Kigoma, Tanzania
On April Fool's Day, Tanzania railways played probably a routine joke on me. I bought a ticket for a train leaving at 7 AM that day, and so I arrived promptly. But then I heard that the train would not come until 10. So I thought, well that's probably normal, and went back then. They kept on telling me it would come at 10, until I realized that they meant Swahili time 10.... Swahili time begins at 6 AM as 0 hour, which meant they were trying to tell me my train wouldn't come until 4 PM. Apparently it had broken down 20 minutes after leaving its first station, and needed maybe oil changes or engine cool down breaks or other random things along the way. Good job to Tanzanian rail.
Kigoma is right on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, the world's second largest lake (by volume). Scenic small beaches dot the shores around, and to the north lie rolling hills. I looked and saw that the hills were nice, and decided to climb up on of them. So I took a tuk tuk to Kibilizi, a fishing village a short ways to the north. The place doubles as a cargo loading dock.... wooden boats with motors carry crates of cargo up and down the lake, often taking passengers to sit on top of the cargo for the ride. The marketplace there is full of trash and rubbish on the dirt road, and people like in mud brick houses with electric service provided courtesy of the American people, one sign tells me. I walk on. The kids see me, and yell Muzungu! They rush to wave at me. Yet they are not innocent. They immediately pick up the chorus, "Give me money!" A woman sitting by her house talks to me in Swahili, but I can understand what she means. She rubs her fingers at me, the seemingly universal sign for money. A two girls walk out of their house and they see me. They come towards me. Their mother comes behind them and teaches them what they forgot to say. "Give me money!" The kids surround me, yet I do not give them money. I do not give them money because I do not want to encourage begging. I do not want to reinforce the image that white men are rich and they are poor. I cannot feed them for a lifetime, nor can I feed all of them. Nor did I come here to feed them. Yet such is the mindset of many people in Tanzania. "We are poor," they say, "you are muzungu, and so you should give us money." An older man agrees with this thought, a man I met on the train on the way here. As we finish having dinner together, the waiter comes to take our bill, and tells me I should pay. Afterwards, I ask the man, why is it that I should pay? Is that the paying culture here? He replies that usually whoever invited for the dinner should pay for the dinner, but because of the color of my skin, I am muzungu, and therefore I should pay because they are poor.
This mindset in Tanzania was the greatest culture shock factor for me. In most past Asian countries I visited, there was a great hospitality culture. Friends I made would stop me from paying, prevent me because I was a guest in their country, and they could not bear to see me pay. And even though the salespeople tried to rip me off like hell at times, I realized they always at least pretended to offer me something in return. Here, even normal people see me and tell me, "give me 2000 shillings for lunch." Many believe that Muzungus are very rich, and they deserve to share in some of the money. And I paid for my friend's dinner, because even though his dinner is $4, he is paid a total of $100 for an entire month. He invited me to see the city with him the next day on his motorbike, so we went around the city, then he takes me to see his home. He starts to explain all of his financial troubles to me, and wants my help in getting his daughter sponsored for her school tuition, and help in building a private orphanage that he can make more money running (he is director of a church orphanage). So I guess that was the real purpose of him befriending me. I did what I could introducing him to people from EWB and some child charities online, but still, I wish our friendship had been more pure. It was stressful trying to not disappoint him.
Tomorrow, I am boarding a boat headed for Zambia, MV Liemba, which is a 100 year old ship built by the Germans. It will take some people and cargo down the lake, for a total of maybe 2 days, floating down south!
On April Fool's Day, Tanzania railways played probably a routine joke on me. I bought a ticket for a train leaving at 7 AM that day, and so I arrived promptly. But then I heard that the train would not come until 10. So I thought, well that's probably normal, and went back then. They kept on telling me it would come at 10, until I realized that they meant Swahili time 10.... Swahili time begins at 6 AM as 0 hour, which meant they were trying to tell me my train wouldn't come until 4 PM. Apparently it had broken down 20 minutes after leaving its first station, and needed maybe oil changes or engine cool down breaks or other random things along the way. Good job to Tanzanian rail.
Kigoma is right on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, the world's second largest lake (by volume). Scenic small beaches dot the shores around, and to the north lie rolling hills. I looked and saw that the hills were nice, and decided to climb up on of them. So I took a tuk tuk to Kibilizi, a fishing village a short ways to the north. The place doubles as a cargo loading dock.... wooden boats with motors carry crates of cargo up and down the lake, often taking passengers to sit on top of the cargo for the ride. The marketplace there is full of trash and rubbish on the dirt road, and people like in mud brick houses with electric service provided courtesy of the American people, one sign tells me. I walk on. The kids see me, and yell Muzungu! They rush to wave at me. Yet they are not innocent. They immediately pick up the chorus, "Give me money!" A woman sitting by her house talks to me in Swahili, but I can understand what she means. She rubs her fingers at me, the seemingly universal sign for money. A two girls walk out of their house and they see me. They come towards me. Their mother comes behind them and teaches them what they forgot to say. "Give me money!" The kids surround me, yet I do not give them money. I do not give them money because I do not want to encourage begging. I do not want to reinforce the image that white men are rich and they are poor. I cannot feed them for a lifetime, nor can I feed all of them. Nor did I come here to feed them. Yet such is the mindset of many people in Tanzania. "We are poor," they say, "you are muzungu, and so you should give us money." An older man agrees with this thought, a man I met on the train on the way here. As we finish having dinner together, the waiter comes to take our bill, and tells me I should pay. Afterwards, I ask the man, why is it that I should pay? Is that the paying culture here? He replies that usually whoever invited for the dinner should pay for the dinner, but because of the color of my skin, I am muzungu, and therefore I should pay because they are poor.
This mindset in Tanzania was the greatest culture shock factor for me. In most past Asian countries I visited, there was a great hospitality culture. Friends I made would stop me from paying, prevent me because I was a guest in their country, and they could not bear to see me pay. And even though the salespeople tried to rip me off like hell at times, I realized they always at least pretended to offer me something in return. Here, even normal people see me and tell me, "give me 2000 shillings for lunch." Many believe that Muzungus are very rich, and they deserve to share in some of the money. And I paid for my friend's dinner, because even though his dinner is $4, he is paid a total of $100 for an entire month. He invited me to see the city with him the next day on his motorbike, so we went around the city, then he takes me to see his home. He starts to explain all of his financial troubles to me, and wants my help in getting his daughter sponsored for her school tuition, and help in building a private orphanage that he can make more money running (he is director of a church orphanage). So I guess that was the real purpose of him befriending me. I did what I could introducing him to people from EWB and some child charities online, but still, I wish our friendship had been more pure. It was stressful trying to not disappoint him.
Tomorrow, I am boarding a boat headed for Zambia, MV Liemba, which is a 100 year old ship built by the Germans. It will take some people and cargo down the lake, for a total of maybe 2 days, floating down south!