Tanzania Wears Prada

Brand names.  Americans love them. Abercrombie and Fitch, Banana Republic, Columbia, GAP, Nike, Talbot, Birkenstock. Fashion is important in America, especially to younger people.  Social status is defined by the names on the tags of your clothing.  Consumers faithfully return to their favorite stores, spending a fortune on a pair of blue jeans.  Many even fall into debt because of their want for the best, newest clothing.

In Tanzania, appearance is as, or perhaps even more, important than in America.  But people here aren’t concerned with brand names.  A different kind of style reigns.  It doesn’t matter who made your clothes, or so much how they look or fit.  What matters is that you are wearing nice clothing.  Everyone wants to look ‘sharp’ and respectable.  Brand names mean nothing to Tanzanians.  Clothing is clothing.  Having an outfit that matches isn’t key.  But your overall appearance is essential.  It doesn’t matter who designed your dress slacks just as long as they’re ironed and creased properly.  Westerners have the stereotypic image of an African child in a baggy, tattered shirt and old flip-flops.  This stereotype is wrong.  Sure, you can find children dressed like this.  But anyone who can afford it, dresses well.  You won’t find anyone wearing sweat pants and torn sweatshirts for anything other than working out.  People place much importance on looking good.  Not on having the right brand names or latest fashions, but on the statement that you have taken care to look your best. 

Though Western clothing has become a dominant style in Tanzania, tradition still holds on.  Traditional dress is still apparent, especially for women.  Custom-made dresses cut from richly patterned fabrics are sewn with old Singer machines on street corners.  These dresses come in countless styles and have a truly African flavor.  Swaths of fabric known as khanga are wrapped around the the waist as a skirt are sometimes worn with the Western T-shirt.  Many Maasai, a tribe in East Africa, completely refuse to wear anything Western and proudly display their traditional shúkà dyed deep red and blue.  On the coast, where Arabic influence is apparent, men wear white tunics with matching caps and women are hidden underneath floor-length burkas. 

Clothes shopping is a mêlée of noise, heat and colour.  There are no shopping malls and clothing boutiques here.  Buying clothes must be done from a secondhand clothing market.  The clothing market near where we live sits atop red African soil and under the brilliant equatorial sun.  It’s quite expansive, extending a area comparable with that of a Western shopping mall.  The sharp smell of second-hand clothing permeates but doesn’t repel.  Wooden lean-tos with tarp roofing house ever type of clothing imaginable.  Some specialize in women’s blouses, others in blue jeans and others in hats.  In some, clothing is displayed from wire hangers and in others, clothing is left in rumpled heaps for the shopper to sort through.  Other vendors don’t have the convenience of a lean-to and pile clothes on low tables or on tarps spread on the ground.  Women with fanny-packs of small bills yell out prices like auctioneers and school-girls dig through piles of shirts for something that suits their fancy.

All clothing that passes through these markets is second hand, some used more gently than others.  Brand names are stuck next to nameless designers, with nothing to distinguish the two.  For some articles of clothing, it is clear how they got here – stained or torn or so terribly out of fashion they shouldn’t ever be allowed to be worn again.  Other garments are hidden treasures that don’t even show signs of wear.  Some obviously came straight from the garage sale, 25¢ masking tape price tag still attached while others could have walked right out of Macy’s.  The ones in better shape fetch higher prices - $2 for a shirt and $7 for a pair of pants at most.  If you’re lucky you can find great deals in the piles of clothing that would cost you only pennies.

Finding suitable clothing is somewhat challenging in this environment.  For starters, you have to find something that you like.  Once that is accomplished, does it fit?  Is it clean?  Is it damaged at all?  Finding an article of clothing that meets all of these requirements can be tricky.  But once you find something that works, you have a distinct feeling of accomplishment. 

Pole na Mazoezi

By Cindy Johnson

Pole (Po lay) is a Tanzanian expression that has no equivalent in English. It is a way of expressing sympathy for other’s work or difficulties in life. It is a wonderful and pervasive expression in Tanzania. It is a common greeting for roadside travelers burdened with a heavy load or firewood or water or for a friend whose car has broken down. It is a nice way of saying to someone, ‘I see you suffer from the inevitable burdens of life and I feel empathy.’

As I walk up the mountain toward my goal, the gate of Kilimanjaro National Park, I am greeted in many ways including “pole”, as villagers express empathy for my trudge up the mountain. “Asante, na wewe pia” I respond, and you too. The very idea that these villagers are encouraging me to keep trudging, gives me extra energy, but at the same time feels utterly ridiculous as I watch them also trudge up the mountain beneath a load of firewood balanced carefully on their head. Their burden is not by choice as mine is. I am exercising; they are working.

Exercising intentionally is something that mzungus (white people) do. We are joined by a small minority of Tanzanians who have similar positions behind computers or otherwise no longer have to harvest their food or fuel. Here on a college campus this includes many students, faculty and staff. But most Tanzanians have no need for physical exercise and must find it amusing to watch this mzungu professor marching up the mountain. They are physically strong with endurance that exceeds most athletes. Nonetheless they greet me warmly and offer encouragement.

I watch my fellow exercisers. A man pushes an old bike up the mountain laden with firewood that extends a meter in each direction from his bike. A young girl, no more than 8 years old, expertly balances a bucket of water atop her head as she heads for home. A woman squats while collecting forage; she is limber and flexible. This is what our bodies were meant to do, not run on treadmills.

I have never enjoyed exercising more than here on this mountain. Not only am I constantly encouraged and inspired by the many ‘pole’s I receive, but by the beauty of life. Walking (and running) has allowed me to explore my home on this mountain. With the assistance of students (lest I get lost!), I have explored villages, river gorges, paths that meander amidst banana plantations and stately coffee plantations. Everywhere I am greeted warmly and invited to partake in the local brew, mbege (millet beer). Most know me as the professor from the college. I am shadowed by children anxious to try out their English, wishing me ‘Good Morning’, regardless of the time of day. With few exceptions, I listen to villagers twitter and giggle with mirth as I pass; my Kiswahili is comical at best and I am happy to brighten their day.

Life as it exists here on the mountain is rich and full. Children, neatly dressed in school uniforms and in no hurry, walk home for chores and homework. A small boy dressed in winter ski cap slaloms down the mountain on his imaginary skis and his crude stick poles. A villager under the influence of too much mbege, calls loudly after the mzungu. Pods of women, sharing the day’s news, meander slowly up the mountain. Theirs is a sharing that has happened for centuries; burdens made lighter by comrades. An older man tugs at the lead rope to his cow, switch in hand trying to maneuver man and beast up the mountain. The butcher peers past the carcass that hangs from the ceiling of his small stall, watching and waiting for customers. Chickens skitter across the road and dogs sulk in the shadows. Blue Sykes monkeys perform wild aerobatics teasing me to watch their antics.

Omnipresent, is the mountain. My routes include up and down, both are inevitable. I can choose, up first and then down or vice versa, but always they come together. The mountain provides encouragement, inspiring glimpses of fresh snow contours or full throated cheers of magnificent clouds playing peek a boo with the summit in the colors of twilight.

It was the mountain that provided the inspiration, along with enthusiastic coaching from students, for me to enter my first ever marathon. Yup, a marathon…. Err half marathon. The Kilimanjaro Marathon is one of the premier African marathons that happens to run up the very road I live on at the college. Frankly, I have never understood why anyone would want to do a marathon…long training, boring and/or repetitive routes, hard on the body, etc. However, since I have been blessed with an awesome ‘gym’ on this mountain, I have found my excursions nothing but refreshing, inspiring longer and faster treks. I laughed at the first suggestion of me doing a marathon, but simultaneously and secretly made a promise to myself.

As it turns out, the Kilimanjaro Marathon is a big deal attracting over 3000 runners and 36 countries. There were more mzungus than I’ve seen in a while, but we were outnumbered by Africans of all kinds including those who sit behind computers and those who train professionally. Without contest, the fastest were Africans (Kenyans). Me, I coveted the beautiful medal and knew I could do it just to get the medal. Well 21 kilometers in 3 hours got me a medal, and a time only 30 minutes behind most of my students (1 minute for every year of age difference?). Heck it was easy…. Every few kilometers there was a stand issuing water, food and dripping sponges not to mention the Tanzanian music blaring loudly. It was a hoot, like a big moving party. I never expected it to be fun; hurt yes, but fun? My mostly solitary treks across the countryside had prepared me physically, but I simply didn’t anticipate the fun. Everyone was encouraging and friendly, how could one not succeed given such a huge cheering squadron?

My student coaches have all but signed me up for the next full marathon. Me, I am content to savor my one and only marathon medal (and t-shirt). I will keep trekking across this beautiful countryside soaking in life in its wonderful beauty, diversity and glory. To all you marathoners or marathoner ‘wanna be’, “pole na mazoezi”, I extend my empathy for your exercise.

Ready, set, remember!

Of all the subjects offered in school, physical education is the one students take least seriously.  Gym is the ‘fun’ class where you receive little or no homework, play games most days and are guaranteed high marks if you just come to class. 

Most days, at the beginning of class we would do some exercises which would be followed by a rousing match of whatever game it was we were focusing on that week.  We played (attempted) every game imaginable.  We tried everything from softball to bowling to dodge ball .  We even played unconventional games like crab soccer (soccer played in a crab position with an oversized stuffed ball) and Mission Impossible (a game of teamwork involving crossing the gym without touching the floor).  A unit on a legitimate game that had real rules (think any sport found in the Olympics) was always anteceded by a test on rules, strategies and scoring.  The announcement of a unit test was always met with groaning because, as everyone knows, you don’t get tests in gym class.  No one ever liked gym tests because (1) they were out of place, and (2) when would we ever need to know how the dimensions of  a lacrosse field or how to keep score in bowling?  Needless to say, the information we learned when studying for these tests were quickly lost deep within our grey matter after the exam was over.  After all, it wasn’t like these were skills we would need to know in real life.

Or so we though.  This year I have found myself reintroduced to all of the games I knew from Phy. Ed. like badminton, tennis and volleyball.  Finding myself back on the court, I regretfully wish I had paid more attention in gym class.  How was the proper grip of a badminton racquet again?  How was scoring in tennis done? I remember something of ‘love’ and ‘advantage’ and such, but then again, it was never was real clear in the first place.  It doesn’t help that I have abominable hand-eye coordination and a terrible sense of depth-of-field.  There is a reason I am a swimmer and a runner.  On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter if you know the rules of the game if the people you play with don’t always follow the traditional rules.  I don’t know much about volleyball, but I’m not sure it was intended to be played with kicking and heading as you might find in a soccer game. 

Despite my lack of skill and finesse, it is fun to play these games again.  And perhaps it is even more amusing for the other players to watch the girl who has no coordination and can only hit the ball two out of every five times.  So let this be a less to all of you 9th graders out there – pay attention in gym class.  Students always complain, “When will we ever need to know this?”  The answer is, even the most arcane bits of knowledge have a purpose and undoubtedly, they will come in handy when you least expect them to.

Sit! Stay! Roll Over!

Puppy chow, catnip and hamster wheels.  Americans are obsessed with their pets.  They feed them gourmet food, buy them little outfits for cold days, and leave them messages on the answering machine when they are away.  Coming from a culture like that, it can be hard to understand African’s adversity to dogs and other animals. 

Here dogs are for security and cats are for mouse control.  Dogs bark at intruders and cats do away with any pests.  They are purely practical.  For the most part, they are ignored and paid little attention, except for perhaps avoidance.  Many people here don’t like dogs, which is understandable.  Pets aren’t cared for here as they are in the states.  Dogs may not be friendly, they may have diseases.  With those circumstances it makes sense why people would be afraid of dogs.  

In the States, things are at the other extreme.  Some people lavish their pets with more attention than they give their friends and spend more money on their pets than the government does on education.  People take Fido to the doggy-playground so he won’t get lonely during the day, Mittens to the vet to have her teeth cleaned, and build Squeaky a veritable palace that connects his cage to every room in the house.

I find both of these extremes a bit absurd.  Pets can be great companions and useful as guards and pest controllers.  On the other hand, they are just pets and don’t need monthly check-ups at the vet’s, one hundred and one play toys or food better on par with human fare. 

The Snows of Mt. Kilimanjaro

Living on the slopes of the tallest mountain in Africa can, at times, yield an impressive view. Some days, the ones with out clouds, we have a spectacular view of the mountain.

There is even a good view reflected out front door:

 

On most days, however, the mountain is shrouded in cloud leaving little…   

… or none of the mountain visible.

Post-rain periods hold their own surprises. Like rainbows…

  

… and snow!

Five Stars

Some of the most surprising differences in life here versus in the States are from the more common things that you normally don’t think about.  One example would be movies.  Acquiring and watching movies in Tanzania is quite different than in the States. 

Movies can be bought in small electronic shops or just off the street.  Unlike in the States, where movies come in fancy plastic cases, DVDs here come in plastic sleeves inside a flat folder of thick paper.  And unlike in the States, movies here are sold in bunches.  When you buy a DVD you get anywhere from ten to thirty movies.  What I find most surprising is that they somehow fit twenty-odd movies on one DVD.  The grouping of the movies has little reason to it.  They could claim to be grouped by comedies, action or other criterion but in actuality tend to be mixed.  A DVD of comedy movies might contain ten comedies, two dramas and an action movie. Once you have made your selection, you don’t have to worry about breaking the bank to pay for the movies.  Buying one DVD with perhaps twenty movies costs only about $2.30.  Yes, with two dollars and thirty cents you can buy more than twenty movies.  How is this possible, you ask?  Let me illuminate…

Think back to the last movie you watched.  What was the first thing that came up on the screen?  Piracy warnings.  What was the last thing?  Credits.  Both of these things are removed from the movies here.  All of the movies are clearly pirated and many appear to have been recorded in a movie theater as you can hear the audience’s laughter in the background.  I can now understand why writers, producers and other are so concerned about the copyrights of their films. 

Though the majority of films are of good quality, some of them are less adequate.  As I said previously, some have been recorded and the sound tracks have external noises in them.  Many of the films are accompanied with subtitles, though not always accurate ones.  For example, the subtitles in the Disney children’s film Up contain quite a few swear words that are definitely not in the movie.  Other movies have subtitles that convey the same meaning as what is said but in very different words.  One movie I watched was originally in English but had been dubbed in some East European language and had subtitles that were terribly confusing and clearly had little to do with what was happening on screen.  Despite these viewing difficulties, the overall watching experience has been positive.

Ingenuity

If you were to ask someone of the street what words they would use to describe Americans, chances are the word ‘ingenious’ would be among the resulting list.  From founding fathers like Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Edison and Bill Gates, we believe we hold a strong lineage of ingenious minds.  But I believe this is not due to an inherent ‘American nature’ but results from chance.  The real inventors are those in developing nations.

Inspired by the local atmosphere, we have done some of our own improvising.  When you can’t rely on a Target or Wal-mart to provide little necessities, you have to find other ways of making due.  We’ve created candle holders and a rolling pin out of old bottles,  a Tanzania version of Monopoly out of old cereal boxes and bottle caps, and house decorations of seed pods found in our backyard.  The cupboard in our hallway has been dedicated to raw materials and all scraps are deposited there until they are needed.

Ingenuity springs from making due with what you have.  In third world countries, resources are limited, creating an ideal playground for an ingenious mind. Here, children create play toys from discarded water jugs and old bicycle rims, women make handicrafts out of plant materials and men rig bicycles with grindstones to sharpen blades.  The creativity exhibited by the children in developing countries is precisely what the world needs when trying to tackle the problems like energy shortage and climate change. 

Unfortunately, the education to improve this creativity is not what it should be.  If you were born in Tanzania, you may not have had the opportunity to attend school as is granted in the States.  Success lies in opportunity.  These children have been given the priming for creativity and ingenuity but they lack education.  If given the education and opportunities, the children of developing nations could easily become the world leaders, inventors and scientists that will drive our world forward in the years to come. 

The Ascent

I have climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.  I did it.  Well, I didn’t climb to the top, but I’ve climbed a little.  The college at Mweka is just a few kilometers downhill from the park gate.  We’ve walked up to the gate a few times just for the fun of it.

Setting off under marshmallow clouds, we turn left onto the paved road which turns to gravel meters past the college.  The village of Mweka lies just uphill from the college and consists of a few shops and a scattering of houses.  The shops are all small, but packed with items.  As you walk along Main Street, you can see a pharmacy, tailors at antique Singer sewing machines, and the butcher shop (a small white tiled building with carcasses hanging from hooks in the ceiling). The areas between houses are filled with banana plants and maize. 

We follow the rocky volcanic road as it winds up the mountain, past two primary schools and through a second village.  This village has many restaurant/bars filled with more white plastic chairs than the village probably has people.  These ‘bars’ that line either side of the road, are short, open structures with a barred counter in the back.  White and red plastic chairs crowd around wobbly plastic tables on the packed dirt floor. As you pass through the town, old men offer a local brew from large, brightly coloured plastic cups. 

As we continue on the road inclines sharply but we are rewarded at the top of the rise with spectacular views of golden plains and blue mountains under pillow clouds.  Up here, the view puts into perspective how far up the mountain we actually are.  As we reach the gate, banana trees give way to forest and tree ferns. 

All along the way, children run out to greet us with “Jambo!” or “Good morning” (even when it is the afternoon).  Some are quieter and shadow us a few paces back.  Often, they ask for money or chocolate, which of course, everyone carries when they go on a walk, right?  Older folk are amused by our limited knowledge of Swahili greetings.  They enthusiastically greet us and laugh good naturedly when we get the response wrong. 

Dar es Salaam

Last week, business called us to Dar es Salaam.  Dar es Salaam is a big port city on the Indian Ocean and though it isn’t the capital of Tanzania, it is home to many government buildings and embassies.  While in Dar es Salaam we needed to get a research permit approved, pick up 90 kilos of books from the US embassy as well as get a security briefing at the embassy. 

Rising at an insanely early hour, we set off for the airport to take a plane to Dar es Salaam.  Morning blue clouds hung from stars on a scarlet dyed sunrise as we took off, leaving Africa’s highest mountain behind us. 

Dar es Salaam can be described in one word: hot.  Luckily, we found an air conditioned hotel where we could retreat from the oppressive heat and humidity.  During the first day we got the research permit approved, visited a cultural museum and went to a main shopping district. 

The second day which included a visit to the US embassy was more interesting.  The embassy was bombed eleven years ago and has been rebuilt since with increased security that seems a bit excessive. To get into the embassy, you first pass through a building with constantly locked doors that are opened by a security guard in a secure room.  Inside you are required to deposit all bags, cell phones and other electronics, show identification, get scanned and proceed though another permanently locked door. 

On the inside, the embassy is quite nice.  Walking in, you really feel like you have left Tanzania.  Ergonomically designed office chairs fill conference rooms and modern art hangs on the walls.  In Tanzania, offices are generally sparse, white walled rooms, with only perhaps a picture of a current or past president hung high up, flush with the ceiling. Walking through corridors with fake house plants and artsy black and white photographs created an illusion that the security building leading into the embassy was actually a portal to a location in Washington D.C.

Once settled into comfy office chairs, we sat back for a short security briefing.  Much was less relevant to our situation in Mweka, but it was interesting nonetheless.  Evidently there really are people whose job is to protect information.  It really makes you wonder, what kind of information they have that is so important to protect.  And it is even more interesting to wonder who they are protecting the information from.  At one point during our briefing, the presenter stopped and said, “Oh, no.  I don’t think I can tell you that.  I think it’s classified.”

After the briefing we got official ID badges and we collected our four boxes of books.  Lugging around 200 pounds of text is no easy matter, but we eventually got all of the books back to the hotel.

There isn’t a terribly lot to do in Dar es Salaam so we cut our trip short and returned to the pleasantly cool slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro a day early. 

A Presidential Visit

Last Thursday, President Kikwete, the president of Tanzania, visited the college.  Having been out of town, we arrive back on campus to find the place decked out in yellow, blue, green and black.  Red carpet was lined up for the president, a stage erected for his speech and students wandered about with little plastic flags stamped with the college emblem. 

Once again, I was able to take photos for the college as I had for graduation and the safari.  But this time I would have to fight for elbow space along with a dozen or so other photographers, cameramen and journalists.  In Tanzania, to take pictures of the president requires a press badge.  So I queued up with the others to exchange my driver’s license as collateral for a large press badge on a bright yellow lanyard.  Feeling official, I wandered off to take pictures of preparation until the president showed.

  As can be expected with diplomats, the president arrived late.  The dispersed students that had waited patiently in the morning under a warm sun came rushing back along with the rest of the population as sirens announcing the president’s arrival could be heard. 

Cameras rolled and shutters snapped as the president emerged from a black SUV.  He greeted everyone with a smile and a wave and shook some hands before disappearing into the main office building for the first part of his college tour.

The president was escorted by a number of police, ‘secret service’ and other security guards.  Though there were more security personnel than might be expected, there was still less than what you would find in the states.  Beforehand, bomb-sniffing dogs investigated the premises and guards diffused across campus.  With the arrival of the president came men wearing short-sleeve suits and ear bud radio communication devices looped over their left ears.  These men hovered around the president, keeping photographers, excited children and other patrons an arm’s length away. 

Students and faculty gave short presentations on various aspects of the college as the president listened with interest.  In the background, the brass band could be heard playing an odd mix of polka, classical, and Christmas music as they entertained a patient crowd waiting for the president to make his speech. 

After the president had listened to the student speeches and planted a tree for the college, he gave a speech of his own which was well received.  As the sun sunk behind the western trees, the president sat for a few pictures before hopping back into his awaiting car which parted the enthusiastically waving crowd.