Mission Rabies Tanzania 2025 - Swahili and Fist Bumps: Learning the Language

Whew. Just got back from another exhausting day of roaming. As I explained in the last post, roaming means piling into the van, blasting our announcement through the megaphone, then pulling over to see which dogs appear. Word travels fast here — kids shout, neighbors tell neighbors — and soon enough, the doggies arrive.

The day began, as always: an excellent breakfast, loading the van with supplies, and Jens’s morning pep talk. The first two days of the campaign had sky-high vaccination numbers. Yesterday, with teams either roaming or going door-to-door, the totals dipped — not surprising, but a little deflating. Jens reminded us that low numbers here often mean the opposite of failure: residents had already taken their dogs to the static clinics. Sure enough, the D2D teams kept hearing, “Already vaccinated.” The goal, Jens said, isn’t high numbers just so you can brag about it. The goal is zero rabies. That put the whole thing in perspective, and lifted the mood.

Jens analyzing the data before the morning pep talk

Yesterday we worked half of Bangata village; today we finished the rest. No repeat appearances from Elsa’s drunken suitor, thankfully. What struck me instead was how much Swahili I’ve picked up. At one stop, two young men showed up separately with their dogs. I pointed to the first and said, “Walete” (“bring it here”), and he came forward. I showed him the laminated photo of how to straddle and hold a dog properly and said “Mshike vizuri.” He adjusted his stance perfectly. Elsa gave the vaccine, I marked the dog’s head, and boom — done. “Tayari,” I said. Finished. Even our local teammates were impressed.

I haven’t mastered Swahili — and probably never will — but I’m fluent in the other universal language: the fist bump. Sometimes I’ll see a really photogenic kid, but I can see they’re a bit shy and wary, watching from the sidelines. But the moment I hold out my fist, they know exactly what to do. No hesitation — boom, fist meets fist, and the message is clear: we’re cool. The ice is now broken, and suddenly they’re hanging around, laughing, eager for photos. Some of my best portraits here have started with a gentle collision of knuckles.

By lunchtime, Noel had driven us to a spot that felt straight out of a postcard: a pine forest carpeted with purple flowers, the scent of eucalyptus in the air, Mount Meru looming in the distance. Quiet, serene, perfect. I didn’t want lunch to end.

Beautiful pine forest where we ate lunch

Team Katavi

The afternoon brought one of those Mission Rabies rites of passage: the basket of puppies. In our case, it was an orange bucket holding five ridiculously cute four-month-old tan little fluffballs. Vaccinating them took five minutes. Playing with them took another 25. Even Noel, our hulking driver, was down on the grass, poking at a puppy like a kid. It was heartwarming to see.

A rite of passage when doing a Mission Rabies campaign: the basket of puppies

As the weather heated up, so did my paranoia about kidney stones. I’ve done the kidney stone world tour – Argentina, Myanmar, and Thailand — I don’t need to add Tanzania to the list. A twinge in the afternoon had me chugging water like crazy. Thankfully, the feeling passed. The tradeoff: I was peeing so often I gave the neighborhood dogs competition in the territory-marking department.

We wrapped up with around 65 dogs and three cats — an excellent tally for a roaming team. Tomorrow we roam again, and with that, Week One will be in the books.