Tag: observations

Power outages every day in Kampala and Tororo. Strangely enough, it’s a similar cause as the ones in Tanzania – ‘budget shortage.’ Here it’s because all the budget for electricity was spent on President Museveni’s re-election campaign.

Tonight, I was drinking tea and chatting with my colleage/room mate because both our computers had ran out of batteries. Good does come out of seemingly bad happenings. The concept of “opportunity costs” pops up in the most unexpected places. In this case, I learnt way more due to having no electricity; opportunity costs can’t always be calculated beforehand.

My colleague has worked with many youth NGOs in Uganda before she joined us. Mostly it was with HIV/AIDs or marginalized youth (e.g. street children). There were projects that gave scholarships and those that gave chickens, goats, or seeds.

“Youth are funny,” she summed up her work in one sentence.

“There were really good, smart, and hardworking kids that you’ve sponsored for years. Then suddenly one day the kid would come in and tell you that they’re tired. They want to drop out of one of the best high schools in Uganda and give up a free full scholarship to the best university.”

Shaking her head with disbelief, she continued, “I found one of these drop-out kids working as a cashier in a small supermarket two years later. The kid admitted that she had made some bad choices, but life was OK as a cashier. This kid was one of the students with the most potential – smart, sweet, and trustworthy, or so we thought. Her sponsor would have given her all the money she needed to get the best education, but she gave up, with no apparent reason.”

“It was the same with the small entrepreneurship projects. Most of the youth would sell the seeds or slaughter the chicken or goat, immediately after you train them about growing their business so they can have a better future. They either saw no point in saving for the future or wanted to drink waragi (a local gin). Solve only the problem right in front of you seemed to be the common thinking.”

Baffled, I asked if she, after working with these youth for so long, could tell  which ones would be the successful ones from the start.

“No,” she answered without hesitation. “We tried every method in and out of the book. There’s no way you can tell, not even after training. You will only find out once you give them the inputs or sponsorship.”

If only we could unlock that secret. Then at least we can help those that want to be helped.

Bumpy roads

Bumpy roads are always bad, right? Cars get damaged more easily; it’s slower to bike, walk, or drive on; dust is easily stirred up by the wind or passing cars; you can’t just shut your mind off and wander because that large hole might just make you kiss the ground, hard.

But bumpy roads also save lives.

The back roads (little roads that branch off main roads, like the one I live on) are so bumpy, it forces the cars to slow down. It’s like having speed bumps without even really planning or building them. Children play on these roads because it’s where people live. From the way people drive here on flat roads (i.e. really fast and with a complete disregard for any person or vehicle smaller than yours) I don’t know how many kids have been saved from being run over by a car because of these bumpy roads.

So what if all the roads in the city where paved flat? It would be a good development initiative, right? Maybe, though, on the flip side, many communities would lose many places where they can hang out on the side of road (I’ve talked about how important this is for people here) and many children would lose their playgrounds.

I find that we so often have entrenched, unquestioned ideas of what a “good” city should look like. We often forget that any change in current practices almost always brings a good and bad side. I’m not advocating for never changing anything; I’m just saying that we often forget to see the implications of what we’re trying to advocate

Small Change Hoarding

The common bills used in Tanzania are 500, 1000, 2000, 5000, and 10000. (Divide by 1400 to get Canadian Dollars equivalent). When I get money from the ATM, it is usually all 10000. I usually get 400,000 Tsh (Tanzanian Shilling) at once. Imagine carrying that around. Actually I had just paid rent for the next three months, which amounted to 1,819,000 Tsh. Imagine getting that out of the ATM and storing it in my house. Craziness.

Anyways, the reason why I’m saying this is that it’s extremely hard to get change for the 10000 sometimes. Especially if you’re buying vegetables from a local stand, or buying a newspaper, or taking a bujaj (small open air taxis – super cool and fun to be in). Therefore, everyone desperately tries to save up their small change all the time. When we go out to eat or go to a larger supermarket, we always try to take as much small change as possible.

I think the fact that we have to consciously always try to save small change tells us a lot about the economy here. There’s basically a divide between those who always get lots of 10,000 Tsh bills and those who almost never get one.

I guess in Canada, it would be the equivalent of me taking a $50 bill and buying a newspaper. All the time. I guess that’s why foreigners seem so rich (we are in comparison to many; of course there are many, many, many really rich Tanzanians too).

Hujambo?

It feels like greetings form the basis of life here. Everywhere you go, everyone you meet – greetings! Just learning them requires a whole class of Kiswahili.

But I grew up with two cultures that don’t really greet people you don’t know. At least in North Van and on hiking trails in Canada, you would greet people you meet. In Hong Kong, don’t even think about it unless you want the whole bus to think you need to go to the hospital to get your head checked.

Over the years of living in Hong Kong and Vancouver, I’ve learnt the highly needed technique of avoiding eyes and staring into space on a very crowded bus. I’ve learnt to survey and enjoy my surroundings, but not have eye contact with anybody. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds.

Here, though, this is all crap. You’re supposed to look at random people on the street and greet them, especially since it’s a form of social insurance*. I still haven’t figured it out – who should you greet? It can’t possibly be everyone you see on the side of the street. The locals seem to only greet certain people, but I can’t see a pattern. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like they don’t know each other.

It doesn’t help that people stare at me, everywhere, all the time. I’ve learnt to ignore the stares, and actually I feel quite comfortable most of the time, despite sometimes men making comments that start with “hey baby.” It makes it really hard for me to know if they are just staring or if they would like us to say hi.

If it’s one thing I’m having a hard time navigating, it’s this greeting culture. It literally drains me to walk from the house to the office sometimes because I’m always thinking who should I greet and not. It just feels so much better when I’m walking on a main street so there’re too many people, so I don’t have to greet them.

*The more you greet people, the more you become part of the community near where you live. If anything bad happens, people are more likely to help you. And of course, vice versa.

Perceptions of Space

Post I wrote for the Sustainable Cities blog:

—————————————————————————-

“How do you think the perception of space here in Dar es Salaam differs from in North America?”

This question popped up during one of my attempts to understand my urban geographer roommate’s work. Leslie McLees’ PhD research focuses on investigating the meaning of space for the inhabitants of Dar es Salaam through urban agriculture activities.

While this is a hard question to answer, especially since we are only brief visitors of this city, it is an important one to ponder when considering urban planning. A city must be planned to suit the local needs and customs to function properly for those living within. Part of the problem is that a lot of the planning aesthetics, theories, and models are built on experiences of large “developed” cities such as London, New York, or Tokyo. Challenges arise when these values and principles are imported without adaption to local contexts.

Her answer?

Please go to http://blog.sustainablecities.net/2010/09/07/perceptions-of-space/ for the rest of the post.

Mzee Purple Kanga

I pass by this elderly man on the way to work every morning. He’s an mzee – a respected elder – as Tanzanians would say. He always sits on the same bench at the same spot, right after I turn the corner. Sometimes reading the paper; sometimes just staring in space. He usually wears a purple kanga (a traditional (East?) African piece of colourful cloth with lovely designs and sayings) wrapped around his lower body and a white, unbuttoned shirt.

I started greeting him a few days ago.

‘Shikamoo.’ (me: respectful greeting to elders)

‘Marahaba. Hujambo?’ (him: reply to greeting. How are you?)

‘Sijambo (and big smile from me).’ (me: I’m fine.)

‘aoidsxfnaeoidsncodijscamodsi’ (him: some sentence in Kiswahili)

*blank look* (me)

‘You’re looking smart today/you’re a bit late today/etc’ (him: translates in perfect English)

‘Thank you/actually I’m on time today/etc’ (me: answers in English)

And so it goes. It’s so fun. I love how he makes the effort to talk to me even after the greetings are done. I love how he always says it in Kiswahili first and then translates when I need it. I hope this would go on.

I can’t wait until I learn more Kiswahili. Once a week lessons are just not enough!

Hong Kong Feet

I have Hong Kong feet.

No, people from Hong Kong, I don’t have athletes’ foot (yeah, don’t ask me why in Hong Kong athletes’ foot is called Hong Kong feet).

This morning, I was about 2 minutes “late” for work (“late” is in quotes because I’m supposed to get to work at 8 am, but since I had the keys, I had to get there at 7 am…very long story). So I was automatically walking faster. And suddenly, I realised I was walking past everyone else on the street. I was cruising by, Hong Kong style (if you have a chance to go to Hong Kong, I would suggest one of my favourite places – the walk from one side of the Central MTR (underground metro) station to the other, through this long, white corridor. During rush hour, the marching sound of all the business people going to/coming from work is amazing. It’s so Hong Kong).

Now you see, in Vancouver, this wouldn’t normally cause any kind of concern for me. I walk fast, therefore I pass people; simple. But here, it seems like, walking fast almost has a bad connotation. I’m told by Ms. Research Assistant that only mzungus (white people/foreigners/correct plural = wazungu) walk fast and don’t say greetings. If she, or any Tanzanian, walks like mzungus, people would point and say she’s trying to be foreign. I also noticed that when I walk fast, people don’t greet me as much – I’m probably being too mzungu.

Or more precisely, I have Hong Kong feet.

Also, I learnt something interesting today…

My supervisor told me, if people here (well, the topic was on government officials) tell you they will get things to you by tomorrow, they most likely won’t. If people tell you they will get it done but don’t really give a specific time, then it’ll probably get done!

Arrived!

I just arrived this morning in Dar at 9:30 am.

Vancouver –> Amsterdam: 9 hours

Amsterdam: 6 hours wait

Amsterdam –> Nairobi: 8 hours

Nairobi –> Dar: 1 hours

I’ve had enough of being in a plane for a while….like 2 weeks.

Amsterdam airport:

  • Meditation room: a place for people of all religions to have quiet spiritual time – super cool!
  • Relaxing place with really nice sofas and chairs – way better than those crappy ones in many airports that I’ve been to!
  • Washrooms with toilet seat sanitizer
  • Washroom sinks with no mirrors – to prevent people from staring at themselves for too long and holding up the queue! The mirrors were on another side of the wall.
  • Ridiculously expensive bottled water….:(
  • Then I found a water fountain!
  • 6 hour lay-overs really aren’t that bad when you have a computer
  • Note to self: always bring your electric plug converter with you in the hand carry luggage!

And talking to people on the plane is super interesting. Didn’t really get what I wished for (inside joke – sorry), but everyone was so friendly and fun to listen to.

The Mzungus

<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –>

“Mzungu! Mzungu! How are youuuuu?”

“Mzungu! Mzungu! Give me money!”

“Mzungu! Mzungu! Taxi? Boda boda?”

Whenever I walk around with more than 2 of my caucasian friends, constant calls this like follow us around town (indeed, in most places we have gone). The most annoying prize, however, has to be given to the first few trips when we travelled as a group of 15 and more. Mzungu meaning foreigner or more specifically white person, miraculously transforms into a plump walking wallet in the eyes of many locals. One time, when my friend was bargaining for a boda ride, the driver insisted on charging 500 shillings more. My friend, exasperated, said “why? Just because I am white?” and the driver nod and agreed “white people have lots of money!” Unfortunately, there is no local word that you can throw back at these calls…the only ‘revenge’ (results not guarenteed) seems to be buy yourself a “My name is not Mzungu” t-shirt at one of the many tourist shops. Indeed, our African friends refuse to buy anything when we are with them, because prices will always be higher (exception is food stuff).

Of course, there are also many benefits of being a mzungu (otherwise known as playing the white card). Lots of people come talk to you at bars (often starting with ‘where are you from? Can I come to your country? Will you marry me?), people help you on the street, people come up to you and thank you for building them a new road (actually happened to my friend), swarms of little kids trail you when you walk through residential areas…hard to get used to, really. Getting preferential treatment just because you look different just isn’t what you grow up with in Vancouver (Hong Kong is a bit different).

Actually, one of my friends asked and mzungu originally meant traveller in Swahili (more properly: Kiswahili). My dictionary lists it as “European” or “something wonderful; a way of doing things (e.g. love-making, speech-making).” (Well, since most of the Norwegians get asked if they are Americans, I suspect mzungu does not mean European only anymore.)

Spam prevention powered by Akismet