Dar es Salaam Part II
Our last full day in Dar es Salaam was spent arranging a meeting place with a former student of mine, Erica. Since she had graduated from St. Gertrude’s Secondary School she was insistent that we come and visit her family in Dar es Salaam. She became more insistent when her father died suddenly of complications with diabetes. Although never at a loss for friends, Erica seemed to draw her best emotional support from Cara and I. So, we decided to use all our effort to meet her somewhere within the huge expanse of Dar es Salaam.
After multiple calls and instances of phone-tag we decided to meet at a place called Best Bite, a fast food restaurant with amazing, but pricey milk shakes– just what we needed in Dar es Salaam where you cannot be outside for a second without sweat dripping down your face. We thought, we’ll meet Erica here, have lunch together, talk and then part ways. Erica had other plans. We had lunch and ice cream, but then she said that her brother was waiting with a car to drive us to her home and meet her family! Having nothing else to do that day and being invited to an African home was pretty exciting and it was Erica, we took three daladalas (Tanzanian buses) to get to her residential district and then about a 15 minute ride through a maze of roads to get to her house. Along the way many of the residence were amazed to see white people in their district– I don’t think it is a very common thing to have white people near their homes. They usually see us near the beach or in some glamorous hotel– not us!
Erica’s house was clean and modest. The African definition of clean and modest is completely different from American standards. They would consider my house (the cute little cracker-jack box house) a palace! One of Erica’s brothers had friends from school hanging around, so the house was busy with people– but during a time of mourning, Tanzanians enjoy having a busy house. Before entering a house, it is custom to remove your shoes. We were ushered into the living area. The main room was empty except for a grass mat, a TV and a cabinet with small treasures inside. Off to the left in a little corner was a refridgerator and four cushioned chairs. All the women of the house were laying on the grass mat, either sleeping or taking care of the children. There was a small fan mounted on the ceiling to circulate the air.
It is customary, during a time of mourning– which lasts from 30-40 days, depending on the tribe– that the furniture be moved out of the main room and that the women sit on a grass mate and not leave the house or yard for the alloted period of time. We were served water and soda and Erica chatted away. We met her mother, her aunts, and her brothers. We were also showen many pictures of her father. None of her aunts or her mother spoke any English, so we could greet her, give our apologese, but that was it. Erica was proud to have us as visitors and they had to bring out an outdated videocamera and videotape us sitting with the family. It was quite an experience.
We didn’t stay long because it was getting dark and we still had three daladalas to take before we were back in familiar territory. Frankie, Erica’s brother drove us to the bus stop and Erica accompanied us the whole way back to our guest house. A couple times we had to literally push with all our strength to get off and on the dalas, people are so intent on getting where they need to be– but it’s just another African memory.
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