A Weekend in Moshi

It’s been another weekend of reckless abandon, starting with a shopping spree at the second hand clothes, shoes and handbags mecca - Memorial Market. [I have to preface this by saying that the idea of browsing for a new dress on Saturday was one of the key things that kept me going through the Thursday Massai Marathon; this was my reward.]

Then, catching the dalla-dalla into town I had to choose between sitting next to the mad-looking fella in the corner and the woman with the admirable African physique (also known as a large behind). These buses are a microcosm of local life from the smartly dressed young girl to the woman carrying a sack of second hand shoes. All are equal. Except if you’re a mazungu like me. But one thing I am learning is to watch carefully when others pay for things, and this time I noticed that people were paying only 300TZS for the ride, so I made sure I did too (not the 500 I was charged last time). A small difference but in a small way it made me feel more local.

Fool that I am, I had planned to get cash out on Saturday – the day that everyone gets cash out. No surprise then when Barclays had run out and after striding swiftly across town in the heat to the other ATM I found that that one had also run out and was now locked. Drastic times call for drastic measures so I was compelled to go to an unknown bank, this one being protected by an armed guard. I am not sure if the high-visibility security measures makes me feel safer or more concerned about my safety. In consequence, ladened with my newly acquired cash, I found myself racing back through the crowds to meet Lorraine at the cafe, arriving in a hot, dusty heap of sweat. [I feel that perhaps I need to work on my Relaxed African Attitude].

First thing Sunday was to be a flight over the Kili, taking in the panoramic view without any of the struggle of climbing. Expensive, but sooooo much easier than climbing. For over a week, Cynthia had been negotiating with a pilot to take four of us in the plane, although to be honest we were slightly concerned as every time she rang him he seemed to be mid-flight somewhere (are pilots allowed to take calls while they are flying?) It was during the final checking-up call that he said there were only seats for 3 people and could we possibly dump someone? Needless to say we cancelled – I feel disappointed.

Nevertheless, by now you know that food will pacify me in most situations and we were booked in for a curry Sunday night – hooray. Restaurant service has the same haphazard approach as flying; we have been out for two curries now and both times the ordering is OK but a bit random, with various courses being either late, forgotten or changed. On the whole this is OK [see? I am working on the Relaxed African Attitude] unless, like Michelle, you end up with a solitary bowl of rice...