-
My
village only has one car that actually comes to the village. There are a few more that go to the
neighboring village, but it’s a 45-minute walk, so it can be a pain if you’re
carrying stuff back from town (which I almost always do…scratch that, I always
have stuff that I bring back from town).
I say car, but it is a Hias, and can technically sit 20, including the
driver.
Oh my, how many more we fit in there.
As with any form of Tanzanian transport,
as many people, chickens and bags of cement as possible are stuffed into the
car, with little disregard for leg space, how large individuals are (there are
some VERY big women who manage to be squeezed into a spot big enough for a
skinny teenager), or for any fear of cramped spaces. I often have something under my feet, on my lap, and can’t
even move to the side because it’s so tight.
When I first arrived, a man named Iddi
drove my car from my area all the way to Lushoto. He was super sweet, drove slow and safe (EXTREMELY
appreciated when we’re on twisty mountain roads), and he has a smile that makes
you want to jump for joy because it’s so rare. Mr. Iddi owns the car (called “Kweboma,” after the village
where Mr. Iddi lives and the car starts and ends) and pretty much has a
monopoly on travel in my area.
He’s the only one who comes to my village and the village above me. As such, he made a ton of money. Enough to buy a big costa (bus for
longer travels). So now there is
the costa, which Iddi drives, and there is still the little Hias. The costa goes all the way from Kweboma
to Tanga Town (about an 8 hour trip total) and then returns the next day.
Since Iddi is driving the costa, the Hias
is now driven by a man named Arifa.
Arifa is quick to smile, jolly, and likes to show me off. He’s pretty fond of me, I think, but
not in a creepy way. For example,
there was one time that we were getting back after dark. From where the bus usually drops me off
for my village, it’s another 20 minutes to walk to my actual house. Arifa spoke with people in the car and
ensured that a trustworthy man would walk me almost the entire way to my house
to make sure I got back ok.
Another occasion, we were leaving Lushoto extremely late, and Arifa told
me not to worry, he would drive me all the way to my house to make sure I
didn’t have to walk back in the dark.
Super sweet! He also loves
to show other people that I know some Kisambaa (my tribal langauge), and on one
occasion told a saleswoman I knew some, then cried out “Amy! Speak Kisambaa for her!” It’s kinda
funny, and I know that I’m a definite source of entertainment for them, but it
also makes me feel like I’m part of the community. Though to be honest, it’s really easy to get Tanzanians to
like you.
Now, those are the drivers, Iddi and
Arifa. But then there are the
kondas, who can’t be forgotten. Konda (cone-da) is a term short for “conductor,”
or the person who takes money and helps people on and off the vehicle with
their luggage. When I first got
here, it was Abeid (pronounced “a-bed-ee”). He was kind of a sullen guy, but quickly warmed up to me,
and would call me “Dada” (sister) and smile when I would happily jog over to
him in the bus stand. At first, he
would always insist that I sit in the front seat of the vehicle. This is definitely one of the ideal
places to sit, but I felt uncomfortable that I would always get it. I thought it was because of my skin
color and white privilege. So one
day I just sat in the back. Abeid
came and told me that the front seat was mine, but I smiled and told him that I
was fine where I was. He looked
like he didn’t believe me, but let me stay there anyway. Ever since, I’ve sat anywhere in the
car that I want to. In some ways
it makes me feel like more of a part of the community. I sit where they do, I don’t get
special treatment because I’m the American. I’ve had many babies thrust into my arms and mamas fall
asleep on me while sitting in the back.
But it makes me happy.
Sure, it can be uncomfortable often. But those things are all a big part of the African
experience. You haven’t really
traveled in Africa until you’d had things like babies and chickens put in your
lap and a mama drool on your shoulder.
Once Iddi got the costa, Abeid went to
work in that vehicle. Since then,
Omari has replaced him in the Hias.
I must admit that I have a huge crush on Omari. Like, a really big crush. He’s gorgeous and seems to enjoy
speaking Kisambaa with me, though I know little beyond greetings. When he’s the konda, I try not to be
obvious about it, but I tend to stare at him. He’s just that good looking. It’s a great distraction from the sketchy roads, and he
smiles a lot, so it’s impossible to not look at him. There was one occasion when I was in Lushoto, walking past a
field where vehicles are worked on in between trips. It’s like an open air, very grassy garage. Anyway, I was walking by with some
other PCVs when I saw my car (the distinct orange and yellow stripes on the
side make it easy to spot). I
recognized Omari as he came around the side, and I shouted “Omari!” while
waving and looking in that direction.
At that very moment, I tripped in a hole. I didn’t wait to see if Omari saw me trip, but all the PCVs
with me were laughing their heads off at me. It’s well known among my Lushoto PCVs friends that I have a
crush on my konda, so my demonstration of clumsiness was just a classic
embarrassing moment.
Even though I complain that I only have
one vehicle that actually comes by my village, in some ways it’s nice. I have these relationships with the
drivers and kondas that not all PCVs get to have. Or villagers for that matter (I kinda stick out, and am
usually surprised when there’s another foreigner in the vehicle with me). I get a little bit of special treatment
(they come to my house!) but not so much that it’s excessive. My drivers and kondas are good guys who
watch out for me, and I’m thankful to be in a good situation like that.
Though it most certainly would be nice to
have a car go more than once a day.
Oh well. I’m used to it
now. PCVs have to rough it a wee
bit, don’t we? ;)
