People of Tanzania – Mwanza, the Auctioneer
Mwanza is a 59 year old entrepreneur from the Kilimanjaro area now living and working in Dar. He has a hangdog expression about him, almost like Samuel L. Jackson. His words are slow and measured, a crass opposite to his loud, wild cackle whenever he finds something funny.
By trade an electrician, Mwanza expanded his business once he saw what people were wasting. From electric appliances, he moved to furniture, vehicles, and generators, among other things. ‘You would think people in Bongo would have more sense when they throw away things’, he says with a sneer. ‘Yet that’s exactly what happens. It’s almost like they treat things like, what’s the word? Yes, disposables. Once they break down, they don’t have the know-how or the means to fix it. But that’s good. Good for me’.
His office is situated next to an all-purpose venue that includes a dance floor/stage area that could offer entertainment for hundreds of people, should the demand be there. He had purchased the place for his auctions, but quickly discovered that he could make money from it on days when there wasn’t an auction. Of course, it also helps that he owns the restaurant next to the stage.
At the restaurant, his assistant pours me a cup of tea. I gaze over at the bar area, which has vertical bars above the counter like a jail cell. So what’s with the bars over there, I ask him.
‘You can never be too careful once people drink alcohol’, he says. I will want my bartender and property at least protected’. Smart thinking. This is not a city where you call 911, the police arrives a few minutes later, and the perp is thrown into jail. The police might have other things to do, Mwanza explains. ‘Most places have their own security. I do too, at least on weekends’.
After tea, I get to see Mwanza in action at the auction. In Tanzania, an auction is not the formal, stiff affair it is in the west. There are very few suits, people are close to both the items and the auctioneer, and there is endless banter they all feed off of.
On this day, Mwanza is selling seven cars from a huge international corporation, among other items. Before he invites bids, he has his assistant bring a key to start the engine, which in turn should jumpstart the bidding on the stage. The humming sound from beneath the hood is music to the bidders’ ears, and the sound of money to Mwanza. Vroom, vroom. Cha-ching.
‘Turn off the vehicle!’ he barks at Patrick, his assistant, in Swahili. ‘You’re wasting the mzungu’s fuel!’ Laughter all around. He eventually sells the car, a Toyota Landcruiser, for 29 million Tanzanian Schillings, or nearly fifteen thousand dollars.
From the stern warnings he will give to certain bidders who seem to take too many liberties with the property up for sale, you can tell he is nobody’s fool. He has street smarts below the shirt, tie, and wired rimmed glasses he’s wearing. It quickly becomes clear they don’t argue with Mwanza too long, a man who at six feet tall is gigantic compared to most people in this country. Again, there’s that Samuel L. Jackson scowl that you might not want to challenge. And there’s also that heartwarming laugh that will disarm even the toughest hustlers out there.
‘Work? What work?’ he says at the end of the day. His take is ten percent of the gross, which means he’s had a good payday after the sale of office furniture and vehicles. ‘Work is what you do during the week. That’s what you get paid for. The auction we get to do for fun’.
At about five p.m., I leave the Sinza neighborhood, hoping to avoid traffic on the new Bagamoyo Road. A fun, fun day, the best kind in the life of a worldchump.
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