Going Home

What I won't miss:

the dust - washing my feet every time I get home;
every restaurant selling exactly the same, limited, menu;
being called out to in the street, all day everyday;
the TV – an odd mix of bizarre imports and very badly produced home made news programmes;
takataka – the rubbish everywhere. Although that said, Arusha is a much worse offender for this than most places;
being ripped off – it is happening less and less, but last night we got overcharged for dinner until we had a word. £2 for fish, rice, vegetables and salads – do we look stupid! £1.50 thank you very much;
How difficult some things can be – buying lollipops for the children took a good hour, with every shop saying they didn't have any wholesale packs of them. Every duka in town sells lollipops – where on earth do they buy them from?;
African time – allow for at least an hours delay;
African toilets
the weather – I am definitely built for England. Arusha went rapidly from much too cold, rainy weather, to much too hot, sweaty weather.
Short evenings – sundown by 7pm everyday. Though it's light at 6am, couldn't they put the clock forward an hour?;
Konyagi – the local gin that is so cheap it hurts – literally;
mosquitoes
boiling water for drinking
surly barmaids – I may have mentioned it before, but if you get a smile out of a barmaid here, you really have done something exceptional. Godfrey explains that it really is one of the worst jobs a woman can do and they tend to have no choice – they get backchat from customers constantly (as customers are almost exclusively male) and may even be being abused by the boss. So when you know this background, you can forgive them. I still look forward to a few smiles, though.
Steel bars on the bar top – a strange thing that makes me feel like I am in one of the grimiest pubs in Glasgow. Presumably necessary, though I have never seen evidence of this;
High walls and askaris – basically, the need for security at all times, not being able to walk after dark, etc. Though the longer I have been there, the less I find these rules apply. I now happily walk with GF in the dark, as long as it isn't too late and we are not going too far or carrying valuables. Also, I have been living in a little room where there is no askari (guard) and we have just one lock on the door and have felt safer than ever. I think the more you have, and the more walls you build up around yourself, the more at risk you are.

What I will miss

speaking swahili – I like surprising the street traders when they are trying to be smart with me;
listening to Tanzanians speaking English – adding an 'I' to the end of every word ending in a consonant - 'I want-i a vocha', 'go left-i, then right-i'. I had a brainwave on this though, on the bus back from Usambara – all kiswahili words end in vowels, other then those taken from other languages. I have yet to find a word that proves me wrong on this.
Along the same lines, phonetic spelling. Obviously makes it easier to learn and read the language, but also leads to some original spelling of English words, and really makes you realise how mad our language is;
the ease of travel – if you want to go somewhere, you go and get your bus there and then, same price, always a seat (or at least space in the aisle to stand);
East African beer – the bottles are a little big for my liking, at 500ml, but at 60p for a good refreshing larger, always served baridi (cold) it definitely does the job.
electioneering – the campaigns are hotting up now and as I write there are 6 days left until the polling. They just get so much more into it than we do – trucks of people singing and dancing for their party, people wearing caps and attaching flags to their cars, great political debates in the pub and at parties. In the pub the other night in Moshi, everyone choose to watch a program showing the leader of the opposition taking questions, rather than the premiership football. Unfortunately, so the barmaid told us, the bar owner was CCM, not Chadema, so although it was played, the other noises coming from the bar were so loud, that it was impossible to hear the speech. Lots of dirty tricks going on as well, people paid for support, tricky ways of making it impossible for people to vote, etc etc. Not democracy at it's best.
street food – my favourite are the oranges, close second roasted maize;
the people – very welcoming and smiley. Admittedly sometimes because they want your money, but sometimes just because;
the children – I will never forget the many occasions where I have walked for a mile or more with 6 or 7 children for company. Also, they way they communicate almost entirely by the movement of their eyebrows is a whole other language that needs to be learnt;
time – having time to walk to work, having time to wash my own clothes, (I am quite the expert now), having time to sit and think;
the scenery – having Mount Meru towering over me everyday has been very special.
comedy signs – the little things, really, like the fact that a shop is self service is worth mentioning on the sign, the dalaldala signs 'U hit us, we hit u' or 'Mambo ya Yesu' ('how's it going, Jesus?')
Shika – of course! It's stolen a piece of my heart. Some of the children cried when they realised that I was leaving. As I have been there since before they have, and everyone has left and been replaced (staff and volunteers!) I think they have begun to think that I an eternal being, not merely a short term volunteer. However, life goes on, and I pumped them full of enough sugar at my leaving party to put a smile on their faces.
my friends – goes without saying that I have met some very special people here, quite an oddball mixture, but I love them for it.


So, with week to go, and lots of goodbyes to be said (goodbye generally involves lots of hugs and me being wrapped in some material) I decided to have a leaving party. I thought it best to have it in the ghetto, to thank everyone who has helped me over the past 6 months, which is practically everyone I have met. My guest list was 30 people. Due to the location (within earshot of GF's local bar) the number exceeded 70. Luckily we had massively over purchased food, so there was enough to go around. I set table up with flowers and candles and one of GF's friends did the cooking (BBQ!), it looked like a proper Tanzanian restaurant. As the hour got late, the music turned up and we had a disco on our hands.
It wasn't without incidence - at one point a guy with a guitar turned up and everyone did the lombada, and at the end someone was arrested, as far as we can work out for having dreadlocks, but released after a small bribe.
An excellent goodbye, Tanzanian style. See the pictures of my last week in the next posts.