The Local, the Comfortable, and the Super Loo

  Mwanza, Tanzania
Monday, July 7, 2008

The Local, the Comfortable, and the Super Loo
 
Saturday, July 5th and Saturday, July 12th
 
When I first arrived in Mwanza, Sara told me that I could chose to live as "local" or as "comfortable' as I chose.  The more time I spent in our neighborhood Buswelu, the more local life I would experience. In reality, Buswelu is not very far from Mwanza. However, once one turns off the main road, the house is back in Buswelu and the dirt roads are quite poor increasing any travel time done by car. The cheapest way to travel to Mwanza is by riding the daladala which costs about a quarter. However, I can essentially meet my needs for food, water, shelter and basic items here in Buswelu.  There are plenty of dukas selling food and other essentials. In fact, one duka is right next to our house, and I walk by several on our way to HOM.  Additionally, lots of people set up fruit and vegetable stands in front of their home.  A few places cook food, so I can easily pick up hot dishes such as rice and beans, samosas and chips mayaii (egg and fry omelets).  On the contrary if I want to make myself comfortable in the western sense, options do exist in Mwanza. The easiest way to be comfortable is by taking taxis into town and hanging out at the main two expat hangouts, Tipipia Hotel and Tunza Lodge.
 
After my first week in Busewlu, Michelle and I decided we were ready to experience a little comfort.  We had survived the week trying some local food as well as getting creative with our home cooking, but we were ready for a nicer meal.  By late Saturday morning, we were anxious to get to town and could have chosen a taxi, but instead opted for the more affordable daladala. We had hoped to walk to the nearest daladala stop only ten minutes away. However, Erna (a new arrival volunteering at HOM's sister orphanage) had appeared at our house as we were leaving. Realizing we were going to Mwanza, she wanted to join us. I knew that I needed guidance when I first arrived, but have to admit I was annoyed when she requested that we walk to her hotel first.  Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at her hotel and forty minutes later our now sweaty bodies reached the daladala stop on the main road.  At least there was always a daladala to Mwanza at this stop.  The upside to the daladala is most obviously the cost, running about a quarter per trip. The down side is that it is often very hot and uncomfortable as upwards of thirty people are stuffed into a bus with sixteen seats.  We crammed inside and plopped into the last available seats.  I use the word seat loosely as this was more of a homemade bench constructed behind the driver and front row. Although thankful to have a seat, I soon realized that one side of the bench was a foot lower than the other side and my ass was perched precariously on the slope.  For the duration of the trip Michelle sitting below me had to contend with me repeatedly ending up in her lap.
 
Finally, we arrived in Mwanza and headed to our first destination, the internet café. After an hour of patient internet use, we hungrily left for Tilipia. Fortunately we had scrutinized the map earlier and easily found the hotel fifteen minutes later.  Our housemates had been here a few times last week and we were excited to enter a world of "comfortable" at Hotel Tilipia. Located on the shores of the Mwanza Gulf in Lake Victoria, the views were beautiful and serene. Although only two minutes removed from the dust and noise of Mwanza, I suddenly felt far away. We climbed a flight of stairs to an extremely pleasant covered restaurant and bar area.  We gratefully sunk into the cushioned chairs and eagerly inspected the menu. Our protein deprived stomachs were grateful to see meat, chicken and fish as choices.  Although the drink choices were no way vast, I happily ordered a "red wine" and chicken kiev. I then excused myself to the restroom.

View from Hotel Tilipia

 
I walked downstairs and pulled open the door marked "Ladies." I beamed with happiness as I realized I had discovered one of Tanzania's rare finds, a Super Loo. At the main visitor center at the Serengeti we had found a wonderful bathroom, which my British companion had dubbed the "Super Loo". And now here one stood before me. Not only was there a proper toilet complete with toilet paper, but a sink, hot water, soap and a towel. As pathetic as it sounds, this made me day.  I vowed to drink lots of water just for the opportunity to use the Super Loo again and again.  I returned to the table where Michelle was just as delighted by the news.
 
We waited for our food and observed many people enjoying their day around and in the hotel pool. Relatively expensive at $6.50 a day, I realized how wonderfully relaxing it would be to spend a day lounging at the pool.  However, I had one problem to solve first. Since arriving in Tanzania, I have ceased to shave my legs.  Before arriving, I decided this would be a difficult task in a cold shower and honestly why should I bother making the effort.  Sarah has taught me a preferable method of bathing by filling a bucket with half boiling water and half cold water and using a cup to lather and rinse. In addition to having warm water, it reduces our water use.   However, this is also not conducive to shaving as I do not wish to swish my hair-filled razor in my bath water. Since I have not gone without shaving for more than a couple of days since puberty, I was completely unprepared for just how much dark hair would grow. As each day passed, I became more repulsed by my man legs and felt the hair itself made my dirtier. As we explored Tilipia, I noticed a salon with a list of services including waxing! I made an appointment for the following Saturday, and Michelle and I decided that after my legs were silky smooth we would hang out at the pool.
 
The following Saturday, Michelle and I set out an hour before for my 11:30 appointment. We were especially looking forward to our day of comfort, as the power had gone out at the house that morning. Michelle had admitted waking up in the wrong side of the bed and was very disappointed not to have her morning tea. We walked to Buswelu corner to wait for the daladala.  As it careened around the corner, three men hung off the side and we knew that daladala was truly full.  Realizing the next daladala may take too long, we began the 25 minute walk to the main road.  Fortunately before we completed the thirty-minute walk, another daldala rounded the corner and we flagged it down.  As it stopped in front of us, we saw it was full. People were hunched over inside as they attempted to stand in the openings between the rows. The conductor opened the sliding side door and motioned for us to stand on the bottom of the doorframe and showed us where to hold on to the metal bar just inside. Michelle and I looked at each other as the passengers looked at us to see just how brave the mzungus were. I glanced nervously at my watch and said "Just to the main road," and up we climbed. I looped my arm around the open passenger window and thought, "I am glad my father is not seeing this."  As the daladala drove off, Michelle and I giggled at ourselves as did the other passengers. Although I have seen many Tanzanians travel this way, it must be rare to see two white girls do it. As we rounded every bend, children and adults stopped to point and laugh as if this was the most entertaining thing they had seen in weeks. In reality the daladala due to the roads, the daladala was probably unable to reach 15 mph and the breeze felt much better than the stale air inside the cramped vehicle.  Luckily when we reached the main road, several people disembarked. We climbed inside still laughing at our truly local experience.
 
With legs looking like freshly plucked chickens, I joined Michelle at the Tilipia bar after my salon appointment. Unfortunately, the sky was overcast and the pool no longer looked as uninviting. We decided to eat lunch and see if the sun would appear.  I ordered a pizza and "red wine", reasoning that it may help soothe my tingling legs, and excused myself to the Super Loo. To my dismay, the power went off as soon as I sat down, surrounding me in darkness.  I heard the generators kick in and the lights flickered back on.  Being able to see, I discovered there was no toilet paper.  "But this was the Super Loo," I thought.  I guess there is always some "local" mixed with the "comfortable" in Tanzania.
 
Abandoning the idea of sunbathing, we decided to hit the best grocery store in town and call it a day.  Loaded down with some western comforts including cookies, cheese, wine, spaghetti, and chocolate, Michelle insisted on paying for a taxi home. The power was still off when we returned, but there was still enough daylight to curl up on the couches with our books.  As the light faded, we strapped on our head lamps and hoped we would have some electricity soon to simplify making dinner.  Just as we were wondering if this could be one of those weeks without power we had been warned off, the lights came on. We could hear the shouts of delight throughout Buswelu and knew we were not the only ones that enjoyed a little comfort.
 
 

Our bathroom at home...not the super loo