More upbeat adventure times in the bongo

Apart from the occasional theft and my perfectly rational fear of the after-dark, Dar Es Salaam, “City of peace” is enjoyably quirky city filled to the topsies with unique characters. Did you know, it is actually illegal not to smile 90 percent of the time? And even if that fact was true, they still wouldn’t not for niether love nor for money. I get greeted at an average rate of 2 people per ten meters (that works out at one person per meter.) People will literally throw themselves out of their way to smile at me or say hello to me or ask me where I live and how would I like to be their girlfriend. Cars slow down, people come out of shops, and entire conversations come to a screeching halt wherever I pass. I feel like a rock star. School buses are like greeting drive-byes, with thousands (or a dozen) of children shrieking out the window at me: “Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu! HiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! How are you! Good morning! (Even though it’s the afternoom. Tsk.) MAMBO MAMBO MAMBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” If the greeting is formal and warm I will always reply cordially: “Mombo!” Poa! “Shikamu!” Marahaba to you young one! “Habari?” Msuri my friend! “Mzungo!” Mbongo baby! Hey! Hey! Heeeeey! But any hint, any whisper, of a “Shorty”, “Baby”, “Amina”, “Fatuma” (generic lady names) or worst “Majuma” (a notoriously stuck up tv persona) and they will be greeted with my icy silence or/and a glare of choice. After two whole months of living amongst Kiswahili speakers, a third of what i I have learnt is comprehensive conversation whilst the remaining two thirds are, sadly, social greetings.
The Bucket System. I didn’t realize that I was going to live in a house without running taps or flushing toilets so I wasn’t prepped for the bucket system. Someone could have told me. My host home (for which i am very grateful) has : one standy-uppy toilet (watch your aim!), one bathroom with a bath, a cracked toilet and a sink, a small hallway that has another sink(blocked) and a large water container, and one kitchen with two sinks (one of which is blocked), one small water container and one more large water container, like the one in the hallway. To assist me in my hygene rituals are: one big red bucket in the loo (with a small scoopy bucket), two big white buckets, one big yellow bucket and one big blue bucket in the bathroom with two small scoopy buckets, four small, handled scoopy buckets next to the water container, three large washing bowls next to the hallway sink, one small scoopy bucket ontop of the small water container in the kitchen, one large jug on the large water container in the kitchen and , finally, three large washing bowls next to the sink. Lost yet? I have now succeeded in finding out exactly where I can and cannot wee, spit, drink, wash my body, wash my clothes and wash my dishes. But i am yet to get to the bottom of the biggest mystery of all: where is the toilet paper? with what and how do they wipe their bums??? I have come to two conclusions. 1) They use their hands. Reason for suspition: they are only allowed to eat with their right hand as the left hand is their "toilet hand", but I am not sure to exactly what extent the toilet hand functions as a “Toilet Hand.” 2) They use the buckets. I wouldn’t know how. And I daren’t ask for fear of a Three Seashells moment, á la Demolition Man: “Oh what? You don’t know how to use the three buckets? Hey guys! She doesn’t know how to use the three buckets! AHAHAHAHA. How common she is.” Oh well.