From Dar es Salaam to Dharamsala and points in between

Its been a bit of a whirlwind since we left Dar on April 23, but we have managed to fit in some pretty amazing tourism experiences in the interim before winding up in Mumbai, here at the Indira Gandhi Institute for Development Research.

First stop was Cairo, where we spent a weekend, one day of which was with a car, driver and guide. We zoomed around this city of 24 million people, hitting some of the main highlights – the 2 sets of pyramids were amazing close up, but what I really liked was the way they loomed up behind buildings and dominated the cityscape. We had time in the souk (enough to get thoroughly lost),  in the Egyptian Museum where treasures are just piled everywhere and to visit the huge mosque in the citadel.

On Sunday, we flew to Paris, where the real culture shock set in. It was springtime, and the tulips, lilacs and spring greenery reminded us that there are seasons other than wet and dry! Also, parks, wine, statues and art everywhere. Lars had meetings, but I enjoyed visiting the Musee D’Orsay where I wallowed in impressionists for a happy morning. We had some fabulous dining out, and stocked up on red meat and wine, knowing it would be scarce in the months ahead. Then on Wednesday, we picked up our rental car, and with trepidation navigated our way out of Paris, and headed east to Alsace. Oh, yes, that was me doing the driving on the wrong side of the road as Lars had had a spot of emergency dental surgery that morning and was a bit out of it!

We met up with some of our kids in a gite in Alsace – Natasha and Cam from Geneva and Brendan and his girl friend Regina from Munich.  We visited Strasbourg (where I was quite taken with the wise and foolish virgins carved over the doorway of the cathedral – guess which ones these are!). We walked, ate, played games and talked, and enjoyed needing the warmth of the tile stove in the evenings!

After a night spent in a gorgeous medieval town on the “Route des Vins”, we had to hustle back to Paris the next morning to catch the plane to Beirut – we might have lingered in the developed world just a little too long to have a relaxing drive! 

Spencer met us in the middle of the night at the airport, and we were whisked off to the apartment he had just moved into with his friend Ali. In spite of all that, he was able to provide us with a comfy bed and we needed it!

We spent almost a week in Lebanon, and were impressed with how the country has recovered from the war that cut our last trip short 4 years ago. Cranes and building sites are everywhere, and the Dahia, heavily bombed, was sprouting legions of new high rise apartments. Municipal elections were happening at the end of our week there, and we amused ourselves trying to decide which of the mugshots plastered all over the city would get our vote. There was lots of excitement caused by this – parades, cars driving around with megaphones blaring, people in bright t-shirts stopping cars to hand out lists of candidates and of course extra military in evidence.  

But mostly we traveled about, and saw all the things we missed in Lebanon last time. Spence was our driver and tour guide, and did a great job. We saw a hopeful "new seventh natural wonder of the world" site at Jeita caves, and they were amazing. Went to Sidon, with its wonderful souk, Tyre with a lovely beer place on the beach (warm enough to swim in – the water that is), Byblos with its incredible layers of ruins dating from Neolithic times (including this lovely lion in the Persian part circa 500 AD with thyme for a mane)  through to present day...

and finally Baalbak in the Bekaa Valley with even more incredible Roman ruins.

We also had lots of time for wandering about and eating great Lebanese food, giving Spence and Ali advice (and maybe a little practical help) on furnishing and decorating their new apartment and having discussions on the state of the middle eastern world. I swear I did not set this photo (one below) up – it is a copy of the magazine of which Spence is the editor on their makeshift coffee table. And in spite of this photo of him smoking sheesha, it is not Spence who is the smoker!

All too soon, we were on a plane again, with yet another wait in Cairo airport (they have the most expensive beer there), and then we were arriving in Mumbai at 8:30 in the morning. After sorting out some missing bag issues, we  were immediately thrown into the heat, the smells and the crazy traffic. The airport itself is surrounded by a huge slum (I’m not hesitating to use that word, everyone else does) which you see as you land, and then driving north to Goregaon, it seemed it just continued, interspersed with glittering high rises and a few shopping malls.

So here I am at the Gateway to India, with the Taj hotel in the background (partially opened again), a symbolic entryway to and exit from India for the British Raj. We have now had 2 forays into south Mumbai – a different world from where we have ended up! Handsome colonial buildings, modern high rises and all manner of businesses and sophistication. 

Goregaon, on the other hand, is the pits, apart from the IGIDR which is a little oasis of green and fanciful architecture in the midst of a huge slum….this Escheresque stairwell cum cloister is inspired by the Elefanta caves where Buddhist monks meditated as they walked. It is totally impractical as a way to get from one academic office to another – it requires advanced topographical awareness to figure out how to get anywhere, thus actively discouraging academic discourse. And apparently it doesn’t even keep you dry during the monsoon!

It only took us a day to realize that 2 months in Goregaon might be too much, in spite of the congenial atmosphere at the institute. A good travel agent was recommended to us, and we immediately started making plans to take a few trips, and within a week we were off on the first one to the mountains of Himachal Pradesh. We had a day in Delhi, where it was 44 degrees, and good preparation for our trip to Rajasthan next week. The best part was wandering around Old Delhi and visiting the oldest mosque in India, the Jamid Mosque, where a non-verbal guide led us around and quite entertainingly mimed some of the highlights. 

We departed by overnight train from the New Delhi station, which was remarkably  quiet considering that the night before 2 people were killed and many injured in a stampede caused by a last minute platform change. 

We spent our first 2 days in Dalhousie, a former British hill station, where we enjoyed walking through cool forests and getting our first sight of the mountains. 

Then we were off to Dharamsala, home of the Dalai Lama and headquarters of the Tibetan Government in exile. Lots of tourists here, both foreign and Indian, escaping the heat – but we escaped most of them by almost immediately heading off on a 3 day trek up to Triund (2800 metres) and then on up almost to the glacier (3200m) where the trail continues over the Indrahari pass. We didn’t quite achieve the agility of these mountain goats, but we learned a lot about the life they and their human herders lead from our guide Chander, who is a member of the Gaddi (pastoralist) people.

Reaching Triund the first day, climbing over a ridge and seeing the mountains so close up was stunning!

We stayed in a simple guest house, with no water or electricity, but with great meals cooked by Chander.

The second day, we went up as far as where the glacier used to be…here. I think this will be what will leave the most lasting impression on me. Chander told us how this glacier has been shrinking over the past 10 years to the point where it melts completely some years by the end of July. He talked a lot about the lack of snow in recent years, and how his village, Dharamkot, which used to have water gushing through it all year round, now has a water shortage – houses get one or two hours of water a day now. Anyone who doubts global warming should talk to Chander for an hour or two.  The really disturbing thing is that this is happening all over the Himalayas, the source of 4 major rivers on which more than a billion people depend.

Straight above my head is the Indrahari pass, where more intrepid trekkers than us and shepherds cross this range of mountains, the Dhauladhar.

Amazingly, there was a chai shop at the snow line where we met these shepherds, Chander’s relatives – he joined in a game of cards with them which was very much like bridge. So that’s what they do when they are up in the mountains for weeks on end!

As we were coming down in the afternoon, we met this shepherd, who with 2 others and 4-500 sheep and goats, were heading up over the pass to the Chamba valley on the other side. They had started early that morning, would rest near where the glacier starts and then make the last ascent starting at 4:00 next morning. They would eventually end up somewhere near the Chinese border, and were carrying all their possessions on their backs.

Earlier in the year, the shepherds would spend 3-4 weeks at a time grazing their herds up here, and living in these stone huts. Members of their families would sprint up and bring them food from time to time.

On our last morning, the weather had turned, and it was blowy and rainy. We went down a different way, shorter, but steeper and had to shelter in various shepherds’ huts a couple of times. But it was still a gorgeous walk, and our legs were suitably sore at the end!

We spent a few more days after the trek exploring Dharamsala, during which time we developed a love for Tibetan food, an appreciation for the plight of Tibet and a better awareness of Buddhism.

And now we’re back in Mumbai, planning our next trip. But in the meantime, we have spent another day in the city, and another week reading the papers, talking to people and getting to know this incredible country. And how does it compare to our experiences in Tanzania? – first I have to say that I have never seen poverty like this before…in Dar, the worst types of houses were still usually at least made of concrete, here there are many made out of tin, what look like flour sacks, and scrappy bits of tarpaulin. And even worse are the squatters’ huts along the railway tracks, or seeing whole families camped out on a piece of cloth on the sidewalk. There is little street crime here, compared to Dar: however, we hear that organized crime happens on a huge scale, murders, corruption and police brutality are everyday occurances. India’s GDP per capita is more than double that of Tanzania, yet more children attend primary school in Tanzania than in India – and from what I hear, the government schools in Mumbai are more or less non-existent. Even the poorest people try to scrape together money to send their children to private schools here, most of them probably pretty low budget/quality. Public healthcare seems equally dismal in both places – a lot of money is required for any kind of advanced treatment through a  mostly privatised system. And the kind of beggars one sees here – its not just that there are so many more in India than in Dar, there is a different kind. I think the ones that affect me most are the old people and the children – today an tiny, ancient woman was begging in the train station – she was so emaciated she couldn’t walk, and couldn’t have weighed more than 70 lbs. And what about class divisions? In Tanzania, there is a fairly recent wealthy class, and there are some families that did well under colonial rule, and still do well. The middle class is emerging, and there are lots of poor people. In India, there are huge divides between economic classes, but added to that there is the caste system, which, judging from the ads on the “Matrimonials” pages in the Times of India, listed by caste, is alive and well.  There is a big debate now about whether people should be asked their caste on the next census.

The Mahalakshmi dhobi ghats where clothes are brought from all over the city to be washed.

But I just finished reading an excellent, if depressing book called “Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found” by Suketu Mehta and he concludes that India is a country in which everyone is working for and is part of an organism much bigger than the self - even gangsters feel like they are contributing to a cause, and on the most basic level, the family/extended family is what most Indians are working for. Maybe that explains how the auto-rickshaw driver we were talking to, a recent migrant from Uttar Pradesh (as are most of the drivers) can live in one room in the Santa Cruz slum with 7 other men, with no plumbing or access to water, and still send money home to his parents and his newly married wife. I’m not sure I will come close to understanding anything about this country in the few weeks I have left, but it certainly has been a fascinating counter-point to our time in Tanzania!

Muzika ya Bongo and other reflections on leaving Tanzania

Lars and I both lived in Africa during impressionable  periods in our lives, and were shaped in many indefinable ways by our experiences then. One thing (out of many) that we share is a love for African music – Lars spent a lot of his evenings in Tanga listening to  Congolese bands in the Mwananchi Club and other Tanga hotspots (there were 3) of the late 60’s. I was influenced by the juju and hi-life music of Nigeria in the early 80’s – not to mention the incomparable Fela Anikulapo–Kuti. I think Lars developed his dance style in Tanga!

One of our goals when we arrived here was to discover some live music venues, and find some good local bands to patronize. So faithfully, every Friday night I would pick Lars up from work, we would go out to eat and then try to find somewhere playing music. We asked around and got some suggestions, but invariably we would go, and the venue would be deserted or a band would appear and start playing really boring music (a low point was a band playing country and western!).

Finally one night in late October, we went to one recommended place, had a plate of ugali and whatever, looked around at the few empty tables and shook our heads. Another futile search….but just then we heard the sound of drums from across the road. We ate up, found our way over to the Village Museum and a live performance of drummers and traditional musicians and dancers. What a show! It was about 7:00 by this time, and we were treated to a performance of dances from around the country, along with a quite dazzling display of acrobatics. So from then on, every visitor we had was taken to experience an exposition of traditional Tanzanian music, dance and acrobatics – but the scene was over by about 9 PM. One Friday, we stayed while a rather ancient looking group of Reggae musicians came on stage, and listened for a few minutes before exiting quietly.

Again and again, we would go to a place, have dinner, hang around and wait and then give up – we tried dining later and later, but we never could reconcile the Friday dinner and music scene.

Because it turns out that we were asking the wrong people – Lars had the idea that the young people around the office would know what was happening, but they were no use at all. And the radio was no guide – Tanzanian music radio oscillates between totally cheesy American rock and “Bongo Fleva” (a.k.a. ‘flavour’) – the Swahili version of rap, which has none of the multi-layered rhythms, harmonies and crazy exuberance that we learned to love.

But then the 50+ woman in the next office at REPOA(Mama Zuki) organized an office party and we realized that no band in Dar ever starts rocking until well after 10 or sometimes even later – and when they do amble on stage, they spend the first hour or so wandering through a random assortment of cheesy pop, classic R&B, calypso, country and western – whatever, just to warm up. All the bands seem to have an uncountable number of musicians, and they move from song to song without skipping a beat – never a break, just a seamless web of music, until suddenly the real stuff arrives, somewhere around 11 PM or so.

All the musicians dance as well – syncopated rhythms and choreographed moves, very heavy hip action, using that extra set of ball bearings that some people here seem to have acquired somehow.

FM Academia, Banana Zorro, Akudo Impact and Deca – we’ve heard a bunch in the last few weeks, and last Saturday, Zuki said we could find King Kiki playing on the New Bagamoyo Road and he was still rocking the place amazingly when we staggered home  sometime around 2AM.

But even with our new know-how, we had some spectacular failures – like the Thursday night we drove half-way across town to a rather sleazy hotel to hear some Taarab music (Arabic inspired Tanzanian music from Zanzibar), carefully arriving after 9:30 so we would be sure to get a seat (it was advertised to begin at 9:00) and finding no one there at all (they were still piling the chairs into the garbage-smelling parking lot that was the venue). By 11:00 we were falling asleep. At 11:15 the heavens opened and we all dashed for the tiny tent that was the only shelter. At 11:30 the Taarab band played 3 numbers and then were replaced by a band featuring about 6 large women in ball gowns – quite unbelievable, but not enough to keep us awake.  

Sunday afternoon at the Msasani Beach Club - a family concert featuring Akudo Impact

This pair entertained us lip-synching for the 2 hours until the band started up...

Even after all this time, we still managed to get what I think was 2 complete chickens for dinner, instead of the 2 orders of "kuku na chipsi" (chicken and chips) we thought we had ordered

So now as we gather ourselves together to leave Dar for the next stage of our journey, we begin to reflect on all that we have done, and not done. All that music we could have been hearing! All those people we didn’t get to know, mostly because of our limited Swahili (another regret). All those road trips we didn’t take – south to Lindi and across the Mozambiquan border, into the heartland of Tanzania and southwest to Mbeya and  beyond. Not discovering the Dogodogo Centre until so late in our stay and having to leave those boys just as I was getting to know them.  And I didn’t perfect my watercolour technique (where did all that leisure time go?).

"Prof" Semboja giving a little speech at Lars' send off

On the positive side, Lars made some great connections professionally and Dalhousie may even gain some new PhD students. I gained a new appreciation for the challenges facing Tanzanians in trying to expand their education system so fast. We had some fantastic little holidays, visiting many of the National Parks. We both renewed our love affair with the African continent, and are filled with the desire to see more of it.  And, we now have many CD’s of the above mentioned bands which will await our discovery when we get back home.

Lars giving Thadeus, his protege (centre), a few last words of wisdom...he may be one of the PhD students coming

That’s why we will come back to Tanzania – to continue our exploration of this amazing country. And that’s it for this blog – I think I’ll be too busy meditating and perfecting my yoga in India. 

See you all when we get home in July!

Molly and Lars

One last crazy sign - I wonder if India will be such a source of fun! PS If you can't read it, you'll just have to zoom in - I'm not spelling it out (hint: the last 2 words are "you fall", the first is "ballin'")! And I have no idea what actually goes on there...

 

The Baobab Lady and the Peanut Lady

Every neighbourhood has its rhythms, and part of the daily ritual of our corner of Dar es Salaam is when the owner of  “The Baobab Restaurant” arrives. Every morning around 6:30AM she sets up her small eatery – “restaurant” is really too grand a term – under the big baobab tree in the park across the road from where we live. We guess that it is her husband who helps her wheel in the benches and the table and set up the awning that protects her customers from the occasional downpours of the rainy season. Her young children come with her as well, and spend the day playing on the beach. She cooks up beans and rice on a charcoal fire and serves heaping plates to the fishermen as they return from a night’s work in the bay. Then all day there seems to be a steady stream of watchmen and gardeners and passers-by. Sometime around 4PM she folds everything up and wheels it all home again on two home made trolleys – and starts up again the next morning.

As can be seen from the photo above, it’s a small place – she cannot serve more than four or five people at a time.

And yes, those are goats wandering along the road. Somebody in the neighbourhood turns them out every morning and they wander the neighbourhood, trimming the shrubs and nibbling random bits of grass and any organic garbage they can find – a fine example of ‘recycling’ and urban agriculture in action. As dusk falls, by some mysterious signal, they somehow agree to form into a small herd and head home again.

Dusk is also about the time when “The Peanut Lady” packs up her table and calls it a day. She arrives sometime in the early afternoon, and sets up shop just outside our front gate, selling small packets of peanuts for about 8 cents Canadian. Every day I buy a couple from her as I get home from work. But she cannot have much of an income – that is her total inventory in front of her on the table. Even if she were to sell all thirty packets every day, total revenue would be no more than $2.40 Canadian, and it costs her something to buy, roast and bag the peanuts that she.sells.

Coffee seller

And I don’t imagine the Baobab Restaurant can be making a lot of income –  the going price for beans and rice is about 80 cents Canadian and the place is just too small, the clientele, too few. Still, she probably makes more than the guy on the main road near here who waits beside the bathroom scale that he owns for people to weigh themselves, or the energetic peddlers who throng the traffic jams, ever hopeful that you will decide – now that you are stuck in traffic – that what you really want to do is to buy pillows, mats (see below), coat hangers, TV aerials, shoes, maps, newspapers, flowers or live tropical fish (sold from a aquarium carried on the head).

It’s all part of “the informal economy” and it’s what people have to do to survive. There is no such thing as a public old age pension in Tanzania, and only about 4% of the elderly get private pensions, so there really is no “retirement” phase to life – people have to keep on working as long as they are able. The youth who flock from the countryside to the bright lights of  Dar es Salaam have to get some kind of income for themselves, since there is no welfare or unemployment insurance. Whatever you are selling, there is some margin (hopefully) to get by on. 

Of course, in Canada any restaurant would have to have stainless steel counters in the food preparation area and probably would have sterilizing dish washers. There is no water-pipe in The Baobab Restaurant – its owner must bring everything she needs with her in jerry cans, every morning, for both cooking and washing up. Tanzanians are very clean people – everybody scrupulously washes their hands before every meal – but you can only clean so much with a twenty litre can of water. There is just no way that The Baobab Restaurant could pass a ‘health and safety’ inspection, whatever its leniency.

In a country like Canada, one is not allowed to set up eateries on public land without permission. Rigorous inspections assure the public of food safety, wherever they choose to eat. The Baobab Restaurant, and any number of places like it in Tanzania, would simply not be allowed to exist in Canada.

But here, they serve a local need and provide people with a livelihood. And that’s one of the conundrums of development. If Tanzania is to develop, it needs tax revenue to build roads and schools – but the informal economy does not pay tax. If Dar es Salaam’s occasional outbreaks of cholera are to be stopped, public health has to be improved. If better jobs were available, people would not have to dodge oncoming cars trying to sell improbable objects in the traffic. One hopes that all these things will change, some day – but tomorrow morning, and for many mornings to come, the Baobab Lady will be setting up her eatery under the big tree in the park.
written by Lars, photos by Molly

Mafia

Some people might be a bit dubious about getting out here....

but we did, arriving by small plane from Dar for the Easter weekend.

The Mafia Lodge, one of only about 4 hotels on the island, is another old government hotel. It was quite lovely.

We took lots of expeditions (the best snorkeling ever!) including a trip across to Chole, a community of about 1000 people on a smaller island.

Chole, an old Arab slave trading port, was full of ruins being taken over by the rainforest.

We walked through the village, which is as close as I have seen to being what I would describe as "idyllic"

Houses were solid, yards  clean and swept, gardens well kept....

children healthy and happy looking...

There is even a village hall, where with a satellite dish, they can show movies and TV shows to the community.

Dispensary...

Lots of boat building activity - this is a traditional dhow, used for fishing and transport.

These two little boys had a fire lit, and were preparing to cook some kind of fish liver over it. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately),the fire went out....but they were quite resourceful for such little guys!

This strangler fig is taking over the baobab...

We were told  that there was no crime on the island, but we saw this "alleged" thief being tackled and tied up right in front of our verandah - hotel security was certainly on the ball!

After a lovely stay of 4 days, we had forgotten all about having to produce paperwork to get out of the Marine Park. Fortunately, Lars hadn't thrown it away, and was able to find it with only a little effort (note the completely unpacked bag!)