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.