I live on Bagamoyo Road, the main route to the northern suburbs of Dar es Salaam. By default, it isn't exactly the most pedestrian-friendly part of a city that doesn't get big accolades for pedestrian friendliness. Bagamoyo Road is three lanes, with the middle lane alternating between north and southbound traffic, and is often at a standstill in both directions. The alternating lane doesn't really have rules, per se. During the morning rush, it is pretty much a southbound lane, and in the evening rush northbound. Or, it may be both simultaneously. Or, a combination of cars, daladalas or bijajis may use the dirt shoulder. It makes walking up the road to the internet cafe an exercise in ... ... awareness.
What this also means is that if we aren't taking daladalas, we are usually taking taxis. I had never walked more than 10 minutes up the road. So today, Sunday afternoon, I decided to explore. I had a feeling that the road branching off from Bagamoyo just north of us went all the way through about a mile to Shoppers Plaza, a small mall that I had never been to, but was reputed to have a great bookstore and coffee shop. And, in the back of my mind, I thought, if that goes well, I may go all the way to The Slipway, an ex-pat outdoor shopping plaza on Msasani Bay, and use the wireless there.
Unusually for a side road, the first half mile was asphalt. And then it became, as so many roads in Dar do, something more like an ad-hoc road through an urban wilderness. Kind of like a road you might see in some wilderness area, that is sort of there, sort of not, rutted, potholed, full of large lakes in the rainy season, and muddy. When walking in Dar, I often think of cartoons where you see footprints of where someone has walked, with zig-zags and curlicues, as that is often what it feels like, navigating less-muddy footpaths on the road, going around the muddiest areas whenever possible, circumnavigating bodies of water that I have seen swallow cars, while cars, daladalas and piki pikis (motorcycles) are doing the same thing, while simultaneously being aware of the waves of rust-colored muddy water they leave in their wake. Gentle Tanzanians become crazy people behind the wheel, but I must they say they are pretty polite when it comes to avoiding splashing pedestrians.
Back to my walk, once again imagining the confusing GPS version of my path down what on a map might appear to be a straight road. Watching a woman give up, take off her sandals and just wade while balancing her groceries atop her head (something that always puts me in awe - I have no idea how one does that - even 5 gallon plastic pails of stuff balanced on the head - another African mystery. I tried it with a five-gallon plastic jug of filtered water once on the way home - it hurts).
My muddy path takes me past small found-wood stalls with tin roofs selling beautiful dresses, men sitting out front of another shop, offering me a warm "habari" or "karibu," a fruit vendor, a small stand with a charcoal brazier grilling meat on sticks while someone else cooks chips in a deep vat of oil. It is life in the neighborhood. I would love to take photos of everyday life like this, but I would be offending the spirit of being there... that real sense of karibu/welcome.
Looming ahead is the 3-story Shoppers Plaza, a mall that includes a large grocery store, bookstore, coffee shop, dress shops, etc., a place at which virtually nobody in the immediate neighborhood could afford to shop. After buying coffee for one of my roommates, I continue on toward Msasani Bay. The next part is through a slum. The tin-roofed buildings get much closer together, some of them also made of mud and sticks, the streets a bit more of a maze and even muddier (as if that were possible), surprised looks along with the offers of "habari" or "jambo" (surprise that there is a crazy mzungu walking through the neighborhood), and yet much the same feel. Fruit stalls, roasting skewers of meat, smiles, kids playing, a hardware store, a tailor working at an ancient-looking sewing machine with beautiful clothing hanging on the wood walls behind him, stalls selling clothing that looks like US or European cast-offs (the t-shirts are a dead giveaway), and what always impresses me when in seriously economically disadvantaged areas here with mud everywhere - clean well-dressed people going about their business.
I exit the slum even more abruptly than I entered. The slum gives way to huge houses with manicured lawns behind walls with electric wires atop and forbidding gates. Some of them are embassies. The heavily-secured US Embassy is just down the road. It's quite the economic shift. I walk past the Irish Pub, another hangout on Msasani Bay that has a wonderful quiet deck on the water where you can enjoy a beer in the cool(er) evening with friends. At the end of this I am at The Slipway, a very prim and proper mall built mostly for ex-patriates, with a huge children's playground and outdoor cafes on the shore of Msasani Bay and the Indian Ocean.
I write while sitting in the courtyard at The Slipway, looking out at the water, under the shade of an acacia tree. I was just startled (and then started laughing) after two small gray lizards with bright yellow heads (a variety of gecko?) plop down from above on my keyboard. They might have been as startled as me, sitting on my keyboard staring at me. They didn't type anything.
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