Sunday, May 31—Mwanza day 2: Mzungo! Mzungo!

Sunday, May 31—Mwanza day 2: Mzungo! Mzungo!

My first full day in Mwanza, officially my second day, presented all sorts of new challenges, which I faced with my new group of friends and lifelines. In the morning Pamie and I ventured out to buy some groceries. We were immediately met with shouts of “Mzungo, Mzungo—how are you” “Mzungo, Mzungo—give me some money” or other words that we couldn’t translate and probably didn’t want to. Mzungo means white person and is openly and commonly used to identify white people walking on the street. It is definitely not a term of respect, in fact it usually sounds like mockery. One person on the street will almost never shout Mzungo, but when a group of men or boys are on the street, I have grown to expect some shouts of Mzungo.

First stop of the day was U-Turn, which is an “Mzungo” grocery store. It is Mzungo because the grocery store has some western items (such as peanut butter and jelly) and the prices are a little higher (about $1.80 for a loaf of bread rather than $1.50). Next Pamie took me to the ATM (luckily I had a visa ATM card because that is all that is accepted here). After some more wandering around we ventured into the market. The market was an even more concentrated area of people, many of whom are selling fruit and vegetables and others are shopping or loitering. We approached a nice looking woman selling cucumbers and asked her how much. As soon as we started speaking to her we were instantly surrounded by 5 or 6 men shouting indiscernible things at us (something about money and Mzungo of course). As soon as I was forcefully grabbed by the arm by one of them med, I made my way out of the market. I had no idea the market would be such an intimidating experience. Upon reflection, I realize that the Tanzanian culture does not have the same space boundaries as U.S. culture and the man was just trying to get my attention. More culture SHOCK!

Another intimidation factor is that most vendors have real prices and Mzungo prices. When someone white asks how much something costs, they usually increase the price (about double the typical price). In general it is acceptable to haggle here, but for Mzungos, it is both more difficult to haggle because of the communication barrier between English and Swahili, the cultural barriers (in the US we don’t haggle for food prices) and the perception of Mzungos as having unlimited money. The best way to get around this is to go with a local who knows the prices and can tell when the vender is giving an Mzungo price. Pamie and I are both white, and Pamie has only been here a week longer, but for the most part we managed to haggle a few prices down.

Generally, people are nice if you say a few words in Swahili and smile. There are definitely vendors who try to rip you off and won’t give correct change in hopes that you won’t notice or challenge them, but then the next person goes out of their way to be honest. For example, the woman we bought cucumbers from, we understood it was one cucumber for 300 Tanzania Shillings (T.sh), which is about 30 cents. We thought this was an okay price, but in fact when we only took one cucumber and paid her, she picked up two more and gave it to us. Apparently it was 300 cents for three cucumbers, but we could have easily left and she would have made a nice profit. Other vendors shake my hand and make polite conversation, asking my name and what I am doing here. Upon announcement of my name, I am often met with confusion. Here is a typical reaction from a local, “your name is Nyasa, like the Tanzanian lake and you are Mzungo?” This is followed by incessant bellowing laughter. I smile, slightly embarrassed. Clearly my African name, as a white person in Tanzania, is not earning me much credibility. In fact, people are often so baffled that they ask my name 4 or 5 times. I usually end up making the connection to Lake Nyasa (also known as Lake Malawi touching the south of Tanzania), at which time I see the light bulb go off. Apparently I am not pronouncing my name correctly. Tanzanians pronounce the “Ny” sound much more quickly. I guess I have gotten used to dragging out the N—Y—A sounds in order to help people pronounce it in the U.S. But, all in all, we had a successful morning. We did manage to buy some bananas, onion and tomatoes from vendors outside of the market are and made our way home—followed by shouts of Mzungo and small children following behind us as if we were leaving a trail of skittles in our wake.

That evening I prepared myself to take my first shower in Tanzania, which only included a bucket and some water. The water out of the faucet here is cold, so rather than take a freezing cold shower, Pamie suggested that I take a bucket shower. I heated up some water and combined it with cold water to make warm water. Then proceeded by dumping cupfuls of water over my head while simultaneously trying to effectively maneuver my bar of soap. My shower was actually quite successful and refreshing. It didn’t have to same relaxing effect as a shower back home, but it did the trick and saved a lot of water! Following my shower I brushed my teeth, making sure to use bottled water to rinse my mouth out (more seasoned interns told me that this is a typical Mzungo move, and it is actually okay to rinse my mouth with the tap water, but so far I haven’t tried it out). The toilet is another feat. It is literally a porcelain hole in the ground over which one has to squat and strategically aim. Believe it or not, but this can be a very difficult task—especially when you forget to bring toilet paper to the bathroom (toilets here don’t have toilet paper, most people use water to clean themselves).

It was a fun day, but at the end of the day, especially given my lack of sleep from the night before, I was really really missing the simple luxuries (or we might call them necessities) from home.