Upanga

I’m playing nighttime temperature regulation wars at the current time. It’s so hot that the fan does not provide adequate cooling. Yet the air conditioning has such an artificial vibe that I’ve turned against it because it’s easy to wake up feeling desiccated.

My regular airport taxi guy has messaged enquiring about my whereabouts. I think he was worried I’d done a flit with someone else. It’s a sign that I have been at home for an unusual amount of time. At least six weeks since I’ve been to the airport. Unprecedented, but pleasant.

I went along the old Upanga road between the city centre and the sprawl of Dar es Salaam’s suburbs. In the distance was the fairly new Tanzanite Bridge, built to alleviate traffic congestion and to provide a quicker route to the Masaki Peninsula, where those of wealthy stock live.