Kitamu

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Since it was still January 8 in Spokane when we awoke, I called Pat MacDonald on my global roaming iPhone to wish her a happy 95th birthday. She had just returned home from a Whitworth basketball game and was in very good spirits even though Whitworth had lost by one point. Speaking with Pat as though I were making a regular local call was a real treat. I get mixed up with the time difference, but I had magically hit just the right time for this call, a little earlier and no one would have answered, a little later and Pat would have been in bed. I am turning into a very old person since I can remember when our only mode of contact with home from the Congo was through those thin blue aerogram letters, which might or might not make it to their destination and took at least three weeks going and another three weeks for a reply to arrive. It was a relief not to have to worry too much about any bad news as most such events were well in the past by the time we got the news.

Last evening, Mary Lou had asked, “What adventure are we going on tomorrow?” We’re not used to thinking about our life here in those terms anymore. The one easy “adventure I could think of was going to Kitamu Coffee for lunch. Kitamu was a little cafe I discovered last year and loved immediately. It’s part of a women’s coffee coop, and its menu and prices are more geared to Tanzanian customers than wazungu. Last year, I introduced my friend Terry Morton to Kitamu, and since then she has struck an agreement with the proprietor there to display and sell the handicrafts made by the albino women’s coop that Terry works with. Another example of how networks grow here.

So, we stayed in the compound until about 11:30, when Ray came to pick us up. John had decided to go with us, too, so off we all went. Kitamu was much as it was last year, except for the colorful craft items hanging on the walls and the very elevated prices. The economy here is very stretched and I’ve been shocked at how much higher food costs are now than they were even last year. An entree which may have cost 6000TZsch. last year is now 9000 to 12,000, and while that is still in the range of $2.61 and $3.91, it’s a significant hike for Tanzanians. Still the people eating lunch or hooked up to the free wifi were a mixed group of residents and wazungu.

John and I ordered Kitamu’s signature stews, mine chicken and his beef, and while I had rice, he had ugali, which I don’t like as much as he does. For me the two best parts of the meal were the cooked greens and the avocado slices. I love African greens, and the avocados are delicious here.  Mary Lou went for baked fish and had a fine time fighting its bones. I almost never order fish here as it can be extremely messy to eat and depending on the type of fish, the actual reward for working hard can be quite small. I don’t think Mary Lou was very happy with her choice, and she remarked on how little flavor the sauce had, which surprised both John and me. Excellent flavor is one thing we can almost always count on in African cooking. Maybe she thought it would be spiced more like Mexican food is. 

Yummy stew for me and fish for Mary Lou

Some of the crafts for sale. I liked the phone purses.

Mama Kundayo in Green

John’s ugali took extra time, so Mary Lou and I had to wait while he ate. I could observe what the Tanzanian gentleman seated close to me was eating: 2 mandazi and a very small bowl of stewed beans. At first the waitress had brought him 3 mandazi, but he sent one back. Given his age—50s—and demeanor—businessman—I had to wonder if the higher costs were affecting how he ate out now. Certainly an African man would not be on a diet!

Once John was finished with his meal, we three set out to walk to AfriCafe, a very wazungu cafe with lots of pastries and a huge variety of coffee preps. It also sells excellent bread, which is what I wanted most. While John continued to walk back to Kundayo, Mary Lou and I decided to sit awhile in AfriCafe to enjoy their AC and do some people watching.  Mary Lou ordered a “frostie” a coffee drink with ice cream in it, and I got one scoop of vanilla ice cream and a terrible Coke Zero, which I could barely choke down.  My bill was 8000 TZsh. ($3.50) and Mary Lou’s was 9000 TZsh. ($3.91), so she left the tip when we left. After we had spent a while watching the various street vendors, mamas in colorful clothing, and pale wazungu passing by, we left the cafe and crossed the street to the crowded little bookstore I usually visit several times while we are in Arusha. It seems to be a major purveyor of textbooks and school supplies, and since the new term began this week, the place was really crowded. While Mary Lou looked for a Swahili phrase book, I searched through a pile of little children’s story book and found two I wanted to buy for Peri. Mary Lou’s credit card wouldn’t go through, so she ended up joining me in the cash line. We were served immediately, which made me worry that we were getting special treatment, but maybe it was just because we had cash in hand and were not charging things to any school account.

Once done in the bookshop, I called Ray to come and fetch us. It took him about ten minutes to get to us, and during that time we had to interact with several persistent street vendors. One wanted to sell us a amp of Arusha which Mary Lou had already bought for an exorbitant price, and the other tried to sell us jewelry and small paintings, neither of which I have any use for. This man knew a fair amount of English and seemed to enjoy chatting with us. He said his name was Tarzan, which I found surprising since he was an older more dignified man than many street vendors are. Just before Ray arrived, and Azam bicycle cart appear. I love Azam ice cream, especially the carmelo bars, but I had already had my ice cream. These carts are ubiquitous in Dar es Salaam, but rare here, so it may be a while before I have another chance to get a carmelo bar.

Once back at Kundayo, we had a bit of time to rest and enjoy the cool down that came with a sudden rain shower.  Then, John told me that Mama Kundayo was out in her usual late afternoon spot. I know that when she sits there, she is hoping I will come over for a visit, so I went out even though it was still slightly raining. (We soon moved to the covered terrace.) Mama was dressed in all green—mean really green green. Of course, I took her photo for my collection of her and her outfits.  We talked, with Beatrice translating a lot, about food and cooking. Mama reaffirmed that she likes goat meat the best, while I was more prone to liking chicken. Then, Mama got on her usual soapbox about how lazy Masai men are, and how wonderful John is. I admit that Masai men are very sexist and often lie around while the women do the daily chores, childcare, and cooking. Mama’s particular target though is her husband, whom we rarely if ever see since he leaves for his hardware store by a back door and never comes through the compound. I think they are at an impasse as to which one should leave the house, so they are both still there fuming at each other.

There are several pomegranate trees in the garden and I noticed a fruit which had split open. So, Beatrice picked it and then several more and Mama had her make juice for us. It wasn’t pure pomegranate juice, but rather a mixture of mango, watermelon and pomegranate. While it was pleasant, it wasn’t as special as I was hoping it would be. John had come just in time to enjoy some juice, and then we left to return to our apartment, where John made us a nice cheese omelet for our dinner.

The rain had brought cooler temperatures, so it was an excellent night for sleeping. I know, however, that very soon we will be getting more mosquitoes and I will be in big torment then.