Single in the City-40, 1, 52, 6


By ME from my column in 'The Citizen Newspaper' on Saturday's in Tanzania. I began this column earlier this year 2015, I thought to share it here too. ]


Issue 40


In her skin…



As an artist the obsession with noticing the world around you in detail borders on paranoia; perhaps this was the case with me recently. When on my way back home I passed a girl. She’s wearing a plain cotton dress nothing fancy. It could very well have been a handout from ‘Maria’, back in the early 1900’s from the set of ‘Sound of Music’ sans the corset. I gather it’s now made its merry way to Africa on this girls back, through the ‘mitumba’ route.

She’s beautiful no more than 18, her hair is not making any afro proud or outlandish statement. So it’s a bit uncombed like a savannah terrain, with hills and plain fields of jutting baobab trees. She’s carrying something; I’m judging from her appearance that she’s the house help coming from the ‘duka’ heading back home.

Unaware that not wearing a bra when you have avocado like perky breasts, (I should know, for as far as I recall. I’ve never possessed the12 O’clock, taut as oranges type of jugs). Despite being in the prime of your youth, won’t stop the gentleman by the road opposite the neighborhood bar, ogling your chest and jeering. So embarrassed and a bit confused you notice the subtle desire that creeps up to tighten your nipples, and rush home feeling vulnerable and utterly ashamed.


Her eyes reveal her soul




“According to some estimates around 65% of Africa’s population is under 35, and if trends continue its under-18 population is set to increase by two-thirds by 2050…The UN Population Fund foresees that when a country reduces its high mortality and birth rates, a young working – age population will emerge that can propel economies forward.”-Stephen Williams –The New African Magazine

The lady I passed on the street if my estimates are right & she’s the house help; then no doubt she hails from a village somewhere in the expanse of Tanzania. Before our norms were ravished by outside influences in this same expanse. A woman coming of age by 18 wasn’t that unaware of her sexuality. She would’ve gone through the rites of passage in her community, which would have well versed her, with sexual desire and its corresponding outcomes on the body.

Now bearing in mind as Prof Mammo Muchie highlights, “Today more than ever, Africans need to look back in order to go forward. But what do Africans see when they look back? They are often overwhelmed by seeing, mainly the destructive 500 years of the de-humanizing African experience.”-From the column ‘Pan African Corner’ in The New African Magazine.-That our norms didn’t get the chance to evolve naturally.

I’m not advocating every young woman coming of age; need go through ‘ujando’ strictly as per washed down traditions. Which have merely survived the 500 years of turbulence on the continent; rather to acknowledge the consequences of having our young women on the nation not well versed with their sexuality.


Her gait is both sexy & proud



As the UN population findings reveal, having a high birth rate only to lose the babies due to reasons like teenage pregnancies. Is painfully redundant and doesn’t benefit our economy and well being as a whole.

In my opinion statutory rape isn’t constricted to having sex with a minor. Rather engaging in the sexual act without being fully aware of the power of ‘sex’. It’s consequence of bringing new life, it’s health benefits (when orgasms are involved) to both engaging parties in giving better sleep, healthy amounts of testosterone & estrogen plus many more.

Taking everything in context, experiencing singlehood as a woman today is a privilege. 500 years ago due to lack of certain medicines and tools for agriculture, having children was a community imperative. As more numbers meant more work done, today let’s not be victims of the steal of our African development.

This by looking for knowledge in our foreign now customized religions (Islam, Christianity, Rastafarian-(yes it began in Ethiopia not Tanzania)); in our histories, in the worldwide library (Google, Wikipedia, books!). Then make up our own minds and conduct our walks with bras, jokes aside if we’re all born single and shall meet our death recount by our single some; it doesn’t hurt to live awake.


Issue No  1


Skipped rituals  


When I was younger I had a huge crush on Enrique Iglesias, I believed we were soul mates and we would end up together. All because the song ‘Hero’ reflected my ideal virtues of being ‘in love’. Mind you by this time which was me around 15 years old. I had soaked up enough ‘Mills & Boons’ novels not to mention slews and slews of ‘Harlequin Romances’. Which of course in the 'Latin genres' were preferred, indeed what better way to fuel my fantasy of 'Enrique Iglesias-my Mr Perfect'. 

Today all of 25 yrs+ (yes a girl does not reveal her age post 24 'ahmn‘ she coughs. As I recall the mothers in my life who will slap my head silly at such display of ego) my reality has meant that despite my earlier strong convictions (oh now I give Anna Kornikova full permission to get a ring on it) in waiting for ‘Mr Perfect’.

The Premise



It’s the ‘Mr Right’ now’s that have footed the bill. Here at ‘Single in the city’, I will attempt to paint in a Tanzanian context with the obvious ‘Afro politan’ culture that pervades in our cities.

The challenges I’ve faced and those I know around me (22-44 yr olds); in being an independent adult. Particularly female (sometimes I’ll be nice to the boys, sorry young men, ok few Men) in our cities like Dar es Salaam, where am currently based. Coincidentally the hot pulse of urban culture in Tanzania. I do enjoy travelling, so I know there will at least be some Zanzibar and Arusha anecdotes Goddess/Lord bless.

So where were we, oh yes the challenges. You can blame it on me being a writer, as ever since I can remember. I’ve always enjoyed stories, be they orated as ‘hadithi, hadithi’; or sneaked issues of the saucy ‘Sani’ magazine from our house help. These read in secluded areas of the house, that adults can't see while I was 10 yrs or so. Sadly the juicy stories as I grew older, I found them more & more in English. This we can blame Christopher Columbus for spreading his English culture globally.

With time I’ve gained from these western written stories, that it’s totally natural and healthy. For a teenager to come of age and work albeit part time or during school holidays, since the age of 14 years. Ensuring by the time they're in their early 20's, these young adults are in a position to live on their own.

The Demise


Now here in our cities this ritual is driven to be skipped both culturally and politically, I’ll expound on the later in columns to come. Suffice to say I know too many ladies who are or have been willing to jump from parents homes to husbands homes. Even if they forge the later together. Not to mention guys who publicly claim to be ready for marriage, the main reason being 'they can’t seem to find their way through the kitchen' despite being all of 26 years.

This is wrong on so many levels that all I can is say ‘Ruwa, nki nki icho!’ yes me and 'Wa Muyanza' seem to share a tribe.  

One of my past Mr Right a Ugandan, gave me an African context which left me thinking there’s a ray of hope, if we look to evolve our own traditions. Apparently when a man reaches 17 in his tribe, traditionally he's circumcised (as part of the coming of age rituals) and then pushed to live on his own by building a hut, which many times is close to the folks home.
  
Being single in our Afropolitan cities we have to defend our right to forge our own way and this begins by tasting life on our own. However in a city like Dar es Salaam, lo! As a woman you may hear ludicrous vibes from your own mothers and aunts, threatening a moral demise of devil proportions. If you move out of the house before you're married to 'Mr Perfect'.

I say how the heavens will you find Mr Perfect when you don’t know how to comprehend your Mr Right now? Till next week, remember we’re born single and shall die single.



Issue 52


All Night Long... 

 


It’s mine I don’t want to share it, the way we move, the energy, the groove. Don’t be a peek a boo, nothing you’ll see between me & my ‘mpenzi’. While you glimpse brown skin, mingling in stark fashion with caramel dusted hues. While you see lips teasing, eyes glistening with something akin to big cats, tussling gaily in the Savannah.


What’s going on between these sheets is as old, as the bones found in ‘Olduvai Gorge’. A blaze of touch seared on skin, nerves asking for the soul to be revealed. The wounds of your past to be seen, the child within permitted to en-joy the forbidden dance. To swim in ecstasy until a sweat as thin as ice, escapes parched pores. That can only be soothed in two, the true song of ying and yang.

We’re both looking, begging to breathe alive for what could be an hour or a half. Yet this mating of tales, requires real lovers.  

 

I won’t fall in love

 

‘Penzi la kweli hmn, ivi kuna jinsi ya uhakika ya kulitambua…?’ Shukria quips pensively, amidst our chats and once again. I find inspiration for this column. I think like anything worth having, work needs be injected to this ‘real penzi’; in order for it to be actualized. Whether it’s between couples, neighbors, brothers, parents and child etc…

See I’ve started to smell a rat, in the way we relate to each other on the streets. We’re a nation who is proud of our ‘morals’. Thus the strict instructions for a ‘righteous citizen’; to obey your parents, your teachers; your boss; your religious texts to the letter; your ‘African values’ (e.g. the must be uttered ‘Shikamo’ for every elder) and of course the ‘laws of the land’. 

I’m afraid this varied rule-book for living, despite its obvious points of contradiction. Is still seen as the ‘sane’ way to live, so who are you to dare ‘question things’.  Thing is, when you have a nation of ‘singletons’; who are only used to being threatened (the cane of the teacher, the pinch of the mother, the hell of the religion, the sack from the boss; the curses of the ‘elders/ancestors’ and the jail or mysterious beating and disappearance from the ‘secret police’).

Then you better believe it, in the bedroom no one is having true ‘love making’ or real full filling sex. Mhmn, you read that right. The other day, was at a Salon in Arusha. A lady was unabashedly telling her friend “Si unajua wanaume wa Kimasai, yani mume wangu ameshaniambia wazi. ‘ Mi sisikilizi ushauri wa mwanamke....’.”  

 

I'll rise in ‘Pendo’

 

We’ll call her Maria, from listening to her conversation. I got that she enjoyed a lower middle class lifestyle; her husband has a steady job in the game reserves. They have two cars; she’s a stay at home mom and has two kids. 

When you participate in true love making with another being, you don’t come out of that experience. Honestly believing one sex is subjugated to another. You don’t get out of that experience disappointed that you don’t have fuller hips or that you have a ‘kitambi’ or have impaired hearing. As ego’s can huff and puff but satisfying engaging sex; commands the soul to mingle with the body in this peculiar intimate dance.

Yeah I was sitting in that salon praying that Maria learns to fuel her curiosity (books, talk shows, newspapers, the web!). For I knew she couldn’t have been showing up freely in her bedroom, even whilst conceiving her beloved children. For saying loudly that your husband doesn’t respect your opinion; has ultimately nothing to do with his culture and everything to do with the disrespect of your power.

For as I always quip, we’re all born single and shall meet our death recount by our single some. So come ‘on let’s dare to find & live our true ‘opinions’.


Issue No 6

 

Taking a step back

 


“Pay attention to the tension…” Anande my therapist soul sister quipped this to me, over a mock-tail one afternoon. We had just come off from our long winded talks and today as am clicking my fingers on this keyboard.

I am thankful to those wise words for as this city gal is getting older she’s had to concur that she’s not perfect. Yes I know many of us Tanzanians have been taught to be meek at all cost; perhaps why we’re with the reputation of being ‘friendly and courteous’.



Notice your reaction




However thing is when you go around being nice to everybody tolerant of those who blatantly disrespect you or your rights. Then in some corner of your psyche you’re affirming that you’re perfect. 

I recall on one of my early intimate chats with Cocoa my soul sister the career woman, I confessed that when I first met her deep down I didn’t believe she’d consider me worthy of being her friend.


Her response “And so was your belief…” yea she’s no nonsense like that. Thankfully by the time I met her I was already more versed with this truth. That human beings women included aren’t simply good, we’re complex indeed.

And so it goes, it was my own lack of self worth that led me to harbor an inferiority complex; upon being introduced to Cocoa and learning she’s a real time Tanzanian woman entrepreneur. Mind you it was a feeble feeling, had I not paid attention to its tension. I wouldn’t have noted that it resulted in small gestures, like speaking my mind fully in her presence being sheltered and altogether my opinion slyly bent so as to give, only her observation credit.




Accept your creation




I live in a city right now where plastic bags are everywhere, I love the water. However whenever I dare to spend time by a riverbank lo behold it’s not the tension of a rapist or mugger coming from the bushes that ensure I refrain. 

Rather the filth that lurks on the river and on its banks.Notwithstanding even the vast Indian Ocean bordering the city has slews and slews of filth lining its shore. You may wonder why am bringing environment to ‘single in the city’, but I’ve noticed that dating is becoming rather tricky.


I’ve seen young teenagers try to meet around 7pm just before dinner in my neighborhood next to this river, which lord forbid is just not right for that puppy love ambience. Worse still for those of us wishing to shackle forevermore with ‘Mr Long’ someday and share a baby or adopt; what will we tell our teenage daughters when they ask us where daddy took me for dates.


“We used to go to the beach but stay inside the car with the windows up and ac on, so we didn’t have to smell the ‘takataka’” This won’t be my recount not to mention it’ll give them ideas that beaches are for making out in the car.

Hapana.No, I say ladies and independent gentlemen of Tanzania let’s pay attention to our tension. Our tension in ‘kuchukulia vitu poa’. There’s no adult today in this country who can’t give you a 100+page book on their laments on this country.

As a scribe this has it’s charms, for we can easily write on all manner of discontent.  Still I dare say let’s take responsibility on how me and you have contributed to us having dirty outdoor dates! For as I always say we’re born single and shall meet our death recount by our single some.


© All photos are copyright of Caroline Anande Uliwa

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