FLIGHTLESS FARRAGO ARCHIVES

Saturday, 30 November 2002

So we're drinking and we're dancing

And the band is really happening

And the Johnny Walker wisdom running high

And my very sweet companion

She's the Angel of Compassion

And she's rubbing half the world against her thigh

Every drinker every dancer

Lifts a happy face to thank her

And the fiddler fiddles something so sublime

All the women tear their blouses off

The men they dance on the polka-dots

And it's partner found and partner lost

And it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops

It's closing time

We're lonely, we're romantic

And the cider's laced with acid

And the Holy Spirit's crying, 'Where's the beef?'

And the moon is swimming naked

And the summer night is fragrant

With a mighty expectation of relief

So we struggle and we stagger

Down the snakes and up the ladder

To the tower where the blessed hours chime

And I swear it happened just like this

A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss

The Gates of Love they budged an inch

I can't say much has happened since

But closing time

I loved you for your beauty

But that doesn't make a fool of me

You were in it for your beauty too

I loved you for your body

There's a voice that sounds like God to me

Declaring that your body's really you

I loved you when our love was blessed

And I love you now there's nothing left

But sorrow and a sense of overtime

And I miss you since the place got wrecked

By the winds of change and the weeds of sex

Looks like freedom but it feels like death

It something in betwen, I guess

It's closing time

We're drinking and we're dancing

But there's nothing really happening

The place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night

And my very close companion

Gets me fumbling gets me laughing

She's a hundred but she's wearing

Something tight

I lift my glass to the awful truth

Which you can't reveal to the ears of youth

Except to say it isn't worth a dime

And the whole dam place goes crazy twice

And it's once for the Dvil and it's once for Christ

But the boss don't like these dizzy heights

We're busted in the blinding lights

Of closing time

~~Leonard Cohen

402

Wednesday, 27 November 2002

This computer is still fried, so all I have to say for now is MCQP.

401

Tuesday, 26 November 2002

BLOGGING.

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400

Monday, 25 November 2002

1. There is a fire on Table Mountain.

2. I know, I saw it through the kitchen window at work.

3. No, I don't make tea at work.

4. Sometimes I wish it was that simple.

5. My computer is fried, I hope the blog update works.

6. I still have the flu and a terrible lingering headache.

7. If I am not better by Wednesday, I am going to see the doctor.

8. The kittens are just TOO adorable.

9. JenBen is their godmother.

10. Damn computer!

399

Saturday, 23 November 2002

Chaplin and Chutney.

398

Friday, 22 November 2002

BLOG FLU TAG ... YOU ARE IT!

PASS IT ON.

397

Thursday, 21 November 2002

Happy birthday to Meg!

******

I am still feeling poorly, thanks for sending reading matter, flowers, chicken soup, cash and chocolates. Don't stop yet, I am not better yet! More Vicks MediNite, please!

Monday night in Dar es Salaam.

It was with trepidation. I knew from Sunday night's calamari and beer feast that toilets in Dar es Salaam are holes in the ground and that toilet paper is a luxury that is not provided in public places (other than the Holiday Inn). This is a problem when you consume a lot of beer.

So, armed with a bulge the size of a toilet roll in my jacket pocket, we went to the "local".

Yes, a jacket in 33 degrees Celsius. Remember, Malaria.

On the menu was more beer. And what they told me was beef. I believed them because it tasted like beef, but then I have no idea whether goat and beef taste similar or not. I think that even if they told be it was goat, I would have tried it. Once.

The meat was cooked on an open fire, similar to a barbecue, or as South Africans call it, a "braai" and brought to the table where we were seated. Snippets of meat were then cut off the bone and put in a bowl on the table.

Then the bananas arrived. Quite a bit larger than the bananas I am used to seeing. And they are not sweet at all. They are called "cooking bananas" and taste rather much like potatoes. Tasteless starch.

And then an old familiar speciality, known in South Africa as puthu. This is a stiff porridge that is normally, at a South African braai, served with a variety of things to add flavour, such as a tomato and onion mix, cheese, chili and garlic sauce or similar. See the pic below, I am referring to the white mound of "stuff". More tasteless starch.

We were also graced with a haphazardly chopped salad and a bowl of chili sauce.

The chili sauce redeemed the bananas and the porridge.

Again, we all ate with our right hands. No eating utensils at all. Even dishing from the serving bowls was done by right hand. By now this Virgo was getting really freaked and I was washing down everything with copious amounts of beer.

Interestingly, I was told that Tanzanians are not "food poor". There is more than enough food in Tanzania to feed everybody. The problem is that people are not eating balanced meals as the food that is available does not cover all the basic food groups. The difference between hunger and malnutrition.

The highlight of the evening was when a folk singer came and sang a few traditional and popular Tanzanian songs at the table. Very pleasant and peaceful indeed.

Towards the end of the evening I was desperate to use a toilet and when I asked where I could find one, I was told that we are leaving and it would be better to use the toilet at the hotel.

Hmmmmmm. I still can't help wondering ... perhaps it is just as well.

My bog roll and I were delivered to the hotel safely and ever so slightly inebriated. All in all, it was a good and interesting evening.

Dinner.

396

Wednesday, 20 November 2002

Don't stop sending reading matter, flowers, chicken soup, cash and chocolates! I am still feeling poorly.

Monday in Dar es Salaam.

It was an early wake-up and breakfast in the Holiday Inn. Interestingly, the majority of the hotel guests were white guys aged 50+ years old with laptops. Business men. Africa. The new emerging market.

In a country where 98% of the population is black, I was bound to be stared at during the day, more specifically because we were going into a rural area just north of Dar es Salaam where movement is restricted by the fact that transport is a luxury and near to non-existent.

The trip, into the rural area that we were targeting, took about two hours. Micro busses, used as taxis, were the mode of transport. Heck, I have never felt so claustrophobic in my life before. These vehicles comfortably seat about 12 to 15 people. We had to change over to another micro bus halfway through the trip (one trip to get us to the outskirts of Dar es Salaam, another to get us into the rural area). In all cases, there and back, the vehicles were packed to capacity. Capacity not being 12 to 15 people, but 25 to 30 people. People on people's laps. People standing. People hanging onto the door, but hanging outside the vehicle. A death trap, for sure.

There were moments that I thought that I would not survive the trip. Not only was the vehicle packed to capacity, but rules of the road belong to another culture, not this one.

As much as I could tell, peering past bodies, through the windows, the scenery was arresting. Lush and green. Very green. Lots of palm trees.

Once we reached our destination, the walk in the 33 degrees Celsius and 95% humidity started. The objective was to randomly select homes where we would be able to talk to one of the residents, check whether they qualified to be interviewed and then conduct an interview with the qualifying respondent.

The houses in this area were FAR apart and things were not as simple as they seemed. The rural villages are divided up amongst a number of chiefs or leaders. Before we could approach a person living in a leader's territory, we had to obtain his permission first. This created a lot of "uhms" and "ahs" and "whys" and "what fors". While I was not able to understand the Kiswahili, I distinctly got the impression that I was an obstacle to permission. But, we managed to get permission from two leaders to conduct our interviews. This was sufficient for our purpose.

The walks from house to house, trying to find a resident at home and then one that qualifies, were long and scorching. (Not forgetting that I was taking Malaria tablets that make one sensitive to the sun.) Nevertheless, I knew I was seeing a part of the world that very few people have the opportunity to see and I was appreciating every minute of it.

The thoughts that kept coming to mind when we entered someone's home was abject poverty. Stools were made of odd shaped planks and pieces of tree branches. While some homes were made of a type of home-made brick, others were nothing more than mud huts. The homes were small and bare.

The politeness of the people we spoke to was overwhelming. I was always offered something to sit on. Often the only stool available.

At one home we entered, there were a mother and child present. Being a bit trigger happy, I requested the interpreter to get permission for me to take a photograph while the interview was taking place. Once the photograph was taken, the interpreter showed the little girl the image on the digital camera and explained to her that the little girl in the picture was her. The little girl started laughing, almost uncontrollably. I wondered whether she had ever seen an image of herself before. Throughout the interview, the little girl could not keep her eyes off me. A little face that I will never forget.

Before returning back to Dar es Salaam, we stopped for something to eat. At this stage I was feeling far too sapped and hot to even consider the effort of chewing, but the interviewers and interpreter ordered chips and cold drinks. Again, everyone ate with their right hands. No options of eating utensils. Nothing too unusial about thie chips, but one interviewer ordered chips and egg. Nothing too unusual about that either, until I saw it. A plate of chips, the egg broken open and spread over the chips and then fried. I still want to try this at home. I was told that the eggs in Tanzania are mainly imported from South Africa. Perhaps this is true, but I remembered that our egg yellows are in fact yellow, not light beige.

By the end of the day I was exhausted, I felt as if I had melted into the soil of Africa. I was looking forward to returning to my, at this stage, very luxurious and cool hotel room.

But, before returning to the hotel, I first had to attend a meeting at an office in Dar es Salaam. Nothing unusual about the office other than that there were fewer computers than staff members.

Eventually, back at the hotel I was able to enjoy a cool 10 degrees Celsius. (No wonder I have a rotten flu now, right?)

In the evening I was collected and we went out to experience "Dar es Salaam at night".

Not wanting to compete with Mike Golby with regard to length of blog entries, I will tell more about "Dar es Salaam at night" tomorrow.

For now it is back to bed with the tissue box.

The beginning of the rural walk.

395

Tuesday, 19 November 2002

Too much nasal mucous secretion to blog.

Please send reading matter, flowers, chicken soup, cash and chocolates.

(As per AKMA's request.)

394

Monday, 18 November 2002

What is it? Feed a fever, starve a cold? Feed a cold, starve a fever?

Dunno.

I'll eat, but try to stay hungry.

More tomorrow, but for now, it is bed and Grippons.

393

Sunday, 17 November 2002

Eat, sleep, drink, sleep, play, sleep.

******

Sunday in Dar es Salaam

Africa, the monolithic new emerging market. Sheeesh, where have people BEEN?

Anyway, that was indirectly the reason for my trip to Dar es Salaam. I went to observe market research questionnaire piloting and to assist with the fine-tuning of the questionnaires. While the questionnaires were designed in South Africa, they needed to be adapted to suit the Tanzanian market.

(For obvious reasons I cannot divulge the subject of the research.)

Preparation for the trip included Hepatitis A, Yellowfever, Tetanus, Typhoid, Meningitis shots and heaps of Malaria tablets (which, since I was not bitten by any mosquitoes, I have stopped taking).

To get from Cape Town to Dar es Salaam requires a 2-hour flight to Johannesburg and then a 3-and-a-half hour flight to Dar es Salaam. I arrived in Dar es Salaam on Sunday afternoon (10 November) and left again on Wednesday morning (13 November). On Monday and Tuesday I worked, so I really did not get to see a heck of a lot, but for now, I have seen enough.

(From a work point of view, the trip was a great success.)

Mike Golby, on 30 October, said in the FARRAGO COMMENTS, "There's a test you do at the airport. It's actually quite gory. The State Department is keeping it quiet but it's bound to get out after Farrago gets back."

Well, apart from the bloody slaughterous test, there is also the endurance/sanity test.

On arrival at DIA (Dar es Salaam International Airport or Dead In Arrivals, if you can't cope with the sudden onslaught of humidity) one needs to go through a passport control endurance test. Which, after 30 minutes, abruptly turns into a 45-minute sanity test when the four passport control desks randomly and intermittently switch their signs from "Visas" to "East African Residents" to "Passport Control" and back again. This sends 300 people scampering about to realign in the right queues in 33 degrees Celsius and 95% humidity.

From the airport I was taken to the Holiday Inn, in the city. The drive took about 20 minutes and the scenery was peculiar. Palm trees. Heaps of palm trees. Really. LOTS of palm trees. Roadside stalls selling food, drinks (non-alcoholic) and second-hand clothes - all the way from the airport to the hotel. My colleague, from the company we were working with, told me that the informal second-hand clothing industry has killed the clothing industry in Tanzania. Nobody buys new clothes. Nobody can afford to.

Also, very few of the houses and buildings on the way to the hotel were painted, most of them remained the colour of cement. People don't paint their houses. They cannot afford to.

As for the Holiday Inn ... garden variety (and painted), at US$115.00 per night. At least double what we are used to paying to stay in a Holiday Inn in South Africa.

After a 45-minute business meeting at the hotel, I was left to my own devices for a while. The first thing I did was turn the temperature in the room down to 10 degrees Celsius, to keep the Malaria mosquitoes out. I quickly unpacked and covered myself in Tabard (mosquito repellent) as I was eager to take a walk to see what there was to see in the vicinity of the hotel.

Behind the hotel was the botanic garden, in a sorry state of disrepair and full of weeds, but with a wonderful flock of peacocks and a few monkey families.

A bit further down the road I found the beach. There it was, just lying there, hardly moving. Lots of ripples, barely any waves. Two small islands in the distance, but only swimming distance away.

On the side of the road, at the beach, I saw the reddest watermelons and largest pineapples I had ever seen. These and peanuts and pieces of sugar cane were for sale. I had a tough time persuading the vendor that I had no need for his wares. Of course, I could not tell him that I was warned not to eat anything off the streets. More so because he spoke a mix of English and Kiswahili. I didn't quiet understand what he was saying and he didn't fully understand me. Walking away became the best way to deal with the situation. I still don't understand more than 9 Kiswahili words, but I was convinced that he was swearing as I walked away.

I was taken to supper at the Msasani Slipway, where I realized that other than when eating the very Western breakfasts at the Holiday Inn, I was not likely to make use of any eating utensils during my stay in Dar es Salaam. Everything gets eaten with the right hand. I always thought it was more fun eating calamari that way. Now I know.

The popular local beers are Safari and Kilimanjaro and as tap water is not safe to consume, and with temperatures hovering around 33 degrees Celsius, well ... you know.

Back at the hotel I prepared for my trip into the rural areas around Dar es Salaam the following day and went to sleep in a cool 10 degrees Celsius. Under blankets.