Postcards from East Africa

Postcard from Africa - Part 4

Golf, iphones, and a rat!

This has been my first full weekend in Arusha, Tanzania and it was time to be adventurous.

I have just taken possession of the smallest car in Arusha as my own personal vehicle. Its a Toyota micro (whatever that is in Europe) and has the clearance of an ant, which is not so handy as I keep getting stuck on speed ramps.

However I am driving myself now which is a huge relief, as to be independent from my driver is so much better than being driven. He's nice enough but there is something very pathetic about being driven around.... its a male thing I think. Anyway after work on Saturday (we work til 12,30pm) I decided to head off to the golf course and play a round of the Arusha International Park and Country Club (not the real name, trust me).

I wanted to ring ahead to book a tee time but unfortunately my iphone has given up at long last. I had the screen repaired by a Russian guy called Alex during my stay in Brussels. Alex gave me a guarantee that if there were any problems to come back and give him more money. Alternatively I could just burn 200 USD in used bills and then punch myself in the eye. My iphone is a nophone.

I checked the internet to find if anyone in Tanzania could help with getting a replacement iphone and I found a website professing to sell iphones for 300 USD from Darasalaam...

Although most intelligent people reading this will immediately say 'WARNING! This sounds dodgey...cheap iphone plus Africa plus internet', it is very different when you are looking for yourself and trying to figure out a way to avoid paying 500 Euros.

I entered into an email discussion with the company, who first asked me how many units I wanted, then they asked me to hand over all personal information, swiftly followed by the 'please transfer all funds by Western Union' statement. They offered a similar guarantee to Alex The Russian.

I decided to be a little smart and asked for some proof of their legitimacy, and so they sent me their Company House registration for their company in the UK.... its attached to this email.....

When I checked this document and it ultimately proved to be fake, I presented the owner (Raja) and his sidekick Elton Jerry (isn't it funny what names people hide behind to give the appearance of legitimacy) with the facts.

They replied as follows:

Dear Sir,
Fuck Off
Raja

This is the second time in two months that I have been told to fuck off... Frankly this one I didn't deserve.

Anyway I arrived at the Golf Course to be greeted by the 'club pro' who was wearing a mis matched suit with a flowery shirt, which was I suppose an Afro tribute to Ian Poulter in someway. (for those who dont know Ian Poulter, Google image him!)

I asked if I could play 18 holes, and he said yes and demanded 30 dollars. I offered Tanzanian Shillings, after all it was Tanzania. He preferred dollars. Kerching!

He then said I needed a caddie. I was expecting his additional revenue stream so I said I preferred to carry my own clubs. As many of my own golfing buddies will attest, I hate being watched whilst I play golf. this statement was met with apparent incredulity and disgust.

Not put off by my dismissive bravado, the golf pro, Mr. Lion Woods (no Tigers in Africa) said I needed one because the caddie would replace divots and repair pitch marks on the green. I got a little flustered at this point and so I lied that I was a 3 handicapper and had been playing 30 years.

Oooops. Have I learned nothing in life? Apparently not.

'3 handicapper? I shall come with you and watch,' He said, and followed to see me hit my first drive to see if I really did know what I was doing.

What I should have said was that I was a 12 handicapper... that would have been sufficient. Why the hell did I say 3!???

Within minutes the whole caddie pool, a dishevelled group of teenagers appeared on the scene to see what a single figure handicapper's swing was like. I also think that there was a real sense of indignation that I wasn't prepared to shell out some small amount of money to help the local economy, a mistake I will not repeat.

On reaching the first tee, looking like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, I warmed up a little with some stretches, which didn't really seem to impress the caddie boys, but for me it was the only preparation I could afford before stepping up onto the tee box, placing my ball and swinging away.

The pressure was intense. The first fairway was over 200 yards away between two very large jacaranda trees, and it needed a small fade in order to land on the fairway proper. Fading is not my problem.... that's called a slice. I have buckets of slice to go around. The problem I had was that I hate being watched and now I had an audience of around 15 African lads, all probably single figure naturals all waiting for the bullshitting Mzungu (Swahili for white dude) to fall flat on his face.

I prayed to the God of Golf for help, and for the first time in months a prayer was answered. The ball sailed betwixt the trees with a little left to right fade, bounced on the fair way, and whilst the caddies disappointment was audibly palpable, I quietly slotted my driver into my bag and with a nonchalant air headed off into the distance, wearing the biggest grin I have worn since Danielle Venuti's Suzuki Jimny's engine seized.

The game went downhill from there. I lost all my golf balls by the ninth. I lost four on one hole. I actually hit a hotel by mistake and hid behind a tree until the security guard gave up looking for the guilty party. But none of this mattered. because when it mattered most, the first tee, I had performed.

Tired and carrying a golf bag somewhat lighter than when I arrived, I headed back to the Arusha Coffee Lodge for a well earned shower. I have got a great room and really comfy and peaceful, and with Sky Sports. Caramaba! However greeting me on my arrival was something that I was not expecting.

There is after all a long list of things that I would love to see sitting on my large white double bed in my room after a hard days golf. Here's my list:

A beautiful 30 year old blonde (female)
A toasted cheese and ham sandwich and diet coke
A 1965 Scalextric Grand prix set with a Stirling Moss lotus
A Daily Telegraph with intact crossword
A twelve pack of Callaway Gold Golf balls

Unfortunately I received none of these.

It was in fact a rat. Not just any old rat. It was an Arushan rat. It looked more like a horse with short legs. I could have entered it in for the Grand National it was so big.

I looked at the rat, and the rat looked at me. I decided to name it Red Rum. Without taking my eyes off it I reached for a golf club, choosing it as carefully as I would do if I were still on that first tee: not too low a club as this would have too long a shaft and reduce my ability to swing at it. Not too small a club as a needed a flat face in order to make a good contact. A putter would have been silly.

I grabbed my Rescue club.

I walked gingerly toward the bed; the rat leaped from the bed and came straight towards me. I dropped my man hood, and expelled some gases and turned and ran for the door dropping the club in the process. I would love to say that the rat picked up the club and followed in pursuit - it could have done with the size of its paws. However I feel a need to keep these postcards as real as possible.

However it galloped off in the direction of the town centre, clearing a couple of fences in one bound.

Now you may think this is a pretty uninteresting tale but the story isn't over. Last night the rat reappeared.... whilst i was sleeping. It crawled across my bed and got caught up in the mosquito netting. Scared the living crap out of me in the morning. I will send you images of the night porter trying to get it out of the room....

I asked the night porter if they normally get rats in the rooms.

'Only paying ones', he said.

My first taste of African humour.

I will explain my hunt for an apartment here in my next postcard...

That's it....

hope everyone is healthy, wealthy, and happy.

JB