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The
International Writers Magazine: African City Cautions
Arusha
Trista Mrema explores Arusha
A
walk into Arusha town (actually, it was just made a city!) So,
my mother's car got busted on the way back from Serengeti and
was towed to the shop. Before we left, daddy's truck's water pump
cracked and the part had to be ordered from Dar es Salaam...so
we were back in Arusha with no ride. This suited me fine, I decided
I hate using cars as a regular mode of transportation...we were
close enough to town, we could walk it. I've gotten too used to
the freedom of my bike in Amsterdam and I didnt see why
we weren't walking more in Arusha.
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I don't know why
I didnt 'see' that this isTanzania's summer time and thus, hot
as all balls. If I was only conducting business before 10 am, I could
walk like Moses all over the place, otherwise bake in the heat. And,
what wasn't terribly obvious from the shelter of a car, were the perv-y
eyes of perv-y men...actually, the eyes I don't mind, they don't make
a peep, it's the hootin 'n hollerin I dont take a
shine to (sorry, Im channeling Uncle Jesse from Dukes of Hazard).
My mother, my aunt Kawinzi, her son Max, her daughter Katy and myself
walked into town to get a little exercise and do some shopping. I love
walking around because it gives you enough time to check people out
and find out about your surroundings. In this town, it's more like our
surroundings were finding out about us; vendors trying to sell their
wares, poor kids begging, perv-y men begging (yuck!). and it's one of
these crazy busy towns like Shanghai or something where you find every
mode of transport, every type of human, and every kind of animal on
the road in chaotic symphony.
This is EXACTLY the type of scene I adore watching....but noooooo...I
was averting eyes (gladly!), begging bambini (they always came up to
me because they know Im soft) and skanky strays (so sad). The
walk was stressful, not leisurely as it should be; I was either worrying
about getting hit by a car/matatu (bus) /bike/human-pulled cart thingy
or getting jacked by the starving desperate kids or being raped by the
lurking men. I was struck by the amount of men I saw...ok, maybe it's
not the amount of men but more like the lack of women...and, to be specific,
the lack of hot westernized charming women with big smiles and an even
bigger laughs (i.e. me). I dont like a lot of any one thing and
certainly not too much testosterone. I trusted that my mother knew what
she was doing when she suggested we walked through town, but I was very
glad to find that we would be taking a taxi back home when the time
came.
So, the next day, minus my mother (she was sick...read: hung-over),
Kawinzi and her kids (they went to Nairobi to see my grandmother), I
walked to town toute seule. My mother laid down some rules: don't talk
to anyone, don't stop for anyone, dont wear what you were wearing
last time, use a purse/bag that you can close, if you get scared, hop
into a taxi. She also chose this time to tell me of the story of the
French tourists getting robbed on the bridge we crossed going into town....thanks,
mommy!
My instructions were clear...but...I love people...I love looking at
them, smiling at them, talking to them...how was I going to survive?
You should've seen me psyche myself up: 'ok, pretend you're a hardened
criminal...no, that's a stretch...pretend you're a guy...ok, how about
a butch lesbian...walk like a butch lesbian...but, wait, this is third-world
Africa, maybe that will get me robbed quicker....ok, just pretend you're
an evil bitch.' But, I ask you, when has five minutes gone by when I
havent either laughed, smiled or worn some silly ass expression
on my face? How the hell was I going to play evil ass bitch on the walk
to and from town?
I left our gate and turned the corners of my mouth down and strode like
I had a huge pair of balls...but, because I find humor in everything,
I soon broke this posture to have a good giggle at myself. It's hard
work trying to be mean, I prayed no kids or old people passed me by.
My first test came in the form of a small group of heckling guys...they
called 'hello,' spotting I was Western and tried to get my attention,
but I didnt look. Do you know how hard that was? I smile and say
hello to people that are across the damn street not even paying attention
to me...how am I going to ignore a straightforward 'hello?' But, I did,
because my mother put the fear in me: the fear that I would be swindled
or kidnapped or something. I had planned to do more shopping, but when
I finally got to town, I realized I wouldnt be able to keep the
charade up. I had already broken once and smiled and said 'jambo' to
a passer-by...I wouldnt last too long, they'd find me out. I totally
relaxed and my face brightened when I reached our gate again...I gave
Charlie, the gate dude, a big ole Trista grin...it had been ages.
Lesson learned: dont take my silly happy ass out in a testosterone-infused
third world city all alone...unless Im Australian and consider
this some kind of extreme sport.
© Trista Mrema April 2006
tmrema@hotmail.com
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Arusha Part Two
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