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.