Four hours inland from the sweltering coastal sprawl of Dar Es Salaam sits Morogoro, significantly smaller and appreciably cooler. It’s still really big, though. And it’s very, very far from cold.
Coolly enough, though, Morogoro is surrounded by a few hundred kilometers of unspoiled African countryside, complete with wildebeest herds, irregular mountains, and those distinctive umbrella-like acacia trees in The Lion King. The westward drive from Dar was in itself a safari. Hamadi the Driver, seeing our openmouthed gawks and hearing our Naaaaa Temenyaaaaa’s, taught us some introductory Swahili (Simba means “lion”, would you believe it) and regaled us with advice about local wildlife (hippos are more aggressive than lions, blubber notwithstanding; contact is strongly discouraged).
Hamadi pulled the van off the highway a few kilometers short of Morogoro to follow a short dirt track into the brush. At the end was ELCT Language School, our destination for the week, where we were set to enroll in a Swahili crash course and weather the anticipated culture shock before heading on to our permanent destinations.
ELCT (The “L” is for “Lutheran,” I’m almost positive) is a sizable secondary school and junior seminary with a few hundred Tanzanian boarding students and a few dozen resident faculty. It’s unmistakably Western in look and feel – Tanzania follows the British school system – and it doubles as a Swahili school for immigrants temporary and permanent, perhaps in part because it’s an ideal place for a Westerner to make a smooth transition into the region. We were to live on-grounds with teachers’ families for the week, sharing the verdant campus with missionaries from Minnesota and Australia, researchers from the Netherlands, translators from Ohio, and students from South Korea in addition to the full-time locals. All of the above had committed to numerous months of study at ELCT. Luke, Colleen and I didn’t have that kind of time. Our stay spanned only seven nights and six days (two of them off for the weekend); we had just four full days of class, three students to our one teacher, and, uh, zero prior knowledge.
The days went by quickly, though, and we absorbed all the Swahili we could in the time given. This was not jaw-droppingly much: mostly greetings, animals, food items and body parts, with the occasional adjective and a versatile swear word for seasoning. A solid foundation, but Swahili remains a work in progress.
And as for culture shock: There was next to none of it, really. My theory is that East African culture is simply too calm to be shocking. It's legitimately incredible how relaxed, open and friendly everybody is. There’s just this abiding atmosphere of easy friendliness that makes the transition a breeze, even to a white kid in Chacos who can’t speak the language and holds a Disney cartoon as his chief cultural reference. People are more than happy to throw the Frisbee, kick the foot(soccer)ball, compare music (local favorites include Kendrick, MJ, and…Chris Brown?) or even help with laundry, which is a sizable job with such limited water supply. Everyone’s eager to please, to play, to practice some English, to know – What brings you to Africa? Do you like it here? Is America this hot? And always: Do you like Obama? (They’re huge fans.)
For further proof of Tanzanians’ carefree nature, take these common Swahili courtesies:
“Hujambo?” (Literally: Do you have any worries?)
-“Sijambo!” (I have no worries!)
I love it. This is standard, as ubiquitous as “How are you?” in many areas. It gets better, though: According to Elly, our teacher, it’s customary to reply with “Sijambo” even if you do, in fact, have a concern or two. For example, if somebody sends a “Hujambo” your way while your house is burning down:
-“Sijambo - except, you know, my
house is burning down.”
“That sounds like a problem.”
-“Hakuna Matata, man.”
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