I promised myself I’d write once more before our quick trip to England. I promised this last week and now we’re only a day away from travelling, so I guess it’s time to get typing.
As I write, the sky outside is pretty grey and overcast. Not as foreboding as it seems to be in the UK, mind- snow is a pretty unlikely phenomenon anywhere in Tanzania other than the top few hundred metres of Kilimanjaro. However, we do seem to be getting a rare spot of rain.
The weather here this year has been a bit strange. As I’ve written before, we normally get a short rainy season followed a few months later by the main rains. This year, however, the short rains appear to have almost entirely failed. We’ve had a few major rainfalls- generally an hour or so of monsoon like rains- but then nothing. I’m not sure what that means for the main rains- if they fail however then things really get tough- severe power shortages for a start, given that most electricity comes from the dams across the country.
The weather here hasn’t been as bad as the UK though. Every time I check the BBC or call home it seems as if the world is coming to a snowy, icy end. I’m quite looking forward to the novelty of feeling cold- I’ve not felt anything below 20 degrees Celsius in years. We’re painfully aware, however, that the weather is cold and that simply wearing longer shorts and thicker T Shirts probably won’t cut the mustard. Soma has been running round her friends trying to find winter clothing- for obvious reasons not something readily available in the shops here!
Life in the UK seems pretty miserable right now- from reading the news, people seem to be pretty down on more or less everything and everyone. Bankers seem to have a pretty bad press these days and, more relevant to me, so do foreign workers.
The recent protests in the UK have certainly not gone unnoticed over here and make rather uncomfortable reading for expatriate Britons. “British Jobs for British People” seems to be all the rage, but the obvious flipside appears to have escaped many people. I am also a fan of “British Jobs for British People” but, in at least one instance, I am a far bigger fan of “Tanzanian Jobs for British People”. If heavy restrictions were to be placed globally on foreign workers, then clearly a lot of Britons will be heading home.
Recent figures point to there being about 2.3 million foreign workers currently in the UK. Losing them would logically create the same number of vacancies. However, given that even back in 2006, the total estimated UK expatriate population exceeded 5.5 million, competition for these new vacancies might be a little tight should all of us expats flood back home!
Anyway, life in Tanzania moves on. We have our own issues here, not least the perennial issues of development aid and corruption. I’m not going to talk much about corruption other than that it definitely exists here, there is a major drive against it and that it permeates society.
What is sad, however, is when corruption mixes with development aid. Development funding is always emotional since you are dealing with one group of people giving to another. When that process is undermined, you upset those who have given and you ignore those who were meant to receive.
One common example came a few weeks ago, when Soma was shopping in Kariakoo- in Dar city centre. Now the background to this was that a year or so ago, we were lucky enough to receive a state visit from the then President George W Bush. Unlike most parts of the world, the former president was largely popular here- his policies on Africa are recognised by and large to be positive as far as I know. Anyway, one result of the visit was the donation of 1 million free mosquito nets for the poor of Tanzania. Given the fact that malaria is both endemic and highly potent here, it is not surprising that this donation was very loudly praised here.
Anyway, was the donation used well? Who knows? One clue may be that Soma was approached by a street vendor offering prime mosquito nets marked as “ Donated to Tanzania by the people of the USA” for $10 a pop. Wonder how many of these freebies ever found their way to the intended recipients!
Corruption apart, I guess it’s not surprising that there is a huge disparity between the expectations of a donor and reality on the ground. The recipient community may be poor but they are human like anyone else and have unpredictable human reactions too- not always be in line with the mental image painted by the donor. We may like to think that our donations are life changing and are received by an enraptured community but, unsurprisingly, reality isn’t always that way. Whose problem is that, one might ask.
Perhaps a lot of these instances derive from our need as donors to feel good about giving- a very natural human need. People who donate to Soma’s deaf school like to know what their cash is being used for so always donate to a specific project, rather than to the less glamorous “general kitty” set aside for expenses such as unclogging the school toilets. All donations are admirable, and this is not meant to disparage anyone who gives to anyone else. However, human nature being what it is, sometimes the offers of help meet with unexpected responses- sometimes funny, sometimes a bit deflating.
I’ve certainly received a few reality checks here. I’ll sign off with one recent instance that comes to mind and brings to light the mismatch between this particular donor’s expectation and the actual response to a donation. We’ve been actively promoting an HIV/ AIDS awareness campaign on the island for some months now. Training has been held and the next step was to bring in masses of low cost (high quality mind!) condoms. I thought that, with condoms being both rare and expensive on the island, that this donation would be very well received indeed. One day in the office my assistant got a call from the island. He came to me looking a little embarrassed.
“It’s one of the villagers” he said “He’s asking about the condoms”
“What does he want?” I asked. “Is he happy?”
“Kind of” came the reply “He just had a small request though”
“Okay- what does he want?”
“Next time, could we make sure the condoms are ribbed or flavoured instead?”
I don’t think I’ve been that lost for words in a while. After much thought, I came up with the only addition I could think of to this intercultural exchange.
“What flavour do they want?”
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Back in Tanzania
Our short holiday in India could not have come at a better time. Despite the fact that we travel a fair bit and have not stuck religiously to Tanzania since we arrived, I for one was getting a little stir crazy if truth be told. The minor annoyances that permeate life here were taking their toll and the many joys of life here were being taken for granted. As with a showbiz marriage entering that vital second week, Tanzania and I needed a short break from each other.
Coming back to blue skies, sunshine and clean air I felt a renewed appreciation for life here. Driving back from my first day at work I smiled my way through the inevitable traffic jams and even kept my new found calm when being queue jumped in the traffic jam by the millionth daladala- Dar’s charms were well and truly back in the ascendant and nothing was going to change that.
Looking back several weeks on, those feelings still haven’t changed. This is, however a minor miracle given the phenomenal efforts of Tanzanian life to convince me otherwise! I think most people here would agree that in terms of hassle, January has been a true Tanzanian vintage!
The fun started off innocuously enough with an empty tank of petrol. I asked Abubakar our company driver to go fill the car as usual. He came back hours later looking decidedly fed up and flustered claiming that he’d been to every petrol station he knew and could not find any petrol. Incredulously, I made a few inquiries and took a look out of the office window at the BP station opposite. Sure enough there was a scene of complete and utter chaos. The forecourt was filled with cars with the resultant “queue” (term used very loosely here) stretching back up the road as far as the eye could see. Added to this were literally hundreds of people all milling around holding jerry cans in the hope of getting some petrol.
Fabulous- in a world of plummeting oil and petrol prices, in which OPEC is talking about cutting production due to the overabundance of petrol, Tanzania had managed to engineer itself a fuel crisis. Sure enough, for the rest of the week getting fuel was a game of cat and mouse- rumours come out of a garage getting a delivery and you get there before anyone else- great in theory but a real challenge when thousands are doing the same!
The shortage appears to have been due to arguments between the oil importers and the government over pricing- it caused much excitement, provoked much impotent outrage from politicians then abruptly ended a day or two later- the car pooling could end and I was back behind the wheel.
The fuel crisis went away and was promptly replaced by a mini power crisis. These are always fun for me- in addition to the blackouts and noisy generators, I get to feel the collective wrath of anyone who knows I work for the power company- best to just stay in bed to be honest! The first episode of the crisis was nothing too abnormal- a day or so of periodic load shedding (power industry euphemism for cutting people off). This while annoying was manageable since there were only a few hours of shutdown, enough to keep the generator running without it running out of fuel.
The second blow however came when some sort of fault at a local substation cut power to the whole peninsula for almost two days. This was in an entirely different league and came at a time when the water pump had packed in and the gas cylinder had run out. One happy day I came home to no electricity, no gas, no water and one very unhappy wife. We briefly explored the notion of abandoning house and going to a hotel in the town centre. In the end we stuck it out- water was drawn from the waterhole (our tank is basically a hole) and we slept with windows open. Actually, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of summer, sleeping without AC wasn’t too bad. We get a good throughput of air in our room so it wasn’t too hot. The bed was crowded with the addition of two small boys who, scared either of the dark or of the croaking bullfrogs decided to sleep with us. No power, a ramshackle house with nothing working and four to a bed- it was just like the Waltons!
The power is back now and life is good once more. Now we’re more or less done with January I think we can safely say that the short rainy season isn’t going to amount to much this time. There have been a couple of downpours- a big one this morning in fact, but no prolonged period of rain. This doesn’t bode too well for rains later in the year. Since most power here is hydroelectric, that means loads more power cuts- we’ve stocked up on serious amounts of diesel. It is pretty hot here right now and we generally stay indoors between noon and four if we can help it. Evenings are nice though and much of our social life involves sitting outside drinking something alcoholic in the evening sun. Friday nights everyone seems to head to the Dar Yacht Club for an end of week glass- the kids head off to the playground and we enjoy a glass of wine watching the sun set over the bay- a very civilised end to the week.
Last weekend was Burns Night. Last year we went to the event at the Yacht Club and ended up home by 9pm as the event (held outdoors) was hit by a flash storm which practically blew us home. No such problems this time- the event was held in the gardens of the British High Commissioner’s residence and in any case the short rainy season, usually a couple of weeks in December or January, appears to have forgotten to happen this time.
This Burns night was a special one since it was the 250th anniversary of his birth. The usual traditions were in place- lots of speeches trying to convince us that Burns was any good (he’s fooling nobody!) interspersed with haggis, neeps and tatties and copious amounts of scotch. An event like this would be fun anywhere- the Scottish have perfected the art of drinking themselves into oblivion so are great fun to party with. However, the weirdness of doing this in Tanzania added to the fun. I spent lots of time explaining to our Indian neighbour Praveena exactly what a haggis is made of, what the woman was saying when she gave the Selkirk Grace and why the English and Scots have been punching seven bells out of each other for millennia. Being Indian, she totally connected with the scotch however. The Scots are well and truly matched in their love of single malt by the Indians- my father in law is proof of that! I sit here writing this with the last remnants of a sore head working their way out of my body. I will feel fine tomorrow but will never split a bottle of scotch with Praveena again- mind you I said that last time and the time before!
Coming back to blue skies, sunshine and clean air I felt a renewed appreciation for life here. Driving back from my first day at work I smiled my way through the inevitable traffic jams and even kept my new found calm when being queue jumped in the traffic jam by the millionth daladala- Dar’s charms were well and truly back in the ascendant and nothing was going to change that.
Looking back several weeks on, those feelings still haven’t changed. This is, however a minor miracle given the phenomenal efforts of Tanzanian life to convince me otherwise! I think most people here would agree that in terms of hassle, January has been a true Tanzanian vintage!
The fun started off innocuously enough with an empty tank of petrol. I asked Abubakar our company driver to go fill the car as usual. He came back hours later looking decidedly fed up and flustered claiming that he’d been to every petrol station he knew and could not find any petrol. Incredulously, I made a few inquiries and took a look out of the office window at the BP station opposite. Sure enough there was a scene of complete and utter chaos. The forecourt was filled with cars with the resultant “queue” (term used very loosely here) stretching back up the road as far as the eye could see. Added to this were literally hundreds of people all milling around holding jerry cans in the hope of getting some petrol.
Fabulous- in a world of plummeting oil and petrol prices, in which OPEC is talking about cutting production due to the overabundance of petrol, Tanzania had managed to engineer itself a fuel crisis. Sure enough, for the rest of the week getting fuel was a game of cat and mouse- rumours come out of a garage getting a delivery and you get there before anyone else- great in theory but a real challenge when thousands are doing the same!
The shortage appears to have been due to arguments between the oil importers and the government over pricing- it caused much excitement, provoked much impotent outrage from politicians then abruptly ended a day or two later- the car pooling could end and I was back behind the wheel.
The fuel crisis went away and was promptly replaced by a mini power crisis. These are always fun for me- in addition to the blackouts and noisy generators, I get to feel the collective wrath of anyone who knows I work for the power company- best to just stay in bed to be honest! The first episode of the crisis was nothing too abnormal- a day or so of periodic load shedding (power industry euphemism for cutting people off). This while annoying was manageable since there were only a few hours of shutdown, enough to keep the generator running without it running out of fuel.
The second blow however came when some sort of fault at a local substation cut power to the whole peninsula for almost two days. This was in an entirely different league and came at a time when the water pump had packed in and the gas cylinder had run out. One happy day I came home to no electricity, no gas, no water and one very unhappy wife. We briefly explored the notion of abandoning house and going to a hotel in the town centre. In the end we stuck it out- water was drawn from the waterhole (our tank is basically a hole) and we slept with windows open. Actually, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of summer, sleeping without AC wasn’t too bad. We get a good throughput of air in our room so it wasn’t too hot. The bed was crowded with the addition of two small boys who, scared either of the dark or of the croaking bullfrogs decided to sleep with us. No power, a ramshackle house with nothing working and four to a bed- it was just like the Waltons!
The power is back now and life is good once more. Now we’re more or less done with January I think we can safely say that the short rainy season isn’t going to amount to much this time. There have been a couple of downpours- a big one this morning in fact, but no prolonged period of rain. This doesn’t bode too well for rains later in the year. Since most power here is hydroelectric, that means loads more power cuts- we’ve stocked up on serious amounts of diesel. It is pretty hot here right now and we generally stay indoors between noon and four if we can help it. Evenings are nice though and much of our social life involves sitting outside drinking something alcoholic in the evening sun. Friday nights everyone seems to head to the Dar Yacht Club for an end of week glass- the kids head off to the playground and we enjoy a glass of wine watching the sun set over the bay- a very civilised end to the week.
Last weekend was Burns Night. Last year we went to the event at the Yacht Club and ended up home by 9pm as the event (held outdoors) was hit by a flash storm which practically blew us home. No such problems this time- the event was held in the gardens of the British High Commissioner’s residence and in any case the short rainy season, usually a couple of weeks in December or January, appears to have forgotten to happen this time.
This Burns night was a special one since it was the 250th anniversary of his birth. The usual traditions were in place- lots of speeches trying to convince us that Burns was any good (he’s fooling nobody!) interspersed with haggis, neeps and tatties and copious amounts of scotch. An event like this would be fun anywhere- the Scottish have perfected the art of drinking themselves into oblivion so are great fun to party with. However, the weirdness of doing this in Tanzania added to the fun. I spent lots of time explaining to our Indian neighbour Praveena exactly what a haggis is made of, what the woman was saying when she gave the Selkirk Grace and why the English and Scots have been punching seven bells out of each other for millennia. Being Indian, she totally connected with the scotch however. The Scots are well and truly matched in their love of single malt by the Indians- my father in law is proof of that! I sit here writing this with the last remnants of a sore head working their way out of my body. I will feel fine tomorrow but will never split a bottle of scotch with Praveena again- mind you I said that last time and the time before!
Our table at Burns Night- l-r Praveena, me, Soma and Dirk
So, life in Tanzania seems to be the usual fun and games. Lots of power cuts, water shortages, breakdowns of various bits of the house along with the huge consolation of a cracking bunch of friends in a profoundly beautiful part of the world. There are lots of negatives and positives- as soon as the former outweighs the latter we’ll be on our way. Right here right now, that day seems quite a long way off.
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