My First Night In Tanga....

Dear Blog,

I woke up this morning (Tuesday Feb. 02…)to a dog barking and a rooster cock-a-doodle-doo-ing. This would have been a fine way for me to wake up, were it not 2am. I can’t seem to go back to sleep….I am not sure which timezone my body is in at the moment, but I hope I get over it soon because I don’t want to be falling asleep at the school.

Anyway, I have arrived safely in Tanga. The adventure list so far includes: no driver showed up at the airport to meet me as I had arranged with my hotel, so I took a taxi at 12:30 am…which made me a bit nervous. This particular taxi was more interested in looking at me and giving me high-fives than looking at the road, and also felt that honking as you pass through a red light is more effective than stopping. I have since asked my host brother about this and he says that my driver was, in fact, a little crazy. People do stop for red lights in Tanzania .

My hotel experience was also quite interesting. I arrived and was given a cold towel for my hands and apple juice while trying to sign paperwork and argue about payment (I have since told my Tanzania family that they do not often do this in America, and they were very surprised). As I thought, I had already paid for my room, but they charged me twice anyway (as I was informed by the manager the next morning). After paying I went up to my room and fell asleep watching cricket on the television – which I have never seen before.

The next morning I woke up with one specific goal in mind: getting all of my 35kg of baggage to Tanga. The company I was flying with from DAR to Tanga (Costal Aviation) only allows for 15kg and claims to charge $25/extra kg. I had all sorts of backup plans like buying a seat on the plane for my lugggage, sending it on a bus, hiring a driver to drive it to the school, or mailing it. Before pursuing these options though, I had the hotel manager call (because I have learned that my version of English is largely incomprehensible to everyone here, and Swahili is also not my strong suit). She found out that the baggage was only $1/kg extra, so I decided that was the best option. As it turns out, they charged me nothing for it. Pretty good considering I was willing to spend a significant amount of money to ensure the school supplies arrived for the children. Maybe I’ll spend that budgeted amount on more things for the school.

In any case, after a lovely (and somewhat bumpy) plane ride from Dar es Salaam to the islands of Zanzibar and then Pemba, I finally arrived in Tanga. I learned that Dramamine might actually be effective, since I didn’t get sick in true Chelsea form. My plane was running late because a lot of foreigners were being difficult with the airport staff, so I had to call Victoria (my host mother) and tell her I was running late – which brings me to an update on my cell phone status...

My hotel had a cellphone store where I bought a small Nokia phone, SIM card, and airtime. I was amazed at how many phone options I had, from the most basic up to the Blackberry Tour (at least thrity different kinds). The airtime is interesting because you get these lottery ticket-type cards (about 1”x1”) for a set amount (e.g. 5,000 Tzch) and then you scratch off the back to reveal a long number. You then plug that number into your phone, and it adds the money to it. I was a little unclear about the rates, since most of the answers to my questions were, “it depends.” Anyway, I have been able to call people in Tanzania, and even my parents back home! I have successfully sent a text message to my dad, but my mobile carrier, Zain, doesn’t have a partnership with Verizon so my dad can’t send me any in reply. I haven’t decided if I’ll switch to another carrier/SIM card yet (like Vodacom), but I’ll keep everyone posted after some more research. I must say, though, talking to my dad on a cell phone from Africa was quite an experience. Besides being an amazing comfort after many hours of travelling, I can’t seem to get my mind around how technology is making these connections possible. I even have the wireless service necessary for downloading books and newspapers to my Kindle – (which reminds me…Dad, could you please look at what the international download fee is on kindle for the Washington post. I can’t tell if I have to pay for the service once or every time I get the paper. And does the fee apply to books too? Asante sana.)

Okay, now to my host family. I am staying with a woman named Victoria. She has an amazingly beautiful home that is very large and can accommodate many people (She also has 3 other houses – in Arusha, Dar, and somewhere else). I even have my own room with a queen sized bed and a bathroom/shower/sink room all to myself. I think I may even have more space than I do back in the States. Her home is a mixture of indoor and outdoor areas, and there is a roof on the top which is perfect for all sorts of things like star watching, soccer games (I’m hoping) and eating outside. It has walls that are about waist height and it covers a large area. From there, you can watch all of the activity in the streets. There is also a guard at her house, which is a new concept to me. They seem to have multiple cars, a very new and big television that almost competes with my dad’s. There is also one “helper” who has a very cute daughter named Deborah (pronounced Day-boor-ah) who is 2 years and 4 months old (unfortunately she has malaria now and is taking medicine for it). She is very quiet, and serious but is definitely starting to warm up to me. She’s also quite an avid soccer player and spent part of the evening kicking one of the soccer balls around the living room.

The food here is also amazing. Victoria has been preparing traditional Tanzanian food for me, which has been nice. But food has been one of the most stressful times for me (although it’s not really stress, it just requires me to be extra sensitive and pay attention to their customs.) So far I have been “yelled at”/questioned for only filling my glass half way up with juice instead of filling it, not taking enough food, and not having enough servings. I also haven’t figured out what amount of protesting is considered appropriate/polite/expected, but I imagine I will figure it out. I also tried to wait for everyone to sit down before eating, which turned out not to be the general practice here. All of this is fine, but is funny that every time I try and be polite according to American standards, it appears to them that like I don’t like their food, which is certainly not the case. I also found myself passing a plate with my left hand at dinner, which no one said anything about (although I have read that this is not acceptable in this culture). I, however, had a little bit of a freak out and almost dropped the plate when I saw myself doing it. Interestingly, this also brought my attention to how they use forks an knives. So far, everyone I have seen has their fork in their right hand and the knife in their left, whereas I do the reverse. I’m interested to see if this is universal and if it is also based on the same principles as not passing or shaking hands with your left hand. I tried switching my utensils, but switched back when I found it to be more equivalent to writing with my left hand than to using chopsticks.

Today when I go to school I will bring all of the gifts and hopefully visit the Kindergarten classroom. Halifa, the head of Chumbageni Primary School who I met very briefly yesterday, told me that he will take me to see the Education Head tomorrow. I also need to visit the immigration office to tell them that I will be working at the school.

Victoria is also very smart, and asked me if I need to pack a lunch for tomorrow. As far as I can tell, they eat breakfast, and then lunch after school at 2:30pm, which she has already decided is too late for the American, and then dinner (which we ate last night at 9pm). Time is also very interesting….because it functions in two ways. There is the regular time that we are used to (plus eight hours in this time zone, of course) and then there is Swahili time. I must say, I didn’t actually think this was real because it would be far to confusing….but it turns out to be a real thing. The clock starts at sunrise at 12:00 (i.e. 6am regular time) and counts up from one every hour past that until the sun sets at 12:00. So when Victoria told me we go to school at 2 and get out at 8….she meant we start at 8am and get out at 2pm. In any case, this 6 hour difference is certainly enough to make things a bit confusing, but thanks to the CultureSmart book I read I knew to be on the look-out for this and I am constantly clarifying which time they mean.

By now you have probably stopped reading – which is totally fine by me. Anyway, thank you Blog for keeping me company in the middle of the night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow!

~Chelsea