Naming of Things.

In Tanzania, the naming of things is an art form. And therein lies the joy of a Tanzanian road trip.

We started a list of dala-dala (minibus), bajaj and truck names a while back and on our recent road trip out west we passed the time with a renewed interest in on-the-road entertainment in the form bus and truck names.

Some of the names could be better classified as allegiance pronouncements which center largely around religion and football and tend to be quite straightforward: Manchester United, Barcelona, Islam, Jesus, and many variations therein.

Philosophical naming conventions can make you look and think twice, or at times elucidate a very fundamentally different worldview in this part of the world: Born to Suffer, God is SO good, !2nd chance!, no gain without pains. 

And other names can just be downright hilarious, if not, perplexing: bankito, Grace & Vincent, Blue Horse, goodfellaz, Uprising, Allocation, Don't Panic: Message Sent, Double 'D', Mr. Promise, The Expendable's Full Respect, The Top Judge, Coaster for All of the Nations, AMBUSH, Doctor Bush, Castaway, Liver Pool, King Perfect, Black People, Logistika, Power (of) God, Bananaland, V.I.P. Class, B. Positive (wait, is that a blood type allegiance or a philosophical pronouncement?!).

Incidentally, this is something that Sarah Markes captures well in her Dar street level sketches. And her new book certainly did not disappoint! In fact, we have become not only proud owners of her new book, but also of two original street level sketches capturing the hilarity of naming of transportation modes.

Perception Matters.

Traffic in Dar almost looks fun in sketch form.

These sketches of Dar street life are brought to you by Sarah Markes, who was trained at Central St. Martins in London as an illustrator and graphic designer, and who has lived in Dar es Salaam for the last seven years. Her ultimate aim is to produce a book of drawings and creative writing inspired by Dar es Salaam street life, which is supposed to be launched at the end of this year. I cant wait! In the mean time, be on the look out for updates on her work and progress here.

Service with a Smile.

As most of you know, we recently purchased a "new-to-us" car. It is old and is nothing spectacular. But we love it, if not for anything else, but the new found sense of freedom the car affords us. As I have described in a variety of posts, this is a very difficult city to transverse on foot, bike, or public transit (no matter how loosely defined and laughable that term may be in this setting), and being solely reliant on taxis or tuk tuk drivers, while offering an added layer of luxury and convenience, can be distressing given the need to bargain again and again and again for a fair price. 

 

While the car purchase mitigated a major source stress in our lives, it also opened a new fountain of stress. With the new car, we inherited a mess of paperwork, including registering and licensing the vehicle with the government, securing insurance for the vehicle, and securing proof we were capable drivers. As with most things in this country those tasks were quickly outsourced to a local who better knows how to navigate Tanzania's complicated, bureaucratic systems. A handful of shillings later, we received our vehicle license, registration, and insurance, as well as a drivers license for Andrei. Yes, we were even able to outsource the driving test (the various components of which he "passed" in a satisfactory manner). And with that we were free to hit the streets of Dar es Salaam behind the wheel of our new automobile.

Since that time we have had 4 chance encounters with Dar es Salaam police officials (ie: we are running an average of being pulled over twice per month). The perception that all wazungus (white people) are rich heightens chances of being "randomly" pulled over for a routine check shakedown exercise. Two of these instances have been less than noteworthy, two instances were so hilariously noteworthy that it motivated this blog entry. 

Basically when you are pulled over, the police are seeking to ensure that your car has all proper paperwork and documentation, and that you are prepared for an emergency in the form of two reflective emergency triangles and a fire extinguisher. Of course there is an associated charge with each of these infractions should anything be amiss. When all checks out, there is basically nothing more they can do, barring of course an actual traffic violation. The two times I have been pulled over, the officer ran through the list of necessary things noted above, and then sent me on my merry way. 

When Andrei was recently pulled over, the officer ran through this same list of essentials. Everything was in order, as with the first two police encounters. 

But this time, the officer demands, "Give me 10,000 Tsh." 

"But why?" Andrei asks. 

Her reply, "For my dinner tonight."

Stiffling his laughter, Andrei says, "Well, the problem officer is that I do not have 10,000 Tsh."

"5000 Tsh then." 

Andrei shakes his head no.

"3000 Tsh then."

Still shaking his head no, he says, "I don't have any money." 

She tells him to get out of there. 

You gotta appreciate the honesty and the unabashed attempt at corruption.

While these first three encounters have been largely shakedown attempts, the last run-in with a police officer was actually merited. We were driving through downtown at night, where the streets are poorly lit, there are no traffic signs, and there are directional rules that change depending on the hour of the day. It was no surprise then that we made a wrong turn. We were immediately alerted to our mistake when a very large police officer with an even larger gun steps in front of our car and motions for us to pull to the side.

Andrei muttered under his breathe, "Ok man with a super large gun, I will be pulling over wherever you indicate."

We came to a stop, rolled down the window, turned off the distracting music pumping out of our ipod (made possible through cassette player adapter). 

"Yes-sir," Andrei says.

Puffing his chest, the police officer asks, "Sir, do you know why I just pulled you over?"

"No, sir. Is everything ok?"

"You just committed a traffic violation. Do you see that turn back there? You were supposed to go this way around the turn, not this way."

"Ok, I am sorry, I did not realize that, but I see my mistake now."

"We can either deal with this at the police station, or we can help you out and you can pay us right here."

"So how much will it be?"

"Well since you have committed three violations, it will be 60,000 Tsh total."

"Three violations?!"

"Yes sir, one for making the wrong turn, and there are two of you."

"And the second and third violation?"

"Well you made the wrong turn, and then you ajfkshtiney, and then hgajain haianaina."

Scratching our heads, we are mulling over our best bargaining tactic, when suddenly a second police officer comes running over to our car, and says, "Let us do you a favor, you can pay us right here instead of us taking you down to the police station."

Andrei, "Ok we will let you do us a favor and pay you directly, but I do not have 60,000 Tsh."

Officer, "How much do you have?" 

Andrei relies on his system of haphazardly dividing his money among various pockets, and hopes that he has chosen the pocket containing the lesser amount of small change. Bingo, he opens a fistful of money to reveal that we in fact do not "have" 60,000 shillings. The officer suggests that will be sufficient. 

As we drive away, he requests, please do not tell anyone about this incident. Um, right. We still have no idea exactly how much we paid them, but what we do know is that the pocket with in excess of 100,000 Tsh was left perfectly in tact. And so it seems everyone wins.

Thank you, please come again.

Andrei used to find it quite amusing to thank his employees for coming into work everyday. At day's end, he would send off his employees with an ironic "Thank you for coming to work today, please come again," similar to how 7-11 attempts to entice their customers into repeat visits (or maybe 7-11 achieves this with their delicious tacquitos, er, lest I digress...). In response, Andrei often received befuddled expressions and blank stares.

Here in Tanzania, getting into work safely each day sometimes feels like a herculean feat. Traffic is intense. Three lanes of traffic crowd into a space designed for one. Cars play chicken with each other angling to jump ahead of throngs of standstill traffic by driving against cars coming from the opposite direction. The clamor of taxi horns and dala-dala touts shouting to solicit passengers ignites the senses quicker than any local brand of instant coffee. Most days I arrive to work dripping in sweat from my bike ride to the office, with feet caked in mud from the previous nights' rains which require me to push my bike through pools of stagnant water in the sewer-less streets, jarred by an all too close encounter with a car. I often wish somebody would thank me for bothering to come into work each day and beckon me to please return again.

Instead, a few weeks ago I was told directly by someone in my office that I do not offer any valuable professional services as a mere "intern", however my tenacity is "endearing". This comment felt like a punch in the stomach for two main reasons, among others. Firstly, I know my current scope of work and portfolio of responsibilities would fetch a handsome salary under any other circumstances (ie: not being allowed to accept renumeration for my work here in Tanzania on account of the Fellowship I was awarded to support my time here). Secondly, I inherited a project from another visiting fellow that was distinguished from me by this person as offering "real" professional services. Upon a stroke of her goodwill, this individual decided to privately fund raise among her friends and colleagues from back home in the US the monies necessary to facilitate the purchase of an emergency motorized tricycle vehicle in a rural village in Tanzania to allow women to arrive in a timely manner to health facilities to give birth under the care of a skilled health professional. She did this outside any structured programming within our organization. Despite her good intentions, she did not consider the logistics of how this vehicle would be introduced into the community (including identifying and training drivers of the vehicle), and failed to develop a strategy to ensure the vehicle would be financially sustainable over time (including payments for fuel and maintenance servicing). Soon after I began work here, I inherited these tasks. I was asked to undertake research and develop a strategy to ensure a smooth transition of this vehicle to local community ownership and management. All the while, I feared my role was too little, too late. Until today.

Upon arrival to the office compound this morning, Mr. Ndaki, a man whom I greatly admire and respect, came rushing up to me to impart great news. Before he even greeted me (you know its big news in Africa when the niceties of the greeting ritual fall by the wayside), he shared a very welcome status update on the management of the emergency tricycle within this community. Following our  community facilitation exercises in February, the transportation committee we helped establish has since generated 800,000 Tsh (approximately $600USD - a huge sum in a village with pervasive poverty) in community contributions towards an emergency fund for the vehicle to support maintenance and servicing needs as they arise and they have agreed to establish financial management systems to ensure the long term financial sustainability of this vehicle including the collection of funds on an annualized basis from each community household, and perhaps, most importantly, the vehicle has already been instrumental in helping to save several mothers lives by facilitating timely arrival to a health facility at the time of delivery.

In this way, I have received the greatest, "Thank you, please come again," I could expect and all the convincing I need to continue to make the effort to come to the office each day. All is well that ends well I suppose.

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In case anyone is interested here is a link to a video I placed on youtube of the excited reception of this vehicle into the community.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5UkcrSiyyM

Gettings Around.

Today I write with extremely happy news, although to be sure this is may be news that makes my mother’s heart palpitate, I now have my very own bicycle! I am smitten with this new purchase, not because my newly acquired secondhand bicycle is actually anything to get excited over (as compared to my cherished Surly cross-check tucked carefully away in our door-to-door storage box whose exact location remains a complete mystery) but because having a bicycle at my disposal alleviates one of the most challenging aspects of everyday life in Dar es Salaam. While the options are several, it is nightmarish to rely on public transport to get around the city.

The cheapest option is the dala-dala, a mini bus designed to seat anywhere between 15-25 passengers, depending on the make and model of the vehicle. The turnboy, in Dar slang Mgiga debe, is responsible for soliciting passengers, collecting money and issuing tickets. This nickname, meaning literally “he who forces things into a tin can,” is well earned as a typical dala-dala in rush hour traffic carries upwards of 50 people, involving acrobatic twists and contortions of the passengers to accommodate even further passengers. The name dala-dala derives rather simply from a loosely pronounced “dollar-dollar” because the cost of a ride originally was equivalent to one US dollar. Given rapid inflation rates of the local currency, the Tanzanian Shilling, this is no longer the case. Today January 23, 2010, one US dollar is equivalent to 1,347, it was 1,323 when I arrived into Tanzania on October 28, 2009. The price of a dala-dala ride now roughly equates to a little over 18 cents. While cheap, this transport option is less than pleasant. Sometimes my eyes tear up with the intense smell of body odor around me. When idling in traffic, sweat drips from parts of my body I previously thought impossible, including the nape of my neck and the backs of my knees. And then of course there is a fear of people doing you the favor of lessening your load by riffling through your pockets and belongings when crammed into such a tiny space.

Next up transport option is the bajaj. These three-wheeled, motorized vehicles are known as tuk-tuks in most places around the world. Here in Tanzania they have taken on the name bajaj after the Bajaj Auto Manufacturing company. Bajajs have flooded the market to fill demand for a transport option at a median price point between the dala-dala and a private taxi. While efficient and often fun, safe is not a word that comes to mind to describe these vehicles. The typical bajaj driver is a 15 year old boy who much like his teenage peers throughout the world has not developed a mature sense of risk aversion. In their mind, faster is better.

Exclusive reliance on private taxi transport would certainly crush my very modest budget for the year. At 250 Tsh per dala-dala ride the bicycle would pay for itself in a mere 320 rides to and from work. By comparison, for the price of the bicycle I could fetch a whopping 16 rides to work via private taxi at a consertatively estimated rate of 5,000 Tsh each way. One of the most frustrating aspects of securing private taxi transport is the lack of a fixed price – everything must be negotiated. Effective negotiations are enhanced by strong Swahili skills, and patience, including the ability to walk away in search of another taxi driver willing to take you to your desired destination at the price you know to be fair. In the minds of the taxi cab drivers a white face equals money.

A walking city, this is not, given perilous levels of dust, heat, and exhaust fumes combined with erratic driving behaviors and a general lack of sidewalks. But luckily, my route to work is lined 99% of the way with one of the few paved sidewalks Dar es Salaam has to offer. To date, Andrei and I remain carless, which is something we begrudgingly may be forced to reconsider at some point in the future. In the mean time, the search for a bicycle for Andrei begins.