November 27, 2012 Morogoro Mountains

Putting my housing and employment issues aside for now, I am doing my best to enjoy the place I am in.  Morogoro offers some lovely opportunities for hiking and people/culture watching.  So I thought I’d take this chance to tell you a bit about this place.

 

Morogoro is a cross-roads town located about 3 hours (in a mechanically dependable car with no traffic), directly west or inland, from Dar Es Salaam.  It is famous for it’s double range of Uluguru Mountains which rise up to peaks of 1500 M to 2,600 M.   They make a lovely southern backdrop to the town itself and vast reaching plains or valley beyond that.   As I write this the mountains look like they are wearing a thick layer of cotton batten across their rolling backs, like they are snuggling in for the approaching night.

The vast array of trails that meander deep within the tropical vegetarian, are the footpaths for the people living on the mountain sides.  These people tend to be farmers and so as I have been hiking, I have been passed by  many women carrying, on their heads of course, fruits or vegetables down to sell in town, and then men tracking upward with unwieldy gigantic bags of manure or coal.  These trails pass closely to their homes and so we try to be respectful as we pass, not taking pictures (without permission) and always saying the series of greetings which are so common-place here. 

 

The typical trees hold bananas, mangos, papaya, and breadfruit (or Jackfruit).  There are of course lots of trees that are not fruit bearing, which remain nameless to me.  The underbrush ranges from ferns, to cassava (one of the staples) to bushes with berries (Boysenberry and something they call Raspberries but are brighter red and a little bigger, less sweet to the ones I am familiar with).  Up higher on the mountain side I can see rows of corn, greens (most of which they call spinach or Chinese spinach), tomatoes, green peppers, onions and strawberries.  Apparently the berries have always grown wild and the Africans did not eat them.  Once they reallized that the Mzungus had an appetite for them, they wisely started cultivating them. 

 

The farmer who often acts as our guide, Mustafa, takes his berries all the way to Dar on the bus when they are plentiful.  Although there are several markets in greater Morogoro, you can find many of the fruits and veggies being sold by “Mamas” sitting along the roadsides.  However, you’ll only find the berries being sold out front of the two or 3 small grocery stores where the Mzungus shop for dry goods.  The price is fairly dear, but well worth it!!

Mustafa lives up there as do his various family members.  His mother, his younger brother (a Rasta wanna-be) and his older brother with his young family.  The older two share the land, which they lease, far up the mountainside where they primarily grow berries.  The trek up to his plot and back is quite treacherous, especially during the rainy season so he has rigged up an irrigation system (when needed).  On one outing we made it up to his lower Choma to admire and sample his strawberries, but the higher ground was another hour away and over the nearest peak.

 

There are several streams, waterfalls, and springs along the mountain sides however, this is the height of the dry season.  The town’s water reservoir is almost depleted and everyone watches through daily water outages and big winds only threatening, waiting for the rains to come.  I was hiking only once when the rain did come.  We managed to hike up and out of it, but the paths had turned to almost vertical tracks of loose red soil and mud.  I did, what I am told, a “very graceful” face plant when my spinning feet could no longer get purchase.  The rain stopped and the sun dried my muddy clothes.  Unfortunately, on the way down, we hiked back into the rain and I was a mess by the time we reached the bottom and headed for cold drinks at a local café!  No-one even batted an eye at my muddy face and clothing…I guess whatever we Mzungus do is considered exotic or weird or both.

 

 

 

The birds and other wildlife on these hikes are elusive.  I did see a couple of monkey (mom and young) and then the larger male came along a bit behind.  I hear lots of interesting bird calls but rarely see them during the heat of the day.  The cicadas are usually serenading and later in the day, closer to sunset, the frogs and crickets will take over.  I have even seen the odd toad jumping along the path.  I have seen a few dragon-flies and some gorgeous turquoise and black butterflies, but the most prolific of all the bugs (besides mosies) are the grass-hoppers.  These have emerged since my arrival and I have seen groups of them munching down an entire plant!  But mostly, they are happily in the fields and along the roadsides.  I am relieved to say that I have not seen any creepy crawlers in the house.  There are several resident Gekos, a couple are quite sizable, and they keep the house clean and safe.  I always greet them when I catch them off-guard by turning on a light or entering a room quietly.  I like to think of them as ‘friends of the house’. 

On a final note and as you may well imagine, there are a lot of interested parties involved in the country of Tanzania, from humaitarian aid groups, health and social welfare, mining and oil companies, to enivronmental organizations.  One such group that is present in the Uluguru Mountains, is Jane Goodall's "Roots and Shoots" program.  She was here in February and there are signs that her program is alive and well in this area.  The program helps both young people and the environment.  For more information look go to www.rootsandshoots.org/

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November 2012

As can be expected when adjusting to a completely different country and culture, language is paramount to the process. I found even in English-speaking countries I have had to learn the accent, idioms and local idiosyncrasies; like the way people on the Canadian west coast commonly make eye contact and say hello to passersby (a big difference from Toronto’ ‘look at the ground when passing’ approach, or saying 'auch no, or auch aye' to just about everything in Scotland and Ireland. The more I could use common phrases and words, the more people were open to connecting with me.

 

Swahili is a simple but complex language. Simple because like some patois languages, it has incorporated a lot of English-style words e.g. hoteli or interneti. Complex because it is a combination of Bantu, Arabic and a tiny bit of Portuguese (footprints of the traders and invaders). To top this off, the orderly Germans passionately took on the task of giving it a structure. I was very excited to learn that there are no feminine/masculine words and all the verbs are regular and do not get conjugated (as in the Latin based languages). My joy was short lived, however, once I learned that there are 7 classifications of nouns and the verbs and nouns are changed according to the tense and the person. Simple, but complex, yes.

 

Having had one week of language training, I was able to greet people (a long and very important series of questions and expected answers), and to navigate the market place and shops. Of course understanding the responses, if spoken at full speed, was another issue. The best part is that most Tanzanian's love to laugh and so if I laugh at myself, they cheerfully join in. Laughter goes al ong was when negotiating prices and or settling a bill. I don't always spend what I want, but I feel good when I get ripped off (or not). I also find that because I am making an effort, people are generally open to trying to help me, even switching to Swinglish to help me out.

 

In one Duka (shop) which carried a handful of small kitchen appliances, I was proudly able to tell the young Muslim salesperson, Thailya, that “soon I was going to return here, to "kaa in Morogoro". Her face lit up instantly and she said "karibu" (welcome) and then added "I will be your rafiki (friend). Although I reallized there is probably a particular interpretation of the word rafiki in this instance, my heart couldn't help but feel warmer and fuller.

 

Before I came here I was told by countless number of people that the Tanzanian people are some of the friendliest in sub-Saharan Africa.  The poverty is more extreme than in some countries, but the warmth and openness unparalleled in the neighbouring countries.   These neighbours include Kenya and Somalia to the north, Rwanda, Burundi, directly west, Uganda and Congo south-west, and Mozambique and Zaire in the south.  Unlike most of those neighbours, there has not been a civil war, genocide, dictatorship or blatant exploitation by the Mzungu (light skinned foreigners) in the recent past. 

 

Unfortunately the growing prevalence of Mzungu’s (and international media) has led to a increase in crime over the past 3 years.  As one author astutely puts it, ‘to someone who eats once a day if he is lucky, Mzungu’s belongings or cash are seen as potential food.’  As I rode the emotional roller coaster of seeking-safe-housing and navigating my new town, two people arrived to show me hat famous Tanzanian friendliness.  First physician from my soon to be workplace, showed up at the hostel/convent where I was studying Swahili with my VSO counterparts.  This “retired but not tired” man told me he came simply to say “Karibu”.  He spoke of knowing the importance of a friendly face/human connection when arriving in a new country.  He knew this from personal experience studying abroad (Scotland and England) in the years gone by.  I felt buoyed and positive about my future in this town, Morogoro, thanks to Dr. Mwampambe.  I knew that when I returned in a few weeks all would be well.

 

Several weeks later, I was in a challenging and emotionally low period, as the safety issue was highlighted over and over.  I was hearing more stories of Mzungu-targeted break-ins and personal theft (pick potting in an aggressive form, mobile phone stolen while in use in public etc) in my very town, Morogoro.  I had already expected and accepted this as a reality of living in the big city (Dar Es Salaam), but had naively thought it was different in Morogoro.  As I used all my skills to calm and centre myself, trying to stay in the moment which was of course safe and comfortable, my mind was busy trying to highjack the show.  It persistently tried to tell me scary stories or think about leaving this god-forsaken country.

 

As these things often occur for me, right in one of those anxious moments, a knock came to my ‘ofisi’ door.  Hodi hodi (knock, knock, are you there, may I enter?).  It was Neema (Nay-ee-mah), my 31 year old colleague.  She repeated the “karibu” sentiments, just like the other friendly people.  However, she went on to say, “I want to help you, just like my wonderful landlady in Amsterdam did for me 3 years ago”.   Neema had received her Masters in Public Health Administration in the Netherlands, leaving behind her (newlywed) husband.  She remembered those first few months and the need for in-country support and wanted to ‘pay it forward’ so to speak.  I immediately felt reassured, no longer alone in Africa, and deeply thankful for her genuine and obvious caring. 

 

As she turned to leave my office that day, she paused and said, “Did you know that Neema means Grace in English?”  She didn’t need to tell me this, as I already knew this in my heart.