I Lost My Confirmation Id For My Appointment

Tanzania energized. About

Yesterday at the first reading stage in the first Tanzanian reader the power went out, the show was then continued in the spotlight. The electricity provided by two cars with running engines.


is sad that the Clove hotel my room was already taken, I would have to confirm again, I learn from the manager. It refers me to the Kiponda, which costs only 20 $ a night and I also seem sufficient. Then to divine meal at a Danish doctor, Leonie has a charming, about 10 year old daughter. The lady who celebrates her farewell because, she flies back to Aarhus sailing, passion, work on a boat made of cement they will be ready in 30 years, now. In Zanzibar, there were 10 years on a poor doctor, she says, even Europeans, who only took money from the rich and treated the poor for free. Then he rumgebrüllt drunk and the local head of government abuses, he was immediately expelled.


Later, through the dark, narrow hum of the generator filled city. The ongoing for weeks by power failure, damage to a submarine cable from Dar Es Salaam caused and no one knows how long it will continue for. The feeling is, nothing happens. In the hotel room it is to endure with the ceiling fan to some extent, lie under the mosquito net in his underpants. How do I But if it is off by 22 of the clock generator, sweating through the night going, which is another story.
How long do I need sometimes, to the obvious, obvious, in my head to the ingenious idea: Of course, the power failure, causes, consequences, reporting expected duration, etc., plus beautiful photos of the night lighting scenes, so tomorrow fresh to work, scribbler !

unexpectedly fabulous sleep, morning will come on for half an hour of electricity, after a week and my digestive tract is back to normal, what a joy to live!

I meet Leonie Schollmeyer. Sometimes they ask friends or relatives: "You have frequent power failure?" "No," she laughs, then, "We only have one, and the last four weeks!" She is one of the German employees of the Dhow Countries Music Academy, which resides at the port of the island in an Arab villa . Drums, guitars, piano and violin sounds by the cool courtyard, and the roar of a generator.

The now broken power cable through the Indian Ocean from Ras Kilomoni on the mainland of Tanzania to Zanzibar Ras Fumba. Hakon Hamre, Norwegian engineer, the Tanzanian authorities were called in to help, said after visiting the facilities in Zanzibar: "I can not say when power is restored, but we expect that the work lasts up to three months because the problem is very special. "He leads the failure of the cable back to a surge that occurred on the fateful day as a result of the collapse of the Tanzanian electricity grid. The messages of the Tanzanian press about the "Zanzibar power blues" are confusing, the cable had exploded, the cooling fluid for the line would be sent to France to be tested there before using the oil for a new cable, even though this oil in 28 years, successfully protecting cables in Dar Es Salaam. What is certain, however: There is no electricity and no one knows when he returns. Hotels and small factories were forced to close, 30,000 people were made redundant by the current lock. These figures are probably difficult to confirm in a country where most are unemployed anyway. Undoubtedly, the fishermen take the lack of energy the most, get the larger fish no longer sells: What you can not eat on the same day would inevitably perish for lack of cooling.

A Spaniard, who runs a hotel near the city calls the blackout a "nightmare", the offer of restaurants is limited, water prices have risen to 1,000 shillings for the 20-liter bottle. The prices for Water, gasoline and diesel have almost doubled, generators are no longer there to buy, either here or in the three hours away by ferry capital Dar Es Salaam.

Nassor Rajubu Dachi is the director of the local branch of the Bank FBME, and of course he can not talk about economic impact on his business and can not photograph well. But his private situation, he is glad to provide information. He buys petrol for the generator of the neighbors and therefore they get electricity. The fact that neighbors come closer through this situation is a good thing. Finally, he sings the praises of the government that all the generators from their offices for the water sources has made available.

mosquito Quinckhardt, Director of Music, is skeptical about the quick non-bureaucratic help. The Hamburg woman with Huguenot roots knows Zanzibar since 1989: "That one has no electricity for hours and days is normal. But over a month? "Only after several days they thought that it would soon be over.
native students learn in the academy traditional music. There, they first changed their daily work, read the paper, instead of information on the Internet, the shelves have been cleaned up and all done what you need no power. With her laptop she could, if the battery was charged, three hours and texts Write protocols. Now part of the daily routine to sit two hours in a Stone Town Café, to charge the phone and the laptop to access the Internet while drinking coffee for 1500 shillings. The culture of conversation is changing significantly, with the Swedish couple at close quarters, with whom she had never spoken, they talked for hours now with electricity and water. In general the fruitful discussions, also in her school: ". It is remarkable how has communication improved," There were so stories that the cable had been laid 30 years ago and have a maximum lifetime of 30 years, but no arrangements had been made, No spare parts were available. Earlier there were here for each neighborhood generators, which were all removed and sold.

The guide raves about the largest city of Zanzibar: from "The streets of Stone Town radiate peace and calmness, and sometimes, it seems that time stands still. Any hassle and stress gone from home for a time forgotten. "Who said the city is buzzing around every corner, no shop, no hotel, no bank and no restaurant is currently out of diesel generator. David Livingstone named the city despicable "Stinkibar": "The night stench is so blatant that one could cut a piece of it in order to own to fertilize the garden. "Sewerage these states has long since improved, but could see the city again today call it that. But it is now the stench of the generators.

Interrogate still Farina (11) about what they dislike the power failure: that one can have anything warm in the morning. One has to draw water by hand, the noise of the generators that you can read anything. School is out, because being on vacation anyway. But on the first day of the blackout they had tests and the class was on the generator and made a hell of a noise. That you get no cold, no ice, without paying twice. Also Zalia (10) remembers the beginning, because they had a 4-liter box eat ice cream, then it was bad. That one night in the darkness stumbles, like the children either. But some positive Farina recognizes the energy shortage: "There is more communication standards is that everyone has a great wall around his house, now reads: Where you download to your mobile phone? Do you have water? Can I charge my cell phone with you? "Most of it is painful, that they can look at any of the 60 DVDs that she has brought from Germany.

I eat again in Malindi, where they already know the only Mzulu and bring me the same as yesterday. While the locals the spice seeds and bark all draped next to the plate to the oil-cloth blankets, eating I do everything on. Note the futile attempt at a nap, like a new wave of diarrhea gurgles from the stomach into the lower intestine.

Later I had the good fortune of Schlenderers, the highlight of my power-blues research: Meet on a fully in-service generator repair shop, where I can hold you my video camera a lot of sound bites. Really excited the operator, a pair of brothers, not the changes caused by the power outage are: Two times is already with them have been broken into. Whether they want, that stops the power failure? They laugh, that's an answer.

book the hotel I head over heels for the ride tomorrow by 8 to Bwejuu on the east coast. The hotel manager said, had assured the Chief of Tanzania, today or latest tomorrow, the blackout was over. Hope that God forbid there. All my research, All in the ass?

night I'm sitting on the terrace at Africa House, with the couple, he a physicist from Munich, they have a Abiturientin from Reinickendorf who has volunteered in southern Tanzania, and a tax-aid workers from Hanau at a table. Hanau, call it also the city of golden jewelry. Never heard of it. Here in Zanzibar, there is no Tribalism, the right attitude in general in Tanzania, the corruption here is smaller than in Kenya. It agrees with me that to Zanzibar Helgoland was a bad exchange. What am I ran around today, but it was good.

½ 9 departure, the trip to Bwejuu the minibus cost 12 000 shillings, $ 10, with me on the bus are still a Dutch female couples and three locals. It is one of the many discarded vehicles in China, some on the streets still have the Chinese auflackiert promotional literature.
Soon it passes through the poorer suburbs, there are no generators to see more. A large market, zebu, a cemetery, palm forests, bush. When honked, cyclists must give way and the street on the hard shoulder. Force signs and road humps slow Driving, as I was just wondering what animals cross the road here, crocodiles? Hippos? Aurochs? I see the cute monkeys in the wild, if one can call it here in the street near the Sun
a Africafe, generally administered as the soluble coffee is here, I am in the culinary center of Evergreen Bungalows to me. Here in paradise so I'll spend 24 hours reading, writing, hopefully, jogging, and it still asks me in: What am I doing here?

Later I lay in the sun and read Kapuscinski's "African fever" is over, what a wonderful book and a pity that I have now read. Rain and storm, at least I've probably gotten enough sun. Jimmy wants a dubious 10 000 shillings deposit to buy gasoline for the trip back tomorrow, his scarred dude in blue is no more confidence-inspiring, too stupid rip-off may not be threaded.
Unlike yesterday, I succeed in my palm hut of the afternoon nap. The awareness of sleep fills me with so irrepressible, all-encompassing lucky that I did not remind me of something similar can.

is the night in a Bwejuu some crazy episode of malaria-mosquito attacks and involvement in the stupid mosquito net. Reading GALORE April to the end, an interview with Maxim Biller, in the he claims, intelligent German women love good sex, otherwise it appears to present a complete asshole, arrogant and boring. Whether he does it on purpose? The magazine interview despite drink-thin, full of mistakes ("the summer from the balcony"), content and style. The needles with which they sew together the magazine are probably a bit hot.

Monica Roccaforte The Best

explorers and Sodabi

One of the three men has shouldered a hoe, the style carved roughly, the iron slightly wavy. No relic of the Bronze Age, but most important tool in the field. Beside him on the same level, perhaps his brother, the only bulb in the night hard shadows on the work of the sun and tanned face. At the head of the father's or chief of his district to the greeting ritual, to which the small following matches rhythmically.
- Hail. - Yes hail. - How's the family? - Yes, the family's doing well. - The family, their's is good? - Yes, and health, making health? - Well, what do the children? Yes well, the woman's doing well? - What makes the field? - Yes the box, it is .- And the mother? - Yes, brother? - Father? - Grandma? - The niece? - The cous ...? - Hm! Hm! The sentences are shorter, too short sentences, Words follow draw back into the palate and die slowly in quiet nascent buzz on the lips. Minutes pass. I try to focus, to miss the end of history do not tell the Issifou straight on, when he has finished the greeting is.

Behind me is a long day, a long drive through red laterite. Dust stirred up by our car, long and dense as the contrails of the aircraft shall, to the dry river beds, in the columns of the dryness gaping earth, or the children on their way to school. In the village it is good form to bring small gifts. Batteries, cigarettes, pens, radio, photos from the past The laughter of times
forensic Bar, the village founder, exploded in the shade of the baobab tree, our heads touch two times on the opposite side of the forehead, in thanks for the bottle of gin, which is here not only appreciated by the spirits. Guests will enjoy fee could bar forensic two glasses, water glasses, the temperature at 30 degrees gin poured to the brim, we handed the glasses. This does not, we had thought, looked in bars shining face, his glowing with joy at the guests eyes. The gin burned down our throats down at 43 degrees outside temperature, the heat cooled down like a bell loosened protect us, the tongues, ready for a tour through the village, on arrival, to check into our little hut, which had cleared for us.

forensic bar with a purple baseball jacket, a frayed Bermuda shorts and a traditional, up to current conical cap, similar to a stocking cap, but without the tip of purple-colored, too. He followed a few years ago a path that has been beaten for a road into the bush, burned all his way standing trees for a field, plowed with a simple hoe, for the coveted yams to plant, love the heat like a volcano's lava flows . It came Dendi, Fulbe, Hausa, Fongbe as Christians, Muslims or animists, they live in the neighborhoods, peaceful, as farmers, while supplies last. It goes without having to resort to a common language. Only their children, they play with the languages as if they were their empty bicycle coats, they hunt with sticks through the village. It is my friend, the geographer who is interested in these population movements, which I accompanied here.


The Sodabi, a liquor derived from palm trees, sharp as a razor and as clear as the instinct of a hyena in front of his prey, flows into the small glass from the bottle without a label, makes the rounds with the man the Hacke, perhaps his brother, the boss or father to us. The visitors, on the family, on the field, the wealth, the newborn, happiness, fertility, ancestors. And each time, before the Sodabi the way into the shallows of the body will burn freely a few drops poured on the earth, as a tribute to the spirits, the fetishes, the Marabous.
Issifou, in whose house we sit welcomes the one or the other newcomer, had the thread of his story long ago lost what none of us noticed, and tells of a radio broadcast, reported in a Benin professional football player, was the give up his career had, as he noted with pain, he had broken glass in his knee. Jealous relatives from his native village, with the ancestors in the league, had inflicted it. Murmur, compassion, one is never sure what he had done well. Had he not played just bad, we wanted to know. Laughter. Issifou knew that already from us. A game between him, the wizard of the geographer and the saint himself. Incredible that we can think of something. Only whites can be so incredulous. Until late into the night goes on like that, in light of the bare light bulb in the singing of the cicadas, the squeaking of the belt of the corn mill, the cawing of the radios from the Dendi or Haussaviertel through which powder invulnerable or invisible, on Geldverdoppler or charlatans.