When Mo was small: Part 1 Dar

One of the main reasons for coming to Dar was that I remembered living there when I was small (aged four to seven). They were child's memories, of course, mostly of the family, friends, the dog and so on. Maybe we could find the house?

We had some black and white pictures. One was of the house, one was of me on my sixth birthday sitting on a donkey in front of the house, with my Dad standing next to me. The donkey was the party entertainment, and a huge success. I remember lining up to feed it bits of carrot - I suspect a very unfamiliar experience for the donkey. The owner of the donkey, who standing next to me and Dad, also looks a bit bemused.

The house

We knew the house had been in Burton Street and I knew it wasn't far from the sea. There had been a primary school next door and a nursery school opposite. The names of the streets have all been changed now, of course. But we used google - dear google how did we ever manage without you? -  and found that Burton Street was now Shaaban Robert Street. (Burton was the name of an English explorer. Shaaban Robert was a significant 20th century Swahili poet. A good change then.)

So off we went to find Shaaban Robert, just a quarter of an hour's walk from our hotel. It was quite a long road, but as we got towards the sea end, there was the house!
It was altered - the ground floor which had been open to the air has been turned into offices - but recognisable. The tree in the front garden, the placing of the gate: it all matched the photo and my memory.

We weren't supposed to take a picture of it because it is now a government building - the office for the registration of political parties. The security guards at the gate saw us taking one and gestured for us to stop. So I went over and explained in my halting Swahili why we were there. He was very friendly and interested so I said we would come back another day with photos.

Two days later we went back. I felt a bit of a fool bothering to do so. Why would the security guards want to see these pictures, after all. Still no harm in keeping my word.

We produced the photos. Wow! The power of a picture. That little girl was this old granny! 60+ years ago! Such a long time ago! He told us that we could enter as long as we signed the registration book. Good heavens! How  brilliant!

We went in to the garden, hesitantly, and the guard told us to go up the stairs into the house. There we found a reception desk with a rather impassive registrar, listening a little sceptically while I stumbled through my explanation. But again, my halting, ungrammatical Swahili plus the photos were transformational. Everyone in the office crowded round, exclaiming.

At that point a big car turned in through the gate. 'There's your Dad!' joked someone. Heck. It was indeed the Director. He walked in and we all introduced ourselves, explaining in English this time. He turned out to be both a very important man and a kind and generous one. He sent somebody off to scan the photos and invited us up to his office. He was also very interested in Peter's two year FAO job in Dar, 40 years ago. He particularly liked what I could remember of what the building had looked like. He was pleased to learn how old it was. We told him my brother thinks it was built in about 1920 by Germans. The information was useful, partly because the building is due for renovation and its historical character would then be relevant.

Learning where I thought my bedroom had been, the Director kindly got the relevant office opened. I remember being in disgrace for writing on the wall by the bed. But where I thought my bed had been there was no wall? But look, said somebody, you can see here where the wall was, just where she says. It must have been taken down at some point during alterations.

All just wonderful. We went out into the front garden and had our photos taken with the Director, and went off feeling overwhelmed by the whole experience.

Oyster Bay

We also have the photo of me standing by the long sandy beach in Oyster Bay. I remember the name well but not the place. I remember beaches in Dar, and the coral reefs, but not anywhere in particular.

Still it was worth having a look. We got a taxi which waited while we had a look. Still no memories were jogged but for some reason we found it just delightful. It wasn't a very touristy part of the beach.

I went and stood on the beach, in a similar spot to the photo and Peter took photos.

There weren't any of the big beach hotels nearby. Instead, on a cloudy, windy day, we found a few people sitting around; a few of them had hired tyres to play in the waves. (Peter wondered about the death rate. It's a dangerous thing to do.) Somebody was cutting holes in the tops of coconuts and selling the milk. The local crows were happy about this, putting their beaks through the holes and getting the flesh.

Then I paddled a bit and we all felt happy. (Even the taxi driver who had got a good fare that day.)