Marooned at 6°S

In Arabic, Dar Es Salaam means "Having the Peace". For me, it meant a place I was stuck in for 10 days. That's a long damn time! So let's discuss...

First and foremost, Dar should be commended for being one of the safest cities in Africa. Day and night, it is perfectly okay to stroll about in the town, without having to fear a violent attack or a terrifying mugging. Even in the wee hours of the morning, you can see groups of women meandering around, free of the fear that hangs over more perilous cities such as Nairobi and Johannesburg. Tanzanians will tell you that this is due to their country's peaceful history; even in the imperial age, no blood was ever shed here.

Due to its eclectic mix of cultures and close proximity to the sea, Dar is a food lover's paradise. Seafood is available everywhere, and the fish will taste good at even the shabbiest local eatery. (I recommend the grilled changu at the YMCA cafeteria). On the restaurant scene, your choices are practically unlimited, with quality Indian, Lebanese, Chinese, Ethiopian and Zanzibari cuisine on offer. It's a refreshing departure from the ordinary Tanzanian fare, which is oily and salty and generally awful. Example? A classical local breakfast is a french fry omelette. I tried one. I could feel myself getting fatter.

Islam is very prevalent here, and the architecture tends to reflect that. The city skyline is dotted with minarets that are painted in pink and blue and white. The spires cast their shadows on the walls of the modern office towers next door. Down below, Muslims peacefully mill about the streets, chatting in groups over a cup of chai, awaiting the call to prayer that emanates from the mosques. The first call comes at 5AM. I know this because it woke me up every damn day.

Dar has two excellent markets. The first, known simply as the Fish Market, is in a massive lot next to the shore, where many tons of ocean delicacies change hands 7 days a week. The place is a massacre of blood and entrails, where young men walk about with giant stingrays draped over their backs, and even younger boys use giant machetes to hack away at 50lb yellow-fin tunas. On the nearby beach, fisherman bang away at the woodwork of rickety dhows, preparing the small crafts for the next day at sea.

Back in the city is the Kariakoo Market, which acts as the centre of commerce for the local agriculture and livestock industries. Tropical fruits are sold by the truckload. I wanted to buy a ton of pineapples, but didn't have the correct change.
One of the buildings is dedicated solely to spices. Cardamom, cloves, saffron, cumin seed and a multitude of other small fragrant pellets are on display there, stored in giant burlap bags that line the hallways. If you close your eyes, your olfactory senses run wild, and you could imagine that you're swimming around in a very large curry.
But it's not all that pleasant. On my way out of the market, I found myself in the live poultry aisle. There must have been hundreds of crates containing thousands of chickens, stuffed into the boxes with their feet tied together. The smell was rank and the sound - an orchestra of pleading clucks - was haunting. I booked it out of there as fast as I could, preferring as I do my blissful ignorance when it comes to eating flesh. It goes without saying that I ordered a Greek salad for dinner that evening.

Sick of Dar city? Good thing there are some nice beaches nearby. A quick ferry across the bay and a 10-minute minibus ride takes you to Kipepeo, a stretch of sand and palm trees so pretty that you could never imagine a giant city was just down the road. I spent a great day at Kipepeo, roasting my outers in the sun and wetting my inners with Tusker Lager. Then I spent a night being horribly dehydrated.

Did I say safe city? Well, even the greatest of utopias still have jerks. On my ultimate day in Dar, a potentially dodgy situation manifested itself while I was heading to lunch with a pair of American girls. As we were walking on the road between the moving traffic and some parked cars, we were passed by a couple of local guys proceeding in the opposite direction. Suddenly, one of the guys stepped on my foot, then wheeled around and grabbed my wrist, looking at me as if in apology. Just then, I noticed that his buddy has his hand in my pocket.
It's remarkable how fast your instincts can kick in. In one movement, I wriggled free from the grip of the first guy and lunged at the would-be pickpocket, my hands going directly for his neck. He recoiled quickly, but I still got a handle on his shirt collar, and I shook him violently. Apparently he was just looking for some free cash and not for a fight, because he immediately went limp and raised his hands in the air. The first jerk came over and began to yell, saying that it had all been an innocent mistake, but I'm no fool; I saw exactly what was happening and so did the girls. No big deal in the end, though I did feel bad for one of the Americans... she had just arrived in Africa that morning and spent the rest of the day muttering about wondering what she had gotten herself into.

But it matters not. Dar is a cool city. Even if there are a couple of shit-for-brains thieves hanging about.