Stranger in a Strange Land

It's been almost a month since I wrote about my first impressions of Tanzania.  In that time, I've grown fairly comfortable here - that is, I've grown used to just about everything even if I still think it's strange.  Of course, no matter how comfortable I feel here, I'm still a mzungu - a foreigner, a European, a white person.

As a white person, you stand out here, no question, and "spotting the white person" is something of a safari for Tanzanians.  Walking down the street, you are greeted with a chorus of "mzungu, mzungu, mzungu" with a pointing finger or a wave.  Little kids, old people.  Everyone thinks it's quite a sport.  It's funny at first and then gets annoying...some white folks have even bought shirts that say things like "well spotted...I'm a mzungu" or with just the simple "MZUNGU" emblazoned in all caps.  I almost can't blame the Tanzanians...I've done a double take myself when I've seen another white person that I don't already know!  But could you imagine walking down the street pointing people out by race at home?  Most of it is in good fun, and people are generally excited to give you a high five (which is a fist pump here) and ask you your name and where you are from.  Unfortunately, some Tanzanians aren't so welcoming...it hasn't happened to me, but some other volunteers have had Tanzanians get off the dala when they get on, or refuse to get on when they see them, or move their seats away from them.

As a mzungu here, you are very aware of the line between the haves and the have-nots - they exist in two entirely separate worlds.  You can retreat to a Western restaurant that serves 4 course meals and where the only non-mzungus are the wait staff.  You can then step outside this very restaurant and find two brothers, in rags, living on the street, with nothing to eat.  (One volunteer offered to buy these children new shirts.  When the little brother picked a white one, the older brother/parent, reminded him that that wasn't a good choice because it would be harder to wash in the river.) Of course, the divide isn't just between white and black.  There are Tanzanian families with big houses and satellite tv, whose kids watch cartoons and play video games in the internet cafes.  And then there are Tanzanian families who live in dirt huts without running water, electricity, or food.

Overall, the lack of infrastructure is a huge adjustment.  The water company just doesn't have enough water to supply the city because the country is so arid - plus, a water pump broke and the replacement has to be shipped in from Sweden.  As a result, our house has been buying water privately - a man arrives before dawn every morning pulling a huge cart loaded with barrels of water that he painstakingly pours into our cistern.  There isn't any means of garbage disposal - trash either gets tossed into the street or burned alongside it.  Huge clouds of smoke billow everywhere - burning everything you can think of (bottles, CDs, papers) - filling the air with a pungent, acrid smell.  If your nose isn't already burning from the smoke, it's probably scratchy from the dust.  Dust is everywhere and on everything - clean doesn't exist here.  Your feet are black when you take a shower and they're black when you get out of the shower - as soon as you remove the dirt from under your nails, there's more dirt under your nails.  You get comfortable with dirt - clean is a luxury.  This is even more true because of how you do laundry.  Laundry machines and driers don't exist.  Your clothes go into a bucket with, per the instructions on the package, "enough soap to do the washing."   (Ummm, how much is that exactly???)  And then you scrub and scrub until your arms and back ache, and then you rinse, and wring, and hang the clothes on the line.  What we do at home is NOT laundry....THIS is laundry!!  This is more than laundry actually...it's a backbreaking workout!

Filthy Feet

 In spite of the dust and the shortage of water, car washes are a major industry here.  They line the roads one after another.  I can't figure out why the Tanzanians are so fixated on keeping their cars clean...when the roads are potholed and dusty and their clothes are often dirty and full of holes.  Cars rule the roads here...pedestrians beware...you don't have the right of way.  People zip by you at breakneck speeds in cars, dalas, flatbed trucks hauling people as cargo, and on the back of motorcycle taxis (bodas).  Taxis can pack as many people into them as the car can hold, and no one wears seatbelts or uses child safety seats.  Traveling is cramped, hot, and sweaty, but you'd never know it looking at the Tanzanians - they routinely wear winter hats, parkas, and fleeces...while the mzungus are baking in long pants and t-shirts.  One kid came to school wearing a winter coat many sizes too big - well past his knees - when it was easily 80 degrees!  And if they aren't wearing excess clothing on their bodies, it's probably on their heads.  I've seen people carry bags and pots and things on their heads before, but here they carry things for sale on their heads too - very movable commerce!

The most annoying thing I've discovered is the complete lack of understanding of the concept of waiting in line.  It's a free-for-all at the grocery checkout, in public restrooms, and in school for grading.  Elbows come in handy to help stand your ground.  You also have to be on the lookout for creative math and changeable pricing on receipts...some days it seems everyone thinks that every mzungu is rich and stupid and easily parted from his/her money.

Of course, for every bad egg out there, there are great people too.  It's a wonderful day when someone stops you and says "thank you" for being here.  And on those days, you don't feel so strange.