We were ready. Truthfully, we'd been ready for two hours. The
invitation to Sandra's farewell party said from
6pm. It was now 8pm, no one had come to escort her to the party and we'd started listening to the Dixie Chicks to keep the mood up (James' choice). I was starting to doubt anyone would
come to collect Sandra. Maybe they would just have the party without her.
Weeks ago, a committee had taken over the planning of
Sandra's goodbye sherehe. She had wanted a small affair for some of her colleagues,
friends, and the people whom she had grown close to during her year in Nyangao.
But that is not the Tanzanian way. Parties are scheduled, ticketed events. End
of. The committee chose the date, the venue, the caterer, the DJ, the
decorations - we just paid for our cardi
(entrance ticket) and waited for Sandra to be driven to the venue. Except that
was two hours ago and there was still no sign of a party starting. We sent James
down to the village to scout out the venue and see what was going on. He fed
back - there were 3 people there. This was going to be a long night. A
while later, a second message came - the music was pumping and more people had
arrived. Finally, our neighbour and Sandra's boss, Dr Wambyakale drove up to
our front door and took the two of us to Nhamo Garden Bar, which was only a 10
minute walk away on Nyangao's main (only) road. I felt like a bridesmaid
escorting the bride to her wedding. Except when we arrived at Nhamo, I
abandoned Sandra as soon as I could because she would have to dance in to the venue
and I didn't want to be part of the procession.
With doctor-in-charge Max Makota and hospital Patron Edgar
Chilembe, Sandra danced in to the bar to the soundtrack of Celine Dion. Tanzania
loves Celine Dion. Actually, East Africa loves Celine Dion. She took her seat
among the balloons, fairy lights and fake silk flowers on the pink and white
decorated throne and for the next few hours, flanked by senior hospital
staff, that is where she would stay. Through the food (2 frankfurter sausages,
a piece of skinny chicken carcass, chips, and raw onion salad - no cutlery
included), the "champagne" ceremony (the bottle was brought around all
the guests and a small amount poured into your beer/soda), the speeches
(Sandra gave a two page speech in Kiswahili) and the zawadi procession, Sandra perched on her throne. She received six kangas, two new African outfits and
some cashew nuts from the people she has worked with for the last
year. James, Tim, Marije and I danced up with our Bongo-flava CD - our gift of
Tanzanian musical memories for Dr Sandra - the romantic favourite I rove you folever (Tanzanian's have a
problem with 'L's' and 'R's') included on the compilation CD we bought from the
village DJ. We danced up a second time when we wazungu were asked to open the
dance floor.
Hours of rhythmic, synchronised, hip-swinging ensued. This was from the Tanzanians. Awkward, out of time knee and elbow jerking was exhibited by the Europeans.
Sandra was in huge demand for dancing and photographs. James requested his
favourite song "Chop my money" from DJ Stoodio , and Celine Dion was on repeat. The crowd swelled as "Under the Coconut Tree" came on. All was right with the world. A
perfect evening to say goodbye under the stars in Nyangao.
Around 1am, without consulting her, the decision was made
that it was time for Sandra to leave her own party. In a bit of a rush, midway
through drinking a beer and minus her jacket, she was escorted out of Nhamo's
surrounded by the committee members and friends - her big pile of presents
carried on someone's head. We danced her to the waiting car. We cheered as she
climbed in. Waving to her guests, my housemate was driven the 3 minutes back to the
home we shared. I guess that meant I'd be walking.
It was an emotional time experiencing Sandra's final week in
Tanzania. We were there for her last day at work, shared our last chipsi mayai at the Old
Trafford, went for a final run up to the dead baobab tree, ate our last
chapattis, and risked our last ride on the dala dala (called "Happy"). Eventually
there were no more lasts and it was time
to say goodbye. Our time in Nyangao will not be the same without her. Goodbye for now
Doctor Sandra. We miss you.
