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.