People often want to know what an ordinary day is like for us here in Mtwara. But, because of the structure of life here, this is often a hard question to answer. Really we have no ordinary day, but rather various types of ordinary days. There’s the Study Swahili All Day Day; there’s the Try to Study Swahili All Day but Get Interrupted All Day Instead Day; there’s the Have an Ambitious Plan but Two Simple Errands End Up Taking All Day Day; there’s the Have Meetings with Important People Day; there’s the Spend the Day in Swahili Conversation Day; there’s the Research Trip Day; there’s the Village Visit Day; and so on. Below is an example of one such ordinary day — in particular, a Village Visit Day.

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By 9:30am we had arrived at the fish market, which was already bustling with trade and thick with the smell of salt and fish. Two large, metal, military boats were banked on shore at the edge of the market. They looked like they could be World War II era boats, old and weary, with the kind of mounted machine guns that have a crude, iron, bullseye frame through which to aim. On deck were shirtless military-men, most of whom were either cleaning or cooking Ugali for the rest of the crew. They would set sail again that day, back into the open sea.

Just to the right of these withering warships was a much smaller, simple wooden vessel, hand-built by local craftsmen trained in the ancient art of dhow-making. This was our ferry. We threw our bicycles on board and found a spot to sit. Within half an hour the rest of the boat had filled. Nine or ten other bikes were now strapped alongside our own at the front of the boat. By use of an outboard motor we would reach the peninsula in only a matter of minutes… (because of the layout of this particular peninsula, to reach the same spot by private car would take about an hour and a half, sometimes more depending on road conditions).

By 10:15 our wooden ferry slid onto the sand bank at its destination. We unloaded ourselves and our bikes, payed the ferry fee, and began our ride to the village Sinde. Though just across a thin bay from bustling Mtwara town, the Peninsula is itself very rural, with large plots of empty farmland, with buildings made mostly of mud and clay, with a greater expectation by locals to stop and say hello, and with more common use of the local dialect. Winding down thin, sandy paths we slowly made our way to Sinde, stopping occasionally to greet people, converse a bit,and get directions.

Near Sinde we met an old man who welcomed us warmly. He offered to show us around a little and then introduce us to the village leaders. As he showed us the area we talked about everything from local crops to sea-front land ownership. Soon we had reached the main part of the village Sinde, where we were quickly introduced to local leaders at a spot under a sprawling mango tree. Chairs were brought out, and the rest of our day was spent beneath this tree.

Following local protocol, we  began with lengthy introductions. First, the old man introduced us, telling where he had met us, what he had learned about us, and claiming responsibility for us as his guests to the village. Then we introduced ourselves as well, confirming what the man had said and answering further questions submitted by the men beneath the tree. Once we had answered sufficiently, we were formally and warmly welcomed to the village.

The rest of the afternoon was continued in conversation, mostly with the same small group of men. As others passed by they would stop and introduce themselves, join the conversation for a few minutes, and then move along with their day. Sinde is a village of farmers and fisherman, and it shows in the heat of early afternoon when most people are resting in the shade before getting back to work once it cools down again. Of course the tides also affect the fisherman, and most of the day’s fishing had already been finished by midday today.

Overall the conversation wasn’t very different from what you might hear in a small American town: local gossip, discussion of family life, talking about the current state of the local economy and recent developments in the area, discussion of problems in the area and what might be done to make life better here, and other such topics. There was also a great deal of talk about the weather and how the crops would be: what was expected and what was hoped for.  We mostly listened and asked questions. We were there to learn. The only interruptions came in the form of the occasional snap heard in the tree above us, at which point we’d quickly cover our heads just in time to hear the accompanying thud on the ground beside us: a ripe mango ready to be claimed and eaten.

By the end we had eaten fish and ugali at a local restaurant; we had met several interesting characters, including an 300 year old (by the look of it) Mozambican man who liked to tell dirty jokes; we had stopped by the local bicycle repairman to get our punctured tires fixed; and we had enjoyed a good day with some new acquaintances. We left with a phone number and a plan to return again soon, then hopped on our bikes and made our way along the peninsula, back onto one of the last ferries for the day, across the bay to the fish market, and reached town with just enough time to cool off with a swim in the ocean before sunset.

Another ordinary day.

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