What does “Bongo” mean? This is a question that has been nagging me for a while now. Before coming to Tanzania, I understood “Bongo Bongo Land” to be a perjorative term for some generic African country. It confused me, therefore, to see the word used pretty freely here. In Tanzania, “Bongo” is a slang term for the city of Dar es Salaam- there is a local kind of hiphop music called “Bongo Flava” and a local radio station called Bongo Radio. Just like Cairenes always refer to Cairo as Misr (“Egypt”), the people here don’t live in Dar, they live in Bongo!
I asked a Tanzanian colleague where the word came from. Apparently “Bongo” is a slang word close to the English “nous”. If someone has bongo, it means they are streetwise and smart. Apparently when economic conditions reached a major low in the 1980s, jobs were hard to come by and many were penniless. To survive in these conditions, you needed that little bit extra- you got by on your wits. Dar es Salaam became the city of wits and has been called Bongo ever since!
You can still see that entrepreneurial spirit here. Although business conditions for large investors are challenging to say the least, I know plenty of people who have their own small businesses and swear blind that this place is a goldmine for the smart entrepreneur. Not that this always means that the business is either legal or ethical. One example of bongo I suppose is the thriving pirate DVD business. This is not illegal as far as I know, and traders seem to operate openly all over the place. For less than $5 you can get a reasonable quality compilation DVD with every James Bond film from Dr No to Quantum of Solace on it. I can honestly say that the day after its release in London I was watching a reasonable quality version of Slumdog Millionaire (cost $2.50) here in Dar. In fact the larger distributors of the DVDs have now convinced themselves of their respectability to the extent that they are even copying the attempts of the genuine producers to counter dodgy copies. The last DVD I got featured an earnest warning by the counterfeiter to only buy copies with a branded logo- any other pirate DVD would be substandard and would result in a poorer viewing experience! You've got to admire the chutzpah if nothing else!
Now before the pitchforks come out and I get accused of undermining young aspiring producers, I have to say in principle those accusations are totally right. I would always prefer to buy the genuine article; the problem is that after more than a year of scouring the city, I’ve not yet found an outlet here selling genuine DVDs. The most respectable shop I’ve found- in a highly respected upmarket expat mall on the Peninsula- sells the same Chinese copies as the guy I see in the car park outside- only with more of a markup for overhead.
I try my best to salve my conscience by making sure we load up on genuine DVDs any time we travel- the sad fact of life, however, is that the DVD market here seems to be benefiting Chinese GDP way more than that of Hollywood, Bollywood or even Nollywood.
Now we can’t assume, however, that everyone here is smart. As with anywhere else in the world, you always have the public sector to provide an antidote to any sense of wit and common sense.
The main story in today’s paper covers another loss from the Bank of Tanzania. Unlike previous losses, however, this does not seem to be a case of embezzlement or complex fraud. Quite simply, a major consignment of 10,000 shilling notes (total value somewhere in the billions) was delivered from the printers in Germany. Upon arrival at Dar es Salaam airport, you’d expect perhaps that the notes would be kept under armed guard, cleared and then taken under strictest security to the Bank of Tanzania. Right? Wrong!
Sadly, the notes arrived quite late on an evening- the evening before the Prophet’s birthday, a public holiday here. This being the case, the notes were left at the airport while everyone headed off for a day’s holiday. When they came back to pick up the notes a day or so later, they noticed that there seemed to be, well, not quite as many of them as they’d left. The image of some confused official saying “well they were there when I left them” would be pretty funny if it wasn’t for the case that this is a country that needs every penny it can get. Leaving billions of shillings unattended at an airport for a day is not what an impoverished country ought to be doing- not so much bongo as dumbo!
So, with one example of “Bongo” and one of “Dumbo” it seems pretty appropriate to finish with a story from another colleague of an example of both combined. Apparently there was a story that did the rounds in Tanzania a few years ago of a guy who managed to buy a pretty hefty amount of gold using fake money. He was very pleased with his achievement until he tried to sell the gold and found that it was fake gold- that surely has to be a good analogy for something going on around these parts!
Anyway, for good or bad, life here continues in its own way. We’re still waiting with baited breath to see what kind of rainy season we’re going to get this time. There are still ructions in the power industry but one thing everyone seems to agree on is that Tanzania is not in any state to cope with the power crunch that will inevitably accompany poor rains. Amid the recriminations flying around between parliamentarians, TANESCO and the Ministry, I guess everyone in bongo and beyond is fervently praying for good rains this year.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Phil and Daniella Get Married
“I want to go back home to Africa” were the encouraging words from Kieran as we started our first stroll around Cambridge. Surprisingly, this was not an expression of the intense disappointment of the first love of his life marrying his uncle Phil. He’d taken that quite well, the pain eased perhaps by the fact that Daniella has now been replaced by a new girlfriend. No- this was all about the cold weather.
To be fair, the flight from Tanzania to the UK had resulted in a drop in temperature of something close to thirty degrees so perhaps he had a right to complain. Having said that, he was wrapped up in ski jackets, hat and gloves and had attached himself to me in such a way as to get both hands inside my coat. He was being, perhaps, ever so slightly feeble.
Thus it was that last month we headed back to a slightly above zero UK for the wedding of my brother Phil, the second of our generation (after me, of course) to manage inexplicably to convince a woman way out of his league to spend the rest of her days with him.
We arrived on the Thursday, well in time for the Saturday wedding, having experimented with flying SwissAir for the first time. The usual long flight out of Africa (prehistoric man would have managed it faster) followed by a stressy dash through Zurich airport to make the half hour connection. Before long though, we were making our final approach into City Airport, flying over our old house in Erith- a nostalgic experience enhanced by the relief in seeing that the place was still truly a bombsite and selling up had been a masterstroke after all.
A short drive later and there we were, in Cambridge- in temperature, architecture, in fact in all respects a world away from the hot and sticky African city we’d left the previous day. Thursday passed quite quickly- shopping, eating and drinking, before we met up with Daniella’s father, Mike, and his wife for a few drinks. Fortunately we’d booked a mini apartment so were able to keep on partying well after the boys were in bed. We stayed up into the wee small hours with Mike, Daniella’s brother Eric and a number of the bridesmaids, steadily working our way through the bottle of whisky I’d bought as a greeting present. Hours later, with Daniella’s father fast asleep in a chair and the bottle more or less drained, it was clear that this manifestation of the Chubb- Rossi combo had got off to a pretty promising start and we all headed off to bed.
Anyway, rather than going through this on an hour by hour basis, let’s just stick to the important bits. We’ll take it as read that there were lots of enjoyable chats with friends and family in varying states of sobriety, punctuated by shopping expeditions to find the millionth thing “we didn’t have but absolutely couldn’t do without”.
Friday afternoon saw us at the wedding rehearsal. There we met the vicar for the first time- a pretty cool combination of biker and priest who, had either of us been Christian, would have been most welcome to officiate at my and Soma’s wedding. We had prolonged polite negotiations over which order the procession should enter in, before deciding that the American way was best and that the first couple up the aisle would be myself and a young lady called Sarah. I have to say, going up the aisle with a tall blonde lady was a bit of a change, being married as I am to a short Indian.
The procession and the rehearsal went very well indeed. Kieran behaved himself impeccably and listened quietly to all that was going on, unlike his grandfather who was told off by our biker vicar for talking in class!
A day later we were doing it for real. Kieran, Jake, Eric and myself were there nice and early ready to hand out programmes and welcome guests into the Girton College chapel. All of us were dressed in our finery, including Kieran, who was possibly as smart as he’s ever been in his life. He felt very important indeed in his dual role of usher and doorstop (we couldn’t keep the chapel door from closing violently so we wedged Kieran against it). On the whole he did very well indeed. One slight failure came about when he stepped away from the door and almost succeeded in braining his Great- Great Aunt Lorna, but even she took it all in good humour. After the inevitable delay, bride and bridesmaids turned up looking sensational and the fun began.
As with most weddings, the ceremony was both poignant and brief- not brief enough for Rohan who, delighting in the noise made by turning the digital camera on and off was escorted from the chapel by his mother. Before long, though, the new husband and wife and their assorted guests were in an adjoining room sipping champagne. The reception was fun too- although the college itself is obviously quite an austere place, some of the formality had been taken away by naming all the tables after planets from Star Wars. We were lucky enough to be placed on the Death Star- an improvement for me in terms of Star Wars locations. The last I’d visited was Tatooine (not just a planet but a small town in Tunisia) about 14 years ago and I had my shorts stolen by a dodgy hotel owner!
The speeches were good, since both Mike and Jake understood that defining quality of a good speech is brevity. I guess the toughest speech is always the best man’s speech since so much expectation is attached to it. Jake did a really good effort and managed to walk that tightrope of trying to be funny without offending too many people. At least I now realise just what a good choice of wife Phil made; anyone who is happy to send porn magazines to soldiers on active duty in Afghanistan clearly understands a man’s true needs and is fine by me!
After much eating, drinking and dodgy folk dancing we headed off, happy in the knowledge that Phil was now a proper grown up, Daniella had been made an honest woman of, and that we’d met a great bunch of new friends. Although people always seem to leave weddings assuming they’ll meet up with the “other side” again sometime, I really hope that we do so this time. Mike travels a fair bit anyway, so I’m looking forward to seeing him and his wife come to East Africa sometime- apart from anything, there’s another bottle of scotch needing finishing off.
Anyway, we’re now back in Tanzania, with the wedding a happy memory. The photos Daniella and Phil had made are great too, taken by a genius photographer called Mark Wallis- check him out online at www.markwallisphoto.com if you’re getting married. Okay, some of the pictures of me show the unavoidable truth that I now have a bald patch the size of the hole in the ozone layer, but who is ever happy at photos of themselves anyway? Way more importantly, the pictures show a day in which two super people, thoughtful enough to send hardcore porn to Afghanistan, finally tied the knot. Congratulations both and see you here soon!
To be fair, the flight from Tanzania to the UK had resulted in a drop in temperature of something close to thirty degrees so perhaps he had a right to complain. Having said that, he was wrapped up in ski jackets, hat and gloves and had attached himself to me in such a way as to get both hands inside my coat. He was being, perhaps, ever so slightly feeble.
Thus it was that last month we headed back to a slightly above zero UK for the wedding of my brother Phil, the second of our generation (after me, of course) to manage inexplicably to convince a woman way out of his league to spend the rest of her days with him.
We arrived on the Thursday, well in time for the Saturday wedding, having experimented with flying SwissAir for the first time. The usual long flight out of Africa (prehistoric man would have managed it faster) followed by a stressy dash through Zurich airport to make the half hour connection. Before long though, we were making our final approach into City Airport, flying over our old house in Erith- a nostalgic experience enhanced by the relief in seeing that the place was still truly a bombsite and selling up had been a masterstroke after all.
A short drive later and there we were, in Cambridge- in temperature, architecture, in fact in all respects a world away from the hot and sticky African city we’d left the previous day. Thursday passed quite quickly- shopping, eating and drinking, before we met up with Daniella’s father, Mike, and his wife for a few drinks. Fortunately we’d booked a mini apartment so were able to keep on partying well after the boys were in bed. We stayed up into the wee small hours with Mike, Daniella’s brother Eric and a number of the bridesmaids, steadily working our way through the bottle of whisky I’d bought as a greeting present. Hours later, with Daniella’s father fast asleep in a chair and the bottle more or less drained, it was clear that this manifestation of the Chubb- Rossi combo had got off to a pretty promising start and we all headed off to bed.
Anyway, rather than going through this on an hour by hour basis, let’s just stick to the important bits. We’ll take it as read that there were lots of enjoyable chats with friends and family in varying states of sobriety, punctuated by shopping expeditions to find the millionth thing “we didn’t have but absolutely couldn’t do without”.
Friday afternoon saw us at the wedding rehearsal. There we met the vicar for the first time- a pretty cool combination of biker and priest who, had either of us been Christian, would have been most welcome to officiate at my and Soma’s wedding. We had prolonged polite negotiations over which order the procession should enter in, before deciding that the American way was best and that the first couple up the aisle would be myself and a young lady called Sarah. I have to say, going up the aisle with a tall blonde lady was a bit of a change, being married as I am to a short Indian.
The procession and the rehearsal went very well indeed. Kieran behaved himself impeccably and listened quietly to all that was going on, unlike his grandfather who was told off by our biker vicar for talking in class!
A day later we were doing it for real. Kieran, Jake, Eric and myself were there nice and early ready to hand out programmes and welcome guests into the Girton College chapel. All of us were dressed in our finery, including Kieran, who was possibly as smart as he’s ever been in his life. He felt very important indeed in his dual role of usher and doorstop (we couldn’t keep the chapel door from closing violently so we wedged Kieran against it). On the whole he did very well indeed. One slight failure came about when he stepped away from the door and almost succeeded in braining his Great- Great Aunt Lorna, but even she took it all in good humour. After the inevitable delay, bride and bridesmaids turned up looking sensational and the fun began.
As with most weddings, the ceremony was both poignant and brief- not brief enough for Rohan who, delighting in the noise made by turning the digital camera on and off was escorted from the chapel by his mother. Before long, though, the new husband and wife and their assorted guests were in an adjoining room sipping champagne. The reception was fun too- although the college itself is obviously quite an austere place, some of the formality had been taken away by naming all the tables after planets from Star Wars. We were lucky enough to be placed on the Death Star- an improvement for me in terms of Star Wars locations. The last I’d visited was Tatooine (not just a planet but a small town in Tunisia) about 14 years ago and I had my shorts stolen by a dodgy hotel owner!
The speeches were good, since both Mike and Jake understood that defining quality of a good speech is brevity. I guess the toughest speech is always the best man’s speech since so much expectation is attached to it. Jake did a really good effort and managed to walk that tightrope of trying to be funny without offending too many people. At least I now realise just what a good choice of wife Phil made; anyone who is happy to send porn magazines to soldiers on active duty in Afghanistan clearly understands a man’s true needs and is fine by me!
After much eating, drinking and dodgy folk dancing we headed off, happy in the knowledge that Phil was now a proper grown up, Daniella had been made an honest woman of, and that we’d met a great bunch of new friends. Although people always seem to leave weddings assuming they’ll meet up with the “other side” again sometime, I really hope that we do so this time. Mike travels a fair bit anyway, so I’m looking forward to seeing him and his wife come to East Africa sometime- apart from anything, there’s another bottle of scotch needing finishing off.
Anyway, we’re now back in Tanzania, with the wedding a happy memory. The photos Daniella and Phil had made are great too, taken by a genius photographer called Mark Wallis- check him out online at www.markwallisphoto.com if you’re getting married. Okay, some of the pictures of me show the unavoidable truth that I now have a bald patch the size of the hole in the ozone layer, but who is ever happy at photos of themselves anyway? Way more importantly, the pictures show a day in which two super people, thoughtful enough to send hardcore porn to Afghanistan, finally tied the knot. Congratulations both and see you here soon!
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