Finding the Balance

Every evening at around 6:45pm at least five thousand bats come out to feast above Ocean Road. Their rhythmic aerial dance coincides with the time when the people that live in number 17 and the surrounding buildings are gathering and preparing food. It is a wonderful sight to see. By day, while the colony rests in the treetops and the people retreat indoors, the crows hold court under the blistering sun. Much like the ravens that soar above treeplanters in Canada’s clear cuts, the crows here sometimes spread their wings and fly directly over those that dare to venture out into the heat. On several occasions they have used this technique to alert me to their presence. This perpetual dance I’ve been witnessing – crows by day, bats by night – exudes balance. I’ve heard some people argue that similar instances of symmetry are hard to find in the day-to-day life of Dar es Salaam. I’m not convinced that they are entirely correct. In the midst of the lopsided realities of a city where grinding poverty exists alongside of great wealth, it seems to me that ever so slightly, balance is intruding at the margins. It’s not the norm, but its embryonic existence gives me hope.

Take Zungwe for example. He’s one of the gang of taxi drivers I’ve hassled consistently over the past month when I have opted for transportation that is slightly less than eco-friendly. Along with Pazi, Kanuti and Idi, Zungwe has listened to me complain at great length about the ‘outrageous’ four thousand shilling cab fare from the taxi stand to the offices of the Economic and Social Research Foundation (ESRF). He and I got off to an exceptionally bad start. Through no fault of his own, the first time I hired him, Zungwe failed to show up on time at the ESRF to take me to an interview. I had instructed him to arrive at 2pm. He rolled into the ESRF about six hours later. Stupidly, I had forgotten that Dar isn’t simply in a different time zone than Toronto: people here also have their own unique way of telling the time! On the Swahili coast, 7am is known as ‘saa moja’ or the first hour. When I told Zungwe to pick me up at 2pm, and made the mistake of referring to it as ‘saa mbili’ (the second hour), he assumed that I wanted to be collected from the office at 8pm, the second hour of the evening. Not realizing my error, I summarily dumped Zungwe as a driver and opted to hire Idi the next day. Zungwe wasn’t much in my thoughts until several weeks later in the small hours of the night before my flight to Kigali. It was proving hard to find a driver to the airport so as a last resort I asked Baraka to talk to the ‘unreliable’ taxi guy whose number was stored in my phone. He actually showed up. On the way to Nyerere airport as we listened to Tanzanian covers of Congolese music I noted the collection of Bob Marley stickers that adorned his car. We were once again on good terms.

Last week Zungwe’s ride – Dar’s best homage to Mr. Marley – went into the shop. After it was assessed, Zungwe was told that his car would be out of commission for at least twenty-five business days. When Idi explained the situation to me the first thought that popped into my head was about something I’ve heard the locals refer to as ‘African Time’. I wondered what twenty-five official working days would mean if this nebulous and pervasive force were to come into play. If the repairs stretched much longer than a month, a la African Time, would Zungwe’s business survive? What about his family and their needs? Would his landlord understand?

As I headed over to the taxi stand to catch a ride to the peninsula and a Mardi Gras party last Friday night I bumped into Zungwe. Instead of his typical jeans and baseball cap he was dressed in the traditional Islamic style and wearing a kofia. He hopped into Idi’s cab with me. I asked him about the crisis and he told me that he was spending his days at the Mosque. He explained that he used to listen to prayers on his car radio in isolation, and that he was finding joy in being part of his community once again despite the circumstances. I quietly passed five thousand shillings to him. It was another moment straight out of the film version of the ‘Constant Gardener’. There I was in a sea of poverty confronted with one person that I could help. I didn’t think twice about my decision. Subsequently I learned that I’m not the only one that has assisted Zungwe during his time of need. It seems that an informal support network has sprung up. Sakari Saaritsa, a new friend of mine, is pursuing PhD studies on similar networks that existed in Finland before the rise of the welfare state. I look forward to reading his work on the topic in light of Zungwe’s precarious situation.

In writing about this truly positive response to an unfortunate turn of events in no way am I trying to obscure the factors that impoverish Tanzania’s urban poor. The point is that some in the community, notwithstanding multiple government and market failures, are working individually and collectively on their own time to prevent hardship. This is an inspirational story. If powerful people in this city take the need to achieve balanced and fair outcomes into their hearts as they go about their work – if they learn from the bats and the crows and the networks – things might change. As it stands, the economically rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer and balance seems to be a peripheral political issue. I think I’ll start a bat-watching club.