Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Water Tables and Common Ground
Back to work this week. Monday we rested for most of the day but tried to get in touch with a surveyor from the Ministry of Water who had agreed to meet us. He was out of town and we were told to call him the next day. In the early afternoon a power outage struck once again. We were home at the time, and the proprietors of this house, who run a travel agency and a law office out of the building in front of our house, and who rent our apartments above their offices as well, decided to install a rather unwelcome surprise: a new, more powerful, generator.
This sounds as if it should be a good thing, but the generator is meant to power only the offices, not our house or any of the apartments, and it’s mind-numbingly loud. When they got it running, my mom went outside to check on the cause of the new, infernal noise, and was given a broad smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up by one of the owners. They’re so proud of their new machine. I guess people here don’t know yet about noise pollution - or worse - the dangers of carbon monoxide poisoning. The generator sits right behind our house and the fumes were making us so nauseous on Monday that we had to leave for a few hours. Luckily when we returned, they had turned it off, and it hasn’t run more than an hour at a time since. If they decide at some point to run it for a full day again like they did on Monday, they’ll be hearing from us!
Yesterday we finally got to meet the chief surveyor, an experienced geologist. He assured us that he could get us a full written report on the water table in the Maasai village within a few days of performing a survey. He wanted to be paid before committing to an appointment, so we quickly came home to get some money and returned to his office within the hour. The survey is happening Saturday, and we’ll have the report by next Wednesday. Anthony and Solomon immediately took off for Arusha. Today they’re at the Maasai village letting the elders know exactly what’s going to happen and when. A “heads up” like this would take 10 minutes on the phone at home, but with the Maasai it takes two days in six different dalla-dallas (crammed minivans used for cheap public transportation) in order to deliver the news in person. The things we take for granted at home…
Last night we met with the engineer from Toronto at Deo’s, a favorite local grocery (groceries here turn into bars, and often restaurants, at night). Unfortunately he can’t join us on Saturday. I hope the Maasai aren’t too disappointed by this – they trust him and might be wary of our surveyor messing around on their land. In any case, once the survey is done and we have a full written report to work off of, we’ll know exactly what can be done as far as deciding on the best type of pump and getting the Canadian government to help with funding.
Also at Deo’s last night, I found out that Godfried, a very kind mid-30s shop-owner who helped us get the appliances we needed for our house (even taking us to neighboring shops, if he didn’t have certain items), has a tattoo. This really surprised me. Even though he’s friends with our friends, part of the hipper, younger crowd in Moshi, none of them have any tattoos, so I certainly didn’t expect this quiet, church going guy to have one.
The reason I found out is that it was so hot last night that I decided to roll up my shirt sleeves a bit. I’ve been wearing long sleeves in public every day here, loose button-ups over tank tops on the hottest days, partly to shield myself from the sun in the day and the mosquitoes at night, but mostly to avoid attracting too much attention. People already notice me enough with my white skin, tattooed hands and ears, and discreet, but curiosity arousing, earrings in my stretched earlobes. Now that I’ve been to Deo’s several times and seen the same people there, last night I figured “okay, might as well, it’s dark here anyway”.
When Godfried showed up and joined us at our table, he made chit-chat for a few minutes before politely asking who had tattooed me, how far up my tattoos went, and why he’d never seen them before. He was surprised, to say the least, when I told him both my arms, my back, and lots of my legs are covered in tattoos!
I explained to him that my husband tattoos for a living. I also told him why I prefer to be more discreet in town, and that at home, large tattoos that cover the body (or significant parts of it) aren’t such an uncommon sight. He was fascinated. Then, all of a sudden, he says “I have a tattoo too”. He unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull it off his shoulder and I pulled out my flashlight to expose a spotty, homemade anchor tattoo on his upper arm. He regaled me with the story of him and his friends taping together some needles and emptying a ball point pen for ink so they could tattoo one another. I drew him a tattoo machine on a piece of paper and he listened attentively while I explained how it all works.
He told me how worried he was of his mother finding out (even as a grown man!) and how common the perception is here that only bad people have tattoos. He still wants to get it redone so that it looks nice.
I showed him the anchor tattoo I have on my ankle and he laughed. “Yours is much better than mine!” he said. I told him I was glad to find out that he had a tattoo. He was obviously proud of it, and happy to share it with someone who understood. There’s a kind of magical feeling of kinship that happens in moments like these – when you realize once again that urges to decorate the body transcend race, background, gender, religion, continents, and time. Just like when the Maasai welcomed me with open arms and excited curiosity, what I could have expected to be somewhat of a culture clash turned out to be a common bond instead. ¶ 3/08/2006 08:22:00 AM
This sounds as if it should be a good thing, but the generator is meant to power only the offices, not our house or any of the apartments, and it’s mind-numbingly loud. When they got it running, my mom went outside to check on the cause of the new, infernal noise, and was given a broad smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up by one of the owners. They’re so proud of their new machine. I guess people here don’t know yet about noise pollution - or worse - the dangers of carbon monoxide poisoning. The generator sits right behind our house and the fumes were making us so nauseous on Monday that we had to leave for a few hours. Luckily when we returned, they had turned it off, and it hasn’t run more than an hour at a time since. If they decide at some point to run it for a full day again like they did on Monday, they’ll be hearing from us!
Yesterday we finally got to meet the chief surveyor, an experienced geologist. He assured us that he could get us a full written report on the water table in the Maasai village within a few days of performing a survey. He wanted to be paid before committing to an appointment, so we quickly came home to get some money and returned to his office within the hour. The survey is happening Saturday, and we’ll have the report by next Wednesday. Anthony and Solomon immediately took off for Arusha. Today they’re at the Maasai village letting the elders know exactly what’s going to happen and when. A “heads up” like this would take 10 minutes on the phone at home, but with the Maasai it takes two days in six different dalla-dallas (crammed minivans used for cheap public transportation) in order to deliver the news in person. The things we take for granted at home…
Last night we met with the engineer from Toronto at Deo’s, a favorite local grocery (groceries here turn into bars, and often restaurants, at night). Unfortunately he can’t join us on Saturday. I hope the Maasai aren’t too disappointed by this – they trust him and might be wary of our surveyor messing around on their land. In any case, once the survey is done and we have a full written report to work off of, we’ll know exactly what can be done as far as deciding on the best type of pump and getting the Canadian government to help with funding.
Also at Deo’s last night, I found out that Godfried, a very kind mid-30s shop-owner who helped us get the appliances we needed for our house (even taking us to neighboring shops, if he didn’t have certain items), has a tattoo. This really surprised me. Even though he’s friends with our friends, part of the hipper, younger crowd in Moshi, none of them have any tattoos, so I certainly didn’t expect this quiet, church going guy to have one.
The reason I found out is that it was so hot last night that I decided to roll up my shirt sleeves a bit. I’ve been wearing long sleeves in public every day here, loose button-ups over tank tops on the hottest days, partly to shield myself from the sun in the day and the mosquitoes at night, but mostly to avoid attracting too much attention. People already notice me enough with my white skin, tattooed hands and ears, and discreet, but curiosity arousing, earrings in my stretched earlobes. Now that I’ve been to Deo’s several times and seen the same people there, last night I figured “okay, might as well, it’s dark here anyway”.
When Godfried showed up and joined us at our table, he made chit-chat for a few minutes before politely asking who had tattooed me, how far up my tattoos went, and why he’d never seen them before. He was surprised, to say the least, when I told him both my arms, my back, and lots of my legs are covered in tattoos!
I explained to him that my husband tattoos for a living. I also told him why I prefer to be more discreet in town, and that at home, large tattoos that cover the body (or significant parts of it) aren’t such an uncommon sight. He was fascinated. Then, all of a sudden, he says “I have a tattoo too”. He unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull it off his shoulder and I pulled out my flashlight to expose a spotty, homemade anchor tattoo on his upper arm. He regaled me with the story of him and his friends taping together some needles and emptying a ball point pen for ink so they could tattoo one another. I drew him a tattoo machine on a piece of paper and he listened attentively while I explained how it all works.
He told me how worried he was of his mother finding out (even as a grown man!) and how common the perception is here that only bad people have tattoos. He still wants to get it redone so that it looks nice.
I showed him the anchor tattoo I have on my ankle and he laughed. “Yours is much better than mine!” he said. I told him I was glad to find out that he had a tattoo. He was obviously proud of it, and happy to share it with someone who understood. There’s a kind of magical feeling of kinship that happens in moments like these – when you realize once again that urges to decorate the body transcend race, background, gender, religion, continents, and time. Just like when the Maasai welcomed me with open arms and excited curiosity, what I could have expected to be somewhat of a culture clash turned out to be a common bond instead. ¶ 3/08/2006 08:22:00 AM
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The story about Godfried's tattoo is GREAT. I hope you can get a picture of it.
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# posted by 
: Fri Mar 10, 03:29:00 PM PST
: Fri Mar 10, 03:29:00 PM PST<< Home
