Monday, January 22, 2018

In the Neighborhood

January 19, 2018, Friday

One of the major problems with having internet access in Tanzania is that people like me think it should always work and work well.  This is never the case at Kundayo or even many of the other free wifi places in town. My attempts to work on Facebook or read and reply to email are almost always randomly impeded by drops in bandwidth or whatever it is that keeps the whirling wheel at bay. So far, I’ve tried to connect for video chats three times, and each time there have been a few jerky images and broken words before quick disconnection. It’s discouraging. Watching video is absolutely impossible because of buffering problems, and at times things are so slow that the images on my Facebook timeline don’t even load. I may resort to buying a plug-in “stick” (modem) to give me an AirTel connection, but even that service fluctuates in strength. Fortunately, email usually works very well, for which I am grateful.

The first things I did after breakfast was go over to check on the new tile floor in the dining area. The fundi had worked late to finish it. I found Emmanuel giving the floor its first mopping, and he was very pleased when I told him that I thought the new floor was really very nice. It’s so much better than the old maroon carpeting.
Emannuel mopping the new tile floor.
Threats of showers kept us close to home, but John really wanted to go to a nearby cafe he had discovered for lunch. So, I carried my new umbrella with me, and we walked down toward Phillip’s. When we entered the cafe, I was surprised both by how big its dining area was and the absence of any other customers. It turns out that it’s not a regular cafe but rather some sort of training center for restaurant workers and cooks—I think. The big sign above the door advertised fine dining, boxed lunches, special cakes, take-away meals, and party catering. Oddly, no one was there except a large man in a suit, sitting in a corner, and a nervous young man who spoke little English and said they had no menu. Apparently business hasn’t taken off yet.
John at the Not-Ready-Yet cafe.
We returned to Kundayo and ate grilled cheese sandwiches with sides of sliced tomatoes and mangos and bananas for dessert. One can find cheese here in some of the shops ex-pats frequent, but it is wildly expensive. Last year and this year, I bought packages of sliced cheese and packed them in our checked through luggage. Last year, this worked very well, and we had a nice supply of cheese for at least half of our stay.  This year, however, with the longer flight time and lay-over in Dubai, some of the cheese warmed enough to glue itself into big globs. Still, we can reconstruct slices well enough to enjoy grilled sandwiches.

One of the casualties of the new highway in front of Kundayo is the strip of grassy land which was along the old two-lane road. At the entrance of Kundayo Road there were flowers and a sign advertising the presence of the Kundayo Serviced Apartments. Now that area is completely bare and mostly dedicated to the frontage road which runs along the new highway. I don’t like the stark asphalt and dirt nor the puny vegetable and fruit stand and the boda-boda drivers (motorbike taxis) who congregate there now.
The old sign at the entrance to Kundayo Road.

The new entrance to Kundayo Road.



Mama Kundayo sat outside from 1:30 until after dark, but I just didn’t feel like hanging out since Mazo and his wife were with her most of the time.  Mazo’s wife, who used to have a full-time job with one of the telecommunications companies, spends her entire days here just sitting.  I don’t know exactly where in the family compound she and Mazo live, but all the housework, laundry, and cooking would be done by the workers here. She doesn’t go to market or even shopping as far as I can tell. I realize I may come close to her level of inactivity, but I do shop, cook, wash some of our laundry, and connect with friends. Plus, I read a lot, write my blog, and communicate on email and Facebook.  Also, I am more than twice her age. John thinks that maybe this is her idea of a perfect life. I cannot see how that is possible.
Mama Kundayo's costume du jour.
It always startles me when I am reminded that, in general, Tanzanians do not read books. They often buy newspapers, and many carry Bibles with them to church, but there in no habit of reading stories or books as we would. A couple of years ago, I visited a very good private school largely supported by American donors, who I guess thought it would be great to create a library for the students. So, a very nice little building was constructed, and books were donated and sent to Tanzania. Then after everything was in place, the door was locked, and no one ever uses the library for anything but a show piece for American guests. Two years ago, I wanted to visit each school attended by Ray’s children, and I carefully chose three basic books to give to each school for use in a chosen classroom. At all three schools, the principal or headmistress took the books and looked at them as if aliens had landed on their desks. At one of the schools, I returned from a tour of the grounds to find the headmistress herself struggling to read one of the books. I have little doubt that each school administrator took the books to his/her own home, where they are now show pieces. One of our former colleagues at Whitworth has been working hard to change this non-reading mindset, but I don’t know how she will ever make much progress.

At the end of the day, we noted that neither Elizabeth nor Moses had shown up to see us. Nor had either called or texted to say what was going on. We reheated the leftover beef stew and ordered mboga  (greens) from the kitchen for dinner, which was delicious as always. Our floor show was a troop of lizards running back and forth on the terrace wall catching mosquitoes.
Neighborhood cake shop
The new highway squeezes the driving school parking now.

Someone's small cart

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