Magic

But here I go, the eternal cynic, with another attempt at myth-busting. (My first such blog entry was, happily, quite controversial.)

I will begin with something magical: the dala-dala. In Tanzania, a swarm of people waits at a bus stand for the appropriate dala-dala to appear. Once it arrives, a mad scramble ensues, after which the dala-dala, loaded to the brim, careens on its way. The door sometimes falls off; seats sometimes break apart; the dala-dala sometimes goes to the wrong place; people are sometimes squished too tightly to breathe, random arguments sometimes arise, and sometimes the whole dala-dala simply breaks down and must be pushed. (Yes, I have personally experienced all of these adventures.) In the end, inexplicably, one exits at the appropriate destination. I often imagine an American mechanic inspecting a typical dala-dala in detail, turning to me, and declaring, it is a provable physical impossibility that this thing even moves.

If nobody can explain how it gets me from point A to point B, does that make the dala-dala magical? More to the point, if nobody can explain how it works, does that make the dala-dala enjoyable?

Actually, yes. The dala-dala, to me, is both magical and enjoyable. Somehow, in spite of themselves, the dala-dalas work. Every ride is a tiny miracle.

Now, how about another parallel, magical topic: life. I can (and do) live without a shower, running water, a sit-down toilet, food or drinking water while the sun is up (during Ramadan), efficient public transit, a night life, and privacy. My relative poverty is truly enjoyable. It is amazing how many aspects of life are, when you get right down to it, optional.

I have yet to live without an aspect of life which is essential for my survival. And so, using my good friend, induction (which I have mentioned in a previous blog entry), shall I conclude that all aspects of life are optional?

No: I can feel like all aspects of life are optional, but that does not make it so. Intuition alone can be misleading, and so facts are necessary.

In fact, some aspects of life are essential. Food is essential. Clean water is essential. Sanitation is essential. Shelter is essential. Health is essential. Basic education is essential. Most Tanzanians do not have all of these things which are not optional for survival. Consequently, many die. As for most of the living: like the American mechanic inspecting a dala-dala and declaring that by all accounts it should be in a scrapyard, I can imagine an American doctor would probably look at a random Tanzanian's life history and conclude that this living, breathing person has somehow died at least three times already.

If statistics can barely explain how people are surviving, does that make their lives magical?

Learn a bit of Swahili, and suddenly many Tanzanians will open up to you. Last Thursday night, I talked with a man my age, Michael, on the streets in the city centre. He used to sell onions in Dar es Salaam, and yet six months ago he was forced to stop. He became (I discovered after an hour-long conversation) a beggar. Unlike most Tanzanians, Michael probably possesses all the above-mentioned necessities of life. Thus, in the Tanzanian luck-o-meter, a beggar hovers well above the halfway point.

I mention this one story, not because it exemplifies Tanzanians in general: I mention it because I wonder who claims that life is magical in Africa. None of the people I have heard claim life in Africa is magical (not even Geldof) have lived through the kind of suffering which is normal in Africa. Unsurprisingly, those I have talked to who are less fortunate (and more common) have complained to me. Many have implied that they would prefer a life in Canada to the lives they lead now. Guess what? So would I.

So why do people suggest life is magical in Africa?

Maybe I should point out that most expatriates would never walk down the reasonably safe street of Dar es Salaam at night as I did, purely because of fear. I would not have been able to talk with Michael if I locked myself into a room or a restaurant every night. Should I have stayed home and pretended Michael does not exist? I wonder how people honestly think they speak for people without speaking to them first.

Yes, the people I have met in Africa are beautiful and fascinating. Yes, they are welcoming. Yes, I appreciate their excessively friendly culture. But no, I do not consider any of this magical. Magic, in my estimation, is a word one throws into a conversation to sound knowledgeable about something one does not understand. Human beings have used the concept for millennia, and in every case the term has died out once somebody provided a reasonable explanation.

Sooner or later, I will probably get into a dala-dala accident. When that happens, I will not consider the dala-dala magical any more.