Diwali

Yesterday, Marie (my colleague, housemate, and honorary little sister) and I traveled to the city centre, home of Dar’s skyscrapers.  Diwali, the festival of lights, has enticed us downtown with the promise of fireworks.  We were on an adventure to find “the courtyard beside the Indian temple”.  And although we have become quite talented at using creative landmarks to find our way through Dar’s unlabeled streets, there are still other challenges which can confront us on our journey.  For instance, this evening one of the streets we need to travel is unlit…pitch black unlit.  But seeing that the darkness only lasts 100 feet, we decide to brave the abyss.  A mistake.  About 50 feet into the blackness, my left foot disappears into the pavement.  Of course it has to be the unlit street which is missing a storm sewer cover. My entire left leg was swallowed by the sewer.  My right leg and both hands hit pavement.  "Pole!" Marie hands me a sock and wetnap to help clean the dirty water off…then we continue on our way.  But…not even a minute later, my right knee connects with a metal post sticking out of the sidewalk. If my knee wasn’t bleeding before, it definitely was now.  What are the chances?!  The whole situation was actually quite comical.   But at the time I required a moment to regain composure. However, it takes more than a death trap street to defeat me…so we make our way to the light and find a restaurant washroom where I can clean up more properly.  Shortly after, we hear the explosions starting and my excitement instantly comes back.  I see flashes of colour in the distance. And as we get closer I notice something strange about these fireworks.  Not all of them are going vertical.  Some are going horizontal! Others are hitting trees and ricocheting. Nope, there is no governing body running this event.  Chaos rules here.  Anybody and everybody is lighting off explosives.  Luckily there is a cement wall which protects a street of spectators from the launch area.  The wall is topped with kids trying to get the best view.  I see some youth struggling to pull their friends up, and we all become instant friends when I lift them to the top of the wall.  They motion for me to join them in their front row seats, and I oblige.  They speak to me in broken English, and I speak to them in broken Swahili.  I’m sitting next to a boy named Michael, and I tell him I have a brother with the same name.  He seems quite pleased with this and says something very quickly that I don’t understand.  Luckily I’m saved by a huge explosion above that rains light down over us.  Both our eyes widen as we make sounds of amazement.  Then we laugh, both grinning ear to ear.  Even though we can’t fully communicate with words, both of us understand the other’s excitement and we share the experience in awe together.

Chickens, Children, and The Call to Prayer

Chickens, children, and the call to prayer.  These are the reasons I can't sleep. Nope, it's not because of deep philosophical matters. Just the practical. The call to prayer is trumpeted from Islamic mosques five times a day.  There is a mosque just down the street from my apartment which has provided me with a piercing education that one of these calls happens at dawn. Every morning. Recently, however, I have stopped waking up to the call and continue sleeping.  My neighbours next door have children, children who wake up fairly early on Saturday mornings.  I believe their favourite past time is to yell.  Their favourite word is "Askari."  It is not unusual for them to yell this one word for a half hour straight.  Other times they mix it up and yell out a song. Thankfully, with the heat of summer approaching, the kids have been retreating to the indoors.  There is no happy news about the final noise offender - the chicken.  Two weeks ago this rooster wandered into my neighbourhood.  I guess he decided to call it home, because he never left.  Every morning at 4:30am he will make his way under my window, and let out a loud cock-a-doodle-doo. He is a defective rooster because he forgets to stop cock-a-doodle-dooing. He continues all day long.  So if anybody knows a discrete way to get rid of a rooster...

Bondwa

The wind whistles past my ears.  I close my eyes, lean into it, and let out a gleeful yell…with arms outstretched…on the edge of the world.  Bondwa peak, Uluguru mountains.  We have conquered this tiny point on the map.  After a 5 hour ascent, I enjoy my prize – a gorgeous view of Morogoro.  A group of local youth seem just as pleased with our accomplishment…also letting out yells and laughter. They yell, “Muzungo, muzungo!” and take turns getting pictures with us.  My group and I spend one hour in the heavens, but then we must make our way back down to camp before dark. We travel back through the rainforest, stopping a couple times to yell at monkeys and to admire the gigantic Eucalyptus trees.  As we reach our tents halfway down the mountain, the twinkling lights of Morgoro city begin pop.  A brisk wind passes through. I welcome this old familiar friend - it’s the first time I’ve felt cold in Tanzania. I take the moment in...and then grab a sweater. We eat dinner by a crackling fire, under the starlight…all the while Morogoro shimmers in the distance.  The sound of our chatter and laughter carries through the valleys and into the night. In the morning, I awake to find myself inside of a cloud. Disappointingly, they aren’t made of cotton.  After eating breakfast and packing up camp, we continue down the mountain through the inclined farmlands of the Luguru tribe. In this matriarchal society, the women own the land…and the men must marry rich. As we pass through, local children making motor noises speed past us, running barefoot on the edge of the cliff. Across the valley I see a family working the field together and hear the faint sound of their singing. I can’t help but notice how far I am from home, and how enchanting it is.  (click on the thumbnails to enlarge!)

Unrest

Here's what's happening in Dar these days:

http://www.assistnews.net/ansarticle.asp?URL=Stories/2012/s12100088.htm

http://allafrica.com/stories/201210180223.html?aa_source=useful-column

Chaza Mwamba

Chaza mwamba (oyster rock) is the name of a charming villa that some friends and I rented this weekend. We escaped Dar early Friday afternoon to embark on the 2 hour journey to South Beach…stopping in a remote village along the way to barter for vegetables, eggs, and other food. The weekend had an adventurous feeling to it.  Exciting with a dash of cozy…like a relaxed weekend retreat or the way summer camp used to feel. Being only just acquainted with the group, the trip was a great way to make some good friends.  Upon arrival, we enjoyed cooking and eating together in the fading sunlight. When the light was gone, we explored the estate by playing sardines…then sat together singing songs to the tune of a guitar…and ended the night swimming in the ocean under a brilliant sky of sparkling stars.  This was only the first six hours! I awoke Saturday and enjoyed my first exercise since arriving in Tanzania, a morning jog along the beach and a swim to cool off.  The rest of the day included a whole lot of relaxing on a secluded white sand beach. Buuut…you know me…I can’t help but explore a little. In the late afternoon, a few of us swam out to a reef exposed by low tide. It was actually quite an impressive rock and it's what inspired the name of our residence. We had hoped to find some interesting tide pools, instead we found ourselves in front row seats to a show of thunderous waves crashing over the rock’s edge. I tempted fate and chanced moving closer to enjoy the showering waves as they exploded on the reef. It was quite exhilarating for some time, but a particularly powerful wave eventually sent me airborne across the reef. In slow motion I watched my body turn horizontal and my left flip flop vanish. The world tumbled as I tried using arms and legs to protect my vitals from jagged edges.  Coming to halt some meters back, I notice a fair amount of blood but no protruding bones…phew! So I limped back to the villa with only my right flip flop. Charlie and Dustin cleaned my wounds with Konyagi, while I drank the rest in memory of my fallen comrade, the left flip flop.  The final damage is some rather deep cuts on my hands and feet…oh and on my right ass cheek (that one was less funny during today’s bumpy bjaji ride to work). But it wasn't enough to stop me from enjoying some more beach time before bed.  Sleep wasn’t easy that night, but both Konyagi and the gentle sound of waves do their part in sending me drifting off.  Awakening before dawn, I hobble a few hundred meters down the beach to snap some photos of the stunning sunrise. And then I caught a glimpse of blue in the sand.  Could it be?  No, it couldn't. It was! Coming closer I found my prodigal flip flop washed up on shore. I happily slipped it on and continued on my way.  And that is the beautiful reunion story between this man and his flip flop.  All in all, a great weekend with some great friends.  Oops, I forgot to talk about the body surfing.  We also did some crazy fun body surfing in the ocean!  But now I must sign off. Miss you all!  Enjoy some pictures...click on the thumbnail to enlarge!

An Introduction to Mortality

The African dust stirred up by my hop across the ocean is beginning to settle. What was once so unfamiliar is swiftly becoming the familiar. Yesterday I noticed that my office was finally air conditioned to a habitable temperature. Walking over to the thermostat, I was surprised to find that the office was still being cooled to 28°C as it always was…and then I realized that it was me, I was finally acclimatizing to the heat. I feel only vaguely aware of a metamorphosis I'm going through. It’s becoming more difficult to pinpoint the things which once seemed so foreign, now they are camouflaged in the normal activities of life. Only the major differences continue to be noticeable and the sore thumb is security - the continuous attention and caution demanded from me when I travel around the city. A once-peaceful Dar is currently being plagued with a wave of drive-by muggings. Masaki, where my office is located, is being targeted. I remember reading an online article, similar to the one above, a few weeks before leaving Canada.  It seemed so distant then.  On my first day of work last month, a lady was robbed right in front of my office.  Even some of my new expat friends have been the victims of violent robberies. It’s a strange feeling, that these stories are now so close. It’s strange that the danger is real. Strange to be afraid on the streets. Are those the innocent looks of curiosity…or the glares of a predator? Strange thoughts. I don’t like them. My fears often involve the unknown…so I try to shed some light on this monster.  I deconstruct and analyze. The first peculiar thing I realize is that other pertinent dangers rarely enter my thoughts. A serious traffic accident seems a likely candidate…or what about contracting Malaria…or some other disease. So why do only the muggings cloud my mental space? Somehow an intentional human attacker seems much more hideous to me than an accident or a parasite. Perhaps because of the value I place in being able to trust people? Perhaps I’m experiencing a tragic reaction to the theft of that comfort. I have, after all, been grieving the loss of the cozy feeling of safety. But grieving is different from fearing. Why the fear? Ironically, what has helped ease my anxiety is to recognize that muggings, like the other dangers, are largely outside of my control (of course there are some preventative measures that can and should be taken). Some people might think that this realization would make things worse. But there are countless events in life outside of my control. Apparently, I am a mere mortal. The only way forward in these circumstances is to accept that "if it’s gonna happen…then it’s gonna happen." It doesn't sound very insightful, but it illuminates the fact that worrying doesn't actually affect the outcome. And so I remind myself, "if it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen...worrying is counter productive." And I repeat the phrase until I accept my place in the world.  Until I accept that I actually don't have control. And it's refreshing to be relieved of the responsibility of worrying.

Flood Warnings

Check out the email which greeted me this morning:

Please be informed that  the Tanzania Meteorological Agency  has issued a warning of heavy rainfall with strong winds from Monday 8^th October 2012 until Thursday 11^th October 2012 within Dar es Salaam, Morogoro, and Pwani (Northern Coast) Isles of Unguja and Pemba and Southern areas (please see attachment). This is the same level of rainfall as experienced in December 2011;  where we had severe flooding.

Please avoid going near the Indian Ocean shores and beaches and take all precautions against flooding and strong winds. We shall continue to update you as we get more information.