Nyumbani Tamu Nyumbani (My Home Sweet Home): Teachings from Month One in Tanzania

In an effort to synthesize the myriad discoveries that have characterized my first month in East Africa, I thought it best to perhaps enumerate the various lessons learned over the past few weeks. A top ten list didn’t seem quite fitting so instead I’ll just trace the progressively mounting wisdom week by week:

Week 1:

1)    This is the first place I have visited where the women are properly referred to as dada (sister) and the men take no objection to being called kaka (brother). Confusing though it was the first few days while I kept referring to all men as dada and didn’t really want to call anybody kaka, I think I’ve gotten the hang of it ;)

Zanzibar (online image)

2)    To my utter dismay, I learned very quickly that hakuna matata is in fact one big joke—my childhood has been shattered. (Though it does mean no worries, stick to hamna shida most places outside of Kenya and Zanzibar…) Fortunately, simba is still a lion and rafiki does mean friend. But never call a warthog pumbaa because you'll just get shaking heads and incessant laughter and usually have to leave and go to a new shop. Don’t get me started on timon. Nothing I know by experience obviously, though I plan to write a strongly worded letter to Disney. (To be fair, you will hear and see plenty hakuna matatas around Tanzania, but almost exclusively in tourist destinations and tourist-catered businesses cleverly pandering to our childhood love for a lion, a meerkat, and a warthog.) 

Hand washing before meals (online image)

3)    African women have an impressive and convenient penchant for transporting goods por la cabeza. Seemingly precariously balanced, whether a fruit basket or entire suitcase, with grace and apparent ease I have watched countless women meander through market stalls, down crowded streets, and in and out of traffic, not an orange disturbed. Pretty sure this is a precursor to beauty school lessons in elegant stride. Henceforth, I have resolved to balance my laptop and backpack upon my head. Challenge One for Africa. Let’s see how far I get… 

Week 2:

Piki Piki drivers

4)    House hunting in any country is a major pain in the nether regions. House hunting is a bigger pain in a country where you have no office, no friends, and no means of transport. (Cue $75 taxi bopping from complex to complex and house to house frantically searching for a living abode. Sigh.) 

5)    When proffered a metal kettle or plastic jug and large bowl before eating, this is not the opportunity to sample a hot beverage in an oversized drinking device, rather take this time to lather your hands with the hot water and receptacle so courteously provided. If you’re lucky, there might even be a slimy square of something that once (and maybe currently!) resembled/s a bar of soap. Careful lest it should end up the comical banana peel stand-in for the waiter or waitress.

6)    Green bananas are yellow when cooked and taste a might bit like tubers. Accept this. 

7)    Get cheated on your vegetable purchase for lack of local pricing knowledge.

Week 3:

Chi Chi! (short for parachichi (avocado)) and Roomies

8)    After three weeks, at long last I acquire the most important phrase of all: Wapi choo ni? or Choo ni wapi? Where is the bathroom? Score.

9)    At long last a home, two roommates, and a dog are discovered. If I close my eyes, it almost feels just like home.

10) Internet is a luxury afforded the privileged few. Despite modems, landlines, and wireless, connectivity may or may not exist at any given time. In my new home, I’ve learned if I don’t breathe too hard I can have a viable Skype connection. Never guaranteed.

11) Giving directions in Swahili to the moto driver taking you home is a feel good moment.

12) Ducking to hide behind trees as pre-election violence sends crowds racing in fear through the streets in a frenzy after the pop pop! of shots in the distance is not.

Week 4:

Prepping post-dinner treats 

13)  People in clubs can dance...well...

14) Home-cooked meals are to die for anywhere in the world. The process goes something like: take 40 minute dalla dalla (public minibus) to distant countryside; get lost on dark roadside wandering in search of home; remove shoes and enter concrete living room; smile with a polite Shikamoo  to greet the parents; gather on one of many couches around two edged together coffee tables; watch in awe at the spread of dish after dish and matunda (fruit); soak hands in hot water and soap; devour meal and refuse profuse offers for more; pat your belly to indicate that your tummy is indeed large and full; pick teeth with ample toothpicks; resist urgings to stay the night though home is far and it’s late; sleep contentedly with a full and satiated abdomen.

15)  Return to vegetable market and purchase pile of tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, avocados, peas, and onions at the local price. In Swahili.

Home cooked chakula (food)

Baby steps ;)