Fvcky dem dat against us

©  2007  Rose George

My first appointment was with an environmental health officer. If you are an environmental health officer in the UK and you dislike your job, I can guarantee you will like it as soon as you talk to a Tanzanian environmental health officer and compare notes. H. has worked as an EHO for 21 years. He earns 250 pounds a month. He says there are cholera outbreaks every year but if he reports them to the ministry as he's supposed to, he'd get fired because EHOs are always blamed for cholera outbreaks (and not crappy toilets, no emptying systems and a total lack of services which means the cheapest option for most poor people is to flush the toilet contents onto the street). He says that - for example - if he served a notice on someone with a dreadful toilet, even giving them a year to improve it or build a new one, the offender would go running to the ward officer - an elected official who needs votes and who is H's immediate boss - and complain of harrassment. Then H. would get shifted or told to shut up. Either way, he can't do his job. On paper, specifically the paper on which is printed the Township Cap 101 or something, the municipalities of Dar es Salaam have a duty to remove nightsoil from residential areas. In practice, they don't. After the interview ended, we dropped H. off at a refuse dump nearby, where he was supervising the removal of the refuse to another dumping site, though today is a national holiday. It smelled. People were picking through the trash. The operators wore no gloves and no protective equipment. I asked H. why not and he made that wonderful African one-note high exclamation  - something like “iih!” - which if I understand it correctly expresses frustration/wonder/disgust/surprise all at once. And if Mike Vazquez is reading this, who correctly criticised me for using the phrase “African-style” in my first book, I've got two things to say: I've heard the “iih” in all African countries I've visited so far, and my first book was written in three weeks, so give me a break. [Not that I take criticism to heart or anything.]

Finally today I got to see downtown Dar es Salaam. It looks like downtown Monrovia, but without the burned and bombed buildings. Also, it has street signs. I took Kisheri to lunch at City Garden, where I ordered a Greek salad. But not without some verification, having been told by most people I've interviewed that the water coming out of the taps - supplied by DAWASA - needs to be boiled to be safe from cholera and other waterborne nasties. So I asked Kisheri to ask the waiter whether it was a DAWASA salad. The waiter said “iih!” and promised that salad was washed with water that was perfectly safe “because we have a machine.” My guts so far are coping, so perhaps he's telling the truth.

Then came the Battle of the Avocado. On the first menu we were given, there was offered an Avocado Vinaigrette. When I decided after the unfilling Greek non-DAWASA salad that I would like an avocado, we were given another menu on which Avocado Vinaigrette had been replaced by SeaFood Cocktail. For five minutes, I protested that honestly the Avocado Vinaigrette was on the other menu and after five minutes of being totally disbelieved by the waiter, I noticed that Avocado Vinaigrette had turned into avocado vinaigrette and had been subsumed into the Cheesy Garlic Mushrooms. For five further minutes I tried to explain about space bars and font sizes, while the waiter maintained that yes, he could see that Avocado Vinaigrette was there but that it was part of the Cheesy Mushroom dish. Not on any gastronomic planet I've heard of. By this time I'd lost all appetite but it was a matter of principle. Also, it felt like I was stuck in 1984 or something and everyone was speaking Newspeak and there was no way to convince them of The Truth of the Avocado Vinaigrette. The waiter wandered off, thinking I'd given up. We trapped a passing waitress. By this time I was also convinced that everyone in the restaurant thought I was a pain or mad or both. I explained the Battle of the Avocado to the waitress. She went off to talk to the supervisor. She came back and said, yes, I was right. Kisheri laughed. The waitress smiled. She said, “do you want to order it?”

By god, yes.

Fcky dem dat against us: The best graffiti I've seen so far.