We settled back into Dar Es Salaam like an easy chair. This had become our main base of operations here in Africa, and we knew the grounds well. We checked into one of our two mainstays, the Econo Lodge, and headed to dinner with Mukada. He took us to “Chef’s Pride,” a delicious barbeque restaurant where we would later use any excuse or opportunity to drop in for some chicken skewers and mashed potatoes. 

We spent a week in Dar (this time), mostly because Beth needed to be near email for at least 5 hours a day, industriously working on getting her financial aid in order for when she returns to law school in the fall (Harvard still leads the pack, for all who are following this decision). Each day, we would trek to an internet café where Beth would email her parents millions of questions about her W-2s, tax information and what mail she had received, and I would work to upload the million pictures we had taken so far in Africa.

During the nights, Mukada would industriously work on making sure we were having a good time. The first night we went out, we raced out of the city in a cab to a very nice jazz bar, where sat talking at a candlelit table and listened to live music. Mukada would disappear for long periods of time, leaving the three of us to talk amongst ourselves. After we had finished our drinks, he miraculously appeared, holding replacement beers and wines just as we were setting down the empty glasses.

He was also so kind as to introduce Beth and me to his single male friends. Seamlessly, and very casually, Beth was cornered and talking to her new boyfriend, John, and shortly thereafter, I was introduced to Omar. “How sweet of him,” we thought. “And how nice this would be if we were straight and single.” But alas, we were neither, and I watched, with a mixture of amusement and irritation, as Beth was led to the dance floor by her John. I declined the offer to dance from Omar, but happily accepted another drink.

We all were extremely impressed with the ease with which Mukada was able to “make things happen.” Taxis were paid for, entrances to clubs granted for half price, boys magically appeared, and our hands were never empty of drinks. It was after this first night that I dubbed him “The Genie.”

The next night, after a hectic day of uploads and emails to the George household, we were brought out for another night on the town. A large group of Mukada’s friends had been rounded up (friends with cars) to drive us around and show off their city. There was an attempt to separate Beth and me, letting us each have our own special time with our boyfriends, but we quietly demurred and jumped into the back seat of a car driven by a new friend for the evening.

We were brought to a newly built, fancy hotel where we saw the view of the city lights reflecting on the ocean and checked out the casino. We were then driven to a new Irish Pub, that used to be a cool nightclub, “before the Irish took it,” Saif, our driver, informed us. From there, we went to another club, where the boys paid for our entry and bought us a chicken barbeque dinner and drinks before heading to the dance floor. By 1am, Beth and I were exhausted, and The Genie went out to negotiate a fair cab fare for us to get back to the Econo Lodge.

Our nights continued in this manner, and our days were spent filling out forms online, running errands, and eating pizza at our favorite lunch place, Pizza Inn. After 4 days, however, we still could not get our pictures uploaded.  Connections would be lost, computers would crash, or our time would run out. We were getting desperate since we were about to leave on Safari, and needed space on our memory card. More stressful, Beth’s financial aid forms were still not finished.  Miraculously, though, she received an email from Harvard informing her that they were giving students another two weeks to complete their aid applications.  And, in a story Beth doesn’t want me to post here, Beth was able to secure an internet time donation from an unwitting four-star hotel that uploaded all of our Kenya photos for us while we slept.

The morning finally arrived for our departure, and our good friend Ally, the taxi driver, picked us up to drive us to the bus station. Upon arrival, he shielded us from all the touts (one running after the taxi as soon as we entered the parking lot at a speed that reminded me of the liquid cop in Terminator II), and drove us right to the bus that we needed. When he left, he refused to take the fare, saying that it was a favor and not to worry about it.

We decided we liked Dar and the friends and Genies that lived there very much, and that we’d have to return after our safari.