Hi all
LEFT: Central Market in Arusha
RIGHT: "Foreigner" hotel pool in our AK-47 guarded gated compound
Jambo is the universal word here in Arusha, Tanzania. It means "hello" but is used for most everything. So, after only 24 hours, I am jambo'd out the whazoo. We decided to go into Arusha, the nearest town this morning. It's about a mile or so walk, but as the AK-46 armed guards at the hotel told us, we should not do the walk alone, it's not safe. So, we scheduled a "cab" to take us into town for 9am. Now, a couple things about time in Tanzania. First of all, there is none. This makes the Carribean islands out to be a model of timeliness. Second, they start counting time from 6am...so wake up is at 1, breakfast is at 2...you get the drift. But, not everybody does that, so nobody never really knows what time it is, or what time you're baselining from. Anyhow, I digress.
So, around 10:30 (or 4:30 depending upon how you are counting things), we still have no "cab" so we decide to hoof it into town. We figure (a) hey, we're americans, we can do anything, (b) how bad can 1 mile be, we've all been in north philly, camden, newark, and in peggy's case, south Provo, and (c) sam's with us. Now, Sam is a big guy, about 6'3", all muscle, bald, gijunda mutant calves, and a massive sense of humour. None of which translates however into Swahili, except the calves. So we leave the hotel compound and start to hoof it into town. We probaby get, oh, about 20 meters (that's 9/10th of a mile for those of you unfamiliar with the metric system) before the first panhandler attacks. "Hello my friend, please buy these used shoelaces from me". "Hello my friend, please buy this broken handheld pong game from me.". "Hello my friend, I have a sister that cannot be married off because we do not have enough cows (more to come on this tradition in a later blog...), please take her for 10 shillings.
For you bankers in the crowd, a shilling is worth about 10/10,000 of a cent. So, basically, you need about 67,000,000 shillings to buy a coke. If they even had a coke. So you go to market with a wheelbarrow full of money for even the most basic incidentals...kinda like Italy before WWII.
By the time we are to the town border, there are literally 50 panhandlers hanging off of us, trying to sell us every unimaginable piece of crap known to mankind. I try the clever ploy of telling them that "I'm an Aussie, Mate", which seems to get them to focus more on the others. Sam tries out "I'll beat you to a bloody pulp with my bare forearm" which unfortunately for him only encourages them more, as to be beaten bloody by a foreigner is apparently a sign of manhood. Finally, after about 20 minutes (6 hours TZ time), a AK-47 armed military man approaches us and waves off the panhandlers (by waving his rifle directly at their heads). This was quite effective, for all of the time it took him to turn and walk back to his sidewalk booth, whereupon the re-engaged, with even more verascity. My favorite was the guy who whipped out a Massai Sword and tried to sell me it. He's standing on the street, waving this sword, telling me how I must have it. (I'm thinking "yeah, to get the hell out of here intact!". We stay out for a few more minutes, then start making our way back to the hotel compound. As we get close the "cab" finally pulls up, and yells for us to come over and get in. They then take us to the "tourist market", an armed compound where they sell the tourists massively overpriced tanzanite (or at least purple rocks), wall masks, and spears. I'm thinking, what fun, travel around EEU (where I'm headed next) with a Massai spear for 6 weeks. I'm certain the Swiss authorities will love it!
Anyhow, we eventually get back to our hotel compound, tell tales over a quite nice dinner, and get ready for (a) our safari tomorrow (sunday), and meeting the rest of the hikers who are inbound sunday night from civilization.
Lumpy out
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