TANZANIA EXPERIENCES (1970s)

(Events some 50+ years ago)

 DAR ES SALAAM

 .  .  Dar es Salaam is a coastal city and political capital of Tanzania. Some 73 km north of Dar es Salaam is the island Zanzibar which was an Arab Sultanate and a hub of trade, mostly slaves, gold, ivory and spices through past centuries. East coast of Tanzania from Tanga in the north to kilwa in the south with Dar es Salaam in the middle have a great Arab influence because of Slave activities.

The main land was known as TANGANYKA which was a British coloney till 1964 when it was granted independance. TANGANYKA  and Zanzibar, the Arab Sultanate, then decided to merge and form one country called TANZANIA.

 .  .  .  . The British brought from India labourers and skilled workers to work on railway line laying and other projects. These Indians, mostly Gujarati speaking or Kokni, remained after the independence and now had almost entire Tanzanian economy in their hands.

 .  .  .  .The first thing a visitor notices upon arriving in Dar es Salaam is that it does not look like an African city. Every where you see are Indians speaking Gujarati. All shops are owned and operated by Indians. Africans are found only working as help or labourers.(1970).

A Gujarati shop.

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 .  .  .  . Africans are both muslim and christian. They have set traditions for all occasions. For xample, an African meeting another on the street would enquire about the well being and exchange greetings for several minutes.  

Ahmadu meets Abdu for example:

Ahmadu: assalamalekum bwana, habari gani. (Hello Mister. What is the news)

Abdu: walekumassalaam. Mzuri  saana (Hello, all good)

 Ahmadu :  habari wa kazi (how is work)m

 Abdu:.  Alhamdulillah (thanks Allah)

 Ahmadu:.  habari wa toto (how are children)

 Abdu: mzuri saana (all good)

Ahmadu:  habari wa jumbani (how is home, meaning wife)

 Abdu :  Alhamdulimlah

NOW  Abdu will start asking same questions to Ahmadu and will get similar answers, Alhamdulillah and mzuri saana alternately.

GREETINGS.

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C A R     A N D     M O T O R C Y C L E

I purchased an old motorcycle, Honda 50 cc, and started using it in Iringa. When the tyre is flat, it cost me 25 shillings to repair it. After some time I decided to purchase puncture-repair-kit so that I would repair puncture myself and save sh: 25. (Tubeless tyres had not come yet), After all it was a simple affair.

Come next puncture and I sat down to repair it. The wheel was front one and I used screw driver to pull out section by section the tube from the tyre. I found out while inflating and testing the tube in water that I had succeeded in inflicting multiple new punctures and ruined the tube. So much for saving sh:25. Now buy new tube.

 

 

 

         

              Come next puncture and I sat down to repair the tyre. I found out while inflating and testing the tube in water that I had succeeded in inflictin

        A certain Mr. Khan asked me he had a friend selling his vw car for only sh: 3000. Mr. Khan was an officer in secret service department of police and was retiring. He could buy it for me and then train me in driving. In return he would use the car for the two months he needs it in Iringa before going to UK for good. I said ok and gave him sh: 3000. He brought the car, 12 year old, 1959 model vw beetle. He also gave me a receipt for sh: 3500. I asked how come the receipt is for sh: 3500? He said, “The seller would not sell it for sh:3000 so I paid sh: 500 from my pocket; after all I will use it also.” Gullible as I was, I said I will not have you pay for my car and gave him sh: 500. He accepted the cash. Later I suspected he made a fool of me.

 .  .  .  . He gave me half an hour lesson every day and use the car himself rest of the time. After he has gone I had the car to myself. Being an old car it was often out of order. Often both the car and the bike were bad and as I walked to town my friends teased me. I was soon fed up of spending money on maintaining and repairing the car.

 .  .  .  . Mr. Ibrahim Thakore, a friend and colleague, asked me for a donation of sh:25 for some mosque. He was a very good and God fearing man. But somehow I made an excuse.

 .  .  .  . I felt bad that I refused donation for a mosque. And I am wasting money on the car. To please God I resolved to get rid of this car and donate the money for that mosque. Soon Thakore sahab received from me sh: 1,600 for the mosque. That was the amount I sold the car for.

 .  .  .   I moved to Dar es Salaam and took the motorcycle there.  I stayed in Dar es Salaam for a year working in Kinondoni Secondary school, and then got a job in government ministry of education and posted to Dodoma.

            While in Dar es Salaam, I was befriended by people of Tableeghi Jamaat. One man, Qamar Uddin, became my fast friend. He caused me to join Tableegh’s weekly programme of visiting with several other men mosques in far and wide areas off Dar and stay there Friday and Saturday night and come back Sunday. Do tableegh (preach Islam). He was good at throwing lavish dawats in honour of tableegh jamaats (group of 5-10 people who visited from other countries). I was always present in such dawats. He became in debt for this habit but said, “I am doing this for Allah, He will relieve me from debt.”

              When I was going to Dodoma to join my new Government job, Qamar Uddin bought from me my Honda for sh: 800. This amount was decided by another tableeghi friend named Palekar to whom I had given the right to decide the price, in view of the fact that I and Qamar were friends. But I had a feeling that he favoured Qamar. Any way, Qamar never paid me. He would say you do not need money, only you will put it in your bank if I paid, and I am not running away.

              After two years when I heard he was going to UK, I sent a word from Dodoma to Qamar for payment of Honda. He paid me sh:800. I heard he had sold it for sh: 2000.

Honda 50 cc (1970).

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S E C O N D  C L A S S  T R A V E L*

 .  .  .  .  Train comming from Tabora in the west going to Dar es Salaam passed from Dodoma. As the Third class was very messy and crowded, we always travelled second class going to Dar es Salaam from Dodoma. It was necessary to make a booking two weeks in advance.

 .  .  .  .  In a second class cabin, you have two berths to be used by two passengers. One on top of the other.

Private toilet. There was a dinning car between the second class carriages and the third class carriages.

 .  .  .  . lf you pay sh:25 extra, you will find your berth complete with bed and pillows and blanket. Since the journey was for whole night, I always got the bed. My colleagues saved sh:25, and brought just a pillow and some food from home. But I always ate dinner in the dining car. It was a great experience for just sh:25. About 5-6 course meal western style and you have a set of knife and fork for each course already arranged around your plate.

          There were times when you needed to travel immediately and there is no booking. However, I would board the train and spend the evening in some second cabin with some acquaintance, talking, and after the dinner, move to the dining car to spend the night sitting and sleeping with head on the table. The guard would come checking and I would buy a second class ticket from him.

          Once the guard was in a bad mood. Looks like he had a hiding from his wife. He ordered me to move to the third class carriage with a third class ticket, and refused to sell second class ticket. There was a door leading to other half of the dining car serving third class. He opened it and eased me to squeeze in.

          The first thing that hit me was the stench rising from warm breaths and bodies of people who were packed like sardines but accommodated me too. The dining car had lost its dining purpose and served only as provider of space for travellers; even I could see from counter window people packed in the kitchen. Some had their meagre belongings tied in a piece of cloth balanced on head as there was no separate room for luggage. One was carrying the head of recently killed goat.

          The practice of travelling in the second class dining room was not common. It was done only by us two or three lecturers of the college in Dodoma and the railway staff knew it. Probably the attendants of the dinning car persuaded the guard to pull me back. After about ten minutes of torture, the door opened and I was beckoned to come back. I was whisked and helped sail through the door instantly and it was a great relief.  (I was too naive to use bribing tactics)

          I took a bus, after this, when I had to travel on a short notice. The buses too had two sections. Some 12 seats in the front next to the driver were called second class. Majority of passengers travelled behind the grilled partition in the back. But you always get a place in front.

         ACT OF KINDNESS.  Here I remember an incident when I gave my seat on a crowded bus to an old and frail African woman and chose to stand, knowing it would be for hours. It was on the bus from Iringa to Moshi, whole day journey. The genuinely thankful face of the woman I still remember.

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 .  .  .  .  S T R E E T . C R I M E

 .  .  .  .  Once I was with Qamar riding at thr back seat of the Honda which he was driving. At a traffic light, near Karaku, when we were waiting for the signal to turn green, some African removed from my wrist the Omega watch and ran away. This watch, Seamaster, I bought in Jeddah.

 .  .  .  .  On another occasion, I was walking with a friend in the night and decided to take a short cut through a public park. This place was infested with thieves and sure enough we were stopped. I told them, speaking Swahili, that I was a mualimu (teacher) and so I was allowed to go. This was because they liked foreigners speaking Swahili and they respected all teachers as the president Nyerere was once a teacher. My friend (visitor from Jibouti) was robbed of his watch and wallet.

 .  .  .  .  Another time I was alone in the night at a bus stop waiting for bus. I was sitting on the bench and on the far end of the bench an African man was sitting. An African came and stood in front of me brandishing a knife and said. “Give me money”. I handed over whatever little money I had and he ran away. He was just a boy. The man at the other end watched but did not intervene. When the bus arrived, this man upon my request bought the ticket for me.

My watch was with bracelet type strap like this one.

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    JUMA PRAYER

           I noticed right away in the first Juma prayer I attended in Iringa two things:

1. The wall clock showed time 7 am where as it was 1 pm.

2. The namazis shouted AMEEN loudly after the Imam finished reciting surah Fatiha in the namaaz and thus the whole mosque reverberated with huge Ameen sound. I was used to every one saying Ameen in soundless whisper in India.

        Later I enquired and investigated.

        Because of Arab influence, the Tanzanians traditionally followed Arab (Islamic) way of time. Their day starts at sunset (instead of western model of midnight) and thus the time of 12 hours strarts at sunset. At the Sunset the time is 12 O’ clock. Western 12 noon is 6 O’ clock for them. And thus the Juma prayer time which is 1 pm for us is 7 O’ clock for them. There is no am or pm.

       I was invited by an African friend to his house. He said,” Come in the evening, saa kumi na mbili”. (at twelve O’ clock)

       The proof of Arab times comes from Month of Ramazan. The month of Ramazan starts right after sighting of new moon at sun set and thus the Taraweeh prayer is prayed that evening. And the month ends just as the new moon for Eid is sighted. No Taraweeh is prayed that night.

 .  .  However, in Tanzania these Islamic way of timing was only observed traditionally, all official work was done according to international way of timing.

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 .  .  .  I was told that Shafayi muslims say Ameen aloud as against us Hanafi who say it quietly in namaaz.

NEW MOON HERALDS THE START OF ISLAMIC MONTH.

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 .  .  M A K O N D E   C A R V I N G S

Makonde is a tribe in south Tanzania and their wood carvings are world famous and an icon of Tanzania. I like these wood images very much. We still have a number of these images 50 years after they were bought and after scores of times of moving house across cities, across countries, across continents!

      The last picture is a shop selling Makonde Carvings in Dar es Salaam.

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BUS MIS-ADVENTURES

        I am going from Iringa to Dar es salaam to attend a 15 day Math conference in University of Dar es Salaam. The bus stops midway in Mikumi. This is the first stop after the bus has climbed down and has negotiated dangerous winding mountain roads and reached plains. I assumed that the bus would allow passengers time to have tea. I went in the nearby restaurant and ordered tea and biscuits. Soon, before my eyes the bus left without me. I rushed out and stood on the road staring at the fast receding back of the bus.

        By chance I noticed a car with two occupants stop by me and asked if all was well. They were my friends (aquantances actually) from Iringa going to Dar. I jumped in and said please go after that bus; I was travelling in it and it left without me. I have my brief case still on it. They raced the car and soon got ahead of the bus and waved the driver of the bus to stop. He stopped and I boarded the bus again, thanking my friends. 😃😃

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          Another similar incident happened several years later. I was travelling from Dar es Salaam to Dodoma by the night bus. Among the several personal jobs I had done in Dar, one was getting a friend’s tennis racket repaired. One string which was broken has been replaced, costing me 12 shillings.

         Half way in to the journey, in the middle of the jungle and dead of the night the bus broke down. There being no way to communicate with Dar bus terminal, the driver had to find a ride back to the city and the help would arrive only the following morning. We the passengers were destined to spend the night in the bus, hearing roars of lions around. I however decided to take the risk and stand in the middle of the road facing traffic going to Dodoma in the slim hope of some one giving me lift. I was standing in the full glare of approaching vehicles and soon I saw a jeep passed me and then stop 20 m ahead. I heard some one call, “Shakil.”

           It was a man I knew called Ibrahim. I joined him with my things transfered from the bus to the back of the jeep.

           We arrived in Dodoma around three in the morning. Ibrahim and his two African co-passengers were going to a town beyond Dodoma and asked me if they could spend the rest of the night in my house. I said be my guest.

            In the morning I made parathas and chana daal and tea, which every one ate with relish.

           Before leaving, they charged me 30 shillings for the ride from the bus to Dodoma and it was strange for me. But I paid knowing it was a great help.  

          Later, I also found out that the string of the tennis racket that was repaired has broken again due to bumps on the road. I told my friend the whole story that I spent 12 shillimgs but the string broke again by road bumps. He never paid me.

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TEACHING

 .  .  .  Teaching can be fun or a hazard or both. I was new and did not know that the word in Swahili for God was Mungu.

 .  .  .  There was a litttle disput between two students and I as a teacher was asked to mediate. Both students were African and one upon my enquiry was talking in fast Swahili. At the same time he was moving his index finger of right hand across his throat and saying “Haki ya Mungu”. I was terrified at this, thinking he is threatenning me that he would kill me if I found him guilty. After all he is an African, I thought.

           I some how resolved the matter.

Later I was told that he was swearing in the name of True God that he was innocent. Haki is a distorted Arabic word haq (حق) meaning true.

           There are a lot of Swahili words that are distorted Arabic words.

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           Why, even Urdu is laced with words from Arabic, Persian and Sanskrit.

HAKI YA MUNGU

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                          Y A Z D A N A

(Yazdana and me played togther as children. As adults we never met. We were in contact though through letters all these year as she was in Karachi and I in India)

              With my Indian passport, I went to Pakistan Embassy, Dar es Salasm requesting for a visa for Pakistan. The year was 1972. They asked me to first go to Indian High commision and get my passport endorsed valid for Pakistan. It took Indians a year to do just that (the matter was referred to New Delhi).

After that the Pakistnis needed two years to grant me visa. I hastened to travel to Karachi lest they will retrieve it. 1975.

             As I landed, the very object of my visit was whisked to a different location in Karachi, as if I or her or both would turn to stone if we should cast an eye on each other. Not that they observed purdah, but it was strange we were purdahed. The first time ever we saw each other was after the nikah. That too NOT direct, but in a hand mirror, held by villain women on the stage surrounded by other women. I thanked Allah that she was pretty. Very pretty.

           I stayed in Karachi for a total of 4 weeks, the last week being after the marriage and was full of fun activities. We went to places and restaurants. A Uni friend of her, named Sultana, organised a live singer who sang just for us, for hours. We went to ManoRa beach where we rode together a camel, went in to the water upto knee and splashed water on every one, or ran on the sand etc. Had a hearty lunch from local beach venders selling fried fish and potato chips.

  .  .    I came back to Dodoma after visiting India for a week.

THE UNIVERSE CONSPIRED FOR THIS MOMENT

JUST MARRIED.

MOGHAL GARDEN IN KARACHI. 

I had to wait for four months before she was able to come to Tanzania. People in Dodoma were anxious and keen to meet my wife. Once she arrived all were very responsive and every one welcomed her. We were youngest couple among expatriates, both Indian and Pakistani. There was a period of  dinner parties and we enjoyed our day.

              I had been cooking food for last five years. Now I could enjoy home cooked delicacies. Her cooking was superb and I and my African servant both enjoyed. The African boy  complained that now he is getting a measured amount of gravy and rice.  (Before, when I was alone, he would clean the pots of all remaining food.)

            After few weeks, I offered, “Today I will cook. You will not believe how tasty my food is.”

            I, as was my method, took a frozen packet of meat from the fridge and put it in the pressure cooker. Closed the cooker after adding masalaas and onions.

            The food was awful. She ate but did not comment. I was perplexed how come the food was so bland. It was during isha prayer it dawned on me I had forgotten adding oil. She smiled when I told her. The next morning she did some repair job and the gravy became very tasty.

           We went to Dar es salaam by train. As the train passed through jungle we could see wild animals like giraff, lion. Hyena, antelop etc. We stayed with a friend who took us to evening stroll on the beach. This place was just next to the central city and it was full of people every evening. The people were all asians (called Indians) and African men and boys were selling all sort of snacks and toys etc. It was like a mini fair and a good way of enjoying evening breez by the sea side.

                             S A M E R A

             Yazdana came to Dodoma in November and the chinese midwife gave the date for delivery of child as 3rd of May. Our friend, Ashraf sahab, suggested that we move to their place in town as our residence in college campus was far from city, and she needed care when I am away teaching.  We accepted the offer and shifted to their flat in April 1976. Ashraf’s wife and his mother took good care of Yazdana as their own.

              A friend (shia maulvi) asked me what did I expect, a boy or a girl? I said, “Any, the only thing I pray for is that the child should be good natured”. Privately I knew I had dreamed of a boy in shorts playing in my home.

              Samera proved to be just that. Good natured and playful like a boy.

She was our treasure and we couldn’t be happier. While teaching, often her face would appear at the black board among my writing and I had to pause. She was very excited when she heard my vespa scooter arrive.

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 Samera was hardly a month or two old that yazdana had a desire to go to her parents in Karachi.

 .  .  .  .  .We went to Dar es Salaam a day before her flight to Karachi. Samera’s name needed to be included in Yazdana’s passport. I took her passport to Pakistan embassy. They knew me very well as I had been making many visits in relation to my visa. But they said they could not include Samera’s name in Yazdana’s passport because her father(me) is an Indian and thus she is an Indian. I asked how will they travel, they are booked for the flight to Karachi the next day. The man at the embassey advised that if Indian High commision will issue a passport for this child, we will issue a visa for her, even though visa for Indians can only be approved from Islamabad and it takes a long time. I thanked him and rushed to Indian High commission.

 .  .  .  .  They too knew me very well. They, after listening to my tale about Samera, gratiously agreed that if I provide them with a photo of Samera they will issue a passport in hours. I took Samera to a photographer and he took her photo while I propped her up in my arms. She was so small. I gave the photo to Indian High commission while it was still wet.

 .  .  .  .  .I collected the new Passport first thing the next morning and then Pakistanis issued her a visa in minutes. Thus they boarded the flight at 11:30 am.

(Later I was told that at Karachi airport, her brothers came to receive her right at immigration area and  Samera was passed on from inside airport to right out side before Yazdana could complete the immigration, where she presented only her passport. Later Samera got a new birth certificate. It shows Samera was born in a Karachi hospital. Her name was added in Yazdana’s passport. The Indian passport of Samera is lost. It should have been preserved as a precious souvenir.

 .  .  .  .  . So she went back with Samera and I was left with hollow days and bland food. 😄😄😫😫

               After few months my contract finished and I visited Karachi. Samera was already sitting and walking.

After that I moved to Nigeria.