DAYS 0 - 9

Foreward

This is where I’ll recount everything going on over the year. I’m not much of a writer so pardon my poor grammar and lack of eloquence. I will write my thoughts out at the end of every day and will upload them in batches, which I’ll indicate the period of days at the top of each entry.

I’m writing to keep myself grounded and preserve my sanity, but also to track my growth by the end of my stay here. I hope that in openly sharing my experiences it will provide perspective of a different world and life out here.

Enjoy.
Hannah

DAYS 0 - 9

Day 0

Mad rush to the airport

My parents, grandma & Anthony dropped me off. Everything was so sudden, I was already late checking in and had to rush to the gate so I very quickly said goodbye to everyone right away and couldn’t linger. There wasn’t anytime for anymore than a quick hug, I didn’t feel like I said goodbye properly. They were already boarding when I approached the gate so I didn’t have to do any waiting.

As soon as I boarded the plane and got settled into my seat, I opened the red pocket my dad slipped me just before I left. We’ve had a rocky father-daughter relationship over the years. I was never a ‘daddy’s girl’ and up until recently he hadn’t been so supportive of my decisions and was never expressive & affectionate with me. In the red pocket was a wad of cash and a note that read

to my first born:
I don’t say it but I am proud of you and will miss you.
Take care of yourself
Love you always.

That’s all it took for me to start balling up a storm right there in my seat before take-off guy sitting beside me wasn’t sure what to do and flagged down the stewardess to “fix” me. She handed me a box of tissues they probably keep handy for emotional suckers like me. We were well over the atlantic and I was still sobbing, overwhelmed from the whirlwind of events over the past week was the first time I’ve had to settle down and reflect and absorb everything that was going on.

4 hr layover in Amsterdam

people smoke inside the airport so casually it was disconcerting. I hadn’t yet had a chance to sleep during the 6 hour flight. The weekend before I had a farewell parties every night and some family came from out of town to visit so I got virtually no sleep before the actual journey.


Day 0.5

Descent to Dar

I was calm and collected for the 2nd half of the journey. I managed to get some rest and woke up feeling refreshed.

I started reading my book and it prompted the guy beside me to ask how I liked it so far cause he had read it. it was “Never Let Me Go” (Ishiguro). He was reading “100 years of Solitude” (Marquez) which was also one of the books I had brought with me. I brought a whole stack of books to read over the year (which brought me up to maximum luggage weight), and it turns out he had a stack of books I was interest in reading too!

We got to talking throughout the 7 hr flight and found that he’s a grad student fr Seattle working on Malaria research for 6 months in Morogoro, just about 200 km from where I’ll be in the city. It felt like such a relief to have met someone in the same boat as me. We’ll be trading books over the year.

After a brief stop over in Kilimanjaro we finally arrived in Dar es Salaam late at night. I was greeted by my employer, Bruno who held a sign “karibu Tanzania Hannah” (welcome to Tanzania Hannah).

They picked me up in the project van, which had the organization’s logo and red AIDS ribbons painted on the sides and front. My first ride through the city was at high-speed under a full moon and I got my first glimpse of the Indian Ocean. They drive on the left and don’t follow any traffic rules. It’s just up to you to either swerve or slam on your brakes whenever necessary.

Bruno checked me into a hotel for the next two nights. As soon as I got into my room I showered and crashed from exhaustion.


Day 1

I woke up suddenly at 5am Dar time. I couldn’t fall back asleep so I got up and paced around the room. The roosters eventually started crowing and the sun came out.

My first day in Dar was utterly lonely. I suppose it was a good thing it was low key and not too involved cause I really needed rest. I have arrived at the height of their rainy season, which to them is ‘cold weather’. January is their hottest month and could go up to 40+ (centigrade) right before the start of the rain in february – march. April, May and June are their ‘coldest’ months but by their standards cold is on average between 25-30 during the day and cools down at night to about 20. They get fairly strong winds, which are nice and breezy.

There was no one yet available to begin my orientation or show me around because it was only Saturday. Bruno wasn’t available today and the country director of CUSO wasn’t due back in the city until Monday so I was left to spend the day alone. I wandered outside to walk down the strip of road in front of the hotel. Kids were playing outside and stopped to stare. The younger ones decide to make a game out of it and follow behind me to see what my reaction would be. I was suddenly reminded of the kids in Mali and it felt right to be back in Africa.


Day 2

City of Dar

Bruno came by to “collect me” as they say here, and we began sorting out affairs like housing. We drove through the city and I got to take it in for the first time in daylight. I saw the U.S. embassy that had been bombed back in 1998, the state house –which could easily be a palace, the beaches, the merchants and fish markets by the ocean, and more market places.

New Place

Bruno took me to see the place he made arrangements for me to stay. It’s in a beautiful compound just outside the city. I am renting one room in a very large house owned by a young Tanzanian woman who also lives there but is constantly travelling on business. She has more than a few rooms to spare and converted her home into a boarding house. She enjoys the company when she’s around and when she’s away she likes knowing the house is ‘lived in’.

My rent for a full year (paid for by the Canadian Gov -CIDA) costs less than $5 grand USD. You’d be lucky to get 3 months for that much in Toronto. My room is on the very top floor and has a balcony that looks out into a courtyard. It’s small and can only fit a double bed & bedside table.

I didn’t bring a whole lot with me except clothes and some toiletries so the items that weighed me down the most were the books. I’ve actually become quite the proficient packer and have learned to survive on less from previous travel. I only packed 4 pairs of shoes including the ones I wore, pretty impressive for a girl, no?

The house itself is in a complex secured by a guard who looks like Tyrese, walks around shirtless, doesn’t smile and carries a rifle that make me nervous. I get a driver/bodyguard when I'm doing fieldwork outside the city and go into shanty towns, but otherwise I’m supposed to take the public transit to the office downtown. There is a maid that comes in to clean and do our laundry and cooks us breakfast everyday.

So it’s pretty sweet living in the city... but I guess it’s a fine balance and makes up for when we’re out in the bush for days at a time with no access to showers and have to squat over a hole in the ground while flies swarm you as you do your business.

Later that night the driver came by to help me move my things from out of the hotel into my new place. I had two pieces of luggage –a big suitcase weighing 50 lbs, and a large, heavy duty, oversized hockey bag that could easily fit a couple of bodies in it, weighing over 70 lbs. They’ve both got wheels and I was ready to wheel them both down the stairs, but he stopped me, and took the first piece, lifted it on top of his head and effortlessly went down the stairs.

I stood there in astonishment and thought, there’s no way he’ll get the 70 lbs bag over his head the same way. It’s packed tight but still pretty flimsy compared to the suitcase. But sure enough, he came back up, balanced the hockey bag over his head and went down the same way. That’s 70 lbs of pressure on your cranium! that can’t be good… but he seemed just fine.


Day 3

Immersion begins

Today I got to see the office I’ll be working out of and meet all the staff members. It is a grungy room, on the 3rd floor of a very run-down buildling, about the size of an elementary school classroom with desks arbitrarily lined up in different directions, and old computers that still run off windows 98. There is only one up to date computer located at the very center of the room and it might as well be our God. It is the only computer with internet access, runs off windows xp and has office 2007 which I haven’t even got on my own computer.

And if all else fails, there are three, count ‘em THREE typewriters that people here use on a daily basis! I don’t even remember ever handling a typewriter, except during playtime in grade school. I’ve been told it comes in handy when the power goes out. Rolling blackouts happen every day for indefinite amounts of time.

There is no privacy and everyone works alongside each other elbow to elbow. Because of the disarray of desks, rickety chairs, typewriters, & wonky computers, the office itself has a feel of a newspaper press with people bustling around and talking all at once.

One woman named Philo has already taken me under her wing and declared herself my “mama” in Dar. The moment I met her I felt right at home. She is the oldest in the office and everyone calls her “mama”. She’s one of those very bold, headstrong, nurturing, very passionate women.

During the staff meeting they each went around to introduce themselves. Neema, a really bubbly and flighty girl just a few years older than me introduced herself as “hello I’m Neema, I think I will make you my new best friend thank you very much”. That was too cute.

Malik is another program officer also just a few years older than me and will make a real African of me by the end of this year. Earlier today he asked me to “Please stop walking like a Canadian and slow down. This is Africa, there is no rush here”. (I was walking at my normal pace). He took me out for lunch and when I dared to lay a few bills on the table, he once again said “stop trying your Canadian ways here. This is Africa, I will pay”.


Day 4

5am 5am 5am 5am 5am

Compared to the last time I was in Africa my body isn’t adjusting as well. I’m really feeling the side effects of the anti malaria drugs and have been experiencing insomnia and vivid dreams every night. Since I’ve been here I have not yet been able to get a good nights rest. Every night I sleep for only a few hours at a time and wake up throughout the night. I just lie there and try to fall back asleep again which takes a while.

I’ve woken up every morning at around 5am feeling like I had just run a marathon. I try to fall back asleep for at least another hour but eventually can’t take it anymore and just get myself out of bed to start the day really early and feel completely exhausted by evening.

Mzungus

Mzungus are the names given for foreigners, namely ‘white people’. Tanzania has its share of Asians (we’re taking over the world!) and as long as you’re yellow skinned you’re automatically lumped as Mchina, which because technically I am, I don’t mind. But I’ve already gotten the “are you Chinese or Japanese?” from a few folks, and whenever I tell people I’m also part Filipino, they have to take some time to think about it. They do seem to understand the part where I tell them I was born in Canada.

I’ve noticed that since I’ve been here I haven’t yet encountered other foreigners. Today I finally got to meet the other Cooperants also stationed in Dar. Although I’ve been right at home with the people here so far, it was nice and comforting to see other foreigners who will also help guide me during my stay.

I also made a stop at the Canadian embassy to register and was looking forward to seeing more Canadians but from the outside security to the workers behind the counter at the front desk, they were all Tanzanian.

My first ride on the “Dala Dala” -Dar es Salaam public transport system

Malik, the other program officer has officially become my Dar buddy and has been an absolute gem helping me get to know the city and showing me around. Today he ‘initiated’ me by taking me on the “Dala Dala”. I’m still feeling nauseous right now.. it was smelly, loud, hot, claustrophobic, and I had absolutely no idea what the protocol was. You hop on and it’s already a full wagon but you have to find a place to squeeze yourself in.

Keep in mind these aren’t like buses in TO, they’re transport vans converted into buses that can seat probably up to 16 people UNcomfortably and maybe even 20 with people standing and hanging out the doors during their rush hour. In any case you’re literally packed in like sardines. I’m still not familiar with the routes and the names of the routes are pretty arbitrary.. like the “tomato” route or the “banana” route and so on.

The driver pulls up and the conductor guy hangs out the door waving people to step in and out, then gives the roof a loud slap indicating to the driver to proceed. He then very abrasively shakes his fist full of coins, jingling at you to pay your fare which is 250 TZ shillings, equivalent to about 25 cents Canadian.

Good luck getting off at your stop if you’re all the way at the back. You have to climb over people to get back out and sometimes the driver gets antsy and just drives to the next stop to let you off.

Walking as a pedestrian has it’s own set of challenges as well. There are no sidewalks or concept of sidewalks. You walk on whatever strip of dirt is left of the road that cars have not yet taken over. If you need to cross the street, good luck to you. There are no cross walks.

You could be standing at a major intersection for ages before there’s a gap in traffic to cross the street. I’ve done well so far by shadowing people as they cross. Compared to the streets of Toronto, Dar is a freakin jungle and I’m officially intimidated. I swear I’m gonna kiss the first crosswalk I see when I get home.

……. Got home at about 6pm, showered then crashed immediately after.


Day 5

Restless sleep again and woke up at 5am feeling like crap. This 5am business is putting a toll on me and it’s not like it’s an easy-going week for me either. There are so many admin things to take care of and I’ve been constantly on the go and completely exhausted by the time I get home at around 6pm and don’t even bother with dinner, I just pass out.

What sucks about it is that the exhaustion only lasts for a few hours into the night and I’m wide awake again by 10pm and have to go through the whole process of putting myself back to sleep. I resorted to taking gravol last night hoping it would knock me out completely.. but I think it just made things worse and I felt dizzy when I woke up the next morning.

So far this week there’s been a driver who’s come to “collect” me and bring me to the office where I meet my boss and plan the day out. Starting next week I will have to take the ‘Dala Dala’ by myself.

I spent the morning at the office just reading through material -research papers, Tanzania’s national policy on HIV/AIDS, strategic framework etc etc.. all of which are supposed to dictate the direction of the programs we will build from them. As I read through the material I began to grow despondent. There’s so much to do I don’t know where to begin. It’s a daunting task and I don’t know how much I can finish in a year.


Day 6

I have been staying at the house alone cause the owner’s been away on business the last few days, and there are no other borders other than myself yet. Last night I did a good job of psyching myself out. It’s a huge house, with large elaborate windows and fancy drapery that let in shadows at night.

When I made my way upstairs to my room I saw the shadows bouncing around from outside the bedroom and freaked out. I climbed under the covers afraid of the dark for the first time in a long time. It’s somewhat comforting to know that the guard who I’ve been calling ‘Tyrese’ is out there with his rifle.

It has become routine that I wake up in the morning, get myself ready for the day, and go downstairs to find breakfast ready and waiting for me. At some point while I’m getting ready, the maid slips into the house and starts her days work by getting my meal prepared. I’ve never been waited on like this and feel awkward every time. She doesn’t speak a word of English and my Swahili can only go so far, so there’s not a whole lot we can say to each other.

As I sit there eating, my thoughts start to race and I wonder, does she think I’m a total diva? Does she think I’m incapable of cooking for myself? Does she harbour any resentment that she has to wait on me? When I thank her does she feel I’m sincere and truly appreciative of her services? Or am I actually putting her off by constantly thanking her? Is my awkwardness making her feel awkward too? It’s hard to even imagine this kind of life in Canada.

Today there was discussion in the office about women and development, and the director mentioned the lifestyle of Masaii tribes. Of the tribes my organization has worked with, a total of 3 women have post secondary education. Only a handful complete elementary school and even less, highschool. Speaking of which, I do see Masaii in and around the city in traditional wear and they’re very well respected.


Day 7

Awww my first marriage proposal

‘Mama’ took me out for lunch today at an outdoor eatery where a lot of locals hang around and loiter throughout the day. A group of guys beside us kept starring and bothering Mama in Swahili. Mama finally translated for them and told me they’d like me to choose which of them at the table I’d like to marry.

I smirked and shook my head. The tallest guy strode over and started hovering over our table and in a heavy accent, said in English “I would like you to be my wife” then muttered more in Swahili which I can only imagine to be sexual with the gestures they started making and the hooting and hollering.

Mama, all the while got a kick out of the whole scenario and just sat there laughing hysterically, barely catching her breath to translate into English for me what was going on. I gave a weak smile.. but can only play along for so long before things get out of hand, but luckily Mama seemed to sense when I had had enough and got us out of there without anymore fuss. The guys were still hooting and clearly got their kicks with the new foreigner.

XY > XX

Some days –especially now that I’m far removed from my comfort zone, I wish I didn’t have to squat to pee, or bleed for 7 consecutive days every month, but what’s really hurting right now is that I can’t go places by myself without worrying about getting hassled or raped. As a woman I’m really feeling my limitations as to what I can do around here without compromising my safety.

It’s a Friday night at 7pm because it’s getting dark I’m afraid to step outside by myself and explore. I went out briefly to buy more phone credit and the sun was already starting to set and the roads were thinning out so I would stick out like a sore thumb if I were to go out by myself right now. I hate having to rely on the company of a bodyguard or another local here just to walk around.

Sometimes I just need a break from people and want time alone, and I like being able to do things by myself like I do back home. It really irks me that a male foreigner doesn’t nearly have the same concern or vulnerability. Since the beginning of time, we’ve always gotten the short end of the stick and it sucks ass. UGH.

The power has gone out for the 3rd time today and it’s nearly 9pm. I’m in my room on my bed with the laptop and flashlight on beside me. I don’t have a lot of juice left on my battery and it will die out soon so I’m calling it night.


Day 8

Adaptation

There are certain things that would normally freak me out back home that don’t nearly have the same impact here. Like in the morning I expect to see a few ants crawling around in the sugar bowl and just make sure to be extra careful not to scoop them into my coffee. Like how every household has it’s family of spiders living amongst them, lizards grace the walls indoors and I’ve grown accustomed to seeing them scurrying across the walls or floor.

The site of certain foods still make me cringe from time to time but at least I know when I order fish at a restaurant it will come with the head & fins intact. The smell of boiled cow isn’t so offensive anymore and tasting other authentic dishes isn’t so much a challenge anymore as it is an adventure. I haven’t yet been asked to try anything completely outlandish like hippo or zebra yet… but when the time comes, bottoms up!

Then again, the foods have really done a number on me here. From the very start people have been taking me out to eat and I don’t want to offend anybody by not eating a food item they took the time to order especially for me and pay. I have to all but plug my nose to down some of the stuff they’ve asked me to try. By last night my GI tract couldn’t handle anymore and I spent the whole night purging.

My beloved Grandma, god bless her, equipped me with loads of Chinese medicine knowing full well what was in store for me, and with it I slowly nursed myself to a healthier intestinal flora by morning. I’m still a bit queasy but luckily it’s the weekend so I can just take it easy and let things settle until Monday.

I don’t go to bed alone..

I sleep under a mosquito net that has supposedly been doused in DEET so not only should it protect me from mosquitoes it should also repel them. But somehow, they manage to get in there anyway and I’ve woken up with new bites every morning. I don’t think Malian mosquitoes got me as bad as these ones, and we were even in the bush that time.

These ungodly creatures have actually managed to break through my skin, leaving a slightly open scab after they’ve feasted on my blood and by morning, there are noticeable little dots of blood on my sheets. I’ve got bites up and down my legs, arms, shoulders and neck that itch like crazy it’s driving me insane! I’ve been piling on the afterbite but as soon as it dries up it just itches more!

I heard a scare story where a foreigner on anti malaria meds contracted malaria anyway and suffered pretty bad and went blind. I’m not religious at all but realize I’ve been referring to God a lot lately… I hope to GOD (if you do exist) please don’t let me contract malaria.

The reaction of everyone around me is kind of funny when they see my bite marks. They point to it, shake their head and say “I’m very sorry” (Pole in Swahili). It’s quite touching actually that they’re so concerned and feel the need to express their sympathy over my mosquito bites.

I got ‘Tyrese’ to smile!!

I went to the market to load up on fruits, which they’ve got an abundance of here! Fresh banana’s, coconut, pineapple, avocado, passion fruit, papaya, I’m in tropical heaven! When I was let into the compound, Tyrese automatically made a grab for my bag of groceries to carry it into the house for me.

I’m still not accustomed to the help around here, and when I insist on doing something myself I’m not sure if they see it as a sincere effort to try and make their life easier, or if they’re just insulted that I’ve turned down their offer to help. Anyway, I was afraid to do the latter so I let Tyrese take my bags in, and felt I had to thank him so I offered him a banana. He chuckled but took it and actually smiled.

ARRRRRRRGGGH

The power went out AGAIN. I was in the shower when it happened and had to finish rinsing off soap in the dark and grope my way back to my room. It’s about 8pm and already dark out. I’m just sitting in bed with my flashlight and the battery on my laptop is at 15%.

I can think of fun ways to fill the time during these blackouts… thank god for cold showers.


Day 9

I woke up with a dead mosquito in my bed!!!!!

It was so gross, it was squashed and it’s legs were torn apart and spread out over my sheet and there was a bit of blood from when it exploded. It must’ve come into my net and I probably scratched at it while it was biting me and we must have battled in my sleep. But I guess I won case the bastard is dead.

Lives of the rich & famous in Africa

I spent the day with the Hoyce, the owner of the home I’m staying in. She had just returned from South Africa on business. She’s what you’d imagine to be true African beauty. She’s got large, round, gorgeous dark eyes, very tall –probably around 5’10-11, lean but curvy, and light caramel skin. When I was reading the paper a few days ago, I saw her picture in it and learned she was Miss Tanzania in ’99.

For a Tanzanian woman she is very Westernized, has travelled everywhere and spent time in various parts of the world including Canada –in Montreal. She also attended universities in the States and France.. and what she does now is vague.. something about public relations, so I imagine she must come from money.. and when you’re rich in Africa that could mean anything from oil to gold or diamonds.

She showed me her master suite in the house and her room was filled with designer everything –from louis vuitton boots, jimmy choo shoes, gucci jeans, to channel purses. She would totally fit in with the yuppies who eat, shop and hang out in Yorkville back home.

We had lunch together, she took me to one of the biggest hotels in Dar where a lot of foreigners stay on business. I’ve been so impressed with her worldliness and wealth that when we got to talking, I was taken back when I realized she assumed I come from money like herself. She exclaimed how impressed she was of my sense of adventure, courage and compassion to scale down from my own lifestyle and come to a poor country to work, and how she hopes when I’m not working, living in the house with the hired help will make me feel at home.

I’m still not sure if people from here understand the lifestyle of the 1st world and whether they assume you’re affluent so long as you’re from Canada/America. I am certainly not and have had my share of struggles, certainly not to the same extent as those living in poverty here, but still not extravagant and comfortable as they think.

I haven’t given much thought to how people here perceive me until now. I did take a major salary cut to come out here, but did they think I had a lot of money to begin with that I can afford to give up my job and life back home for a year to come here? I suppose it’d be easy to assume this if I were in their situation. But I HAVE sacrificed a lot to come here. I left a good paying job, my family, friends, and everything I love back home to do something that I believe in. I hope one way or another they realize this.