Monday, May 17, 2004
Did I already say that I rode my bicycle to the Bujora Museum? That was last weekend actually, but I think something else had come up that I wanted to write about instead. The Bujora Museum is north of Mwanza, leaving town on Nyerere Road out past the large white mosque that somehow looks out of place and the big used clothing market, disguised by its narrow entryway between two used sneaker stalls. Out past Nyekato where they are building the big new bus station that will be so completely inconvenient to use, to the first of the series of long upgrades leading to Kisessa where the arrow on the road sign points left to Bujora.
Those upgrades are the problem with the ride to Bujora. Mwanza is low, by the lake, and although Kisessa is at a perfect distance for a bike ride at 18 km from Mwanza it is also the highest point on the way to Bunda. Most bike rides feel like they are mostly uphill, but this one really is. Still, my bike is good and so it is just a matter of gearing down and going a little slower.
I’m surprised that I never get comments about the bicycle helmet the Peace Corps insists we wear and that I really do when I am on high speed roads. I have yet to see another helmet and if my white skin isn’t enough to attract attention, the helmet is a flashing neon sign. But nobody has ever pointed at it and laughed as I ride by.
It is also unusual to see a white guy riding in the country, with or without a helmet. Since my bike is beautifully balanced I like to take my hands off the handlebars and sit up straight with my arms at my side while I pedal. That astonishes Tanzanians, because it is totally impossible to do with their horrid Chinese-made Phoenixes. So I picked up six or seven other bike riders who were curious enough to follow me, and who wanted to see how long I could ride without touching the handlebars. I felt like I was leading a pelethon – and I really was. A few tried the no hands bit, but gave up after they nearly fell.
It wasn’t a fair situation. On the upgrades I could just gear down and keep going without working hard. On their heavy one-speeds their kiswahili chatter would get less and less and then I would begin hearing long sighs. Still, they kept with me all the way to Kisessa. Good company.
Bujora Museum was created by a Catholic priest, a Franciscan I think, who had begun collecting cultural artifacts and icons of the Sukuma tribe. The Sukuma are one of the larger tribes that make up Tanzania although little of their culture remains beyond the language that many still use. Unfortunately the founder died some years ago and the Museum is looking a bit seedy now. There are about a dozen authentic huts, a large church built in the style and decoration of a Sukuma royal house, a dance building, a royal throne house, and then a conference center and numerous apartments built “in the style of...”
For all that, the Sukuma style is quite interesting. Lots of repetitions and variations of triangles. Even the windows are triangles. I didn’t get the historical reason for the triangles but the Franciscans loved it as they could so easily use it to indicate the Trinity.
Of course the Museum sells Sukuma crafts, and I now keep fresh fruit on my coffee table in a nice woven bowl with seven triangles arranged as a star.
When I heard that they would rent rooms ($3) and prepare dinner to your order ($2), I had to stay overnight. I was their only guest and it felt a little like the time I spent a weekend at a convent where there was a vow of silence. Lots of time to be by myself and think and read, while still feeling completely taken care of. I got up early the next morning and sketched/painted some of the Sukuma designs and triangles. The guide who was supposed to show up to give me a tour inside the buildings where they have lots of tribal items and cultural artifacts to view and study, didn’t. So that will be there for my next trip to the Museum, whenever.
The ride back to Mwanza was a dream. Lots of coasting downhill.
Those upgrades are the problem with the ride to Bujora. Mwanza is low, by the lake, and although Kisessa is at a perfect distance for a bike ride at 18 km from Mwanza it is also the highest point on the way to Bunda. Most bike rides feel like they are mostly uphill, but this one really is. Still, my bike is good and so it is just a matter of gearing down and going a little slower.
I’m surprised that I never get comments about the bicycle helmet the Peace Corps insists we wear and that I really do when I am on high speed roads. I have yet to see another helmet and if my white skin isn’t enough to attract attention, the helmet is a flashing neon sign. But nobody has ever pointed at it and laughed as I ride by.
It is also unusual to see a white guy riding in the country, with or without a helmet. Since my bike is beautifully balanced I like to take my hands off the handlebars and sit up straight with my arms at my side while I pedal. That astonishes Tanzanians, because it is totally impossible to do with their horrid Chinese-made Phoenixes. So I picked up six or seven other bike riders who were curious enough to follow me, and who wanted to see how long I could ride without touching the handlebars. I felt like I was leading a pelethon – and I really was. A few tried the no hands bit, but gave up after they nearly fell.
It wasn’t a fair situation. On the upgrades I could just gear down and keep going without working hard. On their heavy one-speeds their kiswahili chatter would get less and less and then I would begin hearing long sighs. Still, they kept with me all the way to Kisessa. Good company.
Bujora Museum was created by a Catholic priest, a Franciscan I think, who had begun collecting cultural artifacts and icons of the Sukuma tribe. The Sukuma are one of the larger tribes that make up Tanzania although little of their culture remains beyond the language that many still use. Unfortunately the founder died some years ago and the Museum is looking a bit seedy now. There are about a dozen authentic huts, a large church built in the style and decoration of a Sukuma royal house, a dance building, a royal throne house, and then a conference center and numerous apartments built “in the style of...”
For all that, the Sukuma style is quite interesting. Lots of repetitions and variations of triangles. Even the windows are triangles. I didn’t get the historical reason for the triangles but the Franciscans loved it as they could so easily use it to indicate the Trinity.
Of course the Museum sells Sukuma crafts, and I now keep fresh fruit on my coffee table in a nice woven bowl with seven triangles arranged as a star.
When I heard that they would rent rooms ($3) and prepare dinner to your order ($2), I had to stay overnight. I was their only guest and it felt a little like the time I spent a weekend at a convent where there was a vow of silence. Lots of time to be by myself and think and read, while still feeling completely taken care of. I got up early the next morning and sketched/painted some of the Sukuma designs and triangles. The guide who was supposed to show up to give me a tour inside the buildings where they have lots of tribal items and cultural artifacts to view and study, didn’t. So that will be there for my next trip to the Museum, whenever.
The ride back to Mwanza was a dream. Lots of coasting downhill.
