"Hodi" - the worst word ever invented

When you are traveling to see various cultures, the differences you see naturally beg for you to make comparisons. One of the most common ones that I've heard goes something like "People are so much friendlier here in (insert country name) than they are in America!" For me, this was true in Fiji, not that true for Japan (sorry Boyd...), true for Eastern Europe with the exception of Prague where people hate Americans, and very, very true here in Tanzania. This sense of welcoming varies from country to country, largely dependent on how tourists of the past have behaved themselves. In any case, I said that Tanzania was probably the most open and friendly country I've had the opportunity to see, at least here in Bukoba. In Arusha, the tourist capital of Tanzania (due to its proximity to both Kilimanjaro and the Serengeti), I've heard it is a bit less so. Go figure...
The way Tanzanians in general, and the Haya tribe in particular (those from around Bukoba), display their friendliness is multi-faceted. The most obvious and commonplace way is the ubiquitous greetings they will give and receive on a daily basis. There is a whole etiquette based around acknowledging friends, acquaintances, and even passers-by. This entails stopping, asking them about their days, then their families, then their work, and a myriad of other topics. It can take up to five minutes or so to properly stop and greet someone, giving the correct inquiries and responses. I've been asked about 10-15 questions by a single stranger before, just while I am walking to town. It goes something like this (translated, of course):

"How is your morning, brother?"
"It is fine and clean. How is your day?"
"Simply fine and clean. How is your place?"
"My place is completely nice. It is Ihungo Secondary."
"Ahhh! Ihungo! What do they say there?"
"They have no problems at all. How is your place?"
"My place is fresh. Are you coming from Ihungo?"
"Yes."
"Where are you going?"
"Town."
"It is that way." (points to the only road around, which I am already walking down)
"Ah, I see, thank you for helping me. How is your family?"
"They are completely fine. And yours?"
"They are in America, but also completely fine."
"That's good. How is your work?"
"My work is that of a teacher. It is a lot of work, but nice."
"Ah you teach at Ihungo! Which subject do you teach?"
"I teach physics to forms 5 and 6. My students are very clever."
"They must be. Physics has many difficulties."
"And how is your work?"
"Oh it is going nice and slow. I am a farmer."
"Where do you farm?"
"There in the village. I have a small farm there."
"Aha. That is nice. I have been happy to meet you, I am continuing to town."
"What is your name?"
"I am called Masanja."
(claps and laughs) "You are truly Tanzanian. I am called Rutakutalutabuta."
"Ok Rutalupahubadoo, I will see you another day."
"Yes we'll see each other later."

This conversation, or one very similar, is so common it feels rote by now. Every day when I walk to or from town, at least one or two complete strangers and I will get to know each other this way, and I always fail at pronouncing their names.
I said there is are multiple ways in which Tanzanians show their hospitality and friendliness. This is an example of one of the ways which I really like. I get to improve my Swahili a bit, meet people, and feel like I belong. Tanzanians are also very open with their homes, treating them as communal gathering places, rather than personal castles. Due to this, I get invited to visit people whom I hardly know all the time, and often I go. Usually it winds up with me drinking a soda, talking a bit, and maybe forcing down some dagaa and ugali. But of course, in giving this hospitality, they expect the same from me, with or without invitation.
This is the part of the open culture they have here that bugs me. People I have met just once on the streets that I don't remember at all will often show up at my house. Its ok, except when I want a little personal time. For example, Sunday is usually my "study, lesson plan, max-to-the-relax" day. What invariably happens is that I am in the middle of solving some difficult problem, or I've reaching the climax of whatever book I'm reading, and a visitor will call. Here is hands-down the most annoying thing in all of Tanzania- the way they announce themselves. They say the word "hodi" (ho-dee) very loudly and abruptly, and with a strangely high pitch. If there is no answer, they do so again. And again. And again. Hodi! Hodi! Hodi! Then, if five or six of these don't work, they pound on the door a bit. Then back to the hodi's. Imagine being in the middle of a nap to hear this "hodi hodi hodi". Trust me, there is almost no way to be woken up that is more annoying. The real crazy/amazing thing is the persistence which these house-callers have. Once I decided to try to continue napping, and the guy knocked and hodi'ed for about 5 minutes at the front door, then went to the back door to try the same, and then returned to the front door. All told he bothered the crap out of me for about ten minutes before I finally mustered the rage to answer the door. The guy was wondering if I'd seen a fellow teacher. That was it. My gosh... I think I might've been a bit overly-brusque that time. Seriously, if doorbells existed here in Tanzania, people would go insane daily. I would probably be the first.

But really, all in all, the hospitality is nice. Really.

Party in the Back

OK, from your comments it seems that not much really needs to be said about Mulletfest '06. Just a few addendums and details to fill everyone in.

1) Andrew made "Pan-African Mulletfest" shirts with latin writing which translated to "With mullets comes life and power." You can see them in most of the pics.

2) We had "The Final Countdown" by Europe on repeat as our hair was being cut.

3) We tried to find Hamms beer to drink post-cut, but it doesn't exist here.

4) Steve got a "skullet" cut after his mullet, which made him look exactly like Gallagher.

5) Here is a photo album which we are trying to get going so that everyone can add their mulletfest pics:

MULLET ALBUM

If it doesn't work I'm sorry. I still have my mullet.

One Long Complaint

If anyone ever recommends that you take a 30+ hour bus ride through several developing countries, that person is not your friend. About two weeks ago, we Bukobians took the overnight ferry to Mwanza, our city of departure. The plan was to take the Scandinavia bus line (which is equipped with AC, in theory) from there, through Nairobi, back into Tanzania then down to Dar Es Salaam. If you are at all familiar with the geography of Tanzania, you will now be saying, "But Rob, why not go directly from Mwanza to Dar, as that route is hundreds of kilometers shorter?!" Well that's true, but those roads aren't paved. On paper, a direct journey through the middle of Tanzania should take maybe 15 hours. The last person I talked to that went that way arrived 4 days late, as most of the roads were rained out and full of ruts. So that option is really not a very good one, and hence there we were, ready for our trip through Kenya.
I must say, this trip was really not as bad as it could have been. That is not saying it wasn't bad. Just that it wasn't the worst experience of my life. Leaving at 11pm, we made good time up and out of Tanzania, stopping every two hours or so for bathroom breaks. They played "Anaconda" when the trip started, which was pretty awesome. Being naive, I thought that the roads in Kenya, which is the more developed of the two countries, would be quite nice and wide. Thus I was highly chagrined when, maybe 50km outside of Nairobi, we turned onto what was the worst road I have EVER seen. I think it was paved maybe a hundred years ago then forgotten, except by the bus drivers of the Scandinavia line. I can't really describe it, except to say that luggage was flying off the racks above us, bombarding people's heads, despite the fact that we were only going about 15km per hour. It was awful, and the worst part was that we reached this point at like 10pm, when everyone was asleep. It was the most rude awakening I've ever had. We got into Nairobi at a little after midnight, so I couldn't really see much of the city. We all got the feel that it was much more Westernized than anywhere else in East Africa (this means straight roads and street lights, office buildings and billboards).
At around 2am we reached the border again. The way we cross borders here is kind of funny: You get off the bus and walk up to a little hut, which is the departing customs office of the country you are leaving. They stamp your passport and grumble a bit (the night shift must be rough...), then you leave the hut and literally walk across the border into the next country. There are no guards. I think if you wanted you could walk all over East Africa and never once get stopped at a border (but I think that could potentially not work out...). Then you go to the immigration hut in the country you are entering, get grumbled at some more, another stamp, and that's that. Its pretty laidback compared to the US, even when entering Canada. They never ask any questions, so if I'd wanted I could have smuggled in 16 giraffes without even having to lie:
"*grumble grumble* Hello Mr. American. Are you smuggling any animals such as giraffes today, sir?"
"Oh no Mr. Border, not 16 of them. I know this is a true fact."
"*grumble* OK good, as long as it is a true fact. Let me stamp and crinkle your passport, then you can simply walk across our border."
"That is very laidback of you."("I feel terrible, I shouldn't have lied about those giraffes...")

Anyway, when we all finished at the border, we expected to be back on the road right away. Well, Kenya has no laws about buses driving at night. They don't care. Tanzania does have a law, that buses cannot operate between 10pm and sun-up. This was inconvenient for us, sitting there at the border at 2am, since the sun begins to rise at around 6am. So that was our designated "sleep time" apparently. However this was delightfully ruined by a man with a baby that happened to be the world's most accomplished crier. Seriously... I finally muttered something in Swahili about rudeness at around 4 or 5am, and he took the Human Siren off the bus into a little hut or something. Three or four Tanzanians patted me on the back and then we all slept for an hour.
We got to driving again a little before six, and the drivers played "US Marshalls" with my man Snipes. That was pretty good, except for the rockin headache I had developed. I forgot to mention that we headed mostly north the first day of the trip, and mostly south the second day. This meant those on the left side of the bus got blasted by our Equatorial sun both days (think about it; its the truth). I was cursed with the left side, thus my headache.
That morning we made good progress, expecting to arrive in Dar at around 4pm. I think the saddest thing that has ever happened to me in my life was when, a mere 20km outside of the city, we came upon a massive traffic jam due to an accident on a bridge. This was at 3pm or so, the heat of the day. I think you understand that the brochures lied about the AC. So were sat there, having already traveled for 28 hours, roasting in the afternoon blaze. It was pretty rough; I was highly despondent by then. The jam cleared up about an hour later, but we moved slowly the rest of the way and got into town at 6pm or so.
What did I then do? Shower, beer, and Indian food. It worked wonders. The only depressing thing was going to buy my ticket for the return bus trip as soon as we got in. That was not easy, I felt like they should pay me for enduring that nonsense and coming back for more. In between these long marches, I actually had an awesome week seeing everyone from training. Mulletfest did occur, and I'll write about it later. I am posting pictures, of which there are many. The good times more than made up for the strife. I returned by the same route a few days ago, and this time the bus broke down for two hours as soon as we got going. When I boarded the bus this time, I bought a newspaper to look at. The front page said "52 dead in bus collision". Great... That's like watching a plane crash movie while flying. I got into Mwanza on Sunday, and the only tickets left for the ferry were 3rd class. If you are unaware, this is not the good class. I ended up sleeping on a bench on the top deck, shivering and sad. When I got home yesterday, I slept for about 18 hours. Now I feel alive again. I'll try to write a little bit about mulletfest in a day or two. All I can say is that it rocked. Peace