Poa, I say, poa!
A customs officer, owner of a massive gut with shirt buttons struggling not to rupture stops me and asks. You shua you have nothing to declare, Sah? Yes, I’m shua Mheshimiwa, I respond, mimicking his accent. Poa, he says, sufficiently impressed, waves me through. I walk out to a much pleasant Dar es Sallam than…