I’d slept through sunrise and I wouldn’t get to eat or drink or something, so I come rolling out of the bed and get all tangled in the mosquito net. When I got downstairs, it turns out that the cook was late this morning so we had to scramble to make and eat breakfast before the sun came up. We managed to make it, but we were really shoveling things in there at the last minute.
Yesterday afternoon, I met some of the American Bahá’ís. They came to the house to let their daughters play with May and to see the Sabets. They already knew who I was and where I’m from. Apparently the other American in the community, who I haven’t even met, told them about me. News travels fast! I have to admit that it was nice to hear a familiar accent.
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It’s past noon and I just got back to the house after riding the stupid daladala in circles for 3 ½ hours. I managed to walk to the bus stop from the house without any problems, but when I arrive there’s a mass of buses everywhere with a bunch of Kiswahili words on the front to indicate where they’re going. So, I’m supposed to get on the Msasani-K/Koo bus to go to the Bahá’í Centre. No problem. So I get on what I thought was one of the Msasani-K/Koo buses because the man was hanging out the side hollering what I thought was “Msasani.” Unfortunately, he was yelling “Masaki” which is a whole other part of town but to my untrained ear sounded just about the same. So when the bus pulls out of the stop and turns the wrong way, I knew something was wrong. But at that point I still had a sense of adventure and way too much confidence in my ability to return to the stop I started from, so I decided to go along for the ride. Plus I don’t know how to say “Stop the bus, and let me off!” in Kiswahili.
So here I am on the bus going to Masaki. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the name of the other half of the bus’s line, so that made it far more difficult to return. Anyway, we go through the bus’s whole route, and we’re on our way back to the bus stop that I started from when the man turns to me and starts asking me something in Kiswahili. I told him I only spoke English, so he managed to ask where I was going. I told him Ubunga, which he didn’t seem to understand, and then I said United Nations Road, which is somewhat near the Bahá’í Centre. He nodded his understanding and then literally shoved me out the door at the next stop, pointed at another bus down the road, said something in Kiswahili, and sped off.
I should have waited for the bus of the same line to arrive because the bus he pointed to was from a different line, Masaki-Posta. So I get on the Masaki-Posta line, which I found out goes downtown to the National Post Office. In the process of getting there we sped past United Nations Road, where apparently there is no stop, which is good because the street is so flooded after the rain that I couldn’t have walked it anyway. So we get downtown and everyone gets off. The bus driver turns to me with a questioning look, so I explained to him in this sophisticated English my situation, none of which he understands. So finally using hand gestures and very simple English I indicated that I’d gotten on the wrong bus and needed to go back to Masaki. He nodded and when the bus was loaded off we went.
I should have known better than to think this bus would return to the place that I wanted it to. So for the next hour and a half, I rode the Masaki-Posta line trying to figure out how the hell I managed to get onto this line, which seems to run independent from everything else, from the Msasani-K/Koo bus stop. During all of this riding, I noticed that we kept passing signs for the Disabled Hospital and UNESCO, both of which are right down the road from the house. We were also in an area which seemed somewhat familiar from my travels with Dr. Sabet. So after deciding that I would never figure out how to get from the Masaki-Posta line back to the Msasani-K/Koo line without walking between the two stops, I got off at the stop nearest the UNESCO and Disabled Hospital signs and walked back home. I could have continued on to the original bus stop and gotten on the Msasani-K/Koo line bus but I was sick of the things and I didn’t want to mess with them anymore. The NTC files and work will just have to wait until tomorrow because I’ve had enough adventure for now.
So, let me describe the daladalas a little bit. They’re basically shaped like those old Volkswagen minivans. Inside there are seats for about 18 people, which fills the thing up to capacity. But do they stop piling people on? No, of course not. At one point we must have had 25 people smashed in there. And when I was saying “bus stop” earlier, this is nothing like a bus stop in the Western world. There’s no sign designating it as a bus stop (except downtown). You just kind of have to know where it is, pray that there are some other people waiting for the bus, or hope that the bus will stop when you wave your hands wildly. Some of the time you’re on a paved road with a nice little extra portion cut out for the bus to pull in and out of the stop. But most of the time the bus just barrels off the dirt, gravel, or extremely poorly paved road into the grass, dirt, mud, chickens, people, plants, trees, and whatever else is on the side of the road to pick people up and let them off. Frequently whenever someone would get on the bus and see me, they’d do a double-take, like what the heck is this white boy doing on the bus with us? I guess I’m supposed to be driving my own vehicle or being chauffeured around. I saw my first cows and guineas today on the daladala, as well as the ocean and a little seaside resort for rich tourists and foreigners. I also saw some peacocks at the Bahá’í Centre on Sunday! How bizarre is that! I totally just stopped in my tracks and stared at it. I thought I might have been hallucinating from the fast or something, but Dr. Sabet explained that they were a gift from Indira Gandhi to Julius Nyerere, the former leader of Tanzania. He kept them in his garden, but they escaped and scattered all over the city, so many of them come to the Bahá’í Centre from time to time.
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So it turns out that almost all of the employees of the Bahá’í National Centre have been out looking for me because I didn’t show up to work. No one knew that I had come back home. They started looking for me around 10:00 AM at which time I was still on the bus, riding around like nobody’s business. Meanwhile, the friends were in a state of panic, thinking someone had kidnapped me, killed me, arrested me, mugged me, or that I was just lost. Dr. Sabet was the only one that seemed to believe that I just simply got lost! So they’re all out looking for me, questioning the daladala drivers about whether I had been on their bus. They actually found the drivers and managed to trace me all the way downtown, but after that they lost my trail. Mrs. Sabet just called a bit ago and found that I was here. Dr. Sabet came home from looking for me, and I related the story to him. I think Mrs. Sabet is going to be quite upset with me, but it was an honest mistake and I had no idea that everyone would have started looking for me so quickly! Now Dr. Sabet is insisting that I get a mobile phone so that I can call. I think he was also a little disappointed that I didn’t phone the Bahá’í Centre or their home, but I didn’t have the numbers nor did I know where to stop to actually use a telephone. I feel really rotten now. I’d better go brace myself to face Mrs. Sabet.
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Okay, so she wasn’t too upset, thankfully. I found out that they had called all the police stations in town to put out a notice for me, called the American embassy to alert them of the situation, and called all the hospitals looking for an injured foreigner. The National Institute Coordinator and the Secretary of the National Spiritual Assembly were also out looking for me, and apparently the Secretary was pretty upset with the Sabets that I’d been lost, even though it was all my fault. Despite all of the trouble I’ve caused, it’s extremely comforting to know that these people care enough about me to go through all this trouble because I got on the wrong bus and they couldn’t locate me for a few hours.
Dr. Sabet said he was trying to put himself in my shoes to try to anticipate what I would be doing. He even called one of the American Bahá’ís and asked what he thought I would be doing. Of course my stubborn butt was riding around the daladalas convinced that any moment I’d be able to figure it all out. He thought I might be totally panicking or something, whereas Mrs. Sabet was a little more…um…dark in her assumptions. For example, the first thing that came to her mind was that someone tried to take money out of my pocket, I got into a fight with him, and he smashed my face in! Haha, imagine me fighting someone.
We had a little discussion about what to do in the event of an emergency and things like that so that we won’t have mix-ups like this again. I don’t want my name to be floating around the American embassy and the police stations too much! We all agreed that we made too many assumptions, so tomorrow one of the friends is going to come over in the morning and accompany me on the daladala to the Bahá’í Centre. I just can’t wait to get there so everyone can get their laugh at my expense, although who can really blame them? If someone else did this I’d probably be laughing at them, too.
P.S. – Mom, Dad, family, and anyone else prone to hysterics: Please don’t freak out reading this! I’m okay, I promise! It was just a little mix-up, and see how well the friends responded? I’m in good hands. Well, except when I'm in my own it seems. ;-)
05 March 2006
Day Three
I decided (perhaps foolishly) to start the Fast today. I had today and Monday left (or just today, depending on how you count – I tend to be liberal with it), but I decided I should quit messing around and just do it. The Sabets seemed to be pleased that I’d made that decision. While I can’t be sure, I think (for whatever reason) they were expecting me to start the day after. Today wasn’t as hot as the first day I arrived, or maybe I’m just getting used to the heat. Nevertheless, it was hot enough and I’m about to die of thirst. I could care less about the food, I just want some water!! And yet I suppose that’s how I should be feeling as it’s the whole point of the Fast. There’s only an hour or so left anyway.
Today was Sunday, so we went to the Bahá’í Center. Dr. Sabet had an LSA meeting earlier this morning so I went with Mrs. Sabet later in the morning. We arrived and one of the friends inside was saying the Long Healing Prayer, so we had to wait for 5 minutes or so before going in. For the Sunday morning devotional the friends gather in the main hall of the Center in a circle on those white plastic chairs that I suppose are lawn chairs. They randomly say prayers, sometimes in Kiswahili and sometimes in English or Persian, and then they sing. The singing is wonderful! It’s in Kiswahili so I have no clue what they’re saying, except the occasional Bahá’u’lláh or `Abdu’l-Bahá, but they still sound great.
After the devotional, we began studying the 27 December 2005 message from the Universal House of Justice. For the benefit of the few of us who don’t speak Kiswahili well or at all, we broke into Kiswahili- and English-speaking groups to study the message. I was able to relate some of the things we were doing in Little Rock, which was still relevant even though Dar es Salaam is a stage of growth ahead of us. We studied that for about 2 ½ hours, which seemed to fly by. There were probably 40 or 50 friends at the Sunday morning program, and maybe 30 or so children attending children’s classes. They were complaining about not having enough room, and I told them they should try doing things at our Bahá’í Center!
After the Sunday morning program, I stayed with Dr. Sabet and met with the National Teaching Committee, which was also fortunate enough to have Mr. Shabbani Seffu, Secretary of the National Spiritual Assembly, in attendance. The Committee was meeting with one of the friends who wanted to be a home front pioneer. He made the decision after attending the National Convention, which apparently inspired him quite a bit. He’s somewhat elderly, so his family objected to him leaving his home and going to another part of the country, but he told them he felt in his heart that it was something he must do. That was something highly inspirational for me.
Speaking of inspirational, I’ll wander off on a tangent here. Yesterday, I met a non-Bahá’í who is being tutored in one of the Ruhi books by Mrs. Sabet. His name is Barnabas, and he’s a fisherman. He seems to put effort into being well-dressed and groomed, and his English is very good. He’s a polite, friendly, and enthusiastic guy. Mrs. Sabet introduced me to him yesterday, so I shook his hand, exchanged names, told him where I was from, and then wished him well. Later, Mrs. Sabet related that after I left the room he said that there is just something about those Bahá’ís that no matter where they’re from when you touch them you can feel there’s something different about them. I thought that was really a wonderful thing to hear.
Back to the meeting: Dr. Sabet only speaks a little Kiswahili and I speak none, so the conversation between the Committee and the home front pioneer had to be translated. It really bothers me that I don’t know what they’re saying, so I hope to make a real earnest effort to learn Kiswahili. Unfortunately, languages have always been difficult for me to learn (one of the few subjects I truly struggled with) so I think it will take me a lot of time, practice, and embarrassment. After the meeting, Dr. Sabet introduced me to the rest of the Committee. Half of them didn’t even know who I was! They just knew I wasn’t part of the Committee, yet I was at their meeting. So Dr. Sabet explained that I would be coming to all the meetings and taking notes, as well as helping them organize their work and files. He related that already the LSA and other agencies are asking for my help, but the Committee seems to be content thus far using me for their own purposes. I’m sure later they’ll feel more comfortable letting me loose. It’s nice to be in demand, though!
While I was at the Bahá’í Center, I met one of the Persian friends whose name I can’t fully remember right now. I want to say Hormuz, but that’s the Strait of Hormuz so I don’t think that’s right. Anyway, he asked who I was and where I was from. Then he related that some of his family had moved to the United States after the Iranian government had executed their spouses for being Bahá’ís. He said he went to visit them in San Diego and Los Angeles and found America to be a wonderful place. He was insistent in letting me know that America was fantastic and he enjoyed his time there. He said that a lot of the stuff that people outside the U.S. see on television and newspapers is distorted to make them hate America and Americans, but if only they would go to visit they probably wouldn’t want to come back! It’s hard not to identify yourself as an American when you’re in a “foreign” land, so I felt good to know that not everyone hates us.
After the meeting, we took two of the friends to one of the American Bahá’ís’ home, I guess for a study circle or something. Dr. Sabet tried to take a short cut, but we just ended up getting lost. We also stopped at the duka la dawa, which is a chemist/pharmacy/drugstore to get some penicillin for one of them. So that’s one more Kiswahili word that I know. I also learned that ya is “of” and na is “and.” I learned the word for “peace” from one of the songs this morning, but now I’ve forgotten it. I don’t know why but for the past five years or so, my memory has really gotten very, very poor. I can’t remember a lot of things the way I used to, and it seems foolish to think that at my age you could blame it on aging. Also, Dr. Sabet has revised his “two months fluency in Kiswahili” plan to four months now.
This whole servant thing is still unnerving me a little bit. This morning I left my room and came back to find that one of the servants had picked up all my dirty clothes, made my bed, straightened the room, and cleaned the room and the bathroom. I was a little apprehensive about having to take the bus to work, but now I sort of welcome it. It seems like it’s the only thing I’ll be doing for myself! It’s a small wonder that one of the drivers isn’t picking me up and dropping me off.
There’s thirty or forty minutes left until I can drink something. I think I’m going to go stare at the clock.
Day Two
[ Note: Because I can only access the Internet infrequently, I've been writing entries on the laptop while I can with the intention of posting them when I got Internet access. The Internet has been hooked up in my room, but it's still difficult to get a connection. Nevertheless, I should be able to post a little more frequently now. So, these are backposts, if you will. ]
Day Two:
I woke up around 6:15 this morning to the sound of a rooster. May (the Sabets’ young daughter) had already warned me about it, so it didn’t seem too out of place. I dismantled the mosquito net, and I was surprised to find that there were in fact several mosquitoes clinging to it. Because the Sabets are fasting, I went downstairs to join them for breakfast before the sun rose. We had some kind of African bread that’s like a tortilla and rolled up inside of them fresh avocado, hummus, tomatoes, cucumber, and meat. We also had fresh squeezed passion fruit/mango juice. I’ve tried to set aside my fear of vegetables (although only the cucumbers would have been “offensive” this morning) so that I don’t seem rude or disrespectful. Or starve. Luckily the Sabets are fairly wealthy (by the standards here, and probably in the West, too), and they are very generous, so there’s usually some kind of meat on the table. But thanks to the drought and ensuing famine, most of the rest of the city probably doesn’t have any.
I hate to keep talking about something so mundane as the food, but it was truly delicious. Everything is fresh and organic! Last night at dinner, I shared some fruit with Dr. Sabet, and it was probably the best I’ve ever had in my life. The mangoes and pineapple were sooo sweet, and the grapefruit had that perfect balance of sweetness and sourness so that it didn’t need any sugar at all. Their cook is a little shy because her English isn’t very good, but other than that she’s very nice. I think I may try to get her to teach me a little Kiswahili.
Yesterday, I was picked up from the airport by Shabbani, the Secretary of the NSA. He took me to the Bahá’í National Center, and I met the employees there, as well as some of the other staff members who live inside the little compound. They have a little Bahá’í nursery school next to the Centre with about 25 kids, mostly non-Bahá’ís, attending classes there. Unfortunately, most of the people inside the Centre couldn’t do any work because the government rations electricity during the day, which means the computers, the Internet, and everything else electronic is down until night. They’re still consulting about how best to get around that problem. Thankfully, the Sabets have a generator which can power the whole house during the time the electricity is rationed, so I can do work from here or charge my laptop and do work at the Centre. I’ll actually be working for the National Teaching Committee instead of the National Spiritual Assembly, and Dr. Sabet is a member of the NTC so I think that will work out well in terms of coordination. The only down side is that he travels quite a bit. He leaves for Botswana on Monday! To me it seems kind of exciting to have a job in which you travel so extensively, but I imagine it’s gotten pretty run-of-the-mill for him now.
While I was at the BNC, I also met Sandra, a lady who lives upstairs, and an Auxiliary Board Member. I can’t remember her name right now; it was Persian. Unfortunately, non-Western names haven’t started to stick just yet. They gave me water and allowed me to rest and wait until one of the Sabets’ drivers, Fatma, could come and pick me up. We also picked up their daughter, May, who is not only a handful but I suspect will indeed keep me busy as reported.
Fatma brought us back to the Sabet compound, which is truly a compound. Everything here is behind a high wall with a gate. Most of the more affluent families (and it doesn’t take all that much to be affluent) have security at their gate, as well as a few servants in their home for at least part of the day. It all may seem somewhat alarming, but in truth it’s just the way things are. I haven’t felt that my safety has been threatened, yet, and I doubt that it ever will be while I’m here. I was a little uncomfortable at first with having other people wait on me, even in a limited capacity, but the reality is that I’ll just have to get used to it. It’s the way the economy and society works, and it’s not my responsible to roll in here and try to introduce American-style democracy, society, and civilization. I could make a political joke right now, but I won’t. =)
I spent most of the afternoon napping and resting. Dr. Sabet was home because the generator at his office was broken, so I got to speak with him briefly about what the NTC would like me to do. My first responsibility will be to get their filing system in order. As near as I can tell, most of their documents are at the National Centre in boxes. Just like everything else! It’s an organizational nightmare, but they just don’t have the staff to take care of everything. I imagine that their current work is being hindered by the electricity rationing because not all the members of the NTC live in Dar. I was a little surprised to learn that I’d be working for the NTC instead of the NSA, but it’s just as well. As long as I’m doing some good then I’ll be happy. Depending on how things go and the amount of work there is to be done, Dr. Sabet said the NTC would discuss “loaning” me to other offices.
In the evening, we went to a teaching meeting/devotional/presentation on the Bahá’í Faith at the University of Dar es Salaam. Originally, one of the Bahá’ís from off-campus was supposed to give a talk on prayer and meditation inside one of the common rooms in the dorms. But suddenly the Administration denied the Bahá’í students use of the room. They’re still investigating it, but it seems that the decision may have been motivated by only the word “Bahá’í.” Anyway, there are about 8 Bahá’í students on campus, which seemed fantastic to me. They’re part of one of the intensive programmes of growth (IPG) being launched here because Dar is an “A” Cluster. For two weeks, they’re supposed to hold devotional meetings in their dorm rooms and invite their friends and classmates to them. I’m not sure what happens after that, though. There was also prayer and consultation about the IPG and the situation on campus about being denied use of the room. It seems that there’s no registered Bahá’í club, which at times can frustrate their purposes. I was surprised that they were allowed to meet in an auxiliary room! At UALR you have to be a registered group or know somebody unless you want to pay out the ying-yang for a nice room.
Everyone has been polite and courteous thus far, and most of them are curious about me and where I’m from. I’ve been surprised at the number of people that know about Arkansas and Little Rock. I half expected that no one would know anything about it, but some people even know about the Central High crisis in 1957! And for those that don’t know, all I have to do is mention it’s where Bill Clinton is from and then it clicks for them. He is very well respected here, “a great man,” and they have no problem mentioning his infidelity. One man said that such a thing would be a source of pride for an African man because the society is still very much alpha-male oriented. Maybe that’s why it’s easier for them to overlook such a thing, and also because of everything he’s done to help the people here.
A last note about the electricity and the United States. I can tell that I’m in for a long road of getting frustration with the things I see. I’ve been warned about it several times, but despite how many times people tell me or I read it, I still find myself getting upset at my own country for not doing more to raise the standard of living here. For instance, the electricity rationing is because the primary source of power here is hydroelectric. While it’s clean and efficient, it’s not entirely feasible for a region prone to drought. While we’re spending $500 billion on defense issue, people here don’t have electricity for half the day. Why we can’t spare a few million dollars to build another type of power plant and train individuals to operate it is beyond me! We often say, “What can we do to help?”, but if you come and put your feet on the ground, you can find half a dozen areas which could use improvement before ever leaving the airport. And yet, it’s the way of life here. Am I trying to transpose my Western values and way of life here, or simply thinking of a way to help them live better? Quite a dilemma.
It’s suddenly occurred to me how much I use the Internet and how much my work and life revolve around it. Mrs. Sabet is cleaning out the bookcase. She said she wanted to relax and be lazy today, so when I asked her about it she said she didn’t know how! I’ve found that I’m becoming increasingly the same way. I don’t always want to run a triathlon or something, but it can be quite difficult to just sit around doing nothing. I tried reading one of the many books in the house, but I felt like that was a waste of my time here. Granted it’s only the second day, but I did come to serve. And I’m sure I’ll regret this paragraph a month from now. I was going to start work on a website for the Bahá’í community of Tanzania but it’s hard work without the Internet.
A hellacious storm blew in a few hours ago, and it’s been raining steadily for more than 2 hours. I thought the house was going to topple over the wind was blowing so hard! I can’t hear the sounds of the city outside, so I don’t know if everything’s stopped because of the rain or I just can’t hear because of the rain. No matter. I’m just enjoying the wind and smell of rain blowing through the house and the sound of the birds outside in the 10 million varieties of palm tree in Tanzania. The weather has turned very pleasant for the moment, but I doubt it will last all day. But I’m glad to see that’s there’s such a sustained rain while we have it because I know they must need it very badly. It’s a wonder that everything around here stays so green!
I just came back from the BNC and shopping with Dr. Sabet. At the BNC, we took a look at the files of the NTC which I’m supposed to begin organizing on Monday. It wasn’t quite the task I thought it would be. There’s a file cabinet drawer and a box full of stuff, but that’s it. I should have it done in a few days, a week at the most. The only problem will be determining what to throw away and what to keep because a good sized chunk of the material is in Kiswahili. According to Dr. Sabet, I should be able to determine what the stuff is after learning 10-20 key words. He also said he expected a “clever” guy like me to figure it out and be speaking Kiswahili in 2 months. I laughed. A lot. At least with Romance languages I could use my Latin background and common sense to figure things out, but I tried applying that here and quickly found that it doesn’t work. Luckily they use the Arabic alphabet like us, so at least I don’t have to learn a whole new alphabet. Right now I know two words of Kiswahili: Jambo=Hello (from a foreigner) and Asanti =Thank you. I think I spelled the last one wrong. It’s kind of difficult learning Kiswahili from people with Persian accents. =)
On the way to the BNC, Dr. Sabet explained that I would have to “figure out” how to use public transportation to get from his house to the Bahá’í National Center. I guess from the look on my face he gathered I wasn’t about to “figure out” anything about the Tanzanian public transportation system, so he explained. We drove the route that the bus would take, and he pointed out the bus stops. I’ll have to walk some distance from the house to get the bus stop, maybe something like half a mile and then another half a mile when I arrive at the bus stop closest to the BNC. It’s not too complicated, I don’t think, but I think I’ll have a little problem the first day because most of the stuff still looks the same to me. Unfortunately, the road nearest the BNC is very poor. Because of the rain today, I couldn’t even see a way to walk down the street without jumping in three or four puddles full of God only knows what. This going to work business will be quite trying for me, I think. Not only am I not used to walking, but when I do walk it’s on straight, well-paved roads and pathways.
On my right pinky I have 11 little rash looking things. Seven of them are in a clump near the base of my finger and the other four trail up the finger. I wonder if it’s a symptom of something? I’m probably so worried about getting a disease that my mind is actually playing physical tricks on me!
After visiting the BNC, we went grocery shopping. At first we went to the African version of a Western super market. It’s basically the same on the inside with the same types of things, except it’s African, so useless aesthetics go straight out the window. A can of extra virgin olive oil (and when I say “can,” think of a gas can) was $40! I don’t normally buy extra virgin olive oil, but that seemed quite extreme. I haven’t been able to figure out the economy here, yet. Some things are dirt cheap, but others are extraordinarily expensive. For instance, after we left the super market we went to one of the little shack things that constitute most of the stores around here and bought probably 10 bags full of fruits and vegetables for $10 after spending I don’t even want to know how much for the rest of the food at the super market. I guess now that I think about it the difference is that raw goods are relatively inexpensive but because they’re a developing country with (I imagine) little manufacturing, they don’t refine and process the goods, which means they must be imported. And everyone knows imported is just another word for outrageously expensive.
03 March 2006
It's Hot - Real Hot
Dear friends,
There is a serious drought in Tanzania and the government is rationing electricity. The home I'm staying in has a generator, but access to the Internet is not always reliable. In addition, thanks to software incompatibility, I'm unable to access the e-mail account that I set up for this. If you would like to e-mail me, please send it to bgtribble@comcast.net Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It is ungodly hot here. I will be working for the National Teaching Committee, but I'm concerned that the electricity situation will be constrictive. Nevertheless, it's good to finally be here and I know that I'll adjust in due time.
Warmest,
Bryan
02 March 2006
Heathrow & London
Dear friends,
I'm in Heathrow Airport in London right now, so I thought I'd throw up an update while I had access to the Internet. I had to pay for it, so I'm certainly going to use it. It's nice to know that Europeans can be capitalists, too. The more I hear the British speaking, I seem to be picking up an affected accent. What I've seen of London, I've mostly liked. Although the people are a little rude. But that's true of any urban center. And Little Rock, too.
The first thing I learned on my trip across the Pond was that if you plan on travelling intercontinentally then you'd better save the extra money to upgrade to business class. They had us packed into the back of that 747-400 like a can of sardines and despite the friendly reminders provided during our in-flight entertainment that it was -70 degrees outside at 33,000 feet, it was about +90 degrees in the plane. The staff was friendly though and I'd definitely fly British Airways again. Despite all the warnings about airline food (and British airline food on top of that) it was actually really good. Also, another good piece of news is that I've been taking my malaria pills for 3 days now and I haven't had any serious reactions. Hopefully I can keep that up. We shall see.
While in London, I decided to take advantage of my layover. So after waiting an hour in line at immigration, they stamped my passport and sent me on my way. My laptop bag is packed to the max and it must weigh like 30 pounds. Foolishly, I decided to take it with me instead of stick it in a locker in case I needed anything. Lugging 30 pounds around London is not fun! My shoulder has literally been rubbed raw by the strap. At any rate, the first thing I went to see was Shoghi Effendi's grave, which is on the other side of London. The walk would have been pleasant except for the bag and the fact that I had to cross one of those roundabout things. Londoners have no respect for pedestrians! I've been to most major cities in the U.S. and sure people will honk and curse you out but they at least stop and let you go. But not here. I almost got hit three different times - like seriously very close - while crossing in a designated crosswalk. The speed limit was supposed to be 35 mph, but those people were not going 35 mph.
When I got to the cemetery where the Guardian was buried, I found out it was a big circle with the entrance on the other side. Apparently they like circles in the United Kingdom. At first I thought I was in the wrong place because the graveyard was really dilapidated. The headstones were cracked, destroyed, fallen over, over grown with vines and trees. It was just really shocking that they could let it get in such a state. Yet at the entrance there's a sign explaining that they did it on purpose to preserve the "atmosphere" in the cemetery. I must admit that the British have an unusual idea about the atmosphere of a cemetery. What with all the ravens (and there were a lot), I half expected Edgar Allen Poe to jump out from behind a bush or something. But the Baha'i section of the cemetery was, of course, well-maintained and beautiful. So, I prayed at the Guardian's grave, took some pictures, and then began my hike back to the tube station (the subway station).
On the way back to the tube station, two interesting things happened. First, I had to cross the roundabout again to get something to drink from a petrol station. While paying for my drink, the woman ringing me up had convinced herself that I had put some petrol in my non-existent car and that I was trying to get out of paying for it. She finally seemed to get the drift that I was an American and even if I did have a car, I couldn't even drive it (not on the wrong side of the road! It's unnatural.). Second, I stopped by some little row houses to take a picture of this nice little British street when some woman yells out of her window at me, "Hey, get the bloody hell away from my lawn!". I was on the sidewalk! I'm beginning to think that maybe she realized I was a tourist, and she wanted to have a little fun with me.
From the tube station, I went to Trafalgar Square, some other place I can't remember, Picadilly Circus, and the Parliament Building (with Big Ben). Unfortunately, all I had time to do was pop out of the tube station, snap a picture, and then hop back on. By the time I was at the Parliament Building it was snowing! I didn't realize it was cold enough for it. I probably should have enjoyed it while I could since I don't know when I'll see snow again (or cold weather) but I needed to get back to the airport to drag myself through immigration.
So, I've been running around London with my thirty pound bag on about 2 hours of sleep. I couldn't get comfortable enough on the plane to really do anything more than rest. The second I got a little comfortable, the girl sitting next to me would shift and fling half her body up against me. I guess she was cold-blooded or used to sleeping next to someone or something. I think the flight to Dar will be a little different. On the tube ride back to the airport, I was falling asleep so I imagine I'll just sleep from exhaustion. Not to mention there can't be nearly as many people going to Dar as there were from NYC to London.
Unfortunately I don't have any photos uploaded just yet, but I'll post them when I do! I wanted to put up a little update while I could since I'm not sure when I'll get the chance when I get to Tanzania.
Warmest,
Bryan