Where the streets have no names

-- Friday, Dec 7

I finally got to do my first batch of interviews. I am not sure if I can get all of them done by the end of next week, which was my initial plan. What I do know it is easier to interview a bunch of spandexed bicyclists than farmers who for the most part only speak Swahili. I think some things DID get lost in translation. But overall it went well and people were mostly eager to talk about their experiences. Good or bad. The answers were definitely revealing about the shortcomings of the current system.

Going to all the sites meant a lot of driving. I know, I know....But Mfinanga doesn't know how to ride a bike. And I wouldn't have been able to keep up with the car. The sites are rather far, between 5 and 15km from KIDT, but in at least three different directions. And even though I had been to most of the sites, I wouldn't have been able to find them. Damn, even our trusted driver (who also drives the KIDT bus to and from work everyday), missed a turn. That was good luck for half a dozen girls who were walking to church. They would have had another couple of km to go, but waved us down. All jumped into the back of the pickup and off we went. As they got off they thanked me (huh???) and also answered driver Manuel's question about the directions.

Darn, turned out we missed a little path a few bushes back. The streets here have mostly no names, except for the major ones. But even the so-called double road in Moshi has a different name than indicated in the map, so my guess is nobody really cares.
At that stretch of road we were driving along a canal for a few kilometres, with lots of kids dipping in for some refreshment. When they saw me they yelled "Mzungu" and waved. I waved back. It made them very happy. To me it feels a bit strange, though. Who am I? Must be like being a rock star or something, but usually people who are crazy about these people have at least heard of them. I am a complete stranger. A couple have been open about why they are friendly so far. "Give me money," is a rather clear statement.

After visit number three, I finally experienced some real rain. Only 20 minutes maybe, but it really came pouring down. So much, it messed up our fourth visit. "Maybe we cannot go," Mfinanga said. I protested "we are almost there." His objections, which I thought were around not wanting to walk from the car to the house in the rain, I didn't agree with. And then the next thing I knew is that we were stuck with the car. The road had gone slightly uphill and now there was no way forward. "Maybe we cannot go." Ah, THAT is what you meant. OK...

We then went to a place where I could do my final interview for the day. I had been there before, when the place was still under construction. Now it was ready. The people there were very happy with everything. And what hosts they were. Last time Pineapple juice (which I generally don't like). This time a (homemade) fruit juice mix served out of a what seemed like a 20 gallon container. And "half cake." Apparently a local speciality. So I tried to figure out the Swahili name. "Robo cake?" They looked bemused, but didn't know what I was talking about. Found out later that robo means quarter and nusu means half. Arrgh. Anyway, I inquired directly for the Swahili name. "Half cake" was the stunning answer. I noticed that some people use English words sometimes in-between sentences. For some things there was no Swahili name, so they had to come up with something. Environment is such an example. And not surprisingly all terms that have to with time...

At the end of the day I was pooped. Picked up my bike, which was of course only half fixed. But saw another one. No pedals and the handlebar loose, but if they fix it anytime soon I may use that one instead. It may be in better shape. And it says something like LAB approved. I take it the League of American Bicyclists (LAB) have given it their thumbs up. Although unlikely in its current condition, as the lights are missing....