:: louder than swahili

Dresscode: kikoi, konyagi and malapa. It's all you need.

The upcoming festivious season is an event I and some friends have spent many hours debating.

 

Where others leave Bongo for Christmas and New Year, we stay. The IST is closed (and no kids have to be driven to school in a landcruiser), which means lovely less traffic, fewer wazungu hanging out in Dar, and less crowds on the beaches.

 

However, the seasonal festivities have also proven to be a logistical challenge when friends and families are coming in and out of Bongo on very different dates, bringing with them different budgets and colourful expectations.

 

Add to that that I'm leaving Dar on Thursday for South Africa, only returning four days before I am (ambitiously) planning to host a Christmas Party (fortunately not a regular Danish one, as my mother would have dictated).

 

Friends are arriving from next week on. My Icelandic family after Christmas.

 

And it just feels so good. The party ambiance is already radiating on line.

 

A friend arriving from Denmark next week asks what to bring:

 

What is the dress code for Xmas and NY... Do I need them stilettos?

The answer is:

 

yes... you have two options actually:

a) stilettos, gala dress, and a bottle of konyagi

b) flip flops, kikoy, and a bottle of konyagi

 

I promise you, it'll be good.

Tuko pamoja - 'we're in this together'...

When someone says 'we're in this together' I always get a tiny bit paranoid.

My friends say this a lot. It is such a convinient phrase to explain why there always is people all over the place; why you have to wait; and why you cannot behave as if you're on your own.

Tuko pamoja means that you have to adjust, because you are not alone in this. That you will be given something, but also that you must give back.

A bit ubuntu, just in Kiswahili.

Moja means one. Umoja means unity. Pamoja means together.

I'm Scandinavian, I was brought up in a society defined by the social-democratic idea that we are all the same. It taught my generation that the government will look after you, and that you can find it all defined in the legal system - the regulations for what you have to give in order to receive. 

If you go to a bar in Denmark it is perfectly normal to seperate the bill according to who drank what exactly; if you stay with someone you are supposed to add to the budget; and if you borrow money from a friend or relative you are in fact considered to pay back, unless they told you it was a gift. 

Very much the opposite of the concept of the classical African extended family, which in the case you happen to be the one who has, can be a neverending source of reception.

In Denmark I am actually not the one who has, but I am still supposed to look after myself.

Here I am considered one who has.

A bit tricky this pamoja.

Addition: Read Swahili Street's thoughts on ubuntu/umoja here.

Today's Quote: Fear & Loathing

  Taken from here.

Adaptation: It is easier summing up what Africa has changed in me, than what I have changed in Africa

The logo on my car refuses to stay white.

Gradually it has taken colour after the red dust, and it won't go off, even after lots of rain.

Metaphorically speaking: Not too sure if it symbolises the rest of the NGO I work for.

Lakini, personally I do feel that it is more difficult getting the dust off than getting dusty. It is easier coming to Africa, than returning. It is easier summing up what Africa has changed in me, than what I have changed in Africa.

I know some of you will laugh, but months ago I collected a little bag of red soil from the Kilimanjaro region, where the soil is blindingly red. They have my favourite colour soil in that area, and Kilimanjaro is one of the most astounding places in Africa. To take with me home and stare at when I am going to blend in with the Danish landscape.

Does red African soil fade over time if you move it out of its original environment?  

+ list over things which are good about returning to Denmark #01

   

I'm gathering points on my + list over things which are good about returning to Denmark.

My Icelandic nephew Baltasar and his new born second cousin, Scottish/Danish Maja Siri, are high on the list. Beautifull children, both of them by the way. I'm sure it pays off to stirr up the Danish gene pool.

Who made us, here, and why...

On days like this, I crank up this song, and when I have a decent Internet connection I watch the video. As I noted here, I do know that Scatterlings of Africa is old fashion in present South Africa, but it means something special to me. It is no secret to the frequent reader of this blog that I have a crush on Johnny Clegg. His son is cool, too, not to forget his wife (which still is one of the most frequent searches leading to my blog).

Also, I'll argue anytime that the amount of times Johnny Clegg's music is now going to be used for the World Cup soundtracks only understates the fact that his work goes beyond the mainstream.

Many videos have been made to illustrate Scatterlings of Africa, however, this one is my favorite. Shot in the streets of Harare, Zimbabwe. Johnny Clegg was brought up by his Zimbabwean mother, in his mother’s native land of Zimbabwe. She later married a South African journalist and immigrated to South Africa when Johnny was seven years old.

My first trip South of Sahara went to Johannesburg in 2003, then off 14 hours overland in a car to Harare. I went with my then boyfriend, who was born in Zimbabwe, and who later moved to South Africa, then Denmark. When we went to Harare he brought a guitar, CDs, flipflops, boxes of food, diesel and absolutely no suitable clothes for the wedding we were invited to. It didn't matter. The guitar did. Making stops, people would ask for a song, out the guitar came. After a few drinks the zulu dance moves, too. The people in Denmark didn't really get it, here it made perfect sense. 

I heard Johnny Clegg for the first time then. Everybody jumped around like mad. I didn't know what it was, didn't feel the song belonged to me.

It does now.

I arrived to Africa in a complex mode of feeling innocent and open - but also intimidated and worried if I could take it. I was invited by friends, and welcomed into their families and culture. All the other times I came to Africa, I came due to the fact that I work for an NGO. That completely changed my perspective, that and the experience you gather from living 26 months along and across the Ugandan border to Sudan, or the 26 months I have now lived at the Swahili Coast.

It is no secret that I feel that my NGO contract obliges me in certain ways: My presence has a very specified work purpose, I'm a resident, not a tourist. I drive a car with a logo. I work, I get per diem and travel reimbursement. I often end up argueing politically corrrect, defending my presence, though I feel like letting go for the simpler way. NGO workers are serious people, we like to be taken seriously. Sometimes I just wanna be me.

Fortunately, I started in the real way. I know exactly what I love about this continent, I got that under my skin the first time around. Scatterlings of Africa sparks that feeling.

Finally, as a curiosity; I doubt many people know that Johnny Clegg made a reference to Tanzania in his most popular song: Olduvai (or Oldupai) is in Tanzania.

Full lyrics here.

Days like this

Friday I managed to stirr my head well with all vital, practical things related to my own (small) role in Danish development aid, electricity, Internet, water, traffic, corruption - to the music pouring out loud from the container bar next door run by the self-acclaimed peaceful rasta (who once told me that he sold drugs for the Nigerians in Hillbrow, Johannesburg, which means I don’t complain when a bar customer cranks up his car stereo outside my gate.);

• to the ufisadi I read about in the paper;
• the big potatoes in the fat land cruiser not giving me space on Ali Hassan Mwinyi Road;
• my Internet provider who has been hassling me to prepay my Internet subscription (though there hasn't been any connection for the past two months and they have no intention of telling me that his company really has been bought up by another...);
• that my water bill suddenly tripled, and DAWASCO interpretates 'Customer Care' very differently than I.
• the young female students who pay with sex to get through university or to get jobs;
• the fact that you have to know someone to get somewhere (but that you owe that person the rest of your life);
• the young guy with limps in stead of legs;
• to the hungry street child on Morogoro Road whom I passed when I returned from Zanaki Street, and who wanted to wash my (clean) front screen so that he could fill his stomach later.

And that's where I had had it:

He mimicked ‘chakula’. Food.

I got a lump in my throat, and I then went for notes in stead of coins, though it is against all principles (which ones exactly, I’ve luckily forgotten). I thought; World Food Day, my ass. I just blogged about it, and here I face my own limitations one hour later a kilometer away from the office. It made me feel like I was paying a monthly subscription for a lighter conscience in return for representing a nation which have prioritized Tanzania in their development support budget, but not the boy in the street ‘because he is outside the strategy which is focusing on another district, cluster, group or theme.’

Some days it just doesn't stop.

When I finally got home to my neighborhood, all traffic had come to a halt. Two cars had crashed, one driver still stuck in the front seat behind the wheel, people gathering like flies on sugar, hovering like hyenas. Just up front Kikwete's house in the crossing between Ursino and Migombani Street, which got tarmac last year so that people now can drive as if no one else exists.

There is only so much you can deal with in one day.

Your friends at home think you’ve finally lost it, and that Africa has beaten you. They tell you, they told you. That Africa wears you out. That it is time to return home.

So, you stop telling them what's really going on.

Or you insist that this is normal. That Danish psychological interpretations appear absurd in Tanzania. That this is what most people in Africa go through, and you are not excempted just because you are white.

If so, that is because you close your eyes and have lost touch with your feelings and conscience.

Bongo is amazing. It gives me an excellent excuse to listen to music I would be condemned for in Denmark

 
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);

• Westlife
• Ronan Keating
• Phil Collins
• Backstreet Boys
• Kenny Rogers
• Dolly Parton 
• Shakira

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.
 

A postcard from Tanzania to the Danish People's Party

Dear Danish People's Party,

Yesterday's Parking Guard in Moshi at the foot of Kilimanjaro was a woman.

She wore a veil.

I'm writing you as I want to tell you that it is completely normal in Tanzania, and that I was the only person in the street paying attention to it.

Probably because I'm Danish.

Probably because I'm absolutely fed up with the blurred debate in Denmark on women wearing veils or burkas, or not, the debate on mosques, on Islam, Muslims and on how Danish politicians treat refugees and immigrants. I am sick and tired, and deeply embarrased on how Danish values have been redefined into something I can't associate with.

I asked the parking guard if I could take her photo, as I wanted to prove to the Danes supporting the policies of the Danish People's Party, that at this end of the world, a famous 3rd world country, it is possible for a woman to wear a veil while holding a position as a civil servant.

And smile...!

Greetings from Tanzania

Facing my fear of dancing in African bars

Friday night I went with a group of people to an open air bar in the centre of Dar Es Salaam, right opposite the famous nightclub Bilicana (photo above).

One thing on this continent freaks me out on occasion, especially if I am too conscious about my own role in it:

Dancing in bars.

I'm not a teenager any longer, but I probably go out with a higher frequency, and have been to more parties in places with exoctic African names like Juba, Yei, Kajo Keji, Moyo, Arua, Adjumani, Kampala, Harare, Johannesburg, Durban, Mbabane, Arusha, Mhingo, Nairobi, Dar Es Salaam and Stone Town, than the average female Dane my age.

In fact, it ought to show on my CV.

However, I can't claim that I get the rules (if there are any); and I feel like the worst dancer next to the overconfident average African who appear to have been practising daily since birth. People who don't give a thing about my Scandinavian inhibitions, and believe me (unless I've had a lot of Konyagi) I face them all when I'm on a dancefloor in Africa.

In Europe each person is granted a personal space, which practically means that other people keep a distance, they don't stare concentratedly or start touching you, unless you have established a relation. That phenomenon is practised way differently here, and in a bar after midnight it is as if it doesn't exist at all. Additionally, in Europe you'd do your best to hide your hips, ass and belly. Here it is all part of the game (which is the part I really do like). In Europe, conventionally, you dance in couples or in a group with people you know. Here anybody can take the space next to you. In Europe I'm used to establish contact via conversation, here it goes through the eyes, or direct touching.

I simply can't overcome the fact, that I feel so invaded when a guy, I have never ever met, shows up next to me; smiles; lays his hands on my hips. As if that is the most normal thing to do.

Dancing in bars in Africa makes me feel part of an anthropological experiment.

Maybe I am?

The Zanzibar they never show you: The fishy smell

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.

Zanzibar: The first meal of the Ramadhan

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.
 

I tell you; Things are relative!

I’m trying to tell people this. But some don’t listen and some they don’t read.

But listen, things are very relative here in Tanzania.

Every week I get questions from people who are planning to move to or travel in Tanzania. A lot have taken their time to read what I or others have already written, and they ask qualified and substantial questions, which I do enjoy to give feedback to.

Others don’t.

The funny thing is that the majority of these have found my blog via www.expat-blog.com and InterNations, and maybe that explains. That people first and foremost see themselves as expats. Both forums are communicating intensively to its members trying to make them 'ambassadors' and 'guides', either by writing articles and guides to the respective country one is an expat in (for free, obviously, while they scoop the advertising fees.)

Let me emphasise, that I do not mind giving advice to people who have taken their time to do a little research, write more than one sentence and who comprise a greeting and an introduction. But I do not wanna spend my time writing travel and country analysises for free, and it is honestly a waste of time, when people ask me questions like these:

• Is it expensive living in Dar Es Salaam?

Dar Es Salaam is a relatively pricy affair if you crave a 4-bedroom house with a sea view and swimming pool (2500-3500$ per month), easy access to the International School and the Yacht Club, organic Muesli, Danish rye bread, Norwegian salmon and French red wine. On the other hand, it depends on your income and expectation, right?!

• What is the best place to live in Dar Es Salaam?

The wazungu who have jobs in the diplomacy and higher end of the international NGO sector tend to cluster in the Peninsula along with the richer part of the Tanzanian population (if you are keen on my opinion in this regard, read it here). The middle-class Tanzanian and mzungu, like me, tend to live in the northern suburbs like Ada or Regent Estate, Mbezi and Mikocheni (and many other places) The inhabitants of Indian/Arabic origin tend to populate Upanga and central Dar Es Salaam. The poorest part of the population live in the far outskirts of town, in crowded settlements where security, access to water, electricity and proper sewage is a daily problem. Personally, if I were to choose my own place, I'd probably consider Upanga or Kigamboni.

• What does it take to get a job in Tanzania?

I really don't know how to answer that. It all depends on you, your experience and education. And if you've got that right, you most certainly wouldn't ask me that question. You'd rephrase it, explain a bit more about yourself etc. I usually answer back to the latter what I did, but that there happens to be thousands ways of doing it.

• Is it safe?

Again depends on your own gut feeling. On where you lived before. On your own limitations. I managed 26 months along and across the Ugandan border to Southern Sudan, which partly explains why Dar Es Salaam to me mainly appears as a picnic, and if anyone complains about the limitations of this place I think they should take the first flight back home. Check my lists on the blog: TRAVEL, WORK AND LIVE IN AFRICA and WHAT'S UP TANZANIA.

• Best place to stay in Zanzibar?

See my list here on the blog: GOOD PLACES TO GO. I add places I've enjoyed staying in.

Finally:

There is no reason for me to google stuff, when you can do it yourself, your connection is most likely better than mine. Besides, get used to the fact that things aren’t obvious. You have to ask and do your own research, and you have to spend hours doing so. Besides, we are different - that's where the relativity again comes into the picture- and what I like, you might not.

My advice is that you turn it into an interest. It’ll make it much more fun.

The top most stupid question I have ever received was when a Danish tourist called MS Uganda’s Country Office, where I happened to be passing through, and asked:

‘Do you think that the Lord’s Resistance Army would kill someone like me?!’

I answered him politely, as I try to do in most of these cases, though it was a tough one. 

Hence, the last advice from me: Always write back and say thanks.

Copenhagen. 7341 kilometres away. Not just geographically

A friend of mine is visiting Copenhagen.

Our home town.

He took this photo of one of the biggest cathedrals in Copenhagen - during World Outgames.

Imagine, what a different world I come from, compared to the world I live in now.

Why rainbow colours? Please, check this link.

Danish politics: Time to find the red paint?

I have been far away for the past few days, but noted a huge amount of Facebook statuses commenting on the political situation in Denmark. Many have spread adverts for demonstrations and support to concrete intiatives supporting a group of Iraqi asulym seekers who had been given refugee in a church in Copenhagen, but August 13 was kicked out by the police in what turned out to be a rather violent raid.

One of my good friends yesterday noted how tired he is of politicians talking about 'Danish values', and asked 'when is it time to talk about human values?'

Most of the time it is difficult to follow what really is going in Denmark here from Africa. However, I knew my position had I been back home, and I must say that my support goes to the Iraqi refugees, and to ones who don't accept the xenophobic approaches in Denmark or the conservative interpretation of what democracy is; who went out to support the refugees directly; who show up at demonstrations; and who speak up.

The discussion now roughly goes between the perspectives if Denmark have crossed the line of what is humane and decent, or if you shouldn't be granted special treatment just because you occupy a church.

Not to forget the fact that the Danish Minister of Integration, Birthe Rønn Hornbech, somehow intimidatingly, claims that she has faith in the fact that the Iraqi authorities will keep to their word. Or that the Danish Minister of Justice, Brian Mikkelsen, comtemplates: I think we would have preferred not to have to use force. But we happen to live in a democratic society which is built on people abiding by the country’s laws and rules – and there’s no special treatment just because you occupy a church.

For me this is a terrifying example of how laws and rules make up the concept of a democracy the Danish politicians refer to. A so-called democracy without respect and decent human values (?) A democracy run and defined by people about whom you can't even say that they are guided by their brains (?) Evidently not their hearts, but it is also obvious that they go about using very little intellect in their way of interpretating other people's destinies.

It makes me utterly ashamed.

Where is, what Desmond Tutu would call, 'the ubuntu'?

'A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.'

There simply isn't a democracy if some members of a community are humiliated or diminished.

Not even in Denmark.

For my non-Danish readers: The referrence to the red paint comes from an incident described here, when the then Prime Minister, Rasmussen strongly supported the 2003 Iraq War. As in most European countries he faced considerable opposition, both in the parliament and in the general population. Subsequent opinion polls suggested the Danish population's opinion was split on the issue. One vocal protester managed to get into the Danish parliament during the period before the war, where he poured red paint on the prime minister while yelling "Du har blod på dine hænder" (literally: "You have blood on your hands").

Photo Caption; 'Don't sit here' the writing on the wall says.

Photos for a Fair Trade Festival Kitchen in Copenhagen

Last Friday I made this compilation of photos for banners for the kitchen at this August's fair trade festival in Copenhagen - FAIR Fælled, organised by the NGO I work for - a task which was done in a hurry while I was in the middle of three other things and the deadline was sasa hivi. However, it belongs in the fun category, namely as these photos are amongst my favorite motives; food, people, tableaus, colour and texture.

 

It made me think about approaches - what ways we choose to put Africa on display back home. In this case, I picked photos based on a gut feeling and my personal idea of aesthetics, not paying attention to the confinement of representation in terms of geography (the districts we work within), partners or the NGO I work for. Only that it had to deal with food.

 

This is the way I prefer to go about a task, but obviously that doesn't always work. The NGO I work for normally puts 'right to access to land' up on an abstract level in its policy papers. I like to boil it down to essentials; What's there to eat? What does it look like? People might be poor, but we all party, eat, drink and put joy and energy into it. In my photos I go for close-ups of people, and intimacy when it comes to space - getting close, taking a smaller part of the bigger context to become familiar with and maybe suddenly see it from a different perspective.

 

In fact, that's how I like to go about Africa, I think.

 

The NGO I work for is usually good at appreciating this, and I am happy that they generally also choose to use my photos for other purposes than the regular way.  

 

Take a closer look at the photos (descriptions in Danish), or go to FAIR Fælled, and tell me what you think!

Karma. Do good stuff, and it multiplies back to you

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.

Contemporary Tanzanian Design: The Watchman's Chair

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.

When home is where you family is: At the other end of the world

These are not my photos, but I wish they were.

They are taken by my Icelandic brother-in-law's cousin, Hjalti Arnason, who lives in northern Iceland - Saudarkrokur in Skagafjordur. Hjalte is an excellent photographer, and I have just realised how much it means to know someone in the other end of the world putting daily photos of high quality on display in cyberspace.

June-July is the best period to visit Iceland, and it is way too long since I went there. Hjalti makes me miss my family in Iceland big time, but I can also see that they are well: On the two first photos my nephew, Baltasar, is playing with his friend, Hjalti's daughter. And the last photo is from the fell above Saudarkrokur looking into Skagafjordur, where my sister lives with her family.

This is what eventually will pull me off the continent. And home.

Blogging for Blogging Denmark: What makes me feel Danish?

I'm blogging for a relatively new initiative called Blogging Denmark, which is a sister site to Denmark.dk – Denmark’s official portal. The aim of Blogging Denmark is to create a range of commentary on Denmark and the Danes.

If you would like to blog on blogs.denmark.dk then contact editors@denmark.dk for more information.

Read my first post here, which admittedly is a write-up of several previous posts from my English and Danish blogs.

'Do you know what the best thing about living in Africa is?'

On Tuesday when checking out of Tanga, the mzungu hotel manager, who had been circulating around the reception for a while, finally popped her million dollar question while I was in the process of stuffing a long line of assorted and colourful pieces of luggage into my Nissan Hardbody which was parked right outside the best hotel in Tanga.

The question obviously appeared to be rethoric. The manager also didn't hesitate providing the right answer in her own quiz: 'That you never have to carry anything yourself!'

The manager has quizzed me on another occasion earlier on, but conclusions like these still puzzle me. She has a point, obviously. Labour in Africa is cheap, and per tradition and out of lack of appropiate comodities the Tanzanians do not only carry their own stuff, but also whatever the wazungu come along with. Right from the beginning. It is a fine balance about being able to accept this luxury at the right times, and at other shut up and do it yourself.

It is a thing I do appriciate, I must admit, but for me the line is thin: I have no such luxury where I come from and there will be none of it when I return. I am brought up to never bring more than I can carry myself, but having the luxury here occasionally makes me forget it.

My 6-year-old Icelandic nephew, Baltasar, put the case into the ironic perspective when he asked me on his latest visit to Tanzania: 'Why have you got slaves?'. He was evidently referring to my watchman carrying my groceries and washing my car.

Made me think.

High politics and daily life

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?

Bara ya Africa - the meaning of deep inside (of Africa)

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.

Homosexuality in East Africa - a taboo

When I lived in Uganda I followed the debate on homosexuality out of great curiosity. It is an issue which has been discussed in the Uganda public sphere and in the blogosphere. More than once I have myself been told off in harsh words for giving space on my blog to the topic. However, public debates on so-called taboos, i.e. homosexuality, does give a lot of information on a society's balance between conservatism and actual change. It also tells something of what a society fears and how far it will go to deal with it.

Interesting when you try to get familiar with a new culture.

I grew up in a place with a completely different take on homosexuality.

An example is the fact that 66-year old Johanna Sigurdardottir, was named as Iceland's prime minister in January 2009 - being the first openly lesbian head of government in Europe, if not the world - created a lot of attention abroad, whereas the Icelandics couldn't be bothered. One of my South African friends read about it in a conservative, Afrikaans newspaper, and started texting his overtly happy congratulations for being so liberal in Scandinavia. My Icelandic brother-in-law would rather discuss the PM's political compentences, which he disagreed with, than her sexual orientation.

Jackfruity has written an interesting article on gay rights bloggers in (mostly East) Africa. It is mainly referring to Uganda and Kenya where gay rights bloggers appear more active expressing their thoughts. Rebekah explains that Uganda is the only country in the world whose cabinet includes a Minister of Ethics and Integrity. The position is currently held by Dr. James Nsaba Buturo - a man who considers homosexuality a greater threat than corruption. He has accused the UN, UNICEF, Amnesty International and a host of other international organizations of promoting an “abnormal, unhealthy, unnatural” lifestyle in Uganda.

In Tanzania the (English-speaking) blogosphere does appear rather silent in regard of homosexuality. It doesn't mean that some people here aren't struggling with the taboo. Hence let me throw this article into circulation: 'When gay is not happy'. It is a personal and well-written article from the South African Mail & Guardian which questions the culture of silence in Tanzania when it comes to being gay.

Colourful Politics

Today I am wearing a toxic-green shirt. Two men in my office instantly noticed it and laughed: Are you supporting the CCM!?

Aren't we all?!, I smiled.

Tanzania introduced multi-party system in 1992, which means that the Tanzanians have limited experience with different political parties, but a lot with CCM.

In Africa you can express your political affiliation by colour, but be sure to time it well. The colour of the Chama Cha Mapinduzi - the revolutionary party and the leading political party in Tanzania - is green and yellow.

Sparkling, grass green. And I must say that no one can wear a green safari suit like Kikwete (photo).

 

South Africa: Clegg and tequila

I am a big, big, big fan of his father, but the son, though on a completely different mission than the father, has actually produced quite an addictive CD, you want to listen to over and over.

I skipped his father's works this time, and last week I bought the son's first CD in Ficksburg, the second busiest and important town in the Eastern Free State region of the Freestate province in South Africa, in order to avoid listening to the Afrikaans radio stations (it got so much more wicked proportionally with the distance from Johannesburg).

While in the Free State, I also learnt that asking the bartender for 'more Johnny Clegg' after a million tequila shots is so not up-to-date-South-African. But, come on, you can only love these two.

Besides, tequila, Clegg and South Africa really go together.

Condoms are not wrong, but right (if you ask me)

The Pope is visiting Africa for his first time. Read more here at BBC Africa. Not surprisingly, he has on this occasion chosen to deliever the message that 'condoms are wrong'. According to the Pope 'abstinence and fidelity, not condoms' are the means to tackle HIV.

He is in fact right about this. Somehow. However, anybody who has been out there and about recently has to agree that this is one of the most stupid and unrealistic standpoints proposed by an authority of this calibre.

Not a new one, unfortunately.

Not to forget the fact that the message is coming from someone with absolutely no experience in the field: Why on earth should I believe in the advice on abstinence and fidelity coming from someone who, at least officially, has absolutely no personal experience with sex, relationships or African reality?

Let the people abstain and practice fidelity if they must, but don't abuse the authority to preach to the rest of us that condoms are wrong!

Back in Bongoland

The good things don't last. My holiday is so over.
I'm back in Dar es Salaam from a trip to South Africa which took me to Johannesburg, Cape Town, Lesotho and the Free State.
Now trying to get back into work mode.
Hur!

My inner, hungry Dane

My nationality - the inner Dane that I rarely have problems keeping in line - sometimes strikes unexpectedly.

Especially around lunch time.

Generally, I am practising a gradually achieved principle not to indulge in the categories in which the Danish People's Party attempt to monopolize under the label 'Danish', however, I have a real soft spot in terms of smørrebrød - open sandwiches.

It is among the first things I do when visiting Denmark - to rob friendly people's refrigerators for ingredients. My sister, who in 1992 settled permanently in the Northern part of Iceland, does the same, and used to prior to visiting Copenhagen to request specific items which ought to be availale in my then Danish refrigerator.

Today, a few things slipped into my trolley which unmistakably must have given the impression that I essentially am Danish. Revealing, I thought, and perhaps even a little boring in the Shoppers' Plaza context on Old Bagamoyo Road in Dar es Salaam which is such a multicultural supermarket with offers to all hungry nationalities.

I looked at the Chinese with their explosively fully-filled trolleys which leave me with the impression that extended families at home are waiting for being feed in pluralis. Indians buy spices, dhal and lentils in kilograms. And adult Tanzanians - with and without children - roll around with small children trolleys, filled to the bursting point with the ingredients for a classic African household: cooking oil in cans, sugar, maize flour and vegetables.

I buy rye bread produced in Nairobi, with added preservatives, and a can of marinated herring which later is transferred into smørrebrød.

Happiest Nation in the world: Is it time to return home?

Peter at The Road to the Horizon posted this:

Adrian White, from the University of Leicester’s School of Psychology, analysed previously published data to create a global projection of subjective well-being: the first world map of happiness. The research is based on the findings of over 100 different studies around the world, which questioned 80,000 people worldwide.

The top 10 "happiest" countries:

1. Denmark

2. Switzerland

3. Austria

4. Iceland

5. The Bahamas

6. Finland

7. Sweden

8. Bhutan

9. Brunei

10. Canada

Denmark ended up at the top to "its wealth, natural beauty, small size, quality education, and good health care". At the bottom were the Democratic Republic of Congo, Zimbabwe and Burundi.

No, it isn't time to return home.

Does anyone ever question if wealth, natural beauty, small size, quality education, and good health care really make a nations inhabitants happy?

I doubt it. Obviously it isn't what keeps me in Denmark, but maybe I'm missing a point?!

Danes messing up English Development Vocabulary

During the past 10 years I have stumbled over a group of words, frequently used in development work, which Danes often mess up. A South African friend of mine has over the years been so kind to point these out:

 

(Peace) Corps: \’kȯr\ (silent ‘p’)

 

Coup: \’kü\ (silent ‘p’)

 

Poverty: \’pä-vər-tē\ (single ‘v’, not ‘w’ like in ‘power’)

 

Advocacy: \’ad-və-kə-sē\  (bite your front teeth in your underlip when you pronounce the 'v')

 

Look for more here: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary

 

Having visitors soon. Looking forward to Christmas

The photo is from this site. Zanzibar Lanterns. Gotta get one, when I go there for New Year.

I'm having family visiting me for Christmas and new year, and in between the million other jobs I perform, I switch to running a tourist agency for family, friends and some of their friends.

Just now their programme is settled, and I know where my visitors are going to sleep all of their nights in Tanzania. The rest they will have to figure out themselves - fortunately they are expected to be in the easy category of self-sustainable and independent people.

So, we are going to Mikumi (hope it is more fun than the website, but don't tell if it isn't), Stone Town and Paje.

MS Tanzania Calendar 2009

Fortunately, part of my work is relatively concrete - and fun: I just finished our calendar for 2009, and I'm really happy with the result, especially because I absolutely love this kind of work; making photo, text and graphic design work together. Also, I am lucky to work with a real good graphic designer!

And this year I have actually had the time to get the know what partners MS Tanzania works with - and enough photos from our work to make it a bit more reflective, though some photos in the more abstract genre also found their way into it.

Vote! Siku ya Obama!

If I were an American, I would vote for Senator Barak Obama. Siku ya Obama - it is Obama's Day they say in Tanzania.

Like Black Kush in Juba here who can't vote as he is not American. But Marie in New Jersey can - here, Rachel back from Kenya here. Mara in Tanzania here. Glenna here. And Rebekah here. 

Thank you all, in some wicked way, I truly appriciate your efforts on your blogs and on Facebook!

I will be watching the election results on TV from Copenhagen tomorrow morning.

Copenhagen. 7341 km to Dar es Salaam

   

I'm in Copenhagen. I have not been in Denmark for about a year. It surprises me every time, how easy it is to re-enter. As if everything has stood still while my world has been running at high speed in Tanzania.

But it obviously it isn't this simple.

In Kiswahili when you say you come from somewhere, i.e. Africa, you say; 'Ninatoka Africa' - which means that I come out of Africa. In Kiswahili you come out of something - you come with baggage.

And this explains more finely what time it takes to adapt. And that it is hard not to look for African prints.

One of my 'African' favorites in Copenhagen is The Black Diamond - the building, which houses the Royal Library - which is made of 2,500 square meters black granite, known as Absolute Black. Black granite from South Africa. A heavy, concrete piece of Africa, finely polished and tailormade to fit into the Danish cityscape, which instantly catches the eye of a temporary homecoming development worker because, unlike Africa, urban settlements are organised and planned down in the smallest details: Here architects have conspired, and agreed on a limited set of colour nuances. Here the free imagination is structured and subsidized by the government. The majority of people are white, and dressed rather similar, but obviously dictated by a fashion trend, which will take me some time to work out.

On the train people are asked to keep quiet in silent zones, and they do - and my, previously heavy smoking, friends are talking about the 'stop smoking treatment' and they celebrate the anti-smoking law in positive terms. And then there are the friends who move to Sweden, where there is zero tolerance for alcohol in the blood while driving. Or a drive on the motorway which feels quite different because we are driving in the other side of the road and out of a belief that we really can count on the other drivers' intentions.

My hometown in Africa, Dar es Salaam, is quite different. Always in process. Never quite finished. Never quite sure where it is heading. But surely a place where concepts such as silent zones, smoke-free environment and zero tolerance rightly would be described as far out as a city in Europe.

At the bus stop at the Copenhagen Town Hall Square an African bus driver on line 6A shouts; - 'Come! " I shout back that I am going to Kongens Nytorv. 'Then you are not going with me, but with 26', he concludes. I cannot help but smile over his attention, and the fact that it is now him who is home in what used to be my city. He even knows what busses to catch to go where. I have forgotten, or maybe they changed the system?

I have already escaped three 'face-to-face recruiters' on my way down the streets. Avoided eye contact, with an apologetic smile. Pretty much the same principle as when I try to avoid the beggars' outstretched hands and poky eyes on Ali Hassan Mwinyi in Dar es Salaam. But when I come out from a meeting at the MS head quarter, I collide with a young guy at the central square, Kongens Nytorv. Exorbitantly he smacks a light blue binder up my face and say, 'Do you have a moment?!' I spurt;

'Hey, I actually work for MS! In Tanzania! "

I do not know what I think. Possibly that my job as a development workers entitles me to some sort of affirmative action.

I am ashamed for half a second regarding my doubts on whether these young people who have been given the task to rescue Africa in return for a study job - whether they have the slightest idea of where that money ends up. I am thinking of the Nigerian writer Uzodinma Iweala, who in July 2007 had an article published in The Washington Post under the headline 'Stop Trying to Save Africa', which specifically criticized the Western youth's sudden love for Africa.

Iweala thanked no to the effort. But it is actually a part of the premises of my daily work in Tanzania anno 2008. Like it or not.

Fortunately, the guy is thick-skinned, and instead of thinking what a fool, he lights up in a big smile, 'Groovy! How cool that some people actually do something!' What follows, makes me smile the rest of the day; 'And you're even dressed trendy and such. Cool to see that Danish development workers are not all dressed in earth colours!'

No, we do not necessarily dress in earth colours, I'm thinking. 'But you do see it happen, don't you?!' Stereotypes, about what we look like when you work for MS in Africa, are alive and well! And perhaps there is something about it? In fact, I'm expected to answer many - other - rhetorical questions when I'm home:

Does it help anything? Do you think that you make a difference? How long will you be there (implied; When is it enough and when you come home)?

My answer is not set in stone. I have over the last few years changed my perception of many things. Thought one thing, and learnt something else. However, I like this curiosity and the ability to wonder and observe, when you have home n more than one place.

And yes, I have actually missed Copenhagen, although it does not feel quite like my city more.

'Why do I do this?': Interview for Denmarks Radio

Listen to me (in Danish) talk about why I became a development worker and what it is like on Denmark's Radio (DR) 'Soendag i farver', October 26, 2008,15.15-15.45. Download it from the netradio here.  

Her Majesty the Queen of Denmark pays visit to MS TCDC

Yes, even the not-so-royal development workers go soft and feel slightly Danish when that happens. I have worked many years for MS and I have seen good things and not so good things. In terms of MS-TCDC, I have no doubt, it is a real Tanzanian-Danish success story, and I really think the people who make it run on a daily basis deserve this visit from the Danish Queen.

A visit in this category is undoubtfully a compliment and will surely also create som attention.

Read more here.

Traffic Police Rendevous

I got a speeding ticket today. For driving 57 kph in an area where you can only drive 30 kph.

Fair enough. Rules are rules.

First I have to answer what seems now regular questions in a Tanzanian traffic police officers' manual:

• 'Do you speak Kiswahili?'
• 'Are you happy with that?'
• 'Where is the husband?'
• 'Where are you coming from/going to?'

The second question is the most crucial, I take, and is supposed to give any driver the option of saying 'No, I'm fairly unhappy with that. Can we make a deal?' Here speed tickets are to be paid on the spot, which does make the option of making it go away more attractive, I guess.

I try to stick to few and simple principles. One of them is that I don't make these deals as long as I'm an NGO-worker who drive a car with a logo from a Danish NGO promoting anti-corruption and good governance. However, it doesn't mean that I'm happy with it. And let me just underline, that the Danish NGO I work for, does not refund - as some of the traffic police officers tend to believe.

The Queen of Denmark is coming to Tanzania

Her Majesty the Queen of Denmark and His Royal Highness the Prince Consort will visit Tanzania in the fall upon invitation from President of Tanzania, Jakaya Kikwete. On November 3, 2008 Her Majesty Queen Margrethe II of Denmark and His Royal Highness the Prince Consort will pay an official visit to Tanzania. The State Visit is followed by an unofficial visit to Northern Tanzania until 9th November , 2008

Read more here.

Master of Disaster (Management)

The University of Copenhagen has launced a new education: Master of Disaster Management. Apparently the first of its kind in the world

I'd wanna take it simply for the sake of the title of that degree.

Imagine putting that on your business card.

From their website:

The Master of Disaster Management programme is aimed at providing the appropriate skills for disaster management at a national and international level in areas of natural and man made disaster, climate change, and terrorism.

Read more here.

A classic picture of a development project cycle meeting

This is one of the rare images where you have most factors, involved in a development project cycle, gathered.

First there are the beneficiaries (the Masaai women on the mats, almost too symbolically - the ones closest to the ground), then there is the local Tanzanian NGO including their Danish development worker (seated on the small stools - or up and around facilitating the meeting); Finally there is a mix of donors, divided between European embassies, international NGOs and a national Tanzanian NGO (also facilitating between the donor and the local Tanzanian NGO). They sit on chairs.

Actually, quite an impressive gathering.

For the ones having tried these kind of gatherings previously, you also know the certain dynamic characterizing a meeting like this. The world (represented by the donors) walks straight into the village, in many cases only with very limited, detailed knowledge of the situation on the ground, secondly they seldomly speak the local language, and in many cases their familarity with a village of this kind is only known to them from previous visits or from what they have read in reports. They have driven straight from their offices in the capital in air-conditioned land-cruisers (often on sealed tarmac roads, 'because going rural for real just takes too much time'), they might already have had previous similar visits earlier on and might have one or two after this one. They are exhausted, and most likely not used to the heat and dust. Their clothes is creased and they look tired.

The clothes I was wearing this day made me feel that I stuck out from the other wazungu. It was practical, 'but still OK' as my Danish colleague noted. Usually at this point in time I myself start consuming the glucose biscuits and sweet Mirindas - which frequently are served on occasions like this - as if it was my last meal.

The beneficiaries are supposed to present their work in an interesting way to catch and keep the donors' attention. Often a rather challenging task considering that the donors appear tired, and due to the gap between the world (the donor) and the village (the beneficiary) in experience and preference. The village basically has to convince that it is worth keeping up the support. That they can assure impact on the ground. That they are accountable.

These women did a real good presentation simply by telling their personal stories and the support in terms of interpretation from the local NGO proved that the cooperation is based on more than just work - there is passion and commitment. Also what the director of the national Tanzanian NGO concluded in his speech later.

My Danish development worker colleague acted as the translator from Kiswahili and English, which actually made me feel slightly proud, as I know that part obviously also will leave a mark in the donors' conscience. Not that the development workers are the most fragile links in this process, but the development worker is likely to sympathize with the local NGO and the beneficiaries – and to be put in the box with them, and will do their best to promote their work.

However, this is just to say that a lot of nervousness is part of a meeting like this. The closer to the ground, the more you have to loose. Communication and presentation are highly essential. The way you are making yourself understood - or not - will stay with the visitors - and the beneficiaries.

And remember in this case, as in all others, it is always the most fragile position to be the one who is being departed, left behind. The dynamic is dependent on a lot of factors which is impossible to control. Things like the visitors' previous experience of i.e. Africa, how the village appears to them, the presence of a grumpy old man among the beneficiaries, or a facilitator who doesn't speak English well.

Over the past 10 years I have found myself in this situation many times. Never in the donor's positions, but more or less in all the others. And I'm highly aware that this is part of the game. Certainly. However, I realised that during this meeting I managed to sit in all the positions. On the mat among the breastfeeding women, on the little stool in the sun, and finally in the plastic chair when the donors had left. Firstly, I am happy to excuse myself with the camera, but I also think that though I do acknowledge that these gatherings are part of a development project cycle, something inside of me rejects the unspoken rules and the mere conventionality of it.

Something inside of me has big trouble reconciling the fact that no matter what, it is the world that sets the agenda in this village.

Stop the boat, I wanna get off!

So much for all the fascinating tales of Zanzibar. Eventually you have to get off the island at one point. Let me say it like this: I do not recommend the afternoon boat back from Zanzibar. Or let me correct myself; I do not recommend going by boat at all if you have any tendency to become sea sick.

The Southern wind creates wawes and turbulence at this time of day which halfway on the Indian Ocean makes a relatively large percentage of passengers vomit all over the place - judging from the amount of vomit on the floor and the black 'sick bags' left behind. We were halfway when an attendent handed me a third 'sick bag', and I still hadn't given in, so I managed to detach from my concentrated gaze at the horizon line and look around at my two friends in the back and ask if I really looked that sick.

One of them offered me the Guardian to read. The other asked on request from the passengers behind for extra sick bags.

I gave away two of my sick bags, and kept the one which turned out to be teared, I later realised. About halfway, where I gave in. Isn't that sort of an absurd worst case scenario when you realise that you're vomiting in your own lap, while an 8-year old boy is watching you with a curious look while he himself is taking a break from vomiting?

Yes, even me, who have the illusion that I'm sort of sea strong. I mean I originate from an island in a country which is famous for its amount of kilometres of coast line. But no. This is the most horrible way to spend two hours. I even spent the time thinking of things I'd rather have happening to me than this. I shamefully admit that malaria came up close. I also thought a bit more in terms of metaphors. Of how this boat symbolises my contract as a development worker, in case it gets rough you just don't ask to get off. In fact, you'd rather get it over and done with and then making up your mind on shore.

I have resident status in Tanzania which means that a return ticket with Coastal Aviation only costs 67,000 TSH. A return ticket with the boat costs 45,000 TSH. It adds up taking a taxi to and from the airports, but this afternoon has made it easier for me to decide next time I'm off to Zanzibar.

ZIFF - a very well-kept secret

Almost too well.

The Zanzibar International Film Festival was, however, launched last week at a press conference at the Mowenpick Hotel (a place where anyone with little imagination and fear based on convention, will arrange a press conference. Nice hotel, but I'm seriously looking forward to a time when NGOs and film festivals dare to launch a new thing outside the conventional frames and get it going!)

Anyway, the ZIFF is starting this Friday in Zanzibar, and I'm obviously going in spite of the lack of programme and general information. The website does announce what films have been accepted and it does have a button you can click for a programme (saying that a programme will be launched in May).

What troubles me - on a personal level - is that Stone Town is the perfect venue for a film/music festival, a potential income for the people living there making their living on tourists, and a festival could be used more targeted as a way of giving these tourists etc. a valuable insight into the culture of the dhow countries and Africa.

Never say never. ZIFF might still do so, but you should think that a programme and some information ahead of the event would enhance the quality of the whole idea?!

Check out ZIFF here.
 

Energy charging

Some days ago I got a message from a Danish friend saying he hoped my holiday wasn't over when leaving South Africa. The last time he visited our common friends in Johannesburg it took him additional days to recover.

I must admit that I'm slightly exhausted, too. It has been an intensive week with a lot of concrete, asphalt, skyscrabers, fast traffic, manic shopping, loud music, night clubs, bars, sensational good food, tequila shots in high doses, talking, babbling, chatting, fast wireless Internet, people, old friends and new faces.

Some call it civilisation. And, true, there is far to the feeling of red soil under barefeet. But it is no secret that I love South Africa for all of that. Yesterday when I was sitting at the backseat of the Alpha Romeo, with a cold beer and the other people in the car singing out their hearts along the lyrics to Impi, I caught myself thinking that I have absolutely no urge to leave for Denmark. That the urge to stay in Africa is overwhelming.

I don't know if it is a good or bad thing. I'm from another place, apparently not very rooted, though, but can this really be my home? One thing makes me feel more at home, and those are the friends I've got in South Africa, with whom I've managed to stay close. Though these visits usually are exhausting, they give good energy.

Thanks, guys!!

Thoughts about being away from home

Last night I read on the BBC that a strong earthquake had hit Iceland.

My sister and her family live in Iceland, and I froze for an instance when I couldn't get through on the land line. The earth quake measured 6.1 on the Richter Scale, which means it potentially can cause destruction in areas up to about 160 kilometres across. The centre seemed to be in Southern Iceland, where the largest damage was done. My sister lives in the northern part, but her husband frequently works in the southern part of Iceland.

In 2006 I experienced the trembling from an earthquake in Jinja in Uganda, but I estimate it could only be categorised as 'minor' - however still a really unpleasant feeling as it leaves you with the idea it could turn real bad.

When I finally got through on the phone last night, my 5-year-old nephew complained that the children's programme wasn't on as scheduled. But fortunately, no casualties in Iceland yesterday.

The thing is that when I left Scandinavia for Africa I took with me a long list of 'the worst things which can happen', It tend to reduce along with experience. However, for me there is no doubt that the absolutely worst thing to occur, is if something happens to the ones I love. Secondly that I am not there, but stuck in Africa.

It is not a thing we tend to talk a lot about, but I know it works the other way round, too. That, sometimes, makes it a hell of an awful choice to have gone global and to have family and friends scattered around the globe. (It does give me some sort of artificial calm that Iceland is considered the most peaceful place in the world, but I have got friends in other places, too, like ex-Yugoslavia, South Africa, Chechnya and Sudan...)

What makes me feel Danish?

The Danish daily Politiken has started a campaign, which translated into English is called; 'I'm Danish, too'.

The aim of the campaign is to create a more nuanced portrait of the Danes, and it is supposed to culminate on the Constitution Day.

The readers are commenting here, and the campaign seems to have hit a soft spot. In general it seems a lot of Danes over the past few years really have become embarrassed of the label 'Danish'. I myself inclusively, probably due to the fact that the Danish People's Party is trying so hard to monopolise the concept of being 'Danish'. If these xenophobic nut cases are Danish, I don't want to be, seems to be the logic.

I honestly don't know what really to think of the campaign. It is honorable of the paper to spark the debate, but I wouldn't want to wear the T-shirt. (I have once wore one saying 'I'm not American' (In Arabic))

However, it made me wonder what makes me feel Danish - until yesterday where I received an invitation from the Royal Danish Embassy in Dar es Salaam on the occasion of Denmark's Constitution Day 5 June.

Somehow that gave me and odd feeling of being very selectively Danish! I am sure that the head of the Danish People's Party would have enjoyed the occasion as ex-pats tend to compress Danishness on days like this.

The Danish handling the situation on the veil...

In Denmark a heated discussion is dominating the media. Should a woman living in Denmark have the right to  wear a veil when you have a position as a judge or a doctor? So far the discussing has been highly emotional and based on facts which are far from scientifically sustainable from my point of view. However, to me the most interesting thing is the way the discussion flows and how new laws are agreed upon.

What also makes me very curious is that facts are that few Danes have ever experienced communicating with a woman wearing a veil. Therefore, it seems a lot of the argumentation is based on assumptions and imagination. Also fear of the unknown, which might be the most tangible reason of them all - but less constructive for making a decent legislation.

However, terrifying it is, when putting the level of education of the Danes into perspective. The people arguing are using statements which are not based on something which is already there or something they have experienced. However, it doesn't stop even very well-educated people of assuming how they would react if having to face a woman with a veil in a certain situation.

What really tricked me was reading an article in the Danish daily Politiken that an established, Danish female doctor claims that if she was going for a gynaecological check-up she wouldn't feel comfortable if carried out by a woman wearing a veil (just a thought and maybe some of you can help me here, but I have been together with Muslim women, only women, who actually took of the veil when there were no men present - might that also not be so in a Muslim doctor-patient context?) She also claims that a person like this might not help her in need. She also indicates that a woman wearing a veil might not be able to tackle the sexual aspect, and that the woman would intimidate her.

In very short: A veil doesn't change a person's character. It is all in our heads. The burka might, but that is due to to a whole other set of facts (that it is most often not chosen by the women herself, but enforced). Reasons for wearing a veil is often done so as part of your faith - to demonstrate modesty. To some it is fashion. To some it is self-chosen. Muslim women wearing a veil can also tackle sexual aspects.

My grandmother wore a veil, one for work and one went she went to town. A local tradition. Grandmothers do all over the Balkans and in Southern Europe. In Africa it is one great mix of veils and head wraps. Anyway, it made me think a bit. Would it really scare me, make me feel unsafe? Would I find that doctor untrustworthy and incapable of her job?

No. (I can come up with lots of other reasons for not trusting a doctor. Like the Danish doctors I saw last summer, who failed to detect my malaria!). But because she has chosen to wear a veil is definitely not one of them.

A matter of taste

I have got good friends back home in Denmark who tells me that it is time to return to Copenhagen if/when I start wearing stuff like this. Other things like the one-size kitenge dresses, the Masaai bead and wooden giraffe necklaces are also out of the question.

Obviously my taste has been affected by the things I see here, what other people wear and from what is available in general.

Last month some Danish friends were visiting, The one residing in Denmark laughed at me when I turned on the music in my car, and Fela Kuti filled the space. He looked at his sister, who resides in Uganda and asked with a quirky smile: 'Why do you guys always end up listening to tropical music?!'

Its true. Things change. And friends from home notice the changes. Well, obviously for some it doesn't change much, and a few also loose it along the way. Another friend of mine just sent me this link, asking if it actually sticks in Tanzania. It does, doesn't it?!

 

How Danish are you?

The Danish government has decided how a Danish nationality can be acquired, also that there is no difference between nationality and citizenship. On the webiste New in Denmark it is stated that the words mean the same. In all the countries I have lived/worked outside of Denmark (Uganda, Sudan, Serbia and Tanzania) it doesn't mean the same.

I'm Danish by birth, because my parents are Danish - the number one precondition for having a Danish nationality and citizenship. - Still, I couldn't help thinking if I wasn't. Maybe then I'd had to apply for it. And when you apply for Danish nationality, you have to prove your knowledge of the Danish society and of Danish culture and history by presenting a certificate of a special citizenship test. In addition you have to satisfy the other conditions for being eligible for Danish nationality, including the condition of being self-supporting.

At the citizenship test, a total of 40 questions will be asked about the Danish society and Danish culture and history. Of these questions, 35 are selected from a question bank with 200 questions in Danish,which you can read here. Further 5 unknown questions about current affairs will be asked at each test. Applicants have 60 minutes to answer the 40 questions. It is a multiple-choice test with a list of potential answers to each question. To pass the test, 28 of the 40 questions (70%) must be answered correctly. If the applicant fails the test, he or she can enroll for another test in the next examination period.

The Danish daily Politiken presents an easy accessible on-line version here, where I got 37 correct answers out of 40, and I completed in less than 10 minutes (because of a slow Internet connection).

The thing is, I really don't believe in this crap! I do agree that for obtaining a new nationality/citizenship you should know essential facts about the nation, you want to become part of. But can you really measure so through a test? Does a test select the right ones, the ones who are more entitled than others to become Danish? Am I more Danish than others because I got more than 70% correct answers? And who the f**k cares?! Really, isn't this just an arrogant way of reducing the influx of immigrants? I can't help thinking about the original intention behind the test, which has been strongly promoted by the Danish People's Party, which indulges in the illusion that Denmark is the most perfect nation, that everyone coming from outside must know all about us, and that we don't need to know anything about the rest of the world.

I simply can't get to terms with this limiting idea of the world. Besides, what about the Danes who will not make the 70% of this test?

Links:
New in Denmark

The Swedish Crime Fiction & American Soap Challenge?

I feel hopelessly behind. In slow motion. The infection I caught about three weeks ago hit me harder than my brain wanted to registrate. Worst thing was that it left me for about 10 days with only three desires;

1) Sleeping
2) Reading Swedish crime fiction (in Danish)
3) Watching American TV soaps

In fact, the two latter persuits got me so well that I'm considering giving up the African Reading Challenge in favor of the Swedish Crime Fiction and American Soap Challenge. It wouldn't even feel like a challenge, but a treat. Only problem is that I'm seriously out of Swedish crime fiction, and the frequent power cuts put a limit to the DVD addiction.

I thought a bit about my enthusiasm behind my contribution to the African Reading Challenge, when I saw other bloggers post about their graduate book consuming. I realise that maybe I wasn't 100% honest, and that is very possible I might have a more honest desire at the moment to read about and watch things which is not going on in an African context.

Recommendable Swedish crime fiction: http://www.amazon.com/Swedish-Crime-Fiction/lm/R31KGIXJX2RY7M
not to forget the master of them all: http://www.stieglarsson.com/

Kahawa na kashata in the Uhuru Park in Tanga

Late this afternoon, after having finished an interview session with a group of youngsters explaining about an initiative called the Youth Parliament, which MS Tanzania supports, I had kahawa na kashata in the Uhuru Park in Tanga.

It costed me 70 shilings. 50 for the kahawa - the coffee. And 20 for the kashata - the sweet piece of groundnuts/coconut/sugar. What I got for free was an extraordinary experience and a new view upon coffee and bying it in the street. This coffee is from the slopes of the Kilimanjaro, it is natural, as someone said. I think he meant that it hasn't been all the way to Europe and back again. It tasted real good.

I also realised that apparently I have had the idea that coffee served this way couldn't taste this good. That I have a truly Scandinavian way of judging on appearance and price - the more fancy it looks and the more expensive, the better. Lesson learned and thanks to the guys in the photo for inviting me for coffee!

Meeting friends from Uganda

Yesterday I met with friends from Uganda - former colleagues who are either back in Denmark for good, possibly only for a while, or just visiting like me.

The funny thing is that we are all used to see each other dressed in summer clothes, and now we are barely recognizeable in our scarves, hats, winter coats and boots.

The other thing is that in Uganda we were all used to arrive in our red Toyota HiLuxes, whereas in Copenhagen we arrive on foot, bi-cycles, public transportation or in older, second-hand cars, if lucky.

One of the last times we met in Uganda it looked like this: http://pernille.typepad.com/uganda/2007/08/mihingo-lodge.html.

No surprise, the weather is ranking high on the list of conversation topics. However, never as high as the topics concerning 'MS' and the general gossip up-dates.

Light in the dark

 

I took these photos while on the road in Iceland when it was dark. Pitch black. And snowing. The Icelandic roadside is marked by poles which reflect the light from the car. It made these photos look like modern, abstract art of some sort.

Of course, it makes me think of these.

Sunday Afternoon, Copenhagen

Finally the sun came out for some hours this afternoon, and lowered over this flat country. I have not seen the sun for a week, not since I left Tanzania.

I belong to the category of people who are highly sensitive to light and heat - in particular the absence of it. It makes me slightly depressed when the sun is not there. And I am also not comfortable with the fact that it is so genuinely cold all the time. Iceland, especially, was dark and cold. In the north of Iceland, where my family lives, the sun does not even show on the sky at this time of the year because of the fells.

My sister reminded me on the positive side of this: In ancient times the Nordic people celebrated December 21 for being the shortest day of the year. After this date the days become longer, in the sense that there are more hours with light. Till June 21 which is the longest day of the year whereafter the days become shorter. The Christian missionaries realised this when they forced upon the pagan vikings to take up Christianity. Very conveniently the pagan celebration of the return of light happened to be at the same time as Jesus was born (or the other way round?).

The photos are from a walk to the Little Mermaid along Langelinie in Copenhagen.

Icelandic Christmas in short

   

# 01 The importance of having a warm cat named Bjössi.

# 02 The essential homemade Christmas decorations according to a 5-year-old Icelandic.

# 03 The impact of access to cheap electricity - electrical Christmas decorations all over the nation.

# 04 The Viking Test #01.

# 05 The Viking Test #02.

I recommend Iceland Express´ blog about Icelandic culture. Check it out here: http://blog.icelandexpress.com/

Happy Christmas - from Iceland.

If you are Icelandic and only five years old, one of the best things about Christmas is that you get to mix (the awfully strange-tasting, non-alcoholic) Egill´s Malt Extrakt with Egill´s orange soda.

I asked my nephew, Baltasar, to illustrate how he prefers to drink it. Though he is half Danish, I have no doubt: he is pure Icelandic.

Chakula!

Every day between 12-13 we are offered lunch in the MS Tanzania Country Office. The idea is really good, as we would loose a lot of time being stuck in traffic trying to get fed.

Rice, beans and ugali - after three months I've concluded that these are the most important Tanzanian food ingredients - and that it might never ever change. Well, sometimes there are small alterations: This Friday the rice and beans came along with dried fish heads.

My colleague took the photo, and consequently I ate a packet of bisquits. Some Danes love African food, even the dried fish heads. So, I cant claim it a cultural thing, but African food is one of my biggest weaknesses. It is embarrasing to admit, but it makes me almost violent to be served dry fish heads. I instantly think things like the kitchen is conspiring against Danish development workers, or why serve dried fish when the Indian Ocean is right next door. It made some sense in northern Uganda, but why here...?

Someone has found the right approach to overcome African irregularity

Another issue creating headlines these days in Tanzania is the about 1,000 Muslim pilgrims who were heading to Saudi Arabia for the annual Hajj, but then stranded in Tanzania. The pilgrims are not only Tanzanians, but do also come from DRC and the Comoros Islands.

The group has now spent over 10 days at Dar es Salaam Airport, but according to the BBC correspondent the group is not angry and sees the setbacks as a test of faith. 'Anyone who gets angry because of flight delays at this time of year does not know Islam,' one Tanzanian pilgrim told the BBC. Read the full article here.

Imagine the Scandinavian approach to a test like this!