Although the ocean is very close to the house, it’s safe to
say that I am still trying to find my sea legs around here.
For starters, it’s the dog days of summer, meaning the humidity will find you drenched in perspiration, no matter how light the cotton shirt you're wearing might be. It is also the beginning of the rainy season, which means inches of pouring rain accompanied by the supersonic boom of thunder. The lightning crashing over the ocean is a pretty sight, although it’s best to admire these scenes from indoors.
For starters, it’s the dog days of summer, meaning the humidity will find you drenched in perspiration, no matter how light the cotton shirt you're wearing might be. It is also the beginning of the rainy season, which means inches of pouring rain accompanied by the supersonic boom of thunder. The lightning crashing over the ocean is a pretty sight, although it’s best to admire these scenes from indoors.
Rain can translate into much needed nourishment for the
farmers and their crops in the area. For others, it will translate into pools
and pools of water. Although this might sound refreshing to the stray animals in the neighborhood, it also means breeding grounds, as in
mosquitos. And to mosquitos, this means it is time for the gift that keeps on
giving: malaria. Time for long pants and long sleeved shirts. Whew.
By and by, I am also picking up Swahili as I go along. I
already know enough to communicate with the bajaj drivers. Good. Now it’s time
to get a little more ambitious. This is what a typical scene may look like at a
produce market.
Me: Mbili (two, as in thousand Tanzanian shillings).
Potato vendor: Hapana. Tatu. (No, it’s three.)
Me: Mbili, brother. You just sold it for two to the local
you served before me. You are not negotiating by the buyer’s height, are you?
Potato vendor: Nne. (Four)
So now the price just
went up? WHAT!? Again, here’s the walking dollar sign with the pinwheel hat.
Me: Hapana. Mbili. (No, it’s two.)
Potato vendor: Tano. (Five)
By now, I am just
laughing. It seems I am being charged by the word here. In the end, we settle
on two and a half.
From the produce market, I walk along the beach on my way
home. A bunch of little kids immediately spot me, yelling, “MZUNGU! MZUNGU!”
Translated, this means white man. I have certainly been the target of racial
slurs, primarily during my time living in the United States. But here, there is
really no malice in their voices. In fact, they seem genuinely happy to see me.
Even the kid who has scaled the coconut tree is yelling this from 30 feet up.
They follow me until it’s time to make my turn toward the house. The kids scatter in all directions.
There are workers currently digging up the cement in front
of the house, where we will have a front yard. Bless their hearts. It’s amazing
to watch any man work under these conditions, but even more so in the
afternoon, when it is ninety degrees plus, with a humidity to sap anybody’s
energy, even the battle tested locals.
Here in Tanzania, you don’t stiff the workers or the guards.
That is considered very disrespectful. Even just a passing mambo (hello) goes a long way toward earning good will. You do not,
ever, use your index finger to point
or wave at somebody. That is an old bad (colonial) habit that people might not
react very well to. Here it’s better to motion to people with the hand. I remember
this from my time in Morocco, where this little gesture was first mistaken as a
bye-bye wave.
So we’re getting there, shwiya
b’shwiya, as we used to say in Morocco. Little by little. Now it’s time to
communicate better in Swahili. Sifahamu
Kiswahili. I don’t know Swahili. Yet. And that’s the keyword here.
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