When social media is torture

Last updated 09:36 08/10/2012

I realise that my last few posts have been getting a bit heavy. Yes, I'm living in Tanzania. And yes I'm often around pretty intense poverty. But I'm no martyr. In fact, I'm on the verge of sending Mystery Hunk to Dubai just to bring me back some Burger King. So, on a lighter note...

 

Facebook and Me Punching Someone.

I'm starting to think social media is an evil tool made up purely for the torture of people living in remote there's-not-a-single-fastfoodoutlet places.

So! If I have to see one more Instagram photo of your sesame-encrusted salmon on your bed of fresh vegetables...

Or your Facebook post about that new cafe in Mt Eden, where you had the triple chocolate  muffin...

Or your tweet about the eggs benedict with salmon, bacon OR spinach from Dizengoff...

#I'meithergoingtocryoryellatsomepoorTanzanianstandinginthestreet

See what I did there?

 Cheesecake

 

            Fish meal.

 

Your meal (no hard feelings ex flatmate) Vs. my meal (that's the daily special in town, fish eyes still in)

 

Just because I accidentally jiggled to your music, doesn't mean it's good.

There's a common misconception that all African music is perfect harmonies, with a spattering of aesthically pleasant wailing, timed to the soothing beat of velvety deep drums.

Music in Tanzania - or the top 40 billboard at least - is quite the opposite.

It's as though someone took bad reggae, added some out-of-tune shouting, shoved in some extra bongos wherever there was a gap, and boom! That got the girls booty-shaking.

And you can't get away from it. Food stalls, banks, hotel receptions, bursting out the sides of open air bajaj (that's public transport around here - basically a scooter with a dodgily built trailer tacked on the back)... it's everywhere. Mystery Hunk (the boyfriend - for an explanation of his pseudonym, go back a couple of blogs, or click here) has been telling me off since we got here for mindlessly tapping along to it, because the host assumes I like it, and - gasp- turns it up.

 

I'm writing to you because I miss home so please write back.

As my friends gradually left New Zealand, and I stayed behind to slog some years under my belt as a journalist, I'll admit I was terrible at keeping in touch.

Yes your photos standing under the Eiffel Tower, beside Big Ben, in front of the fire sign at the Full Moon Party and riding an elephant in Cambodia are great. But I'm a world away, sitting at my untidy desk, trying to write a script so my story actually gets to air at 6 o'clock.

Fast-forward five years, and I'm the one craving some contact from home. Acknowledge my photo of this little critter with blue private bits in Taringere National Park, and write back to my email that took me three goes to write because the internet kept crapping out!

Baboon

Who wouldn't want to cuddle this guy

Readers, I know I'm not alone in being tortured by Facebook, or spending a long week waiting for someone far away to write back. Tell me your stories please!

Now to encourage your participation in this new blog, I'm going to try a do a fortnightly video. So you'll need to let me know what you'd like to see! I can show you around, Babati is an interesting place...

Comments

Special offers

Featured Promotions

Sponsored Content