Just another year, no?

Up through the summer of 2011, everything was normal, going sort of according to plan.  Very normal, very suburban.. and then it wasn’t.

In 2011, I spent New Year’s eve at the house of my friend Carlos.  I had met him long ago and didn’t really know him, but in the short time we met before that night and since, we’ve become friends.  That night was spent as his house on Msasani Beach, we ate some typical holiday Finnish foods and pastries and watched the fireworks over the bay, courtesy of the Yacht Club.

In 2012, my New Years was spent in my town, in Metuchen.  It was a very low key night, we woke up the boy near midnight, bundled him up and went to see the fireworks near the train station.  It was magical and cold.  The next morning I would fly off to spend a couple of days in Dubai and then the next few months in Dar es Salaam.

After an extended stay at home, I returned to Dar es Salaam, yet again taking the operational helm at Push Observer, and having a blast by expanding our market and getting into proper market research. That adventure continues.

But then the holidays came, and thankfully, thanks again to Carlos two years ago, the holidays far from home are not as sad as they could be. good friends, much like family, are around us here. No one need feel left out or sad for long. Thanksgiving, that all american holiday.. that… I would not celebrate, choosing instead to make it a regular thursday.  How could i celebrate it, my brother on the wst coast, my folks and family on the east coast and me at Qbar…it was easy to ignore.  However, Navidad!  Christmas was celebrated with novena, vallenato and lechona (although no aguardiente.)  And New Years? In a few years, New Years….

So tonight, as the clock strikes 12, and the fireworks don’t fly over the same bay as in 2011(safety issue the authorities said), but this time from the other side.. from within the Yacht club, I will once again celebrate the turning of the old into the new, forget old resolutions, make new ones to be forgotten.. not at home with family, but with new friends, with famila, in a far away land, under the stars and hope that this year, this year things get back on track, maybe not the same track as before, but definitely towards the track that leads to fulfilled hopes and dreams.

Yo no olvido el año viejo
porque me ha dejao cosas muy buenas
aaahhhiii yo no olvido no,no,no el año viejo
porque me ha dejao cosas muy buenas
me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

ahi me dejo, me dejo, me dejo, me dejo
cosas buenas
cosas muy bonitas

ahi yo no olvido el año viejo
porque me ha dejao cosas muy buenas
aaahhhiii yo no olvido no,no,no el año viejo
porque me ha dejao cosas muy buenas

me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

me dejo una chiva,
una burra negra,
una yegua blanca
y una buena suegra

ahi me dejo, me dejo, me dejo, me dejo
cosas buenas
cosas muy bonitas

Bastille day.. or as they say in Dar ..saturday.

I may be in Dar, but unless I leave the cozy confines of my usual routine, it could be Cleveland. Welll, not quite… but it can be just as exciting (sorry Clevelend, just my memories of time spent there in the late 90s on a number of business trips.)

When you leave the peninsula, kinondoni, mikocheni, msasani, Oyster Bay, upanga and city center.. And you take that ferry south over to kigamboni.. Especially at night.. then you slowly gather once again that despite the apparent normalcy, what happens here is far from what my experiences (at least those I remember.. as my sister will confirm, those memories prior to 1983 are quite vague.. one day we’ll explore that…. Maybe.)
The ferry ride.. Waiting for the ferry, only one boat making the five minute trek across the creek.. Running 24/7 but waiting slowly as first 10, then 50, then 100 cars line up.. Music blasting, cold beer in hand (I was not driving).. Wait.. Is that Colombian Christmas music?yep… el pastorcito de Belen.. Followed by shakira, juanes, and el grupo niche.. Ahh.. Radio Maria.. I had no idea they were broacasting Latino music at night on Saturdays as I was only familiar with them as the main broadcaster for the CCR programming for the children… anyway.. We get across, quickly speed through the maze of road side stands, motorcycle taxis picking up rides and bajajs waiting to go.. And head out of town. The sky is starry.. El cielo esta estrellado, quien lo desestrallera? .. Dark night, no moon. Just stars. And it strikes me yet again, that without the stars, or the headlights.. It is dark. Even on the way from masak through town and the ferry.. Although the street lights are there.. Spaced as often as you’d see them anywhere back home.. They stand dark. Mocking. No power. No light. In the kigamboni side.. no street lights, just the silhoute of the palm trees extending over the bushes, the reddish eyes of the monkeys in the trees staring at you as the headlights quickly pass over them, Hamilton flying down the road, no traffic laws to heed, no rule of law to heed at this time, passing cars, motorcycles, bikes and bajajs just the same, narrowly missing on occasion those coming towards us. Reckless? Yeah, a bit. Yet a mentality that keeps you safely enconses in your own – just keep going.
The night ends up being a wash. The resort is jumping.. But it’s the wrong crowd. The bandas are too far from the beach, the bathrooms require a key.. The beer is cold, the popcorn salty and the music is bongo club yet the dj can’t keep the rhythm going, so the crowd on the floor in front of us tries again and again to get into a groove but fails. So we go back. Kuku soup at Watanashi back in masaki… the place is packed, some girls get in a fight, a bottle flies. Good thing we’re outside, waiting for the soup else we’d gotten beer soaked as the guys coming out.. caldo de pollo.. o costilla.. very tasty. Then runway for a drink, see who’s there.. Then off home. Lots to do on a Sunday.. but that’s another five hundred words for another day.