The African brass band

 Saturday is wedding day. Where Irish and other European wedding parties go from church to reception with tooting horns, the announcement of a wedding here comes in the form of what looks like a brass band driving around the streets of the local town playing loud and proud and with sheer gusto. The band usually consists of up to eight members, their instruments including large drum and all of them kitted out in shirts of orange, pink or burgundy colours. It’s a bit like everything here on wheels– overcrowded – but they all manage to hang on to the back of the truck and play in tune for hours while driving up and down the streets. Quite often some of the wedding party squeeze in too. It’s just amazing! While sitting in a café last weekend I was accosted more than five times by the overwhelmingly loud sounds of the wedding band and its jovial musicians. When not puffing, blowing or banging they are grinning white smiles from ear to ear, so proud of their part in the announcement. The locals give them the thumbs up and nod in agreement at their talent whilst trying to catch a glimpse of the wedding party who follow in toe with ribbons and banners across cars and trucks.

My friend Ellen from Norway married Tanzanian David recently. I thought I was going to learn about African weddings, turns out I learned about what they do in Norway. It was fascinating. They married in an Anglican church and the bit I loved most was the trumpeter! When she walked up the aisle with her Dad the trumpet went off out of nowhere. I jumped, like many others, and suddenly a real wave of excitement went through the church. When they said their ‘I do’s' there was another trumpet call. By the time they were married, half an hour into the ceremony we were all laughing and smiling and moving in our seats. I thought that given they were married how could the rumours of three hours in the church possibly be true. They were very true. Over three hours later we walked out after much singing and clapping, even dancing in the seats. The Africans know how to sing. Oh and the obligatory brass band round of the town took place while my friends and I dashed off for a sneaky G&T before getting to the reception. It didn’t seem right to go to a wedding without doing the Irish on it!

Tradition has it that at a Norwegian wedding dancing and singing takes priority. However, before I had settled into my seat ready for the meal and the fanfare of the couples arrival and cutting of the cake the Norwegian party informed me of the juicy stuff. Tap your spoon against your glass and it demands that the Bride and Groom have to kiss – standing on the table! Stamp your feet and they have to kiss under the table! Finally bang the table and the Bride’s parents have to kiss. I don’t remember how many times I tapped spoons and forks against glasses! There was a lot of standing on the table and kissing. 

What was absolutely lovely was that Ellen's mum wrote her a song and sang it to her and her new husband. Then her best friends also sang her a song they had written together.  We all got a copy of the lyrics and had to sing along to the tune of a folk song. We even got a balloon each and had to blow it until it burst. I thought that was the best thing ever, especially after a few drinks! Later on there were various other African ‘activities’ that we all partook in. Each person made their way as part of a circle around the room to toast and clink glasses with the bride and groom and those on the top table. We also had to present out gifts by dancing up to a podium and present them to the Bride and Groom. Back to Norwegian tradition, the Brides family including her brother and his wife and family performed a traditional dance to present their gifts. Her parents danced for what seemed like ages and whose energy seemed incredible.  It was a lovely day and a real taste of how different cultures can merge and co-exist. I can imagine it was a stressful time for Ellen's family what with all the African formalities they were asked to partake in and being so far from home but there were smiles all round and each of her friends and family who traveled seemed to be having the time of their lives.  Here’s to their future and the wedding brass band!

Anyone for a dala-dala ride?

I forgot what it was like to travel in a dala-dala! The common and familiar local buses that ferry people up and down the country at devilish speeds is not a form of transport I like to take. Simply because I’d like to live beyond my next birthday. Called Matatu in Kenya (sounds a bit like matata which is the Swahili word for trouble!) these privately owned mini buses, most usually Hiace vans are the closest thing to suffocation you’ll get.

I took a short journey recently with three others and as we piled into the back of the eight seater people carrier I took stock of the situation. Four of us adults squished in the back, three and at times four people contorted into the most awkward looking positions in the boot and three in the front seat. Men have knees up to their chins, often bent forward or sideways to crippling proportions, women are made into small parcels. I usually end up holding onto the edge of an inch of the seat and mostly on top of somebody else. The muscles in my thighs buckling under the pressure. A total of seventeen and eighteen people at any one time enjoyed our journey that day and that was few! The average dala-dala takes up to twenty when full! The best part however has to be the high volume African beat blasting from the speakers, obligatory for any dala-dala driver who takes his job seriously. No thinking allowed and only shouting when required. I always suggest keeping your eyes off the road and anywhere but straight ahead once he puts his foot down. Never know when you might see death come knocking.

No discrimination in Africa - goats, chickens or other all allowed. It is possible to squeeze a goat into all sorts of situations and so long as you can close the door the usual thing is to just pack it in. It is not unusual to see a goat drop out of the back of a dala-dala, poor thing usually almost dead from lack of air. Chickens can sit on your knee or under your arm so take up far less space. There is always a ticket man, he basically takes your fare. This is a serious job and he runs the show. He is also the man who decides if you can fit or not. He will mostly err on the side of the more the merrier and just shove you in. If there is any sign of a gap you’re in, and I mean a gap of even the smallest proportions! He himself travels with his whole self and head out the window or door, ready for decapitation at any moment. Apparently it has happened. I heard that someone lost their head in Moshi! Not funny but quite hilarious given the chest out confident manner in which they all hang out these doors and windows. King of the dala-dala…oops, I lost my head! So when the dala-dala man isn’t losing his head he’s out there touting for business, often over ear deafening music and clearing the streets of travelers and many of its wandering goats and chickens. This is such a familiar sight here and worth experiencing to say you’ve survived it. Although given my last contortionist attempt I just wouldn’t be taking one everyday! 

‘Stumbling, tumbling, wandering, travelin’ thru….... ’ Travelin’ Thru by Dolly Parton

I’m back on my rugged road again. And still wandering…

A two week visit to Ireland to attend a surprise 40^th wedding anniversary party for my parents and I had almost forgotten all about African roads, African weather, African slowness and other African things…well for a little while at least! The weather in Cork was cold and definitely not summer, but the roads were almost perfect and all the lights worked!   

It was a flying visit, my feet barely touched the ground but the time spent with family and close friends I got to see was, in the words of the great advertising heads at Mastercard, ‘Priceless’! For those I couldn't see there will be a next time for sure. All tightly packed in there was just enough time to experience a whirlwind of western everything – lunch and dinner to gobble up some of my favourite foods, bubbly that exploded with extra fizz for the occasion with the girls, the green and glorious mountains of Cork and Kerry, hugging, kissing and patting of backs, laughing and joking heartily and out loud, shopping in London on a stop-over and some damn fine chocolate! Mum and Dad had a good time too and it was a very special time to share with them. 40 years of marriage is one great achievement and although their secret seems simple, I can’t help thinking they’ve had something up their sleeves for 40 years that they haven’t been telling me about! Always make decisions together but maintain your independence. Have your own interests and your own things going on, that’s what they say. Wise words and good advice.

So while it was difficult to say goodbye once again the great thing is that they will come and visit in early January. I get to facilitate what will hopefully be a fantastic holiday and a chance for me to have family around.  Coming back to Africa I think that I am for the first time really understanding the power of family and friends and their role in our journeys no matter how far from home we are. Sometimes they are all you’ve got when you’re losing your marbles in whatever corner of the word you’re in.

 Speaking of family times, the month of Ramadan has ended and the Muslim families around me are just getting over what could be called their Christmas.  One whole month of praying and fasting and they were not the only ones relieved to see the end. Ramadan involves fasting during daylight hours and that includes no liquids. Food will only be consumed very early in the morning and late at night. Mostly everyone gets on fine at first but four weeks of this can take its toll. Not least in the sense of some heavy mood swings. I’m not sure I’d be a ball of fun either if my sugar levels were as low as theirs everyday. So, getting anything done (although never easy or fast anyway) became almost impossible and I resorted to not even asking or bothering, leaving everything until it was all over and everyone is back on form again. For the month of August each year it becomes a bit like the equivalent to the ‘silly season’ back home. Well, all things being relative of course. But, I can say that they know how to ‘party’ when it’s all over. Concert size speakers and amplifiers to wake an army 20 miles away and you’ve got the picture. The end of Ramadan and the Idd celebrations carry on night and day and the power never goes off!  The music just beats on…and on….and on. And there’s one thing you notice about music and Tanzanians.  It’s not loud enough until the volume is just at that notch where the speakers start to vibrate, the earth groans with the weight of the bass beats and you can just about make out the ‘tune’ through the distortion and buzzing! It’s no good unless it’s LOUD. And that goes for everything in public. If the TV is on, turn it up. No good if no-one can hear it! Suffice to say I am appreciative of earplugs at these times!

But it is wonderful to see the children all dressed up in their sparkly dresses and best outfits running on the streets and just having fun. The more bling the better and they are all at their happiest. Pennies are borrowed and begged for, and possibly stolen too, to pay for the new dress or big dinner for the family to celebrate and it’s a huge event for everyone. Staff ask for loans that they spend months paying back and the singing and dancing goes on for two days. It’s a national holiday and people like me get to sit back and do whatever I please for two days. Everyone wins in the end.

So now that Idd is over, routine is back and my hearing is recovering the man in Tanesco (electricity board) keeps switching the lights off. The smiles are back too and the temperature is just fabulous but still we have something to remind us of where we are!

A year of memories

I have just passed the one year mark in TZ and I am very pleased with myself! I just can’t get over how much has changed in my life and how much I have learned. I truly believe that Africa challenges you in ways you could never imagine and no matter how much you think you are going to give, or try to give, she brings things right back to you instead. This is a place where the people, their culture and ways are so dramatically different from everything that us westerners know and believe in that everything can be lost in translation and you have to delve into the deepest confines of your soul sometimes to survive.   And that’s often what it’s all about, or the only thing it’s about. Before making any changes or putting forward what could be the best idea in the world, well researched and thought out, one must first understand the obstacles. There are always plenty of those. So it is that our very survival on this continent and therefore to be of any use to anyone we must firstly learn how to do, see and think differently every minute of the day. It’s been exhausting and I am tired often. But, I make some progress at times. Funding is being received, priests are (some reluctantly) changing their ways and learning new things. And that is what I came to do. There is light!

Throughout the twelve months I have gone through more personal growth than I could ever have done at home during years of trying! Life is more about getting to tomorrow and less about what my next ‘thing’ is going to be. I don’t often use my diary anymore and don’t know from one week to the next what I’ll be doing. I have ditched the heels and have been seen in crocs…! I can also be seen sweating profusely along with the locals in the humidity and never touch make-up in the height of the hot season.  I have also become a huge believer in the angels. Spirituality is more important now and time-out crucial. I have met some amazing and special people who have become friends for life and I receive at least one invite each week from some random Tanzanian who says he’d like to be my friend!

Mostly though I see life differently now. It’s all about perspective and respect. There is a lot of racism in Africa and how you react to it and deal with it teaches you a lot about yourself. And that’s not just white to black but very much visa-versa.  I am constantly challenged to remain non-judgemental and retain my principles.

Some of the things and highlights that come to mind include:

1. arriving in Tanga and being amazed at the contrast and ‘backwardness’ of it all 20 hours after  leaving a developed London. The mud huts and driving through herds of goat, sheep and cows to what seemed like the back end of the earth came as quite a reality check

2. the sunshine and heat everyday

3. the hundreds of bicycles and the day I saw beds, mattresses, tables and then all sorts of other household things on the back of each one

4. the sheer poverty and ignorance of most of the people(from a lack of education and opportunity)

5. the corruption and the sheer obviousness of it EVERYWHERE

6. the beauty of the land

7. the frustration and moments of despair when nothing happens

The most memorable moments have been the simplest things however. Getting to a ‘real’ supermarket for the first time in months and getting my hands on dark chocolate was like all my Christmases coming together! The first time a herd of zebra just galloped past the car like horses and hearing a bush baby (v small and cute primate about the size of a squirrel that comes out at night and is exceptionally vocal!) running along the roof and not knowing what the hell was out there!  

And so to a new year of experiences and a new blog. A change is as good as a rest and I would like to continue to share this journey and adventure with you, whatever it may bring. There will always be a story and a lesson to be learned and shared. x