ZigZaga
At this little restaurant in town, every visit is an adventure. You never know whether you will ushered in like a long-lost friend, or disdainfully ignored like a dirty sock on the floor. Often you try desperately to get the tired waiter’s attention as he serves someone else, who walked in 15 minutes after you, the last plate of whatever it was you wanted to order. Then there is the fact that if you do not repeat your order 8 times, you could end up with 15 slices of white bread and an egg instead of the yoghurt you asked for. Then you have such an array of choices. Will you have the pizza (an interesting variation on an Italian delicacy- no bread, tomatoes, or cheese, but it does have ground beef and egg and is deep fried to perfection!), or the “humbuger” (yes, an actual hamburger, but it’s been sitting on a plate in a display case for 6 hours)? I always swear I will never go back after waiting 2 hours for a dish that was “almost ready” when I arrived, but as soon as the cardamom-enthused milk chai touches my lips, I know I’ll be back for another roller-coaster of emotions.

Cacophony
I seem to recall that back home, whenever a non-professional group comes together in song (at church or baseball games), there is at least one over-enthusiastic and under-talented individual belting out a dissonant caterwaul, or somehow more subtly ruining an otherwise decent attempt at music. Then a polite but perturbed individual (generally a plump middle-aged woman) will take it upon herself to “resolve” the problem non-confrontationally by simply singing louder than (and often an octave above) the rest of the group. The original offending singer is cheered on by her enthusiasm, and sings with renewed strength, delighting in the building camaraderie.

In Tanzania I have yet to experience this phenomenon, despite countless public singing events. Every morning my routine is accompanied by a harmony of voices wafting from the primary school grounds 50 meters from my house. Only recently has it dawned on me that it is odd that this is such a pleasant experience. They even play the flutophones decently! Where I come from, looking forward to a 3rd grade flutophone concert would be akin to excitement over a hysterectomy. Here they play those things and music comes out. These kids are musical prodigies; by the time they’re in the 4th grade they have learned 2 and 4 part harmonies along with dance steps.

This all has caused me to fear there may be a vast graveyard somewhere of the young and tone-deaf. It just can’t be natural for an entire society to be so musically-inclined.

I Repeat, Tanzania is a Peace Country
This is something I’m reminded of constantly by strangers on the bus, old women selling papayas, young kids practicing their English, as well as close friends. One teacher in particular, while indulging in his post-work bamboo juice, likes to yell this phrase at me, his volume and enthusiasm increasing with every intoxicating mug of the liquid.

It is true, though. For anyone getting nervous for safety here in Tanzania due to the riots in Kenya, I’ll stress that Tanzania is a totally different story. Here, the legacy of the country’s first president may be one of mixed merit, but he did manage to build a country virtually devoid of tribal tensions. For one thing, the universal use of Swahili has prevented language barriers from becoming a political problem. Traveling for work became very common as the country industrialized, and inter-tribal marriage is completely normal. There are the occasional jokes among tribes that smack of racism, but I have yet to see these get too out of hand. Mostly people are quick to criticize their own tribes, or to apologize for traditions they now see as out-dated.

Kenya is another story, with two major tribes that have aligned themselves politically. This may not be the whole reason behind the violence, but it is definitely a contributing factor. There is palpable pride when Tanzanians describe the Kenyan situation, and detail the reasons that it is not likely to happen in Tanzania.

Instincts
After being in Tanzania for a year and a half, I’ve been afflicted with many new habits, which I will inevitably be made fun of when I get back to the states. These include:
1. Curtseying (when shaking hands)
2. Burping with reckless abandon even in formal situations
3. Saying “even me” (what Tanzanians say instead of “me too” due to direct translation from Swahili)
4. Escorting people leaving my house so far they will probably think I’m following them home
5. Letting out high-pitched noises like “Kaa!” especially when confronted with nastily priced items
6. “Eheee!”… a heartfelt utterance of agreement
7. Being late, oh so late
8. Ignoring children unless they greet me first
9. Feeling like an unwholesome character when wearing shorts
10. Being a nervous phone-talker incapable of having relaxed phone conversations-- sputtering out information as quickly as possible, having realized that each second means more shillings running down the drain