My Village Car

-       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? ;)