Back from Durban

I just arrived home in Dar from Durban and I already miss the beautiful beaches with waves that could knock you over in a second. Durban (and maybe South Africa in general) is such a paradoxical place; so many sides that some how co-exists. I’m sure, however, that if I were able to stay longer, even more sides would emerge to fill the missing puzzle pieces.

The peer exchange was an amazing experience: lots of insights to how different governments work, of how context specific public service provision has to be, of how much I would love to continue working with my current organization, of how much work in this sector fascinates and frustrates me….. (and how that was really too long of a run-on sentence).

I will try to write as much as I remember in the next few days while I attempt to sort my life out.

first time in South Africa

My internship has officially finished. I do get to go to the peer exchange happening in Durban, South Africa though. So today I packed my bags and went for the 2:30 am flight out of Dar to Johannesburg. (Aside: I booked through Kulula, the budget branch of British Airways in SA. Except I always call it kulala, which means “to sleep” in Kiswahili. Fits perfectly for the late night flight). I was packing until the last minute. Had to do a limited bucket shower because, of all days, it had to be tonight when there’s no water. Then right before my taxi arrived, I told my upstairs room mate that I didn’t really have any plans for my 7+ hours in Jo’burg. I was going to take some sort of transport to city centre and wander around like I usually do. She basically freaked out. “You can’t walk around in Jo’burg. It’s too dangerous. You have to take a taxi from the airport to wherever you want to go and stay there. Definitely do *not* go to city centre. You will definitely get mugged at best and hurt at worst.” I had no idea the city was actually that bad. So I got to the airport, did some quick internet research, and decided to ask the tourist information when I get there. I was hoping to book a tour with a guide that was highly recommended online for a tour of Soweto (South Western Townships; the unplanned settlement area of Jo’burg).

I arrived at 5 am and nothing was opened yet. I stored my luggage and wandered around until I finally found a shop that sold cell phone sim cards. Interestingly, Vodacom sells theirs at 100 Rand and MTN sells theirs at 1 Rand. I wonder where the competitive edge is? I went to tourist info and asked how I can get to the Apartheid Museum, which both my roommate and online forums highly recommend. They said that it was way too early and I need to wait until 9 am. Darn 3 more hours. I tried to sleep on the chairs. Not much luck. Somehow, the 3 hours passed and I schlepped back to tourist info. The taxi turns out to cost 350 Rand (approx. 50 USD; it’s ok if you have 4 people, but for one person?! That’s about the same amount my flight from Joburg to Durban cost) one way. Sheesh. (The taxi driver even said it was 450 one way, thankfully I asked beforehand). No way I could afford it. So I took my roommate’s advice to check out the humongous malls in the suburb of Sandton. There’s a newly opened express train that goes there. Even that 15 minute train ride costs 100 Rand one way…South Africa is definitely way more expensive than Dar.

Currently, there are 4 stations – the airport, Sandton, and two in between. I read online that you should not get off at the one called Marlboro because you will be mugged. But when we passed by, the unplanned settlement seemed much more orderly than the ones in Dar. Of course, the level of violence in SA is different, but to think that in Dar, I would have no problem walking through most of the settlements in daylight as long as I was dressed appropriately and didn’t wave my valuables around. It really made me like Tanzania all the more. Sigh, I would have really liked to visit Soweto and the Apartheid Museum.

Instead, I arrived at posh suburb Sandton. I followed the crowd to the closest huge shopping mall. I think I literally had culture shock when I stepped in. Plus I was dressed in baggy clothes for the plane rides. Everyone was dressed to their nines (at least compared to what I’ve been seeing for the last six months), the stores were huge and…just huge. I wandered around for about an hour. Bored out of my mind. You know how I feel about shopping, especially in posh malls that look the same everywhere in the world. I sat down at the food court and ate a fast food veggie burger from Steers (famous SA chain). Don’t give me that look… I haven’t had fast food for almost a year…forgive me. It was average.

Then I proceeded to walk around a bit more. Then as if someone took pity on me, a bookstore with comfy chairs appeared! I snuggled up in the store for a good hour and a half. I fell asleep many times, but it was so nice. Then it was time to head back to the airport. I also found the most delicious brownie I’ve had so far.

Things I’ve noticed so far:

  • There really are a lot of security guards in Joburg. Everywhere. Every entrance, every train, every parking lot. No wonder the askari (security guard) at our office said his company sent him to SA for training…
  • There was barb wire separating the ‘dala dala’ parking lot (they looked like dalas) and the pedestrian path leading to the mall…
  • The part of Joburg the Gautrain passed through consisted of huge urban sprawl and lots of green. The landscaped actually looked quite European, with quaint-looking houses and lots of straw bales.
  • When I asked how can I get to the Museum with public transport, the receptionist just laughed in my face… in that moment, I made up my mind that I can never live in a city that doesn’t have public transport that I can use. There is public transport in Joburg, it’s just too dangerous for foreign looking people to take. I don’t mind if the public transport is dalas…at least they’re safe!
  • There were lots of factory-like buildings near the airport. I think SA does have a much bigger manufacturing industry.
  • Airports are boring. Except Amsterdam, where you have comfy sofas to sleep on.
  • The service attitude here is better than in Dar.
  • Stuff is so expensive!
  • On the way from Dar, I bumped into a girl many times and we started talking. Turns out she’s a student at a South African university (I forgot the name) studying journalism. She has Tanzanian parents but grew up in Namibia and South Africa. We had a cool discussion about how it feels not really belonging anywhere. It’s always nice when people understand J It’s just so hard to explain.
  • it’s cold (!) I’m starting to think I can never live in place that snows again. But goodness, the coolness is amazing.

Of bombs and blood

I was out eating dinner when the bombs started exploding. At first, we thought they were fireworks. Then the taxi driver said something about the military, so we assumed it was a military drill. But the noise was crazy loud and the bombs had been exploding non-stop, every second for almost an hour. It couldn’t be a drill. Finally we figured out that it was the army ammunition depot in Gongo la Mboto bursting into flames, out of control. A good 15, 20 km away, we could see the bright orange glows clearly from our apartment. The bombs didn’t stop for at least another half an hour.

It happened before in 2009. Apparently, that was blamed on Al Qaeda. Two years later, this was simply explained as an “ajali” – accident. Closely following twitter, I saw how angry people were about the government refusing to acknowledge further responsibility. I heard that over a hundred people were killed and 700 injured. Thousands upon thousands are homeless, some having lost contact with their family. The national stadium is still filled with many in need of help. The silver lining is that the NGOs have responded well and the people at the stadium are well served.

Due to the mass injuries, the blood bank is running dangerously low. Emails and messages circulated immediately the next morning, asking for donors. Many of my friends and I went to the Muhimbili National Hospital to donate blood to help in any way we can. Although I’ve donated many times in Canada (when they let me! I’m so annoyed sometimes that they don’t let me just because I’ve travelled to places that might have malaria…I’ve never even had malaria before), it hadn’t crossed my mind to donate here in Tanzania.

First I was led to the wrong place and was made to wait. And wait. Fed up, I wandered around in the rain trying to find the right place. (If you ever need to donate blood, the Kiswahili for blood bank is “benki ya damu.”) Finally, I was able to sit down and answer those ridiculous questions: are you married? Have you had sex in the last three months? Have you ever had a blood transfusion? Surprisingly, nothing about you sleeping with someone who had slept with a prostitute was asked. Then… the nurse refused me because I had taken one doxycycline pill (preventative measure for malaria) that morning – especially since I hadn’t taken any for a long time. So I came out and asked the head nurse why I wasn’t allowed to donate; I thought the nurse had mistaken me for having had malaria recently. After some rapid discussion, they told me I can go donate. I still don’t know really if that was proper procedure. My friend who had had malaria for 10 times was told that they needed blood so badly that they will take the risk of malaria contaminated blood.

They pricked my fingertip and squeezed a drop of blood into the blue solution to see my iron levels. I swear if the blood drop floated like that in Canada, they would have refused me, but I just passed with a 12.5, apparently. It’s all good. I hate being rejected because of my iron levels. It happened once in Canada and it was so embarrassing.

In I went to the room with the beds. The (probably in training?) nurse started trying to find my vein on my left arm. I told her that it’s almost mission impossible and she should just try my right arm. She insisted. Commence poking my arm for 20 minutes. She gathers her courage and stabs me with the huge needle. Oops, didn’t get the vein. Like I told you 20 minutes ago! Change of arm. She still couldn’t find the vein. This time they had put lots of pressure on my upper arm with the arm cuff (that you measure blood pressure with); my arm was starting to go numb…

Finally, she had to call the head nurse, who muttered something about mzungu (white people/foreigners); probably how we’re so strange that even our veins are different. Well I’m sorry that I have to cause so much trouble every time. Even in Canada, newer nurses always have to ask their supervisors to stab me.

They left on the upper arm cuff, so my blood basically came bursting out of my arm into the 500 mL bag. It filled up in record time. One time in Canada, it took 23 minutes and I couldn’t even finish the bag. This time, probably 5. They also didn’t have a machine that rocks the bag of blood so it doesn’t clot, so they periodically shake the bag around like it’s some jelly energy drink. Quite an experience.

Finished and happy, all of us went for a good pizza dinner.

welcome to the rainy season

Rainy season has finally arrived. It poured the last two days out of three. And I really mean pour, tropical rain style. If this is the ‘short’ rainy season, I can’t really imagine what the ‘long’ one will be like. This one is called short because in general the rains last shorter (as in only about one hour).

The other day, I was in town for an interview. I jumped on a dala home, but as the dala approached my stop, it felt like we were standing under a waterfall. I jumped off and ran to stand with the other 100 people under the dala stand. Everyone was very patient, trying to wait out the down pour. I enjoyed the view, the coolness, the people watching for approximately 20 minutes and then decided I really wanted to get home, regardless of how wet I’ll get. The whole group laughed as I raced across the street and got splashed by no less than 3 cars. Soaking wet from head to toe within a minute, I waddled my way through the police station residence, which had turned into a rapid river. The rained lessened as I neared home. Everyone who saw me had a look of alarm and said “pole!” In Cantonese, the apt description would be “lok tong gai” (soaking wet chicken – don’t ask me why it has to be a chicken…).

It was nice to get home and jump into a hot shower!

**I did hear that the rains this year are bigger because a cyclone just hit the coast somewhere south**

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Ode to the cassava plant

I just had my favourite vegetable for lunch – kisamvu (cassava leaves).

Plus maharage (beans) and ndizi moshi (bananas cooked Moshi style – Moshi is a region in northern Tanzania). Mmmm….I wish they had kisamvu more often.

I also love how when they do serve it, they’re always worried that I won’t like it. Little do they know that it’s my favourite. It has such an indescribable taste…I swear they put some kind of special spice.

I’m starting to think the cassava plant is pretty awesome:

1) it’s usually an insurance crop, meaning that people plant it in case of drought or failed harvest because it can stay in the ground for many years and harvested at any time.

2) “Cassava is the third-largest source of carbohydrates for meals in the world.” – Wikipedia

3) the root-part is so tasty grilled with a little pili pili (hot pepper sauce)

4) the leaves are so good cooked!

5) I think it looks pretty too.

Did you know that the tapioca balls in your bubble tea is actually made from cassava flour? So don’t say you haven’t tried cassava before (well that is if you like bubble tea as much as I do :)

** as an aside, apparently cassava isn’t common in Zimbabwe. They rarely eat the roots and never the leaves**

Special saturday

I had a strange day yesterday. It deserves to be recorded in full.

First, on Friday night, I went to NCT (National College of Tourism) after work to camp with some of the tour guiding students. One of my fellow CIDA interns work there and they were having an outdoor camping sleepover. It was so much fun. The students had so much energy and huge smiles. We taught each other songs and games. Had food in the candlelight. Made s’mores around a campfire (feedback: it’s really sweet and all sugar…haha….oh how I miss s’mores). Danced to traditional songs. Danced to bongo flava (the students ran up to their dorm rooms and lugged out a huge speaker). And I, being me, got beaten at North American pop culture by Tanzanian students. Once, when we couldn’t come up with any more Canadian songs to sing, I tried to teach everyone a Chinese song. All around awesomeness. Too bad I couldn’t stay the whole night; had to get some rest for an interview the next day.

On Saturday, I tried to prepare myself for a job interview while willing my small cold away. I was nervous, obviously. This was an organization that just felt right. Their values, their approach, the staff that I’ve already met. The interview went well (frankly, I’m worried about jinxing everything now). Preparation didn’t get me anywhere; the questions just flew in from completely different directions.

A funny moment was when I was talking about what kind of person I am. I said I wasn’t really a person that’s ‘out there out there’ (as in my ‘normal-ness’). I’m sure some of my friends would just roll their eyes; “how can you be more abnormal Tiff?” I’m also sure some of my other friends would just shrug and say “I’ve met people more eccentric than you.” That’s the thing, I don’t really think of myself as eccentric or whatever name you’d like to call it. I don’t do things to be special or stand out. I do things that feel right, that feel normal….to me. Often when people tell me I’m strange, I’m baffled because I was just doing what I thought everyone else would do in the same circumstances (obviously not true…but still).

After the interview, I get a text from a friend who said to call a boss of a company who wants to interview me. Ah! So I call and was told to come now if I could. Caught a daladala and then got lost in downtown (haha…why did I think otherwise?) Called house mate, got general directions. Then I asked a mzee on the street. Turns out he’s an aviation tower controller. He went for training for two times in Singapore and he was really disappointed that I wasn’t from Singapore. He was super nice though and led me straight to where I needed to go.

Sat in the conference room for a while. My interviewer rushed in and started talking as if I was already hired. There’s this project and these things we want you to do. If you really pour yourself into it, the sky’s the limit etc etc. I understand that they are a socially conscious company and the project they want me to work on is actually very interesting. I’ve thought long and hard about the question of whether I’m morally fine with working with for-profit companies. The answer? Yes, as long as there’s nothing immoral about the way they make profit. Not-for-profit organizations often aren’t the saints that they appear to be either. But I didn’t know the background and with the rapid-fire talking, it was hard to come up with intelligent questions. Fortunately, he asked me to come back on Tuesday for a real interview with the manager of the program I’ll be under.

As if that ‘interview’ wasn’t strange enough, when I stepped out of the conference room, I bump into the manager of another organization that I met on Thursday. I think we were both surprised to see each other. I would hazard a guess that he was here to try to build partnerships with the private sector. Hm, interesting.

Anyways, got on dala to go home. Tried to give my seat to a mzee, but he refused, as many elderly people also do back home. I’ve always wondered how it feels to be forced by your aging body to accept help from younger ones. It must not be a good feeling.

Bought some veggies. My mouth was already watering thinking about the Lebanese moussaka I was going to make for dinner. I don’t leave enough time for myself to cook as much I like.

Asked by room mate to go out for a short drink with the guy who owns the cell phone store down the street. His name’s Patrick and he’s an entrepreneur who set up an importing company between Denmark/Norway and Tanzania. You can see he’s got those entrepreneurial traits so touted by business schools around the world. Interesting and down to earth kind of guy. Hope I’m still here when he comes back in three weeks.

Made dinner with roommate and colleague. Moussaka! Ah, seriously, I thank whoever bought the garam masala for our kitchen.

Then I just fell into a deep and needed sleep. What a day.

Shades of “corruption”

I learned two new Kiswahili* words yesterday. Translated to English, they both mean corruption.

Takrima and Rushwa. Google translate tells me they mean handouts and corruption respectively. In reality, they both have connotations of corruption, but with one crucial difference.

Takrima can only be given and never asked for. Rushwa can be asked for. Takrima is like a gift you give to someone with the intention of asking them for a favour. Rushwa can go both ways – you can ask for a rushwa before doing a favour for someone.

Apparently, it was a former prominent politician who made popular the differences in these two words. He claimed that he was only taking takrima and not rushwa. (I’m unsure about this story, since I only briefly heard it from a colleague.)

During one development studies course, we had a few lectures on what is corruption. Interestingly, corruption is very hard to define. According to different customs and norms, what is corruption in one place can be expected politeness/respect in another. For example, in some places, if you get into power and do not provide benefits for your relatives, you are seen as disrespectful at best and a ‘traitor’ at worst. From one perspective, this makes sense. You only got into power because of those around you who helped you; shouldn’t you pay them back?

I think the existence of the two words of takrima and rushwa explains a bit about the cultural expectations surrounding family and friendship ties in Swahili-speaking regions.

Also apparently (because I heard this from a friend), by some definitions of corruption, Norway is one of the most corrupted countries in the world.

P.S. if I got the meanings of these words wrong, please let me know!

* Some may be confused – in English the national language of Tanzania is Swahili. However, in Swahili, the language is called Kiswahili. Just like English is Kingereza or Chinese is Kichina. I think ‘ki’ means ‘of.’

Lesson: if you’re serious about staying and working in a foreign country, you have two choices: 1) start you job search earlier and/or 2) stay behind for a while to focus on job searching and networking.

Do not have vague hopes about funding for your organization to hire you to come in on time (and thus postpone starting your job search). Do not book your ticket out of the place too early and risk having to spend extra to change your ticket. *Sigh*

International Development Week at UBC

This morning, I woke up at 3:50 am to skype into a conference in Vancouver at UBC. I was one of the presenters at the panel for International Development Week called “A Day in the Life of the International Humanitarian.

The theme was a ‘typical day’ of my work (and the 5 other presenters). Just the thought of a ‘typical day’ is quite interesting because the things I do almost always differ from day to day. But I did my best to represent the different aspects that I work with and also some of the challenges.

It’s really hard presenting without seeing your audience, only speaking to the computer. They also didn’t have enough computers for me to keep listening to the whole panel. I did my part and then had to stop skyping. Bummer. I was looking forward to hearing what the other panellists were doing!

Anyways, the questions I got were:

  1. “Do you think your work makes an impact?”
  2. “Did you have any culture shock moving to a new country?”
  3. “How is it like as a woman travelling and working in Africa?”

I thought they were all really good questions. Too bad I didn’t have enough time to answer them properly. So here’s some fuller answers.

“Do you think your work makes an impact?”

In short, yes I do. We’re not saving the world or the country, but we’re definitely making some people’s life better. I think very carefully about all the activities that my organization asks me to do, if I had a feeling that it would do more harm than good, I would refuse to take part. Fortunately, I have a really good supervisor who explains to me how the world of development and NGOs work (from his point of view, of course) and it helps me navigate my own way. In many cases, we’re providing the ‘missing link’ in making processes work – we’re bringing government departments together so that an urban agriculture strategic plan can be submitted to the Master Plan; we’re bringing urban agriculture groups together so they can form a network. We’re not telling anyone what is the best way to improve their or their country’s situation; we’re simply being the catalyst because there’s often a lack of ‘push’ behind what people think should happen.

I like that we work at different levels to push for change, because not only do I get to have a feel about how different sectors work, but also because change often doesn’t happen because people don’t work on bridging the divides between the government, the civic groups, and the grassroots. I find that my organization works in a niche that is often neglected and, as such, cause development projects to fail. Of course, after all this self-congratulating, at the end of the day, nobody would know if our approach to development would actually work or if it would have any impact until many years later. Even with the passing of time, it is hard to measure exactly how much impact what you did had on such a large process. Sometimes, you can only work in faith and with intuition.

“Did you have any culture shock moving to a new country?”

I doubt there is a person alive that haven’t experience culture shock moving to a different country or even the next town over. We often grow up thinking the world is like how it is from our eyes. Gradually, we discover that there are many perspectives of how the world is and should be. That to me is the most fascinating part of living abroad. And also one of the important reasons why I like working in development.

I did have very strong culture shock the first time I went to East Africa – Uganda, to be specific. More details can be found on this post I wrote a while ago. This time when I came back, I almost had none. I had to adjust to a different working environment, that’s for sure. I had never worked at the government level before and this placement has been much longer than what I had last time. However, in terms of feeling comfortable with my living situation, I haven’t had any problems. This could be partly because I grew up back and forth between two different countries and was constantly moving houses. I’ve never felt that there is anywhere that is specifically ‘home’ and I tend to settle down in any place I go pretty quickly.

“How is it like as a woman travelling and working in Africa?”

It’s not easy travelling as a woman. It’s also not easy travelling as a man, or really as someone who looks and acts foreign in any place. You will stand out. You will get attention, way more than what you’re used to at home because you don’t look like you’re local.

From my experience travelling and working in East Africa, it is not unsafe. It’s probably as unsafe as in Vancouver. (I know crime rates are higher etc etc, but most tourists or foreigners don’t actually go to the places with high crime rates, e.g. in the unplanned settlements.) There are places you shouldn’t go at night and there are places where you have to dress appropriately. Always ask locals and foreigners who have been around for a while about where it is safe or unsafe. As a woman, there are definitely more restrictions on what you can or cannot wear. When in doubt, always dress covering your shoulders and lower legs. I find that you often have to dress even more conservative than the young local women because you do stand out more. For example, here in Dar es Salaam, women can wear tank tops, but when I do, people look at me more. That’s not necessarily something you want when you’re coming home later in the night. During the day or at the beach, it’s probably fine.

As a woman, also, you almost always get different treatment depending on if you’re with a male companion (friend or partner) or not. Just the sight of having a male person next to you makes people treat you differently. For me, this is one of the more uncomfortable realities. You’re having a good chat with someone and then if suddenly a male friend joins the conversation, the whole dynamic changes. I still don’t really know why this is. Men also often only speak to your male friend and not you if you’re together. I’ve had experiences where men will ask questions through my male friend about me, as if I don’t have the ability to answer myself. Whether this is out of respect (as in they assume my friend is my husband) or some notion of me having inferior mental capacity, I don’t really know. Although, on the flip side, there are advantages. If you’re going out at night, it’s always safer to have at least one male with you, especially if you’re dancing. Just the fact that your group of girls came in with a guy makes all the difference in how close some (probably drunker) people try to get.

You’ll also get lots of marriage proposals and “I love yous”. People might ask you what is your name, how you are doing, and then, by the third question, as you to marry them or take them back to Canada. Laugh it off. Sometimes it makes me annoyed unnecessarily. It’s probably one of those little annoyances that are better left as a little annoyance than to be dwelled on.

In terms of work, gender is an issue. I find the grassroots level groups that I work with often have unequal gender dynamics. Men almost always dominate. Even the most outspoken women don’t really make opinionated statements, compared to the men. There are also groups that I work with where, probably because of the gender imbalance, it is usually the men who get more advantages from the project. I’m not sure if the culture is slowly changing, but younger women I meet seem to be more and more assertive, which is good progress. At the governmental level, however, gender dynamics are very balanced. There are high level female directors. There are highly respected elder ‘mamas’ (calling someone mama here is respectful). Whenever I’m in a meeting with government officers, it is seniority and rank that determines how much someone speaks, not usually their gender. In general, I find Tanzanian women very strong; or at least stronger than I had anticipated.

So I hope that answers the questions a little bit better. What are your experiences? Questions and comments are always welcome!

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