Entering the airport perpetuated the comparison. There was a mad rush to fill out the entry card and forms, and begin to stand in that never-ending mosh of impatient travelers wishing to get their visa and begin their journey. A young man slyly sidled in front of me in the mosh, keeping his eyes on the visa windows and avoiding eye contact. I looked at the dark passport he clutched in his hands - "Republic of India." I smiled a little bit internally, picturing the same scene in the Delhi airport.
An airport official then came over to me, pointing at the visa application of an elderly man of South Asian descent, indicating they wished to know if I had seen the man. I shook my head, slightly perplexed - no, I had not seen the man, why wasn't he asking anyone else around me? Another woman came over a couple minutes later, "Is this your father," she asked?
I found the driver sent to pick me up as I exited the airport, shaking my head at the eager taxi drivers wishing to pick up another customer. We began the journey to Upanga, known as the "Indian neighborhood," to the research house of a friends I will be staying at for the first few days. "How does Indian food sound tonight?" they asked. "Perfect!" I replied.
When we got to dinner, I began to confuse my surroundings - a cement paved outside seating area, full of Indian patrons. The menu looked authentic, and included pav bhaji and other unmistakably Indian appetizers. While men of Tanzanian descent took our orders, Indian families chatted and chuckled around us. But it wasn't until I was lying under my mosquito net later that night, listening to "Vande Mataram" blare on the seemingly neighborhood-wide speakers that I began questioning where I was, and how small the world of ours truly is.
Regardless, I am excited to begin my journey today, and discover all that is distinctly Tanzanian.
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