Saturday, May 30—Mwanza day 1: Culture Shock
Today was my first full day in Mwanza and it already feels like I have been here for a month, but, I am definitely still in culture shock. I just realized that before I came to Mwanza I never actually understood what culture shock was. I understood the concept of being shocked by another culture’s practices, such as seeing black ghosts walking around in the hospital in Doha, Qatar carrying babies and escorted by their husbands wearing white robes, or in Cartagena, Colombia where very young Caribbean boys practically jumped on our boat motor to entice tourists to throw a few cents in the water at them for them to dive in the water for. But, I didn’t understand that culture shock would leave me feeling trapped, afraid, alone and longing the basic comforts of home (such as sit down toilets and sink water I could use to brush me teeth)…
I left for Mwanza on Thursday morning via JFK on Emirates Air, stopping in Dubai and finally stopping in Dar es Salaam for the night. I suspect that my flight will be the most luxurious part of my trip to Tanzania. I was fed delicious vegetarian food and watched about 8 new movies on my 12 hours flight to Dubai (including brain teasers such as “Shopaholic,” “Bride Wars,” and “The Yes Man”). Once I switched flights in Dubai, I awkwardly fell asleep for the entire 6 hour flight to Dar es Salaam. During the stopover in Dubai, I had befriended a girl my age, Erin, from Columbia University perusing a degree in public health who was also staying in Dar for the night, so that she could catch a flight the next morning to Tabora. We latched on to each other as we arrived in Tanzania and made our way through immigration and security. Since her internship had not offered her any assistance with her overnight stay in Dar, I offered her a ride to Dar and suggested that perhaps we grab dinner together. Maimuna, the Director of Kivulini (the organization I am working with), had kindly arranged for Abdallah (a reliable and trustworthy driver) to transport me to and from the airport in Dar es Salaam, in preparation for my flight the next morning (Saturday May 29th) to Mwanza. Abdallah was standing immediately outside of the baggage area with a sign that said “Nyasa.” He was a very friendly and patient driver and kindly agreed to drop Erin off at the Palm Spring Movenpick hotel (one of the most expensive in Dar).
As we drove towards Dar, I had much the same feeling I have felt in other new places I’ve visited. It is a sort of out of body experience where I keep telling myself that I am in Qatar, Slovenia or Colombia, but it just doesn’t seem to sink in. Despite my efforts to come to grips with reality, it felt more like I was watching a travel documentary filmed from the inside of a car. As we were driving, Erin told me that I could stay with her in the luxo Movenpick hotel, but I felt obligated to go to the Econolodge because Maimuna made a reservation for me there. Well, as I should have suspected from $15 a night hotel, not only was the Econolodge very bare bones with a shower that I couldn’t bring myself use, but it was also in the middle of the city which had a local feel. I tried to walk outside the hotel to eat dinner, but I was immediately approached by a group of men who asked me my name, where I was from, and what I was doing. Intimidated, I decided to head back inside the hotel and skip dinner rather than venture any further alone at dusk. I later found out that this was probably a good move, given where the hotel was located, and my single-female status. Even though the tour book I had said Dar was safe, it turns out that among other travels I’ve spoken to since, people are often mugged in Dar, including men. My single comfort that night was that I brought granola bars I could eat for dinner and I had an alarm clock, which would wake me in time for Abdallah to pick me up for my morning flight to Mwanza. Unfortunately, upon searching through my suitcase, I found out that my alarm clock needed batteries. I tried to stay calm and think of other ways I could wake myself up. Eventually I went to the front desk and asked them for an alarm clock. They looked at me ask if I was asking for moon cheese. Finally the man at the desk flippantly said he would wake me up at 8am. However, I remained unconvinced because he didn’t even seem to understand me or write down the wake up call reminder. Later when I spoke to mom, I told her about my worries, and she called the hotel again later that night to ensure they would wake me up (it worked-thanks!). I actually woke up before my 8am wake up call and eagerly awaited Abdallah to bring me to the airport so that I could complete the final leg of my journey to Mwanza.
Once at the airport, I began speaking with a friendly Tanzanian man, John (pronounced in Tanzania very quickly as “yawn”) who asked me what I was going to do in Mwanza. I told him I was working with Kivulini (a women’s rights organization working against domestic violence). He immediately knew the name and told me that he was a “good member” of Kivulini. I thought that just meant that he didn’t beat his wife, but I later found out that he is a newly appointed community board member of Kivulini and also a lawyer in Mwanza and Dar es Salaam. He later asked me what denomination I was, Christian, Muslim or Hindu? I told him Christian and he asked me how many hours I spent at church on the weekends. I told him that I attend church on the holidays. Completely shocked, he asked me how that was possible? Didn’t I believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord Savior and how could I practice my religion without going to worship? I tried to explain to him that in the Western world religion is often practiced differently, and many people do not go to church on a regular basis. He continued to throw questions at me, absolutely baffled. Feeling ill equipped about how to hand this conversation, I struggled to come up with anything that would end the topic of conversation, and I finally grasped at straws said that my fiancée is catholic so I am going to start going to church regularly. That seemed to appease him and I excused myself to use to “wash room.”
The flight to Mwanza was very pleasant, and I thought that I could finally settle down once I reached Kivulini House, which was going to be my new home for a little over 2 months. But, driving through Mwanza I was shocked by the rural feel of the city and the poverty that was the standard of living. Piles of garbage everywhere, dogs having seizures on the side of the road, and seemingly chaotic masses of people everywhere. However, I also noticed the vibrant colors of the women’s dresses, the babies tied to their mother’s backs as they carries piles of goods on their heads, and beautiful piles of fruit. In many ways, Mwanza was just as I had imagined it would be, men pulling rickshaws filled with wood, music blaring everywhere, crowded side streets, food cooking on the side of the road and shanty houses. But, seeing this in pictures taken 25 years ago (mom and dad’s pictures of their bike trip through Africa) or in documentaries is much different than actually being here, and realizing that these tensions and stark cultural differences are going to be a daily challenge I have to face and come to terms with this vastly different way of life. One reason I didn’t like Rome, Italy very much because I felt as if people were constantly pestering me to buy things or begging. Women would sit in the hot sun with their babies and then beg for money. In Mwanza, I can escape neither the constant perception others have of me as a white person, and therefore perceived to have lots of money, nor can I avert my eyes or close my ears from the stories of child slaves or beggars on the side of the road with apparent desperation in their eyes and painfully contorted limbs.
My first night in Mwanza was definitely something special! When I arrived at Kivulini House I was introduced to the other interns with Kivulini who are Canadian. Pamie is working with Kivulini because she was in South Africa for 6 months, but her visa ran out, so she decided to work in Tanzania. Pamie took me across the street for my first meal in Tanzania. I ate rice and beans with mysterious crunchy things throughout, which were seemingly fish bones or rocks. I even saw a red ant crawl into my pile of rice just as it was being set down, but, after trying to politely locate it in my rice, I decided to just eat up. The other three Canadians, Missy, Ashley and John, are here through their University working on the pro-biotic yogurt project in a town on the outskirts of Mwanza. The idea is that pro-biotic yogurt can help HIV/AIDS infected individuals fight off the virus. They are here to supervise and continued to develop the project, which was founded under Kivulini. All of the Canadians were immediately warm and welcoming and offered to show me around. They also mentioned that they were invited on a special boat tour of Mwanza that evening. These interns had already been here for a week or two and had met the owners of the most expensive hotel in Mwanza, Hotel Talapia (a common fish to eat in Mwanza). The owner had offered to take them on a boat tour of Mwanza on Lake Victoria to see the famous Bizmark Rock (the landmark Mwanza is most often recognized for). After my stressful travels I was extremely weary of this apparent boat ride with a group of men I didn’t know, and the other interns barely knew. In the end, I decided to go, in part because I didn’t want to be at home by myself, also in part because the other interns were so warm and welcoming.
Well, I am certainly glad that I did go! What a welcoming to Mwanza. When we arrived at Hotel Talapia there was in fact a boat with wine, beer and snacks already set up. Sammy, a very nice gentleman, escorted the 5 of us on the boat and pointed out interesting details. Although we missed the sunset because it was hidden behind clouds, it was certainly a night to remember. After the boat ride, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that a dinner was organized for us. This delicious dinner included a seemingly unlimited amount of alcohol and delicious plates of various foods. There was fire toasted garlic bread, spit-fire roasted goat (which was positioned near our table), roasted chicken and an assortment of different Indian dishes. All in all, there was a very interesting mix of conversation, including a Canadian who is more pro-Bush than anyone I have had a conversation with in the U.S. an organic coffee plantation owner, and a variety of ex-patriots.
After Hotel Talapia the girls decided that they wanted to go to a club. Although this experience didn’t last long since we were all tired, in a matter of minutes we were met with marriage proposals and announcements of undying love from local men. We all declined to accept the offer and eventually made our way home after bartering with the cab driver over the price—phew what a first night! We arrived home at 4am and I only slept and hour the entire night because of stress…
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