Dar es Salaam

“It looks like the news.”

That description of Dar es Salaam was so aptly put by my friend Kristen. Before I came, I convinced myself that the stereotypical images of Africa were products of a biased media, an ignorant Western populace, or charity organizations pulling at Americans’ heartstrings. But, sadly, those images exist because the reality exists.

The road from the Dar es Salaam airport to the guesthouse where I’m staying was depressing, to say the least. There are no sidewalks, just dirt paths and storm drains filled with trash. I saw a woman carrying an old sewing machine on her head, next to a child with a bucket of water on hers. The rows of “businesses” make the back alleys of Chicago look like Michigan Avenue. And the slums… it’s difficult to describe.

Needless to say, my first impression of Dar was daunting. I’ve never felt more homesick in my life. But, as everyone promised, it did get better.

This is the guesthouse where I’m living. It belongs to a professor at the university and is quite large. Kristen and I are neighbors in a separate building from the professor (and others staying here). It’s more like a complex or estate.

We have our own bathrooms, living area, and kitchen. It’s quite comfortable, even if you have to sleep under a mosquito net. (At first, it’s like waking up in a cloud.)

This is Tanzania’s biggest mall, within walking distance of the guesthouse. Stepping into it was like a long distance hug from America. Some of the stores include a big grocery store, a Sears-type store, a department store, and a movie theater (currently showing movies like Wall-E and The Mummy). I don’t want to spend all my time and money here, missing out on the real African experience. But it’s reassuring to know that, should I want to, I can walk down the street for some pizza, an iPod, and bad Brendan Frasier screen time.

Dar es Salaam’s city centre is bustling. It took an hour to get there on a daladala (public “buses”), filled with so many people that sometimes they can’t even close the doors. Everyone is eager to say hello—some times to sell you something but often to just learn where you’re from. It’s a friendliness I’ve never experienced, even living in the Deep South. When you don’t know how to say something in Swahili (like, “No thank you, I already have shoes”), they will tell you how. It’s hot, smelly, and dirty. And I can already tell that I will grow to love it.

A fortuitous meeting on my first daladala ride led me to a wonderfully lazy Sunday at a beach with some other expats. My new friend from the UK took us to a wonderful stretch of paradise, just a 5 minute ferry ride away from the city.

(MORE PICTURES HERE!)

Some interesting things to note:
1. The word for “name” in Swahili is “Jina.” That’s pronounced just like my name. This makes for a comical introduction… everytime. I've resorted to introducing myself as "J."
2. As Kris and I were grocery shopping, talking about how truly American the store is, we saw a giant black rat scurry past us. We have since reconsidered how “American” it is.
3. A bus ride anywhere costs about $0.25. A copy of Barack Obama’s “Audacity of Hope” is about $43.