Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Evil bridges
Back in the days of yore people used to fear trolls and ogres and other such things hiding under foot bridges just waiting to grab them and eat them. Tanzania doesn't have any monsters minus the terrifying popo bwawa which is a vampire except that it doesn't suck your blood it instead flies into your bedroom at night and sodomizes you. I know, I didn't believe it either but I've asked Tanzanians and, once they're finished laughing, they have confirmed the popo bwawa is just as real as dracula. At any rate I'm getting off track. My point was that bridges here have no nefarious residents underneath because they don't need them, they are already evil enough peke yao (by themselves). They are usually just high enough off the ground to mess you up if you fall but are not high enough that you actually show them any respect. They are rarely flat or even manage to lean in the same direction over their entire length. Planks are arranged in a manner that looks like it was inspired by a Dali painting and the planks themselves are often rounded on one side as they are the left overs or are sometimes simply big sticks nailed to other big sticks. If you're drunk, daydreaming, or walking at night crossing one of these abominations can be rather dangerous. There is one in particular that I hate just outside of Songea Boys. It's only maybe 8 feet long, 4 feet wide, less than a foot off the ground, and bridges a stream barely worth the name that cuts through the surrounding rice fields. It is very unassuming and kind of quaint in a rural African sort of way before you realize it's evil. I had many run ins with him back in the day though so I knew better and approached him with caution. He hadn't weathered the years since I lived here very well and he looked even more surly than usual. His boards were in shambles with roughly half his length having them going from side to side and the other half going lengthwise. He was also dusty and the water passing under him had some unidentifiable grease slick on parts of it. I crossed him very carefully testing the boards before I stepped, ready for one to jump up at me at any moment but nothing happened. Shocked, I congratulated myself on my good fortune and continued on to my old house to see about borrowing the current PCVs bike since he was going to a july 4 party on the coast (about 300-400 miles away on one of the worst roads in a country where there are only two paved ones). After waiting for over an hour for him to come back from town I found out I couldn't get the bike till friday and headed back the way I came intending to head into town. I approached the bridge again feeling quite cocky as he had put up such little resistance the first time. That was a mistake. I got about half way across before he made his first move. As I strode forward one of the lengthwise planks jumped up at me and would have hit me except I was ready and eased up on my lead foot thus avoiding getting a rather embarrassing welt on my head. I smiled ans shook my head at the amateur move he had made. How far his skills had fallen I thought but I was arrogant. I was a fool. I should have given the enemy that had taken my big toe's nail from me once and almost dumped me in that dirty water many other times the credit he deserved. Just as any good boxer never leads with a power punch the bridge was just feinting. Setting me up for his real attack. As I reached the edge of the bridge I was daydreaming, remembering all the other times I had walked the same path in the past and I stopped to take a picture as there is a very nice view of one of the local mountains there. I should have been more wary. I should have known he wouldn't let me off that easy. By letting myself daydream I had fallen into one of his three traps and he was ready. As I went to step off the bridge, now completely in my own world, I stepped into a hole about a foot deep that was right in front of me and proceeded to fall forward swearing and flailing at the air wildly to no avail. As I looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen me fall I absentmindedly wiped my pant leg off with my right hand (the soil/dust here is a rust red) and for some reason, I blame the bridge, I decided the logical thing to do next was to wipe my hand off on the left shoulder of my clean white shirt. This of course left a massive red hand print on my shirt which meant I had to walk home first before going to town in order to change as it's important here to look "sharp" and the hand print looked so stupid I would have felt dumb even walking around in the states. Tomorrow should be interesting as I will get to go navigate lots of bridges like him with a bike, map, and a silly looking hat as I try to find all the well sites and get "before" pictures. We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
A real African Safari
Safari in Swahili simply means journey so anywhere you go you are on safari. In the past week I have been on many. The first one worth mentioning was to buy a map of Songea. In the US this would be pretty simple. I'd go to Google and see if I could buy one online. If I couldn't, on I would go to Google maps to find a map store. Simple, but a rather dull story.
The beauty of Tanzania is you rarely do anything that makes a dull story! So as I said I wished to buy some maps of the Songea area so that we could mark current well sites, construction sites, and proposed future sites of construction. An old friend of mine told me that there was a map store near the docks in Dar es Salaam. Like most cities of the world, the docks area of Dar is less than my favorite place to walk around despite the views of the always spectacular Indian ocean. After I reached the docks (whose main purpose is to shuttle tourists to and from Zanzibar) and fended off various touts selling everything from paintings, to "very good exchange rates", to of course the very best boats to Zanzibar I asked a few guards here and there where I could find "a piece of paper that forces to be shown an area like US, Tz, Dar, etc". It has been almost 4 years since I spoke Swahili regularly and that was the best I could do. I finally had enough brains to ask one of the guards what the word for this wonderous piece of paper was and was informed it was "Ramani". This made my life much easier minus the fact I could not pronounce it correctly and therefore would usually sheepishly return to describing what a map was after saying "Ramani" 3 or 4 times and getting blank stares when asking for directions.
After about thirty minutes of walking around saying "Ramani" to any Tanzanian that would listen, this a very persistent tout said he was going to help me as he new a shop with maps. I didn't believe him for a second but in Tanzania one never knows and he seemed safe so I figured what the hell. Sure enough we ended up at a safari company with a map of Zanzibar on the desk but no maps of anything anywhere. As often seems to happen here though, I actually finally got the information I needed there despite it not having anything to do with my actual goal. I had met safari guy the day before in a bar so he knew I wasn't a tourist and therefore just told me to try the foreign affairs ministry or survey and map department. After I left his office it became very clear that no Tanzanians knew the location of either of these places but thankfully he had given me the name of a hotel near them and had pointed me in the right direction. Three stops and one double back later I found myself staring at rather large building labeled Survey and map department and felt like people should be cheering for me as I walked through the doors.
On entering, I realized my safari was not yet finished as the arrow pointing to the map store didn't really go anywhere.
The interior of the building of itself was unexceptional minus the fact that there was not a single light turned on(but the ceiling fans were turning so there was electricity), no windows were open, and I literally was a little nervous about walking into something as I went down a hallway looking for someone that someone at the help desk had told me would tell me where the map store is. She had not been able to tell me mind you but she swore this guy would know even though she was the help desk. So I find this man in his 50s in a room that I was SURE was the map room since it....well it looked like a map room. It had lots of shelves, documents, and everything was covered in dust which is all as it should be in any respectable repository for information as dry as altitudes, rainfall, and population densities. Plus I hadn't understood her completely and it had been two hours and I was tired, it was hot, and I really wanted it to be the map room. But it was not to be. The gentleman pleasantly informed me that no, this wasn't the map room but he would show me where it was. And where was it I'm sure your wondering at this point? After all this is no ordinary store I am searching for anymore this is an official ministry department! I'll tell you where it was. It was behind the building in a courtyard across from the kitchen (yes the ministry of maps and surveys has a kitchen) where about five Tanzanians sat talking and peeling potatoes! So I eventually did succeed and now I have this long, and hopefully at least mildly entertaining story along with my map.
The beauty of Tanzania is you rarely do anything that makes a dull story! So as I said I wished to buy some maps of the Songea area so that we could mark current well sites, construction sites, and proposed future sites of construction. An old friend of mine told me that there was a map store near the docks in Dar es Salaam. Like most cities of the world, the docks area of Dar is less than my favorite place to walk around despite the views of the always spectacular Indian ocean. After I reached the docks (whose main purpose is to shuttle tourists to and from Zanzibar) and fended off various touts selling everything from paintings, to "very good exchange rates", to of course the very best boats to Zanzibar I asked a few guards here and there where I could find "a piece of paper that forces to be shown an area like US, Tz, Dar, etc". It has been almost 4 years since I spoke Swahili regularly and that was the best I could do. I finally had enough brains to ask one of the guards what the word for this wonderous piece of paper was and was informed it was "Ramani". This made my life much easier minus the fact I could not pronounce it correctly and therefore would usually sheepishly return to describing what a map was after saying "Ramani" 3 or 4 times and getting blank stares when asking for directions.
After about thirty minutes of walking around saying "Ramani" to any Tanzanian that would listen, this a very persistent tout said he was going to help me as he new a shop with maps. I didn't believe him for a second but in Tanzania one never knows and he seemed safe so I figured what the hell. Sure enough we ended up at a safari company with a map of Zanzibar on the desk but no maps of anything anywhere. As often seems to happen here though, I actually finally got the information I needed there despite it not having anything to do with my actual goal. I had met safari guy the day before in a bar so he knew I wasn't a tourist and therefore just told me to try the foreign affairs ministry or survey and map department. After I left his office it became very clear that no Tanzanians knew the location of either of these places but thankfully he had given me the name of a hotel near them and had pointed me in the right direction. Three stops and one double back later I found myself staring at rather large building labeled Survey and map department and felt like people should be cheering for me as I walked through the doors.
On entering, I realized my safari was not yet finished as the arrow pointing to the map store didn't really go anywhere.
The interior of the building of itself was unexceptional minus the fact that there was not a single light turned on(but the ceiling fans were turning so there was electricity), no windows were open, and I literally was a little nervous about walking into something as I went down a hallway looking for someone that someone at the help desk had told me would tell me where the map store is. She had not been able to tell me mind you but she swore this guy would know even though she was the help desk. So I find this man in his 50s in a room that I was SURE was the map room since it....well it looked like a map room. It had lots of shelves, documents, and everything was covered in dust which is all as it should be in any respectable repository for information as dry as altitudes, rainfall, and population densities. Plus I hadn't understood her completely and it had been two hours and I was tired, it was hot, and I really wanted it to be the map room. But it was not to be. The gentleman pleasantly informed me that no, this wasn't the map room but he would show me where it was. And where was it I'm sure your wondering at this point? After all this is no ordinary store I am searching for anymore this is an official ministry department! I'll tell you where it was. It was behind the building in a courtyard across from the kitchen (yes the ministry of maps and surveys has a kitchen) where about five Tanzanians sat talking and peeling potatoes! So I eventually did succeed and now I have this long, and hopefully at least mildly entertaining story along with my map.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Back in the land of chainsaws and trucks
I'm up in the Moshi/Arusha area which for those of you reading who are unfamiliar with Tz is the main tourist area where Mount Kilimanjaro, Mount Meru, and the Serengeti are. I took a 2 hour bus ride and the following happened. I was given three people's numbers, two offers to stay at people's houses, we almost hit something at least twice while passing people, and (my personal favorite) a guy got on the bus carrying a brand new chain saw. This is all in two hours mind you. It's good to be back.
Friday, June 1, 2007
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