Well we’re in mid June now and thoughts are turning to coming back to the UK before long. In a couple of weeks, Soma’s parents will arrive from India for their short stay. True to tradition (seems to happen every time my in laws arrive), I’ll be heading off for a week long conference in Nice. Almost as soon as I get back, we’re all getting on a plane and flying up north for a few days in the Serengeti. A week later, all except me will fly to the UK, leaving me to follow a week later via a few days of meetings in Amsterdam. It really doesn’t seem that long since we were all last in the UK but, counting up, it seems that almost 14 months will have elapsed.
We do keep in touch with the UK- apart from regular calls home, the BBC website and the World Service keeps me up to date. However, a lot of the stuff mentioned, especially the TV stuff means little to me. What the heck is “The Apprentice” when it’s at home? As far as I can make out, it’s about Alan Sugar showing some young people how to do business his way. Why anyone would want to emulate the bloke responsible for today’s Amstrad and the Tottenham Hotspur of the 1990s is beyond me but each to his own I guess. And Big Brother? By the time we left the UK we’d had a few series but it was getting tired even then- now I hear they are on to series 9- doesn’t anyone have anything better to do?
Before I forget too, I came across an absolutely brilliant website satirising UK news. Trouble for me is I need to do a bit of research to figure out what is being satirised but the stuff I understand is great. A warning though- some of the language can be a bit strong but it’s basically well intended. Below is a link to The Daily Mash- enjoy!
www.thedailymash.co.uk
Another, more enjoyable, way of maintaining a relationship with the UK arose a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to Soma’s position on some committee or other, we both got invited to the UK High Commissioner’s official residence for a reception to mark the Queen’s Birthday. Conveniently enough, this was only 5 minutes’ drive from home and, even better, Soma offered to be the designated driver!
Duly suited and booted- Soma in a very fetching sari and me in a tie for only about the third time since we arrived in Tanzania- we turned up at the Residence. After shaking numerous hands belonging to various dignitaries on the reception line, we made our way to a bunch of familiar faces. Beers, wines and canapés were duly served up and we enjoyed a great evening under the stars and, for the first time in over a year on what is officially at least, British territory. One of the good things about the British Empire is the fact that everywhere in the world, the British Embassy/ High Commission and the official Residence are always very posh. The Russian Embassy over the road is functional but rather dull. This Residence is palatial since, like in most other countries, we got there first and chose the nicest place!
Standing in the grounds of the Residence, it was easy to imagine what life must have been like for the British foreign service a century ago. On the one hand we were under an African sky, with exotic trees, bushes and plants surrounding us and with variegated noises of nature emanating from pretty much everywhere (a bullfrog’s mating croak really can rival Tom Jones for volume!). However the perfectly manicured lawns, waiters carrying various food and drink and of course the hundred or so suited guests made it pretty obvious that we were not so much in the depths of Africa as in the lap of luxury!
About halfway through proceedings, the High Commissioner toasted President Kikwete (the Queen was toasted and duly wished a happy birthday by a nearby Tanzanian MP) and gave a short speech. I have to say he made some very interesting points and came up with a statistic which speaks volumes about the difference between rich countries and poor ones: The total budget for the entire country (defence, health, schools- the lot) is a third of the total amount spent in the UK on DVDs
This got me thinking about two things in particular. The first thing was a question- why is Tanzania this poor? When your entire budget is so small, and 40% of this figure is actually donated by other nations, then you’re a seriously poor country. When I first arrived here I just assumed that Tanzania was poor because it was African. Being of a generation where Band Aid was one of my first memories of pop music, I just figured Tanzania = Africa = poor. However, after a few months here, I just can’t accept that this is a given. This is not a country particularly ravaged by empire or slavery. Both certainly existed here but nothing like on the same scale as in West Africa. Look around and you will find that social structures and civil society are very strong. Tribes are numerous and provide another useful base for identity without ever competing with the state for loyalty. No significant conflict has emerged either between tribes or between a tribe and the state. Tanzania has not been stripped of minerals- it is still full to bursting with gas, coal, gold, copper, uranium and numerous other minerals. It has fertile land and, in the Serengeti, Ngorongoro and Zanzibar, has a tourist resource to die for.
Why, in a country that has all this to offer, is the budget a fraction of the UK’s spend on DVDs? Better people than I could give a decent answer I’m sure but at least one contributing factor is linked to the second thing that struck me- the sheer amount of public money that is wasted here.
I can give an example with this question (remember this for future pub quizzes): What is the capital of Tanzania? If you answered Dar es Salaam then you’re wrong. Sure, it’s the largest city by miles, all the businesses are located here and all the civil servants and politicians (President and PM included) live here. However, the capital and seat of government is a nondescript town in the centre of the country called Dodoma. According to some of my Tanzanian friends, it was decided that this would be the capital some decades ago to ensure a focus was given on the centre of the country. However, when people realised that this “capital” had no real infrastructure- poor schools, poor hospitals, poor provision of water, electricity etc- then they all refused to move.
With budget season now in full swing, we are faced with the weekly migration of politicians, commissioners and permanent secretaries- basically the entire upper echelons of the ruling class of Tanzania. At the start of each week, they head up (and you can forget car sharing for a start- each commuter has his own car and driver) to Dodoma. They then spend a week working there before the Friday journey back to Dar. This pointless weekly mass migration, which seems to rival that of the Serengeti, continues for the best part of three months. The irony is that the purpose of this is to discuss the scarce financial resources available! Well if you add up the fuel cost of the weekly ten hour round journey taken by literally hundreds if not thousands of vehicles, the hotel bills incurred by both the participants and their secretaries, drivers and myriad other helpers and the per diem claims, then you have a clue of how at least part of the scarce resource is being spent. I have no idea how much this annual trek costs but I’m sure you could buy a fair few DVDs with the cash.
This is perhaps a more benign example of profligacy- one that has arisen from poor planning and inertia, but which is costing the country billions each year. However, more worrying is the level of corruption found here. In the seven months since I’ve arrived, two major corruption scandals have come to light here and have truly gripped the country. The first of these, the Richmond affair is one close to my heart, since it involved the power sector. Basically, it seems that back in 2006, there was a power crisis that resulted in long blackouts It was decided that an emergency power facility would be brought in and a tender process kicked into action. This was hijacked by senior government members and a scandalously generous contract awarded to Richmond Power- an unknown entity. The facility arrived so late that the crisis had passed by the time a megawatt was generated. Incredibly though, the initial contract was then extended. An inquiry revealed that Richmond Power was a shell company owned by senior members of the ruling party. The PM was implicated and forced to resign.
The second involved the Bank of Tanzania. I know less about this one but it seems that questions began to be asked about a large hole in the bank’s accounts and specifically about payments of many millions of dollars being made by the bank to certain mysterious companies. The (now deceased) Governor went AWOL and eventually resurfaced in the USA. Nobody knows where the funds now are but I think anyone who imagines that the Tanzanian public will ever see their funds again is being pretty optimistic.
So, we’re in a country where every penny of public money truly counts. However, those charged with guarding and using these funds see a major power crisis plunging the country into darkness less as a challenge to be overcome, rather as an opportunity for personal enrichment; they see a central bank not so much as the repository of public funds as much as a personal piggy bank. Finally they see no contradiction in using public funds to finance three months of commuting and living in five star hotels when they are discussing the use of scarce resources in a budget!
My colleagues remind me that at independence, Tanzania and Malaysia were economically on a par with each other. A few decades later Malaysia, with far fewer natural resources, is enjoying first world status while Tanzania continues to languish. I know very little about Malaysia’s leaders but wonder whether they have historically been quite so profligate with their nation’s money.
Thinking further, I wonder whether the likes of Bob Geldof and Bono have really got it right. I can’t doubt their intention- they have worked very hard for Africa. However, when they talk about more aid is this really what Africa needs? Sorting out simple governance and corruption will achieve so much more and allow most public money to benefit the people rather than the tiny fraction that seems to trickle down at the moment.
This is something the people of the West should also think about. There are lots of ways to help Africa- creating a level playing field for trade would be a great first step and would be appreciated by Tanzanians an awful lot more than well intentioned charity. However, if we simply try to solve these problems through boosting aid then all we’ll achieve is more shiny new cars for those at the top. An economist once described aid to Africa as being “the best way to transfer money from poor people in Britain to rich people in Africa”. Let’s think a bit more about what this money is being used for before we make this quote a self fulfilling prophecy.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Why didn't I just keep my big mouth shut?!!
The next time I start thinking that life here is plain sailing, please just hit me! Thankfully all is fine now, but the last few days have shown me that expat life can show its dark side pretty quickly when the opportunity arises.
People often come out with statements such as “Africa isn’t for wimps” and “things turn sour very fast here”, but to be honest, I’d not given those statements much thought. Now, I can kind of see what they are getting at although still reckon they are a bit overdramatised.
The hassle I’ve gone through over the past few days all happened as a result of that most common and predictable African occurrence, a car crash. Saturday evening found Soma, the boys and me in our car heading back home from the shops. As I made the right turn into our road (having checked mirrors, slowed down and indicated before anyone asks!) a motorbike hit the side of the car and then ploughed into a wall on the other side of the road. To be honest, we’ve had near misses plenty of times before- cars coming at speed on the wrong side of the road, people pulling out of junctions just ahead of me. A biker without a helmet attempting a crazy overtake manoeuver on a blind bend was entirely normal- only this time he hit us.
After a split second of shock, the emergency training that my company has drilled into all expatriates kicked in. Looking around, I could see a mob forming (as normally happens here) so moved the car into our compound, just fifty metres away. Bad enough that this guy hits my car- no reason to put me or the family in danger of a mob attack. Predictably enough, an angry mob formed outside our compound gates. While I stayed with the security guard to try to reason with them, Soma called our security agency, Ultimate Security to get help.
For anyone not familiar with life in Africa, it is fairly standard practice for all expatriates to be connected to a security firm. These people act more or less as police force, breakdown support and emergency ambulance service all rolled into one. If anything happens, the advice is always to get to a place of safety then call them to deal with the incident- that is what we did.
The mob was claiming that the biker was about to die and that I had to drive him to hospital urgently. With my limited Swahili (and with a lot of help from a security guard) I told them that moving him would be dangerous and in any case an ambulance was on its way and would give faster, better help than anything. My neighbour, Steve- a Health and Safety Manager for one of the largest mine companies here- decided to head out and see how badly hurt the guy actually was. He returned a few minutes later with the very welcome news that not only was the guy not dead, but that there was very little wrong with him. The mob were not really interested in him at all- they just wanted to extort some cash out of me and knew they couldn’t do anything so long as a huge gate, thick wall and electric fence divided us. The biker was well enough to come up to our gate and claim he was injured. Thankfully for him, he did not speak enough English to understand the barrage of expletives I unloaded towards him! The relief at his not being dead had subsided and was replaced by a lot of anger at how his reckless driving then shameless playacting had put all of us at risk. I told him that Ultimate were on their way and that we’d called the police. As soon as he heard that final word (“polisi” in Swahili) he was on his bike and away.
As a precaution, I went, along with an Ultimate Security guard and a couple of colleagues, to the local traffic police station to file an incident report. We quickly met up with the officer assigned to our case and took him back to the scene of the accident. He took one look at the scene and the car and concluded that the biker had been in the wrong- you’re not allowed to overtake there so it’s kind of black and white. We invited him home where we drew up a formal statement and off he headed.
All seemed well for a couple of days until, like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, the issue reared its head again on Monday. I got a call from our people at Ultimate Security saying that a police officer had seen my statement and wanted to go through it with me the next day. Not sure what he wanted and why, I spent a nervous night contemplating the notion of life in an African jail cell!
Tuesday morning, I met up with a colleague, who took me along to the police station. The station is not really much like you’d see in England- it’s more a compound surrounded by a collection of ramshackle outhouses. After a long wait, the officer came to see us. From my basic Swahili, I understood that he wanted to talk with me alone and go through my statement. Much to his disappointment, my colleague told him that she would be staying with me and we headed off together to an office. Frankly given that his English was as bad as my Swahili, any interview between us would have been pretty laughable anyway!
I spent half an hour rewriting my statement after which the officer told us to head to the accountant and pay for the insurance report- why I needed to write the statement again I’m not sure- although I was given a clue on the way back!
We headed up some musty stairs to the accountant, carefully sidestepping a pile of thirty or so rifles, (carefully kept on the floor to give any escaping prisoner a sporting chance, presumably) and paid our cash. We then got the insurance report and headed off- a lot of worry about nothing.
I was pretty confused at this point and asked my colleague what had happened. She calmly explained that in all likelihood, the original statement had been submitted Saturday night and then spotted by another officer. He saw the mzungu name on the statement and figured there was one last chance for a bribe. He wanted to talk with me alone to try to get cash out of me but saw his chance disappear when it was made clear to him that a very legally aware Tanzanian colleague would be with me. He asked for another statement to save face then gave up!
I’ve learned a lot (or at least had a lot of stuff I’ve been told now hammered well and truly into my head)
Firstly and most importantly, the scene of any traffic accident in Africa is very dangerous- although it seems heartless to leave someone at the scene you simply have to do this to avoid a lynching by a mob who themselves care more about pilfering stuff from all concerned than actually offering any help. The advice given by our security people to just get somewhere safe was invaluable and meant that not only did we stay safe but we were able to offer real help.
Secondly, a lot of people are just after money. The biker who chose to carry out a lunatic manoeuvre without a helmet on a blind corner probably hurt a bit. However, he made the most of his ultimately superficial injuries to try to get some cash out of me. Once I started demanding cash from him for my car and mentioned the police, he couldn’t get back on his bike fast enough! The mob outside my gate were claiming he was dying, to try to get me outside and get cash from me. They were still claiming he was going to die as he ran back his bike and drove off! The second he had gone, they all left too- except the one bloke who tried to sell me a painting!
Finally you need to go into the legal system prepared. My visits to the police were always with a colleague who knew what was going on. It is also important to get there as quickly as is reasonably possible- especially if you don’t stick around at the scene. The personal safety justification only works if you make sure you get to the station at the first available opportunity. Here, perceptions matter. Generally, the first party to make a statement is believed- the other guy is always going to be on the back foot afterwards. Getting to a station and putting in your complaint is always going to be better than waiting for the other chap to give his side of the story then being dragged off in handcuffs! However, the police are basically fair here. The first chap was keen to get to the bottom of what had happened and, once he’d seen the scene of the accident and the car itself he drew a fair conclusion. The other officer was clearly out for a bribe but backed off pretty quickly once he saw nothing was going to happen- he could have made life hard but didn’t.
Anyway, as my boss told me, it is experiences such as these that make life here interesting. However, if the next few months are slightly boring I don’t think I’ll complain so much again!
People often come out with statements such as “Africa isn’t for wimps” and “things turn sour very fast here”, but to be honest, I’d not given those statements much thought. Now, I can kind of see what they are getting at although still reckon they are a bit overdramatised.
The hassle I’ve gone through over the past few days all happened as a result of that most common and predictable African occurrence, a car crash. Saturday evening found Soma, the boys and me in our car heading back home from the shops. As I made the right turn into our road (having checked mirrors, slowed down and indicated before anyone asks!) a motorbike hit the side of the car and then ploughed into a wall on the other side of the road. To be honest, we’ve had near misses plenty of times before- cars coming at speed on the wrong side of the road, people pulling out of junctions just ahead of me. A biker without a helmet attempting a crazy overtake manoeuver on a blind bend was entirely normal- only this time he hit us.
After a split second of shock, the emergency training that my company has drilled into all expatriates kicked in. Looking around, I could see a mob forming (as normally happens here) so moved the car into our compound, just fifty metres away. Bad enough that this guy hits my car- no reason to put me or the family in danger of a mob attack. Predictably enough, an angry mob formed outside our compound gates. While I stayed with the security guard to try to reason with them, Soma called our security agency, Ultimate Security to get help.
For anyone not familiar with life in Africa, it is fairly standard practice for all expatriates to be connected to a security firm. These people act more or less as police force, breakdown support and emergency ambulance service all rolled into one. If anything happens, the advice is always to get to a place of safety then call them to deal with the incident- that is what we did.
The mob was claiming that the biker was about to die and that I had to drive him to hospital urgently. With my limited Swahili (and with a lot of help from a security guard) I told them that moving him would be dangerous and in any case an ambulance was on its way and would give faster, better help than anything. My neighbour, Steve- a Health and Safety Manager for one of the largest mine companies here- decided to head out and see how badly hurt the guy actually was. He returned a few minutes later with the very welcome news that not only was the guy not dead, but that there was very little wrong with him. The mob were not really interested in him at all- they just wanted to extort some cash out of me and knew they couldn’t do anything so long as a huge gate, thick wall and electric fence divided us. The biker was well enough to come up to our gate and claim he was injured. Thankfully for him, he did not speak enough English to understand the barrage of expletives I unloaded towards him! The relief at his not being dead had subsided and was replaced by a lot of anger at how his reckless driving then shameless playacting had put all of us at risk. I told him that Ultimate were on their way and that we’d called the police. As soon as he heard that final word (“polisi” in Swahili) he was on his bike and away.
As a precaution, I went, along with an Ultimate Security guard and a couple of colleagues, to the local traffic police station to file an incident report. We quickly met up with the officer assigned to our case and took him back to the scene of the accident. He took one look at the scene and the car and concluded that the biker had been in the wrong- you’re not allowed to overtake there so it’s kind of black and white. We invited him home where we drew up a formal statement and off he headed.
All seemed well for a couple of days until, like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, the issue reared its head again on Monday. I got a call from our people at Ultimate Security saying that a police officer had seen my statement and wanted to go through it with me the next day. Not sure what he wanted and why, I spent a nervous night contemplating the notion of life in an African jail cell!
Tuesday morning, I met up with a colleague, who took me along to the police station. The station is not really much like you’d see in England- it’s more a compound surrounded by a collection of ramshackle outhouses. After a long wait, the officer came to see us. From my basic Swahili, I understood that he wanted to talk with me alone and go through my statement. Much to his disappointment, my colleague told him that she would be staying with me and we headed off together to an office. Frankly given that his English was as bad as my Swahili, any interview between us would have been pretty laughable anyway!
I spent half an hour rewriting my statement after which the officer told us to head to the accountant and pay for the insurance report- why I needed to write the statement again I’m not sure- although I was given a clue on the way back!
We headed up some musty stairs to the accountant, carefully sidestepping a pile of thirty or so rifles, (carefully kept on the floor to give any escaping prisoner a sporting chance, presumably) and paid our cash. We then got the insurance report and headed off- a lot of worry about nothing.
I was pretty confused at this point and asked my colleague what had happened. She calmly explained that in all likelihood, the original statement had been submitted Saturday night and then spotted by another officer. He saw the mzungu name on the statement and figured there was one last chance for a bribe. He wanted to talk with me alone to try to get cash out of me but saw his chance disappear when it was made clear to him that a very legally aware Tanzanian colleague would be with me. He asked for another statement to save face then gave up!
I’ve learned a lot (or at least had a lot of stuff I’ve been told now hammered well and truly into my head)
Firstly and most importantly, the scene of any traffic accident in Africa is very dangerous- although it seems heartless to leave someone at the scene you simply have to do this to avoid a lynching by a mob who themselves care more about pilfering stuff from all concerned than actually offering any help. The advice given by our security people to just get somewhere safe was invaluable and meant that not only did we stay safe but we were able to offer real help.
Secondly, a lot of people are just after money. The biker who chose to carry out a lunatic manoeuvre without a helmet on a blind corner probably hurt a bit. However, he made the most of his ultimately superficial injuries to try to get some cash out of me. Once I started demanding cash from him for my car and mentioned the police, he couldn’t get back on his bike fast enough! The mob outside my gate were claiming he was dying, to try to get me outside and get cash from me. They were still claiming he was going to die as he ran back his bike and drove off! The second he had gone, they all left too- except the one bloke who tried to sell me a painting!
Finally you need to go into the legal system prepared. My visits to the police were always with a colleague who knew what was going on. It is also important to get there as quickly as is reasonably possible- especially if you don’t stick around at the scene. The personal safety justification only works if you make sure you get to the station at the first available opportunity. Here, perceptions matter. Generally, the first party to make a statement is believed- the other guy is always going to be on the back foot afterwards. Getting to a station and putting in your complaint is always going to be better than waiting for the other chap to give his side of the story then being dragged off in handcuffs! However, the police are basically fair here. The first chap was keen to get to the bottom of what had happened and, once he’d seen the scene of the accident and the car itself he drew a fair conclusion. The other officer was clearly out for a bribe but backed off pretty quickly once he saw nothing was going to happen- he could have made life hard but didn’t.
Anyway, as my boss told me, it is experiences such as these that make life here interesting. However, if the next few months are slightly boring I don’t think I’ll complain so much again!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
