My neighbourhood and around

At work, we went on an errand that involved driving through the plush suburbs – large houses set in beautiful gardens, all behind walls and security gates, and with small shopping centres nearby. Virtually next door to these luxurious places though are people living in the most basic conditions.

It seems like, despite the high cost of fuel, quite a few of the expat population drive everywhere (mainly in 4x4s, although that could because most of the roads are untarmacked, some with massive potholes).

At the moment I live close enough to walk to work, while other volunteers in the neighbourhood tend to walk, cycle or take the bus.  So far I’ve rarely seen other white people walking. (I think) that I don’t attract too much attention from the locals, although still more than would be the case in Glasgow! It seems like everyone here walks really slowly, but now I know why – you can start off walking briskly, but by the time you realise you’re getting really hot, it’s too late. After dark (and it can get dark quite quickly), though, take a taxi.

I live just off a main road, which is lined with lots of tiny shops, bigger places like a bank and a garage, and houses. Hardly any pavements, just verges of sand/dirt you pick your way through. There are a few bars and restaurants around too. So far the only one I’ve been to is an Ethiopian restaurant, hidden down a labyrinth of dark alleys, where five of us shared a huge kind of pancake on which was placed mounds of different types of lentils, and you eat the whole lot (lentils scooped up with a piece of pancake) with your hand.

I’ve just moved to a shared flat (a bit like being a student again) just across the road from the hotel I was in. It’s a nice place, but unfortunately the room is only free for a few weeks.  All around are ordinary houses, and quite a few people keep chickens, so you do get woken at dawn to the sound of cockcrows.  Even earlier you can sometimes hear the Muslim call to prayer.

The view from my flat:

Arriving in Dar

I was travelling to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania to work as a finance volunteer with a charity for three months. I wanted to do something different for a short while and it seemed like now was a good time to do it. 

I landed safely after a long overnight flight and felt slightly nervous as I looked around for my taxi at Arrivals, although in fact everything felt pretty calm and civilised.  Then followed the slow trip to the city at rush hour – past bus stops that seemed to stretch forever, women carrying water bottles on their heads, and cyclists carrying trays of eggs stacked about eight trays high.  The main roads seemed well-maintained but a lot of the side roads were dirt tracks.

Also visited the Immigration Office where everything seemed pretty reasonable – none of the long queues and cryptic responses I had been led to expect.  At the end of the day I went with some of my colleagues and their friends to an area with bars, restaurants and shops by the ocean, at the fancy end of town, which felt much like the kind of place you might find at a beach resort in Europe – it was good, but I could hardly keep my eyes open after my overnight flight.  So far, things have felt more familiar than alien.

I was staying in a hotel for the first while until my accommodation was organised. It was simple, but did have running water, electricity, and air conditioning.

Several times over the first few days I felt homesick (when I called home I was really emotional) and wondered if I had made a huge mistake by embarking on this project.  I wondered if I would need to mark off each day in a calendar to get me through.

The charity’s office is close by (less than a mile) but I wasn’t sure of the way so the first day at work I took a bajaj – a tiny three-wheeled vehicle, with no doors, which slipped between the buses, hurtled round corners, overtook by driving on the verges and in between roadside stalls, all at top speed.  Cheaper than a taxi, but I don’t think I’ll travel in one along the dual carriageway!

I am finding the local people a little bit reserved, although they can become friendlier once you get talking to them.  Quite a few people greet you in the street as you pass by.

Towards the end of the week, there were a number of colleagues from London visiting. On the third night we went first for drinks at the Yacht Club and then on to a posh Japanese restaurant, where the chefs did tricks with the food before cooking it, all in front of the diners.  Not what I expected to be doing in my first week! But it was good as I was occupied most of the week and distracted from thinking about being homesick.  The next night a few of us went to a shoreside bar/restaurant for a few drinks, pizza and chat.  It was a good end to the first working week.

The view from the Yacht Club...

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