The life of a mzungu in Dar es Salaam is a challenging one:
What moustache and what sun glasses to wear today?
To put the fan on 3 or 4 or 5?
So many kali cigarettes to be smoken.
This mzungu is not a classical one, I can assure that, this one even has one thing in common with Bi Kidudde.
What exactly did I miss here? I thought the whole point of being a revolutionista is that you don't read UN resolutions?
Lakini, while we are at it, I think we should take it further and suggest more official UN protocols. For instance:
Climate change now; wars should stop; poverty must end sasa hivi; albino killings gives Tanzania a bad image; traffic accidents kill people; gender based violence is not good for families; mob justice is a mess; traffic jams make blood pressure go up; low tide (especially at Selander Bridge) makes Dar es Salaam stink, and high tide just looks nicer; corruption make the wazungu sleepless; kito kidogo is too much; you cannot wear malapa if you don't lift your feet; bascially we must decrease uswahili behaviour (a friend of mine is already working on that protocol); we must tell wazungu males, who live in the illusion that they work for change in Africa, to get real; that fax machines belong in the 80ties; and that education should be free (really free)....
Now I'm all exhausted.
I'm almost giving up on the Tanzanian newspapers!
No respect of copyright. No idea of context:
Just found myself on page 7 in the Guardian.
The photo caption says: 'Tanzanians in the diaspora. Most of them are academic, economic and social refugees'.
Hata mimi...??!!
The photo is from Banana, an area close to the airport in Dar es Salaam. The photo portrays Adrian Nzamba and me on an assignment for Tanzanian Youth Coalition in June 2009. I'm an expat, Adrian a Tanzanian, who at the moment is attending training in Copenhagen.
I must admit the caption still makes me laugh: Does it really look as if we are Tanzanians in the diaspora?
The photo is in low resolution and obviously taken from a previous blog post here, where I clearly state that the photo is by James Seigel.
This is stealing. You cannot copy a photo from the Internet, print it in the paper without the photographer's accept. Even if you had the accept, it would be decent to acknowledge the photographer.
So, what do you do when that happens?
You ring the editor of the Guardian (who maybe calls you back).
Look, look. Even me I'm dancing like an African.
Time stood still in Tanga; A tourist poster from (I assume) the 1970ties is hanging in a window of a tourist tour service in downtown Tanga.
Our stomach hurt with laughter. The rest of the day we asked ourselves:
But did you see the guy with the skirt?
Were LSD really so easily available in Tanga in the 1970ties?
Were they tourists or development workers?
Is this what happens when you take Ujamaa too seriously?
Is it too much pamoja?
Is it time to go home when you end up on a beach dancing in a skirt?
Where is that guy now (and does he know that he is hanging in a window in Tanga?)
Another lazy afternoon in Tanga. When Tanzania is good, it is exceptionally good.
I have taken the first photo at this year's Sauti za Busara in Stone Town, Zanzibar. a
The second is from Mafia Dance Festival announcing dates for a coming festival in August.
Seems like the wazungu go to Mafia, and that people wear clothes on Sauti za Busara.
Kweli...(?)!
So much more reason to go to Sauti za Busara 11-16 February 2010.
‘Juwala’ means 'waste plastic' in Kiswahili. The juwala ball went public in Europe last month when Ban Ki Moon held it up during his keynote address at the opening of the International Olympic Committee (IOC) Congress in Copenhagen.
I believe the idea was to remind the Olympic Committee to connect sports with development. And the juwala ball truly is representative for how most football matches are played on the continent.
Streetfootballworld has produced a give-away postcard with easy-to-follow instructions (below).
Photo above from Dar es Salaam.
For the second time in a row Swahili Fashion Week (SFW) will take place in Dar es Salaam to give the local fashion is an exciting three days full of fashion fanfare; and galore.
Swahili Fashion week which brings forth an eclectic mix of Swahili culture ensconced with chic style also brings together talented designers from across the Swahili speaking countries and beyond, under one roof to showcase their unique and truly African creations which include clothes, shoes, jewellery, and handbags.
November 4 to 6 at Karimjee Hall in Dar Es Salaam.
More here.
* The bag is made by Doreen Mashika.
This one is from Stone Town on Unguja.
The grafitti puzzles me a bit.
Is it rooted in Islam, as in religious love?
Is it the rasta way of dedicating their appreciation of Bob Marley?
Or is it a Zanzibari off the track making a statement against the legal polygamy allowing men to marry more than one woman? (I have seen a few men walking around the Swahili Coast who would make me produce statements like this all over the place if I had to be their first wife or nyumba ndogo.)
This photo was taken last night from a friend's roof top in Namanga on Kiweri Avenue in Dar Es Salaam.
Driving down Kimweri Avenue, you go through one of the most busy places in town.
Always alive.
Always colourful.
There is chips mayai being prepared. Cold Kilis in the partly Tanesco/ partly generator run fridges in the backs of the small dukas. Loud gospel coming from the church blending in with the prayer calls from the minarets. Women in kangas, and women in tight jersey and high heels. Giggling school girls. Daladalas amplifying your fantasy of African chaos.
There are palm trees at the very end, and if you drive far enough and turn a few corners, you'll make it to Masaki and the Dar Es Salaam Yacht Club, which basically represents the other end of the world if you live in a little brick house under a mabati roof with many other people, have to collect water in a plastic bucket and do your toilette on a pit latrine.
Some call it Kimweri Avenue, others call it Namanga Road.
I call it Kimweri Avenue, and I believe it is named after Kimweri ya Nyumbai, also called Simba Mwene (Lion King) who ruled between early 1800’s to the 1860’s the Kilindi Kingdom which extended from the Pare mountains, down to the coast at Tanga and Pangani, and out onto the plains in the south and east.
Not sure if that Kimweri would match today’s Kimweri Avenue?
Back then, a million years ago, I studied embrodery for four months in Copenhagen, and later after four years in Teachers' Training College I graduated as a teacher of Arts (and English). I know my way round stiching, and back then I thought I was going seriously into art & craft. Not the development business.
The handmade Barghashia hat on sale in Kisutu costs 25,000 TSH. Today, I got it down to 20, and am now, in fact, left with a bad taste in my mouth. I always bargain as a principle. I always ask for second price. 25,000 is a lot of money in this place.
However, in some cases it is not okay to bargain. That is when things are handmade and of good quality. I truly think this should be honoured, in particularly in a place which is flushed with cheap Chinese crap and where time spend on labour isn't valued.
Hence, apologies to the man in the photo, the advice is put forward.
I can't blame the Tanzanians for occasionally having trouble sussing out the wazungu.
The most frequently offered CDs in the streets of Bongo these days are (- and please sit down);
Bongo is amazing. It gives me an excellent excuse to listen to music I would be condemned for in Denmark.
Living abroad opens your mind in ways I never imagined.
It's Sunday in the middle of August. Mikindani at sunset.
Getting people out of bed. Smoking the first cigarette. Drinking coffee. Getting the Hardbody packed. More coffee (knowing it will mean an early pee break for the four women). Stuffing four passengers in and all their stuff on the load. Getting going. 10 hours ahead of us.
The 60 kilometres of red road appear to be less bad on the way out. Possibly because we invent this game where you have to guess someone who played a (funny, remarkable) role on this road trip. We play loud music, sing and make many stops to pee, smoke cigarettes and joke about whatever can make the trip appear shorter.
I took the above photo of Justine, and I told her she looked like a lost European rock star on a mission in Africa; 'Eh, tell me, where are those starving children, I'm gonna dedicate my next album to?'
Somewhere around 65 kilometres before Dar Es Salaam I almost lost my energy, partly my temper. The petrol station reported no more diesel. And my passengers began buying bananas.
It is the worst thing I know. Bananas, especially inside a car.
So, now I am this person with a remarkably, funny limit: Bananas.
Guess, that's what happens on road trips.
If you drive far enough, you can't hide.
Kariakoo. One day the new Yeoville, Melville. Istedgade. Christianshavn. Nørre Bronx. Temple Bar. Soho.
Or maybe not.
It is hard to predict fashion trends in Dar Es Salaam.
Dried , chopped and neatly arranged kingfish on the market in Kariakoo.
I challenge you who really know Tanzania; where is this photo taken?
Help: The woman is standing under a roof.
My Swiss friend repeats; I want supu, and walks off in search of someone cooking chicken soup. In general she talks a lot about supu itself and the supu as a breakfast concept.
It’s 10 am at the Kivukoni Seafront in Dar Es Salaam on Saturday morning, and the boat is leaving for Zanzibar in half an hour (actually it didn’t leave until much later, but that’s another story).
Plenty of time for supu ya kuku, which all over
Often on the go, served from small road side food stalls or in the market. Except, to a lot of the Tanzanians eating supu ya kuku at 10 am isn't really a breakfast meal, as they are likely have been up long before the sun.
Receipt here.
When I meet Tanzanians bara ya Afrika they say 'those people there at the coast, all they think about is the ngoma - all they want to spend their time doing, is to dance'.
I'm not passing on that stereotype, and the Dar Es Salaam Visa2Dance festival does take you beyond the ngoma, though I'm sure the ngoma will sneak in one way or the other.
In fact, it is a rather unusual event, and a lot of hard work has been put in the fundraising and getting the international dance performers to Dar Es Salaam, now awaits the coordination. Though Tanzania isn't generally associated with modern dance festivals, I believe that creative spaces like this is a very important ingridient in development and in the making of a modern cultural identity.
Read more at www.Visa2Dance.com.
Please, link and forward.
You thought the centre of this nation was the Bunge in Dodoma. At least that was the intention when the Mwalimu tried to reorganise this nation which had already had the Germans messing round with their indecisive ideas of German East African capitals.
Lakini, the heart beats at its fastest in Kariakoo, the central part of Dar Es Salaam.
Here all goes in, and eventually out.
Swahili, Pemba and Sikukuu Streets flow like main arteries, circulating blood to and from the heart which takes the material shape of a concrete piece of East European architectural style: The Kariakoo Market.
The streets are overflowing with people of all varieties. Few of my kind, the wazungu, but otherwise here you probably find the greatest tribal vairety in one spot.
Along with all that your heart desires in terms of East Africa anno 2009.
In fact, to me this is better than IKEA. Here are things I did not even know existed; which cannot be catalogued or googled; or which will never find their way into a website from where you can order it on-line from your home.
You have to go there. And if you can't go bara ya Afrika, go to Kariakoo.
Inhale the smell of freshly cracked coconuts, spices and oranges; body odour mixed with diesel, decaying rubbish and greasy oil fumes from someone's half eaten chips mayai. Mind your steps; watch the traffic and the people dragging heavy-loaded carts; You're nothing but in the way. Step aside; take in the colours of fresh green pepper landed from Morogoro; or have a cup of coffee from the street instant coffee maker.
The Tanzanians say 'Kariakoo' when you ask them:
Kariakoo is the answer to many questions.
Possibly also the root of many troubles. In fact, Kariakoo is the material the best excuses are made of: 'Sorry, I'm late - I just came from Kariakoo.' Or 'Oh, yes, my sidemirrors were stolen in Kariakoo.'
Kariakoo was back in history a small village which the slave traders raided; then the German carrier corps resided in the area, and gave name to the place via a corrupted translation of 'Carrier Corps'. Carrier = Karia, and Corps = koo.
Ryszard Kapuściński wrote about his experiences in Kariakoo in his book Ebony. And when Aidan Hartley was a stringer in the 90ties in Dar Es Salaam, I'm sure Kariakoo played a part, too. To me, for sure, the heart of Dar Es Salaam is an endless source of inspiration.
Source: Wikipedia
I'm not as cool as I try to come on.
While taking this photo yesterday somewhere between Bwejuu and the airport on Zanzibar, you'd hear me talking very fast and in C A P I T A L letters: I don't want this fishy stuff on my clothes or my luggage!
Our driver, Isidori was fasting, but it didn't prevent him from shopping food on his way home. We stopped at a road side tree, whereunder, I thought, the women were selling nuts or vegetables. No, they were selling mussels of all sorts!
A tray went in through my side screen, faster than I could prevent it. Dripping off mussel juice and salt water, and soon the whole cabin smelled dense and raw like the Indian Ocean.
While the driver, his cousin and the four children and my Italian companion on the backseat, picked the best.
'Are you gonna prepare them with coconut?', I joked, referring to our meal the night before.
Isidori smiled back confirmingly.
Saturday was the first day of the Ramadhan, the ninth month in the Islamic calendar where the Muslims fast, initially in order to concentrate on reaching a higher degree of patience, modesty and spirituality. Amongst others. In Dar Es Salaam, a Muslim friend of mine is hoping that the Ramadhan might help him combat his smoking habit.
In Stone Town during this period of time a lot of restaurants close at day time, and you are advised not to eat or drink in the street when others are going through the hardship of fasting. At 18.32 yesterday, the fast was broken, and eating was allowed. I know for certain, as yesterday evening I was sitting in the car of Isidori with his cousin brother, Hamisi, and our common Italian friend, Simona. We were stopping to buy passion juice in a little duka at the outskirts of Stone Town on the way to Isidori’s home where dinner awaited us, when we heard the call for the fourth prayer of the day, Maghrib.
Obviously, I feel lucky to be invited inside, to someone’s home. Possibly also due to the fact that I’m Danish. I come from this country in Scandinavia which previously and rather randomly has offended Islam, its culture and its people on several occasions. Most infamously, probably, through the publication of the cartoons, however, less known are all the indirect ways the Danish politicians try to distance Danes as a nation from other cultures and religions which, according to our democratically elected politicians, appear strange.
I’m not proud of it. In fact, it makes me both angry and ashamed every time I have to read in a Danish newspaper that another Danish politician tries to define what is strange and ‘non-Danish’. Last week the Conservative People’s Party suggested banning women wearing the bhurka, (un)aware that possibly only 50-150 women wear the bhurka in Denmark (!)
I do understand the dynamics which occur in your head, when you find yourself in a culture which works completely differently than the one you grew up with, and that this can evoke a certain degree of confusion and fear. But I can’t watch silently when politicians use this fear and confusion to create unnecessary stir, when the politicians move people’s attention from the real problems, or when no proper research is being done.
Last night back in Stone Town on the island of Unguja we celebrated the first meal of the Ramadhan with a Zanzibari family. Not a traditional family, but food wise we certainly went along the classical Zanzibar dishes: We had mhugo wa nasi (cassava with coconut); mwali wa nasi (rice with coconut); pweza wa nasi (octopus with coconut), jodari (tuna) and kaimati (small, sweet and spiced donuts).
And of course, the passion jusi. ‘No beers’, our host smiled and apologised rethorically.
After all, this is the Ramadhan, the holy month, and in spite we deal with young Muslims who declare themselves 'happy muslims', who don't go to the mosque to pray five times, and who refer to their Ramadhan practice with a 'nusu nusu' (half half), they do fast during day time. In my opinion and in regard of the few young Muslims I know, I reckon that trying to do your best to follow the concept of the Ramadhan is in fact not such a bad idea. Researching for this blog post, I read that there is an increasing group on non-Muslims practising fasting, too, during the Ramadhan, pursuing the same aim.
But to be honest, I have no clear, conceptual idea of a good way to get familiar with a new culture which on many levels is far off your own. I was raised in a home where at least one adult throughout life has been voting for the Conservative People's Party and the other for the Liberals ('Venstre' in Danish), but I was also taught to behave politely towards strangers, say 'yes' and 'thank you very much' when offered something, and to greet people with respect. I know for sure that the adults raising me with these values had no idea - what so ever - that I'd be practising these in Zanzibar.
However, I know that there is a lot to learn by observing how others go about it. The majority of wazungu hang out in the regular tourist places, and so would I have done last night, if not for my Italian companion, Simona, who is so much better than me about this. Curiousity is another good thing - apropos trying to figuring out the differences of another culture - my sympathy goes to this guy. Curiousity is probably my main strenght in this perspective.
Our evening ended at the Forodhani Gardens (photo above), which has been renovated with the support from the Aga Khan Foundation, and has finally given Stone Town back its vibe. Zanzibarians were munching food, sugar cane juice and smoking cigarettes. According to the rules of the Ramadhan you must get up before dawn to eat Sahur, the pre-dawn meal, and then perform the fajr prayer. There is no eating or drinking before the call for prayer starts until the fourth prayer of the day, Maghrib. You may continue to eat and drink after the sun has set until the next morning's fajr prayer call.
Basically, it is about getting a routine going and planning. For some people, I guess, it turns day and night around, and probably lowers work efforts in some offices. The Ramadhan is ending at September 19th, and will be marked with an important celebration; Eid Ul-Fitr.
Now, my question is; Who's gonna invite me for this?
Read more about the Ramadhan here, which has also been used as the source for the Ramadhan facts in this blog post.
You should have been here.
It's cheap, wild, tribal and hot.
Tomorrow I'm driving from Dar Es Salaam to Mikindani, the second-last town before the Mozambiquan border if you go south along the coast.
A trip which lasted 10,5 hours, the last time I went there in March 2008, including stops - and where the GPS noted an average speed of 62 km/hour and a top speed of 123 kph.
Last time I also noted that the lush, green, coconut palm tree forests outside Dar es Salaam; when the 60 kilometres of dirt road ended around Songema; and the spot just before Lindi Town where you can finally see the turquoise Indian Ocean as highlights.
See map here.
I also noted that bringing coffee and a decent lunch is a really good idea. It is a bloody long trip. Last time I also fell in love with the idea of owning a GPS, and went as far as googling the thing. But still think it's too much money*.
This time I'm travelling with a diverse group consisting of 8 people, who're going to be stuffed into 3 cars. We're staying in The 10 Degrees South Lodge in Mikindani, which will be our base for attending the MaKuYa festival in Mtwara, 20 minutes further down the road.
Safari njema to us. I think it is going to be quite an expedition, partly into the unknown.
Just the way it should be when you can't get enough Africa.
*Should have thought of getting a GPS sponsor and write about the places I'd take it! Is it too late?
' I pass this sign weekly, and I can't help reading it in all the wrong ways:
Beware, the Chagga bite!
or
'Bites made of Chagga' (as in cannibalism.)
The Chaga (also called Wachaga, Chagga, Jagga, Dschagga, Waschagga, or Wachagga) are Bantu speaking indigenous African ethnicity and the third largest ethnic group in Tanzania. They live on the southern and eastern slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru, as well as in the Moshi area. Their relative wealth comes from not only the favorable climate of the area, but also from successful agricultural methods which include extensive irrigation systems and continuous fertilization practised for thousands of years. They were one of the first tribes in the area to convert to Christianity. This may have given them an economic advantage over other ethnic groups, as they had better access to education and health care as Christians.
Photo from Kijitonyama, Old Bagamoyo Road.
Source, where you can find more information about the Chagga tribe: Wikipedia.
I think I was way more alive yesterday than today. But I'm alive. Life's a party, and last night I gave up the high-heeled and walked barefeet. This Sunday was spent at Kipepeo Beach with good friends.
I made a New Year's Resolution to get more out of life on a personal level. I wanted to stress less in terms of my work, meaning that I didn't want to work in weekends or evenings (unless exceptional); and I didn't want work related problems, to which potential solutions I had no power of executing anyway, take up valuable space on my mental hard disc. I also wanted to spend time pursueing some creative, artistic ideas of my own. I wanted to take all travel opportunities being me granted, preferably the routes less taken. I wanted to spend more time with cool people, not waste it on whining expats who think that the traffic jam will go away if they mention it every day.
Sort of a karma thing, I believe. Do good stuff, and it multiplies back to you. The more you generate, the more you get. The more you talk about the traffic jam, the longer it takes.
Here, more than mid-way through the year, it seems to work. I have slowly started the process of the making of the coffee table photography book, something which both makes me excited and a little nervous. On Thursday I'm off to Mtwara, and I'm also planning to to go Nairobi for the Kelele Blogging Conference in October/November. Later one of my favorite Danish friends will move into my house for a couple of months while preparing a research project.
The past week I read an article in a women's magazine about life quality, and one question was to what capacity you live your life. I realised I feel like I'm living my life close to 100%. Of course, things are not perfect, probably never will be, and there is still space for improvements, things to be done, plans to be made and people to be met. Not to forget identifying my next job, pushing the balance on my bank account, and making it to the fittness centre more than once a month.
I'm in Africa and roads here are not smooth for long. On the other hand, that's the unpredicability I like.
The Mtwara region of Tanzania contains a rich and unique tradition of performing arts among the Makonde, Makua and Yao tribes. Because of Mtwara’s isolation many traditional dances have not yet been lost to modern trends, until now.
With development, radios and televisions are making their way into rural Mtwara, and many people are being drawn into current modern trends of music and fashion, abandoning their interest in traditional dance and music.
But there are some who still treasure it and wish to perform, and many village elders see the value of preserving it and wish to serve as advisors to young performers.
Check last years festival out here, from where the above text derives.
I'm off next Thursday to Mikindani and Mtwara - the road less travelled.
I'm shaped by a culture which puts an enormous pride into its design of i.e. furniture.
Danes pay a lot to decorate their homes with furniture and assecories carefully selected. Design is part of Danish culture and the identity of our home.
Personally, one side of me loves Danish design, and I do appreciate that it is characterised by Nordic lightness and pure, natural fabrics of good quality.
But in most cases I can't afford it, or I simply find it too 'clean' or 'thought about'. Within my collection of furniture and items, which at present are stored at my brother's farm in Denmark - and supposedly are to re-make my home in Denmark - I do expect to relocate a few items which can be tagged 'classic Danish design'. But they are either inherited or bought second-hand, and besides, after four years in boxes I don't even remember what I have, and I don't really care that much.
Living here - on a way more minimalistic level - makes me feel conveniently free of the demand to come on as someone who has got her Danish design in place.
The Tanzanian street design is based on what you have, is what you got. And to make that function. Functionality appears to be key. A classical Tanzanian design is the 'watchman's chair'. Any compound or shop has a watchman who needs a chair. It often appears that if it wears out, he'll have to fix it himself. And he does.
Resulting in the fact that watchmen's chairs are highly, personalised items of contemporary Tanzanian design.
This one on the photo is from Kisutu in central Dar Es Salaam, and is in fact constructed by two different chairs, living fully up to the principle of making what you've got, function.
I was at a party some weeks ago at a roof top terrace in Namanga, in Dar Es Salaam, where people were drinking Konyagi.
A witty guy explained that when to serve a bottle of Konyagi correctly, it has to lie down.
'Why?,' the ignorant mzungu asked in anticipation as were the guy about to reveal a national secret.
'Because the man on the label will get tired if standing up all night.'
I hope they have Konyagi in stuck for the Bongo Flava party in Copenhagen (below), or it just isn't right.
No retreat
No surrender
No true love
No job
No house
No money
No girlfriend
No car
A grafitti poem on a wall in Bagamoyo.
I love it.
Don't we all know the feeling when we hit bottom:
No girlfriend.
No car.
I take it that the inspiration must have come out of trying to make a living from being an artist - and from the Civic United Front slogans...
I'm obsessed with a certain motive, which for the past 10 years has repeated itself over and over again. From my time in the Balkans, Uganda and now in Tanzania.
A circular object, presenting something full of colour and texture. Preferably on a table, which adds depths to the motive.
I went to Bagamoyo today, and didn't realise till I saw my photostream that this motive must be a favorite.
These three motives are truly Swahili:
Cashew nuts.
Fried cassava.
A personal, favorite mantra is to hate the Dar Es Salaam Yacht Club (but not enough to stay away if invited). Basically I'm against the idea that a certain group of people can decide who else they'll allow access to its premises through procedures which are too conservative for my liking.
Besides, if you end up finally becoming a fully granted member, you have to spend every f***ing single night in the rest of your Dar Es Salaam residency life there among all the other sun-dried wazungu in order to benefit from your membership fee.
I could go on & on about this phenomenon, but it wasn't the intentional plan for this post.
I am, however, wondering why many wazungu in Dar Es Salaam never go anywhere else, but in circles on Msasani, the most expensive area in Dar Es Salaam, also called the Peninsula. Nice area, but also such a diluted version of what Dar Es Salaam really is.
At least that's how I look upon it. Or maybe I am rendering a projection, as I don't get invited enough to the Yacht Club?
Which might be the reason I have to go other places.
Today I went to Kisutu again with some friends, who were in town looking for dresses to wear for a wedding. Somewhere around Zanaki Street and Jamhuri Street we found Purnima Restaurant, which I was told is a must. Smiling faces behind the counters, opening up and talking as soon the camera got out. A place like this has operated for decades in the same fashion.
History. And culture right at your hands.
Fascinating.
Yesterday I came by this Tinga Tinga painting in Oysterbay in Dar Es Salaam.
A young boy is holding up a mirror (?), reflecting Obama in front of the Kilimanjaro.
But he wasn't here.
Was he...?
NB. The painting isn't finished, and is lacking some colouring.
If the Tanzanians love you for real, the image of your face wil eventually be found on a kanga. In Uhuru Street in Kisutu the MJ kanga was found in bulk yesterday.
The kanga sellers reported a bit differently on the progress of the sale. That it sells quuickly, or that it takes some time before people will know of it.
With the kangas it works like this: You see someone else wear a specific kanga, you want it, and you start asking at your local kanga shop - or you go to the place nearest to the source: Uhuru Street in Kisutu.
I get that question quite often. I usually know what to suggest (though a lot of people forget to explain what they expect in terms of price, interests and quality).
Most guide books tell you to skip Dar Es Salaam and go straight to your next destination. In fact, the majority of visitors to Dar Es Salaam tend to follow that advice, but if you appear to come through Dar with time to kill or if you as an expat have visitors to entertain, – or simply as me – actually like Dar Es Salaam for what it is, give it a try.
Amongst my favorites are (click):
A walk from Mission Street via Mosque Street - maybe all the way down to Kariakoo.
Music, art performance or drinks at Dar Alive/Malaika House or the next door Cine Club.
A visit to the National Museum and a walk round the Botanical Garden
But there is so much more. I am about to write an article, encouraging people to check out Dar Es Salaam, in stead of rushing through.
If you have any favorites, you'd like to share, please do let me know.
I know I write a lot about the weather in Africa.
I am such a cliche, I want it to be African sky blue and copper sun sinking low all the time, which also makes up a main reason for why I like to live in Dar Es Salaam. Lakini, looking out my window from the office in Upanga the weather resembles an average Danish summer: Gray, unpredictable and cold.
Yesterday the weather was - fortunately - as it should be on a Saba Saba - crossing with the Magogoni Ferry from Kigamboni.
Acclimatise means getting used to a certain climate. The sign board is from Kilimanjaro Airport, and I simply don't understand it:
Arusha is already cold, so, why would someone have a cold beer to cool down?
Weather changes significantly in June and July in Dar Es Salaam, which is usually tropically hot and humid. It gets colder, windier, more cloudy and less humid. The temperature drops from 32 to 25-27 degrees.
I never use air-condition, but during the past months I have switched off the fan. I sleep with two duvet covers, where I'd sleep with a kikoy the rest of the year.
I don't like it. I prefer it as tropically, steamy, hot humid as it gets.
A final note on the beer; It is not unusual that the waiter in your local bar asks if you like your beer warm or cold. It is usually a question which makes the majority of wazungu frown.
But you don't drink cold beer, if you are freezing for real, and I think a lot of Tanzanians are at the moment.
And this this is our winther.
Now is the week of the Danish Roskilde Festival, held every year in the first month of July. I don't do Roskilde anymore - it seems - but I'll use the opportunity to pass on a message from East Africa's friendliest music festival, Sauti za Busara:
After six successful festivals in Zanzibar, Busara Promotions urgently needs to acquire its own quality sound, lighting and stage equipment. If you have contacts for organisations that may be able to supply us with new/used equipment either by donation or at a reasonable price, do let us know. A full list of requirements can be supplied on request.
Such technical equipment is in extremely short supply in Tanzania and is a resource that can be used throughout the year to generate employment and enhance the social and cultural lives of the region, as well as to build financial sustainability for the festival.
Read more here. Busara also calls for artists and sponsors.
And finally, do read my previous blog posts from Sauti za Busara 2008 and 2009 here.
An example from Kenya on how one specific problem leads to another: climate change→draught→famine→prostitution→HIV→
EA has to wait longer for Seacom, Teams cables
The thing we are all waiting for: A decent Internet (price and speed wise) in Tanzania. However, the process is delayed, but who would have guessed that the reason for the delay is to do with the Somali pirates in the Indian Ocean (!!)
“They’re (the cable-laying ships) very slow when they’re laying the cables and they really can’t get away,” the article explains.
Pornography, drugs boom as our cities fill up with lonely people
When I lived in Uganda 'the personals' in the Ugandan newspapers were always splendid entertainment as they usually put a very explicit life on display. “Newly arrived Indian girls” and “European ladies,” is only one example.
Enjoy.
I have been working Friday, Saturday and Sunday with a very talented photographer. James Seigel is normally based in Cape Town, doing phootage of a quality which an NGO of our calibre seldom can pay for.
However, he offered MS Tanzania/ ActionAid Denmark and our partner organisation, Tanzanian Youth Coalition (TYC), his competences in return for basic commodities and a set-up.
So, for the past three days I, the photographer and Adrian and Juma from TYC have been cruising the suburbs of Dar es Salaam talking to people from Mabibo, Makumbusho, Kijitnyama, Sinza, Tegeta (and beyond), Magomeni, Mansese, Ubongo, Ally Maua, Kekuwanga and Bombalauma.
It is amazing how deep you can enter via local Tanzanians and a purpose - suddenly you are in the lounge of a complete stranger's house, who tells you her/his story, while another one of us is battling with a never ending supply of children who want to be digitalised wearing broad smiles.
For the past three days I have seen an uncountable amount of men peeling potatoes - and others frying, selling and eating them.
I have been invited, repeatedly, to church by a reverend who played his gospel out that loud that I'd gone mental if I lived in that place. Many mosques have called for prayers (and I am repeating my regular explanation 'that I don't need a house to practice my faith', when asked what my religion is).
Coulourful laundry everywhere.
Homemade antennas reaching for the blue sky.
Tropical heat under iron sheet roofs, while trying to put my scarce Kiswahili at some good use.
Zig-zagging over channels of sewage and garbage.
I have been in awe of the colours of dusty walls in low sun.
The smell of warm charcoal and humid limestone.
I have seen women in kangas much nicer than the ones I have ever bought ('Mombassa' they said, when I asked 'wapi?').
In fact, I suggested TYC that we'd start planning guided tours to suburbs with curious names, inspired by this.
The idea was to speak to youth who had received training in entrepreneurship skills at TYC, and to produce some small portraits of youth who have been capable of making a change in their own lives. The interviews were amazing and we were in fact all surprised, as it turned out that all six we spoke to had made impressive changes, and expressed it with pride.
One of the women gave the advice: ' Don’t sit back. Don’t wait for being provided for.'
And finally, I have to say that I myself learnt a few things in terms of photography - the photos are amazing, and I can't wait to put it all together.
Photo by James Seigel.
Yep, it is Osama on the right.
It doesn't take more; 3 plastic chairs, a table, a makuti roof - and the Indian Ocean.
I arrived with a friend at ten this morning to Kipepeo Camp at the Southern Beaches in Dar es Salaam, and later the makuti hut was filled with various people who make this Sunday activity perfect.
The beach is among the best in Tanzania, much much better than the northern beaches, only problem here is getting there, as you have to cross the harbour with a ferry. A very much disputed ferry, which on occasion tends to run based on principles not obvious to me. A new rule has now been introduced: Passengers are not allowed to sit in the car while driving on board the ferry!
However, as usual, rules can be bended - a white landcruiser with 4 important-looking wazee was excempted, and went first in the line.
On the way back we rounded 56 Bhog in central Dar es Salaam for a South Indian meal. Fantastic. Fantastic to still be able to discover new stuff (20 minutes later my stomach was churning, though, but I'd do it again).
I don't think I'd ever get tired of the Swahili Coast concept. And I do know it is important not just to work your ass off 5 days a week, and do it in the weekends, too. Then I might as well be in Copenhagen. For me there has to be space for taking in what actually makes me want to get up in the morning in the long run.
The notice is from my favorite place in Dar es Saalam in terms of Indian food - for instance my favorite kachori with coconut relish and pili pili - the Badminton Institute.
If you have ever seen someone eating paan, you might understand the background for the Badminton Institute's warning.
The Golden Tulip has probably got the best swimmingpool in Dar es Salaam. An infinity swimming pool with a magnificent view of Dar es Salaam and the bay.
However, while someone has made an interesting attempt to give the hotel an Arabic/ Swahili design, it appears as if it was given up to a Yugoslav interior designer during the socialist era, who must have wrapped the hotel and staff up in a time pocket, and sold it to an Indian tycoon (who also likes everything in brown colours).
I go there for the swimmingpool. And expect nothing more. But most tourists do, and the friends I have sent off there (who i.e. also wanted lunch) where not to too overtly excited.
Places like the Golden Tulip are mysteries to me.
The hotel has such great potential, but it isn't used.
One of the best souvenirs to bring back home from the Swahili Coast is a kanga. Or a couple. You will find the best selections of kangas to choose from in Uhuru Street in Dar es Salaam. They are sold in bulk, in many patterns and colours, in various qualities and at different prices - from 3500 to 4000 TSH. Do note the saying (a lot include 'mungu') - and that the kanga also is used as a way to communicate a message. Read more here.
Always remember one of the many Kiswahili sayings: 'That a woman can't be happy till she' got a thousand kangas.'
Still a way to go.
I love Tanga. Maybe because it reminds me of lazy summers in Vojvodina. With a Swahili touch. Perfect for taking dusty, low-sun photos.
Just returned from a short trip to Pangani and Tanga - a trip which as usual gave a lot of interesting inputs.
Religion in Africa is evidently approached very differently than in Europe. To a Dane the most interesting issue, however, is how Africans seem to make religions co-exist and integrate in daily life. Especially Tanzania - along the Swahili Coast - is very unique in this matter.
In Tanzania the population is more less half-half Christian and Muslim, but also Hinduism and a few other religions are practised. Few think of the fact that President Nyerere, who resided over Tanzania for 24 years, was Catholic, or that the present President Kikwete is a Muslim. For sure I never did, till I saw a picture in the newspaper of Kikwete celebrating the Ramadhan last October.
I don't refer to high politics or the religious fanatics, but to the ordinary Tanzanian making daily life in Tanzania work. The girls at the photo (from Picha na Ndege, a small town outside Dar es Salaam) is not a rare sight.
In Denmark it is.
In Denmark we have turned it into politics on all levels, and for the past 10 years Denmark has provided space for a heated - but unfortunately not always very nuanced - discussion on to what extent religion an religious symbols should be allowed in our daily lives. A veil is for instance still something many Danes simply can't accept.
In Tanga I went with a friend for a visit to a clinic run by an Islamic organisation, in many ways similar to a Christian mission station. Here the northern Sudanese director invited us both to visit Kharthoum one day, he being happily unaware of the Sudanese ban of issueing visa for Danish citizens. He also didn't know of the reasoning behind (the controversial Muhammad cartoons), and my friend and I didn't feel a greater urge to go into details. If curious about the cartoon crisis, read more here.
When I watch a group of children in a place like Tanga walking home from school, a mixed school - some girls wearing veils, some not - I can't help wondering what's Denmark's real problem?
Fear? Lack of confidence or awareness of one's grounding or roots?
One of my absolute favorite places - for taking photos randomly - is Pangani, the laid-back Swahili town on the coast north of Dar es Salaam - about 45 minutes south of Tanga.
The light, dust, people and history makes it perfect for this purpose. Find more photos here.
Kariakoo is sort of the Tanzanian equivalent to the area around Arua Bus Station and Owino Market in Kampala. I like the place around Mafia and Congo Street, and on Sundays you can even find a parking space without too much hassle.
The streets are hectic, bustling, colourful. Alive. Smells rather exotic after a wet drizzle. Still, black water and garbage dumps add on to the reality of this place. Men at work, sweating, not giving space. Women dragging children across the street to the dala dalas. As a pedestrian, always lift your feet, and check where you put them.
I know some people warn about driving and walking in Kariakoo. There is always someone who knows someone who got her side mirrors dismantled (while sitting in the car), or someone who got robbed in the street. Or someone who got a bad stomach after drinking the sugar cane juice.
Never say never, but I have never ever experienced any trouble, and I have never felt uncomfortable walking round the streets of Kariakoo.
But I'd stay far off the sugar cane juice.
More photos here.
When I worked with the Sudanese in northern Uganda, the people would say: 'We are going deep inside', when we were off on a mission. I always wondered what that actually meant. Linguistically as well as practically.
I mean, the Scandinavian would ask the obvious practical questions: 'How far inside, for how long, when will we be back, and will I need to bring my passport?' But in linguistic terms I have also been curious on how far you'd have to go before it counts as deep inside, and what exactly makes it count as such.
Never seemed clear, and at one point you just go with the flow and stop asking.
However, a Tanzanian colleague explained the concept to me today like this.
'Bara' is a word in Kiswahili for 'the continent, the interior, territory'. Like 'Bara ya Afrika', the African continent, but it is also used more symbolically as 'the inside of Africa', as in opposition to the coast.
People from the coast, the Swahili, will say 'anatoka bara', meaning 'he comes from deep inside', from far away. (I also get the understanding it can indicate that the guy might not be as updated as the people on the coast. And that he might complain about those light meals they eat on the coast, he prefers his ugali or even the matoke. But that is another story.)
Those are the people who come from bara, the interior, from deep inside Africa. If I go deep inside I'll say 'nakwenda bara' (or 'ninakwenda bara') - still I am not completely sure when or where to use the phrase.
Get all the meanings of bara here.
The photo is from the road between Koboko in northern Uganda and Yei in Southern Sudan.
The ground floods.
The sky looks like this:
The colour of cement drying.
I can't wait till the masika is over
Hard to believe, but true.
On Ali Hassan Mwinyi Road in Dar es Salaam the street vendors are selling (locally produced) aquariums with Lake Malawi (or look-alikes) fish.
The vendors simply walk down along the line of cars waiting to turn at United Nations Road with the aquariums on their heads.
The 2010 FIFA World Cup is going to take place in South Africa next year, however, it is a thing a lot of Africans are looking forward to.
It isn't yet yet, but the wood carvers in Stone Town on Zanzibar are so ready for 2010.
About 10.30 this morning it started to rain in Dar es Salaam.
Full speed for a couple of hours, turning the roads into rivers. Like in this photo from United Nation Road.
Due to the fact that it seems that Dar es Salaam's draining system doesn't match the density of the population and rain, everything runs wild when it rains like this.
I left the office around 6.30 this evening, drove down Migombani Street towards my home, only to realise that I couldn't enter the street where I live. I tried one of the back roads, ended up in a pitch black street with stranded cars.
Wicked feeling. I actually got scared. I haven't felt like that for very long. Maybe I have a phobia regarding deep, dark potholes? I blessed my decent car (and the fact that the NGO I work for hasn't changed its car policy (yet)), continuing without the car taking in water or getting sucked into the Indian Ocean through a sudden hole in the road.
Even though I live in the metropolis of Tanzania, there are days where non-waterproof mascara and high-heels make no sense.
In a conversation late last night with one of my Tanzanian colleagues, he explains that in Dar es Salaam it is not unusual to label women 'zebras' and 'giraffes'. His examples are vivid, and it is not difficult to imagine that 'giraffes' are the tall ones, and the 'zebras' the ones with the wide asses.
Frankly spoken.
However, 'Zebra & Giraffe' also happens to be the name of a very popular Johannesburg rock band which started out as the solo project of Greg Carlin. In May 2008, Carlin released Z&G debut album "Collected Memories" and then formed a live band with members Alan Shenton, Rob Davidson, Darren Leader & Andrew Maskell.
Do the South Africans know what 'Zebra & Giraffe' means in Tanzania?
Hamna umeme. No power. The subject always makes good conversation material in Dar es Salaam.
Especially this month, as it seems the power cuts have increased.
The photo is from last night at my house. Just before the guests got in, the power went out.
Tonight is Earth Hour - a globally advertised initiative, encouraging people to switch off our lights at 8:30pm Today!
We didn't do so last night. Tanesco did it for us, and I can assure you that no matter how much I sympatize with Earth Hour, there is no way I am switching off my lights if the power is on tonight!
Well, who am I to complain about three to four power cuts weekly, for many of the 40 million watanzania Earth Hour is not even an option: To participate in Earth Hour you must have access to power to be able to switch it off.
Have a look at the photos from Sauti za Busara 2009 here, which I have finally got together in a set.
Do also check the Baobabconnection's sum up here, and the UNAA Times here, who picked up on the Omega Bugembe Okello performance.
Meanwhile, I will try to finish an article for this new Danish magazine about the Sauti za Busara.
Recent Comments