Oh, it's not that Tanzanians aren't racist: we are. Flamingly so. It's just that we let the simmering resentments bubble up slowly in Kiswahili where nobody can hear them until they are ready to scald everyone. Yet somehow we manage to take the lid off the pot before the house burns down.
"We have, on the state broadcaster no less, a program dedicated to interviewing Tanzanians who have migrated legally or illegally to greener economic pastures. It is a great show, no holds barred, with folks talking about how to stow-away on ships to South Africa and such. Hint: teach your children how to swim, Tanzanian parents, you never know if they're going to need it. We all know who pipelines the opiates from Asia to the continent and beyond. It's a little ridiculous for us to claim moral authority on the issue of migration: forced, legal or otherwise."
I can't imagine Dar without her Japanese, Chinese, Lebanese restaurants. Her mexican-indian food and her pilaus and octopus curries. If anyone even attempts to get in the way of the benefits that migration has conferred upon my palate, I get a little cranky.
Speaking of cranky, just a quick note: So Kenyans are constantly getting in touch about my apparent anti-Kenyan sentiments and I just want to say two things: nobody disses the hell out of the ones they don't love, so appreciate the backhanded compliment for the stinging endorsement that it is and leave my gmail alone. And I do love Kenya. Specifically, the rugby team. Who are welcome to Dar anytime, guys, anytime.