Tanga, where ladies graciously say No

I’m in Tanga, the most northerly coastal city of Bongo. It’s a great pleasure to be here, far away from crazy Dar. It has been long since I last visited the city, but Tanga has always been on my mind. Tanga, the land of nice people renowned for their politeness, generosity, good sense of humour and unique Kiswahili accents.

I’m booked at Sengia, a one-storeyed lodge in Kwa Minchi, which is convenient to me because from there I can simply walk to the residence of one of my mothers, Bi Halima Kibakaya, aka Mama Abbas. The idea would be to say hi to mama first thing in the morning before moving on to attend to other matters that made my visit to the city necessary.

As I stroll around Kwa Minchi—in the company of Chellangwa, a nephew—and neighbouring places such as Golf, Sabasaba and Mkwakwani, I’m impressed by the way residents cherish open spaces. Quite unlike their Dar compatriots—including sections of the elite—grab every unoccupied piece of land to erect structures.

Here in Tanga, there’re open spaces even in high-density neighbourhoods like Kwa Minchi, where Mama Abbas has lived since the early 1960s. Spaces where their children can freely play.

Big up, you people of Tanga, mapenzi yalikozaliwa—the place where love was born and bred—if we’re to go by a line in one of Mwana FA’s songs. My lodge boasts a bar where they play music in low volume—a far cry from most of our outfits in Dar—and an expansive, unroofed arena where one can sit and enjoy a drink.

I choose to sit on my own at the arena and drink under the clear night sky. When I ask a mhudumu to provide me with lemon slices for flavouring my konyagi, she obliges without a fuss. Your typical Dar mhudumu would tell you she can’t be sure because lemons belong to the kitchen staff, who are "normally difficult."

As you partake of your "Spirit of the Nation" poured from a 200ml bottle, i.e., the Kasichana, you can't help but marvel at five ladies sharing a table a few paces away from yours. Well-endowed, clad in loose, colourful gowns we call madera…and bedecked with beautiful jewellery.

They’re exchanging notes on what I suspect are details of an impending kitchen party. No animated, noisy banter, that would normally characterise this kind of group in a Dar setting.

I notice that only two of the great-looking ladies are taking beer while three are having sodas. "These ones I can handle," I tell myself.

So, I instruct the mhudumu to go and ask them if they could each have a drink on me. Instead of the mhudumu coming to me with an answer, one of the ladies walks over to me and says:

"Thank you kaka, for your offer, but we won’t accept it, for we’re about to leave…we’ll have a drink from you some other day."

That’s Tanga ladies for you.