Not sure what to think about the city of Arusha yet – all I know is it really feels like a love hate relationship. So much so that I’ve officially felt burnt out for the first time this trip.
The streets of Arusha were littered with both people and plastic. The quiet bungalow stay did not prepare me for all the hustle and bustle of this small city center. While I’m used to large cities, I’m not quite used to being the center of attention in them. Add the fact that I find it difficult to ask locals for basic directions in fear of them swarming me with misleading answers, well you get the point. It gets overwhelming when people swarm you like flies on a fresh piece of meat.
The tuktuk driver dropped me off at the clock tower roundabout, which was a common landmark that everyone seemed to understand no matter the language. I reached into my purse and pulled out 5,000 shillings to pay for the 15min motorbike ride. This was about $2USD. He’s watching me pull out the cash and comments on my shoe, the heel burnt from the exhaust pipe on my last motorcycle ride. He says in broken English that he knows a guy who can fix for me, it’s easy. I am mildly amused by the massive dent in the boot and surprised I couldn’t feel it while walking.
Walking around the town was sensory overload; you could smell the bbq of the chicken skewers cooking off the street, in small portable camping pits. A few steps over you whiff in the wrecking stench of garbage being piled higher than possible in a small truck bed. I was just getting over my recent food poisoning so I was still extremely nauseous walking around.
There are over 100 tribes in this region, and I am impressed by their hustle when making money from tourism. Throughout this trip, I felt conflicted about what I’m contributing towards. I can’t shake how dependent upon tourism the community is, and I really don’t like that I’m apart of it. Perhaps I was much more naïve while traveling through Asia, or even South America, but it feels like it is more present out here.
I am walking down the street like a golden flag – every shop I pass asks me to buy their beaded jewelry and men aggressively walk alongside me to ask where I’m from, if I want to safari, if I can look at their shop, and if I have a boyfriend. While I want to help support locals, I can only take so much of the same questions. It’s times like these when I desperately wish I was with someone, anyone, because they don’t bug me as much when I’m not alone. I approach this restaurant where they are cooking pilau, a local rice dish, along with beans. I never thought beans would bring such attraction, but the smell is intoxicating so I duck inside for lunch. Here I am hidden from the chaos of the street vendors and can breathe for just a moment.
After a flavorful plate for $3 I am back in the jungle of people. I don’t get too far when I approach this little community garden off the main road next to a river. I aimlessly walk into the garden and a dog approaches me. He doesn’t seem to have teeth so his tongue is sticking out in this adorable way. It’s almost as if he is trying to lead me deeper into the forest, so I follow him on this pebble path.
Suddenly there is the faint sound of a river, and the forest opens up into walls of painted canvas. All around me are various art from local painters; lazy lions, techno colored giraffes, and abstract mountains. My heart lifts for just a second as I remember to appreciate the light in the darkness of this city.
I spend the afternoon painting in this forest art community, lost in the acrylic of nothingness. The sun is setting as I head back to my hostel outside of town. I stare out the tuk tuk window onto the bumpy village road. Everywhere people are walking this painful road with socks and cheap flip flops. I cannot imagine walking a mile in those shoes as I stare down at mine. Even with the burnt heel I am way better off.
While I feel my senses so on guard here, I do feel a sudden change of heart regarding this place. Perhaps I need to replace the frustration with appreciation. These people are only human, and trying to get by the only way they know how. I truly want to show them kindness even when they just want my money. It’s so hard and I don’t know where to start.
I’m searching for answers when up ahead I spot a young girl standing on the side of the road. Another pair of broken down plastic shoes in this oasis of poverty. I look at my 6.5 boots and without thinking rip them off. We are driving slowly uphill as I throw them out the window in her direction. While it doesn’t feel like much, I know she would use them far more than I ever will. I look back at her, now running toward whatever fell out of the moving vehicle.
I wish I had all the money in the world to stuff inside that boot, but maybe all she needed was the chance to walk with a little more confidence and security. Or maybe I’m just someone born in the right place and time who desperately wants to even out the playing field.