Gaam Strikes Back: The Leaning Tower and Other Recent Developments ONE AFTERNOON NOT LONG AGO after a meeting in New Haven I took a taxi for the intercity bus terminal, from where I would head off to the airport. The driver, a man in his thirties, was yammering away on his cell phone, had barely time to look up for instructions. My irritation, however, evaporated as soon as I realized that he was speaking in Swahili. I let him go on for a good twenty minutes or so, eavesdropping on a bit of trivial gossip, until finally he stopped the taxi and looked at me in his mirror. I asked him quietly, in Swahili, “Zitakua ngapi?” How much will that be? He gasped. We exchanged niceties, and went our ways. There is something about Tanzania and its lingua franca, Swahili. There’s a certain way to speak it that identifies you, and when there’s a chance to speak it, you can’t keep your mouth shut. You love to banter in it, it’s your possession. Recently I arrived at Dar es Salaam airport with a friend, and found myself waiting while he obtained his visa.
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