Touche

Before I begin, I have to say that I have made a conscious decision, which may or may not be subconciously ignored, to write in a more positive tone.

You see, I've been here in Tanzania for about a year now, and that time span has allowed two things to happen. One, I've gotten used to and begun taking for granted all the small positive things that happen every day. Two, at the same time, all those little annoyances and frustrations have slowly built up until they're starting to explode (I am ashamed to admit that Swahili profanity has entered my vocabulary in recent weeks).

Haha, now that I've said that, let me talk about a common experience here in TZ that, while it may sound negative or seem like I am complaining, it is merely a part of life here that I've become accustomed to and would actually miss (a very, very little) if it were to change. That experience revolves around the most common means of public transport here, a small minibus commonly referred to as a 'daladala'. I am positive that any of my friends reading this here in Tanzania, and probably most other countries in Africa, are already laughing. Stop it!! You haven't even heard my story yet!!!

I really wish I had a picture of one of these bad boys to help my non-living-in-Africa friends. Using your imagination, picture a large van. Like those Ford Astrovans or whatever they were called, I don't think they make that model anymore. Then fill it with 4 rows of 4 seats, since TZ was a British colony put the steering wheel on the other side, and then age the sucker for about 10 years, and that's the typical daladala. I once rode on one that had been reconstructed using mostly plywood. Yeah, these things happen.

So anyways, the whole experience of riding daladalas is quite comedic, and even though I have to ride one anytime I want to go into the big city for work or leisure (about 1-2/week), I still often catch myself smirking about something silly/shady/scary going on around me. But lets take a typical example of a trip - after getting a ride into town this past Saturday, I headed for the main Mwanza bus stand to get a daladala back to Misungwi. As I see it, there are about 4 factors that make any daladala ride an adventure (and granted, it's pretty flat and the roads are nice near me - my friends near Kilimanjaro would probably add factors up to 10):

Factor 1: Getting onto the daladala. At the main Mwanza bus stand, there are about 5-10 daladalas all just sitting there waiting to fill. And instead of being sensible and filling one before starting another, they all attract customers sloooooowly, until 3 fill up at about the same time. Which often means I'll sit in this hot sweaty sauna-of-a-car for a good 15-30 minutes before going anywhere. It also means they are desperate for me to get on THEIR car, and not another. By they, I mean the conductor ('konda' in Kiswahili, original), who is in charge of taking money and telling the driver where to let people off along the way. So when I get even remotely near the daladalas going to my town, I begin to hear shouts of 'Teacha' or 'Mzungu (white guy)' or 'Brayani (how they say and spell my name)' or 'Masanja (a Sukuma name they gave me)' or sometimes they just come and grab me and drag me to one car or another. And the fun begins.

Factor 2: How many people can you fit into a Ford Astrovan? A lot. I never can seem to count, as limbs of random people can be hard to trace (whose arm is that?!), and usually my face is smashed against a window, a seat, or someone else, so it's hard to get a good view. But I'd say average is the driver, 2 people in the front seat, then 19 people sitting forward and backward in the back portion of the car. This figure does not include babies, which I would say on average number 3-4 per car. Then you have people standing. Or, if it's a low-roof daladala, slouching/hunching. They can get up to another 6 or 7. And then the konda hangs out the window. So total is typically from around 20 up to 28 people per car. I'd compare it to sardines, but here the small sardine-like fish they eat sit out open in the market and not in cans, so I'd dare say we travellers are MORE tightly packed than sardines.

Factor 3: I've been called to a car, and packed in along with the other hordes of commuters. Now we're starting to move, thank God, because I'm sweating like a pig and finally getting some air. But now we're starting to REALLY move. All daladalas go fast, but since the road out to Misungwi village is so paved and nice, the cars going out my way go REALLY fast. Scarily fast. One good reason I never ride up front (head on collisions are most common kind, since there are few crossroads). Now, speed wouldn't be awful if there weren't also a ton of obstacles on the road, from speed bumps to animate, that turn it into a variable video-game car-racing scenario. Sometimes there are cows meandering in the road - the Sukuma people really like cows. Sometimes there are goats. Not sometimes, there are ALWAYS goats. Goats are stupid and noisy and I hate them, but that's another topic for another day. Frequently there are dogs, which, while I also believe they are stupid and I hate them, these dogs I feel must be suicidal, because they get hit a LOT by the daladalas. And they seem to plan it that way, darting out just in time to make sure they get it good. And besides that, there are all the people walking here and there, riding bikes, transporting huge bushels of tomatoes to market by bicycle, sometimes transporting goats by bicycle (now THATS a sight, one I like. One less goat, lots more tasty meat!). Always expect to see something new on a daladala ride, that is if you are one of the lucky handful out of 30 who actually can see whats going on outside.

Factor 4: Lately another factor has been added into the mix. Now, this is something that in the states I wouldn't have even felt too ashamed talking about, and here in Peace Corps, I don't even think twice - bodily functions and bowel movements make up a good portion of our conversations, especially early on in our service (by now we've gotten used to things that would probably send some of you back in the states screaming). So Tanzanians eat a lot of beans. Stop laughing! I haven't finished the story yet!!! Yeah, sometimes they eat toooo many beans. So, after about a year riding the rollercoaster of legume enthusiasm, I had a breakdown in August of 2005 and stopped eating beans. It was great, a much needed break. This, however, led to a problem - namely, starting to eat beans again. Which I've started doing recently. Now, once you get used to beans there is typically no 'problem,' and when I say 'problem', I mean flatulence. When you're not used to eating them, 'problems' are inevitable. I have been having 'problems' for the past two weeks or so as I get back into my bean regimen. This problem is not really that bad - most buildings in TZ are open air, a lot of times I'm at home. But I tend to ride the daladala back from Mwanza in the evening, after a nice lunch in town, and making it for an entire hour without 'problems' is, well, problematic. Aren't you glad you've read this far?!!

Factor 5: I know I said 4, but there's a fifth, and it's the reason I've decided to write today about daladalas. When I got on Saturday evening, I was shocked to find the price had risen from 1,000 shillings to 1,500 shillings, quite a steep hike without any warning (from $1 to $1.50). Now, when I started griping and threatened to refuse to pay, I wasn't the only one. EVERYONE was doing it, some were practically yelling. We were told the price of gas has gone up, which it has, but I did a little mental math based on numbers provided by his excellency the 'konda', and quickly discovered that they were using the excuse of gas prices to really jack up fares well beyond what was needed to compensate. I pointed this out, it went something like this....
me: "you know, even if you had raised the prices only by 100 shillings, it would have paid for higher gas prices"
konda: "but gas prices went up"
me: "yeah, I know, but i'm saying, even 100 would have been enough"
konda: "bus gas is expensive now"
me: "lets do this - i'll give you 1,200 to Misungwi instead of 1,500. ok?"
konda: "no"
me: "you're killing us here, how are we supposed to do our work with such prices?!"
**[a roundtrip between Misungwi and Mwanza now costs me 1/2 a days salary]**
konda: "[aunti! aunti! njoo kaa hapa basi!!! come sit here in our car!!!] what did you say?"
me: "i don't have 1,500. i'll give you 1,000"
konda: "stop complaining. we're trying to make a living here. you're white. you have lots of money"

touche.