4 November 2000, Beste Jasper, Karen en Mr. Cool
Op het moment dat mijn pen dit papier raakt en de inkt een Nederlands spoor achterlaat, zijn jullie heftig aan het sporten, elkanders benen brekend bij een ouderwets onsportieve pot voetbal of voor iedere bal duikend ten koste van geschuurde ellebogen en bebloede knieen wanneer onze zuiderburen ons plachten te overtreffen in door Nederlanders gedomineerde volleybal. Ik ben hier, straks zal de deur achter me dicht gaan en met het op slot doen van het hek is mijn tijd in de coca cola road symbolisch geeindigd. Ik ben dus verhuisd, plots toch sneller dan verwacht. Mnazimoja is waar ik nu woon, de poort naar het drukke, door Indiers gedomineerde, sprookjes achtige gedeelte van Dar es Salaam, een kleurrijke, levende chaos met een Arabische tint waar het leven nooit tot stilstand komt. Ik denk dat ik niet jullie meest sociale huisgenoot geweest ben, desalniettemin ben ik jullie dankbaar dat ik hier twee maanden gezeten heb, een goede start van mijn leven in Oost Afrika. Ik heb volgens mij geen schulden meer, Jasper heeft 200 US dollar van mij gekregen en dat moet afdoende zijn om het nog ongedekte gedeelte van de huisrekening, het eten en het drinken mee af te lossen. Verder ligt mijn portemonnee nog in de kluis, die zal ik zeker komen halen voordat ik definitief vertrek. Ik vond wat medicijnen waarvan de uiterste houdbaarheidsdatum in het verleden verborgen lag, omdat ik weet dat het in Nederland afgeraden wordt ze achteloos weg te gooien maar dergelijke waarschuwingen hier ontbreken, heb ik ze voor de zekerheid op de vuilnisbak gelegd. Ik dank jullie voor de afgelopen twee maanden, en in zijn immensheid is Dar es Salaam eigenlijk een hele kleine stad dus we zullen elkaar ongetwijfeld tegen het lijf lopen, de sleutel leg ik boven op de deurpost, een stevige handdruk, CaREL!

28 october 2000
So there it was, last thursday. Even though my alarm clock is not working properly i allways manage to wake up in time, which in my case means quarter past seven. But last thursday i was confused, more confused than i regularly am when i open my eyes to confront a new day, anyway. There was little light and for a brief moment i thought my clock had betrayed me, giving me an unreal time by indicating it to be seven while the twilight made me think it was six. But than, in a rare clear moment in the early morning, i heard raindrops. When i removed he curtain a little, i saw a gray sky and thousands of raindrops who must have falen from miles before sacrifising themselves on the concrete surface of earth. It rained, and that was just what the town needed. After my shower i went outside, and witnessed the transformation of the garden into a small swimmingpool. No way someone could walk through such rains, a person brave enough to do so would be wet to the bones within seconds. After the rain stopped, at half past eight or somewhere around that time time, the town was captured by a moisty atmosphere, for the first time since my arriva the dust was briefly defeated by the water, leaving the smell or tarred roads entere ones nosetrils. That day it has rained a couple of times, but not as severly as in the morning. Friday morning the sky was again crowded with clouds, but no drop of rain fell that day. And today the sky is once again authentic blue, leaving the temperature to grow to indecent heights.

Yesterday i walked to my the newspaper, when on the t-juncton which seperates our office from the tarred road, i met a collegue from the business times, one of the many financial papers this bankrupt country has. After the usual greetings and handshaking, people allways first say they are fine after which they will reveal their real state of being, he asked me if i could help him with a few questions concerning the internet. I needed to say what i thought were the advantages and disavantages of internet, and when replying this questions, i saw my friend noting my awnsers in his notebook. When finished, i asked him when i would be able to verify my opinion in the business times. 'No, this is not for a story', he said, 'i have applied for a job at an internet magazine. The questions i have just asked you might i be asked during an interview. And now i know what to reply!'

Thursday i took a bus from town to an NGO near the university. The driver was in possesion of a bob marley tape, so the during the thirty minutes trip the bus whas filled with reggae. And here i saw the huge influence bob marley still, nineteen years after his death, has. Because throughout the bus every song was carried by the soft whispering, or murmering, of the words by the majority of the passengers. At the NGO i once again witnessed the handing over of transport fees, as all people there needed to sign a paper whereafter the man in charge made a short phonecall to his secretary. 'Give them fivethousand each', speaking as if it was nothing but normal to make such a call.

In one of my first mails i wrote about the public transport. One evening last week i sat in the front seat of one of the dala dala's, when suddenly the lights fell out. Without stopping his sudden ghost car, the driver bended forward, and started to to pull the loose wires which grew from under his dashboard. Moments later, light shone over the road again while we tried to make a corner in the fourth gear. Furthermore, i last week sat in a taxi with just one light working as well as having to push my own taxi because the gearbox was broken.

Unlike other African countries, i do not know many people with, for europeans, strange english names. Of course many african names must have a meaning, one of my collegues is called 'Nakivona', which means 'to look forward to'. Last week one of the jackpot winners who are allways covered by are newspaper, was named Happiness. I have interviewed the pr manager of Air Tanzania, who was named Innocent. I also know Proper, Prosper, and Protest. Notably Protest is one of my most folowsome students in the school in yombo.

Like other African countries, a man and a woman are not supposed to be too close before they are married. Walking hand in hand or kissing eachother is something not done in public. Men and wimmen doe walk hand in hand, but only with their own sex. So i occasionaly walk hand in hand with my male collegue Bernard.

Like all African countries is aids, or hiv/aids as it is always refered to by the tanzanians, making one word of both the virus and the disease, a huge problem. Last week i heard some numbers. Of the workforce in Tanzania, ten percent is hiv positive, although i have heard rumours of forty percent of the people in dar es salaam being positive. In the country, one million children have lost one or both parents because of aids. The life expectancy has dropped from 61 to 48. Aids related diseases are number one couse of death in the country. Horrific figures, just like most african countries. The strange thing in tanzania is the total lack of information, like billboards an commercial on television and radio, against aids. Nevertheless, all people know about it. Last week i visited one of my collegues, and she showed me a picture of her brother, who passed away. I asked how he died, and she said, as if it was very normal, 'he just got infected with hiv...'. I think it will take some time bfore this country will win its battle against the disease, as the sexual moral is rather low with teachers abusing the pupils in huge numbers, with many girls leaving school because of pragnancy and also because of the silent policy of the government. At this moment, doctors do not tell their patients whether they are positive or not. Even those donating blood are told nothing when they are infected with the deadly disease. Their blood is just thrown away. It is the tragedy of an entire continent.

My time is up, nothing left to say. Tomorrow will be election day, strangely scheduled on sunday to gave all people cance to vote. No tension so far, although yesterday the police used teargas on some members of the opposition. Tomorrow will the prove of tanzania's democracy, i do not expect riots, but one never knows. From a hot dar es salaam i embrace you all, on my way to some icecold safari lager, CaREL!

24 october 2000
When writing this i sit in a internetcafe downtown dar es salaam, waiting to print a letter which i have written earlier this morning. I have some problems with the immigration department, and i need the letter in order to get a visitor's pass which will make it possible to obtain a residence permit. But since nothing is more boring than my battle with official government institutions, i wil provide you with some things which crossed my humble way in the past sevenandahalf days.

In the first place there is something which i and everyone else in this massive country need to deal with on a daily basis. The temprature. Yesterday, facing the cloudless clear blue sky at eleven in the morning, i had the feeling i was evaporating. It was simply too hot to even stand and let alone walk in the sun, so everyone therefore gathered to benefit to the ultimate of the tiniest bits of shadow. We are looking forwards to the rain which have predictedly fallen last week but as there was not a single raindrop to be seen, it only gets more hot. The country really needs rain, as in the norhern parts of tanzania people are starving, feeding themselves on beetles and roots. here in dar es salaam we deal with a different inconvenience as due to the lack of rain, there are frequent power cuts. Tanzania mainly relies on hydroelectric power from a dam, but there is not enough water in the lake to provide the country with a sufficient amount of electricity. Furthermore i have heard rumours that the dam is also poorly maintained, so it needs to be fixed first. At this moment the city is every now and then struck by the lack of electricity, a recent newspaper article reveiled things will be worse after coming sunday. Than the elections take place, on a sunday in order to give the people as much chance as possible to cast their votes, and present powercuts would have been a political issue which would have weakened the position of the president. But after elections, which everybody predicts the current president will win, there is the possibility of more severe powercuts. Meanwhile some areas of dar es salaam already face a shortage of water, with taps runing dry at the end of the day and big queues for pumps to fetch water. So for the sake of all, it would be good if there would be some rain soon.

Tanzania is according to statistics amongst the six poorest countries in the world and the country's name can also be found in the top fifteen or so most corrupt countries of the globe. Things will probably be linked together, poverty and corruption, but until last thursday i had not experienced any kind of corruption. I went to the university, to write about a looming student strike, but ended in witnessing the launching of a computer programme which is given to the university by belgium, or bergium as it was written on the official certificate due to the problems many tanzanians have as they pronounce the l as an r and vice versa. I tried to follow the speech which was partly captured by a strong breeze, and thereafter everyone left to see the twenty computers. The usual food was there, cashew nuts and fanta, and i was about to leave when my collegues told me we had to wait for a while. I needed to sign a paper, giving my name and the paper i worked for. I did not understand why, until my colleague said this was for the money we were to receive. All journalists got 5000 shilling, some fifteen guilder. 'Transport fee', it is called, and when attending a workshop or seminar, journalist are likely to receive transport fee, which can easily double the one i was offered at the university. I refused the money, for once being the moral knight and it left my colleagues laughing. It is said that the transport fee is part of the university budget, nevertheless it is in my eyes totally wrong to accept it, even though i don't know how things go in Holland. My collegues were happy with the money, for some people it is even a reason to accept a certain assignment. On the other hand, my fellow journalists and especially those of the Guardian are not to blame, as they have not been payed for more than three months. But a journalists loses his independence if he takes the money, and it is not ethical. It can also move to the other side, as i was told by a friend who had done some promotional work for a big entertainment park. they had invited some journalists, gave them free transport and food, but the journalists demanded transport fee, saying they would not write anything if they didn't get any money. That is the other side of beautiful Tanzania.

Last week i have written a story about a photo exibition in dar es salaam. Not so long ago, the city hosted the world press photo exibition, with big pictures of last years main events. Many hotshots of the international community, big cars and the elite of cultural tanzania. It was nice to see the national photo exibition, as a sharp contrast. Not a single european except for the italian amabassador, a timetable which was severely violated, and 290 album sized pictures nailed on the wall. A one day exibition to bring the workforce of all tanzanian photographers together, regardless the quality all pictures were displayed. No extra information, the visitors needed to find out themselves where the picture was taken, why it was taken and what it tried to show. Many portraits, as most of the photographers make only photo's of peoples faces to earn a living. But it gave a special insight in daily life tanzania, with amongst the sometimes nearly qualityless portraits, pictures of boys playing football, women at the market and some breathtaking overviews of rural tanzania.

So this is it, when you reach this point you will know that this week was not the most spectacular one, hopefuly i have some more exciting stories next week.

16 october 2000
A bit later than some of you might have expected, due to some informal business which annexated my weekend, am i now sitting in a whitepainted internet cafe not far away from the place i live, congratulating my brother Pieter with his birthday, reaching the solemn age of 20. To the more clever ones amongst you who now think i made a mistake because i wrote the same thing two weeks ago, that was my brother Tom. As most of you know i have the doubtful luck of seeing my youth shared with four brothers, and last Saturday it was my brother Pieter, the one not to mess with since he is even more muscular than i am, who turned 20. I hereby wish you a fruitful year, and greet sincerely knowing what it is to see the first number of your age which has marked your life for exact a decade, being replaced by a new number which in my case made me feel old but in your case probably mature.

Last Friday i was drunk, something which hadn't happened to me in one and a half month. I have even danced, and the more blessed amongst the readers of my mail who have seen me try to move in a certain way in a brave but bound to fail attempt to qualify for the definition 'dancing' and know what it takes for me to do so, feel pity for those witnessing my lumpy body humping on the sounds of some african high guitar music, knowing that beauty is in the eye of the beholder but ugliness is bounded to global standards and therefore tears must have sprang into several Tanzanian eyes, out of fright or of feeling sorry, at the sight of this drunk man who is unable to ever catch the rhythm and makes an art of dancing-while-hardly-moving, doing his utmost to balance on the most equal floor of subsaharan africa. But i enjoyed, i went out with friends and drank some safari beer, one guilder fifty for half a litre, and konyagi, the local gin which is sold both in bottles and in plastics, the last one sixty dutch cents for a amount which apparently was good enough to leave me tipsy on the dancefloor. This is as far as the alcohol is concerned, there exists a home brew which has not gone through my throat and is carries the fearful name gongo. The alcohol percentage in this brew differs, nevertheless it must be very strong, people die of it every now and then, suffering alcohol poisoning and leaving behind a small story in the newspaper. The softdrinks are all the same, except the fanta is red and either tastes like sugar or the oranges which were harvested were very artificial or were grown beside a nuclear factory.

Every day, we start with the post mortem. This means all the Guardian reporters sit around a big table and evaluate the newspaper, criticising each others articles, double published photographes, incorrect headlines and so on. This morning, the postmortem started again and as i write to you now, i am this weeks chairman. Today was the first time, which means i am the one telling my collegues to turn the page, listening to critics and replying routaniously 'point noted' after somebody complaints about another weak headline, without any action ever taken. In my view, many things can be changed concerning the paper. The headlines and the photocaptions often lack crucial information, long articles go without subheadlines which leaves them being one grey mass which even the willing needs to wrestle through. Funny is also to see that the conception of news is very much linked with culture. For two consecutive days one of our frontpage stories has been a second hand clothes seller getting a degree at the university. The concerning journalist got several compliments of colleagues who thought he had written such an interesting story! Another item which got on to page three was the rainseason. Tanzania has two rainseasons, and when two weeks ago the sky had broken at night leaving the smell of wet tarroad in the morning, the chief editor ordered someone to got to the metereological institute in order to find out if this rain was the short rainseason. Furthermore the company is owned by a media magnate who ownes also the televisionstation which hostst Tanzania's most popular programme, JackpotBingo which is seen every sunday by 10 million people, and therefore the Guardian, the biggest and probably most respected English newspaper in the country every week carries some stories on the winners of the bingo, which made me last wednesday to appear in a bank office in the heart of dar es salaam, covering the happy reaction of the fresh millionaires.

Everybody in tanzania is relegious. In past times all people have believed in forces of nature giving them supernatural powers, and when the missionaries from germany came all these power were transferred into one sadlooking bloke with a not fullgrown beard who did nothing but hang, an activity where they two millennia later have great problems with when they see the global youth copying this secret example. Anyway, i think christianity and the islam are a subtitute to the perished religions from the pre-colonial days, which leaves every citizen of this country godfearing. Not to be exposed to difficult questions or maybe even possible hostility, nor to be chronicly misunderstood or to in some way insult people, am i for the time being a roman catholic, adopting the believe my parents have abandoned years ago. This is fine, i never need to quote the bible nor is it from any importance that i never go to church, and i so far have prayed only twice and escaped by saying that i did not know an english prayer, whereafter i said some words in dutch which i started with god an ended with amen, leaving the people i visited exited for i blessed their food, although i once got the remark my prayer was very short. But here religion goes without tension, muslims and christians go along without any problem, some muslims drink alcohol and some even eat pork, and many christians are not to fanatic either, although i sometimes walk in some more dogmatic people.

The time is up. I forgot to mention that last friday i was in the centre of some political disturbance, with threehundred angry members of the opposition party trying nearly to molest the airport where i accidently happened to be, and which made front page the day after. The lessons in Yombo are fine, someone advised me to sing but when hearing my voice the pupils will in their entire live never ever make an attempt to speak english again. Once again thanks for the many mails, thumps up if i now am about to be embraced by the hot dar es salaam darkness.

10 october 2000
Yombo is a poor neighbourhood in the south of dar es salaam, not far from the airport and bordering the Tazara, the Tanzania-Zambia Railway. Many people live in the area which is not blessed with even a single tarred road, where public transport is scarse and shops are small. No fenced houses, hardly even electricity, but small oil lamps and candles give yombo at night the atmosphere of a distant fairy tail. Few can benefit of running water inside their house, most of peple in yombo need to walk to the public tap to fetch their water, whereafter the women carry huge and heavy buckets filled to the top with water, balancing them on their head in a way which leaves one wondering if they have made a pact with gravity, and walk back home. As said, the roads in yombo are a menace to every proper driver and a challenge to those who are new. A big dustroad crawls its way past the house and leaves a trail which can stand the comparison of a snake in the desert, having many corners and seemingly witht a clear stucuture. The road takes you through the entire neighbourhood before you reach the railway line, giving you the rare view of a authentic way of live in the rapidly increasing suburbs of dar es salaam. Small bars with one or two chairs outside where beer is sold on for the same price as in the supermarket, a table where some vegetables are stalled with a person standing behind it for the entire day, hoping for costumers to buy a tomato or two oranges and thereby making a profit of less then five cents, children wearing only shorts and playing football barefeet, kicking against a ball made of tied plastic bags, mothers who not seldomly are far from their twenties carrying babies on their back while wearing kanga's, the bright coloured tanzanian skirts made out of a single piece of clothing and used for various purposes, walls that carry handpainted advertisements and the hairdresser which has a small, broken mirror. That is yombo, and i was there for the first time last sunday. Invited by a fellow journalist who works for a kiswahili newspaper to witness a debate organized by Tanzania Youth Vision, a organisaton which tries to help the youth of tanzania, since the general opinion in the country is that the youth is suffering and no longer respects the traditional values of society. I went there with my colleague, prepared to witness the discussion, when we entered the anglican curch which i was told was the basis of the youth vision, where a heavily transpirating priest was shouting to the people, saying everybody can be saved by jesus as long as they are open for him. So here i was, convinced atheist with a eternal rust in coincidens, trapped in the place of god. No any problem, but then suddenly, after the pastor had done his job, a young fellow took over the microphne and with hundred people wathing he said in english: "So, i would now like the man who just came in to introduce himself", something i was totally unprepared for and which suddenly made me the epicentre of the service. Forgetting to even bless god after i spoke i told everbody i liked it very much in tanzania and told them i was happy to be in the church, and sat down again. Probably this was okay, the man went on with his preaching and said i had to feel home, saying i was very welcome and hoping to see me in the future. After the service everybody went outside in a row, shaking hands with all people attending the mass. Then in the afternoon the debate had to take place. I was introduced as the friend from holland, fifteen people had gathered in a small room to talk about education, culture and unemployment. They had to discuss about various topics, when they had named the problems concerning the subject i had to tell them how simular things are handled in holland and what my opinion was abut the situation in tanzania, which left me, a simple journalist-to-be who never had a high grade for economics during secondary school and who even failed for bookkeeping during his final exams, suddenly to say useful thing about how i thought the unemployment in tanzania in general and concerning youth in general could be reduced. For both sides it became an interesting debate, one of the participants said the tanzanian culture is fading and he said he could not understand how people could say cheers when they went to have a drink, let alone to kiss someone on the street at the moment they meet. Most interesting was the debate about aids, which according to some people was caused by prostitutes only which led him to say condoms are useless as they do not totally prevent one from the disease. Ayway, after the debate i offered my help to tanzania youth vision which now makes me, not able to withstand the genetic pressure, a teacher nglish. So far i have had two classes, tuesday and thursday evening. The class is in the building where the debate took place, two and a halve by six metres, with two lightbulbs spreading harsh light to chase the darkness. I am teaching together with Joe, volunteer as well and just like me not a teacher by profession. The lessons are established to overcome the high schoolfees which block many people in going to the secondary school, in the class were about thirty people mostly my age, all finished primary school, only two had ever attended secondary. The classes are for free, there is a shortage of everything, the tiny wooden couches which stand near the walls are crowded, some people stand near the door, many sit on the ground. We try to teach them english grammar but when i am teaching i try to let them talk english as much as possible, since it is my opinion a language is not learned by paper, but by efforts in talking it. It is really fun, a lot of laughing and even though not everbody is bright, the lessons go okay. There is no blackboard but just some kind of wooden thing nailed to the wall, we do have chalks and a book with exercises, as far as i know not really a syllabus or exams. But nevertheless, it is one of the best things i have come across since i arrived in tanzania.

30 september 2000
In the first place I want to congratulate my brother Tommy, who celebrates his 18th birthday today. It does not take much to know that by eleven tonight he will be so drunk that he can't walk straight nor talk understandable, but that is merely the case on any ordinary Saturday so it is unfair to blame his birthday for such behaviour. Tommy, nuntheless a heppy birthday, with loads of presents and all those things. And I would like to thank the massive amount of e-mails which i have received the past week, i am sorry if i can't awnser personally but i do apreciate all your messages a great deal. Thanks!

After three weeks of Tanzania, i have some experiences with the African food. It is defenately not bad, although i am not the Indiana Jones kind of hero who rushes in to any bar to order just something on the menu and proves to have a strong stomach by not getting even a single attack of foodpoisoning though the things he ate were both toxic and expired. No, i make my choices. The things i do not eat are the small octopus tentacles which are sold on the streets. Many people eat them, from big oily plates, but to me they look little atractive, let alone tasteful. Anyway, i don't like fish, so also the ones who are fried and waiting to be bought in the greengrocers, sometimes surounded by flies and mostly seem to be caught some time ago, are not consumed by me. But dar es salaam is a good lace for vegetables and fruits, which i do take acount of is something rather strange if it is written by e. But i eat oranges on a regular basis, and if i leave he internetcafe i wil cross the street and by a coconut for 30 cents, of which i wil drink the milk and then eat the cocos itself. There are a lot of fried bananas, and the most strange fastfood served is called chipsi majaja, or at least that is the way i pronounce it with being understood. It means chips with egg. So you get a plate with an omelet with chips included. Not bad, defenately not bad.

I am catching up my Kiswahili, or at least i a giving it an attempt. I have heard about protests on why Kiswahili is not taught in University. The argument was that the lanuage simply hasn't got enough words, especially not for the exact subjects like maths and science. The good thing with Kiswahili is that everything is written phonetically, so if i read i loud what is in the paper, people think i know the language whereas i do not have a clue what i am saying. But it makes it easy to learn. The bad thing is that there are hardly words borrowed from english, which means i have to start at zero. I know the basic greetings, but if anyone reacts unregular i am left speechless. Anyway, on my noteblock are some fifteen sentences which i am now studying on.

Yesterday one of my friends had to go to court, in order to cover one of the courtcases. I spoke him afterwards and he told the case had been about the theft of a honda. The acused was found guilty and was sentenced to thirty years imprisonment. Thirty years for a car! My friend thought this was a normal punishment, and another collegue said the convicted never had to serve the full time. "They call it thirty years, but because they count day and night, it will only be fifteen", he said as if this was completely normal.

The big news in dar es salaam is at this moment the shark atacks which are reported to have kiled at least five people in as many months. The Guardian also pays attention on this, as does every newspaper. I am not sure all victims died of shark attacks, nor that it has been one shark killing five people on five different occasions. But it has been on our front page at least five times in the two weeks, recently with a picture of a five metre long shark which was more than 500 kilo. But it turned out that the animal was a non-humaneating shark. However, the best story has been covered by the headline "Turtles don't eat people, expert sayes", after a giant turtle had become the innocent victim of a whichhunt on the of shore killer. The article was about turtles and how they are innocent animals, feeding themself on small fish and snails and thereby made the suspicion to be the creature which had claimed the lives of five people a ridiculous one.

There has not been a change of residence, a collegue last week offered me to come to stay with her family but i think she wasn't serious. If i move, i will let you know.

The funny thing of dar es salaam is that there are little shops. A lot of trading takes place on the streets. You can buy anything out in the open, from radio's to shoes, ties and shirts, music and watches, food and toys. During the three weeks i have so far lived in dar es salaam i have entered maybe three shops. The rest i buy on the side of the road. Once i wanted to know where a bookshop was situated and the person i asked this guided me to some guys standing on a streetcorner, in front of some bookshelves. This was the bookstore, if i had any questions i had to ask them. I think there is little that can not be bought on the streets.

So this is it for now, i forget to tell you i am healthy, fine happy and all that. The only thing i wonder is if Harris Huizingh is allready the leading goalscorer of the dutch football competition. But that must be. An embrace from everhot dar es salaam, CaREL!

23 september 2000
Gone for two weeks and still enjoying every breath of African air i take, not missing Utrecht or Hollanzi as it is refered to in Kiswahili, for a spare moment. I am now in a internet cafe in the deep centre of dar es salaam, from which i will provide you with some small concerning my daily life. But first i would like to thank you all for the massive reply i got on my first mail.

I have no transport except for my feet off which one is attached to a painful ankle, so i go everywhere with public transport. In Botswana those are called combi's, in Tanzania dala dala's. Mnibusses which are overcrowded with people, which seem to carry a undefined amount of people which will never risk its maximum. They have official space for twelve passengers, i have once counted twenty two. For people crowded in a cauch on which three people can fit, people standing with there backs benden so as not to hit the roof of the van, and if you are really unlucky the door can not close and you hang outside, seeing dar es salaam pass by with a speed of at least 60 km an hour. The price differs depending on the distance, 100 shilling, 30 Dutch cents, if the destination is close by, 150 if it is far of. Off course the spedometer off such cars never works, nor do their breaks optimal, and you can feel every bumb, hole, or stone the dala dala happens to come across during its journey. But it is great fun to travel with them, especially when not in a hurry.

Which brings me to another point. The roads in dar es salaam are terrible. I have hardly come across one which was blessed with not having potholes, and even though dar es salaam is the bigest city of tanzania and amongst the biggest towns in east africa, little of its roads is tarred. I work for the biggest newspaper company of tanzania, but we can not be reached without travelling over a dustroad, as the tar stops a few hundred metres from the office. Yet i have little to complain, the inland roads seem even to be worse.

I have been published at the opening page. Although only once and with a story in which was severly cut from its original, my name was nevertheless on top of the story which completed the front page of last Saturdays opy of the Guardian. I write strories every day, but they do not allways appear. At first i thought i was the only one, but it turns out that many stories go unpublished, even though people have been assigned to write them and spend times and funds to complete. By the way, can anyone get me the e-mail adress of martin meulenberg and nico kussendrager? They are my counsellors for this internship and demanded me to have weekly contact, but i do not have there interactive adresses.

I live with a few dutch people who work in here. I have stayed there for two weeks and they have supplied me with a smooth take of. However, i keep my open for another place to stay.

Last week i attended a party rally of the CCM, the ruling party in tanzania. Off course the man speaking promised the people schools in the area if he was to be re-elected, a promise i am afraid of he will never fullfill. But before speaking, the man stood on a smal table and was just going to open is mouth, when a bird landed not een a meter in front of him. A black bird. It looked around for a time, and then it wanted to fly away. But it didn't come high enough and landed in the audience. There small childeren caught it and beated it to death, after which they used it to play football with. My tanzanian collegue who allso witnessed the incident wasn't really impressed. 'They think it is witchcraft', he said.

Okay, my hour is finished, so much for this week, hopefully next week i will be able to send you a bigger mail. An embrace only a man can give from an eternal hot dar es salaam, CaREL!

16 september 2000
Family and friends, friends and family,

So there i am, fullfilling my dream at the age of twentyone. I am in a internet cafe on the outskirts of dar es salaam at the moment, the room is airconditioned which gives me a brief break in my twentyfour hours sweat cyclus i am undergoing since i have arrived. But let me start with the most important. I am fine, had a great flight and now i am enjoying life in one of eastern africa's biggest cities. Since time and space are rather limited and i am still living in a full time culture shock i will just inform you on the strangest and most special things i have experienced, rather than giving you detailed information on my daily life.

I am writing this mail in English, as the more clever ones on the mailing list by now might have noticed. In the first place that is because there are some people in the doubtful luck of receiving this mail who are not able to read and write Duth. And although my personal slogan has allways been 'if you're not Dutch, you're not much', i figured i might as well give them a social gesture by writing my mail in English. Furthermore it is good for me to practice my English any time i am able to.

As mentioned above, i am doing fine in dar es salaam and experience the joy of being back in africa. Much differences with botswana, much simularities as well. But let me in the first e-mail emphasise on the work. 'This is the biggest newsroom in subsaharan africa, or at least eastern africa', my collegue Albert Memba said, almost proudly. I found myself in a big hall with thirty or so computers, all being black and wite, non with a mouse and all so called 2.86, of which even i, a complete retard on computers, know they are the slowest computers existing and almost antique in Europe. I also found out i had unknown skills in so-called blind typing. Some of the key board have been used to such an extend that the letters who marked them have completely faded.

This is the technical information. The work i do is fun. Being a journalist means a different challenge every day and so far the work has been varied. I have written three or four stories, covering both the economical and political status of the reluctant island of Zanzibar. Getting to know a country via working in the media is a new thing to me, but it is very appealing. You come across many things and ven though my preparations have been minimalistic i allready know quite a lot about the country's politics and history. It is a special time anyway, since on October 29th there will be elections. The ruling CCM is alleged to win on the mainland, but on Zanzibar an Pemba, two islands near the coast, there is strong opposition. The situation is getting tense, last elections are said to have been 'free, but not fair', so both the mainland and the island are now making themselves up for the final stages with huge billboard near the roads and daily party rallies held everywere in the country. The Guardian, as the clever ones amongst might know is the paper i am employed by, is rather critical and has good cartoons on the election. Everyday we have it on the front page, so in the eversilent Tanzania i have arrived at the right time. But except for this Zanzibar stories i have written about a paper on mercury poisoning near lake victoria, i have witnessed an exercise of the emergency service at the dar es salaam international airport, after which the general-director of the Tanzanian Airport Authority made the statement that 'Tanzania can handle a major airplane crash', and i have been at the university when a book titled 'reflecton on african leadership' was launched. On beforehand there was a minute silence, honouring the late Julius 'Mwalimu' Nyerere.

Anyway, my hour is nearly finished, i hope everyone this mail is adressed to is fine, happy and healthy, and i hope the weather in Holland is terrible, so i can laugh at you all from a distance. Before i finish i will shock the world in general and the ones close to me in particular: thursday i ate three oranges. That is more than i have done in three years in Utrecht, i know, so you an now start putting your questionmarks in my psychological conditions. I embrace you all the way a man does and terminate this mail in a style betrayes my roots. Moi, CaREL!

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