Dar es Salaam

Out in the Indian Ocean, between Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar we can see the distinctive triangular sails of Dhows, traditional boats that would ply between Dar es Salaam, India and the Middle East. 

The Dhows have a surprising turn of speed, but the winds are strong here - the menus at the beachside restaurants have to be firmly held if they are not to blow away. 

In between the Dhows are columns of container ships, waiting their turn in port and bringing a world of manufactured goods to Tanzania and all the landlocked countries of Africa that lie behind. 

The Arabs and Indians always traded with the East Coast of Africa and Dar es Salaam. Add in occupation by the Germans and British and the resultant mix combines Swahili with Arabic and Indian dialects overlayed with colonial English. In our taxi the radio news is in Swahili but I can make out 'Manchester United' in English and (lower down the news order) 'Theresa May' and 'Dominic Raab'. Bloody Brexit being discussed even here!

Everyone is trading - the taxi stops at the lights and dozens of boys appear with bags of nuts, tissues, footballs and (strangely) windscreen wipers. Every piece of pavement (for which read dust at the side of the road) has a stall on it. Some with just a few coconuts for sale or offering to polish your shoes, others with extensive selections of bedroom furniture or just plain old junk. The city screams of enterprise and hustle and making your way in life. It's the complete opposite of the socialist republic that Tanzania's first president - Julius Nyerere - had in mind for the country.  I guess that the ancient trading spirit of the Dhows is too deeply in the blood here for any other way of life to take root - and everyone seems quite content that it should be that way.