Arusha, Friday, January 13, 2017

John arrived late last night, tired but very happy to have made it here so quickly.  he dumped his suitcases on the floor, took a shower, and went to bed immediately.  I stayed up a while longer so I could watch the special ceremony for Joe Biden at the White House.  It was so moving to watch Mr. Biden when President Obama announced that he was giving Biden the Medal of Freedom with Distinction. Of all the possible moments I could see on American TV this week, this ceremony was the very best one. It gave me a moment of pride as an American to see such a good, humble public servant honored in this way as well as a feeling of sorrow that the majority of this next wave of politicians in D.C. have no such devotion to the nation’s common good.

Yesterday evening, while I was reading out on our front veranda, Mama Kundayo, the matriarch of this compound, came floating through the dark to greet me and spend some time visiting. She is one of the most elegant, queenly African women ever, so I felt greatly honored by her presence.  She had brought one of her sons along to translate for her, as she knows very little English. They wanted to know all about our election process and Trump’s election, and asked questions which demonstrated that they pay very close attention to American political news. They were concerned about the Russian meddling in our political process and kept wondering why Americans, who claim to be for honesty and democracy, would vote for such an obvious liar and charlatan, I could only try to explain possible reasons for those who supported Trump, but nothing I posited made any sense to them.  They know firsthand about crazy dictators such as Idi Amin, and it was more than they could imagine that Americans would vote for a person like Trump.

We woke up this morning just before 8:00 a.m. (9:00 p.m. Spokane time) and had breakfast out on the garden terrace. Mason, the son who operates the apartment compound came by to greet John, and then they got into a discussion of what has been happening politically here in Tanzania.  Apparently, the president has now begun jailing opposition MPs and making absurd purchases and investments which are actually unconstitutional. NGOs are beginning to pull out (Good riddance to many of them!), businesses are suffering, and, because the EU has withdrawn development funds and the USA pulled its Millennium Challenge grant, taxes on common Tanzanians have been increased and pension funds plundered to make up the difference. In Maso’s words, “This guy is crazy”! So politics here aren’t all that much better—or worse—than ours at home. It all makes me think of a gospel song people sang during my childhood:
   
    This world is not my home,
    I’m just a’passing through.
    My treasures are laid up,
    somewhere beyond the blue.
    The angels beckon me
    from Heaven’s open door,
    And I can’t feel at home
    in this world anymore.

After breakfast and after John had spent some time on email, Ray came to take us downtown to do some shopping and errands. One of our first needs is always for new SIM cards for the phones we use here. Airtel, the company we have always used in the past, isn’t so reliable anymore, so we got Tigo cards this time.  We’ll see how this works. We also went to the big shopping store Nakumatt for groceries and household items. Prices seem much higher than last year, and I refused to pay the equivalent of $3 for a can of diced tomatoes or $7 for a medium container of yogurt. Most disappointing was that the selection of herbs was so puny. Usually, I can get a huge variety of spices and herbs at very good prices, but not today.  I was tempted to buy a bottle of garlic shampoo, something I had never imaged I would ever see, but it too was quite overpriced. After Nakumatt, we went to the big market for tomatoes, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, carrots and potatoes.  Ray and John did the shopping while I sat in the car and watched the tailors on the sidewalk run their peddle-powered Singer sewing machines. They use no patterns and yet turn out incredibly well made clothing. Our last stop was at the one and only Meat King, where we bought some hamburger, stew meat, chicken parts, and butter.  The beef here is excellent and a good bargain for us, but I won’t even mention what we had to pay for butter. Apparently, butter hasn’t been making it into the country lately for unknown reasons.

I had brought Ray a hair clipper so he can do his own family’s haircuts. Honorine will also get a BIG surprise very soon. She doesn’t know that Ray and I have conspired to buy her a small refrigerator. John and Ray already began some comparison shopping at Nakumatt and Benson’s this morning, and they’ll probably look at another store or two tomorrow. Honorine belongs to a women’s business co-op, in which the members pool part of their earnings to help each other invest and earn more.  With a refrigerator, Honorine will add selling ice cream to the candy and other treats she already sells to school children. Ray says she will be extremely excited. What fun that will be.

While we were parked outside of Benson’s, Arusha’s best electronics and appliance store, a very loud boisterous crowd came pouring down the street. At first I thought it was some sort of political rally or protest, but it soon became apparent that a thief had been caught and the crowd was viciously beating him. A few years ago, in a similar situation in Dar es Salaam, the crowd proceeded to necklace the thief and burn him to death right in front of the big World Vision offices.  I was so incensed that none of the WV personnel had tried to intervene that I vowed to do so if I were ever present at a similar event. However, just as I was thinking about exactly what to say, Ray came back to the car and told me it was okay and I should stay put. John had gone closer to see exactly what was happening and reported that police were present, so we knew at least the man would not be killed though badly beaten. I’m still wrestling with my conscience, however. Perhaps the intervention of an enraged, elderly, white lady screaming, “Stop! Jesus forgave a thief”! might have had some beneficial effect.

Driving in and out of Kundayo is a real challenge, as everything is dug up and extremely rough because of the road construction on Moshi Road, the main highway from Dar es Salaam to Kenya. There is now no way I will ever be able to walk to Phillip’s Corner, our nearest grocery store. There are no lane markers or any discernible lanes in  some places, so I have n idea how Ray knew where it was safe to drive.  Maybe he didn’t, and we were just lucky. The dust is horrendous!

My stomach began complaining on the flight to Amsterdam, so I’ve been mainly on a bland diet of tea, toast, and, for lunch today, ramen noodles.  Soon after 4:00, we went over to the garden terrace to connect with wifi and have our first late afternoon beverages.  John always orders Stoney Tangawise, and since there was no Passion Fruit Fanta, I went with Bitter Lemon. Ray came back with a recharging cord—or should I say cords?—for my phone since somehow the original cord had gone missing since last year.

The dueling public address systems began soon after 4:00, and not only were two pentecostal churches vying for the loudest music but there was also a van driving around blaring out some sort of political announcement. It was a aural over seasoned stew.  (At least the usual early holy risers haven’t been heard from at 5:00 a.m. yet.) At 6:00 p.m. we ordered dinner from the kitchen: chicken peanut stew and greens, rice for me, and ugali (manioc goop) for John. As usual we were told our food would be ready in 45 minutes, and also as usual, Emmanuel showed up with it more than an hour and a half later. It’s nice when life is so predictable.

This is the usual sign at the corner where one turns onto Kundayo Road.

This is what it looks like now at the entrance to Kundayo Road.

This is the Moshi Highway going toward Phillip's Corner.