Ten Things the U.S. Hates About US!

Our journey continues! Thus far, we have done everything the US Embassy security personnel explained not to do while you’re in Tanzania. We had our mandatory security briefing at the Embassy today, which went well but left most people shocked and bit freaked out. The things we have done which we’re told not to:

1. Walk in the middle of the night down unlit back-roads in search of an elusive restaurant.
2. Use ATMs, apparently people in Nairobi want to steal our money.
3. Use the DalaDalas, taxis or CNGs (little three wheeled motorcycles)
4. Actually walk into markets without armed guards or purchase wooden giraffes at the carving market
5. Go anywhere in Posta (downtown area) especially the Muslim section
6. To be anywhere within eye-sight of the water (Indian Ocean, since Dar is located on it)
7. Never leave the confines of Dar es Salaam or Arusha, since the rural areas of Tanzania are lawless (Haydom apparently falls under this category)
8. Eat at any restaurant regardless of lit atmosphere, aside from the two Subways.
9. Follow local Tanzanians guiding you somewhere because you were lost.
10. Last but not least, never trust any of the US Embassy guards… aside from the eight Marines which guard the interior compound.

The security personnel would rather you experience Dar and Tanzania from your hotel window rather than actually go outside; sorry Bill and Laura, looks like the safari and Kilimanjaro are off, we can’t leave the airport, it’s far too dangerous!

Friday, as Betsy and I became hungry for lunch, we set off from our hotel in Posta (not only are we not supposed to be down here, actually residing here is unheard of for Wazungu!) in search of a tasty meal. We were staying at the Safari Inn, it’s a modest place located on Libya Street in central Posta. Heading in the direction of the harbor (also, don’t go near the water), we happened upon a restaurant called Al-Hazzari, it was centrally located on Mosque Street, and was serving up a most pleasant smelling food. Wide-eyed and oblivious to her surroundings, Betsy headed onto the patio of the open-air restaurant. In what looked to me to be a recruiting hotspot for the Taliban, ten Muslim men sitting outside eating in a row almost spit their food out as they watched in horror as a white, blond-haired, blue-eyed woman walked into the restaurant. Friday is the Muslim holy day, it was about 1:30pm, right after their second call to prayer for the day, I’m assuming many of them had just retired from the mosque to enjoy lunch. Realizing the situation, I grabbed Betsy’s arm and immediately walked her out of the establishment. Walking down Mosque Street in the opposite direction, I noticed I had not seen a single female for the last 10 minutes, it was time to find food elsewhere! We ended up sitting down at a place called Ladybird’s, a small Indian restaurant, it served great food and cheap too! It was good to have escaped out of Little Kabul, unscathed.

Explaining why we were walking down a deserted, unlit road in search of a restaurant will never make a lot of sense until you visit the Malaika House. We, Betsy, Rachel Favaro (Betsy’s friend who is currently in Dar) and myself, set off on our fateful journey around 7pm Monday evening, it was already pitch black out since Dar is close to the equator, and walked in the direction our hotel staff had prescribed. After wandering through deserted residential areas for about 30min we happened upon, Lipold, a security guard at one of the compounds who told us the restaurant was in the opposite direction we were headed. We turned around and walked down another unlit area in which we hit, what seemed to be a dead-end. A young man sitting in a drainage ditch caught our attention, telling us we didn’t have to walk all the way back to the main road, but instead to follow him on a short-cut through the ditch. We continued on this and finally hit the main road, in which we deviated once more down an unlit residential area. This time we actually hit a dead-end, populated by fifty or so Tanzanians, we couldn’t tell how many there were since Tanzanians are REALLY hard to see in the dark of night, seriously! A friendly Canadian, who also happened to be a Tanzanian, popped out of the shadows to direct us in the best North American English accent I’ve heard since our KLM flight attendant on our way to Amsterdam. He explained that he had never heard of the Malaika House but that he loved the Houston Astros and BBQ, and were lucky because there was a great BBQ restaurant around the corner. We walked away from the crowd of Tanzanians, who by this point had broken out in mass singing “happy birthday” to us, since it is the only English any of them knew. We walked another 15 or so minutes until we decided it was no longer prudent to continue the course we were currently on, so did an about face and headed back to the main road. By this time it was nearing 8:30pm and I was getting cranky, I had walked for miles on end that morning in search of a functioning ATM (something we’re not supposed to be doing, according to the US Embassy). We finally hit the main road and located the nearest taxi stand (also, don’t do this) in which he drove literally half a mile down the road to the Malaika House, ugh! After much tribulation we finally arrived at our destination. When I say it was Malaika House, it was definitely a house, without any lights or identifying features which would traditionally signal that you are at a restaurant. In fact, we opened the door to the house and found a security guard sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the entryway. He explained that the restaurant was through the house and on the beach. As we approached, the place opened and saw a great sight, the Indian Ocean with the coolest Tiki-hut/bar in the world! It was awesome, the food was fantastic, Betsy and I had grilled fish and Rachel had beef. We sat in the chairs on the sand for two hours drinking beer and having a good old time. Apparently, the place closes down at 10pm so we were forced to leave and make the 5 minute walk back to our hotel, not too bad. Apparently, these are all things you should not do, should not attempt or even think about doing while overseas, because according to the security personnel, you will inevitably die.
-Ryan

(images: local fishermen, original slave trading ship still in use, Betsy with cows)