Final weeks in Tanzania

Habari gani?

A new life has started for me; the life of a graduate! I was in a small town near Mozambique when I received an sms from Danny confirming that I had been graduated. After several attempts I gave up my efforts to find a cold Kilimanjaro to celebrate it; I was in a Muslim-dominated small town near the coast. Days later however I compensated it by having a beer with Erwan and Caroline in the middle of the day on a beach near Dar. That beer however did not only serve celebrating my MSc-title, but also to celebrate the news I received the day before in an e-mail from my graduation supervisor; my graduation thesis had been awarded the first prize for best thesis 2007 at the Management Studies chair group. In this update I will describe the raging rain season, up-country trips to Mtwara region and Mozambique and Dodoma region, and greedy police officers.

To start with, the rain season obviously has started. Holy mackerel; it tends to be impressive every now and then! When being inside you sometimes cannot hear anything because of the tremendous noise of the rain hitting the roof (I for instance missed several calls and sometimes need earplugs in the night). When being outside you are soaking wet in seconds whenever a shower starts. When driving the car visibility can suddenly be reduced to only some meters. And, when walking it requires quite some skill to jump (and something even climb) over the pools and rivers on the streets. It is best to wear shorts and flip-flops when you have to go outdoors, because you cannot avoid getting wet feet. To enter my car (only 10 meters away from my door) I have to walk through a pool that sometimes is 20 cm deep. There even are people making a business out of carrying others on their backs over pools.

Luckily however, the rainy season did not show up yet when I went to Mtwara region.
It was a bit awkward to go back to Mtwara where I went on my first up-country trip and did not have a lot of positive associations with since together with having bad malaria my mobile phone had been stolen. I passed the place where the first symptoms of malaria had started and came across the same retarded beggar that, just like 4,5 months ago, put a stick in his ear (to look more pathetic?).
Remarkably, the road had improved a whole lot ( but let’s first see what is left after the rain season which, luckily, did not start when I was in Mtwara); instead of three quarters of the trip only one quarter was uncomfortably shaky. Development was visible! Yet, getting to Mtwara took 14 hours. Half way, in the heat of the day without shade, the bus broke down. Not willing to wait for replacement that would take at least six hours, we found ourselves another bus (which meant sitting in-between the luggage on the stairs), and finally, we had to stand in an inhumanely stuffed dala dala (minibus) for two hours. Travelling through the region required travelling by dala dalas, bajajis (three-wheeled motor taxis), pick-ups, and even by sitting (if you can call it sitting when you are in the air half of the time) in the back of a crappy truck transporting tea (to the joy of many locals; seeing a mzungu is not that common, but spotting one sitting uncomfortably in the back of a truck instead of his NGO's new Toyota Landcruiser is at least remarkable).
Despite the sometimes tiresome modes of transport I have been enjoying the surroundings. The region is very green and dominated by coastal palm forests, and, more land inward, by termite hills, beautifully eroded bright red granite rock faces, and dry and full rivers. The towns of Masasi and Newala are colourful, but Mikandani is prettiest by far. The old Swahili town with in the background palm trees is made up out of deteriorated Swahili-style buildings and mud huts on the shore of a mangrove bay. Deterioration however regards even to buildings that were built recently; the word ‘maintenance’ appears not to exist in some Tanzanians’ vocabularies.
Work progressed efficiently (but required working 7 days in a row working for 12 hours a day on average) since presentations were provided to three to four solar dealers at a time. When returning to Mtwara town it was sincerely rewarding to see that our certificate was put in a frame, our posters were displayed, and the dealer at the moment I arrived was explaining a customer with the help of our information materials (which for a part I made myself). The small dealer had sold 17 (large sized) solar home systems in two days!
To prolong my visa once more I had to go to Mozambique. After having made clear in Kiswahili to the pick-up driver that overcharged me ten times the regular price that I was not stupid I finally arrived at the Tanzanian customs office. Before entering the office I was told to go into the small police station for my bag to be searched. Only then I realised it was likely for me to get into trouble; I carried pirate DVDs (which you can buy even in supermarkets, but it would be interesting for the policemen to make a problem out of it) and several hundreds of thousands of Tanzanian Shillings (whereas you are only allowed to export TSh 2000, which roughly corresponds to 1 euro). I started unpacking my bag when the police officer at typical tone (Tanzanian police officers appear to perceive themselves as the symbols of ultimate power and think it is necessary to act accordingly) asked for my name. Then, suddenly changing his mood, he, with a broad smile, told me: “My name is Peter too; I think you should buy me a soda!”. Thus far I have always been able to avoid paying bribes. Whereas many people decide to take the ‘way of least friction’ I have always (out of a feeling of doing justice) denied bribe-hungry government employees money. By merely bluffing and asking for, for instance their identification, officers tend to back off. In this case however I was not reluctant at all to buy the man a Coke (at the expense of 20 euro cents). All of a sudden there was no necessity anymore for them to check my bag.
During the visa arrangements I met Joachim, a worldly black South African chef that has worked all over the world and in many African countries. He told about the many (African) countries he had visited and made interesting comparisons (Rwandan Tutsi-women are the prettiest in Africa, Mozambicans are even lazier than Tanzanians, and Tanzanians more than other Africans try to rip off any foreigner, black or white [in a way it was a relief to hear him complaining as an African about Tanzanians trying to screw him as well]). It reminded me of what had happened two days before; arriving at a bus station in the dark of the night some hands tried to take my luggage (which I did not let go). Then, when having carried my luggage into a bajaji myself I was surrounded by several young men, which, trying to intimidate me, demanded money for carrying the luggage. Naturally I refused. In addition, we discussed about interesting topics such as apartheid and the current worrisome developments within the ANC. We decided to travel back together to Dar and have met for a beer since.

After the trip to Mtwara region a trip to the Dodoma region was undertaken by car. Although Dodoma town is quite boring, the region offers bizarre rocky peaks and some nice opportunities for rock-climbing. By coincidence Erwan (a skilful rock climber) and Caroline, my neighbours, would have work to do in Dodoma as well. The idea was that Erwan and I would look for some nice, not too demanding (since we both brought our friction shoes and harness, but neither of us had a rope), climbing routes. Unfortunately, I had to turn back already after three days; there were less solar dealers to visit than expected and police officers were not reluctant in letting me know that the car insurance and registration were overdue.
First, on the way to Dodoma I was stopped unrightfully by a police officer for speeding; he needed me to pay him a fine. Although he showed me that his laser gun indicated 81 kilometres per hour (where the speed limit is 50), it was obvious that he was cheating me. Only 200 metres before that point I had stopped to buy some food. Then, accelerating calmly because of the presence of bicycles and dala dalas, I bumped into the officer. I got out of the car and told him firmly that it was nonsense and that I would not pay a fine. I recognised that he was feeling a bit insecure because of my confident approach. I was just about to ask for his name and registration number (to intimidate him) when his colleague mentioned that my car insurance and registration were overdue. Shit; I did not know that you had to prolong them (Ronald had forgotten to tell me and wanted to call me a week before to inform me, but he had failed to remember it). The officer told me that I had to pay for three offences. “Fine”, I said, “let’s go to the police station” (then it is harder for them to put the money in their own pockets). He responded that it was better if I paid him there; then I would only have to pay one fine instead of three and it would take me less time..
In Dodoma town I was stopped once more by an officer. He wanted to see my driving licence. I showed him my Dutch licence. He asked me why I did not have a Tanzanian one. “Because it is not required; ask Foreign Affairs yourself!” I sated. I was right, but probably if I would not have been so sure he would have made up a fine for a non-existent offence. Again, however, his partner saw the overdue documents. I protested that I already had paid a fine. Since I had paid only one fine however, I now had to pay for the other. Contradicting my expectations we went to the police station. There I paid the fine and then was told: “Come back tomorrow for the receipt”. I objected that I wanted it now, but it was insisted not to be possible. Of course they knew I would not come back and, hence, again another officer was happy.
Annoyed I drove off to be stopped again by another bribe-hungry police officer just 5 minutes later! I opened the window and shouted: “Mzungu, karibu Tanzania! (Welcome to Tanzania, Westerner!) Guess what; I just came from your police station so I am not going to stop again!”. He looked at me confusedly as I just drove off.
Wazungu are popular prey for police officers; officers try to find small things in order to make them pay money, or merely make up offences. Asking a mzungu for the car ownership documents (which they regularly do) does not serve any other purpose than, in case they are absent, the possibility of earning a bribe; it is highly unlikely that there has ever been a mzungu on Tanzanian territory with the purpose of stealing cars!
Probably police officers perceive themselves as kind of Robin Hoods; stealing from the rich and giving it to the poor (themselves). In fact, it is the other way around; they steal from the poor. NGO money which would have been attributed to the (in general) more needy disappears in their pockets. These examples are not as bad as the example from Bangladesh Danny mentioned; politicians driving UNDP Landcruisers as otherwise they would not have approved certain projects (luckily many are now sentenced for this), but still I sometimes perceive police officers as unthankful bastards. Many Tanzanians think development is very important, but want to benefit themselves first. Often when, again, someone I do not know is demanding me money, I say: “I sacrifice myself as a volunteer for the development of your country; I have little money”. Often the response is: “Oh, development; that is good! So you should give me money”.
Yet, to place matters in their context; police officers earn about 50 euros a month. When you take into account that a regular fine amounts around 10 euros it is understandable that it is too tempting for many.

Although I still would like to write about some topics that (at least) I perceive worthwhile mentioning I think it’s better to call it a day since otherwise it will become a bit long again. Next time I will write more about chilling in Dar, petty theft, parties, Easter, prostitutes, the Tanzanian perspective of risk, and positive discrimination. Probably next time will also mean last time, since in exactly four weeks (I’ll arrive the 2nd of May) my plane is leaving.

For now I’d like to say: kwa heri!

Peter

PS: Jannie, leuk van je te horen! Hoe bevalt de baan?
En Irene; is de Bul binnen? Indien ‘ja’; gefeliciteerd! Nu op zoek naar een baan? Indien ‘nee’; ach, zo beroerd is die koffie op de Lebo ook weer niet. Wat is jullie e-mailadres?
Crispinianus; hoest daar?