I finally convinced my friends that it would be a good idea to go to Dar Es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania (and least popular, surprise surprise). Why not try couchsurfing and go out like locals?? Our group was a little bigger than intended, but our host Maricky didn't even hesitate when I added a fourth person to our count. We really had no idea what to expect when we waited at the old post office for our Tanzanian host to show up. It soon became apparent that we were in for a crazy night when he introduced us to his French friend, and then Argentian friends who would all be sleeping with us in two small rooms. Well, at least one of them had a bed.
The important thing to note here is that while my companions went off with Maricky to "explore the town" (they made it as far as the local bar and took a looonnng break) I decided to stay with the women who were actually cooking our dinner. I wanted to learn how to make rice pilau.
Language was of course, as always a barrier, and we didn't get much past "hello, how are you?" and "good," but as usual, language isn't really a problem, it's only 20% of our communicative powers. I ended up over the next few hours spending time with the individual families in our courtyard, talking to the women, watching them cook over coal stoves. One woman even invited me to eat with her family, she was so smiley and had me sit and try everything. Sadly I had to decline since we already had pilau on the way.
It took a while but I did eventually meet two ladies who spoke some English, and then we had a proper conversation, or the best we could given the language barrier. We compared notes about countries, and live choices. "Is that man that was here before your husband?" Uh oh.....I awkwardly tried to explain my way through our "relationship" as boyfriend and girlfriend with limited success.
As the evening continued I watched and somewhat participated in helping our new friend cook for all of us. As her husband explained everything to us, I quickly realized that the kitchen was definitely not his domain. "Do you ever cook?" I asked, cheekily. "Yeah sure! I can cook rice...sometimes...."
The food was wonderful, and I was amazed at how well she prepared everything over such a simple stove outside on the dirt ground. As we prepared to go out, I talked to one of my new friends who was preparing "ugali," a typical Tanzanian polenta that you eat with vegetables and meat. "Are you going out?" she asked. "Yes, do you want to come? " I asked, already knowing the answer as I had seen her go out already, but during the day, and with a veil. "No thank you. I am Muslim, and we do not drink or dance. Dancing is a sin. I will see you tomorrow." And with that I left, feeling guilty as ever.
And so we managed to all squeeze in somewhere, somehow, and sleep a few hours before the children and women woke us up, playing, shouting, washing, cooking. I began to realize that running a household here takes a lot more time. No wonder women seem to stay at home so much, there's too much to do with all the washing and cooking and cleaning. I was sad to say goodbye, but before I left my new friend insisted on meeting this boyfriend of mine. Fredi shook her hand and spoke a little Swahili before she deemed him appropriate, and gave us her blessing. "I have a good feeling about you two." I guess in this country things are decided quite like that, without question or hesitation. But I'm no Tanzanian woman.
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