In Africa VI

VI

Bagamoyo

Bagamoyo is an old city, founded at the end of the 18th century it was the original capital of German East Africa and was one of the most important trading ports along the East African coast. Today the town has about 30,000 inhabitants and is the capital of the District of Bagamoyo, recently being considered as a world heritage site. It is not far from Dar es Salaam; 75 kilometers north, about an hour and a half by car over good but heavily traveled road. Ruins date back to the 13th century, but the significance of Bagamoyo lies in its location on the Indian Ocean close to the Island of Zanzibar, making it an important center for the ivory and slave trade in the 18th and 19th centuries. Indian and Arab traders as well as colonial Germans and Christian Missionaries have influenced Bagamoyo. Today it is the center for dhow sailboat building and is a tourist destination. It is popular with artists most of whom follow the Tingatinga style made popular by artist Edward Tingatinga in the late 1960s in the Oyster Bay area of Dar es Salaam and is now seen in all parts of East Africa.

Domestic cattle along the Bagamoyo Road

We drove with friends, Georgie and Stratos. Although of Greek descent, Stratos was born and raised in his youth in Tanzania and speaks Swahili. We stayed at the Bagamoyo Country Club. In the North American sense this would imply some association with the game of golf, however the Bagamoyo Country Club is simply a small hotel fixed into a hillside overlooking the Indian Ocean a few kilometers south of the old part of town.

Guard house at the top of the hill

Halfway down

We parked in the parking area along the dirt road above the hotel, gathered out bags and descended the roughly ninety steps to the hotel reception. The reception also serves as the hotel bar and is located in the lounge and dining area. Basically a large palm frond thatched roof open-air room with tables, chairs and booths. After paying we hiked half way back up the hill to our simple but comfortable room; bed with mosquito netting, wardrobe, night stands, bath with shower, everything necessary for a weekend stay.

 

The Rooms

Hotel Reception/Bar. Note the lending library for guests in a
 bookshelf made from an old dhow hull;
popular furniture here in Tanzania.

Diningroom/Bar room/Lounge

The drive to town was short; maybe five or ten minutes. Motorcycles or “boda bodas” as the locals call them, are a popular form of transportation in Dar es Salaam because they are relatively inexpensive and circumvent the jams by driving between the two lanes of traffic. In Bagamoyo, they are way of life.

Boda Bodas

Passenger with Rasta Hat

Once in town, we stopped at a small bar restaurant that Georgie and Stratos knew called Poa Poa. It was in the simple, original, style of all buildings in the old part of town but uncharacteristically neatly painted. Inside was dark after entering from the bright sunlight, we were greeted buy a waiter with the usual “jambo.” The young blonde woman sitting in a corner seat seemed very much at home but out of place. We found seats around an empty table and placed our order. On later visits we would eat in the courtyard further in the back and out the back door past the bar. The food here is good and reasonably priced.

Typical building. An Arab influence?

Doors. Indian Influence?

Poa Poa

The next morning we toured a bit of the city. We stopped at an artists shop we had seen the evening prior. His paintings in the Tingatinga style were hanging around a ramshackle room that served as his home, and his studio. Some of the paintings were on the back fence, others on the wall of the neighboring building. He greeted us and began to tell us about his work and how he was scheduled to attend a showing at the US Embassy sponsored by USAID, and how he was a teacher of art, and on and on. It wasn’t just his Rastafarian knitted cap with the green, yellow and red colors from the Ethiopian flag, or his constant chatter, or the deposit of paint transferred from his hand to mine as we shook, but also my experience from living in the turbulent 60s which led me to surmise that he was in fact a practicing Rastafarian who used ganja as part of his religious customs. It was pretty clear he was high. Sharon negotiated the purchase of a painting with the common Tingatinga theme of fish swimming in concentric circles; this one predominantly black on blue.

Artist's "shop"

Paintings displayed on the wall

The other artist with whom we visited had a similar shack covered with paintings also used as home, studio and showroom. Like the first, he was a Rastafarian. Lucid during our meeting with him in his shop, he, like the other, apparently practiced his religion devoutly as evidenced by his incessant conversation at the café one evening. Although associated more with Jamaica, the Rastafarian religion has roots in Africa and in fact the former emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie I, plays a major role in the beliefs. We noted several men wearing the Rasta caps during our time in Bagamoyo.

Our Tingatinga fish painting

Rasta hat

Bagamoyo has an historic authenticity about it that easily lends itself to the arts. There was a school for young artists in the town, and promoting artists was a priority among some who lived there. Sharon learned that the young blonde woman in Poa Poa was a Danish student who lived in an apartment above the café. She was in Bagamoyo to attempt to organize the artists, start a gallery and introduce their work to artist in Denmark.

Fishermen in a dugout 

Fishing from a sailing dhow

Among the more genuine and picturesque areas of the city is the local fish market. Being situated on the Indian Ocean and as center for dhow boat building in Tanzania, fishing is naturally a significant part of the local economy. Boats dot the horizon all day and some locals engaged in fishing by wading into the water and dragging large nets back onto the shore. This is a technique we observed in Acapulco, Mexico.

Fishermen pulling in a net in front of our hotel

All of the fishing activity ultimately ends at the fish market where the catch is sold. The Bagamoyo fish market is not as large as the one in Dar es Salaam city center but is larger than the one down our street in Msasani. A major portion of the area occupied by the fish market is devoted to the preparation of fish for eating on the premises. This is an activity that invites participation.  We could not pass the opportunity.

Fish Market

Fish Market looking to the Indian Ocean 

Deep frying prawns

One of the cooks

Stratos negotiated a purchase of some very nice prawns and changu, but there was lobster, calamari, octopus and many other choices available also. On the way to Bagamoyo we had stopped at a local roadside market and purchased some tomatoes, onions and limes for the meal. Georgie prepared a tomato and onion salad while the cooks at the fish market grilled our lunch. It was well worth the effort it took to keep the flies at bay.

Lunch

There are other sites worth seeing in this historic east African town. Among them is the history of the slave trade. North and South American were engaged in the trading of slaves from West Africa. The practice, however, was not limited to those parts of the world. In East Africa slaves were traded during the same periods and even beyond. The destinations were primarily in the Middle East and India. Bagamoyo was a hub for slaves and ivory coming from the Great Lakes Region of Africa. Slaves, transported to final destinations around the world, were taken first to Zanzibar which was a trading center for numerous commodities; famously spices, infamously slaves. The historic sites in Bagamoyo are open to the public but subject to a fee. For Tanzanian residents, like Sharon and I, the cost is a mere 1000 TzS (about 63 cents per person), for non-residents like our companions, the fee is 20,000 TzS (closer to $12.50 per person.) With apologies for the excessive non-resident fee, the amicable guide let us know that the fee once paid would allow access to any of the historic sites elsewhere in town.

Slaves waited here before going to Zanzibar

Slave trading continued on this site until the end of the
19th century

Bagamoyo gave us the opportunity to relax in a beachside setting, in an area close to Dar es Salaam. The city has retained its character over the years and gave us glimpses into the everyday life of people more representative of the larger population of a country full of contrasts.

Until Next Connection,

Dan

In Africa V

V

The car; The insurance man; The driver

We live in a bubble of wealth and prosperity fueled by affluent Tanzanians, government officials, and foreigners here on assignments from one to several years. Known as “The Peninsula”, or just Masaki – the name of the borough on the peninsula, - the area is just far enough from the city center to require a car to get there. Even getting around the peninsula necessitates transportation of some sort. Most everyone has a car, and we are no exception.

The car of choice in Tanzania is Toyota, and the model most often seen is the Rav 4. Parts are easy to come by, four-wheel drive is a necessity for any trips outside of town and even in town with bad roads like ours. The height of a four-wheel drive vehicle alone is important when traversing the puddles we have on our street.

Rav 4 in our carport - FINALLY!

Imported used vehicles – virtually all from japan – are expensive. To the vehicle cost, add duty (25% of value) and, if the car is older than ten years, a “dumping fee" (another 15% of value). One can easily spend ten thousand dollars for a car twelve or more years old. We are exempt from duty because of my job status, but the paperwork to get the necessary waivers is a long and frustrating process. Finally, after two months of waiting and paperwork and government bureaucracy, we were told the registration was complete and we could pick up the car. We had to get insurance, but otherwise it was ready. A 1999 Rav 4 cost us $7500.00 plus dumping tax for a total of $8700.00. During the period we were waiting for all the registration paperwork to be processed, we obtained our Tanzanian drivers licenses. Once the registration was completed, we could get the necessary insurance to drive the car. We already had the mirrors and windows etched with the registration number and all the trim pieces pop riveted to prevent, or at least deter, thieves from removing these items while the car is stalled in traffic jams or parked at night in a bad place.

Etching on side mirror

etching on rear door windows 

reflector on front fender riveted in place

Add rivets on door moldings

rivet in hub cover

We had a Tingatinga artist paint over the dealer's ad on the
tire cover

We parked on the street near where the building collapsed killing 35 plus people a month ago. The rubble is gone and it is an empty hole now. Across the street construction on another unfinished building of about 18 floors has been halted. The exposed foundation and some pillars on the main level show why. It looks like it could fall anytime.

hole left where the collapsed building once stood

site of collapsed building

Condemned building across from the fallen structure

scary looking foundation of the condemned building

Mshamu parked the car and Mathew and I went to the office. It was across the under-construction Morogoro Road. It seems that when finished the busses will run from the outlying areas on Morogoro Road straight into the center of the city. Where pedestrians and other vehicular traffic goes is not apparent. We crossed the empty newly formed street to an older building. Around the corner we entered the dark hallway leading to the stairs. The crippled man sat inside but within the slanting rays of the invading sunlight. His pleading eyes foretold the appeal in his upturned hand. We passed to the dimly lit stairway; I followed Mathew’s lead. The first flight made a spiral turn as it rose to the next floor. The steps were molded concrete ,chipped and cracked, swept but not clean. The second and last flight were traditional but in similar condition. At the landing we walked to the end of the hall to a windowed door bearing the insurance company’s name. Typical of insurance brokers everywhere, it was the proprietor’s name as well. Mathew, being familiar with the place, pushed open the tattered door.

Morogoro Road under construction. Bus lanes now are
a pedestrian  mall

Insurance company's building. Old Dar architecture. 

There was room to walk between the desks from the door to the back of the office, but no more than that. To each side desks lined the tiny space giving each occupant barely enough space to sit and work. There were maybe ten desks in a space large enough for two people to work comfortably; maybe three. I was offered a seat in a chair whose back had become detached and lay on the seat. In the last desk an Indian man with dark hair except, for the inch or so of white closest to his skull, looked up to offer me a seat in front of his desk. He wasn’t an old man, but he was old enough to have outlived the vanity preventing him from donning a head of silver-white waves of hair. He was in fact the proprietor.

Age had discolored the walls from what they were intended to be; a color that might easily be revealed by moving one of the wall hangings seemingly in place for decades. At some point he or another was a member of the local Lions club; the plaque hung on the wall. Pictures, calendars, piles of files on cabinets and desks; it was a working office. I needed to insure the car. Mathew felt confident this place would provide good insurance at fair prices.

I chatted with the Indian man. He was personable as we discussed the Morogoro Road construction and intended use. We discussed how lessons learned from other countries seem to be lost in developing environments such as Tanzania. There are issues we cannot understand and perhaps neither can the Government. Within fifteen minutes I had insurance. The price, paid in US Dollars, was reasonable. We left the way we came. I was off to get the car.

I didn’t actually drive the car off the lot myself, Mshamu did that. Mshamu is our driver. He worked the Sea Cliff Court Hotel when we stayed there. There are two types of taxis in Dar es Salaam; one are the official white taxis with white plates and either a yellow, green or blue stripe, depending on the area of the city wherein they work; the other are the informal taxis that work specific venues like the hotels, shopping centers and the like. These taxis are unmarked, but the drivers have a relationship with the hotel or other venue such that if there is a problem with a driver, the venue management will not let the driver work that area.

Mshamu checking under the hood

When I began driving to the city center for work each day, the drivers all wanted to make that a permanent job for themselves. I tried several. They all began to find ways to add to the agreed fare; parking charges, waiting charges, anything to increase the fare. Mshamu did not do that. He parked with his own money, waited for free, and was always prompt or would ensure that another driver was there if he couldn’t be.

The drivers of these informal taxis are actually driving cars owned by other people. They pay for the fuel and pay a fee for the use of the vehicle; around 100,000 shillings a week (around $62.00). The drivers need to make a lot of money in order to have some left for themselves. Good drivers at good locations make about double the amount needed for their vehicle rent. Mshamu is a skilled, honest driver and has been able to build a clientele over the years. People who come and go from Tanzania on a regular basis call him for transport to and from the airport. We began to use him regularly and he agreed to work for us when we got the car.

Mshamu

Private drivers make 400,000 shillings per month give or take. That is about $250 per month. Bearing in mind that chambermaids in the hotels make half that, it is a pretty good job, all things considered. Our arrangement with Mshamu is that when we do not need him (evenings and weekends for sure) he is free to drive his taxi. He is also a devout Muslim and prays five times per day. We always make sure he is able to get to a Mosque or other place for prayers. He appreciates that a lot. We have a good relationship thus far and he has already taken to the Rav 4, treating it like his own.

I have ventured out on the weekend when the traffic is light. Adjusting to the right-hand drive and left-hand side of the road is not as difficult as I had thought, but instinctive reactions can be problematic. Although some see the expense of a driver as unnecessary, we prefer the security of someone familiar with the streets and the haphazard traffic during busy weekdays. I lost track of Suman, our driver in Bangladesh, a few years ago. Rama was our driver in Kosovo and we attended his wedding. I have been following Rama’s family as they grow, he now has two children I have never met. We have not yet met Mshamu’s wife and two year old son either, but we hope to at some point. It is difficult living with these contrasting worlds; expat versus local working person. We do what we can, but we know that in the big scheme of things we can only do so much, to go beyond a point is to disrupt the status quo that was here before we arrived and will be here after we leave. If we can give some small advantage to the people who work for us we will have succeeded for being here at all. They, after all, want the same things we all do; to provide for their families and make a better life for their children.

Until Next Connection,

Dan