Volunteering in Tanzania – Part 4

Dating the Tanzanian way

I have wonderful memories of Tanzania. But the greatest challenge there were definitely the men. I was so sick and tired of the constant hitting and flirting the very first week of my stay. The street conversations I had usually went like this:

A: Mambo (a Tanzanian greeting).

B: Poa.

A: How are you?

B: Good, how are you?

A: Good. I love you. Give me your phone number.

Even if they didn’t speak English, everyone knew how to say I love you and phone number. At first, these conversations were really a hassle. I truly wanted to get into the culture and see how the locals think. I felt like I’d be closing off this option if I didn’t write down my Tanzanian phone number.

Eventually, though, I started to find these encounters with male Tanzanians quite interesting. When I was buying a local phone number, a young guy latched onto me and told me I’d make a good wife, I just needed to gain some more weight. “You will be a real African woman!” My host, who happened to stand next to me, took it very seriously! And I always got seconds. But the food was truly divine, so I never said no to those. The host usually prepared rice with beans and young coconut, bananas prepared in a thousand different ways, such as fried bananas, cooked bananas, bananas with sauce... Then rice muffins, doughnuts, ugali (white polenta) and chapatis (tortillas). I found it so funny until I really couldn’t button up my trousers! And my host comforted me, telling me I could always buy new ones.

I worked at an orphanage in Dar es Salaam. In addition to the Tanzanian staff that took care of the children with disabilities there was also a gardener working there. He was a young guy of my age. After just two days of working there, he wanted to talk to me. Somewhere private, of course! Since I had already known what he was going to say, I avoided any confrontation for as long as possible. And, luckily, it was really difficult to “meet somewhere private” at the orphanage. Since there wasn’t an opportunity for an “urgent” meeting after five days, I got a text message.

»I am sorry for what I will say, I don't have much reason, but some of this makes me to do this all in all. From the bottom of my heart, I love you so much …« And so on.

I thanked him for the sincerity and tried to explain to him that we could only be friends. I think he didn’t quite understand.

Smuggling underwear

On Saturdays, when both of us had a day off, the whole thing got more interesting. I would often go to Dar es Salaam’s city centre to visit the Kariakoo market, just to look around and go on a hunt for some second-hand dresses from Europe. Every Friday, the gardener would ask me to take him with me. Always good at heart, I said yes. And it was also easier for me, since I had a local companion. We shared the costs of the boda boda (a small vehicle with three wheels, similar to India’s tuk-tuk). Everything was cheaper that way and it quicker to get information, since the gardener spoke Swahili. In general, vendors at the market weren’t so intrusive, telling me what to buy.

And the gardener was obviously happy that he could walk next to a muzungu (white woman). Well, except when he had to buy something for himself, in which case I had to stand 20 metres behind him, so that the vendors wouldn’t inflate the price. :) Whoops! If someone asked in English if we were a couple, he denied it, but if someone asked the same thing in Swahili, he said yes. Ha! I knew we looked like a couple, especially when we were buying ladies’ underwear together at the market. That was such fun!

A member of the Tanzanian staff at the orphanage asked the gardener if he could buy two paird of underwear for her. The market is even more flooded with people on Saturdays than usual. The place was crawling with people. The gardener, who was buying ladies’ underwear for the first time, had no idea which model, size or colour to choose. Of course, I kindly helped him out, while he and the other 272,628 Tanzanians stated at me as if they were looking at a mirage. I found it so funny I didn’t even hold back and just laughed my heart out while picking the laciest thong!

The owner of the new underwear thanked the gardener for having such great taste (she didn’t know he had help). And the underwear was delivered in diapers, so that the rest of the staff wouldn’t find out about the underwear smuggling.

Two eggs for the journey

I really grew on the gardener thanks to the time we spent together on Saturdays. He brought me secret packages, which was incredibly risky at the centre. There was always someone walking by, and my room was at the end of the hallway. Therefore, the packages were usually delivered through the window of my room. Rice muffins, still warm and wrapped in newspaper. Of course, I then returned the favour and bought him a ticket to the centre etc.

When I was going to Zanzibar, the gardener gave me two raw eggs as a goodbye gift. He didn’t have the time to cook them. I accepted the gift with the greatest pleasure and, at the same time, scratched my head, wondering why the hell those two eggs meant. There are still superstitions in the country and the eggs given as a goodbye could have some kind of meaning. The love of his life? Fertility? Or maybe just a “get the fuck out of my life”. A Maasai (a member of an ethnic group) explained the whole tricky situation that very same day. “Food for the journey. Something to keep you satiated when travelling.” And those two eggs sure came in handy when I ended up with an empty stomach in an abandoned house in Zanzibar.