Tanzanian Times

End of the Tanzanian Times

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 07:33:22 -0400

Dear Readers,

Thank you to all of you who have followed my adventures for the past year, especially to those who have stuck through from the start to the finish - I have greatly appreciated your feedback, comments and support.

Now I have signed a new two year contract and have no idea how much longer I’ll be in Dar, I’m saying a fond farewell to this blog. Instead I am going to try and do some proper writing and a series of short stories based on life in Tanzania.

I will not put these on the blog, but please just let me know if you want to read them and I can forward to you as and when I write them.

Below is the prologue to these stories.

Kwa heri rafiki wangu,

April's Wellies: Prologue

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 07:30:09 -0400

It was a hot day, but winter had bought with it a dry heat so even after walking to Mwenge market and haggling over vegetables for an hour we had not broken out in a sweat. Having spent a year in Dar es Salaam I now knew that this couple of months were the best. Come September we would start to slowly melt again.

We were on our way home, walking down one of the few tarmacked artery roads that led to the city centre, over-populated with dalladallas, cars and bajajs all hooting and vying for each other’s attention. Although it was a trip we frequently made, it was a rare sight to see two wazungu[1] walking down the dusty track on the side of the road. Most would be in their 4x4s.

We stopped at a small shop on the side of the road so Roo could look at bags and argue over the fact that they were more expensive second hand than he could buy new in London. I wandered onto the nextdoor shop, which was full of sad looking second hand baby items. At the front were a row of pushchairs – the kind we old-fashioned kind that we used to play with as children with no padding or plastic. Each of the seats were ripped; some were missing almost entirely. Did Tanzanians know what these were supposed to be for? Pushchairs on the rough roads in Dar would be a pretty painful experience for both the baby in the chair and the person pushing it. They were probably seen more as a way of transporting logs or other big items.

Next to the pushchairs was a line of children’s wellies gathering dust. One pair in particular drew my attention. They would probably fit a three or four year old and underneath the layers of grime I think were black with big colourful spots on them. A marker pen signature on the top inside declared that ‘April’ owned these wellies. I wondered where they had come from before.

In my mind, April was a little English girl who used to line her wellies up at nursery when it rained. At home though she sometimes used to disregard them in the hallway, causing her mother to shout at her to put them away. She loved jumping in puddles and going for dog-walks in the rain. However, come one autumn her feet were too big for the wellies and her mother bought her some new ones: the same pink ones that Clare had at nursery and that April liked so much. The spotty wellies were now redundant and after sitting in the hallway for almost a year, her mother finally got round to bagging them up and dropping them in one of the clothes boxes at the end of the road (together with the party dress April had outgrown and had cried when it had split at the last party she had been to).

How old is April now? Wellies are difficult to age, especially those sat on the side of a busy road in Dar. I suspect April is probably still a child but is about to enter her ‘teenage’ years, which as her mother will repeatedly point out did not exist when she was younger, and no she cannot get her ears pierced or go on a date with Darren to the cinema.

Will April ever follow her wellies to Africa? Only time and imaginations will tell, but statistically speaking it is unlikely. In fact I am pretty sure in her gap year she will ‘do India’ but will never have a particular interest in the dark continent. I like to think she is not prejudiced, but it is difficult to tell as she will live in a town house in Belgravia with a huge rock on her finger, a husband in the stock-market and a little girl who will leave her own wellies strewn across the hallway (her mother will have warned April that white carpet was not a good move with children).

So April, these stories are the stories that your wellies would tell you if they could. Coming from wellies they may not be accurate in every way, they may be embellished or imagined, but they are all based on truth. Some of the stories will need to wait until you are older, but some might be ready for you in your new pink wellies like Clare’s.

[1] White people

My anniversary present from Tanzania: a dead rat floating in the ocean.

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 07:17:20 -0400

This time last year I had just touched down in Zambia for a week’s fundraising conference, before heading to Dar es Salaam which was going to be my home for the next 12 months. The 12 months have both flown and dragged and have been full of adventures I have felt privileged to have (although often only after the adventure had been completed!) They have ranged from new friends and sun tans at one end of the spectrum to killer bees and floating dead rats (as you can imagine, this was not a welcome spectacle and involved me screaming and running up the beach) at the other.

And what is more, these 12 months now look like they might become 36 as both Roo and I have just signed new two year contracts. I am not sure how I feel about this but if the next 24 are as diverse, challenging, interesting and fun as the last 12, I think we’ll be OK.

Dead rats aside, I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my and Tanzania’s one year anniversary than a list of Top Ten highlights. I started doing these in order but it was too hard - so think of them more as joint:

10: Mbalamwezi
Mbalamwezi is probably my favourite place in Dar. It is a beach bar about 3 minutes walk from our house and the perfect place to go and sit watching the sunset over the Indian ocean while catching up with friends (and mosquitoes) and drinking their wine (/vinegar, depending how long the bottle’s been open for).

9: Ninajifunza Kiswahili lakini pole pole
In February I FINALLY started taking regular Swahili classes. And I am learning. An hour twice a week isn’t enough to make headway as fast as I’d like, but I’m getting there slowly. And my teacher is brilliant: very patient of the fact I can’t really tell the time in English let alone when the numbers change and very willing to gang up against Roo in my pigeon Swahili.

8: ‘Say yes to the dress’

One of my favourite afternoon’s in Dar. I didn’t go to a single wedding dress shop in the UK, so it was luck that Megan and the girls organised this extravangza!

7: Daily Life

Having been terrified by local transport when I first arrived, I am now a mean negotiater with the bajaj drivers and pretty expert on the dalladallas. I can handle cockroaches scurrying out the cupboard and have improved reflexes from mosquito killings. I am hardly ever seen in clothing that doesn’t come down to my knees and have lived without a mirror the the last couple of months (with unflattering results). Africa has changed me.

6: Lushoto
5 months in and just when I was really starting to miss home, Rach and Dan arrived. Scary bus journey aside we had a brilliant trip hiking in Lushoto, and wine and old friends were just what I needed to get through til Christmas.

5: Delivery of Dolly Mix

In February Mum and Dad made their first trip ever to Africa. They were both excited and nervous before coming, but had a really good time (confirmed by the fact Mum is planning a trip for next year already!) They had managed to cram many goodies into their suitcases, including dolly mix, which I hadn’t realised I had missed but turns out is amazing!

4: Book Club

Books. Wine. Friends. No need to say more.

3: Beach Life

When I came back from the UK in May I was told by my colleagues: ‘your skin has changed colour’. And it had. It has taken two months and a few dedicated beach days to lose the anaemic glow I got from being in the UK for two weeks. Whenever we move on from Dar, the tropical beaches on our doorstep will be something I will sorely miss.

2: Home

‘Homes’ really. Both my first one with Ben, with Mwasu our dada (cleaner) who rearranged our belongings on a weekly basis, chick flick nights with Ben whooping at the TV and the long list of problems starting with the water pump… and the second one with just me and Roo, with our Soviet Union bathroom, a gate-crashing Jack Russell puppy and a throbbing music venue. Home is where the heart is, and mine is mainly in Tanzania at the moment (although all of you back home have a little bit with you as well).

1: Jinja Town

And the obvious number one highlight is the fact Roo can’t shake me now. I have four rings to prove it, and rumours are that even the Archbishop has said yes.

Thank you for the music (sometimes)

Wed, 11 Jul 2012 10:38:49 -0400

So I’m sat here thinking about killing time at the office before heading out to choir practice (after almost 9 months absence I’ve started going again - well, I’ve been again once) and have decided to show a little more love to my neglected blog and a little less love to my micro-managed work to do list.

And as I am about to head off to choir, it seemed an appropriate time to give some random musings on music (musical musings if you will)…:

- On nights out you will hear the same song played ad nauseum. Often again and again in a row. One of the particular favourites (I’ve just tried to find a link on youtube but can’t as I don’t know the name of the song) has a dance that accompanies it, not unlike the macarena. People love this dance. They will continue to dance the dance for the next five songs that follow, irrespective of what the beat or music is.

- Our new place is behind a hall that they let out for weddings and ‘send-off’ parties (pre-weddings that sound pretty identical to weddings). It is JUST behind, and we are only too aware of that on nights (/early mornings) where the music is cranked up so high that it sounds like we are inside a snare drum (due to rattling metal roof of venue). Up until a couple of weeks ago this happened up to 3 or 4 nights a week. Now, thankfully, after complaining it seems to be somewhat improved.

- I once listened to a Celine Dion CD for four hours in a row on a bus ride.

- A sample song for you - this is HUGE in Tanzania (sadly this is an Ethiopian version, but pretty much the same!). Guaranteed to get everyone on the dance floor: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j5DkJz6VK7Q&feature=related

I feel there are many more musical musings, but now must go and actually sing music so will leave it there and add to at later date if struck by inspiration…

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye…

Roo enters the next decade

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 11:29:09 -0400

Its not every day you turn 30, and its not every weekend that is your last weekend of being 29. To celebrate I informed Roo that I was in charge of the weekend and he was to make no plans.

He managed to remain delightfully ignorant of all that was happening behind his back and I have decided is probably the easiest person to plan a surprise weekend for in the world. Had it been a surprise weekend for me I’m sure I would have known where we were going, what we were doing and who was involved long in advance - it was much more satisfying this way!

Thinking that no-one else was involved in the weekend, Roo decided he wanted a few close friends round for a BBQ on his actual birthday. On hearing this I texted said friends and asked them to make excuses for Tuesday as Roo hadn’t realised he would be spending all weekend with them and I would quite like some time just the two of us!

The first sense of what might be going on was at 9am on Saturday. I told him that we were going to have to leave a bit later than planned as a friend was coming over to return my kindle before we left. He bought this hook, line and sinker and trotted off to open the gate for said friend, only to be very surprised to see Frank and Loveness there complete with tent and sleeping bags. ‘FRANK! What are you doing here?!’ Frank then asked Johan whether he should put his things in the car at which Roo exlaims, ‘JOHAN! Are you coming too?!’

With tents, sleeping bags and an absurd amount of bagels (which Roo had been informed we were buying for Johan not us) we left Dar es Salaam heading to a destination unknown to Roo: Pugu Hills. Pugu Hills is a campsite/nature reserve on the outskirts of Dar es Salaam where we had been meaning to go for a while but had not yet made it (it is pretty difficult to get there other than by car). Unfortunately just as we rained the heavens opened, but it soon turned into a beautiful day for splashing around in their natural swimming pool (very like a lake).

Mid-way through the afternoon another car-load of friends turned up (‘BEN! You’re here!’) and it was a perfectly relaxing weekend of swimming, sunning, camping, eating and drinking. The perfect way to leave your 20s behind you (although, as he repeatedly informed anyone who would listen, he was not 30 yet.

Karibu nyumbani

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 13:22:11 -0400

Karibu nyumbani

Entering our Soviet Union youth-hostel bathroom…

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 13:19:49 -0400

Entering our Soviet Union youth-hostel bathroom…

And you’ve arrived!

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 13:17:54 -0400

And you’ve arrived!

Our bedroom

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 12:59:05 -0400

Our bedroom

Our living room

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 12:57:10 -0400

Our living room

Dar es Salaam salutes the Queen

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 11:40:38 -0400

Although the Queen has shown absolutely no interest in her overseas subjects who are required to work while England has a couple of days jollies, we felt it to be our duty to try and educate our non-British friends on what true culture is. (This may have back fired around the time we starting mixing gin and fanta).

In preparation for having people over, I went and did the shopping in the morning equipped with a list of everything we needed. Unfortunately due to my lack of spacial awareness and general ignorance, I purchased slightly too many potatoes. We will be eating potatoes between now coming home in September. However, I redeemed myself in baking up a storm.

The evening started out as a reasonably civilised (apart from one person who didn’t realise what the whipped cream was and put it on his potatoes) high tea and drinks. We discussed relevant issues, such as what was Prince Whatshisname called (Philip turned out to be the answer).

It then descended rapidly when we decided to go to a US Embassy party. A lot of fun, but less fun when we woke up today

Back for Good (or until September)

Fri, 18 May 2012 16:34:06 -0400

After a blissful 2 weeks of stuffing my face with cheese, overdosing on wine and squeezing everyone important in my 28 years into 2 weeks, I am back in Dar es Salaam. Other than the fact that I have travelled for 20 hours to get here (in spite of Ethiopian Airlines’ best efforts to keep me at home) it is easy to tell I’m back.

Rather than go into exhaustive detail I will give this in list format:

- I itch. Pretty much all over, but the shins are a particular focus point. This is not helped by the fact I do not currently have a mosquito net. Information my mother will probably baulk at as I am not taking anti malarials any more (I’m a local dontcha know). However, in a fit of common sense I have bought highly toxic spray with which I use to kill all living creatures in my room before sleeping in it. (So far this has proved not to include me).

- I am supposed to be living in our new bungalow. However, there are currently 5 carpentars working in our new bungalow. Their job is to put on some cupboard doors. They have been doing it for 2 weeks now. From my initial observation I think I have discovered the root of the problem: 4 are merely spectators and I suspect the other 1 is often on tea breaks.

- I arrived at the office this morning and sat on the stairs for 15 minutes waiting for someone with a key. The key and someone arrived, but failed to open the door. After another 15 minutes pantomime, the door caved in and opened, to reveal an office which looks like it has been involved in the Blitz (or, even worse, two office moves in the space of a month). Unsurprisingly there was no internet. Another highly productive day all round.

- The bajaj driver who drove me home had limited but experimental English. He wanted to know if he should turn ‘right’ or ‘light’. I explained the difference acknowledging the confusion. We drove on for a bit and he then said ‘F&@king roads’. I suspect he may have learnt his English watching premier football.

Nice to see you again Tanzanian Times after my little break, but I’m off to bed now…

Foreign Correspondent – First, Last, Only!

Wed, 25 Apr 2012 15:04:38 -0400

My plan to come and join Liz in Tanzania in September has been somewhat disrupted. I have in fact spent more time away from Dar than I have living in Dar. Because of this I assumed the mantel of foreign correspondent for the Tanzanian Times and have perhaps been most notable for my lack of writing. However, this merely reflects the freakishly quick typing capacities of the Home Affairs department rather than the slothful tendencies of these fair digits!

So what is happening in wider regional affairs? Over the last seven moths I have been fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to travel and experience this diverse and beautiful continent. Work has often taken me to Uganda, most recently to Jinja at the source of the mighty Nile and before that Karamoja, a region in the north suffering from high levels of violence as it emerges from a long and complex conflict (not involving Kony). These projects gave me the opportunity to meet and work with hugely inspiring and talented young people who, in many cases, I am now lucky enough to consider friends. This emerald gem of a country in the heart of Africa has, once again, been so giving and kind to me. It is perhaps apt then that Liz chose an emerald gem to sit at the heart of her fourth (AND FINAL) engagement ring.

Outside the office walls I had the chance to travel a bit, most notably when I went to Kenya to meet with my cousins, Kate and Phil. We managed to trek around Lake Bagoria, Lake Barringo and Lake Nakuru to see crocodiles, Fish Eagles (in the process of ‘fishing’), Lesser Flamingos, Giraffe, Rhino, Hyena and so much more. After such excitement I was brought down to earth as on the way back through Nairobi I went to Aga Khan for an ‘informal chat’ about the possibility of managing their education programmes in Tanzania. After a one hour grilling I emerged mentally drained and confused, but must have done something right because, after a couple of days on Dar’s south beaches recovering from this traumatic experience, I was given an offer to start in June.

Thus, after seven months of foreign corresponding for the Tanzanian Times I must hang up my pen (or tired fingers) as it appears I will be settled here in Dar for the foreseeable future. What is perhaps more exciting is that, at last, Liz and I will eventually be living together and have found a beautiful bungalow to fulfil our every need!

So as I approach the end of my first, last and only foreign correspondence (cut down in my prime I should say) I shall bid you a fond farewell… for the moment at least. For, if an opening should become available in the Home Affairs department I may well return to continue my, what I’m sure you’ll agree have now become notoriously frequent, updates. Until then… Safari Njema, Bon Voyage and Safe Travels!

How do you solve a problem like Tanzania?

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 15:16:08 -0400

Yesterday it rained. Hard. Reminiscent of the flooding before Christmas, which I was assured by anyone who sensed I would listen was highly unusual. However, here were the constant sheets of rain and flooding back, this time accompanied by a message that Tanzania (alongside the rest of the Indian ocean coastal countries to be fair) was under ‘Tsunami watch’.

I left work at 5pm, fairly confident of an easyish journey home. This notion was quickly rectified once the bajaj I was sharing with a garralous Tanzanian man hit traffic. And just stopped. For hours.

I got home two and a half hours after leaving. To put this into context, a bajaj ride is usually 15 minutes.

I have had numerous conversations with colleagues about their journeys, most of which were far longer. The scene was bizarre - reminiscent of a zombie movie as people gave up on transport and started wading down the streets. The whole situation was dangerous - not only because of the ditches of raw sewage overflowing into the general floods, the extra mosquito brooding grounds and the potential for other water bourne diseases, but also because like water bourne diseases, thieves recognise the situation as ideal.

The crazy thing to me is that there are two rainy seasons a year. In these seasons ditches will flood, roads will be blocked and houses and bridges will be washed away. For the other 40 weeks of the year it is near enough bone dry. The ideal conditions in fact for establishing proper infrastructure systems.

But this does not happen. My Tanzanian intern blames the government, and as someone who used to work in the government office, has a fair idea what he is talking about. He says the problem is that no-one is holding the government to account. When I said that the whole population should be holding the government to account, he laughed at the pipe dream. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’

And it doesn’t. In spite of this being a ‘democratic’ country, the evidence points to that of a one party state. The BBC were evicted from the Tanzanian Broadcasting Corporation building post elections as they had given equal coverage to both sides; doctors protesting low pay and lack of equipment were told it was illegal to protest and were arrested; government ministers recently gave themselves a huge pay rise in the form of ‘sitting allowances’, allowances that pay them to sit in meetings and basically do their job.

But in spite of this, Tanzania is the darling country of the East Africa donor community. Their peaceful history means they are seen as a safe investment by donors who purposefully put on the blinkers to other issues. Of course, in theory these same donors support the government in its development. In practice, most of them admit knowing that it is highly corrupt and seek to fund civil society who they know will deliver the results their people back home want.

So, in the slightly adapted words of the Sound of Music’s nuns’: ‘how do you solve a problem like Tanzania?’

They say a picture says a thousand words… these two paint...

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 12:14:42 -0400

They say a picture says a thousand words… these two paint the polar opposites of my life in Tanzania. Here I am at a fancy hotel pool in Dar where I went with a few friends yesterday and got far too sunburnt swimming lengths. It is absolutely stunning - an almost infinity pool overlooking the ocean and downtown Dar. This photo does not do the view or my sunburn justice.

Addressing a community sensitisation meeting in (very) pigeon...

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 12:11:06 -0400

Addressing a community sensitisation meeting in (very) pigeon Swahili (and with the aid of a translator where this failed). 15 community leaders and young people from 3 communities gathered to hear about what Restless Development does, and how we would like to work with them over the next 3 years. We were supposed to leave 8am sharp for the 10am meeting. We left at 9.20 and arrived 11.15… the meeting itself kicked off about midday. However, timing aside I was very impressed with how our staff engaged the community members and how driven the community members were.

A Weekend in Iringa

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 12:21:43 -0400

I am currently sitting on the bed in my hotel avoiding having a shower. I say ‘shower’ but actually it is more of a cold hose pipe. And as I am pretty cold already this is not an appealing prospect.

However, in a moment I will need to grit my teeth and go through with it, given that today involved a 30km round cycle ride to a nearby campsite for a Sunday roast. Facial expressions are now slightly restrained due to the amount of salt on my skin.

In other riveting weekend news, I have bought some new material to get made into dresses. I have had a couple of dresses made by a tailor in Dar now and love them both. I also bought Roo a hideous ‘man bag’ to replace the one he bought and loved a few months ago. It is a baby blue cloth bag with little dark blue hearts on it. I and everyone else in Dar is still trying to figure out what the manly part is.

And now, having bored myself and no doubt anyone who reads this post, I really must get off the bed and go ‘shower’.

The Tale of Two Canadians and a Uker

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 13:23:47 -0400

Once upon a time in the sweaty city of Dar
Lived three wazungu traversed from shores afar
(Of course in the city were gathered many more
But for the sake of this tale we’ll focus on those of Mbalamwezi’s shore).
Before you continue, a warning as you read,
This is not intended as entertainment but for advice you should heed.

It’s easy to get lost in the winding city streets
Absorbed in trying fresh fruits and barbequed meats,
Dining out with friends and swimming in the ocean
Getting dresses made and putting on suntan lotion,
Comparing places for wine and abusing Shoppers’ wifi…
But let this tale warn you of the city’s dark side.

In nowhere in the guidebooks when it talks of African summers
Does it tell you of the killer bees’ penchant for runners,
And likewise there is no specified section
Dedicated to rolling in sewage and risking infection
Although through this tale the advice is wide spread
And wazungu know how to deal with such attacks to the head.

Also the guidebooks should really make it known,
When travelling to Nairobi you’ll be relieved of your phone,
The most thoughtful will take the laptop from the ‘rich’
But it’s customary to leave the soap for wash post sewage ditch,
Although a gentle wash is by no means guarantee
That a parasite hasn’t set up home to enjoy meals for free.

Another crucial warning missing from the books,
Is the importance of avoiding the misinterpretation of looks –
Sure she claimed she was just grateful for assistance
But what starts with a new lap top cord and a little of persistence
Can easily, with the right dedication, morph over time
To a 6am text of ‘happy valentines’.

Which leads me rather nicely to the next fail,
Nowhere does it say by driving into town you may end up in jail,
And even if it did it would be unlikely to explain
The importance of dressing up when you visit the cops again,
The etiquette of sodas (provided by the state)
And the lack of clarity provided by anyone on your fate.

Although the books do mention transport as a risk,
The parts that describe this are perhaps a little brisk,
For nowhere does it describe the horror that you know,
When a dalladalla heads for you with no mind to slow,
The dent in the bajaj almost collides with your right –
Best to stumble away and leave the drivers there to fight.

Finally there should really be a chapter required
Describing the nightmare of having your visa expired,
Discovered homeward bound from a break in Zanzibar
That your colleague has *beeping* forgot to renew it in Dar.
Fortunately for a mere 200 dollars and 4 hours argument
You are allowed to leave the island wondering where the ‘relaxation’ went.

And sadly now this tale has come to an end
As the three adventurers on their separate journeys wend,
Megan onwards around the rest of Africa,
Erin back home to Toronto Canada,
And Liz, well she’s still in Dar and not yet set to sail,
Missing those who contributed to this learnéd, guiding tale.

The Daladala Experience - a post from Mum

Sun, 18 Mar 2012 08:03:52 -0400

The Bagamoyo dala dala which took us an hour and a half North of the city was an ‘ok’ experience; it was an efficient and very cheap way to get around. Dala dalas are Hiace minibuses with about 19 seats and a capacity of 38.

Feeling that we needed to experience ALL forms of transport and our Bagamoyo daladala had not been typical, Liz ensured that the following day we took a dala dala back from the city centre in the rush hour.

To pack a dala dala to capacity:

First you fill the seats (mostly vinyl, so they rapidly become quite sticky).
Then you fold down the additional seats specially fitted in the aisle and fill these.
Then you bring on folks for ‘standing room only’.
Next, the conductor hangs outside the dala dala (there being no room for him to stand inside) and he continues to call out the destination and shoe-horn people inside.
Any babies or young children are sat on the knees of random passengers, so that they don’t take up airspace in the ‘standing room’.
At some point you will raise a foot- perhaps your leg is itchy and you want to scratch it- and in the 5 seconds it takes to do this someone else will take that space.
You are now standing on one foot. It’s ok, you can’t fall over as you are propped up by everyone else, also standing on one foot.

While recognising that it is cheap, I decided that any future journeys at this time of day would be by taxi or bajaj.

Immigration

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 11:16:00 -0400

Having been kept up a significant proportion of the night by a sudden vomiting bug, I stayed at home on Thursday. Usually when I am ill or on leave I get at least a call a day from work, so I wasn’t overly surprised when my boss rang me at lunch. However, it wasn’t the standard ‘where did you put that file’ call. Instead it was a ‘come to work early with all your paperwork to prove you can be in the country’ call.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re fairly au fait with immigration in the office. Several of us have been detained and threatened with imprisonment, but as of yet no-one has made good on their offer. They are largely hindered by the fact we all have exemptions approved by the government, much to their disappointment when looking for bribes.

Early Thursday I got another text from my boss reminding me to bring my paperwork and then suggesting all international staff (2 of us are British, 1 Zambian and 1 Kenyan) work out of the office to avoid hassle. So we hid in a nearby coffee shop leaving our very capable Tanzanian colleague to take care we were not exported.

However, in this instance the paperwork in itself wasn’t enough. We are not sure what they are looking for exactly, but they have requested copies of our contracts, job descriptions and the job adverts. We are not sure what is going on but I am hoping it isn’t going to involve hiding in coffee shops for the rest of my contract. That could become rather expensive.