Day Thirty Nine

[[ Note: I was in Dodoma from Monday until Thursday last week, and the Internet is just now working since my return. Not much has happened since then, so here's my post about the trip to Dodoma. I think we're going on holiday tomorrow, so don't expect to hear from me until next week. ]]

So I’ve arrived back in Dar es Salaam from my trip to Dodoma to make arrangements for the National Convention. It was quite an interesting experience. While I’m happy to be back “home,” I could certainly do without the humidity.

I wasn’t really sure how I should get to the bus station in the morning. Mrs. Sabet told me I could go with the driver. Then she added that she had been hesitating to help me in ways like that because so many people are watching and paying attention to what I do. I have no idea what that means, but it only adds to the sense I get that there’s some kind of brewing controversy over what I’m doing here. It’s really annoying to be in the middle of something and have no clue what’s going on.

The bus I took was with one of the good companies, so it was safe, and we arrived quickly. They show a movie during the drive, so on the way there we watched “Delta Force” with Chuck Norris. Considering all the Chuck Norris jokes floating around, I thought it was hilarious. On the way back, we watched a Nigerian movie about jealous lovers. It looked like it was filmed with a camcorder, and I found myself hoping that they didn’t pay those actors too much for their “skills.” Nothing too eventful happened during the drive, except they were doing some road construction on part of the highway. I looked up ahead and saw that the road was blocked, so I thought to myself, “Hmmm, I wonder what we’re going to do now?” I should have known the answer. The driver speeds up, as if to ram the blockage, and then swerves to the left and sends the bus careening onto this little dirt road, which we follow for a good distance before getting back onto the highway.

I saw a real monkey in Morogoro! At first I thought it was a really ugly dog that was walking funny, but then I noticed that it was a monkey. Morogoro seems to be like the transit hub for heading into the interior of the country from Dar. It sits beneath the shadow of this massive mountain that always seems to be shrouded in clouds. The mountain is ragged and broken, much like the country itself, but disappears into the clouds, as if holding the promise for a better, but unseen, future. In fact, the whole trip was something like what Martha Root wrote about Brazil: “It was like riding 12 hours in a Paradise whose wealth is not yet discovered.”

When I arrived at the bus station, I messaged Mr. Kazigi to let him know I was in Dodoma and ready to be picked up. Per Africa time, I was retrieved 2 hours later! But to be fair, his phone was dead, and he was unable to charge it because the power to the city was out. Apparently someone stole something from the transformer or otherwise damaged the city’s electrical infrastructure. While I was waiting, the people at the bus station were very friendly and accommodating. Basically they were making sure I wasn’t lost, I think. Not too many mzungus show up in Dodoma.

Dodoma has very different geography than Dar. It’s more like what you expect the “real” Africa to be like. The climate is semi-arid, so, thankfully, there’s little humidity to deal with. Of course the sun is high, hot, and bright, but the wind blows a lot so it’s just pleasantly warm. There’s a giant outcropping of rocks outside the city that looks like it came straight out of The Lion King. I half expected that baboon to run out on the ledge of one of the rocks and thrust Simba into the air in time with Elton John sliding out of the bush with his piano and belting out “The Circle of Life.” Speaking of The Lion King, did you know they used real Swahili? “Hakuna matata” really means “no worries”! I thought they were just making it up. And “Simba” means “lion.” I’m sure there’s some more scattered throughout the movie.

Kazigi took me to my hotel, told me to get some rest, and he’d see me in the morning. The hotel was actually a vocational training center for people going into the hotel and catering industries. It was set up like a real hotel, but everyone working there was actually going to school. I was a little leery of being cared for by a bunch of trainees, but they all did an excellent job. Well, mostly everyone. The girls at the front desk had attitude problems, but you know how the young people are these days. =P Anyway, while I was eating dinner in the restaurant, Mr. Kazigi called and told me he had malaria! Apparently he’d had it for a few days, but just kept hoping that it would get better. He wouldn’t be able to help me the next day, but he’d try to the day after that. So, I was in Dodoma four days instead of three.

Because of the power situation, my dinner was by candlelight. Let me tell you, the romance is really drained out of it when you’re by yourself, there are a hundred mosquitoes feeding on you, and you can’t see well enough to know exactly what it is that you’re eating. But there was one good thing that came out of it. On the way back to my room, I happened to glance skyward. Wow! Since the power was out you could see every star in the sky. I’ve been in some remote places in the U.S. and Canada and been able to see a lot of stars, but nothing compares to what I saw in Dodoma. The sky here is just massive because there aren’t buildings or anything to block your view. I could see the Milky Way and, I think, the Andromeda Galaxy, which supposedly you can see from the Southern Hemisphere. That’s one experience that I will never forget.

In the morning, I took the coldest shower of my life. I think they froze the water to subzero temperatures and then pumped it through the shower head when you turned on the “hot” water. I had the free continental breakfast, which was scrambled eggs, two types of bread, fruit, tea, and mango juice. I couldn’t reach Mr. Kazigi and I wasn’t about to sit around all day long, so I sucked it up and decided to try to make the Convention venue arrangements by myself. I went to the College of Business Education and after some discussion with various people, I made my way to the office of Mr. Kiwaya, Senior Manpower Development and Administrative Officer. Quite the title.

I was told to wait 20-30 minutes until he returned from lunch, so I sat down fully expecting a 2-3 hour wait. But in 20 minutes he showed up and ushered me into his office. Like so many people here, he had on this funny looking suit that seemed like something a Socialist or a Communist would wear. Many people here wear them, so they look like a bunch of Kim Jung-il clones wandering around. Apparently it's a hold over from the Socialist period in Tanzania. So, we entered into discussions about the use of the facilities. I went to the kitchen and dining hall to make a separate arrangement with the guy in charge there, and then came back to Mr. Kiwaya. After making the arrangements, he kept me in the office for a good 2 hours talking to me about where I was from, my experiences here, what words I knew in Kiswahili, so on and so forth. He gave me suggestions for getting around town and things to see and sent me on my way. He remarked that I seemed to be getting around very well for only being here a month! And here I thought I was doing a terrible job.

When I went back to the hotel for lunch, I met a few members of Parliament. They’re in session in Dodoma, so they were all milling around town. I didn’t know they were in session, otherwise I would have taken some information from the External Affairs Office about the persecutions of Bahá’ís in Iran. Kazigi called to tell me he still wasn’t feeling well, so I told him that I’d already made the venue arrangements and he seemed surprised that I’d managed on my own. With the afternoon free, I decided first to take a walk and then it turned into more of a hike.

I went to where they’re building the new Parliament Building and then circled around and went stomping off into the “bush” to see if I couldn’t get eaten by a lion or something. During my walk and hike, I met a lot of very nice people. People in Dodoma are way friendlier than in Dar, and I think it will likely be this way in many other places I’ll visit across the country. These little boys stopped me to ask if my car had broken down, and then looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I didn’t have a car and I was walking. I've heard that some people actually think that mzungus don't have feet or legs because they never see them walking! A Catholic priest stopped on his bicycle and asked me the same thing, and then rode along beside me asking about the U.S., my life, what I was doing in Tanzania, and then told me about his life. I should mention that everyone in Dodoma has a bicycle. It’s like China! I’ve never seen so many bicycles in my life.

When I deviated into the bush, following paths and dry riverbeds that led to who knows where, I met a farmer on his way to the outlying village that he lived in. He spoke surprisingly good English, so he first asked why I was walking out here and was I lost, and then went through the typical line of questioning. It was getting dark, so he invited me back to the village to meet everyone else! Imagine! “There are only 5 families,” he said, which could have been like 50 people. I would have loved to go, but it was getting dark. I had no reason not to trust him, in fact everyone here is quite sincere and kind, but I didn’t want to have to walk back into the city at night. Not to mention the mosquitoes. When I go back to Dodoma, maybe I’ll try to find the village during the day.

I walked back to the hotel feeling very refreshed. The air had been clean and fragrant and there were beautiful flowers and friendly people all along the way. I was kicking myself that I didn’t bring any Bahá’í literature or anything to give to the people that I met, all of whom were at least interested in learning about the Faith on a basic level. The language barrier made it a little difficult for me to explain to them, so I think some Kiswahili pamphlets would do a better job until I can get to the point of being able to hold a conversation.

After dinner, I watched the local news. My Kiswahili is improving, because I could understand a little (and I mean a little) of what they were talking about. Sleep was frequently interrupted by the Filipino man next door loudly enjoying the company of the opposite sex, if you catch my drift, and the drunks in the bar having a good time, but when you’re paying $10/night for a decent room it’s kind of hard to complain too much.

In the morning, Kazigi was feeling well enough to meet me and go to the guesthouses to make arrangements for accommodations for the delegates. First, I went to the bus station to confirm my ticket for the next day and then back to the college to pick up a letter from Mr. Kiwaya. I was there for another hour talking to him. He again reiterated that he was “greatly impressed” with my ability to get around, and then busted out and asked me where my wife and children were! This question comes frequently and in many forms, but it still shocks me each time. I told him I was only 22 and I wasn’t married, yet, to which he made a face like I was getting old and I should take care of that. I told him I’d see about it when I got back to the U.S. What else am I supposed to say? I guess some people do feel like they need to get married at this age, and I have felt some pressure to actually look for a girl to date. I told Mrs. Sabet that my birthday was next Sunday, and she said, “You’ll be 23.” But she said “23” like I was approaching middle age or something! Come on! I’m still young! I’m hip! I’m with it!

When I met with Kazigi, he was furious about the price we’d been given by the college for renting their facilities. It seems it was quite a bit more than last year. The friends had been forewarned that the rates would be going up this year, but it actually went up more than they’d implied. The whole thing seemed to be more about the greed of Mr. Kiwaya’s boss and the go-between between him and the director of the college than them trying to rip me off. I called the NSA Secretary before I made any firm deal and ran the price by him, and he seemed okay with it. I suggested to Mr. Kazigi that next year they may want to look around for another place to have the Convention.

We went to see the guesthouses, which were nicer than I thought but still somewhat offensive to my Western sensibilities. Of course I didn’t come here expecting a Ritz Carlton or anything. In the future, I think I’ll probably try to stay in them instead of hotels because they’re substantially cheaper and that will ease the burden on the Fund. I also need to learn how to order food in Kiswahili so I can eat on the street instead of using restaurants, which slowly but surely becomes expensive. We managed to negotiate decent prices for the 41 delegates and 16 guests.

I sent Kazigi back home to get some rest and I spent the afternoon watching terrible Tanzanian and Indian music videos. Dinner was okay. Most of the food was just okay. Except there was this minestrone soup that they served that was terrible. The taste of it would make Italians cry out “Mama Mia!” The service was always excellent, except they hovered a little too close to the table and watched you while you were eating. It was unnerving! I’d ordered a beef filet, but it was taking forever for it to come out. The chef finally emerged and apologized, telling me that when Parliament was in session they had a lot of outside orders. So when the food came he gave me two extra filets as an apology. The waiter who had been serving me since I’d arrived on Monday finally worked up the nerve to ask me what part of Europe I was from. Everyone thinks I’m from Europe, or specifically from the U.K. It’s one of the first questions they ask. Some people even try to speak French to me, assuming I can understand because I must be from Europe! Personally, I don’t think I could be any more blatantly American but I guess there aren’t enough Americans wandering around Tanzania to make them think I’m anything other than European.

In the morning, I woke up at 5:00 AM even though my bus didn’t leave until 9:00. I was half not sleepy, and half excited to be going back “home.” After breakfast I walked the mile or so to the bus station, sweating like a pig since it was humid and about to rain. The bus ride back was equally uneventful. I sat next to this girl and her little baby. The smelled like fried chicken, I don’t know why, so I was hungry most of the way back. The baby kept staring at me (being a mzungu and all) and pulling the hair on my arms, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. One of the things I’ve yet to get used to is woman here breast feeding. There’s no warning and no attempt to cover themselves; they just break ‘em out and get down to business. Even though it’s “natural,” it shocks me every time.

So, Dodoma was described as a small and depressing city by the friends here in Dar. I went fully expecting to have a terrible time, but I actually enjoyed myself more than I have here in Dar. I think I prefer smaller places to big cities. It seems like no matter where you are in the world half the people in the cities look and act like they’ve had their souls sucked out of them or something. They’re universally rude, greedy, and pushy. Dodoma was a nice reprieve, and I’m starting to look forward to my marathon trip around the country in May.