If you want to understand Moshi, try to buy a roll of film.
Spoiler alert: you won't find it.
But you will find much more.
You go towards the electronics store across the street.
Beep beep! A scooter carrying a family of four zips by.
Watch out now! They drive on the wrong side of the road here. Your head swivels as tank-like safari trucks, curiously ornate commercial vehicles, SUVs, tuk tuks and motorcycles whizz by until you can safely sprint to the other side.
You'd be wise to grow a third eye here.
Film? You ask the electronic store manager.
No, sorry. he says. Try the super market across town.
Off you go. Moshi isn’t pretty like other cities. There’s palms, but no parks or palaces. No museums or monuments. Rusted roofs top old buildings. Dust and fumes haze the air and clog your airways.
But there is something here though. You can't quite put your finger on it yet.
Everyone seems to be selling everything everywhere. Food. Fruit. Second hand clothes. Shoes. Books. Mechanical supplies. It's as if someone ripped out and splayed the guts of Walmart onto the streets.
*clunk*
Watch your step! Potholes and broken pavement lurk everywhere. Wouldn’t want to hurt yourself before the big hike!
You proceed. Under colorful umbrellas veiled women sell fruit. Uniformed kids giggle and high five you on their way to school. The call to prayer hums from a nearby mosque. A tuk tuk grabs your eye. On it is a lion’s head superimposed on top of a hyper-muscle bound man. Above that, the Virgin Mary prays. The words JESUS SAVES! tie this…uh….art together.
Hello my friend! Tuk tuk?! the vehicles’ owner asks excitedly. Where are you going?
You just got here, so you prefer walking. No thank you you say continuing along.
Sure? he asks walking along side you.
Yes, I'm sure. No thank you. You continue walking.
Sticking to your side he persists. I give you good price my friend! Sure?
Yes I'm sure.
He’s not done. Where are you from?
You tell him, hoping to cut the conversation short.
Oh! Very far away! Safari? Hiking?
Yes.
…
…
Dejected, Mr. Hello My Friend eventually gets the hint and walks away. But don’t worry. You’ll meet him again…and again…and again. A food market draws you in. It's low ceilings force you to bend. The market is a tight cluster of women selling newspaper wrapped dried fish, bulks of beans spices and rices and whole fronds of banana trees. The smell overwhelms.
Hey are you looking at my coconuts? a girl asks you teasingly. Well, she is selling coconuts, and you are looking at them...so....yeah.
Mambo! My name is Esther! Poa! you respond utilizing your limited Swahili. She executes a successful charm offensive, gives you her number, and invites you over for dinner.
Can I bring friends?
Of course! she says. My cousins will pick you up later.
Parting, you make it to the super market. Film? No, sorry, says the manager. Somebody overhears you.
Film? Are you looking for film? the stranger asks.
Yes, do you know where I can find film?
Hmm...he pauses. Yes! Follow me!
He seems nice, so you follow along. He zigs and zags you through busy streets and tight alleyways.
Where are you from?
You tell him.
Safari? hike?
Yes, both.
He pauses, this place good food! He says, greeting the man coal grilling skewered meat. Your tummy rumbles. It is that time of day after all.
How much for three?
Is that it? you think quietly to yourself when the man tells you. Great! I’ll take three! Actually…four! Three for you, one for your new friend. The skewers are good. Very good. Remember this place for later.
Through more streets and alleys you arrive at the next store. It's a tourist shop selling various local trinkets.
Wait here! your friend says running to the back. Standing quietly is tall lean Maasai villager wearing traditional checkered garb and funky leather sandals.
New friend comes back and excitedly hands you...a picture frame. You sigh, realizing the mistranslation. No, that's a frame, I'm looking for film.
Oh....no film. I'm sorry.
Mr. Maasai walks over, pulls out an iPhone, shows you a picture of film and with perfect English asks. Is this what you're looking for?
Yes! That kind of film!
He pauses....Hmmmm…my cousin has a shop. Come with me. It seems everyone in Moshi has a cousin with a shop.
Mr. Maasai guides you along past hair salons, sports bars, dusty women selling charcoal, banana mounds, men grilling meats and corn, and teens tinkering on tilted tuk tuks.
Do you really just eat meat? you ask, looking to settle a latent curiosity.
Yes.
....
And you jump high?
...
Yes, he demonstrates with an impressive pogo like hop.
...
…
Drake or Kendrick? he returns.
...
Kendrick, obviously.
He smiles and nods.
You get to his cousin's shop. Look! Film! Well...pictures of rolls of film! You must be close! Film? you ask the manager-cousin.
Yes! Let me check.
He comes back a box containing…rolls of film!
Huzzah! Film!
You grab the box and examine.
ISO400. Nice. Color? Nice!….expiration date…..Ugh! Super expired. Not worth bothering. Sorry, you explain to the store manager, too old. It’s all he has. Mr. Maasai echoes your dejection.
You look at him and an idea flashes. Hey wait…where do you get those sandals? Might as well score a consolation prize.
He pauses, ponders, and motions…follow me. You zig and zag some more, arriving to a street corner where an older man hand crafts leather sandals.
Mambo! Hakuna matata! he greets you warmly. Being a mzungu (gringo) in Moshi, it’s assumed, and in this specific case, rightly assumed, that you have much more money than locals. Part of this warm hospitality you’re experiencing is real and genuine. Part of it…not as much. Many hungry lions would love to bite into your fat juicy wallet.
Poa, you return. You like these sandals. You like them a lot. Don't look too excited though. You'll give away your hand. There are no price tags here. Everything is negotiated.
How much? you ask casually pointing to the pair you want.
He pauses, seemingly to fantasize about what he can charge you, and fires his first offer.
That’s way too much! you scoff.
Of course you can afford it, but you also know this is the sucker’s price. You’re not here to play the role of rich mzungu savior. You won’t be gouged. It's the principle.
You counter. He scoffs. My friend, this is hand made!
Yes, but I know they sell this for cheaper down the road.
Clever! He doesn't know you’re bluffing, why would he?
You sense the seller’s warmth and hospitality fade as he realizes you won’t be an easy kill. He counters. You counter. Tension rises. Back and forth and back and forth you go.
Final price! he says. You begin to walk away. Always be ready to walk away.
Wait!…he relents. Fine. Deal. Here you go.
Consolation sandals acquired. Well done! You part ways with Mr. Maasai and slip him a modest tip for the adventure.
The sun is setting soon.
Still on for dinner? You text Esther. Yes!
Esther's cousins, two guys you haven't met, pick you and your friends up in a large white van. Esther must sell lots of coconuts, you think.
They drive you away from town. The sun sets and quickly darkens the streets. The buzzing city turns into a quiet neighborhood. Roads narrow then turn to dirt. Deeper and deeper you go. As the van bumps along your friend turns to you.
Hey uh...this is...like...cool right? she asks with a hint of nervousness.
Uh...yeah...it's cool, you respond with false conviction. With nobody looking you screenshot your GPS coordinates...just in case.
You pass through a large gate into an enclosed compound. It's dark…too dark. The walls are high...too high. Your heartbeat quickens.
Mambo! Welcome home! Esther bursts from the house. Her charm disarms.
Come in!
You walk into the modestly sized home. Inside are Esther's sister - an impressive multi-lingual doctor, Esther’s cousins, friends from the neighborhood and, curiously, some older German dude.
You notice the impressive photo collection. Are those yours? Yes! the German says with a thick accent. Come look!
He must know where to get film...you think. The German talks...and talks...and talks and talks some more. You don’t understand any of it. Something about him isn’t quite right. You conclude you value not talking to him more than you value film.
Try this! Esther says handing you a cup of funky smelling mystery juice scooped from a large vat of fermenting gloop.
You take a sip. It's uh...interesting! you say hiding your true feelings. Locally fermented banana beer! Would you like some more? No thanks! you reject graciously.
Everyone mingles, mutually curious. They’re intrigued by you as you are by them. What’s life like here? What do you all do? How did you learn English? You all ask.
They answer and counter with their questions. Who are you voting for? You tell them. Whoa! Why?! they wonder, foaming with curiosity. On goes a lively discussion. Then comes the question they’ve really wanted to ask.
Yo! What’s up with P-Diddy?! You trade guesses of increasing absurdity.
All are entertained.
On comes the food. Pumpkin soup. Vegetables. Sweet potato. Rice. It’s humble, but tasty. Then comes the ugali, the local staple of flavorless edible matter. You take a bite...and….return to the vegetables.
Out go the plates and on comes the music. This dinner party is now a dance party. Recognizable Hip Hop. Last decade’s Top 40. Afro beats. They dance like they’ve been dancing for a very long time. You guys…like cardboard boxes.
Have you been to Amuzz? Esther asks.
Amuzz?
Oh it's the best! You have to go!
The party simmers. You trade goodbyes and hand Esther a generous parting gift. The cousins drop you all off at Amuzz.
Amuzz, you quickly learn is…amuzzing. (sorry, had to). Sports bar. Hookah lounge. Billiards room. Paintball range. Barbershop. Video game lounge. Carwash. Night club.
Soccer plays on all screens to packed room. Plumes of hookah smoke rise. Red and green light flood the dance floor. Outside you greet Moshi's other mzungus by the paintball range.
Where are you guys from? What are you doing here?
Sweden, peace corps, the big one says. Washington, volunteering, says the other. France, safari and hiking, says another.
Cool! We’re doing Lemosho. What about you?
Machame, they say.
It’s your turn to shoot. You aim to the wall shelving empty Heinekens.
Fire! *Shatter* *Plop* *Plop* *Shatter* *Plop* Not bad, but you can do better.
Onto the dancefloor you go. The DJ reigns down sonic fire. Hip hop. Gangster rap. House. Afro beats. Local dancers flow effortlessly. In short time Amuzz escalates from fun to rowdy to raging. Lost in the music, forever passes until the group’s gas tank empties.
You negotiate a round of tuk tuks and Mario Kart your way home. Exhausted, you crash on the hotel bed and relish the day.
As for that roll of film?
Well…I guess you’ll have to try again tomorrow.