Guacamole. American as apple pie.

One month in and one full bottle of malaria pills consumed, I think I'm getting a better grip on my preferred lifestyle as an expat. On one hand, I know I'm too old to ever really identify as a native Tanzanian, let alone over the course of 10 weeks. There are certain things I'll always do a little awkwardly, certain absent foods I'll always crave (god I miss you cheese). On the other hand, I'm very wary of becoming one of those expats here who constantly swims against the tide to live a completely American/European lifestyle, complete with overweight pet dog, a high pointy fence surrounding the yard, and a total refusal to eat unfamiliar fruits. (How the last item is even possible is unclear. Guavas are like 20 cents a pop here.)

So this weekend was a bit about balancing these two aspects, the when-in-Rome instinct versus the born-in-the-USA! one. Saturday morning I putzed around the Indian quarter of town, window-shopping past the confectionaries on my way to the National Museum of Tanzania down by the docks. The museum is a rather odd little complex of buildings with a rather odd collection of items, ranging from bits of Tanzanian history (German tax collectors' strong boxes), a special exhibition on Tanzanian soccer (lots of shiny headshot photos), a biology hall (stuffed dugong in the corner - ugliest "mermaid" EVER), and a big collection of items from Tanzania's 100+ tribes. Last one was probably the best. Still, for the equivalent of $2, I'm glad I went.

And then Saturday night was probably my most Western night since I've come here: the Harry Potter movie and pizza afterwards with two of my German housemates, Nina and Magdalina. They're two of my favorite people at the house, really friendly and kind, who shame me with their perfect English and seem to be striking a similar expat balance to my own.

On Sunday I spent the earlier hours gathering food from street vendors (parachichi, nyanya, pasheni na mkate - avocados, tomato, passionfruit and bread). Something vaguely satisfying about buying your comestibles directly from a blanket spread over the sidewalk. After an afternoon beach trip with a few other housemates and their friends, the Germans and I attempted some dinner with my earlier purchases. No stove in the house, but we made some pretty good guacamole and then toasted bread to smear it on. Passionfruits for dessert. Not bad. I thought it was a nice, edible combination of the familiar and the new. Went to bed feeling all warm and fuzzy, my chi aligned with Dar es Salaam, and wasn't even that annoyed when the crazy rooster next door started his usual crowing at 4:30 AM.

Though there are, of course, some balancing aspects over which I have absolutely no control. For instance, the complete absence of running water in my neighborhood for the last 48 hours. Buckets are all well and good, but unlike my Kongwa hotel, our house is not equipped to function without taps. Really hoping that starts working again. Or, another example, my first attempt to see a fistula repair surgery this morning. Made it all the way out to CCBRT hospital only to discover that the surgery had been postponed due to the patient's contraction of malaria. Which had happened while she was in the hospital. Oof. We'll try again in a few days.