what am i here?
I sit on the floor of my hotel room on a blanket. Ani DiFranco serenades me while I glance from the computer screen to the blue sky outside and to the door on the other side of the room. She sings about life, about figuring things out. Soothing I suppose while I sit here on the floor and try to figure out mine.
One of the things that they don’t tell you prior to this year is the extent of down time that you will have. One can send as many emails as they want to, make as many contacts as possible, and still will be left on occasion with days that are full of nothing. As the typical over active college student, the appearance of days like this in my life has unnerved me, and though I have tried to become accustomed over the last seven months, sometimes I still find it difficult.
I find it particularly so when the joy one might find in going out is diminished by the knowledge that going out means continued harassment. Not that it is so terrible, and I know that people are just expressing interest in me, but I have not being able to walk 500 meters without someone stopping me to talk, then asking for my email address or cell phone 30 seconds later, and being upset when I don’t want to just pass it out. Or leaving notes at my hotel from which they have seen me come out. Or coming and hanging out at the hotel in the hopes that I will walk up and they can continue to try to convince me to go on safari or better yet, to go out drinking with them.
And what the fuck makes talking to someone your property? Sometimes cross cultural communication is just too complicated, when someone asks if you can be friends and that really means that they are putting some kind of unspoken claim on you, meaning that other people on the street shouldn’t come up and talk to you. Which impedes one’s ability to just have a conversation. Which makes any conversation suddenly not about their experience and yours, about talking and sharing, but about being seen with a white woman and claiming her as your girl. Which makes me just a white girl, a symbol, and not a person. I don’t know how to deal with this. Just ranting a little...
One of the things that they don’t tell you prior to this year is the extent of down time that you will have. One can send as many emails as they want to, make as many contacts as possible, and still will be left on occasion with days that are full of nothing. As the typical over active college student, the appearance of days like this in my life has unnerved me, and though I have tried to become accustomed over the last seven months, sometimes I still find it difficult.
I find it particularly so when the joy one might find in going out is diminished by the knowledge that going out means continued harassment. Not that it is so terrible, and I know that people are just expressing interest in me, but I have not being able to walk 500 meters without someone stopping me to talk, then asking for my email address or cell phone 30 seconds later, and being upset when I don’t want to just pass it out. Or leaving notes at my hotel from which they have seen me come out. Or coming and hanging out at the hotel in the hopes that I will walk up and they can continue to try to convince me to go on safari or better yet, to go out drinking with them.
And what the fuck makes talking to someone your property? Sometimes cross cultural communication is just too complicated, when someone asks if you can be friends and that really means that they are putting some kind of unspoken claim on you, meaning that other people on the street shouldn’t come up and talk to you. Which impedes one’s ability to just have a conversation. Which makes any conversation suddenly not about their experience and yours, about talking and sharing, but about being seen with a white woman and claiming her as your girl. Which makes me just a white girl, a symbol, and not a person. I don’t know how to deal with this. Just ranting a little...
posted by Hilary King at
12:41 AM
1 Comments:
As much work as one can do in Africa, the pace of life here is almost inescapably slower. Slower is maybe too negative a word, but it certainly is more relaxed, especially so outside of the big cities. As a teacher, I have one of the most structured schedules, but even with classes, lesson prep, and all the domestic chores, I still find myself with ample time to just "chill". Rarely have I had a day that felt as busy as most of those I spent in school or jobs in America. My schedule planning shifted from an hourly scale to a weekly one.
After a couple boring months and about 15 books later, I have learned to enjoy the slow life. Spending 2 or 3 hours just hanging out with the neighborhood kids on my porch or taking long walks & bike rides in random directions are not things I would have had the time (or even the idea of trying) to do back in America, but they are often the best parts of life here.
Granted, Dar is a different beast, especially for women, and these experiences are a bit tougher to come by, sort of like the diamond in the rough, but they can be found here too: I have spent a couple of hours just talking to a guy who never once asked for money or a phone number or tried to sell anything; he just wanted to practice his English. These kind of meetings can really recharge one's enthusiasm. You can also meet a ton of other cool people who are traveling, and vent where venting is needed.
As for the sharing of numbers, I just say mine is for work only, which is partly true, and for unwelcome advances, being "married" often works. It isn't all smooth sailing though, and if the city starts to grate on you too much, just take a trip out to kijiji-land villages. People might stare and kids will certainly shout "Mzungu!" whenever they see you, but at the heart, Tanzanians, especially in rural areas, are supremely nice and welcoming.
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