After completing my oral proficiency evaluation relatively unscathed, I only have a short presentation to prepare for tomorrow before finishing the program! This week has been relatively uneventful, except for yesterday.
The day did not start off well. It was cold and rainy in the morning, and so I awoke feeling slightly under the weather (I am currently terrified of contracting a cold, as it would make the Kilimanjaro climb significantly harder). We left for a primary school in the morning. I was genuinely looking forward to visiting the school and interacting with the kids but unfortunately I didn't fully recover by our trip. Nonetheless, I had a great hour-long conversation with a sixth grader named Joseph. He told me anything and everything I ever needed to know about all of the plants and trees on the school's property. The school was very interesting. It has over one thousand students and anywhere from 40-60 kids in each class.
After returning from the school in the afternoon, Hugh told me that I had a package notification at reception but I needed to pay some money. I had been anticipating this package for about a week - my parents sent me some hiking pants and other necessary items for the Kilimanjaro climb, so with only two or three days remaining before the trek, I was starting to get nervous about its arrival. I went to reception to claim the package. Instead, I was given a receipt of the mailing slip from the USPS, and two pieces of paper from the Tanzanian Postal Service. The receptionist turned one of the pieces of paper over, and 97,000/= (Tanzanian shillings) was handwritten on the back. "You need to go to the post office and pay this amount." The charge was about $80 US dollars. Needless to say, I was in disbelief, especially since my parents had already paid full postage. I was planning on sleeping that afternoon. Instead, I boarded a dalladalla by myself and ventured into Arusha.
Like most people, I become fairly agitated if I think someone is trying to take advantage of me. Especially since no matter what you do, how you dress, or what you say, people will think you are overflowing with money because of your skin color. The 45 minute dalladalla ride and 30 minute walk to find the post office did nothing to calm my temper. If anything it made me more upset. I found the post office, walked to the window, and gave the postal worker the receipt I had received. I intentionally did not give her the torn-off piece of paper with the 97,000/= charge. After exchanging a few pleasantries in Swahili, she calculated the "import tax" which I needed to pay. It turned about to be the same as the first figure.
She then pointed to a numerical figure at the corner of the USPS receipt, which had an acronymn next to it. She asked if I knew what this figure meant. I said no. She then told me she also didn't know what it meant. But even still, she took this figure, converted it into Tanzanian shillings, and that's how she figured out my tax. But wait a minute, I said in Swahili, you just said you didn't know what the number was for! She then said it was the cost of the package. She pointed to a different section of the receipt, where my parents had written the costs of the items within the package for insurance purposes. She started naming the items in my package and their costs. "But those figures are only for insurance - you're not supposed to be looking at that," I said. She then said to ignore the costs of the items, but returned to the first value (whose meaning we both didn't know). She then redid her calculations. I then said she's basing this tax (which, I may add, wound up to be about 50%) off an unknown number. We went back and forth for awhile, mostly in Swahili but bits also in English.
After awhile, I laughed and said "Samahani, mimi si chizi." Or, I'm sorry, but I'm not crazy. Some people in the lobby began to notice our conversation and looked over. She then repeated the ridiculous charge which I was surely not paying. After a continued back-and-forth, I was starting to get more agitated. At this point, I laughed again, took a small step back, looked at some of the other people in line, and said (relatively loudly), "Wao ni wizi hapa!" Or, they are theives here! The people waiting loved this one, and some of them started laughing. The woman I was speaking with immediately backpeddled - I'm not a theif! This is a government policy! It's not me! She then pointed to a letter with government leatterhead, as if that was enough to convince me. She then proceeded to bring my package and open it up on the front counter. I wasn't pleased with this turn of events, but she began to go through the contents and ask me how much I paid for them (even though the values were written on the receipt). Seeking to save myself from highway robbery, I decided to bend the truth a bit.
She started with a math book which I will be giving to my host brother as a gift. To give you a sense of the ridiculous thought process, she said "There is no tax on books or computers, since they are technology." I didn't argue this point. For the pair of hiking pants, I said that I had actually bought them as used; the initial value is what was written down, but that's not what they are currently worth (even though the tags were still on them). She said she didn't believe me, since they looked new. I said that I paid a significantly lower rate than what was written.
She moved on to a dufflebag my parents also sent. It, too, was in its package, but she again asked me what I had paid (because clearly, I had purchased the American items while in Tanzanian, and sent them to myself). I decided to be cheeky and asked "Katika soko la Tengeru, mfuko huu ni shilingi ngapi?" Or, how much could I get this at the Tengeru market? She laughed and said that these are not sold in Tengeru. Even still, I drastically lowered the price of the bag. Yet again, she balked. "But this is really nice material! This is not cheap." At this point, I was entirely confused as to why she was in a position to determine the costs of items. Wanting to question her judgement of pricing, I asked her "Unafanya kazi hapa posta, au unafanya kazi soko la Tengeru?" "Do you work here in the Post Office, or do you work in the Tengeru market?" She said she worked here, but "had a lot of experience with pricing items."
She then put everything back into the box and asked me the total amount I had paid for everything. It was like a market conversation, but in reverse. I said $25 USD. She then did her bogus calculation, and she came up with a new tax of 15,000/=, or roughly $10 USD. I decided I wasn't going to get anything lower, so I paid the tax. After I paid, we talked about my studies and met her youngest daughter. "Nashukuru kukufahamu" - I'm happy to know you - I said somewhat sarcastically. She laughed and said the same to me. Before I left I said I would enjoy talking with her tomorrow. She said I was always welcome to come back. For some reason, I didn't find myself returning to the Post Office today.
She was a decently nice woman, so I felt badly that I gave her a bit of a hard time, but I know taking advantage of the mzungu when I see it. Unfortunately, on that afternoon, when I should have been recovering, I was not in a mood to cater to their gauging tendencies. I always anticipate having to barter at a market or at other informal (non-governmental) places. Thus it took me by surprise when I learned I needed to also 'barter' at the post office. Either way, I successfully retrieved my package and managed to avoid emptying my bank account in the process.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in town with some friends. Today is relatively calm, since the oral proficiency exam is over. Just a quick presentation about the Tragedy of the Commons tomorrow, and I am finished!
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