Gentle waking at 8:30 am….. sunny and hot. No roosters. No mosque. The house is mostly quiet. I crawl out from under my mosquito net. Mama Augustina is scrubbing floors in the kitchen. I make coffee. There are little ants moving in lines on the clean kitchen counter. Plan for the day: grocery shopping, develop itinerary, budget.
I take a walk midday until the paved road ends. I have been here before and recognize the sights and sounds. The things I saw: orange flower, agama lizard, Rau Primary School, market.
“Say Marahaba”
The people of Tanzania are noted for their hospitality and propriety. They generally tend to be soft spoken and their words are not forcefully expelled but rather gently dropped, just beyond their lips. To hear what is said, one must focus attentively. It is an act of engagement at a primary level of exchange. During my first visit to Tanzania, May 2011, I was taken by the level of respect that people display toward one another, especially those of age or status. Having said this, the words of “respect” that are given (shikamoo) have their origins in the slave trade are are certainly rooted unscrupulously in the exploitation of power . Literally translated, the word ‘shikamoo’ which is the greeting of respect means “I am under your knees”. The appropriate response to “shikamoo” is “marahaba”, meaning I accept your respect. This is at least, a double bind and flies in the face of human rights and egalitarian status and every feminist fiber of my being. Still, there is something poignantly beautiful about the practice of demonstrating respect. 
My young friend, Daniel and I had a lengthy conversation about the meaning of the words and the current intention of such expressions. As a child, he had this same conversation with his mother, very politely declining to use the term “shikamoo” because of its origins in the slave trade. Daniel, being one of the gentlest souls I have ever met, is also a critical thinker.
As I was walking on the dirt road to the paved road, I encountered a little girl going in the opposite direction. “Shikamoo” she greeted softly, respectfully. Not expecting the greeting, I did not notice it until the girl passed. Without missing a step, she called back, “Say Marahaba”. I turned quickly to say to her “Marahaba”.
Later my host and I go to the grocery store. After waiting more than a half hour for the taxi to arrive (Tanzania Flexible Time TFT), we opt for the daladala…. this is public transportation. Cost 250 TSH. It is a van with perhaps 12 seats, capacity double. One man drives, another man hangs out the window or door. This is the man who collects the fare. We are fortunate to find seats together in the back… I think. This also means that the windows do not open and there are at least 15 people between me and the door. I do NOT have claustrophobia….. I WILL NOT have claustrophobia. A graduation celebration of some sort is occuring, therefore we are stuck on the road amidst the traffic. No doubt, this is why our taxi did not arrive. Graduates are dressed in their finest showing their school colors. Proud families beam with their graduates’ successes. Education is essential to survival and is cherished. Finally, we arrive at the grocery store……. air conditioned, looks like Wal-Mart or Hannaford with appliances and books. The only thing I really want is water…. I am drinking 1.5 to 3 litres daily….. and an avocado. I purchase as much bottled water as I can carry in my bag, some yogurt, tiny bananas and some cashew nuts. After the grocery store we go to the market to find an avocado…. this is not the best season for my favorite food in the world. I pay 1000 TSH, “double the price” because of the season. I also buy a mango for the same amount. ($1.00 US is approximately 1600 Tanzania Shillings TSH). I wanted to buy peppers and tomatoes at the market…. they are so robust and brightly colored. I am mindful of the caveat that all vegetables must be cooked, peeled and washed in soap. I have not seen soap in my house. I am content with the avocado and mango.