Arusha, Friday and Saturday, February 17 & 18, 2017


For me, Friday was “The Day After.” I really did not want to do anything special or go anywhere out of Kundayo. So, even though John went out on one of his usual walks of exploration propelled by our need for more bread and some tomato paste, I spent my time at Kundayo doing the usual reading, laundry, and fighting with the internet. I also made a great batch of spaghetti sauce using some of the wine Mazo had given me for Valentine’s Day.

The only excitement came after dark, when Mazo and his workers gathered under a metal sun awning.  A worker would climb up a ladder and then bang wildly at the struts attaching the awning to the building.  At least that what it looked like to me.  The banging stopped for a while and then began again about 10:00 p.m.  I went outside to see what was happening and saw a worker on the porch hand up a big machete to the guy on the ladder, who then gave three loud whacks with it. I still had no idea what had taken place, but the next morning, Mazo told us that they had killed a horrible chicken-killing ferret (che che) of some sort. They come out to hunt at night, and one had gotten up in the structures under the awning. Then, I noticed the paw prints on the wall under our kitchen window. It had tried to escape into our apartment!  Fortunately, I always close that window after dark because of mosquitoes.

Wild ferret paw prints

Aly, the hair magician

I had tried to get an appointment for a haircut over a week ago, but my favorite hairdresser in the world, Aly Sharrif, got sick and had to cancel. I texted him soon after I got up Saturday, and he texted back saying he had an opening at 1:30. I was ecstatic!  My hair had gotten so shaggy that I had actually taken my little Dollar Store elementary school scissors and attempted to trim some hair above my ears and on the sides with rather disastrous results. Right after lunch, Ray took me to Aly’s house, and I once again entered a fascinating other dimension. Just entering the house is perilous as the front awning is hung with dozens of wind chimes which clang and sing as one bumps them trying to get to the front door. Getting through the front door is also a challenge because it is probably no wider than 18 inches. Aly himself must never use it. I can get through it only by slipping in sideways.

I had my iPad with me, so as I waited for my turn, I tried surreptitiously to snap a couple photos of Aly. He is difficult to describe with his unique face and long hair loosely coiled on his head. I always think of him as dancing around on his toes though I don’t see him actually doing that. He is a member of the small Ismaili Muslim community here in Arusha, and seems to know all of the non-missionary wazungu. (Ismaili is the sect of the Aga Khan and are pacifists.) I love talking with him about his mother in Vancouver, B.C., who shops for him at Costco, the new restaurants that have opened since last year, and the history of the Ismailis leaving Tanzania during the nationalization of businesses by Nyerere after independence. There are five Ismaili mosques in Arusha, but only one is used now and even that one has parts partitioned off because it is too large for the congregation. All of this would make Aly enough of a gift to me, but he also gives one heck of a good haircut.  As I left, I told him I would see him again in February 2018,  Inshallah.

While I was at Aly’s, John was at the AirTel office trying to get my modem to work with my computer. For some incomprehensible reason, getting a phone or a modem to work takes a minimum of three visits to the service’s office before functionality is achieved. It makes me want to shriek until I think about how amazing it is that we have this level of technology in Africa—if/when it works. They weren’t able to activate my modem, so we’ll need to make another trip back come Monday. Oh, and this is the third phone/internet service I am using this year: I have Tigo and Vodacom on my phone and now AirTel for my modem, just so I can send these posts to you. It’s nuts.

It was definitely time for another kukuna na chipse dinner from up the road.