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!)

The Dogodogo Centre

For the past few weeks I have been spending a few hours every day at the Dogodogo Centre for Street Children in Kigogo, a suburb of Dar. Most schools have been having a 2 week “spring break”, and activities were organized all day long for the children. My English class was one optional activity, and it was open to any boys who wanted to come. Most days there were between 30 and 40 boys there, although it is difficult for me to know how many of them came every day.

The Dogodogo Centre was established in 1995 by Sister Jean, an American nun, who I actually met at a Canadian gathering last October. She has been living in Tanzania for 40 years – came the same time Lars did, so they bonded over a few comparisons. No one knows how many children are on the street in Tanzania, but they are very obvious when you are stopped at an intersection – they are the ones who dump dirty water on your windshield and then try to mop it off, the more professional ones using an old wiper blade.  60 boys live at the Dogodogo Centre now and they all attend primary school in the neighbourhood. They range in age from 9 to 17, and most of them don’t speak a word of English.

Up until the past 2 weeks, I have been coming once a week to help the oldest ones prepare for their Standard 7 exam, which is one of the most important exams they will ever write. It will determine whether they can proceed to secondary school or not. Whatever happens, they will move next year into the sister home in Benju, where if they don’t pass their exam, they will get 2 more years of vocational training, and if they do, they will attend local secondary schools. “My boys” (13 of them) have a little English and are very keen to learn. They also love to draw, and I gave them unlined notebooks, thinking they could be journals, but they have really turned into sketch books.

I don’t have much idea about the backgrounds of the boys, although I believe that many of them have run away from abusive situations. They are not necessarily orphans, and the Centre makes attempts to reunite them with their families, or at least allow them to visit from time to time. Some of them are AIDs orphans, whose relatives were unable to look after them (some grandparents are simply overwhelmed by the number of grandchildren left in their care). Many of the boys come from remote parts of the country, and getting to Dar has been quite an adventure for them. They seem to love to draw their villages, and one boy told me his father is in New York. I think some of the boys have never been to school – at least a few cannot even write their own names. And girls? When I asked about why there are no girls, the answer is that they just don’t last on the streets – they either get taken on as domestics in situations similar to slavery, or are inducted into the sex trade.

Note the Uhuru (freedom) Flame atop Mt.Kilimanjaro - 2 of the most potent symbols of Tanzania

The Centre itself is located in a shabby neighbourhood, and appears a bit down-at-heel physically. However the boys are well fed (I come in at the tail end of lunch, and they are all eating heaping plates of ugali, beans, spinach and sometimes meat), they sleep in bunk beds (8 to a room) and there are many adults including social workers to keep track of them.  There is a bus which ferries them to afterschool activities at the Tanzania Cigarette Corporation everyday, and they seem to go on outings from time to time. But the big thing is that they have a chance at an education and a vocation! I met an “old boy” who is now at boarding school in Dodoma – quite an achievement for a street child!

I am so impressed with the work that goes on here, and how they manage with very little funding. The volunteer board spends a lot of time looking for sources of funding, and recently the local government has reduced its share…changing priorities. I have heard of several orphanages who have had to close because they can’t afford to feed the children,  it seems that Dogodogo has reached a sustainable way to operate.

So we have been reading stories, singing songs,  practicing and performing a “rap”, playing games (Simon Says is a big favourite) and sometimes I squeak in a little actual teaching. We made a movie (more a slide show) with their pictures and a voice over based on a story we had read. I wish I had more time with them – my one regret is that I didn’t discover this place until quite recently, and now I have to go!

I haven’t really had a lot of time to get to know the other staff, and really find out what goes on at the Centre because every day when it is time to leave, the smaller boys pack up my stuff and fight over who gets to carry the basket to the car. I thought they just loved me until one day a boy carefully put the basket on the front seat of the car, and then leaned over and whispered confidentially, “Give me 200!” (shillings). Old habits!

Just goofing around with my camera!

But I did drive “Brother Nicholas”, one of the social workers, part way home one day, and had an interesting chat with him. He told me that everyday, one of the 3 social workers goes to one of the places where street children hang-out (the Ubungo bus terminal, the fish market) and takes food hoping to make contact with boys who might be possibilities for the centre. I didn’t quite get as far as finding out what the criteria for entry are, but I know that the boys need to show readiness for living in a structured situation and going to school…not all of them are ready. But Brother Nicholas also is the one who, apropros of the question “How many children do you have?” (not “Do you have children? – Tanzanians never phrase it like that), expressed surprise when I gave my stock answer (5 children) and said, “We are not used to Wazungu (foreigners) having such big families”. So I felt I should level with him, and told him that actually 2 of the children were mine, and 3 were my husband’s originally. Whereupon he said, “Your husband married you with 2 children? That would never happen in Tanzania!” 

When I leave Tanzania, the faces of these boys and their eagerness to learn will probably be the most enduring memory I will take with me. 


Thanks Rita, Mum and friends for all the books and school supplies - as you can see, they are well appreciated!