Lung of Darkness: a tale of tuberculosis
in tanzania

Day 4:
A sunflower seed chewing kind of day. Late sleep and bus to the local town market, a collection of a hundred stalls of five varieties: oranges/bananas/vegetables, rice/beans/juice/canned goods, cell phone sale and repair, shoes/dresses/shorts/belts, and cleaning supplies/odds and ends. That means that there are about 20 family-owned shops collected within two blocks of dirt path and road selling the same exact thing. Competition, competition. Afterwards, sat around at the house, eating the best bananas I’ve had and passing the day…

Day 5:
A morning mixture of drifting off to music, poolside sunburn, and homemade zege (a french fry omelette, Tanzanian, great morning starter when your morning is 1:00pm). Watched the US v. Brazil soccer final and tried at sleep after my daily bath in the pool. Mosquitos, dogs, and roosters kept me up until 5:00, so I read The Little Prince, listened to a bit of Simon & Garfunkel, and wrote this poem. Enjoy.

The hot air slow carries the stars’ light
down upon backs of the dogs of the night
who wrestle and moan at the moon in the sky
whose glow dull reflects in the black of my eye.

The calf tries at sleep under shade of his tree,
and I too like all cannot mute, cannot see,
so I lie, pen in hand,
and must be,
and just be.

True story of my night, I stared at the ceiling for hours listening to those dogs. And the calf in the yard next to ours is living the life under his tree, lounging 24/7.

Day 6:
Monday—after days of making copies, stapling, and organizing, the real work begins.
Brisk awakening, instant coffee, zoom downtown on the ferry, get warned of offending locals with our video camera by our fireman friend Godfreid. And as he says, “Every Tanzanian is in the army” and will bust us, so we best watch our backs. We meet with Dr. Munuo of PATH (our affiliated nonprofit) and walk over to the Institute of Medical Research to get our letter of approval. They cannot locate our wired payment, so we promise to come back the next day with a receipt. The woman speaks very broken English—this was not a fun conversation. The afternoon turns into evening as we sit by the ocean at an Irish Whiskey Bar on the Msasani peninsula and watch the sun set to beer and banana pizza. The place is a haven for rich white ex-pats, and we stick around for trivia, which gets heated. I learn that alcohol doesn’t kill brain cells after all. Great! Cab, ferry, and bajaji ride and we’re home at last.

Day 7:
A day of work. The woman that was angry with us yesterday told us we remind her of her sons today. Must be the persistent pestering. Watched a bird migration and sunset from the roof of our friend Fary’s apartment in downtown Dar. Sipped on drinks and talked about travel and people for hours with a few friends. I finally found someone who agrees with me that miscommunication of ideas—within and across languages, cultures, etc.—might be the root of all conflict. Travel has cast an interesting light on this. Also learned that many pilots are alcoholics—might explain all of the recent plane crashes around the globe. And that a few cups of sugar are more likely to save your life in rural Hammeric Africa than a few thousand dollars. Discussions to be continued…

Day 8:
A morning of begging NIMR for this letter of support. Hopefully we’ll get it soon. A great lunch by a great park in the great weather. And now, I’m off to the beach.

Pictures to come soon, so hang tight. If you want to hear more/less about certain things, email me suggestions and I’ll try to change things up.

Kwa heri marafiki, (with good fortune, friends)

John