Getting DARk

I may try and do Dar es Salaam blip title puns for as long as the imagination allows. It’ll be a thrilling series.

The morning was spent at the national immigration office. My new colleague Mariam was with me, and despite the potential stress of visa processes, as we sat waiting (inordinately) I realised my headspace has improved by a factor of about 1,000 since the solo visa battles of trying to work in Mozambique. People have to be given help on employment and legal issues, so the sense of relief that comes from tagging along with a colleague who’s handling it, is phenomenal.

I could have kissed Mariam for the calm efficient way she has handled it. But I didn’t, as it would have been insanely inappropriate. Instead we did a Duolingo lesson together on my phone, and I can now say ‘my name is’ in Swahili.

In the car on the way to immigration, the driver Samwell (not a typo) had pointed out the regional immigration office for Dar es Salaam. He explained this is where I would go if I have a child whilst living in Dar, in order to acquire them a passport. Not in my immediate plans.

Mariam and I strode out of immigration, safe in the knowledge that until February 2024, I can merrily go about my business in Tanzania. ‘We are good to go. You can walk majestically now’, she said. Very true, Maz.

In the afternoon I raided the Communication Manager’s office, looking for panda branded merchandise. I left with a couple of t-shirts. ‘You are already localised’, yelled Matrida across the car park, when she passed by.

After work I caught a motorbike to the Slipway area which has a cluster of restaurants and a ferry docking point for trips to one of the small islands. I watched the peaceful sunset, and this will be somewhere to return to.

I walked around the Msasani and Masaki areas for an hour or two after nightfall and happened upon a supermarket that had eye-watering prices. A fair amount of British goods, on sale for five times as much in Tanzanian shillings than the £1 label on the packet shows as the originally intended RRP. Is importation this expensive or is someone making a killing? I suspect principally the latter with that differential. I have now seen the Rachel’s yogurt brand on sale a few times in my short time here. I wasn’t expecting it, and although it is orgasmic, creamy and delicious, I cannot bring myself to spend the Tanzanian shilling equivalent of £7 on it. I need to locate some cheaper and less tempting shops.