Traffic

Dear Government of Tanzania,

I have been travelling quite a few kilometres on my motorbike over the last few months and I would like to support the development of your country with my experience on the Tanzanian roads. I would like to advise you to introduce a theory exam for everyone. This will probably contribute to the safety on the National Roads. I do know that you guys are extremely busy and do appreciate your lunch and tea breaks more than anything else, so I’ve taken the time to write a draft exam. The answers all come from practical situations and I assume they, therefore, are at least close to the way it is supposed to work, or not, or do you not know either?

Q	You are a bus driver and you enter a village situated along the main road, what do you do?
A	You do not worry about the safety of all people walking and cycling along the road and continue driving with a speed of around 100 km/hr and act as if the speed bumps do not exist.
Q	You are a passenger on the bus mentioned above; you have a back seat in the bus and hear the front wheels going over the speed bump. What do you do?
A	You hold on to your chair, pray and hope that your head won’t hit the ceiling too hard this time.
Q	You are a taxi driver getting to a T-junction and you see 2 women with around five 20 kilo bags of rice waiting for transport. What do you do?
A	You hit the break, not minding the passengers in the back, and get to a stop exactly in the middle of the road joining the main road. You load the bags of rice while blocking the road for other traffic.
Q	You are a bus driver of a small minibus used for local transport. Seven children of around 4 years old are waiting for transport (without parents of course); your bus is full already. What do you do?
A	You stop, your assistant lifts 5 of the children and pushes them in urging them to sit on the laps of other passengers; when people in the back start complaining about the lack of space you let the other 2 kids stand between the front seat and the front window just so that when you have to make an emergency stop these kids will definitely fly through the window.
Q	You are riding a pikipiki, going up a steep hill and are about to pass an old man pushing his bicycle with 50 kilos of bananas up hill. What do you do?
A	You blow your horn at maximum volume, push the poor man off the road and continue your journey as usual.
Q	You are riding your pikipiki; just before a curve you see a truck coming from the opposite direction. What do you do?
A	You hit the brakes, make your way into the gutter because you are pretty sure that the truck will cut the curve (and yes it does!).
Q	You are a Tanzanian man and see a White Woman failing to start her pikipiki. What do you do?
A	You rush to help. You tell the woman to put the bike in neutral (yes), turn the key (really?), and kick hard (I did). Then you push the woman off the bike and try yourself. When you fail (as well), you blame the bike and walk away.
Q	The same thing happens the next day. What do you do?
A	Well, the same. You complain and say that woman should not ride a motorbike and then you blame the bike (without apologizing of course).
Q	(this question is just for foreigners in your country) You are a white woman, experiencing at least 1 of these things every time you hit traffic. What do you do?
A	You try not to forget that you are the visitor to this system. Writing it down definitely helps and even makes you laugh about it all. And yes, every time you get home safely, you thank God!

 

 

Beliefs

So far I have managed to stay away from discussions about religion and beliefs. Although religion is very important in Tanzania, it is not a topic that is being discussed as much as in Ghana. Every now and then I find myself in a conversation where people ask me which church I visit, but an answer in the lines of ‘I practise my religion but do not go to church and that is what most people in my country do’, is often enough. Yes it sometimes causes faces of unbelief or disappointment and sometimes even results in the question whether I believe that is good, but it does not result in endless conversations like it sometimes did in Ghana. Around 45% of the people in Tanzania is Christian and there are countless different church congregations that all preach from the same Bible. Another 45% of the people are Muslims and probably have a same diversity of schools and mosques. Apart from that there are different traditional beliefs and other religions like Hinduism and Sikh.

One of the huge churches in a village where people have nothing ;-(

One of the colleagues who recently joined our organisation, Johannes, is a Jehova’s witness and he practises his belief with heart, soul AND mouth. Today’s discussion started with an invitation from a befriended Priest to attend a church service on the 1^st of January at 7am (My God!) in which the recently born son of a befriended couple will be baptised. Johannes thereupon asks my friend why he involves himself in baptising babies, whereas the Bible states that people should only be baptised if they are old enough to make the choice themselves. He adds that this action of the priest is WRONG! ‘Babies are also the son of God and the parents want the Child to be honoured with the blessing of the Lord’, is not the explanation Johannes wants to hear. ‘That is wrong’, again is the reaction. The priest invites Johannes to explain why, whereupon a whole teaching on bible verses, stories of apostles and other argumentations follows. ‘Even Jesus was only baptised when he was an adult, so......... ‘. ‘I studied 7 years to become a priest’, ‘that is wrong...’, and all other arguments between the two follow. After about 10 minutes listening I can no longer hold my breath. Especially the ‘that is wrong’ argument is a bit too much for me. I have followed the discussion with much interest and nobody asked for my opinion (why would they), but..... I jump in asking if I could add 4 questions to their discussion. I explain that I would love the two to give me the answers to these questions that have kept me busy thinking and weighing for many years:

1.       Is belief not about what people belief themselves and strengthens them in life?

2.       If you would compare different stories in the Bible, would you not find many contradictions?

3.       How can the Bible then be the Truth, also knowing that it was written down and translated many times by people who had their own opinions and interpretations of that Truth?

4.       And how can people then be able to say that things are ‘right’ or ‘wrong’?

What follows is silence only.

And in the mean time the Muslims and Christians in Zanzibar and Dar es Salaam fight a tough battle today, Al Qaida thinks to do well ‘in name of Allah’, Protestants and Catholics fight their own fight,  and so on and so on. Who, please tell me who, can come up with the right answers and the one and only Truth?

Workshop

Today was one of these ‘typical Africa’ days that I so much adore. I had organised a workshop in one of our communities, supported some colleagues to prepare and today was THE day.

Early morning, I jump on my pikipiki, kick start it 10 times to make it run and make my way from the steep rocky path where my house lays on, to the main road. The road swings beautifully through the green hills of the region and the views this morning are stunning. The new rainy season has given beans and other crops energy to sprout; the coffee plants are flowering, the banana trees are always good for some fresh green carpets on the hills and the clouds are slowly making their way up back into the sky after an early morning rainfall.

Upon arrival 2 chapati’s are waiting for me, as is a cup of steaming hot tea with milk and sugar. I have told people that I just want black tea but that, still, to them is unbelievable and must be a joke. While I make my way through my second breakfast, my colleagues rush through the last preparations. With a bag full of stuff, a crate of drinks and a pot with hot chapati’s on my lap, do we fight our way into a minibus. My colleagues manage to make the bus stop right in front of the place where we need to be and only half an hour late do we set foot on the training spot. Of course, we are the first ones. I make myself comfortable on a chair made out of dried grass and chat with my colleagues while slowly some more people join.  Two hours after the agreed time most people have arrived.

Liberatus teaches about tree planting. The area suffers from a lack of fire wood because people have cut most of the natural trees. Fire wood therefore is a big expense for most families. NGO’s have years and years back introduced pine and eucalyptus trees that are now grown by government and individuals for production of fire wood and timber. The negative effect of these trees is that they have a negative effect on the soil and agriculture. Nothing will grow in the surroundings of pine or eucalyptus trees. Teaching people which trees do well in relation with their farms and showing them how to start a small tree nursery may stimulate them to grow their own fire wood supplies.

Johannes teaches about compost making. The soil in this area is not very fertile and not a lot of people have cows for manure. The price of manure is for most people too high and farmers struggle with poor yields. Making compost will reduce the amounts of green stuff being burnt and will give the farmers more volumes of compost that will hopefully help them to increase their yields. Although I do not understand most of the conversation, I am able to understand a bit of what’s going on. For me this workshop is a good opportunity to add some words to my vocabulary, although you would wonder what to do with words like manure, ashes and cow urine in daily life.

The setting of the workshop is brilliant. We are sitting in the shade of some banana trees and the demonstration pile of compost and the tree nursery are made right on the spot. A light rainfall just makes us move a bit closer to the trees that also provide shade when the sun returns.

After a couple of hours we leave, happy with the work we did. I get the best chair in the shared taxi, the one on the front seat. The seat is not the best anymore when 2 girls are pushed to share the same chair and the chair with the driver. But, oh wonder, again, I do get back home safely.

Lake fly cake

A while ago a friend sent me a local recipe for me to try. ‘This dish is rich in protein and calcium and contains six times as much iron as liver’, the introduction said. It continued: ‘Catch lake flies and squeeze together in cakes which can be dried. Break the cake into pieces and boil in a little salted water until soft. Add onions, tomatoes, oil and groundnut paste. Cook gently for a few minutes and serve with rice. The lake flies can be caught once a month by placing a pressure lamp outside at night. You can easily grab them in handfuls; after that put them in boiling water’. I had seen swarms of little flies, smaller than mosquitoes, but never given them a lot of attention until last night.

The last week I spent some lovely days in the village close to the border with Uganda. I had enjoyed a very basic week without electricity, having only rainwater to drink and cooked bananas for lunch and dinner every day. No rush, no stress of all the things I thought I had to do, just nothing. Yesterday morning I travelled back home and while our bus drove into town I noticed swarms of the little flies. I jumped on the back of a motorbike, closed my eyes to avoid the things to enter and came home without a lot of trouble. My house is up a hill, above the lake and normally the flies don’t make it up there. This time, however, I could see them flying around my place as well. I went to my neighbours to tell them I was back in the house. The man seemed surprised to see me back healthy. ‘You went to the village and look as if you enjoyed. How is that possible?’ It is funny how ‘rich’ locals seem to think that life in the remote places is bad and again I explained how much I liked being there. While talking I asked about the flies. ‘Have you ever eaten them?’ The neighbours both laughed and said this cheap meal had never been on their menu but if I wanted they could arrange a dish for me. I thanked them and went home. As soon as it got dark I could see that the little flies made their way into the house via all little cracks. I escaped the place and hit myself under my mosquito net. Soon I fell asleep.

This morning when I opened my eyes I decided to close them straight away and think. My mosquito net was covered with dead flies and so were the floor and all other surfaces in the house. Some bastards had survived the night and were still buzzing around the ceiling. I got up, took the broom and got rid of the worst. I am not lying when I say that I had 2 dust pans full of dead little things. Since quite a few were still alive I decided to wait a bit before cleaning the whole place and worry about my breakfast first. I walked to the neighbours borrowed an egg, bought fresh milk and started making pancakes. I cracked the egg and found a little chick in it instead of the stuff I wanted. I threw everything on top of the pile with dead flies and opened the tap to wash the bowl. The water that came out of the tap was white. I walked to the shop to buy another egg. I made the dough again and started frying. In the mean time I had poured myself a cup of fresh tea. While waiting for the first pancake to dry, I took my cup of tea to take a first sip. Two dead flies were floating in my drink. I chucked it away, poured myself a new cup and covered it with a lit. I turned around to turn the pancake and saw a couple of dead flies on top of that as well. Really I tried to stay calm but at that point I had reached my limit. Within 2 minutes I went through all stages of culture shock: denial, pining, anger, guilt and depression. I am still wiating for the last stage, 'acceptance' and in the mean time I will continue cleaning.

Send off

One of the members of my organisation celebrated the send off of his daughter yesterday. She will get married on Friday and Wednesday was the first step of the celebration.

In the morning I get on my pikipiki (motorbike), drive to my workplace, pick up a colleague and drive into the bush. After 20 minutes on a dirt road, we leave the main road and enter a path going up the hill. I am still amazed that a path of 10 centimetres can be wide enough for ‘traffic’, but, again, I manage to reach our destination without falling. We park the pikipiki and enter a house. I can’t possibly appear on a celebration wearing my jeans and trainers and I can’t possibly ride a motorbike wearing a long skirt and sandals. This problem gets solved in 5 minutes and off we are again. We walk further into the fields passing the ‘usual’ farms with banana trees, peanuts, cassava and beans. Every now and then I get a glimpse of the terrific view on the lake. Soon I hear the first noises appearing from the middle of nowhere. A music installation is put on maximum volume, which makes it easy for us to find the house we are going to. It appears that the neighbours are also having a celebration and 2 music installations are competing with each other to be the loudest. The member of our group gets tears in his eyes when he sees me appearing from the bush. He’d never expected I would really come and he immediately starts running around to make special arrangements.

While he runs around I observe the typical African last preparations going on. Although 300 guests are waiting for the ceremony to start, the bride mates’ dresses are not yet finished and the last decorations still to be put on the walls. I meet someone I have met before, she looks very tired. When I ask her what's going on, she replies that she started to work on the decorations of the house and surroundings last night and did not have any sleep since she could not finish on time. Mind you, she does this for a living, so I would assume she could have imagined it taking her 2 days instead of 1.??

My protests against special treatments appear not to have worked..... : the other 300 guests are sitting on the ground, I get a chair next to the grooms father, the others are queuing for food, I get it served at my place, the others drink rainwater, I get coca cola,.... The special guest also gets the best place in front of the celebration hall, next to the speakers. Lucky me! At the beginning of the ceremony I have the opportunity to introduce myself to all guests, lucky me! I get double the portion of cooked bananas and spongy meat, lucky me!

I do enjoy the celebration though. The opportunity to see how things go is great and my colleague is the best in explaining what is going on. My view on the village elders getting drunk from drinking local beer is excellent. Watching how some people get vouchers to allow them to go to the front to get a soda or cash money instead (?) and seeing the faces of the people who don’t get one, is interesting. Seeing the future bride come in, grieving because she is going to leave her parents home soon, is fun. Seeing the future father in law dancing around when his future family member (and probably best servant) is being introduced is even better. And the bride searching for her future husband in the crowds is reason for everyone to cheer and shout and laugh. It is great to have the opportunity to attend special occasions like this while being here. And although I do not always appreciate all the special attention, I am very grateful that people realise that sitting on the floor for 4 hours, wearing a long skirt, without space to stretch your legs, may be a bit much for me. And thanks to the huge meal, I can be lazy tonight and just have some tea and fruits for dinner.

Cenene

Early in the morning I pass the market on my way to a meeting. The market is crowded, people are shouting around and it looks like something really important is happening. I decide that work has to wait 5 minutes for me to be able to find out what is going on. I push my way through the crowds and see people hassling over something in white bags. Negotiations are tough and it seems that the price is going more up than down. I push myself a bit more forward to be able to find out what is in the white bags and why people are so excited about it. The bags are moving, that’s what I am sure about, but what is in it?

After I find out, I walk to the place where my meeting is taking place. Of course, being 5 minutes later is not a problem; I still end up waiting for half an hour. That gives me time to chat with the secretaries in the office. I learned before that it is very important to befriend them so that in case you need some printing job to be done, you can avoid queuing at the little secretarial offices by just going to one of your friends to do it for you! One of the secretaries is very excited today. She just came from the market to buy the last harvest of this season. ‘And they were good this year!’, she says. ‘Let me show you how to peel it’. While peeling she asks if I have ever eaten this delicious meal, which is not only her favourite but also that of all other people of the Kihaya tribe who live in this region of Tanzania. Upon my answer that I never really tried, she invites me to come to her house for dinner. ‘We will cook them and you will love it’. I thank her for the invite and am happy that right at that moment her boss calls me into his office. On his desk: cenene: the food I am talking about. After greeting me the traditional way and expressing his satisfaction with my ability to answer all his funny greetings (how are you, how is your house, how is your village, how is your family, how is work, how is the rain this morning and how are the cenene), he continues his informal chat. ‘Have you ever eaten cenene? It is the best food we have and we just got the last harvest’. I tell him that I passed the market on my way to his office and how surprised I was about the excitement of the people. The last harvest is reason for everyone to go out and see how the harvest of this year looks.

After this meeting, I meet with my employer. His first question is whether I have seen the market place today. I start laughing and tell him that by now I am fully informed about the cenene. His addition to the story is that when he travelled to the UK last year, he took a bag of cenene which he bought for 10 pounds sterling. In the UK, he was able to sell it to Tanzanian people from the Kihaya tribe for a total amount of 200 pounds. Well, I know what I have to bring home next time I go to Europe!

Grasshoppers are the things that people here are making such a fuss about. Before you cook them, you take of the wings, the head and tail and what is left is the delicacy of the region. I will gain some more courage before I will try. At least to be able to tell people around that ‘yes, I have eaten it’. I am sure that will help my integration process in the country.

Police

I have written quite a number of blogs about the police during my 2.5 years stay in Africa and I am quite sure that some are still to follow. The guys in the blue uniforms are definitely one of my biggest challenges in this lovely continent. Also last week, my patience was tested by one of those guys.

During my first weeks in Tanzania I got my learners’ license to be able to ride a ‘pikipiki’ (motorbike). Now, after 3 months, the learners’ license expires and I have to apply for an official one. One morning last week I left the house to go to town to sort this out. And it became a long long long day of hard work.

The first thing I had to do, people told me, is to go to the Tanzanian Revenue Association to get a form to apply for my license. So, my first stop this morning is at the desk of a government official. After a brief exchange of greetings (how are you, how is work, how is the house, how is your family), I get the form, fill it in and am told to go to the police to have the form stamped. Of course, how could I expect anything different, is the police station on the other end of town. In the pouring rain, I walk to the police station where I knock at the office of the ‘traffic police, while dripping from head to toe. The normal exchange of greetings is in this case suddenly not necessary. The fat man behind the desk must have left his bed on the wrong side this morning, since even my sweetest smile doesn’t get him to open up, not even a bit! My request to speak English is also not granted. ‘You just speak Swahili!’. And so, the tone of the conversation is being set. No friendliness but rudeness from his side and a lot of begging and pleading is expected from my side. I try my hardest to be as humble as I can and stumble my way through the Swahili words I know, while offering the form to the Officer in charge. The Angry Man glimpses at the form and pushes it back into my direction. ‘You should have used a blue pen, not a black pen. Go back to the TRA office and fill a new form’. ‘Oh I am so sorry sir, thank you sir, see you later sir’. While talking a lot to myself and not using the most positive vocabulary, I walk back in the rain. My friends at that office have never encountered this problem before, but they are so kind to give me a new form and a blue pen to fill it in. Not long after that am I walking again, avoiding all the puddles of water and trying not to get too wet, in the direction of the police office. The Angry Man has granted one of my requests which is to speak English. ‘Thank you so much Sir, that is very kind of you Sir’. He looks at the form again and pushes it back to my side of the table. ‘Now you go back and get a learners’ license for a car, otherwise I can’t give you a Tanzanian car license’. With all my patience that is left, I try to explain the man that about 20 years ago I passed all tests in Europe and have been driving a car ever since. ‘Do I really need a learners’ license for a car Sir?’ The look on his Angry face, says enough: ‘Yes, you go now’. And so, very soon after I arrived am I on my way back to TRA. The biggest mistake I made in this whole issue, of course, is not to offer this fat man a bribe. But, I refuse to waste my money on these type of people and so I need to be prepared to be treated like this! The people at the TRA office are very happy to see me at their desk again. They can’t believe what I am going through and upon my request they write a short note to the police officer to ask for his cooperation.  When I get back to the police office, lunch time has started. After I waited for more than an hour, the man appears, looks at me and slams his door before I even have the opportunity to turn my face towards it. The other 7 people waiting are probably even more annoyed than I am, although I can’t believe that being possible. After another 20 minutes of waiting and complaining about those ‘police who are not serious’, the door opens. Apparently the nap of the man has taken long enough. Mister Angry looks at the note of the TRA people and stares at his computer screen. After another 5 minutes I leave his office with a stamp and his signature on my form. Hurray, I am out of there! ‘Thank you so much Sir, good bye Sir’.

My delight does not take very long, though. My friends at TRA tell me that Mister Angry has ‘forgotten’ to enter my data into the computer system. I need to go back. I already ran out of patience a couple of hours ago and this is just too much! Luckily enough it is still raining and during my walk back to the police station, I cool down a bit. It is already late and I expect that the policeman will have left his office or will send me away because he wants to go home. I prepare myself for the worst when I find my place in the queue. But, Oh what a miracle, after only 20 minutes waiting and a last unfriendly look, I am ready to leave again. Job done! My anger, the coldness and rain have absorbed all my energy and by this time TRA has closed. So I decided to leave the rest of the job till tomorrow.

And ........ this afternoon I left the TRA office with a brand new, shiny, Tanzanian green driving license! I am ready for another encounter with my friends of the police, which I am sure, won’t take long before it happens!

Walk at night

I have just finished a meeting and a nice meal and am on my way home. The venture of the meeting is not far from where I stay, the evening is beautiful and so I have decided to walk. The last few weeks the temperature has decreased to Dutch levels. Most days it rains at least for a couple of hours and sometimes it rains so hard you can’t see a thing. My sleeveless shirts are on the bottom of my pile with clothes and I find myself wearing my one and only fleece too often. The locals have changed their wear to winter clothes. People wear warm jackets and a lot accompany them with gloves and a shawl. I do agree with them that it is cold, but since it’s still around 18 degrees I am still comfortable without these accessories.

Today, however, was a beautiful day. After impressive thunders during the night with even more impressive rainfall, the sun appeared from behind the clouds this morning. My meeting took place on a terrace overlooking the lake. Even after sunset the temperature was nice. And so, I walk home. The electricity just went off and everything I can see is darkness. The moon is there and lids my way. There are numerous stars in the sky and I can even see the Milky Way. I walk and enjoy. The only things I hear are insects. Behind me a motorbike appears from the dark, passes me and disappears in the dark again. I leave the main road and turn to a small dirt road. The heavy rainfalls have turned this road in a muddy path with a lot of holes, rocks and puddles. I am careful not to hurt my ankle and see why people in the villages don’t go out after dark at all. Only one moment of carelessness and you can easily wound yourself.

I reach the gate to my house safely and our Massai security guard walks slowly into my direction. I realise he has a big bandage around his ankle and ask him what happened. He tells me he just got bitten by a snake and the neighbour has cut his foot to allow the poison to leave his leg. And I was just worried about stepping in a pothole!

No water

My organisation, Africa Partnership on Climate Change Coalition, works in 3 districts in the region where I live. The place where I live is in one of these district. I have met a lot of people whom I am supposed to work with and a lot of farmers who suffer from the effects of climate change. APCCC organises trainings to teach farmers about climate change and helps them  to adapt to the change and the challenges they face. I start to get an impression about the problems and about my contributions towards ‘solutions’.

Two weeks ago I got picked up from my (still temporary) house to go to another district I am supposed to work in. The pastor from the local church came with his car to take me to his area. Together with someone else I sat on the passengers seat, my bag with some spare clothes for a week on my lap. We stopped at the market to buy food that was put behind my back, on my feet and on any other empty place in the cabin of the car. After 1 hour drive in a very uncomfortable position we left the tarmac road.  I guess we had God on our side, because despite the high speed and the nearly hits of cyclists on the dusty sandy path, we reached the Parish house safely. The landscape in the area is flat, the sun hot and the drought striking. The church ground around the Parish House is very big and is being used to grow corn, bananas and beans. The money made out of selling the crops is used for the church and the church farm does very well. The area does not have running water or electricity. The Parish house has the luxury of a rainwater harvest system. About 2 kilometres from the church is also a water pump that gives water for the people living around the place.  In the evenings the generator is started to provide the house with some power to turn on lights as well as a television. Solar power is generated to charge mobile phones. In the evenings people turn up from the darkness, plug their phones in the socket of the house and come back the next morning to pick it up. The luxury of a rain water tank, a pump on a walking distance and a generator is in this district, however, rare. A lot of people I visit during this week live in a hut made out of mud or a mixture of mud and cement, their furniture is not more than a couple of mats on a layer of grass on the ‘floor’ and everyone is growing vegetables. Drought in this district is a major issue. I am shocked when I see the quality of the water people drink. Most people fetch their water at one of the water pools that, around this time of the year, are nearly dried up. The little bit of water that is available in the pools is dirty and probably needs hours of boiling before it is suitable for consumption. I already get stomach problems when I only look at it. A lot of children have to walk for miles and miles to fetch water before they go to school; the lucky ones have a bicycle to carry the load. The teachers I meet complain that a lot of children arrive at school late because of the lack of water sources around their houses. After my working day that consists of a 15 km walk to visit farmers and see their activities, I am exhausted. So what about all the women who are working in the hot sun on their farm lands, walk miles and miles to fetch water, make their food on a fire outside their mud hut and worry about how to provide their families with food the next day?  

The two sisters that also live in the Parish house are responsible for maintaining and cleaning the church, the household of the house and the farming activities. During the week they are, above all, my Swahili teachers. With a lot of laughter they try and increase my knowledge of their language while I assist them with preparing the evening meals. I enjoy a week in the bush, learn a lot, and get enough inspiration to contribute to improvement of the situation. And, I am happy to come back to the ‘civilised world’ after a week in the bush. The running water from the cold shower definitely helps to get rid of all the dust!

Night life

view from behind my new temporary house

Another encounter with a bat is the last straw. ‘Slightly’ in panic I put some clothes on and run outside to ask the neighbours for help. Suddenly I am happy with the bar next door where a couple of men are conversing loudly while having another shot of their local gin and disturbing my night rest. At this somehow unpleasant hour of 1 o’clock at night on a simple Wednesday, the average Tanzanian already has been asleep for a couple of hours. The visitors of the bar next door don’t seem to plan their (and my) night rest yet. At the moment that I escape my room, I am grateful for that. My biggest challenge is to express my urge in Kiswahili. However, the visits of friends of the bat earlier these weeks, somehow help me. I have looked up the words for ‘bat’ and ‘afraid’ in the dictionary to tell there was a bat in my room and I was scared. The only thing I have to do know is change the past tense in the present tense. So, with a lot of embarrassment and hesitation, while shaking all over, I manage to tell the men that there is a bat in my room. The answer is something in the lines of: ‘then kill it’. And that is just my problem. 1. I don’t dare to go back in the house and 2. I wouldn’t know how to kill the bloody animal. In another attempt I am able to tell them that this white woman just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Finally 2 men stand up, laughing out loud, and walk into the house. They observe the situation and one of them leaves the house to come back with some leaves of a banana tree. With my last courage I run inside, stick some breakable stuff under my arms and run back outside. Good thinking! Like 2 drunk men that are not really in control of their movements (which is probably right considering the time they’ve spent drinking their gins next to my bedroom window), the guys run around the room with their leaves and, not long after that, leave the place with the leftovers of the bat. ‘Sleep well’ is their final greeting. They celebrate their victory with more gins and laughs while I am trying to get back in control of myself.

The next morning, I strap one of my suitcases on the back of my motorbike and drive to the house of another VSO volunteer. I tried to live in a zoo but have to acknowledge I can’t do it. The combination of rats, bats, noise and continuously people staring through my windows is just too much for me. So, the next evening, I am in a more comfortable bed in a more comfortable house in a quiet environment. Boing, boing, beng, beng..... While I am wondering what this noise is, it disappears slowly and I can enjoy the silence in and around the house again. I think of my first exploration of the environment and house and the lovely view of Lake Victoria. Another half an hour later more noise... An elephant? No, they don’t live in this region. Another big animal? No, crocodiles don’t make this noise and hippos don’t climb a hill. And bats don’t make this noise, is what I know from recent experiences. I decide to explore the cause of this noise and it doesn’t take long to find out. Julius, the security guard of the house is the cause of this noise. Julius is a 28 year old Masaii who looks after our safety. When my Kiswahili gets better I need to ask him why he walks around like an elephant at night. During the day I am often surprised to find him standing next to me while I haven’t heard him coming, while at night he walks around as if he wants to scare all the wild animals in the wild park 600 kilometres away where he comes from. At least, I can go back to bed now and get some extra hours of sleep to make up for the last weeks.

Zoo

I have arrived in my new home town, Kemondo Bay. Although you can find it on Google earth, it's nothing really. A fishing harbour, 3 mosques, lots of little huts in a market place, even more noisy people and me in my house. My first week was full of new impressions. I got to know lots of locals, know which stall sells spaghetti, have bought my first fresh fish and am already sick of eating the bananas that are grown here and everyone offers me as a present. My Kiswahili is getting a little better now that I'm forced to try and speak it a lot, the children in town all know where the Mzungu (Obruni) lives and stare through my windows a lot, and my living room often is the place to meet other locals although I never told people this is the new community centre. This weekend I drove to the nearest town on my pikipiki (moto) and bought some necessary food stuff that is not available in my village. The road going to the town is good and goes over hills full with banana trees, coffee plants and sometimes allows a great view on Lake Victoria. There is hardly any traffic on the road. Every now and than a minibus (too) full with people who also want to shop in town, children walk aroundwith goats, some pikipiki riders are trying the maximum speed of their bikes and in the fiels adults and children are busy planting potatoes. The rainy season has started and it's nice and cool with every day some or a lot of rain.

My house is being baptised: 'Zoo'. At the beginning of this week I woke up by the noise of a bat that appeared to be my room mate. The bloody animals was screaming and flying around with a speed I thought was dangerous is this tiny dodgy 'room' of mine. I chose to be the weakest, blew some air in my inflateble mattress and slept together with 50 musquitos in my living area. Because I didn't dare to go back into the room to get my mozzy-net, I woke up with a couple of bites of these new friends. A colleage came to the house the next day and managed to find the bat and chased it away. Two days later I heard the voice of this former room mate again and am wondering how long it will take him/her to find the entrance to my room again. I hardly survived the first shock of house mates and found another friend in my living area the next day: Mr Rat. It was walking through my room as if it was not used to doing anything else and didn't seemed to be bothered by my presence. I had enough by that time, left the house and slept in the house of a another volunteer the next night. I have asked VSO and the employer to solve my living situation by finding me a proper house. Whether the rat and/or bat are still around? I will soon find out. Perhaps they have fallen in love and have decided to move to their own place to create their family. I just hope they did and that they will happily live ever after.