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Thicker than Water
As usual, our over-sensitive Canadian way of dealing with problems had led us to believe that the msela had reached their breaking point, that their friendships had been irreversibly shattered, and that certain individuals (Ninja) may have to be forced to leave the project for good. What we forgot was that we weren’t in North American anymore, that people argue sometimes, and that a little scraping in the life of a group of young street hustlers is anything but strange. Sure, we’d spent the night lying awake with Ninja’s threats of suicide and causing harm sending our imaginations reeling, but in the morning, after hearing that the theatrics continued over at the maskani, we realized that they were just that, theatrics. None of these guys would choose this life if they were given the choice, but if there is one thing a street youth is proud of, it’s being a street youth.
Our messenger, Mwingi, informed us that they had worked things out, but didn’t hesitate to show us the nick he had endured from the broken bottle while trying to hold back the crazed Ninja. Knowing full well that he is vying for a spot as the leader of the msela and that he would not object to Ninja getting the boot from the project, we took his account of the mornings events with a grain of salt. We sent Ninja a note telling him, essentially, to chill out and went about our day, shooting some interviews but being careful not to pass too close to the maskani so as not to stir the pot any more than we already had.
House Hunting and being hunted
It was clear that Ninja needed to live by himself, so we set out to see the rooms that the other msela had found for themselves, hoping that price had been discussed before word got out that wazungus (white people) were involved. Well, it had and it hadn’t. The day was spent in hot rooms, with some hotheaded msela trying to play us while in cahoots the “housing managers”, even hotterheaded landlords un-stealthily trying to pull the wool over our eyes, making us even hotter, treks through some of the most dangerous ghettos in Dar (see Jay’s humorous but un-exaggerated account here), arguing over “finders fees”, and explaining that even us wazungus knew the difference between 1.5 Millioni Shillingi and 1.8 Millioni Shillingi. It was exhausting but at the end of the day, we had a house.
Nyumba Msela! A House for the guys!
It houses 12-15 youth and by uswalini (ghetto) standards, it’s REALLY nice. We are happy. The msela are happy. I don’t think I can accurately compare the colossal-ness of this change to anything else, certainly nothing in my own life. Not only is the physical difference of sleeping alfresco street-side to sleeping indoors a huge change, but also little things that we take for granted, like having a place to leave your few personal items (books, clothing), sleeping for more than 2 or 3 hours at a time because not police or security guards are going to make you move or throw you in Juvi, and best of all, a mattress.
You’d think we were buying them all gold Rolex watches and 1200 Thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. 6 foam mattresses later and the guys had a furnished home. But you can’t exactly phone up U-Haul when you’re a street kid in Dar, so we proceeded to carry “home” the goods through markets, mud and suicidal traffic in true African style, on our heads.
