BY Kevin Motaroki
As far back as Longido, some 80km out of Arusha, from the sleep-inducing lull of the well-paved road, the all-too-familiar dryness of the expansive Ilarusa environ (the Ilarusa are one group of Tanzania’s Maasai) the roll of the dozen hills one encounters, and the mild humidity in the air, one, almost too suddenly, gets the notion that there isn’t much difference between major towns in Kenya and this Tanzanian city.
Well, one would be wrong. A little. Arusha is green. Not in the pretentious fashion that most of our towns are, with sporadic potted plants to break the pattern of concrete and glass, and the browning greenery in integrated parks. Rather, it is clusters of virgin forests, home to indigenous tree species, rodents and birds.
I met Deo, a pleasant fellow who became my guide and driver. He, in that musically lazy tongue characteristic of Tanzanians, informed us that it is in the city’s creed to keep the landscape “in as much as possible in its natural state.”
“Siyo tu kwamba manispaa imesema miti itunzwe; kwa mtu kukata mti hapa ni kwamba umeng’olewa na upepo, au umezeeka kiasi kwamba unahatarisha maisha. Sisi wenyeji hushangaa tunapoona mtu anakata mti. Lazima upate ruhusa ya baraza la mji, baada ya wao kuthibitisha sababu iliyotolewa. Lakini kwa vyovyote vile, lazima mtu apande miti mitatu kabla ya kupata kibali cha kukata (For us, it isn’t just that the local government prohibits deforestation. People cut trees if they have been uprooted by wind, to clear the stumps, or if they pose a risk. Residents don’t take it kindly when trees are cut. The Council must give its approval before any tree is cut but this only happens after one has planted at least three seedlings.
The rules more exacting in Moshi, Deo conspiratorially informed me, the environmental regulations tougher and, as I discovered, the residents a little less friendly. In some sectors, the garbage collection schedule is so strict that a restaurant could be closed down if the owner fails to observe set days and times of collection.
Tanzanian’s love big things, in the literal sense of it. And they do get big. For the same money we pay here, they get 50ml more of soda (300ml) and 100gm more of bread. Their cars, for those that own them, are a reflection of their aspirations. I jokingly remarked to Mariki, my host, that in the one week I had been there, I had observed more Camrys, Chasers, Mark IIs and VXs than I did ISTs, NZEs or Vitzs.
“But it is true; I, for example, would like to go where I want, whenever I want – for a game drive or for a business trip to Kigali – and I don’t want to be constrained for transport. A 1200cc is not the kind of car that would do that regularly,” he had explained. “For those who can, they will get both small and big. But if one has to choose, then it would be the bigger car, definitely.”
Happily, I didn’t see any parking boys. Like in any city, there are street children and families, of course, but none of those rogues to extort motorists looking for parking within the CBD. There are armed guards in every block, besides regular police officers, and they manage quite well.
If you like all these, the one thing you might not like so much, however, is the food. Everywhere I went, the curry wasn’t as tasty as Nairobi’s; the nyama choma here is more tender, tastier, the tea better tasting, and the rice fluffier… Then again, perhaps it is to be expected; Nairobians, admittedly, are a little more demanding, and the cuisine has been made to correspond.
Tanzanians consider Kenya quite unsafe. I had half a mind to slap the daylights out of a border official’s mouth who asked me if I had come to find some peace away from “the land where people are woken up by bombs”. I met a European couple at a café in Moshi who, as we got chatting, asked me if I planned on going back. “Nairobi is the unsafest city I know,” offered the woman, whose attitude I was happy to be rid of, “and I would find some work out of “that place” if I were you.”
But, getting a job in Tanzania if you are a foreigner, especially Kenyan, according to several people I spoke to, is near impossible. Elton and Barbara Cooke, a missionary couple who run a charitable foundation that works to empower people from marginalised communities, narrated how as many as five Kenyans they know cannot find work despite being “some of the brightest students we have taught” – the missionaries were university lecturers until a few years ago.
Said Elton: “One of them, David, has a wife who, for some reason, does not want to return to Kenya; the young man now hawks water and sweets in Dar… It is sad. Someone like him should be able to find employment.”
Mshefa (his nickname; he laughed when I asked his real name and continued collecting fare), a tout, put matters into focus, if so very disconcertingly so, especially now when the region wants to merge economically and, in future, possibly politically.
“Nyie (wakenya) ni ndugu zetu na tunawakaribisha, lakini mna mbio sana, tunachelea kuwaingiza kwenye mambo yetu (You (Kenyans) are our brothers, and are welcome to visit… But we also know we may not be able to catch up if we let you own property and live here.”
Their matatus made me miss home. There is something unique about Nairobi: it explodes with creativity. From an interesting news item, Kenyans spin ideas around it and come up with witty smart catch phrases often seen on matatus… Remember inscriptions such as “Nusu Mkate?” Oh, and who doesn’t love the music in our matatus?
There isn’t a uniform “yellow line” for the PSVs either. Each destination has an own colour, eliminating the need to indicate routes on the vehicles; but they do anyway, perhaps for the benefit of foreigners like me. And if there was graffiti on a few PSVs, it was modest, with most spotting just the route-identifying strip across the body.
I walked into a Bata shop to buy loafers to explore Arusha with. Out of practice, I presented my Visa card. They didn’t take plastic money, I was told. It was a phrase I would hear in many other places, including at cinemas and big shopping malls. I was only able to swipe at Nakumatt, where I was also lucky to find a forex bureau that ended my nightmare.
“This place can be inconveniently slow… Nairobi is just like New York or Stockholm. The amenities are what I’m used to and one need not worry about some of the things foreigners struggle with here. I lived there for three months and I didn’t have to worry about finding how to pay for services,” Elton remarked to me later.
After four days, I decided I had seen enough of Arusha, and moved onwards to Kilimanjaro…
“Karibu Moshi, Tanzania. Naomba kutoa onyo kwa wageni wetu: if you spit and are noticed by any law enforcement officer – municipal ama police – utafainiwa shillingi elfu hamsini (Sh2,600). Mnakaribishwa tena. Jienjoy.”
That was the driver of the Riverside shuttle in which we had travelled from Arusha. Code switching is something everybody here does and after just a day, I had found myself doing it too. He then proceeded to give estimate fares for cabs to various hotels and destinations within the city, warning travellers to beware of cons who might overcharge them.
None of the passengers found it odd that they should be welcomed with a warning, particularly about spitting. I didn’t either. This was Moshi, which, I had been variously told, is Tanzania’s cleanest city. There had to be a reason for that.
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