Adventure Number 1,573: Going to Jordan’s Duka

11-17-09
We have an on-going “list” of adventures, all numbered, here in Dar. Life here is FULL of adventures at every turn!

Today, Marie and I were planning to go to Jordan’s Duka. There are dukas everywhere, but this duka in particular is known because they sell cheese (about $28 for a huge chunk, which is reasonable here!), juice, and milk. When Marie came in my classroom after school, we decided we had just enough time to catch a bajaj there and back before our Swahili lesson at our house.

We headed over to the place across from our house where bajajs (three-wheeled motor vehicles) and piki pikis (motorbikes) are sitting with people who really don’t want to give wazungu (white people) business. Ok, they jump at the chance to get our attention, but they also leap for joy at the opportunity to get way more money from us than they should. So after approaching 4 different drivers, and being told prices that were too much (they wouldn’t come down), we set out on foot.

We needed some exercise, anyway! (And the Indian Ocean breeze is much better around 4:30pm than any earlier in the day…)

Along the way, we tried to wave down several bajajs… a couple already had passengers in the back, and one strolled by completely empty as we watched the bajaj driver texting as he drove, on what looked like a Blackberry. Must be all those Wazungu passengers that helped fund it!

We made it down to Africana (about ¾ of the way to the aforementioned duka), where we were sure to find a taker. This is a huge hangout place and crossroads where everyone is coming and going, and you can get transportation to and from anywhere. We contracted a bajaj to take us to Jordan’s Duka for 2,000 Tsh (Tanzania Shillings; about $1.60 American) to bring us the rest of the way, wait for us, and take us home. Still a bit too much, probably, but it was worth it to know we could get home with bags in the end, and in time for our Swahili lesson, no less.

Before you assume I’m being stingy, picture this: wherever I go, I automatically get the “mzungu” (white person) price. It gets pretty old, pretty fast. For instance, the other day Marie was making her way home from the store, and went up to a bajaj driver on the road.

She asked “shilingi ngapi?” (How much will it cost?)

The bajaj driver said “alfu sitini” (60,000 Tsh).

“ Hapana!” (No!) Marie said. “Alfu sita!” (6,000Tsh)

“Sawa” (ok), the driver replied, and off they went.

If you have white skin, you have money; simple as that. They know what’s fair, and don’t care. Sometimes, in circumstances such as this, they’re just trying to see if they can get more than is fair – and then willing accept the normal price. Other times, such as today, they refuse to budge. And, with Marie and I, lose business because of it.

The deal seems to be: the more money they can get out of one person, the more they’ll charge everyone else in the same situation. Our landlord recently swore we were bluffing when our neighbors said they couldn’t afford his raised renting rates. They think we have huge coffers in the States that we’re just not willing to give them – not people who are willingly sacrificing to support us out of their own income! It’s a foreign concept, this wanting to live on a more even-keel with our neighbors – but it’s also a point to ponder. If we pay whatever they ask, it raises the prices for everyone, including our Tanzanian neighbors. Our willingness to pay ridiculous rates means that business owners can afford to raise their prices – and in the end, locals are left out of the loop when they can’t afford them. Despite wanting more for themselves, they are really doing a disservice to their own country and people around them.

Usually, we are able to curtail the problem by being prepared. We often ask our guards or other Tanzanians for fair prices before heading out for an item… then decide ahead of time what we’re willing to pay. (It works out well to go in twos!) Even if they refuse to come down, they often call out to you and lower their prices when you walk away. Or sometimes, they just lose out on the business. Recently, I asked some of our Tanzanian neighbor boys how much a newspaper costs… then how much they thought I would have to pay. They looked surprised as they realized what I meant, and asked how I knew I would be charged a different amount. In the end, I’m thankful for the resources I’ve been given – and want to be a good steward of these in helping all those around me, here at HOPAC and around the whole of Dar!