Africa mysteries

I can't figure out why a bottle of good wine costs only $8 in Arusha, Tanzania, but a box of bad corn flakes is about $10. This just encourages me to drink more.

There are many such head-scratchers in East Africa, things that my mother, who lives here with me, and I refer to as AFRICA MYSTERIES. I always think of it in dramatic all-caps like that. Also under the AFRICA MYSTERIES header is why Africa time means one must add 45 minutes to any given time of arrival. A friend says he will come to dinner at 6, but that truly means 6:45, or possibly 7. We have learned not to be ready at an appointed hour. People here say, "No hurry in Africa," and it's useless to fight it. I do feel myself relaxing by degrees here and no longer looking at the clock. My watches are still in my luggage.

Another mystery is the "street security." The other night we were awakened by the security team marching through our part of the neighborhood blowing horns and whistles and shrieking "Thieves!" Every dog in the area began barking furiously. My fiance, Ombeni, says that they were hunting for thieves, but their tactics seemed odd. If I were a thief, I would find it easy to evade a group of men who were yelling and blowing horns. The other bizarre bit about that night was the fact that no one turned on their lights or came to their doors, blinking sleep from their eyes and wondering what was happening. People just accept things here, no matter how strange.

Then there is the Massai man who comes to our home several times a week and chats with us in Swahili for several minutes. This despite the fact that we don't speak Swahili. I have learned to say a few things, but it's painfully obvious that we don't understand him. Still, he must feel better getting whatever it is off his chest.

Today we went to KLM to change our tickets. We have decided to stay until July, at which point we will have pretty much exhausted our savings. We want to spend more time with Ombeni, who is a safari guide and will be home more often now that the rainy season is beginning. We want to finish the house and move Ombeni's nephew into the little bedroom so he doesn't have to stay with the handyman any longer. It's amazing how generous and gracious Tanzanians are. The handyman has been putting Jimmy up for months. That sort of kindness and generosity of spirit happens all the time here. For instance, I would be typing this post on Ombeni's laptop, but a friend needed one at university, so Ombeni handed his over. If Ombeni needs a car, he gets on his cell phone and one just appears in our driveway a short time later. Hopefully all this goodwill will rub off on me.

Right now I am trying not to let the tickle of concern and fear about not having a job get the best of me. I quit my job in Chicago in mid-December for reasons that seemed to make sense then. I keep reminding myself of those reasons now as I read a two-day old International Herald Tribune and see how bad the economy is and how many people are losing their jobs. Will there be anything for a longtime newspaper editor to do back home? It may have been foolhardy to quit a good job and put everything in storage and come to East Africa for six months, but what the hell. It's an adventure, and the regret of not trying is a terrible thing.

Will edit for food.