Women on the edge

It didn’t occur to me immediately that what is most different about Tanzanian roads isn’t their surface, or the fact that some drivers don’t use, or have, lights. It’s that there are no traffic lights or stop signs. Anywhere. Once in a while there is a big junction with a roundabout and usually a clock tower. Every turn, and every pedestrian crossing, requires waiting for a gap.

Or forcing your way in. Which brings me to the “discreet” part of traveling again. In our home countries, we would not hesitate to introduce each other as “my partner”; here, people say “friend” and we don’t correct them. The rationale is that it’s none of their business, but of course it’s no one’s business in the West, either. There’s a double standard for countries like this, where there is no uncloseted gay or lesbian scene.

It sucks for gay people who actually live here, but I rationalize that our coming out would not help them. The belief of Africans who are homophobic is that queerness is a wicked Western import that Africa would not know otherwise. 

I think this is one instance where it must be harder for a couple of gay guys traveling together than for women. The legacy of colonial-era laws in many countries still makes male homosexuality illegal. With us, though, a man will just marvel at our different culture wherein we travel without our husbands. Or, as another man asked me, “How many children do you have?” It would never occur to him that none could be the answer.

All this is benign enough and I hate, as much as any woman who does not have a husband, the ruse of inventing one. But I’ve done it rather than be harassed by some guy. To paraphrase the late Betty Berzon, do I care about having a more honest relationship with this person? No, I just want him to go away!

It takes a couple of days to get the hang of a new place and how differently people approach us here. If someone in a European city started talking to me and walking along with me, I would treat him with suspicion. There would have to be a good reason for me not to get rid of him; otherwise I’d suspect it was a scam. Then there’s the other factor, with which any woman traveler can identify: If you’re a woman and have spent any time on your own in cities, anywhere in the world, you react to men differently, for your own safety. It’s no comment on individual men, or to say that men in general are likely to be predators. It’s just not a chance a woman can take. Asymmetrical, but there it is.

In Tanzania, anyone who engages with us and is persistent is always a man. Having said that, most men, and all women, do not do this, but are simply being friendly. Unlike in Western cities, most people greet each other on the street here—and then carry on their business. Tanzanians are hardworking people. They might call out from their shop for us to have a look at something, but they’re not going to leave their stall behind and follow us down the street!

So, we’ve learned to say no, firmly—to a few persistent guys. We’ve also walked along and chatted to a few, like Michael, who is a porter on Kilimanjaro and training to be a guide. Michael didn’t try to sell us anything or get us to go to his cousin’s shop or follow us past where we all were going. He just chatted with me about Kilimanjaro, in an encouraging and friendly way. He asked which company I’m going with and when I told him, he said that they’re good, and treat their porters and guides (as well as clients) well.

John echoed this, and I hope they don’t say that about everyone, because it’s one of the reasons I chose this company. John is our friend down the street. We see him every time we walk that direction (only during the day). He’s a porter too—and an artist, who tried to get me to look at his paintings. I explained that I didn’t need any paintings as I’m not adding any more to my backpack. “So, you don’t want to support local?” 

“I didn’t say that, John; I said I don’t need any paintings, thank you!”

This seems to work. We’re a lot more comfortable with guys like John now. As I mentioned, 90% of the people we’ve said hi to on the street don’t put any pressure on us at all, and 100% mean us no harm. Everybody’s just trying to make a buck. Even the other night, when we finished at a restaurant and asked the woman there to please get us a taxi (because the advice is not to walk around Arusha after dark). I’m sure the guy who showed up was just her brother or friend; he certainly wasn’t an official taxi driver, and didn’t know where anything was, even though we’re only staying a few minutes away. T. had to direct him at every point—and then he still had the nerve to ask for double what we knew the price was. (He didn’t get it). Oh well, at least one of us got to sit in the passenger seat for a change.

What I mean by that is our adventure in the Monduli Mountains on Tuesday, when our guide's brother mysteriously sat in the passenger seat the entire day. (Supposedly he was catching a ride back to the guide's village.) I would love to have time to write about that, and the wonderful day we had with award-winning Tengeru Cultural Tourism, run by the magnificently named Mama Gladness. But I'm heading up Kilimanjaro tomorrow and have final packing to do. T.'s blog can fill you in.

When we left Arusha, headed back to Moshi for the next week's adventures, we ran into John again. (We see him every time we pass that part of the road.) He ran up and hugged each of us like an old friend. Didn't ask us for anything. It's nice to feel like we know people in town.

If you ever get a chance to visit Tanzania and you possibly can, take a few extra days and spend them in Arusha. Check out one of Mama Gladness's projects in the community and meet some local people, most of whom have never seen the wildlife in their own national parks. Don't get me wrong--a safari is the trip of a lifetime--but just flying into the country and staying in a hotel isn't really seeing it. I'm glad I finally got to do both.