Dignitary

Where I’m staying (cute cottage pictured) I couldn’t get breakfast this morning as there were dignitaries floating around, a general air of self-importance, and a woman in military fatigues who shooed me away from the usual route into the restaurant. Some sort of seminar involving the judiciary was happening, a bystander explained.

Instead I left and plonked down at the only restaurant in Songea where it would be feasible to work. Later a colleague joined after a trip to the doctor. He put a paper bag on the table and announced the contents were for ‘treating some STDs’, and then he told me about the particles in his urine. I think he may have meant UTI not STD, but let’s not split hairs over acronyms.

Hours later I was still tapping away at the same restaurant, and they miraculously hadn’t tried to remove me. Having been invited to do so by another colleague who wanted to make an introduction, the District Commissioner (DC) swung by, probably after having attended the same event that stopped me getting breakfast. This is the UK equivalent of the leader of the county council or an MP swinging by to meet a new member of staff from a random charity. NGOs carry lots of influence in Tanzania as they work closely with government and can access big budgets. In the UK I’ve met many people who think that because you work for a charity, you must be a volunteer. The DC was one of those booming seemingly jovial types who you can work with but wouldn’t want to cross. And when he joked that I have to learn Swahili, we tittered, but he knew he was sending an ice cold bolt down my spine.

I should have spent the evening revising my vocab flashcards, but I’m largely too knackered after spending most of the last two weeks having an ‘African massage’ (being thrown around in the back of a car along bumpy tracks).