Tour of Dar es Salaam was to start at 10:30am. Began at 12:00.
The stench of the fish market is overwhelming, especially in contrast to the ultra commercial hotel Motenpick where we stopped to pick up our tickets for Zanzibar. (The hotel with its veranda and all the shops you could ever need means there is no need to experience Tanzania.) The smell of the fish hits us as we step off the bus. Our first glance at the Indian Ocean comes after a trek through vendors and buyers, mud and fish remains.
At the shore, fishermen in small boats unload buckets full of sardines. Downwardly, a ferry takes seemingly thousands – in reality, hundreds – of people across to the neighboring island. One lady continues to hassle our group for opportunities to give her money – “take my picture” “let me show you this” etc. The fish fresh from the water – washed and butchered on site – does not smell horridly. The back areas of the market, though, smell like a mixture of rotted fish and human excrement.
Across the street, fish are dried or cooked and sold among fruits and vegetables. There are sting ray tails being dried to be
used as whips. Sardines are scaled and “boiled” – we would call them deep fried – in hot oil over coals. It is a smoky business and many people are engaged in this activity. These salty, fried sardines don’t taste too bad – they aren’t too good either.
From the fish market we drove through the government sector where embassies, hospitals, and international organizations are found. The house where the first president was sworn in, the WHO, the ministry of education. The president and prime minister’s homes are impressive – with a mini zoo in the backyard.
From here were the hotels and homes of the “high-end,” as our tour guide referred to them. These are huge and oceanfront each with a different style of architecture. Our tour guide points out that most of the architecture in town is representative of those who colonized or currently run the businesses in Tanzania – German, Arabic, Indian, British. The Golden Tulip hotel is a resort – pool, ocean view, lobby – fancy. (We stopped to take photos.)
By contrast, the nearby residences (through the “ex-pat” district) are less than suitable for most Americans. Certainly perspective is needed – justified by a classmate who responded, “I thought we already saw the slums,” when told that the slums was our next destination. After stopping at the mall (really?) for a snack we continued to the slums.
This is the picture of African life that you imagine – packed-in markets, homes, salons; people selling clothes (donated by Western do-gooders), fruit, food, anything; people mending clothes, braiding hair, taking care of children, washing up. All footsteps from the sewers. And all outdoors – clothes washing, sewing, dish washing – on porches, alleyways, in an open doorway. Children and chicken run along the sidewalks. Everyone (not only here, but everywhere in the city) stares at us, closely and without looking away. That is nerve racking. How do you respond? What is proper? Is my presence here simply unacceptable, rude, wrong? Are we exploitive?
This morning looking out my window, I was a little taken aback by my surroundings. I’m not sure why. But the tin roof homes, dish washing on patios, and rundown buildings surprised me a bit. This is not the beautiful Africa portrayed in brochures. This has beauties of it
s own, but you have to tilt your head and look closer through different eyes. The woman carrying her child on her back in brightly covered fabrics is beautiful; the pineapples and mangoes going to market; head scarves and bicycles. There is beauty in the life and bustle of the city, but the city itself lacks an obvious sort of attraction.
Some thoughts:
- Women and men seem to live separate lives. Women are simply not seen as often in the city. Men are far more numerous walking around freely. Even in the residential areas though, men were at bars or work (sewing or selling) with other men. Women, meanwhile, were washing or beautifying (hair, nails) together. *Also interesting that men can show friendly affection (holding hands with one another) but women do not. Watching children also seems to have little emphasis as a woman’s duty alone (once they can walk and be free of her back). No, child rearing is balanced between women, men, children, and village. Whether this is positive would require more observation.
- All Tanzanians appear largely friendly, but those in “the slums” seemed especially so. Not overly friendly, but more accepting of tourists anyway.
- WESTERNIZATION: We visited a mall – really?? Shops were not the same (but nearly), were not populated. Coke seems ever present in ads. English is everywhere. American music
is played. Clothing is western. And even so, the dichotomy between rich and poor is great. Far too great. Capitalism does not help Tanzanians. Capitalists come from outside of the country, from wealth, rather than from within. There is no sense of trying to get ahead; there is a sense of how to get through today, of survival, of communalism. The communities seem literally interconnected. *The west does not just come from the U.S. and Europe, but also from India and the Middle East here. Indians own most larger local businesses in Dar es Salaam, according to our tour guide.
The stench of the fish market is overwhelming, especially in contrast to the ultra commercial hotel Motenpick where we stopped to pick up our tickets for Zanzibar. (The hotel with its veranda and all the shops you could ever need means there is no need to experience Tanzania.) The smell of the fish hits us as we step off the bus. Our first glance at the Indian Ocean comes after a trek through vendors and buyers, mud and fish remains.
At the shore, fishermen in small boats unload buckets full of sardines. Downwardly, a ferry takes seemingly thousands – in reality, hundreds – of people across to the neighboring island. One lady continues to hassle our group for opportunities to give her money – “take my picture” “let me show you this” etc. The fish fresh from the water – washed and butchered on site – does not smell horridly. The back areas of the market, though, smell like a mixture of rotted fish and human excrement.
Across the street, fish are dried or cooked and sold among fruits and vegetables. There are sting ray tails being dried to be
used as whips. Sardines are scaled and “boiled” – we would call them deep fried – in hot oil over coals. It is a smoky business and many people are engaged in this activity. These salty, fried sardines don’t taste too bad – they aren’t too good either.From the fish market we drove through the government sector where embassies, hospitals, and international organizations are found. The house where the first president was sworn in, the WHO, the ministry of education. The president and prime minister’s homes are impressive – with a mini zoo in the backyard.
From here were the hotels and homes of the “high-end,” as our tour guide referred to them. These are huge and oceanfront each with a different style of architecture. Our tour guide points out that most of the architecture in town is representative of those who colonized or currently run the businesses in Tanzania – German, Arabic, Indian, British. The Golden Tulip hotel is a resort – pool, ocean view, lobby – fancy. (We stopped to take photos.)
By contrast, the nearby residences (through the “ex-pat” district) are less than suitable for most Americans. Certainly perspective is needed – justified by a classmate who responded, “I thought we already saw the slums,” when told that the slums was our next destination. After stopping at the mall (really?) for a snack we continued to the slums.
This is the picture of African life that you imagine – packed-in markets, homes, salons; people selling clothes (donated by Western do-gooders), fruit, food, anything; people mending clothes, braiding hair, taking care of children, washing up. All footsteps from the sewers. And all outdoors – clothes washing, sewing, dish washing – on porches, alleyways, in an open doorway. Children and chicken run along the sidewalks. Everyone (not only here, but everywhere in the city) stares at us, closely and without looking away. That is nerve racking. How do you respond? What is proper? Is my presence here simply unacceptable, rude, wrong? Are we exploitive?
This morning looking out my window, I was a little taken aback by my surroundings. I’m not sure why. But the tin roof homes, dish washing on patios, and rundown buildings surprised me a bit. This is not the beautiful Africa portrayed in brochures. This has beauties of it
s own, but you have to tilt your head and look closer through different eyes. The woman carrying her child on her back in brightly covered fabrics is beautiful; the pineapples and mangoes going to market; head scarves and bicycles. There is beauty in the life and bustle of the city, but the city itself lacks an obvious sort of attraction.Some thoughts:
- Women and men seem to live separate lives. Women are simply not seen as often in the city. Men are far more numerous walking around freely. Even in the residential areas though, men were at bars or work (sewing or selling) with other men. Women, meanwhile, were washing or beautifying (hair, nails) together. *Also interesting that men can show friendly affection (holding hands with one another) but women do not. Watching children also seems to have little emphasis as a woman’s duty alone (once they can walk and be free of her back). No, child rearing is balanced between women, men, children, and village. Whether this is positive would require more observation.
- All Tanzanians appear largely friendly, but those in “the slums” seemed especially so. Not overly friendly, but more accepting of tourists anyway.
- WESTERNIZATION: We visited a mall – really?? Shops were not the same (but nearly), were not populated. Coke seems ever present in ads. English is everywhere. American music
is played. Clothing is western. And even so, the dichotomy between rich and poor is great. Far too great. Capitalism does not help Tanzanians. Capitalists come from outside of the country, from wealth, rather than from within. There is no sense of trying to get ahead; there is a sense of how to get through today, of survival, of communalism. The communities seem literally interconnected. *The west does not just come from the U.S. and Europe, but also from India and the Middle East here. Indians own most larger local businesses in Dar es Salaam, according to our tour guide. 
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