Half way through this journey, I honestly thought it would be more difficult, more challenging somehow. Others have commented that they could not live here while some are trying already to move here as soon as possible. My plans, I feel, have not altered from what they had been. I would love to live and work in some capacity in Africa. My heart, I remember now, lies with women’s issues. I would love to live here and work closely with the women – partial
ly to understand and partially to share.
A lot of the tours that we have been on have spoken largely to the history of power and injustices in the country - and rightly so. Still, my thoughts tend to focus on how this history has impacted where women stand today (my feminism keeps pushing forward). It seems that even when men were debased through slavery, women were doubly enslaved sexually. When men were castrated, it was to make them less powerful and treated as women. When religion came with a message of freedom from bondage, it reiterated the role of women as secondary, sexual beings. This devaluation of women is present still in the conservative displays expected of women, in the separation of genders, in the issues women face.
Seeing the public service announcements painted on walls throughout the city and villages, I wonder if these send the best signals. How much is a picture of a man and woman in bed with shameful faces and alcohol bottles beneath the bed going to teach you about AIDs prevention? Won’t that only reinforce values of shame and inhibition, which does not necessarily reduce unprotected sexual practices? Does it even address the most pressing issues? And it seems to be mis-eduation about the transmission of AIDs; as if it is a punishment. And other PSAs I don’t understand at all, also involving gender related issues often, of course. I hope to get pictures. Maybe my skepticism is simply cultural misunderstanding; maybe these announcements send the perfect message . . .
Today we (who have apparently adopted Swahili time) waited for this and that before we finally ventured out just after noon. (Let’s back track, Polina and I went in search of her mangos around 10:00, but were not able to find any open street vendors yet.)
More markets and shopping (not for me, I am so over shopping at the moment
). Ice cream and cassava crisps for lunch – very nice.
We stay in Kariakoo when we are in Dar es Salaam which is the local market district. It is forever busy with people. Yards upon yards of beautiful fabric hanging over mud floors in squished spaces. Shoes, some American hand-me-downs, some handcrafted, lay side by side. Jewelry and tools and home supplies. Food and cleaning products. Miles and miles of it in a neighborhood full of city blocks. All of which look similar and have no street names. The streets smell alternately of citrus and corn, dirt and waste.
We then ventured to the park in the afternoon where there was a “Nurses Association” festival wrapping up. On the park stage, music was playing and a group of men had begun dancing. They were dancing all together to their own beats. Kevin joined them – and stuck out like a sore thumb. We women watched, as it would have been inappropriate for women to dance in public in the daylight outdoors – we are pretty sure. The men invited us to join, but they also suggested to Kevin that they were ‘interested’ in us as well.
We only watched with smiles as they tried to teach Kevin to move his hips. Also inte
resting aside, they told him he was the only black American man they had ever met. And that they liked that we were all here ‘black and white together.’ Their dancing was celebratory and grand. It was really great . . . though I wish we could have joined in the dancing ourselves. The receptionist at Juba plans to take us out dancing the Sunday we are in Dar – her only condition being that if we go, we must dance. No watching.
We got lost getting back to the hotel. But all is well. I only think five is too many for roaming – too many opinions and too little consensus/communication.
ly to understand and partially to share.A lot of the tours that we have been on have spoken largely to the history of power and injustices in the country - and rightly so. Still, my thoughts tend to focus on how this history has impacted where women stand today (my feminism keeps pushing forward). It seems that even when men were debased through slavery, women were doubly enslaved sexually. When men were castrated, it was to make them less powerful and treated as women. When religion came with a message of freedom from bondage, it reiterated the role of women as secondary, sexual beings. This devaluation of women is present still in the conservative displays expected of women, in the separation of genders, in the issues women face.
Seeing the public service announcements painted on walls throughout the city and villages, I wonder if these send the best signals. How much is a picture of a man and woman in bed with shameful faces and alcohol bottles beneath the bed going to teach you about AIDs prevention? Won’t that only reinforce values of shame and inhibition, which does not necessarily reduce unprotected sexual practices? Does it even address the most pressing issues? And it seems to be mis-eduation about the transmission of AIDs; as if it is a punishment. And other PSAs I don’t understand at all, also involving gender related issues often, of course. I hope to get pictures. Maybe my skepticism is simply cultural misunderstanding; maybe these announcements send the perfect message . . .
Today we (who have apparently adopted Swahili time) waited for this and that before we finally ventured out just after noon. (Let’s back track, Polina and I went in search of her mangos around 10:00, but were not able to find any open street vendors yet.)
More markets and shopping (not for me, I am so over shopping at the moment
). Ice cream and cassava crisps for lunch – very nice.We stay in Kariakoo when we are in Dar es Salaam which is the local market district. It is forever busy with people. Yards upon yards of beautiful fabric hanging over mud floors in squished spaces. Shoes, some American hand-me-downs, some handcrafted, lay side by side. Jewelry and tools and home supplies. Food and cleaning products. Miles and miles of it in a neighborhood full of city blocks. All of which look similar and have no street names. The streets smell alternately of citrus and corn, dirt and waste.
We then ventured to the park in the afternoon where there was a “Nurses Association” festival wrapping up. On the park stage, music was playing and a group of men had begun dancing. They were dancing all together to their own beats. Kevin joined them – and stuck out like a sore thumb. We women watched, as it would have been inappropriate for women to dance in public in the daylight outdoors – we are pretty sure. The men invited us to join, but they also suggested to Kevin that they were ‘interested’ in us as well.
We only watched with smiles as they tried to teach Kevin to move his hips. Also inte
resting aside, they told him he was the only black American man they had ever met. And that they liked that we were all here ‘black and white together.’ Their dancing was celebratory and grand. It was really great . . . though I wish we could have joined in the dancing ourselves. The receptionist at Juba plans to take us out dancing the Sunday we are in Dar – her only condition being that if we go, we must dance. No watching.We got lost getting back to the hotel. But all is well. I only think five is too many for roaming – too many opinions and too little consensus/communication.
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