What do I know?

Here are a few things I’ve learned so far in Tanzania.

Mosquitos are smaller in Tanzania but fly faster.

Drivers of three-wheeled taxis (the ubiquitous bjaj) can, in fact, drive on the sidewalk with impunity and people like me, who might formerly be adverse to such a thing, are in fact so grateful to those drivers, they'll give them extra money, or even an awkward cross-cultural hug, to find ingenious and sure, possibly dangerous and certainly discourteous, shortcuts through Dar es Salaam’s perpetual gridlock.

Women dress modestly here, but so grandly. How is it that they can shuffle through dust and garbage, never break a sweat or get dirty and always look like a million bucks? One reason might be that many of the clothes around here are individually made by some seamstress down the street who rents a hole in the wall, plugs in an old sewing machine and manages, with scraps and thread, to weave together the most stunningly tailored ensembles. I feel like a slob most days (see post on sweat nest) especially when I walk past a crowded bus stop full of men in pressed shirts and women in flattering fashions.

Poverty breeds ingenuity. If imported clothes are expensive, sell your own designs and make a modest living. If the power goes out every day, buy a gas stove or cook with wood. If people don’t have fridges, set up a shop in a busy area and sell cold drinks. If building materials are expensive, collect scraps and sell them on the street. You might feel sorry for Tanzania but in some ways, you oughtn’t. Their ability to make something out of nothing, to find substitutes, to recycle and reuse, is unparallelled in my experience.

There is a dignity here. Sure there’s government corruption and stagnation, sure the streets smell like sewage sometimes and more than 2 million people have AIDS and too many babies die at birth and life expectancy has been stuck at 50 for far too long but there is humour and comraderie and commitment to family and an iron will. Some day, when the right leaders come along, this country will be strong and viable. It’s got to happen, eventually.

Eating French Fries makes you smart. I know, it’s crazy, right? But it’s true! I’ve been eating street fries, or chipsie as they’re known here, nearly every day and I’m totally smarter than when I first got here. I can even calculate the currency exchange without a calculator, people.

Washing clothes with shampoo in your hotel bathroom sink doesn’t necessarily clean them. I ran out of camp suds so I started using shampoo but really, it wasn’t working. I bought a bar of laundry soap for 70 cents CDN and that seems to be dispelling the daily sweat nest quite nicely.

Saying tafadhali, or "please," is often considered rude because it sort of means, "Hey, pay attention!" or, "Do this right now!" Sure wish I'd known that before throwing the word liberally into stilted but good-intentioned attempts at Kiswahili communication. Oh the sticky snares of linguistic nuance. Fall down. Get up. Repeat.