I woke up Saturday morning in my plush Qatar hotel room at 3:30am, to catch my shuttle at 4 and be back at the airport by 5. Still unable to figure out how to turn on the lights, I marveled at the city in the dark pre-dawn hours while brushing my teeth and getting ready to depart for Tanzania.
Back at the airport, I grabbed a breakfast smoothie ($7) and curled up in a corner to get some more sleep, before being interrupted by the French college kite surfing team and a large group of what looked like construction workers from Thailand. I abandoned hope for sleep and went to sit next to an African woman and her small baby girl, and we enjoyed a short conversation about her travels in a mixture of her English and my very poor Swahili.
We boarded a bus outside of the gate that took us to the tarmac. A little Indian girl came to sit next to me on the bus. Her name was Quincia, and she was absolutely adorable. We talked about her schooling (4th grade), her favorite subjects (math), what she was doing in Qatar (vacationing in Dubai, where her favorite activity was being at the beach), and her favorite music (Justin Beiber). I gave her some American candy and a postcard of the Blue Ridge Parkway, and she was surprised to learn that the leaves change colors in the fall ("Like a chameleon!" she said).
When we reached the plane on the tarmac and began to depart the bus, a middle-aged Arab man who worked for the airport stopped me from leaving the bus. I stayed, afraid there was something wrong with my ticket. When everyone else had left the bus, he turned to me and asked for my contact information. The best I could figure what he was saying was that he wanted to set me up with his son. I told him I was moving to Africa with my "husband" and I was not coming back and would have no way of contacting anyone ever. He looked disappointed but let me leave the plane after giving me his contact information, just in case.
On the plane, I had a whole row of seats to myself, and after watching some movie with Katherine Heigl and the really attractive military guy from Transformers, I fell asleep and woke up to see Zanzibar passing under the plane. After we landed, an Australian woman came up to me and asked if I'd ever been to Africa before. I said no, and she warned me that the heat was going to be surprising.
Accordingly, my first impression of Africa is that it's hot. I know, I probably could have stayed home and figured out that much, but it's true! As the hatch to the plane came down and the flight attendants ushered us outside, I was hit with a wall of heat and humidity that made Florida in summer feel light and comfortable and breezy (I am sitting in my room at Perpetua's house right now, and having just gotten out of the shower I immediately feel as though I need another).
I walked down the ramp and into the airport, to a line of tall wooden standing desks where we were to fill out our visa applications. I was soon joined by three Swedish guys about my age, who were visiting Tanzania on holiday. They told me they were about to move to California in June. I asked if they had ever been to North Carolina and they said no, but that they had heard of the Biltmore Estate. As it turns out, they've been to more states than I have, but they promised to make visiting North Carolina a priority on their next trip.
I got my visa, and my luggage, and walked outside to wait for Perpetua to pick me up. I was approached every couple of minutes by taxi drivers offering to drive me wherever I wanted (later I learned from Perpetua that they are honest enough, but since I am foreign they assume I have plenty of money and they charge extra because they know foreigners don't know better). I used one of the airport workers' phones to call Perpetua, and upon learning she was on her way and stuck in traffic, I hung up and thanked the man ("Ahsante!") and continued on to the money booth to exchange currency.
For the record, USA, your money is pretty darn ugly. You could at least put an eagle or a buffalo on the front, but instead you chose outdated artwork of some old men. Tanzanian currency is beautiful. The Tanzanian Shilling (in bills of 1,000, 5,000, and 10,000) has pictures of elephants and rhinos and giraffes on it, and are purple and orange and yellow. I almost don't want to spend them (and if the generosity of everyone here keeps up, I may not get to).
When Perpetua arrived and we were walking out of the airport, the man whose phone I had used approached her and demanded money, since I had used his minutes. She scoffed at him and kept walking, explaining to me that since I am a foreigner, people will assume I have lots of money and don't know what is going on.
Driving in Dar Es Salaam is a trip. There are only a few roads with pavement, the rest are dirt, and very few of the paved roads have markings or lines of any kind. It is essentially every man for him/herself, with no sort of discernable organization to the traffic patterns. It's a bit like driving in New York City except there are no signs or traffic signals or road markings, and every driver has advanced road rage.
I saw small vans packed with people, and buses with people crammed inside and hanging on the top and the sides. There are little motorcycles with drivers you can pay to take you places, called "Piki-Piki" because of the sound they make. When the traffic was slow and heavy, there were merchants walking between the cars selling nuts and assorted cheap electronics, who would tap on the windows and shake their products at you.
We saw one man who was walking on the ground between the cars with his hands and a short cane, as his legs were small and shriveled up under his body. Perpetua reached into her cupholder and brought out a half-dollar sized bronze coin and gave it to the man, explaining that she normally doesn't give change to beggars because they are usually on drugs, but this man looked sover in the face and she knew he would probably use the money for good rather than for drugs or alcohol.
As we continued on, I noticed a few Maasai on the sides of the road, herding along a number of cattle and goats. Boys on the sides of the road sold bottled water and fresh fish and meats, and it seemed there was a barber shop every other building. All of the buildings had sheets and blankets hanging up to protect from the dust, but I noticed very few of them had any insulation at all. This struck me as strange, I suppose because I'm used to buildings that must withstand very cold weather.
From everything that I had read, I had assumed that the poverty you see in commercials and books was more rural, and that you had to travel out of the main city to reach such areas. This isn't true at all. We passed crude building made of clay and aluminum, packed together with little room in between. Perpetua told me that sometimes four or five families live together in one of the small houses. There are piles of rubble and trash everywhere, and sometimes young boys go about collecting the plastic bottles from the floor to sell for a half a dollar per kilogram.
Today, Sunday, I woke up at 10am after 11 hours of sleep (Jetlag is extraordinarily taxing on the body). Perpetua had already been to the meat stand and gotten meatballs and simosas for breakfast, which were delicious. All the food here is so fresh. The meat is slaughtered early in the morning, and the vegetables picked within the last day or so. Today we went to a fruit and vegetable stand run by a Muslim woman and her family. She and Perpetua exchanged some words in Swahili, few of which I recognized except "Ahsante" (thank you) and "mzungu" (white person). Since I have been here I have only seen one other mzungu.
A few fun things I have noticed today:
-The Muslim call to prayer plays on loudspeakers 5 times a day. It is beautiful and eerie at the same time, a voice echoing out over the lazy hot day.
-Perpetua and I kept the radio on all day in her house. I heard Kelly Clarkson, Alien Ant Farm, Fountains of Wayne, and, most importantly, Rick Astley with "Never Gonna Give You Up".
-I saw real African futbol being played in big fields under boabab trees.
-I also saw women walking around with baskets on their heads, and they weren't using their hands. Must learn how to do this.
I know this doesn't show a lot of detail about Africa, but tomorrow I am going to the store to purchase an internet modem so I don't have to use Perpetua's internet anymore (Wi-Fi doesn't exist here).
Mom, Dad, and Eli (Nana and Papaw too!!!) I miss and love you all so much. Talk to you soon!!!
Kwa Heri!
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