Tanzania is, in many ways the quintessential Civil Society. The country
draws its sense of ‘community’ from its ancient African village mind
set, augmented by its recent socialist history. The people mix the
subtle textures of Eastern culture, their calm humility, with their
more contemporary and devout Christo-Islamic tendencies, but – above
all – they continue to prize their harmony. Harmony: sometimes defined
as the agreeing of opinions, but more often as consonance in tonality;
the ability to make pleasing sounds.
I got jumped running the other
day. The mugger picked a spot out of sight of any prying eyes, busted
two bottles and stuck them in my face. “Give me your money!”
(Like I go running with money, but that really didn’t matter – he was
happy with my wedding ring…my sunglasses…and eventually my shoes). I
did manage to round up a bit of a posse – like I say the Tanzanians are
big into harmony…and they get pissed when it gets broken – and they
eventually found the guy. They beat him until the police arrived. Then
they stopped…so that the police could take over – the beating, I mean.
The police, it seems, like their harmony as well.
The mugger was
actually kind of lucky. I visited him in jail and he was…well, okay.
They seem to have a way to keep things, shall we say ‘harmonious’ in
jail. A lot of the street thieves are not so lucky. Not a week has
passed without a story in the paper concerning street justice meted out
– sometimes in the most horrific ways; a lynching last week, a beating
and burning a couple of weeks ago. A mob actually ran down a whole gang
after a robbery a couple of months ago, all four of whom were heavily
armed…and only one survived to tell the tale. Unfortunately, even
stoning isn’t rare. But there is a certain method to the madness of mob
justice. For it to work, the whole community has to take a part
(everyone has to throw a stone). That way, no one is responsible for
the death…everyone in the community plays a little part. I know it
doesn’t sound like I am making a real case for being ‘civil’ here, but
in the oddest way I kind of am. The strictures of this culture are
heavily enforced. Everyone knows: you play the game, you take your
chances. Break the most important rules, and this Haven of Peace – the
literal translation of Dar es Salaam – becomes cybernetic
(self-policing, self-correcting), though everyone agrees that it is
sometimes taken far too far.
And that is why it strikes everyone as
especially strange that I somehow managed to have all the vanity
side-panels (mirror too) surgically removed from my car while parked at
a restaurant with a Masai Ascari (read ‘lion killing warrior’ here)
parking attendant standing guard! The good news is that my garage guy -
who knows his way around this town - headed off to the ‘used car parts’
market and called me about an hour later asking if I wanted him to get
expensive used parts or just the ones that had been stolen from my car.
Seems he managed to find them before they were delivered to the
intended buyer (who’d ordered them on spec).
Needless to say, that
episode set me back a wad and caused me a crisis of confidence in the
restaurant (Garden Bistro – good food, but watch your car!).
Nevertheless, it all worked out in the end. Lucky for that guy no one
saw him boosting the bits, that’s all I’ve got to say! Ah well, life is
good.
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