First I had to face the Climate and completely ignore everyone’s cheerful: “But it’s only blablabla not very cold as it was blablabla…” Try telling my poor body that! The first three days I didn’t even tried going outside and was very thankful for a well filled fridge and freezer. Someone nicely said: “But come on, it’s at least +20 degrees indoor, you cannot be serious in all those clothes” Well yes I most certainly was. Nothing wrong with wearing double trousers, triple fleece and woollen socks, nothing wrong at all. And of course with my double duvets Maybe it would have been easier and not horribly cold if I gained those 20 kilos and had a nice thick layer of fat keeping me somewhat warm 8)

After two days I decided I needed a shower and happily entered my bathroom. I just completely forgot that there is something called running water, water pressure and hot water. I jerked and got scared when opening the tap and gosh, not only was there water, it became hot and were running massively! Laughing at myself I sat down on the floor and turned down the pressure as much as possible and felt safe. Seriously it only took a few minutes to get completely clean, amazing!

And still when I hear something rattle and rummage near my bed I just call out loud: “Ok Arnold, I don’t care anymore, but please leave my soap alone”… and when this animal suddenly were up in my face I freaked and yelled: “Grow up Arnold and leave me alone!” Only to face a very annoyed fluffy cat coming for a cuddle feeling most unappreciated and insulted by being called rat. Oh, that’s right there are no rats because I have cats… Oh, right, I’m in the isolated houses of Sweden in a modern over civilized society, we don’t have rats in the towns

When I at last gained courage enough to go outside I was almost run over by three cars in less than half an hour. Where do all cars come from? I stared at the traffic and people stared at me probably thinking I was an alien. I feel like one… Only recognisable thing is the slippery ice only difference it is ice and not mud from days and days of rain

I can’t believe I actually miss Arnold, but please don’t tell him, he will just get stroppy and tell all his friends

Only when you compare you can say there are different conditions for life and development. Life is unfair wherever you are, no matter time or place. There is hopelessness and meaninglessness wherever we are. And there are happiness and blessing too wherever we are.

Depending on the context we have an approach and attitude to our lives and reality. We ask the same questions. It’s not different from anything else. First when we start comparing it becomes just that. Different and the other.

How can we compare development and societies, communities, countries or continents? What good does it bring? We all have development and progress, we all have an approach and attitude to our reality and lives. Why does it have to look the same? Who says what the right way is? And who says that my context of origin is the only one and right?

Yes I have spent some time in Tandala and yes, it might be something that not everybody does, have opportunity, interest or wish to do. But it’s nothing different from living a life where you are, wherever that is. It’s just life somewhere else.

I ate food, went to work, spent time with friends, did my exercise (well at least up to the point before realising I’d lost too much weight), cleaned my house, did my laundry… I was laughing, I was crying, I was singing and dancing, I thought about my life and wrote my diary. Just like I do back in Sweden.

Life in Tandala is no different from life in Sweden really. Sure the excitement of the news is fun, but by the end of the day it is truly the daily life, the everyday moments that is life and where the real joy, charm, fascination and thrill is. Kweli!

What is so scary in being present and experience life when it’s here and now? Why is it so important to focus on the other and differences instead of staying present and see the similarities, what brings us all together?

I cannot tell you how to live your life or which way of living it is the best. I can only take responsibility for myself. And it’s my responsibility to find peace, love, joy and contempt wherever I am when I am in it.

Home is within me. Where are you?

Since the election was the only topic for quite some time you may expect a huge interest in politics. Everyone was seriously involved in the different parties, the candidates for president and also very nostalgic about their first leader in freedom, Julius Nyrere. In all media possible there were debates and updates and information and I was also dragged into this most fantastic commitment

But I soon learnt that even though there is a big interest and knowledge about politics it wasn’t the normal issues that were intensely discussed, such as education, healthcare and other classic election stuff. Not even the infrastructure was a topic of concern even though there is a lot to say about Tanroads and their cooperation with both Chinese and Danish companies. And of course the road standard of the Danish tarmac roads is so much better than the Chinese Not even the question of corruption, which apparently was in Swedish debate, was on the agenda.

No there was only one thing everyone talked about and I literarily mean everyone and that was the former and also re-elected president, Jakaya Mrisho Kikwete. And it had nothing to do with his politics or competence as president, no it was all about his looks 8)

And what surprised me the most was that everyone was very much agreed on the fact the Kikwete is not only the man but THE man. It didn’t matter if you spoke to women or men or children no matter what age they were, they all said the same thing: Kikwete is the most handsome man you can get.

It wasn’t just for the obvious fact he is a man of power and money, no he is The Man, handsome and attractive and even my supervisor reverent Phone agreed that this is a man to get your hands on. And of course they asked me of my opinion and were appalled when I declared that I couldn’t find anything especially handsome or attractive with that man at all. Because I can’t! And they just couldn’t believe I don’t find him handsome or attractive…

The women were very curios and challenged me in telling then who I find good looking if I was strange enough not to appreciate Kikwete. And I thought and thought and thought and came up with one of the Daudis from the diaconical centre, because I think he’s good looking. And they stared and started laughing and said: “you just say that because he shaves his head”

Thankfully I think he’s still very much unaware I called him handsome, because shortly after that he was the one who named me Twiga

 Is Kikwete The Man or not?! See for yourselves

In my imaginary world of prejudice I thought that there would be tall, slim, athletic and of course barefoot  men all over the country since it is the home base of the Masai, but maybe living in between Livingstone and Kipengere mountains just pressed the DNA a bit and made them they way they are 8) It is just amazing how small they are!

Actually Yona might be the exception confirming the rule, he is both tall and I’ve seen him barefoot more than once. Maybe because it’s easier to slid around chasing kuku’s on the loose in rain and slippery mud, but still…

And soon I discovered that they have a marvellous way of compensating their size with laughter. I guess size doesn’t matter after all

I don’t think I saw any sad or serious or plain faces there! And they are kind of irresistible with their bright big smiles and laughter making you forget the fact that you are mostly a head taller than them Especially when they happily can call you from miles distance when they spot you only to greet you for the fifth or sixth time this day and then just serve you that completely liberating laughter.

And hearing them giggling like teenage girls…. how can you but completely fall?! Not even with your biggest effort to try being grumpy, sad or frustrated and feel sorry for yourself works when facing any of them. They just spoil everything

But what fascinated me most was their extremely brilliant way of ignoring all fashion and dress codes possibly invented in the strange western world, just as they completely ignore the idea of female beauty as skinny and slim. So if actually managing to catch them in the middle of something of importance with a somewhat serious face, having a look at their way they dressed made the trick

Nowhere else can you see flowers combined with squares and dots in an impossible colour combination and admit it’s actually not too bad after all Add to that the giggling and laughter and there are no troubles whatsoever to try holding on to!

Asante sana kwa mmenipa kucheka siku zote!

You also know by know that being fat and big is beauty in Tanzania and that I never ever will get compliments for my giant over nourished body shape I wonder if snorting, inhaling or shooting peanut butter would help at least a bit?

Anyway there are big gorgeous women and one of my absolute favourite ladies is Benita. Benita is not only a worker at diaconical centre she is also a jolly member of my choir and a mama, of course! And I guess I share my admiration for her with all local men still luckily unaware of western anorectic influences, still believing a big fat woman is someone to trust 8)

Benita is a lovely woman always smiling and laughing and very shortly after my arrival in Tandala we developed our own greeting ritual, as I have with like the whole village by now…

Normally you start gently with the Kikinga greeting: ”Mapembero” followed by the “Mapembero vavene” and then move on to the Swahili greetings of morning and how everything is from yourself to your house, the colony’s farm and everything else, which can take some time before you can move on to whatever you really want to share. But here you have nothing else but time so it doesn’t really matter

But Benita and I skipped the Swahili part and instead I roared with warmth and laughter: “Benita, you gorgeous woman!” with the stress on gorgeous. And Benita always answered with a big happy smile and hugged me. And I tell you that is a hug both worth dying for and dying of!

Being hugged by this absolute gorgeous woman is the best comfort you can have, because sandwiched in her bosom makes everything disappear besides some wisps of your hair It would make a perfect cartoon strip! Just picturing me completely surrounded by the body of Benita with only some blond wisps visible blowing in the morning breeze… And for sure picturing Benita with blond bosom hair is an even better cartoon strip And it also makes you fully aware exactly where your ribs and rest of your anatomy is. Gosh I had no idea you could get bruised of caring

Benita you gorgeous woman, ninakukumbuka sana!

One way of exploring and take a chance of the most irresistible Swahili language is just to put an “I” in the end of every word and for sure it work astonishingly often In the beginning of my language battle I soon discovered that there is quite a huge vocabulary based on the English language, although simplified and with the neat little suffix “I”. So I managed quite well when fed up with writing all strange new words down, elbowing innocent people to bruising just because I still didn’t have my dictionary. Everything turned very non-violent after that 8)

It seemed that all words new or unfamiliar were automatically transformed with this little letter. Names are just part of the simplified English. You have Repoti for report, Benki for bank, Wiki for week and Sketi for skirt and so on… Before getting my kikinga name I was known as Helen-I and Timon is Timon-I and my dear rat Arnold was… I think you get the hand of this now! It is so cute However Kevin-I thinks it’s kind of girly to be called Kevin-I

And for us who manage English, mostly meaning the colony and me, started misusing this I-phenomenon and tried it on all words possible which very often lead to a lot of laughing and giggling. Try for yourself and I might take for Swahili speaking. Just remember it should be pronounced as in “in” and not as in “ice”

Then after some time I also came to the conclusion that there are very few words with the letter R in the Swahili language. Since they have no habit of neither using nor pronouncing “R” they simply replace the sound with something familiar, like “L”. And I tell you that’s extremely cute and irresistible! Just another reason to just fall in love with all of them! And why not, why don’t you give a go on that one too?

But sometimes it can confuse you a bit and cause thrusts of laughter. On New Year’s Day I got a very sweet text from one of my many princes saying: “… But remember God has given you a new flesh year…” At first I stared at the words “a new flesh” and just couldn’t get what he was trying to tell me… or God for that matter: “What new flesh? I am pretty much the same as when the year finished yesterday!” After staring at the screen and thinking about whether to insult the sender or not I suddenly got the message: fresh year… of course!

IRL – Improbable Relevance of Language

Anyhow sometimes you do need to obey this phenomenon especially when it comes to work and even though I was in maybe-land I actually needed to keep track of time every now and then.

I am used by the fact that the day has 24 hours, starting from 00.00 to 23.59 to be somewhat exact. And you can also talk in term of the 12 hour day, separating the two 12 hours’ set by am and pm. But there is the third way and I wish it was as easy as just saying nothing and just skip the fact of the clock at all… But oh no, why make life easy

In the beginning I giggled a lot about the agendas of meeting telling meeting opened at 2.00 when we in fact started at 8.00. Well, not that there is a thing as being on time even though you say “kamili” which means exactly or European sense of time, by anyway At first I thought it was why, that it really didn’t matter what numbers were put on any paper because nobody follows the clock anyway

And when making appointments or dinner times or whatever it was they always said something else than the “normal” time. First time I couldn’t keep my mouth and asked: “But why do you say I should come at 12.00 when we already passed this hour…  It is half past 1.00 now… Do you mean tomorrow?” “No, no, no, you come at 12.00” with a point of the watch at 6.00. GAH! Can someone please explain

Then I learnt that we do measure the time in the 12 hour system, only thing there is in this world only one set of 12 hours and not two, plus the fact they start from upside down! So when you mean 12 o’clock do anything but say “saa kumi na mbili” because then whoever is invited for something will turn up starting count from 6 o’clock and most probably turn up one or two hours after. At morning times this can be very sensitive for persons with addiction for morning coffee before feeling somewhat human 8)

I still don’t know why on earth there is such a confusing way of making life even more complicated than necessary, but I guess we all have our ways No I have the great trouble of turning my sense of time back to European standard. I have no reason to believe anyone will understand me if I flip everything upside down and I will probably turn up either far too early or far too late for everything for some time 8)

Can we just skip time and live happily ever after

Anyhow the rice pudding is normally considered winter season food and start appear in kitchens’ around advent and Christmas time. And for me being in the remoteness with an endless supply of rice and more or less always could get my hands on fresh milk, I thought I’d better introduce Tandala in the art of arctic cooking 8)

And I realized after meeting many lifted eye brows and great suspicion about something simple as porridge made from rice and milk, that it was a good thing I didn’t introduce them in our very strange habits of eating raw fish in small aluminium cans and even worse, the raw rotten fish some people indulge once a year In Swedish for you who want to try or possibly avoid That is simply the Sill och Surströmming I’m talking about. Stay away from that

Rice pudding is simply rice cooked together with milk and mainly served with cinnamon, syrup and milk. And it is a most tasteful sweet porridge   

So when Christmas came up I made rice pudding for myself and Mesia first. She had a very funny look on her face when I explained we would eat “wali na maziwa” and asked why we eat rice with milk when you just can eat your rice as simply rice, but she did try and was very surprised it tasted so good

The rumour of Heleni and her Swedish rice pudding were soon all over the area and I ended up cooking for what seemed to be more than a giant colony or army battalion I must admit I cheated a bit, because there were no syrup to be found anywhere, but I did have cinnamon and will be forever thankful to my colleagues who provided me we this lovely spice in my survival kit So we ate the strange porridge with honey and it wasn’t too bad after all

Not only was it horribly cold even though I was inside and only had to watch the frost outside, it is immensely in size and there are so many people! And to my great surprise almost all of them were white! I felt like an alien walking for a hundred miles or so it seemed to get to the gate where my flight for Sweden was waiting for me.

Of course there was a security check since we were coming from outside the fantastic European Union and of course they nailed me for another body search. What did I ever do to become the constant target for that? Or maybe the rumour about me being Twiga have reached the Union by smoke signals or possibly the echoing of our crazy laughter, I don’t know, but I kindly let them search me, what else is there to do

I thought about bribing them off with some chocolate I actually had left, but the officer didn’t look like a bribable type. And that would probably have made the situation suspicious and I didn’t feel like being forced into that little chamber next to the x-ray. Just the look of the officers with serious faces and latex gloves made me have goose bumps and chills.

Thankfully I remembered to throw the matchbox away but forgot the lighter. But for some strange reason they didn’t bother. And they refused to give me a stamp in my passport. Why? Because I’m considered as resident? It would actually have been kind of fun… Oh, maybe that’s why they had a go on me with a too thorough search?!

After surviving the security check I thought I’d do some shopping. Normally I love airports and the tax frees but now I just felt lost. Why on earth are there 237 different perfumes for women (yes I did count) and why does there have to be at least a hundred different mascaras but not one single hair brush?

But most sadly of all, I’ve lost the appetite for chocolate – the proper one, because when seeing all chocolate and candy I gave up and left and thought about the market of Ikonda and the lovely ‘dukas’ where you can find almost anything, but chocolate, in just 2 square metres  

How on earth will I manage in my country of origin, I’ve lost the western touch completely, kabisa!

Before even entering there was one security check. They didn’t say anything about the fact that behind all bags there was in fact a human, me, but they did lift that eye brow and made the first body search, of course. It’s only me that happens to Half naked I went to the immigration officer while trying putting all clothes on behind all my heavy bags…

At first they didn’t want to let me in because my renewed visa stamp was not on the original visa but on the opposite side of the passport side. And I nailed them as kindly as I could telling them happily that if they’re not synchronized in the different immigration departments it’s something they have to sort out in between them and not taking it out on innocent Mzungu’s. It might have done the trick because I was let in 8) They actually finished by asking why on earth I didn’t have a residential permit as I apparently was entitled too according to the hieroglyphic scribble that was put down with the stamp Labda badaay kidogo?

Not only did they thoroughly body search me twice, they had to look through my hand luggage too.  And trust me, they turned everything inside out and upside down and there was not a microscopic millimeter that wasn’t examined. People around me smiled supporting and I just laughed and said: “This is like Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv”

Ridiculously it was the chocolate that caught the officer’s eye more than the suspicious tubes covered in gloves, which might have been the reason they stopped me and was nothing more exciting than lenses for my camera 8)

“Madam, is that chocolate?” “Yes sir, I believe it is” “Oh, I like chocolate” “Aha, would you like some?” “No no, just telling I like chocolate” “But please sir, have some, it’s really nice”

And he accepted the chocolate and I could go straight to check in without even showing any document in the next security check :P He missed the fact that I had a lighter, a matchbox and a small pair of scissors… part of my daily survival travelling kit from remoteness Thorough examination, huh?!

At the check in desk I nervously put my luggage on the scale and gosh! I really had too many kilos over my allowance. But funnily they didn’t even bother to look at the scale and gave me my boarding pass and wished me a safe journey! I think they were entitled too because if all of us passengers were given the same treatment, the air craft would be overloaded and probably crash somewhere when running out of petrol