:: louder than swahili

Happy belated Christmas!

I'm beginning to suspect that Tanzania has signed a UN convention on what Christmas songs to play in public places and to what extent. At least it appears that the Tanzanian shopkeepers and restaurant owners in Dar es Salaam take Christmas music rather serious.

Unfortunately, they all have the same CD.

I'm not a huge fan of the traditional Christmas ado. But I do enjoy the fact that I'm off, that the office is closed, that friends have travelled far to come to Dar and that I have friends with similar attitudes to Christmas.

The fact that people were still sitting on my veranda drinking wine this morning when I woke up with the sun, is a clear sign.

Happy belated Christmas!

The vuvuzela. An irrational, South African invention

'You can't hear yourself speak'  the Japanese are argueing towards the South African vuvuzela.

The Japanese want the South African vuvuzela banned before the FIFA World Championship begins.

 

My nephew (picture) got a vuvuzela some years ago by a South African friend, and fortunately he couldn't stand long listening to the sound himself (check the sound on the YouTube video).

The South Africans whom I know, laugh and scrugg their shoulders talking about the Japanese. I'm kind of impressed that the South Africans can stand the noise themselves. It is irrational, and therefore fascinating.

I can't help thinking that it is a bit T. I. A., part of the package; the noise, isn't it?!

I ask: Does revolutionaries read UN protocols?

'President Jakaya Kikwete wants the United Nations to officially adopt a protocol banning military coups in Africa.'

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.

Alfred Mutua, what do you say?

Meet the natives (they might be gone before you know of it)

Maybe you remember this article by Alex Renton which was published on September 6 2009 in the Observer?

Within this article Alex Renton interviewed the manager, Liz McKee, from Thomson Safaris, which later has changed name to the slightly different Thomson Family Adventures. The company is on their website offering an active family’s dream come true and meeting the native Tanzanians. 

That is if there is still any natives left, I'm noting.

The Loliondo saga which makes up an essential part of Renton's article, is namely still cooking with fresh details.

Later in September the Danish Ambassador, Bjarne H. Sørensen, formally handed over 15 years of Danish support to the Maasai as part of the ERETO celebrations, but it was overshadowed by recent events that have seen the pastoralists being forcefully evicted from their homes, and their bomas burned down. ERETO has assisted in supplying water, animal health-care, restocking livestock, women’s economic groups and HIV/AIDS awareness, also in Loliondo. 

Afterwards the topic heated up the Ubunge in Dodoma, the Tanzanian parliament, as referred to here on November 7.

Back to the Thomson Family Adventures. The company still uses the term 'natives', which I find rather curious, taking into consideration that the term in British post-colonial context is considered patronising. 

In this case, in particular, as the natives here are reduced to a bunch of colorful Maasai expected to live up to the tourists' stereotypical ideas of natives - and then stay off the land of the safari company (according to Renton's article).

I think we all go to Africa with some sort of wish to have our stereotypes confirmed.

However, my annual income has so far prevented me from getting that done at Thompson's. Vanity and pride might be other reasons. Conscience, too.

It simply makes me feel like an idiot if I have to pay for engaging in a meeting with the population facilitated by a safari company who try to pretend they are philantropists.

It is as simple as that.

Arranging paid meetings like this make people stay with their stereotypes; It makes the natives believe that all wazungu are rich, while the wazungu believe that all the Maasai are poor people in need.

Last week I went along with the natives - the cheap way - and not that far from the Ngorongoro. I travelled with the natives to Kiserian and Moirowa villages (photo).  Poor, yes. But also strong and resourceful people.

Natives all over, too, in the Lion Guest House in Namanga on the border to Kenya, in fact very few wazungu - and that costed only 5,000 TSH for a room, and I even got to see a lot of natives only dressed in towels when we shared the communal bathing facilities!

If you want my opinion on the colourfull variety of wazungu who think they contribute to change in Africa, while making money, read here. Again, this is not rocket science, this is only another example of capitalism mixed with arrogance.

Getting emotional: The Tanzanian state of education

Working with development, we all have our favourites, something which is closer to our hearts than other areas.

In my case it is education - but as in human potential, creativity, personal drive, eagerness and motivation. So far, I have only found the word 'education' enlisted among the buzz words in the development support bible.

However, it all boils down to utilised and appreciated human potential, creativity, personal drive, eagerness and motivation, which will be the only forces change is made of.

Of course, this is my opinion. I used to be a teacher, and I have absolutely no objective approach to this. I have written about it before from northern Uganda and South Sudan - countries which in my opinion easilier can explain why they haven't got their education system in place. Tanzania has not gone through the same conflicts and problems, and have moreover received non-stop development support since the 1960ties

That makes me rather emotional. Not just the state of education in Tanzania, but the fact that this vast human potential, creativity, personal drive, eagerness and motivation 365 days a year in a large range of Tanzanian villages just isn't utilised, but ignored.There are lots of explanations for this. Education is merely the only thing neglected in the rural areas. Access to water, health services, decent infrastructure and information are other absent, basic necessities for development. The distance between the people who have and the ones who don't, is rather tangible in Tanzania.

In many cases, the schools are there - as in hardware. Buildings are constructed all over the country, but often they don't provide enough space for the pupils enrolled or they are in miserable states. Other problems are obviously also that some teachers don't show up; don't teach; don't speak the tribal language of the children in that area; that they take bribes or demand other services. But teachers are also directed by the government where to work, paid an absolutely ridiculously little salary considering their role and tasks. According to the teachers I spoke to last week, a Tanzanian teacher makes about 75 - 300 USD monthly, that is if they are paid at all - recently teachers have announced that they may go on a 'go slow strike', demanding amongst others their salaries.

And while researching for this blog post, I read this article, which presents a rather interesting variety of view points in terms of the modern Tanzanian teachers, most of them offending, like this one:

Many modern day teachers may have come up short in being role models. Take the female unmarried pregnant teacher or with own children. Single parenthood may be the trend in urban Tanzania, but single mom teacher is setting the example that it is OK to disobey the commandments of the Holy Bible, Quran or other beliefs of one’s community.

The list is long, however, what is fundamental is, that Tanzania has an educational system which simply doesn't meet the need for the vast majority of the watanzania.

Last week I visited two schools in Monduli District - each a primary school in the villages of Moirowa and Kiserian. Both are populated by the Maasai, though Moirowa over time has had a Somali influence which has integrated with the Maasai. They are both situated about 35 km from the main road going between Arusha and Namanga at the border to Kenya, turning in Longido towards Lake Natron. Both villages are situated about 100 km from Arusha, in an area where you on clear days can see you can see the mountains of Kilimanjaro, Meru, Longido and Ol Doinyo Lengai.In the school in Kiserian there was no water and no kitchen facilities for cooking food for the children. Some of the children walk up to 15 km to and from school every day. Enrollment is highly influenced by the present draught in the area, as families shift according to access to water.

In the school in Moirowa there was water, and food was prepared for the pupils - a thin maize soup with beans. Here the children did not walk as far as in Kiserian, and a much higher percentage of girls were enrolled.

The visitors coming with me had brought paper and crayons, and the pupils sat down and drew. Using their human potential, creativity, personal drive, eagerness and motivation. The teachers went along; The children concentrated and produced. As long as there is this ability, everything is possible. Africans have made it big, coming from everywhere. However, a lot of potential is not utilised in Tanzania.

About 50% of Tanzania’s population is under 18 years: How can Tanzania ignore the importance of education?

If in doubt: Scroll back and take another look at the first photo of the child concentrating to draw!

Back in Dar es Salaam

I got back to Dar es Salaam yesterday after 10 days on th road. I love driving, getting out there, but sometimes driving back home is a real mission. Within a month I have driven 2763 kilometres. I am exhausted. Being back in Dar es Salaam just feels fantastic.

Now sorting photos and editing. More to come.

Nothing like instant 'Africafe' (before 200 km on dusty roads)

Today I woke up in Namanga on the border to Kenya. The morning rain wet the dust, and messed up the front screen of the car, which was covered in a fine layer of red dust from the night before. Soon me, too. When you take off from Namanga, you have a great landscape ahead: Kilimanjaro, Meru and Longido. Later, when we drove into the bush, again the peak of Ol Doinyo Lengai.Quite a few of the people interested in 'my' job as communication adviser ask me;

How much do you travel and how much time do you spend outside the office every month?

I answer: as much as possible.

Probably not a very useful answer (if you like the idea of staying a lot in the office), lakini, true. In general in Africa, I see an increasing tendency to cluster expats in the bigger cities and tie them to desks. This is certainly the case of the NGO I work for, which in my opinion now is putting a greater focus on its programme and overall objectives in favour of the smaller civil society organisations we work in partnership with (and which often reside at the end of a dust road in rural Tanzania).

Moreover, it is a fact, that it is difficult to place European expats in rural areas because of the lack of amenities. It is also a common joke between local organisations that sooner or later one of their donors will be ask them to arrange to fly them in to places where there are no airstrips. We laugh when we imagine how the wazungu think they can get from Dar es Salaam to Kiteto to Arusha in only 5 days. Even me, I once had someone requesting me to pick someone up at the border between Tanzania and Uganda, and then take them to Iringa. (I told them I liked to drive, but doubted the visitors would like it as much as me, when they eventually got to look at a map of East Africa). 

However, in times with wide network coverage, mobile Internet modems, Nissan Hardbodies and the majority of the African population living in the rural areas, the only thing which makes sense, is to get out there.

I love having my base in Dar es Salaam, but I am not a writer of fiction.

Besides, this is what Africa is made of.

I love my job: Kilimanjaro, Meru, Longido and Ol Doinyo Lengai in ONE day

I have been happily cruising Tanzania this week – from Dar es Salaam to Tanga to Moshi to Arusha.

This morning I set off from Usa River at the foot of Mount Meru, drove towards Longido (photo above) about 75 km from Arusha and 30 km from the border to Kenya, then off into the bush towards Kiserian Village.

At a certain point during this drive, and on clear days, you can see the mountains of Kilimanjaro, Meru, Longido and Ol Doinyo Lengai.

All the sacred mountains in one go.

I went to Kiserian with two guests from MS ActionAid Denmark and our partner organisation CORDS to visit places where MS ActionAid Denmark supports work on land rights. The guests won their trip to Tanzania in a campaign competition, and this week I am the tour guide. So far, a rather pleasant task. Mainly because I get to go out and meet the wamaasai, and because I get to go through the most magic landscapes of Africa, while I do my job.

Obviously everything got delayed, political heated discussions in the morning in the office over the land issue in Ngorongoro (more about that in a seperate post); people needed lifti, and I ended up driving the last half hour to Namanga cloaked in black, African darkness, blinded by truck headlights, making me inhale 3 kg of African dust which I have now washed down the drains of the Lion Guesthouse on the border to Kenya.

Lakini. This kind of work makes me feel alive.

Personally, I think selected Scandinavian women should have a prize for not freaking out under these circumstances. Or it should be evident what it means when I put the achievement on my CV.

Apropos, jobs:

'My' job is now posted. I do hope who ever gets it, will appreciate getting out of the office working with the wamaasai as much as I do (while I get my head adjusted for leaving it). On days like this it feels like the hardest decision I am making - to return home to Copenhagen.

Lakini. There is a first & last for everything as the hotel on the border between Tanzania and Kenya so rightly puts it.

Today's Quote: William Burroughs, My Education: A Book of Dreams

Airport sounds from a distance, blurred, incomprehensible, then suddenly loud and clear. "Flight sixty-nine has been..." Static ... fades into the distance ... "Flight..." Standing to one side of the desk are three men, grinning with joy at their prospective destinations. When I present myself at the desk, the woman says: "You haven't had your education yet."

William Burroughs, My Education: A Book of Dreams

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.

Take my heart away

To be the sound of wild geese calling
To be ten seasons in a night
To dance the sun beyond the tides of war and peace
To put silence stained by crimes to flight
I need to heart-break-loose-the wind
Dedela umoya, wami baba
(Set my spirit free, father)

To see your eyes shine like two desert stars
To see life burning with a mission
To break the empty circle of living and dying
To leave a child with a vision
I need to heart-break-loose-the wind
Dedela umoya wami, Baba
(Set my spirit free, father)

© Johnny Clegg. Shadowman.

Am getting my things together for another trip to the motherland in November/December. Can't wait.

Flashback: The Perfect Roadtrip (except for the bananas)

 

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.

Where do you get your best ideas?

I've just completed editing a 70 pages long document which can be counted among the most boring pieces of paper I've ever had my hands on.

I'd rather drive 10 hours, than doing it again (unless I get paid specifically to do it).

Two Fridays ago I did drive 10 hours on a Thurday, and was out of my office and in Mtwara on the Friday. While sorting my photos from this trip, it appeared to me that this is so much more the real thing: Serene, blue sky, people wearing nothing but basics, simple food from the ocean next door and direct contact to the soil.

I've been trying to find time for the Economist' Thinking Space, answering the question on where I get my ideas. A lot of people have used their desk/office as the case illustrating their source of inspiration.

I ask myself why?

Because that's what you do in Europe? Get ideas in your office? Are European office environments so much more stimulating than mine (which on occasion is a little conservative in comparison to the European offices I've been around, I must admit)? My office here in Dar Es Salaam from the inside resembles a European one if I shut my ears ears and turn on the air condition. This is the space where I process, not the place I get my best ideas.

For that I have to be out there. So, every week I grant myself a trip into Kariakoo or to Kisutu to find the perfect kanga; a dinner at the Badminton Institute to eat kachori and check out the wonderfull appearance of men experimenting with black hair dye. These places out there are exactly what good ideas are made of.

I don't know what I'd do back in Europe.

Photos from the MaKuYa Festival in Mtwara

 

 

More to come, but check out these photos here in the meantime.

Gone Tribal. MaKuYa Festival in Mtwara

You should have been here.

It's cheap, wild, tribal and hot.

Up-coming Safari: Travelling Dar Es Salaam to Mikindani

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?

Chagga Bite. Read the wrong way.

' 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.

Going to the MaKuYa Festival in Mtwara

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.

Had Freud been put on a daladala in Africa, I bet the psychoanalysis had looked very different

'Duni ni mapito', the streamer on the daladala says. It just passed me in one of these moves which make you doubt whether it has seen you or even cares.

Many of the texts on the daladalas have religious meanings, and a colleague of mine adviced me to translate it into 'the world is in transition (not permanent), meaning 'you will get to a better place when you come to heaven'.

I wonder why the daladalas tend to put forward these rather poetic statements when it would be way more truthfully simply to write 'I don't give a fuck, we're all going to die!'

On Saturday I returned from a 1800 kilometres drive to the Southern Highlands spread over 7 days. When I reached Ubongo, the treshold to Dar Es Salaam I found myself about to explode. This daladala in the photo didn't exactly help.

The traffic in this country is horrific, and it sort of culminates at Ubongo, increasing in both size and idiocy.

I'm sorry, Tanzanians, but I simply don't get the major part of the people whom your police has allowed behind wheels.

I drive myself, and I'm usually confident doing so though previous experience always stays at the back of my mind as a constant reminder of what traffic can do to people; People who died or got injured, body parts strewn over on a Johannesburg highway, and plenty of wrecks in ditches all over the Africa I have travelled.

When I moved to northern Uganda in June 2005 it was a bigger issue to me, than it is today. But coping with it, is not a thing I take for granted.

Questions differ when I explain that I drive on my own; from 'How do you find the way?' to 'Do you really dare driving on your own?'  The Tanzanian highways usually go straight from A to B according to the maps and without much fuss. Besides coming from 26 months along and across the Ugandan border to Southern Sudan, Tanzania appears lighter. Here are risks, but not a crazy, scattered rebel movement planning random ambushes, army checkpoints, landmines or areas where you'll need military police escort. On the other hand, the roads in Tanzania are in a better condition (amongst others thanks to the Danish government), which means you can drive faster.

In Tanzania I mainly operate with risks in the following categories:

• Other drivers: Especially of trucks and busses, who drive as if they are on LSD, or had their fear of death surgically removed. I absolutely fear and loathe this category on a primal level. They generally drive too fast; they overtake even when visibility is low; they lie behind your car and push you into unsafe positions. These drivers do not respond to common sense, but should be approached with it.

• Speed: My Nissan Hardbody can reach 180 kph. The higher speed, the higher risk. The lower the speed, the lower risk.

• Awareness: Always safety belts; lots of coffee, lots of Red Bull; many pauses (good to combine with photgraphy and short calls).

• The risk of having an accident: In particular an accident which will make me unable to look after myself, i.e. call for help or get to the hospital. It is not unthinkable in this peaceloving country to be robbed or left to die in your car. I'm just saying that I have absolutely no illusions in that regard, and that it is all about staying alive and keeping up your authority, if you get a problem. In fact, I learnt early on in northern Uganda that being a single white woman means you do need to boost your ability to make quick decisions and appear clear.

The day before I left for my trip to the Southern Highlands I had a negative experience:

At noon I drove through Oysterday from Saint Peter's Church in Dar Es Salaam, and came to the zebra crossing, where I halted my car when I saw that the children were about to cross; the children noticed it, but looked no further. In fact they often cross along the whole distance, not paying attention to the zebra crossing. I sat in my car and waited for the long line of children to cross, when a pick-up approached the zebra crossing from the opposite direction. At full speed. I was automatically assuming he'd stop, after all there are children all over the road. And me. But the freak didn't! He didn't even lower his speed, but navigated right through the line of children while the pick-up lingers from side to side. It leaves me with three seconds to imagine what will happen when his car hits mine: I thought that I probably won't die, but that I might break something and get bruises. I thought of the fact that my car stands still, and that it is constructed with a special steel frame which should minimize the risk in head on crashes. I calculated that he'll hit my most vulnerable side, my door. I thought of the cars of colleagues, left as wrecks in our compund; colleagues who have had their cars smashed, and I think that if they made it without injuries, so will I.

But he didn't hit me. Somehow the maniac managed to get his car straight and pass mine with less of a metre. It was so close. My heart went ballistic. I started to shake. Clutch, speeder, come on, go on, get out of here. And take it fucking easy. I kept thinking that this was so incredibly unnecessary, and would have been bloody unbearable had he hit the children or me for no reason, but him being an idiot.

Secondly, I get the feeling, which I also had when I experienced a similar thing on Jinja Road in Uganda back in 2006; I want to face the driver, make him understand the consequences, and then rip off his private parts with a slow panga. Rather primal, but I guess that is exactly what fear and anger is. Sometimes it seems that drivers in Africa operate at only one end of the scale; fearless. Had Freud been born put on a daladala in Africa, I bet the psycho analysis had looked very different.

I'm sure I could entertain a Danish psychotherapist for several sessions on this topic. Traffic is the thing I fear the most, and what makes me the most angry in this place. Here, everyone has experienced something similar, and they will take your story as an invitation to tell theirs before you finish. Or they will share morbid jokes. All to make a convenient distance. I do that, too.

We all want it out, and make it go away. I think we all fear that the experiences will corrupt us; make us cynical. I know, if an experience like this stays with me, I'm fucked if I still wanna drive in Africa. For me it is all about the balance of not forgetting the fear, but even it out with a realistic approach to driving. For me it works to write it out of my system.

On my way back from Njombe a traffic police officer stopped me, and asked me to give him a lift, as there had been an accident ahead. Sure. Two cars crashed head on, and people rushed to hospital. 50 bystanders watching the scene. Some two hours later on the road to Iringa I met a similar accident. And in the Baobab Valley a big truck. lying down, blocked the road.

No, I'm never getting used to the fact that life and death travels closely together on this continent.

Safari njema, the Tanzanians say. Travel safely. I wish!

(Apologies for a very long post, way too long.)

Girls and boys wear ear plugs. Not just in Africa.

There's a Flickr group for almost anything. Now here's one for girls and boys wearing ear plugs (!), which I initially thought was another project to make Africans look overtly tribal.

But in fact, it isn't.

My contribution is this little girl in the photo above collecting water at one of the bomas in Orpopong'ni Village in Kiteto District in Maasailand. The Maasai girl have their ears pierced - this one recently. Fascinating, if you can avoid thinking of the pain.

But - take a look at the other photos in the group here: Other people outside Africa go tribal, too.

Bagamoyo Wall Grafitti Poetry

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...

Today's Quote

You have to be lost in order to find a place that cannot be found.
--Capt. Barbosa (Pirates of the Carribbean)

What is it with Johnny Clegg's wife?

After a Johnny Clegg concert in Johannesburg on June 29 2008 I ecstaticly admitted that I had googled 'Johnny Clegg's wife'. No interesting results came up, though. But I realise I am not the only one. In fact, at present 'Johnny Clegg's wife' seems to be the most popular top search word leading to my blog.

Last Searches (max 25 shown)

• freshwater fish species (18 hours ago)
• johnny clegg's wife (1 day ago)
• johnny clegg's wife (1 day ago)
• obama (1 day ago)
• mzungu kichaa (2 days ago)
• obama in africa, pernille (3 days ago)
• nkoaranga (4 days ago)
• saba (5 days ago)
• johnny clegg's wife (5 days ago)
• indian, dar es salaam (5 days ago)
• johnny clegg's wife (6 days ago)
• johnny clegg's wife (7 days ago)

Apologies to Mrs. Clegg.

Tanzanians soon to be introduced to a national dress

African Bambataa puts politics in interesting perspective in a blog post called Things That Make You Go Hmmmm... when linking to this article from the Guardian, which certainly also made me - along with African Bambataa - wonder about the government's priorities:

Tanzanians will soon be officially introduced to a national dress, a move that would help put in place a dressing code to preserve African tradition norms and culture, the Parliament was told yesterday.

Responding to a question by Hafidhi Ali Tahir (Dimani, CCM), who had wanted to know if Tanzania has a national dress, Deputy Minister for Information, Sports and Culture, Joel Bendera said the process of introducing a national dress was progressing well.

Bendera admitted that the style of dressing by most young Tanzanians was not satisfactory despite efforts made by the government and its stakeholders in sensitizing the community on decent dressing.

“If this habit is left unchecked, it might lead to moral decay among young Tanzanians,” he said, adding that dressing in provocative outfit presents a negative picture of the nation. “The whole nation, I believe, is not impressed by this,” he said.

He said the government has been issuing directives on indecent dressing through music groups, artists and beauty contestants.

Bendera said the government realizes that if this culture is left unchecked, it will also affect the future generation of the country.

“The task of discouraging this habit should not be left to the government alone. The whole community, especially the parents and the guardians should play a role in this,” he said.

Unfortunately the article is avoiding asking questions which could shed light on why and how this proposal is going to be implemented in real life.

I'm off to fetch some water...

...am back in some hours.

Oh baby, baby, it's a wild world...

When I was in Maasailand in January, I had a bit of time to kill in Kimana Village, while we were filming.

A rather rough place. Evidently heavily marked of the general pressure on land. In Kimana Village the Maasai live side by side with the Wagogo and the Wahehe – people from other tribes deriving as far away as Dodoma and Iringa.

In fact, to me it resembled the Sudanese refugee settlements and the internally displaces people’s camps in northern Uganda: Sun burnt land. People scattered around the trading centres waiting for the rain.

Hanging out.
Getting drunk.
Very drunk.

On cheap karanga.

The smell of fermenting millet greets you from the afar. Well mixed with the smell of fresh meat put out to dry in the sun. Sort of the Maasai version of the South African biltong.

‘How to make karanga?,’ I asked.

A woman with a utensil resembling a paddle, explained that you take a bag of millet, a bag of sugar and some water. Then you pick enough firewood from around, and put the ingredients in a big oil drum. Boil it all day, while you stir. You leave it overnight to ferment, and it is ready to be sold.

Karanga is not just a Tanzanian phenomenon, it comes in many variations all over Africa. In South Africa and Zimbabwe it is common to throw in meat (!) or fruit, I have been told, to support the fermenting process - and the flavour, maybe?

One portion costs 25,000 TSH to produce, and will make about 100 servings, 250 TSH a cup. Hence, the profit is about 15,000 per portion.

The woman, I spoke to, will do this once a week. Most women do this in order to support their children.

I asked if the karanga caused any problems (while trying to get out of the way as an old man subconsciously wobbled his way through leaving a pong of liquid still in the process of fermenting.)

‘Not really,’ the woman stated. ‘If you drink a lot, you’ll sleep.’

Abuse exists everywhere in the world, in particular in places with high depression and potential conflict. For the ones who don't fall asleep, the karanga fuels agression, making life even more basic and raw, from the ingredients to the impact.

However, here, it is a way to make a living

Albino killers on the front page

On today's newspaper front pages it is very evident that the so-called albino trials have started.

The BBC Africa is reporting about it here. BBC Africa refers to 'about 17,000 albinos living in Tanzania'. The Tanzanian newspaper 'The Citizen' has the photo (above) from High Court in Kahama, Shinyanga Region on their front page, and refers to '150,000 albinos living in Tanzania '.

I have almost given up on finding an (supposedly) accurate number. I doubt it is a matter of the ability to count. However, the diversity of numbers used (when you google for it) might illustrate the reasons why the whole albino issue is rather confusing.

The Citizen is, not to forget, digging into the creepy details describing the actual actions of the accused men in the photo. Not at all unusual around here, and the fact that a newspaper has the above photo on the front page, where the accused persons stare into the camera with an intensity which appears strange if you really are guilty.

I mean, why would someone voluntarily expose one's guilt on the front pages?

Another interesting fact is that the file name of the photo is 'albino killers' - rather symbolic for the initiative the government embarked on back in January 2009, where the agenda was to solve the albino killings in a rather fast and easy way. Maybe a bit to fast, considering that Tanzania has a constitution, which does emphasise that legally, the men cannot be 'albino killers' until proven guilty?

The men in the photo do look back at me in a way I do not understand. In Southern Sudan I experienced something similar when I took photos in Yei Prison, where prisoners however were very unwell, and besides, claimed innocence.

Chances were high that they were. I don't know about the men in the photo - the trial has to show. 

Maasai Mix straight from Maasailand

Last week I went to Kibaya Town in Kiteto. The afternoon before I laid myself down with malaria, I visited the Maasai market in Kibaya Town. Lucky - it is only being held twice a month on the 2nd and 15th.

There was everything for sale a Maasai can dream of: Long knives, red powder and polyester yarn (for the morani's hair extensions), nyama mbusi in plenty (roasted goat), mandazi (Tanzanian donughts), cold beers (and a lot of very drunk Maasai), beads, bangles, shoes of old car tyres, food items, cassava, maize, dagaa (little, dry, smelly fish) clothes - you name it.

Thanks to Mustafa from CORDS for taking us!

Check out more photos here.

Carnival Parade - Sauti za Busara is on

I arrived at 6 o'clock this morning to Stone Town after 12 hours in transit between Kilimanjaro, Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar.

Courtesy of Precision Air. Highly non-recommendable.

Therefore, my energy levels were low, but somehow I made it to the carnival parade at 4 o'clock, where the Old Fort exploded into a session of human fireworks (including a couple of mad donkeys), and signaled the festival opened.

More photos here.

Maasailand 06: My On-going Photography Collection

 

 

I have collected a selection of photos here which make up an on-going selection I have taken and still take in connection with my work as an information officer for MS Tanzania - in this case related to information work in terms of our Land Rights theme.

When I have visited those of MS Tanzania's partner organisations which are working with Land Rights in local communities in the Maasailand area, I have tried to document people, life and surroundings. However, the photos do evidently not necessarily represent people involved in the work on land rights, but to a large extent the people who benefit from this work.

Each photo is tagged with a more precise description (in some cases still underway) and are also mapped on Google Maps.

The photos are the result of my personal impressions and interpretations, and should not be analysed otherwise. Read more here for MS' work on Land Rights: www.ms.dk/sw113224.asp

Maasailand 05: Today's Meal - Goat a' la Maasai

When you are in Maasailand, and only have had the option of bringing a lunch consisting of nicotine chewing gum (for my good friend, Rasmus, the TV journalist), water and a box of biscuits that taste of sawdust (which probably is due to the expiry date which says '1994', and thus make the bisquits only two years younger than Tanzania's multi-party system) - yes, you then turn almost euphoric when you see a group of Maasai men line up a lunch under the African sky.

We sit at stools and logs, which are dragged into the shadow of an acacia tree blossoming here in January. The soil is red, and in principle makes it up for our dinner table. Basic it is.

'This is fantastic,' Rasmus exclaims. And it is. During the approximately 7 hours drive from Dar es Salaam to Kibaya Town in Kiteto, he has frequenly expressed how pleased he is to go to the place, where we are now. It is nice to have happy passengers. And we did finally did make it to Orpopong'ni Village, where MS Tanzania supports a local organisation in awareness raising on land rights, a project we visit for gathering material for a short campaign film.

We wash hands, because we need them to be clean in order to eat with them. And we soon have the impression that the men here adhere to the principle that the more goat inboard, the better. Much the same principle as when I was once in the Faroe Islands during a whale catch or in a busy Thorablot among drunken Icelanders.

The men pull out the broad knives. The seriously big knives, making Facebook groups like 'People carrying knives are idiots' to appear very Copenhagenish. I withdraw my purple Leatherman - the feminine model - now that I finally remembered it. 

I am allowed to open drinks with it.

Goat and coca-cola.

It tastes great on red soil and under a serene blue, African sky. I am in Africa, I am thinking - and at work.

Greasy fingers, flies flock, and we try to develop a doomed technology not to touch the cola bottle. You have to dry your hands with the green leaves, the men explain.

One of my Danish colleagues is unwell an hour later and is about to tip over. The men explain that it actually happens often when you eat a lot of meat and try to be active, then you can fall backwards. She stands, however again, whether impacted from the meat or the heat, it is difficult to say, but the idea of having maasai men toppling over in the bush, undeniably creates a funny picture in my head.

Great experience, Rasmus repeats enthusiastically. It was.

We continue our filming.

Read more here: http://www.ms.dk/sw113224.asp

Maasailand 04: The Maasai girls' playground

This is what the Maasai girls do when they play with each other.

They practice building a house in the boma.

Copying the women.

The boys - on the other hand - construct kraals for the cattle and the goats.

Maasailand 03: Images that makes you wanna return

    

Maasailand 02: Rain is near

The Maasai say that the rain is near when they see the acacia trees carry flowers (January).

 

When the trees drop their flowers (February) the rain supposedly begins.

 

Think about this next time you buy acacia honey.

 

 

Maasailand 01: Back in Dar es Salaam from a dusty 5-days trip

Young woman and girl child carrying water in Orpopong'ni Village in Kiteto District, Maasailand. 5 days in Maasailand, and my hard disc and head are full of images and inputs.

Much more coming up.

New Year in Stone Town on Zanzibar: Crazy

I'll eat my words: I do get hangovers in Africa.

I entered 2009 on Livingstone Beach Restaurant in Stone Town, where people lit torches to celebrate the new year. Afterwards we went to Dharma Lounge where it seemed all people awake in Stone Town were crammed together.

Zanzibar makes you feel alive.

Crossing East African borders: Mountains, Maasai, Red Soil, Blue Skies.

 

Just returned to Arusha from a meeting and a drive from Nairobi. I find it rather difficult not to like my job on days like this. In fact, this is what makes me happy about living and working in Africa: This immense freedom and magnificient scenery I experience during a drive. 

Playing with the photographer

Photos from last Wednesday's visit to Kiserian Village, close to Longido Mountain, in Monduli District. More here.

Happy readers

I always bring copies of MS Tanzania's biannual magazine 'Habari za Tanzani' with me to the rural areas.

It is in both English and Kiswahili, in colours and printed on glossy paper.

It's popular.

Maybe because it already contains articles about the people who read it.

Makes it easier to explain why we go to their village and take their time with too many questions.

An Akiye woman and her baby

Last week I also visited the Akiye tribe at the foot of the Napilukunya Mountain in Kiteto District.

'Napilukunya' means spiky, referring to the shape of the mountain.

The Akiye tribe are hunter-gatherers, a sub-tribe of the Maasai, but with their own language.

I noticed one extraordinary thing - apart from the fact that the Akiye tribe as such do not have a village - and that was that the Akiye were showing a lot of affection towards their children, like this woman who was completely carried away with playing with her baby.

See more photos from the trip here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/74938124@N00/tags/land/

Posing for the camera

When I was visiting Orpopongi Village in Kiteto District last week I had a fun, brief moment with a group of teenagers and children on their way to or from school.   

These two young Maasai boys were posing for the camera as if this is all they do. As if they were well-paid models from another world. They were magnificent.

I couldn't believe it.

They also reminded me of something Johnny Clegg explained during his concert in Johannesburg in June before he performed the song 'The Heart of the Dancer'. The thing about appearance, that the young warrior must appear confident. He must think 'I'm to good for you - too good for this world.' But at the same time he must still have it all under control inside. In Scandinavia this would probably be labelled 'arrogant'.

I know it isn't actually. It's something else. But I can't really explain it. 

Serious piercings and jewellery

I do like jewellery - especially rings, bracelets and earrings - hence I took an interest in the Maasai women's personal gear when I went to Kiteto this week.

When it comes to jewellery and the Maasai women this is however taken into another dimension. It seems the more, the better. Just take a look at the pierced earlobes and you'll possibly grasp the seriousity of this.

The holes are made by using a hot metal piece penetrating the ear when the child is about five years old. One of the people I went with from our partner organisation working with the women, explained that children always try to run away, but are usually caught.

I couldn't help asking what happened if the child can't sit still. Imagine! You can't take those piercings back. And I thought well, hell, if that's what they do, that's what they do. But then again, I thought about my 5-year old nephew, Baltasar, and I thought differently. About infections and what not. It is all about context.

I probably wouldn't last long in a Maasai village. Piercing the earlopes of your 5-year old might be my limit. Or being sent over to the neighbouring village for sugar, in spite of the cruising lions - another woman from our partner organisation - just recalled a not so fun childhood memory.

Anyway, I learnt that the woman wearing the red necklace is also wearing a type of earrings assigned for old women. Whereas the white is for the young. Such a shame it doesn't look no near as cool on a Scandinavian, 37-year old woman.

Again, I suppose, a question of context.

Slideshow from Kiteto

View a slideshow here.

I see you. Beautiful people.

 

It's on days like this I like my job the most. It's on days like this I feel I never want to return to Europe. A drive through the African landscape, into the village, meeting people, moving around. And lots of exceptional good photos and stories to return with. Not to forget dealing with an issue I personally feel must be promoted much harder; women's rights and women's position in terms of land rights.

This visit to the Sokoine Village on the Morogoro-Dodomo Highway is going to be part of an article about Morogoro Paralegal Centre which has educated paralegals and sensitized the community in this area in order to cater for women's rights in particular in terms of land and matrimonial matters. When it comes to these issues, women and children are always loosing.

And that has to change in terms of poverty reduction and development. I have here quoted Flora Masoy, Co-ordinator for Morogoro Paralegals;

'People in the rural areas really benefit from this sensitization because it reduces conflicts. If a woman is not allowed to speak up, she will become de-motivated and unhappy. Lack of dialogue between the wife and the husband creates insecurity on the personal household level which gives bad conditions for the children. All together that gives less time to work in the shamba and the livelihood of the family is affected. Development starts at household level.'

Yep, it really isn't that complicated. It is though to the people affected, and let me note, which I do very seldomly, that I actually think the NGO I work for, MS Tanzania, has been very right to support this organisation and their work. The support is part of a greater context dealing with women and land rights, which I'm to do some more about next month from Arusha.

Long story, and I will get back to it later at another point. There is more to the issue than what I get to add this evening.