Adam in DSM

To leave

2011-08-03T17:35:00.000+03:00

Byebye Dar, hello Madagascar!

To buy cheap DVDs

2010-04-15T13:38:00.003+03:00

You will never be bored in Dar Es Salaam, not even when you're stuck in a traffic jam. Flying salesmen offer a wide variety of goods, anything from water and cashew nuts to furniture – and cheap DVDs.

I never bought a cheap DVD, because I thought that they are pirated. Buying pirated DVDs is illegal, and I would never do anything illegal; and even if I did, I wouldn't admit to it on my blog.

Yesterday, however, I realized that those cheap DVDs aren't actually pirated. The usual explanations why these DVDs are so cheap – like "Ruthless thieves of intellectual property are stealing the wages of our hard-working artists", or "the masses in the developing nations are rising up to break the monopoly of the big western publishing houses" – they always seemed somewhat too easy to me. Can it really be that simple?

It's not. The truth is a little more complex, and more beautiful.

Yesterday, one cheap DVD caught my eye: HOUSE M.D. – THE CMPLETE SEASON 5.

House M.D.

The Cmplete Season 5

This mistake is far too obvious to go unnoticed, even by an uneducated pirate. In fact, it's not a mistake: It's poetic omission.

For the truth is that the Chinese government is selling DVDs way under their actual value in an effort to spread Chinese poetry. The whole story about piracy was made up to cover the largest-ever operation in cultural warfare, an attack on the dominance of Western culture in the world.

Need more evidence? They call Dr House "Too healthy sunlight uncle". This clearly is poetry.

Too healthy sunlight uncle

HOUSE M.D.

– THE CMPLETE SEASON 5

by an unknown Chinese poet

Too healthy sunlight uncle

no evil decadence

that seemingly fragile

unparalleled tenacity and temperament.

Gregory House is one 'non-typical doctor',

he ever does not put on the white coat

forever is the beard stretches out all four limbs,

is leaning on a walking stick,

eats the sugar bean to resemble

all day long knocks the pain killer;

he believed that 'each people lie',

either avoids by might and main

with the patient of the family member meets,

either to the utmost satirizes the ridicule energy,

even to patient malicious talk opposite direction;

his diagnosis way departs from the classics and betrays principle,

many instruction under three 'the small duck'

the broken patient main house gate enters,

seeks for the pathogenesis source;

does not hesitate to use the violent experimental nature therapeutic schedule,

or compels the patient to the death edge,

what for unties a thorny medicine difficult problem.

although must have holds the funnel,

but the general meeting has Chair Cuddy

and good friend concurrently tumor branch expert Wilson carries on the shoulder.

To meet Friederike

2010-04-08T07:30:00.001+03:00

Last night while brushing my teeth, I met our new flatmate Friederike.

Friederike the Gecko

She looked very much like Hermann, she might even be his little sister. She was obviously a girl, as she was hanging out close to the jewelery rack.

Of course this is a stupid argument to define someone as a girl; such outdated gender-stereotypes don't even apply in the world of reptiles any more. To be honest, I have long awaited an occasion to give the name "Friederike" to a Gecko. It emphasizes her zoological closeness to Friedrich the Gecko; also, Friederike is the name of his greatest fan in Germany. So she's a girl.

To defend Switzerland

2010-04-06T11:39:00.003+03:00

The Daily News cites the National Muslim Council of Tanzania (BAKWATA): Sheikh Lolila calls for a boycott of Swiss products and services (long) after the Swiss have banned the building of minarets. The article goes on to explain how this policy is discriminative and against human rights, and has provoked a global public outcry.

Having lived as a foreigner in Switzerland for more than a decade, I have to defend the Swiss. Ok, they really are afraid of anything that is new, different or foreign; but they would never fight it openly, because they are too nice.

The actual reason for banning minarets is purely architectural. Minarets are of a cylindrical, almost phallic shape, which is in disharmony with the gentle curve of the horn of the ibex, and would be an aesthetic nightmare in the alpine landscape.

"Against Graubündistan":

A mountain canton defends its aesthetic integrity

The Article in Daily News wrongly claims that it was the Swiss government that issued the ban, while in fact the Swiss government did everything to convince the people to vote it down in the referendum. (Understandable, as they are the ones having to put up with righteous criticism from the international community, as well as attacks from the lunatic dictator Muammar Al-Gaddafi.) It was the people of Switzerland itself, not the government, that chose to inhibit the rights of its Muslim population to protect its mountain panorama.

The stacking of two or more toilet paper rolls is also against the law in Switzerland.
This is footage from the activities of the underground movement
"Lieber ein Minarett auf dem Dach als ein Nazi im Haus"

Critics might claim that church towers, too, should be banned from being built in the mountain confederacy. The story why these similarly phallic towers of worship did not suffer this fate goes back to 1506: In exchange for a lifelong building permit in Switzerland, the Pope agreed to employ 100 Swiss mercenaries that had been unable to find a job due to their peculiar clothing habits.

Soon to be illegal in Switzerland:
Setting up an electric iron
in a threateningly upright position

In a city like Dar Es Salaam, where religious tolerance is a matter of course, it would be hard to explain how Switzerland can host the UN Human Rights Council and at the same time deny basic rights to a religious minority. Luckily, Tanzanians seem to be more interested in a "unique partnership" with Swiss investors than in moral issues. And ultimately, the reputation of my former home country is saved by Swiss Garden Hotel, that serves the best coffee in the Upanga area.

To Suffer the "Silent African Revenge"

2010-03-29T16:49:00.000+03:00

Many Europeans before me have insulted the inhabitants of this country. I have always tried to avoid doing so. Not because I'm a considerate person, but because I'm scared of what Pernille called "The Free and Silent African Revenge".

Always saying shikamoo and asante and not wearing shorts in town would save me – so I thought – from public humiliation, which is the punishment of those who upset the Tanzanians. I must have done something wrong, however, as I suffered their revenge in its most gruesome form: I was pulled into an acrobatics show in front of a crowded night club.

A Mzungu moment

To unveil the secret of Selander Bridge

2010-03-11T16:54:00.002+03:00

After the second or third gulp I realized that the water in my mouth tasted strange. I also remembered that I was in Dar Es Salaam, and that it was not a good idea to drink from the tap.

Dar Es Salaam water:

Refreshing on the body, funny in the mouth

Lucky I am familiar with some practices of Hungarian traditional medicine. For such cases I always keep a flask of a tincture from the far north, that helps to disinfect the mouth, throat and stomach. I took two big gulps of that, and went back to work.

Something was wrong with my computer screen however, and the letters were getting all blurry. I had trouble concentrating, so I decided to rather go on a sunset bike ride around the peninsula.

Traditional medicine used in Hungary to prevent

bacterial infections in mouth, throat and stomach

The bike ride was awesome, a beautiful view of the sea. The sun was setting (not over the ocean but over the city – but that's just a detail).

Approaching Selander Bridge on the way back, I remembered all the stories about this place. As well-informed sources had told me, there are ghosts in Dar Es Salaam; they come from the sea, and their favorite place to appear is Selander Bridge. Also, this bridge is supposed to be one of the most dangerous places concerning violent crime: Defying the police station at one end of the bridge, dangerous criminals are said to fake car breakdowns. If you stop to help them, they rob you, abduct you, take you to a cash machine and force you take out all the money that you can; then they torture you, go to your home – even your home country – to brutally slaughter you and your beloved; they also kill all puppies they encounter along the way.

So It is understandable that I became cautious when I saw a car with an open hood standing on Selander Bridge, the driver looking helpless. The medicine had not worn off yet and things were still blurry, and dusk was coming on, so I couldn't see him well. I was curious what he looked like, but didn't want to go too close, in case he was the car-jacking robber and murderer, so I took a photo from a fair distance.

This morning things were not blurry any more, so I looked at the picture. It was then that I realized what really lies behind all the stories of Selander Bridge: A car-jacking murderer-ghost.

That explains everything. Why would mortal criminals choose a place full of ghosts to wait for their victims? Of course, the ghosts themselves engage in crime. Maybe they are bored. Or they just want to scare away curious people from their favorite hangout. However well they may disguise themselves, you can tell they are ghosts, because they look blurry on photos.

A car-jacking murderer-ghost on Selander Bridge

To enjoy rides in a Bajaj

2010-03-07T14:27:00.002+03:00

One of the reasons why I'm starting to feel at home in Dar is how the air smells. Tar heated up by the sun and the full aroma of two-stroke engines remind me of summer in Budapest when I was a child.

Like incense for the air of Dar: Bajajis

The cute three-wheeled vehicles from the Indian car manufacturer Bajaj provide transport cheaper than a taxi. They fit two people comfortably, and up to five people not so comfortably for short rides.

They have a reputation of being dangerous. In fact, they offer no seatbelts and their headlights are weak. In accidents that involve other vehicles, the passengers of a Bajaj are often badly hurt. This is one of the reasons why they are not allowed to operate in the city centre.

To me, it doesn't feel right to call Bajajis "dangerous": Cute little three-wheelers that can hardly reach 40 km/h don't pose much of a threat to anyone. It's like calling an antelope dangerous, because it is likely to be eaten by a lion.

Bajajis should not be the ones banned from city streets. I suspect that taxi drivers in fear of losing business conspired against them, getting help of rich government employees who want to race their SUVs through Dar's roads without obstacles.

I hope pedestrians, cyclists and Bajajists will reclaim the streets of Dar, and make them slower and safer.

To learn the difference between coffee and africafe

2010-02-23T01:12:00.000+03:00

Italians have travelled and moved to many places on the planet in the course of the centuries. Not everywhere were they as welcome as Marco Polo had been at his time.

In Tanzania today, Italians seem to be the least popular of all tourists. Tanzanians have told me that they are irritated by the big loud groups of them, that they are stingy, even haggle with a waiter for a single bottle of coke.

Of course, when Tanzanians first told me how glad they are to have me rather than some group of Italian tourists, I suspected that they were just being polite. Were they talking to a group of Italians, they would probably say how glad they were to have them, and not some stupid Hungarian traveling without company and wasting his money on unnecessary tips.

But then I found proof that Tanzanians truly dislike Italians and are determined to drive them away, even if they lose some business. The proof is Africafe.

Africafe

Italians value a good coffee; they must be appalled by Africafe. If you order a coffee in Dar Es Salaam, you can be sure to get an Africafe instead. Asking explicitly for an espresso does not help at all: Even then, the waiter will bring Africafe, pretending to believe that it was actual coffee.

To be fair: Africafe is an average instant coffee. It is not as good as Nescafé, but not as bad as some coffee replacement products that were invented in the darkness behind the iron curtain. Also, it is not the first coffee to be used against Italians: In the arms race before World War I, Germany developed filter coffee as a chemical weapon for the specific use against their enemy in the south. Later in the 20th century, Americans started using it to limit immigration from Italy.

Filter coffee machine

I respect Tanzania's right to decide where their guests should be from, but I also value a good coffee. That's why you will meet me in Swiss Garden Hotel where they sell a decent espresso for 1500 TSh. Sounds like a ripoff, but I paid 3000 for an Africafe at Cine Club this afternoon.

To help Timo and Gaudens

2010-02-06T11:21:00.001+03:00

Gaudens and Timo

Timo owns the store next door to us. Gaudens is his assistant; he is not usually allowed behind the counter, but we thought it would look good on the picture.

The shop's turnover is not bad, as Timo's is the only store two blocks up and down Kalenga Street. However, Timo came to realize that honest hard work is not the best way to make a living in Tanzania. More and more he became fascinated with the concept of Money from Europe.

Money from Europe never runs out: Whenever an intern's wallet is stolen she phones home, and she gets new Money from Europe. When a safari-guide mysteriously disappears, the tourists book a new tour with their Money from Europe. The expensive donor-funded SUVs that congest the streets of Dar Es Salaam are bought with Money from Europe.

When Timo asked me how he could get Money from Europe, I knew instantly that this was my chance to help.

To fight for a cause

2010-02-05T08:42:00.003+03:00

I used to feel pretty good about coming to Dar Es Salaam: All my life I had been longing for warm weather, and I heard the country was beautiful and the people were friendly. I thought I could live here, do my job and write my thesis, and feel pretty good about it.

I was wrong.

It is perfectly okay for a Tanzanian to live in Tanzania, do their job and enjoy their life. As a European resident of Tanzania, this is not an option. All Wazungu apart from me, I came to see, are here to help.

Most of them work for either aid, charity or development organizations. Many enter one-sided friendships and love affairs with locals, and from the first day treat them as my best childhood friends would treat me if I was asking them for help in a desperate financial situation.

Should I be the only European resident in Tanzania who is here only to do his own thing? Have I become such a cynic?

No way. I'm taking up a cause.

To learn from Daily News

2010-01-30T12:26:00.000+03:00

Daily News has become my favourite newspaper in Dar Es Salaam. It's written in English, it costs only 500 TSh (0.25 €) and it is available everywhere in Dar.

Being so cheap, Daily News has to find particular ways to fill the paper. Often, the reader gets the chance to re-read an article when the text starts again in the middle of the page, or when it is reprinted after two weeks. To avoid the tiresome work of making up crossword puzzles, the editors hide spelling and grammar mistakes in all articles for the readers to puzzle about.

Daily News sometimes engages in good old investigative journalism and writes about water thieves. When dealing with more influential criminals, however, they tend to avoid investigations. With their strategy of printing (hardly) rephrased press releases and avoiding critical questions in interviews, they have acquired the nickname "Microphone Holders".

My favorite features in Daily News are X-says-Y-should-do-Z-articles.

District Comissioner Dr Norman Sigalla
asks business people
to establish a teacher's college
(Daily News, January 25th, 2010)

An X-says-Y-should-do-Z-article transports a general moral message to the general public without upsetting anyone. If Y should decide not to do Z, they can do so without any loss of face. In order to achieve this, either X, Y, or Z are not clearly defined, as in "Support us, police force urges media".

Fascinated by this journalistic genre, I shall start a series of X-says-Y-should-do-Z-articles on this blog.

To wish there was power on Zanzibar

2010-01-28T10:59:00.002+03:00

A friend from Zanzibar just visited us – to wash his clothes. Working in the tourist industry, he has little to do these days, for the blackout has scared many tourists away. Zanzibar's only freshwater plant was shut down at the end of December due to the lack of electricity. When you get on the ferry from Dar Es Salaam to Stonetown, you see people carrying small generators on their backs; government has promised to acquire large generators for the islands. They will be hard to fuel, as petrol and diesel prices have more than doubled since the power cut began.

Life without electricity can be romantic – for a maximum of two nights

Government has promised to repair the underwater cable until February 20th. Nobody really believes government promises in this field any more; there have been too many since power went off on December 10th last year.

"Zanzibaris are tired; can someone please end the prolonged power blackouts?" The East African wrote on January 16th. "The foreign media, which likes to publish romantically and historically-themed stories about Zanzibar (...) found the story distasteful and eschewed it."

Girls walking on the beach of Zanzibar during the blackout 2009

I only have beautiful holiday pictures from Zanzibar. Other "foreign media" probably face the same problem when they write about the power cut, as few of them will have a permanent correspondent on Zanzibar. However, even Tanzanian newspapers seem to avoid this topic. They only write about the island when government sets itself new deadline for restoring power.

Next time I will take pictures of the generators on the ferry. I promise.

To meet my friends' families

2010-01-23T01:04:00.021+03:00

Friedrich and I have been good friends since my first days in Dar Es Salaam. I fancy him even more since I heard that he also eats cockroaches. Now I got to meet one of his cousins. I will name him Hermann, after Hermann the German.

Hermann the Gecko

To bother MG Vassanji

2010-01-22T01:28:00.002+03:00

Imagine reading Huckleberry Finn and then going on a Mississipi steamboat cruise. Imagine Mark Twain was on the steamboat with you and read from the book while you have the real scenery floating past. What would you do?

This is just what I asked myself when MG Vassanji read from his Uhuru Street – a book with great short stories about his childhood in Dar Es Salaam – in Shopper's Plaza. So once again, I had an emotional moment in this shopping mall.

You should know that, long before I even dreamed of coming to Tanzania, I read a book by MG Vassanji, The Book of Secrets. This is where I got my first impressions of life on the Swahili coast. For an arrogant European like myself it was mind-blowing to realize that East Africa had been a cosmopolitan place not because, but mainly despite the European civilizing efforts. That there was a lively exchange of goods, migration, mingling of cultures and religions that did not depend on our brave explorers and our sharp-witted railway engineers. Even today, I am thankful for this glimpse of Tanzania from the perspective of this self-sufficient Indian trader community. Even more so because I get more than enough of the mzungu-perspective nowadays.

So there he was, MG Vassanji, reading from his own work to an impressed crowd. What do I do? It was my first Mark-Twain-on-a-steamboat-esk situation, and I was not prepared. I resorted to the way MTV had taught me to express my admiration for an artist: by annoying him, and by obstructing his performance.

The owner of the bookstore had introduced him, and mentioned that he was the only nuclear physicist to ever win the Giller Prize twice. This is pretty impressive, considering that the Giller Prize is the most renowned award an author can get in Canada, and no writer ever got it twice – except MG Vassanji, who now started to read an excerpt of one of his texts.

I was sitting on the ground right in front of him, well positioned to express my admiration with the flashlight of my camera.

MG Vassanji, larger than life

This didn't seem to annoy him the way sqealing teenagers annoy their idols on MTV; he just kept reading. So as the next step, we went further and approached him after the reading.

Me, MG Vassanji, She (left to right)

Not even having his photograph taken with two random people from the crowd seemed to agitate him. In a last desperate attempt to express my respect for his work, I did to him what writers hate most: I made him autograph a book that I had obviously just bought for this occasion, and not yet read.

MG Vassanji's Uhuru Street:

Signed, as yet unread

To question my views about secret police

2010-01-19T02:14:00.001+03:00

On the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam, I came across a picture that looked pretty simple at first. Too simple.

Epuka mazingira ya maficho – Avoid dangerous environments

For generations now, splatter movies and mass media have been informing us about what happens to young girls that walk around in spooky looking places. We know more about psychotic serial killers than we know about microwave ovens. There is no need to warn Tanzanian schoolgirls to be careful when guys wave at them from abandoned buildings.

The message of the picture is much more subtle.

Learning Kiswahili, in the chapter about introducing guests, the following piece of advice in the textbook surprised me:

"Some people in some societies may not be introduced."

I couldn't make much sense of it, so I asked the teacher what it meant. She told me that I shouldn't wonder if people are reluctant to introduce themselves with their real names; they are probably just spies. Yes, spies are everywhere, especially in education facilities, they are paid by the police, and this is actually a good thing because it curbs corruption.

Where I grew up, agents of the secret police had been pretty common, too: Hungary featured the ÁVH, Switzerland had a Fichenaffäre, and Germany's Gestapo and Stasi are known all around the world. Strangely, people in those countries look back on those times very differently than my Kiswahili teacher: They conclude that spying on one's colleagues and neighbors is a bad thing; it causes distrust between people and destroys social cohesion. Hardly anyone considers spying on each other a good way of curbing corruption; and, as far as I know, no European language textbook teaches students how to behave in the company of people who are spying on them.

I wondered: Are we Europeans just too uptight about oppression?
Or, are Tanzanian police righteous enough not to abuse they power?
They are not.

So "Epuka mazingira ya maficho – Avoid dangerous environments" is actually a warning of a different kind. It tells the schoolgirl to be careful, because Big Brother is watching her. She will remember it one day when, maybe sitting in a lecture at university, critical thoughts begin to form in her mind.

To work when everyone is asleep

2010-01-16T03:19:00.003+03:00

I work when everyone is asleep. Not because I'm overly ambitious or desperate, but because everyone is quiet when they sleep. This makes a huge difference, particularly when everyone seems to be working on the high-rise building five meters from my window.

Their work consists of pushing down rubble onto sheet metal plates from several stories above, and then screaming to warn people that may be standing below them. They also like to rhythmically hammer on iron pipes and, when there's electricity, they play sad tunes on a circular saw.

For some reason, I work much better after they have gone home, and their afternoon naps too have become my main source of inspiration.

Slumber party on the ground floor

Afterwork massage

Dreamtime on iron rails

To hang out with the wrong kind of people

2010-01-14T01:13:00.003+03:00

I used to think blackouts are romantic – the one today wasn't. It made me face the painful truth that I'm spending my time with the wrong kind of people.

Without power, I can work for another hour before my laptops batteries are flat. The power cut today proved longer, much longer. I remembered one of the many reasons why I moved here: To learn from the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam. So I went for a walk to this inspiring place, hoping that power would return by the time I get back.

On the way there, I thought about the real reason why I came here. Obviously, the points listed in this blog are not real reasons, but excuses I made up to look less irrational. I actually came here for a girl. So there I was, strolling along the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam, soaking up its wisdom. And there SHE was, too:

Kuepuka Makundi Mabaya – Avoid bad company

The innocent guy on the left, probably on the way to the secondary school that lies behind the wall, is warned not to waste his time with guys who wear hip-hop clothing, with girls that drink – and with HER.

She is considered bad company. She did move here some weeks before I did, but I never would have expected her to build such a reputation so quickly. I don't care what people think when they see me together with her. I will however try to keep her out of this blog, just as I have done up to this post. So, back to making up excuses for coming to DSM.

To find traces of Germany

2010-01-08T19:41:00.005+03:00

I dared to look behind the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam today, only to find out that it is not in front of a hospital as GoogleMaps had told me. A secondary school lies behind it, which explains why the pictures on this wall are so annoyingly educational.

Kusubiri – Wait

Painting reminding the young to look out for traffic lights rather than AIDS

Another explanation, especially for the pedantry of the picture above, would be 35 years of Tanzanian - German Technical Cooperation. I suspect that GTZ, from their offices just around the corner, has been spreading a very particular German ideology: That, rather than the actual traffic situation, a blinking red or green man should decide whether it is a good time to cross the road.

In Germany, a country where young-ness is considered offensive, children are distracted from watching the road by these red and green lights, in order to promote road accidents which help to keep numbers of children at a reasonable level.

GTZ Tanzania seems to apply the same strategy here. It could prove even more effective in DSM, for traffic lights are generally ignored by drivers. The only thing that can other cars make stop to let you pass is the size and speed of your own vehicle. Or a traffic policewoman, but this is a sensitive issue.

What a confusing day...

Why did they paint that red-light lesson over something that had to do with AIDS?

And, why is a traffic policewoman a sensitive issue?

One day we will know.

To learn new recipes

2010-01-07T00:20:00.001+03:00

What a great surprise: Not even knowing that I was about to slay wild game in Africa for the first time, I poured 500 grams of pasta into a pot of boiling water. And there they were, swimming on top: seven little cockroaches. Proud of my prey, I took a picture.

Seven little cockroaches I found in the spaghetti water

I turned the computer on and did a little research on how I could prepare them. I found a recipe that would made the little bugs the perfect complement to the pasta. Even if slicing them up might prove a little difficult, as they were fairly young roaches only 2-3mm long.

Unfortunately, by the time I got back to the stove they were gone . Some ants must have carried them away while I was at my computer.

To learn from the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam

2010-01-06T00:14:00.006+03:00

The thing I least expected to find in Dar Es Salaam was a Berlin Wall. My European arrogance had led me to think that Berlin was the only city in the world with a Berlin Wall.

This, I learnt today, is not the case. Dar Es Salaam, too, features a Berlin Wall. It is still in use: It separates Muhimbili University of Health and Allied Sciences from United Nations Road.

Yes, it is a Berlin Wall, not just some wall. This is obvious when we look at what they painted on it:

Idealized image of piety and religious tolerance

on the Berlin Wall of Dar Es Salaam

Tumche Mungu – worship God. Everyone worship theirs: The Moslem guy goes to the msikiti (mosque), the Christian girl to the kanisa (church). Just like the Eastside Gallery in Berlin: We stand in front of it and think "I really wish people learned from this picture", if we're in a good mood. If in a bad mood, we think "Come on, get real, problems out there are way too big, don't you have better things to do than to paint walls?". Someone in Dar Es Salaam must have been in a terrible mood, and scratched out the eyes on those figures.

At the time of the last census (1967!!), adherents of islam, christianity, and indigenous religions each made up a third of Tanzania's Population. We live within hearing distance from a mosque, which means five somewhat shrill calls to prayer each day. Also, an evangelical youth centre is not far, which means prolonged gospel singing in the afternoon and early evening. Today Christians and Moslems are singing, and not trying to kill each other. Church towers and minarets are left in peace; with that degree of tolerance, Tanzania outshines even some of the oldest democracies.

Some people here must have been reading the Wall.

To learn East African warfare

2010-01-05T00:01:00.005+03:00

A mysterious bottle appeared on my table

"Pili pili" is early Kiswahili for "liquid used to burn someones mouth, intestines and rectum". It was invented by a sorcerer in the 12th century, and long before the Europeans' first arrival it was used in chemical warfare.

Why did they put it on my table? Is this a threat?

Well, if it is, it's not working. In Hungary, my native country, we have an even stronger chemical weapon called "Erös Pista", which is Hungarian for "Strong Stevie". Stevie was used for the first time by the huns to blind their enemies. Today, it has become central element in our male initiation ceremonies. I myself have partaken in these, so it is an easy thing for me to defy those who are seeking my life:

I put some on my plate, and eat the liquid together with my fried potatoes, not displaying any pain. I even rub some in my eye, however accidentally.

Only then do I notice the second inscription: "Mbuzi". This is pretty close to the Hungarian "buzi", which is a derogative term for a homosexual. So all they wanted was to insult me.

The next insult comes when my plate is taken away by the waiter. A sign, obviously addressed at me:

Sign waiting for me under my plate

YOU try MY salads Mister! What kind of a remark is that? Of course I am watching my weight. I hardly put on any this winter. That's enough; I'm not leaving a tip.

Safely arrived at home, I searched for a good Kiswahili dictionary on the net. Turns out "mbuzi" means goat – or coconut grater.

Next week, I will start learning Kiswahili.

To join the pirate hype

2010-01-04T12:27:00.003+03:00

If you’re a pirate these days, people respect you, you make the news. Everyone likes to talk about pirates. Even the company that brought the Seacom cable to

Tanzania

blamed pirates for being a month late.

If Eric Cartman can be a pirate, I can too. I was going to get an eyepatch and a wooden leg, but then I decided for a more modest combination of the two:

My Pirate Toe Patch

Once again, truth is not so exciting: I’m not actually abducting ships to extort ransom. I just had a small cut on my big toe that got infected. Lucky that in Tanzania antibiotics are available without perscription.

To dream of holidays while I should be working

2010-01-03T01:20:00.005+03:00

I must confess, my days are not as exotic and exciting as they may seem. However great Dar Es Salaam may be, I spend most of my time at home, typing on my computer. My desk is not a panorama worth sharing, neither is the noise from the building site next door. So for today, I will just show a video we made back in those romantic days on Zanzibar.

Us riding a Honda 250R through a forest village in Zanzibar

To discover what Tanzanian New Year’s wishes really mean

2010-01-02T08:38:00.002+03:00

11:30 PM on the 31st of December, I got a NYE-Message from Patrick, a Tanzanian friend. It read:

Network busy,

Number busy,

Message not sent

DAT’Z WAT WILL SEE ON FIRST DAY OF NEW YEAR.
So
“HAPPY NEW YEAR”
before the rush starts!

How original, I thought, to pick out just that aspect of New Year’s. Of course phone lines become a little overcrowded when everyone calls their loved ones at the same time. But to make this the theme for your wishes for the whole next year? Really, very original, I thought.

Today I understood.

Half day into the new year, I’m trying to work, but the internet does not want to connect with me:

Error message on my computer on January 1st, 2010

So, dear friends, let me wish you all the best for the year 2010. May God bless you with good health, and may He let your remote computer respond in a timely manner.

To buy the exact same things I would buy at home, hearing the exact same music

2010-01-01T11:42:00.007+03:00

Some Tanzanian businessman is making a lot of money by selling expatriate Americans and Europeans just what they are sold back home, like Oreo cookies. To make the shopping experience complete, he plays music that shopping centers back in expatriate homeland would play, like Mariah Carey’s „Best Of“ Album.

Let’s not be judgmental about this. Of course it would be great if foreigners in

Tanzania

would blend in right on their arrival, and haggle in Swahili at market stands in Kariakoo. But now and then, one just needs some familiar consumer goods.

I bought this box of Oreos. I have never bought Oreos before, they’re hard to get in Germany. Neither have I ever enjoyed listening to any song performed by Mariah Carey. But I’m far away from home now, and can’t quite get the Christmas feel with all this heat. Also, I suffer from slight sunstroke, so there is nothing remarkable about the fact that, even three days later, I’m still humming “All I want for Christmas is you”. Baby.