Mr Kaombwe is the name of the teacher that I have been showing the rules of rugby to, he is a very respectful man and is eager to learn, Mr Kaombwe has been teaching now for pretty much his whole career so he is not new to the learning game and it helps that he likes the idea of rugby, he is geting the jist of touch and the ideas and principles of rugby but I am hesitant to even begin teachig him tackle in such a short time, they say a little knowledge can be dangerous.
Mr Kaombwe is of the muslim faith, as are a significant portion of Tanzanian residents, he is always telling me how much he wants me to get an authentic view of how the people here live, no complaints from my side "id love to" is always my response, he doesnt want me to go home with a tainted view of the people due to the city folk who, I agree dont always put Tanzania's best foot foward. He invited me to his home in 'mbagalaa' to celebrate the muslim holiday of Eid al-Hajj, in Tanzania 'Eid' is a public holiday, it is similar to Christmas day in terms of the focus on family, friends and church, it is a big deal. I must admit, I am quite nieve about the muslim religion but am always open to learn about new beliefs and cultures. Every year, millions of Muslims from around the world make the journey to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, for the annual pilgrimage (or Hajj). Dressed in the same simple white clothing to represent human equality, the pilgrims gather to perform rites dating back to the time of Abraham, the holiday is to celebrate the end of the pilgrimage and the start of the feasting period. When he told me about it, I was immeadiately interested and more than keen to spend the holiday with his family getting an incite into their relgious tradition and practice and humble everyday way of life.
Having never been to mbagalla Mr Kaombwe made the whole trip sound like a straight forward, short one, no worries, 'hakuna noma'. He said the bus ride would take less than an hour and directed me on how to catch a bus, Im always up for a challenge and a new adventure so I attempted to take the whole thing in my stride. The Bus station was a mad house of tooting, criss crossing cars and people, intially I had no idea of where to catch a bus and stood a while with a firm grip on my bag surveying the ensuing chaos. People here fight tooth and nail for a bus seat, no one wants to stand on a long, hot journey and being a holiday everyone is going somewhere. Bus collectors encourage the commotion, this is also an optimum time for thieves to take advantage aswell as crowded places hide the sly hands and amid the bustle a hand in a pocket can easily go unnoticed. There is however a rule on the streets here that if a thief is caught they are beaten by the surrounding people within an inch of their lives, sometimes further, I have heard of this alot, ordinary people surround the culparate and kick and punch him/her relentlessly, a cruel punishment for the often desparately poor thief> anyway I keep my eyes peeled. trying to find the right bus is a nightmare by itself, people jabbering Swahili names at me, inefficient signposting, I'm looking and listening for any sign of hope... a bus pulling in yells "MBAGALAA" along with alot of other names and Ive heard my signal, amidst the rush I end up safe and on a comfortable seat, I praise my upbringing surrounded by rugby, when the ruck hit i was ready, others especially woman and children aren't so lucky and miss the bus altogether, so much for common courtesy..
The journey begins, the water level in my bottle is diminishing as the sacred hour comes and goes, traffic jam, after traffic jam, shanty town after shanty town, are they shops houses, toilets? they all merge, the only white guy... again, no wealthy tourist to be seen here, only this cramped kiwi roughing it with the locals. the packed bus is a moving furnace producing sweat etc. all hope of me putting on my Sunday best and making a good impression disappears. we finally arrive after 2 hours to a bus station that is dare I say it crazier than before, it is just a flat patch of dirt worn down by many vehicles in the middle of arid surroundings, the only signs are those of gas companies that smell the sweet scent of profit... I patiently wait beside one of these signs which i figure to be an ample landmark and phone and text like a mad man, I feel sooooo vulnerable people are coming up to me trying to speak, making a spectacle of me, dodgey groups try their luck for ages laughing, in the full heat of the sun it becomes beyond a joke, this isn't exactly a tourist destination so I'm a big deal.. not such a good thing at all, i make it known that touching is not appreciated so much. A big sigh of relief after over an hour my name is called and Mr Kaombwe is smiling and gesturing for me to jump in his car... we take off, he asks how I found the trip, i said something like "good thanks", life goes on.
The journey begins, the water level in my bottle is diminishing as the sacred hour comes and goes, traffic jam, after traffic jam, shanty town after shanty town, are they shops houses, toilets? they all merge, the only white guy... again, no wealthy tourist to be seen here, only this cramped kiwi roughing it with the locals. the packed bus is a moving furnace producing sweat etc. all hope of me putting on my Sunday best and making a good impression disappears. we finally arrive after 2 hours to a bus station that is dare I say it crazier than before, it is just a flat patch of dirt worn down by many vehicles in the middle of arid surroundings, the only signs are those of gas companies that smell the sweet scent of profit... I patiently wait beside one of these signs which i figure to be an ample landmark and phone and text like a mad man, I feel sooooo vulnerable people are coming up to me trying to speak, making a spectacle of me, dodgey groups try their luck for ages laughing, in the full heat of the sun it becomes beyond a joke, this isn't exactly a tourist destination so I'm a big deal.. not such a good thing at all, i make it known that touching is not appreciated so much. A big sigh of relief after over an hour my name is called and Mr Kaombwe is smiling and gesturing for me to jump in his car... we take off, he asks how I found the trip, i said something like "good thanks", life goes on.
Mr Kaombwe has a nice village and a simple, beautiful home with everything a family could need his wife was all smiles, his son whom i have taught, energetic, daughter shy I was told to chill out, they served home made mango juice and a lovely traditional rice dish, we ate to the strange accompaniment of country music and talked randomly about what came to mind, they were very excited to have me and were spoiling me alot, the mango juice was to die for.. it made my day! they praised my open minded nature for actually coming to their lovely home as many had declined their offers, they really treated me like a foreign prince.. I was introduced to the whole extended family where we ate and drunk more, then we ate more, I was beginning to feel the way I do at the end of every 25th of dec.. it was an amazing foreign feast. I prayed with the fmily in the mosque for loved ones that had past, it reminded me of church back home. every member was loving the day and wanted photo's, hand shakes and my limited Swahili interaction, we talked freely with Kaombwe's interpretations and their views and happiness were extended, as was mine.. I was really lucky today, thankful to have met Mr Kaombwe and family who were truly very nice, welcoming people. Experiencing first hand the ways of another culture inside and out, it is more than any book could ever tell and more than i can ever relate on my blog though this attempt gives an idea, the goodbyes were heartfelt, we had shared a great day and i got home in one peace!
1 comment:
Hujambo Ben! I've been wondering how you're doing!! Haha sounds like your handling things like a total pro. You look great in the photos, keep up the good work. I've only just discovered your blog so I'll have to read backwards. All the best mate
Christy x
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