The African Atmosphere

One of my long-time readers – also known as my mother – suggested a post discussing what the city here is like a couple of weeks ago, and this is a perfect time for it. I’ve had nothing particularly exciting happen that needs immediate chronicling, I still don’t have the energy to write an academic-type post on the history of the ICTR (still coming soon!) and I’ve not seen the outside world in weeks as 12 hour days and working weekends and holidays has become the norm. This is mostly because the judgement that I’m aiding in drafting – Protais Zigiranyirazo – is being rendered in a mere week and two days, and there’s always more to do.

So… what’s different about Tanzania?

First of all, it’s very very hard to get good coverage of the Maple Leafs. I’ve been trying. I’m forced to settle for Damien Cox’s ‘The Spin’ blog which is quite good, but not as extensive as my normal perusal of the websites of TSN, Sportsnet, the NHL, the Maple Leafs, the Hockey News, the Sporting News, SI.com, Yahoo! Sports and Jeff mocking me/them.

Beyond that, there are a few other minor things. The best way, probably, is walk you through a day in my life. Thus…

7:00 am: Alarm on my 29000Tsh cell phone goes off. This cell phone is exactly my type – it has zero features. It deals with calls and text messages, and has an alarm clock and a very basic calculator. It is refilled with cash by walking onto the street and looking for someone wearing a bright blue apron, who sells phone credit out of a stack of cardboard cards. There are more phone credit salespeople in Arusha than bureaucrats in Ottawa. It’s perplexing. Especially considering that a 10 000 Tsh phone card costs 10 000 Tsh. How much profit can these poor sellers actually be making?

7:03 am: Wander blearily from my new room (actually a room! not just a curtained off section of hallway!) to the washroom. Sit on the floor underneath the tap protruding from the wall, since the shower function is currently set to “do not work”. Remove slimed-over portion of soap from murky puddle of water where cleaning lady has carefully placed it for disintegration, after removing from my dry and clean hiding place. Warsh.

 

7:45 am: Collect Shelton and (before she left suddenly for family reasons) Lindsey and wander up to work. We walk for about 18 minutes. The streets are already fairly busy, since there’s a lot of people who depend on every minute of the day for money. Young men pulling large wooden carts, laden with things from used clothes to stacks of firewood are not uncommon. They tend to be unhappy if you try to sit on the cart for a free ride. There are also children everywhere, clad in VERY warm-looking uniforms. One local school uses forest green knit sweaters as a key part of uniform, raising the approximate temperature of the child wearing it to that of a steel-melting kiln. There are also people selling slices of freshly cut pineapple, local ‘artists’ hawking canvasses with paintings and newspaper boys everywhere. Just very recently I have been shown a shortcut through a palm-tree filled chunk of town. It winds between wood and metal shacks, caked with mud, housing local families. It’s a very pretty, but very poor part of the town.

Most of what I walk through is the richer part, but there are vast sections of Arusha that are filled with little more than concrete/wood shacks, about 30 square ft. that house entire families. It’s not exactly The Beaches.

8:05 : Continue through town. When I first got here I was like a fresh steak in a pirhana tank… I drew immediate attention. Now, with my UN badge hanging from a blue strap around my neck, the tourist-hawks know better than to waste their time trying to sell me safaris, Masaai knives or paintings. Every now and then, though, one gives it a shot. There is a key Swahili phrase that gets you out of this:

“Hapana, asante, kaka… na isha hapa.”

It means “No, thanks, brother… I live here.” At this point, of course, they rattle off about 57 high-speed Swahili words, none of which I recognize. Usually I just smile and wave and that seems to make them happy. Tanzanians refer to each other in a very familial sense – kaka is brother (appropriate, yes?), dada is sister (confusing, yes?) and mama is mother (hooray!).

In order to win serious points with Tanzanians, a bit of Swahili goes a long way. If asked…

Mambo? … you say “Poa.”

Habari?  … you say “Nzuri.”

Jambo? … you say “Sijambo.”

Shikamoo? … you say “Maharaba”

The first two are actual greetings used between Africans. Mambo is the equivalant of “Sup?” and Habari the equivalent of “How are you?”. Jambo is used for tourists, and the response given basically means “I’ve been hear long enough to know how to respond.” They’ll usually then upgrade to Mambo or Habari. You’d better know the answer, or you’re easy prey for their wares. Shikamoo – pronounced “SHIK-a-moe” – is used to greet elders, for whom you have respect. Shelton and I got Shikamoo’d the other day and nearly killed ourselves.

8:10 am : The sky is already baking blue and usually Mt. Meru is standing out in the near distance, above the Tribunal. It’s unusually ‘sharp’ for a mountain – the contours are crisp, the colours are clear and the mountain occasionally has tufts of white cloud surrounding its peak like a bald man’s last attempt at a fringe. It’s a wonderful, spectacular mountain. The sweat from the already 25 degree heat, though, makes you really wish you were on top of it where it’s a wee bit cooler.

8:15 am : Arrive at the Arusha International Conference Centre, home of the UN-ICTR.  Beep as I go through the metal detector, but be happily waved through by security anyways. Occasionally I don’t beep… and this is because the metal detector is turned off.

8:20 am : Arrive at office. Read news, check e-mail, complain bitterly about the Maple Leafs until around 8:35. If the Leafs won (unlikely, at best) I print off the lead story, and pin it to my wall. I started on the 1st of November, and as of today – a month and a bit later – I have 6 stories. I also have a drawing of a Maple Leafs logo I was mailed by Katie Ross and a team schedule with a lot of “Loss” written beside the dates. My office also features a bottle of Glenfiddich and a bottle of Malibu hidden behind a binder that says “Glen’s Files” for late-night celebrations, when I’ve been working until 8:00 or 9:00. My Obama bumper sticker above my monitor, a Doonesbury comic I was emailedby Brad and a Sarah Palin debate flowchart from Angela complete the personal touches. There’s about 60 pages of looseleaf pinned, stapled, tossed and placed around my office… all of which are vitally important, many of which are confidential, and none of which can be found within 3 hours of beginning to look for them.

9:45 am: First phone call to my supervisor, Maggie, regarding the day’s work.

9:47 am : Second phone call to my supervisor, Maggie, regarding the day’s work.

9:52 am : Third phone call to my supervisor, Maggie, regarding the day’s work.

9:54 am : Maggie not answering phone. Not sure why.

11:30 am : Quick email to Shelton planning lunch.

12:30 pm : Leave, generally with Shelton and Andrea Clarke, for lunch. There are a variety of places we go. Masaai Cafe and Via Via are the two we use when feeling like Western-style and Western-priced food. Immigration Cafe and City Centre Cafe are the options for when we want Tanzanian fare. The Tanzanian stuff tends to be a bit blander… but much much cheaper. Lunch at Immigration Cafe costs me 2300 Tsh ($2.30) and I get brown rice, green banana stew, steamed spinach, ‘beef’, sauces and an orange Fanta. Tanzanian food tends in the direction of simple and cheap, but it’s pretty good.

1:15 pm : Return from lunch (unless dining at Masaai Cafe… in which case, receive drinks ordered at 12:35 pm).

5: 30 pm (pre-November 15) : Leave to go home.

5: 30 pm (post-November 15) : Look at clock, sigh, remember when I used to go home at 5:30, and buckle in for a few more hours. This story ends here, really. Back to the old version…

6: 00 pm : Walk home. Pass the roundabout near the New Arusha Hotel. The only way to cross is to go halfway when there’s a brief break in traffic, stand in the middle of the road, then go the rest of the way when there’s a brief break in traffic. Basically, walking in Arusha is like playing a game of Frogger. It’s basically assumed that anyone with a car has worked harder, has money, and is therefore higher status than a walker or a bicycler. Same again bikes-to-pedestrians. In Africa, and this from my Kenyan friend Andrew, money really talks.

6:05 pm : On the way down Fire Rd., where the White House is located, there are women cooking maize over small fires, and selling the cobs with warm corn for a handful of coins. I tried this once, and while enjoyable, have yet to get the moxie to pull it off again. Tanzanians on the way home tend to be very friendly. Most will will acknowledge you, some will ask for money and others will just ask how you are. It’s a definitely friendly culture. For this, we can thank Julius Nyerere – the former President – who instilled a serious sense of family in the country.

6:18 pm : Arrive at White House. Beside White House is a small store selling mostly expired products. However between the road and the houses/store there is a ditch, about 3-4 feet deep and about 3-4 feet wide. To get something from the store, you need to walk across a concrete slab placed across the ditch to the barred window of the store, and order from there. On one side of you is a broken leg, and on the other a telescoped spine. Using Expired Store after consuming alcohol may be hazardous to your health.

6:30 pm onwards: Relax at the house, maybe beat everyone else in Monopoly, eat the dinner prepared by the house cook (either ugali or rice, soup and some vegetables in sauce, usually) and watch a movie on my laptop/read a book/play some cards. Pass out, exhausted, and prepare for the next day.

11:59 pm : Wake up, with the mosquito net hanging askew, and freak out at the golf-ball sized bite on my angle.