The buildings are on the harbor in a line along the Strand (renamed Wilhelms Ufer by the Germans, renamed Azania Front by the English, renamed Kivukoni Front by the Tanzanians). They are substantial train-shed-like wood and stucco structures with a few architectural flourishes—arabesque lintels and tile-roofed porches—indicating a Germanic attempt to go native. I went to the Bureau of Statistics, President’s Office, Planning Commission at 3:30. Just too late. Everyone had gone home, although there was one man left in a large, dusty room stacked with copies of government publications and pamphlets, many of them yellowing and dating back to the ’60s. These were for sale, but for some reason, the man couldn’t sell them to me. But he showed me several that he said would be excellent for me to buy, including the Tanzanian Statistical Abstract (most recent available: 1994), the Tanzanian Budget (most recent available: 1994), and the National Accounts of Tanzania From 1976 to the Present (the present, in Tanzania, being 1994). He then gave me a heartfelt speech about current politico-economic conditions in Tanzania, of which I didn’t understand much. As the American accent tends to flatten most vowels into an uh, the Tanzanian accent tends to flatten most consonants into a sound somewhere between an l, n, t, d, and r. He did wind up, however, by saying, “Until that, you can pour aid in, and all you’ll get is . . . ,” and he pantomimed a fat man. There was exactly such a fellow at the bar in the Sheraton that night, in the very largest size of Armani clothes, with a great deal of jewelry. It’s rare to see a stout Tanzanian, but, now that jail time for driving a Mercedes is no longer the practice, it happens. And when Africans use the phrase “big man,” it’s not a metaphor. The big man had his cell phone, his Filofax, his double Johnny Walker Black, and a pile of U.S. dollars on the bar in front of him and coolly left them lying there as he made frequent trips to the pay telephone, because Tanzania didn’t have cell phones yet. I went back to the Bureau of Statistics at 9:30 the next morning. Just too early. No one had arrived yet. I wandered unchallenged through the offices, a dark bafflement of low warrens and vaulted passageways with broken tile underfoot and crazed and damp-stained plaster on the walls. It gave a sinister impression until I noticed that the place was furnished with beat-up Ikea-modern furniture and bulletin boards covered with photos of kids, cutout newspaper cartoons, and postcards from vacationing pals. The government offices of Tanzania look like what would happen if Franz Kafka designed the national PTA
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