Full service

Oh, how I haven't missed having a maid. I never feel comfortable having "staff". Unlike most affluent South Africans, I wasn't brought up with a maid... only my mother. And I didn't feel uncomfortable with that - probably largely because (although she did the main brunt of the housework) my maid-mother would issue Boet and I with a chore list that included toilet brushes and dishwashing duty. So I'm one of those socially-awkward people who wants to help the maid, which - as GBM points out - kinda defeats the point of having one in the first place.

So, instead of being chased around the flat by Poa, while I smile politely and apologetically every time I have to move, I've taken to removing myself completely... which means (and such is the tough life of the African house-girlfriend) retiring to the pool.

There I sit, struggling through the horrific surroundings for forty minutes or so, until I venture back indoors to play the "where has Poa hidden everything this time" game. We have nothing but cupboard space in our kitchen, in which we store literally, nothing. Two plates, two bowls, two sets of cutlery, one pot and one pan.

And every time these items get put back in a different nook or cranny. Sometimes all together, sometimes a bit more dispersed. My favourite so far, was finding all our crockery, upside down... in the cutlery drawer.

And the remaining cutlery?

Why, that had been moved to the drawer below... with the pots and pans. Of course.

Mumbo Jumbo

I've only been here three days but at least I've been better than GBM, who was merrily chanting "mumbo-jumbo!" at everyone he passed, as he thought that was the general greeting. To be fair, I can understand why he would think that... the initial call is "hujambo", followed by "sijambo" in response, but all you hear are the last two syllables. Not exactly mumbo-jumbo, but close enough.

I don't know if you can really call it learning the language, so much as learning bits and pieces... but I'm trying to memorise phrases and words as a starting point. So, on my first morning in the serviced flat, armed with my Swahili phrase book, I greeted the maid on arrival. 

I started with hello... it seemed a safe enough bet... "Habari"  

"Hujambo?", she replied.

"Sijambo." I said, clearly very proud of my interaction thus far.

"Poa." She grinned and walked away. 

I frantically searched my Swahili-English, dictionary. Poh-ah... poh-ah... paaaao... nothing. Which lead me to conclude - true to my colonial heritage - that clearly, "Poa" was not a word and therefore it must be our maid's name. 

Fortunately later that same day, I did come across the word - which turned out to mean "cool". Good thing I didn't call Helen (apparently) Poa, with immediate enthusiasm! 

It's not all misunderstandings though, I'm already confident enough to direct taxi and bajaji drivers in Swahili, and once they get over the shock of my accent and/or poor pronunciation they seem to welcome my bumbling attempts. 

Helen also finds me more than a little amusing, as she chases me around the flat mopping over and under my feet, instructing me in Swahili where to stand or sit so that I can inconvenience her to the least degree.

Now if I could just get my brain around all those zeroes on those damn shilingi notes...

First Impressions

Dirty, dusty, muggy. Jostling, crowded, vibrant, active... But not nearly as chaotic as I was expecting. Much like cycling in Amsterdam, once you're actually in the messy matrix, it seems to make more sense. Sort of. I've had one taxi ride and three trips in various bajajis... all in equal parts, terrifying and entertaining.

We took a less stressful stroll to the shops down the road, stopping for breakfast at one of the many expat hang-outs, where we attempted to eat our food before the flies dominated the plates (major fail). I've already been relegated from money duties as I keep trying to pay small bills (e.g 1500 Tanzanian shillings) with multiple 5,000 Tsh bank notes. All those zeroes look the same to me. Gimme a break, it's only been a few hours! 

It took me longer than it probably should've to realise that Tsh represents the currency here. I just thought that all the ads were onomatopoeic translations for the customer service you can expect to receive: the noise a call centre rep is likely to make, like "hau" in SA or "pfft" in France... "tsh" in Tanzania. 

Speaking of ads, from my brief research last night and this morning, 80% of the outdoor marketing has been telecom/cell phone providers, 10% beer or alcohol and the remainder is dominated by products using Didier Drogba's name and face (this is not a short list).

I also absent-mindedly brushed my teeth with tap water both last night and this morning... so we'll find out soon enough whether the Travel Clinic's terror tactics regarding the state of water sanitation were unfounded, or not.

Tutaonana baadaye!