DAR ES SALAAM: ASK many Tanzanians who first represented the country at Miss World and Theresa Shayo’s name arrives before the question has even removed its shoes. She won Miss Tanzania in 1967, travelled to London and earned her place in our national memory quite rightly, too.
However, history has somebody waiting outside with an older invitation, wondering whether the receptionist went to lunch in 1960 and never returned.
Her name is Carmen Lesley Woodcock. She represented Tanganyika at Miss World in 1960, seven years before Theresa. Somehow, whenever we tell our beauty-pageant story, we open the family album at page two. Page one has been sitting there all along, wondering whether it owes somebody money.
Let us settle one matter before anyone summons a committee, appoints a chairperson and orders tea: Theresa keeps her crown and her place in history. Acknowledging Carmen requires no eviction notice.
Historical research should never resemble a municipal inspection arriving at your kiosk just as the first customer orders tea, announcing that your veranda has wandered into a street reserve, whatever that means….
The distinction lies partly in the names.
And for those who used to doze off during history class, Tanganyika became independent in December 1961, united with Zanzibar in 1964, and the United Republic became known as Tanzania.
Carmen competed under Tanganyika; Theresa competed under Tanzania. International readers need that explanation. Some of us at home also need it, preferably before forwarding another confident message beginning, “For your information.”
Now come with me to Dar es Salaam in 1960, when Carmen, a young white woman of British background living with her parents in Tanganyika, won a national beauty competition during the National Trade Fair. Coca-Cola and Tanganyika Bottlers Limited sponsored the event. London awaited her.
Unfortunately, her wardrobe had received no such invitation. According to the account of her preparations, Carmen could not afford the clothes required for Miss World. She approached the organisers, who reportedly explained that there was no budget and suggested she withdraw.
Imagine winning a national competition, smiling until your cheeks require servicing, then discovering that your international career depends on finding somebody willing to finance a suitcase.
The applause had been paid for. The dress was, apparently, still in budget negotiations.
It was the beauty-contest equivalent of receiving a scholarship covering everything except tuition, accommodation and books. There is, however, a beautifully worded congratulatory letter. You read it several times, hoping a cheque might fall out somewhere between “deserving candidate” and “bright future”.
Nothing falls out. Even the envelope avoids eye contact.
Fortunately, Dar es Salaam residents intervened. A public collection, described in the account as a “Harambee”, helped Carmen obtain her clothes and meet her travel expenses.
People contributed so that Tanganyika’s representative could reach London. The organisers had reached the end of their budget; the wananchi reached into their pockets. One side produced an explanation. The other produced results.
Consider the administrative effort involved.
There was no WhatsApp group called “CARMEN LONDON TRIP: SERIOUS MEMBERS ONLY”, with 247 participants and six people contributing.
Nobody could post a mobile money screenshot while carefully displaying a balance large enough to disturb relatives. The money had to be collected using the means available then.
Today, the administrator would begin politely: “Dear members, any amount is welcome.”
By Wednesday, the message would acquire capital letters.
By Friday, there would be a contribution list, with your name sitting beside a space so conspicuous that even your inlaws would call to investigate.
Dar’s contributors managed without these modern instruments of emotional taxation.
Carmen travelled.
That is the part of the story I particularly like. Photographs usually show the contestant in her finished outfit, looking ready for the world. They seldom show the people who helped buy the material, pay the fare or rescue the preparations. Yet those people were there, somewhere behind the photograph, making it possible.
Carmen reached London towards the end of October. On the 3rd of November, she appeared before the press alongside Miss Denmark and Miss Spain. The young woman whose journey had almost stopped over a clothing budget was now among the international contestants.
One hopes whoever had suggested withdrawal saw the photograph.
The final took place at the Lyceum Ballroom on 8th November, with 39 contestants. Argentina’s Norma Gladys Cappagli won. Carmen returned without the international crown, but Tanganyika’s appearance belonged in the record.
Participation does not disappear because somebody else wins, although football supporters occasionally attempt this argument when the score becomes uncomfortable.
Theresa Shayo, from Moshi, followed in 1967, winning the inaugural Miss Tanzania contest and representing the independent republic.
That year’s Miss World final took place in London on the 16th of November, again at the Lyceum Ballroom, with 55 contestants; Peru’s Madeleine Hartog-Bel won.
Theresa’s achievement remains hers. Carmen’s earlier appearance gives our story its proper beginning.
Then came 1968. The government banned beauty contests following pressure from the TANU Youth League, which argued that they conflicted with national culture and values.
For aspiring contestants, the route closed. The gowns went into storage, while the crowns began a lengthy period of unemployment with no office at which to register.
When the national competition returned in 1994, under the late Hashim Lundenga, affectionately known as Anko, another generation could finally watch for itself.
Aina Maeda won; Lucy Tabasamu Ngongoseke, later Lucy Kihwele, came second and Dotto Abuu third. Younger Tanzanians could stop depending entirely on elders saying, “You should have been there.”
That invitation usually arrives thirty years late, with no transport, refreshments or proof that the event happened exactly as described.
Meanwhile, dear reader, there is this other backstage chapter worth bringing forward: the White Sands Hotel. In the account of the Miss Tanzania revival, its owner, Prashant Patel, secured the Miss World licence as part of a publicrelations initiative for the newly opened hotel.
He preferred to keep a low profile and asked Anko Lundenga to become the public face through Lino Entertainment.
This, if you ask me, truly required unusual discipline.
Some people sponsor one plastic chair and insist on appearing in every photograph, including the photograph of the chair.
Patel’s arrangement allowed the hotel to receive the attention while Anko handled the public spotlight and of course, the spoils were split between them.
That is why White Sands hosted the first five editions of the revived competition, along with contestants’ boot camps.
The hotel gave the pageant a home and the pageant carried the hotel’s name into households across Tanzania. A workable arrangement, really.
Soon, people who had never slept at White Sands knew precisely where the beauty queens were staying. Public relations had done its job without requiring the proprietor to borrow a sash.
Today, with pageants multiplying, we may soon need a national fixture list and a traffic controller to keep the crowns moving.
If things become really busy, a separate ministry for sashes can be considered, although I fear the minister would immediately demand a crown of his own.
Now that Kaka Makonda, the capo of all thing’s entertainment, has endorsed the enthusiasm and called for the revival of the likes of Miss Bantu, celebrating ladies generously blessed with curves, as well as Mr Ugly, the calendar should fill up nicely.
Who am I to protest? At this rate, every title, theme and variation may soon have its own final, and possibly a runner-up demanding an audit.
Miss This could hold her final on the same evening as Miss That, while Miss Somewhere Nearby complains that both have borrowed her master of ceremonies.
Even the crowns might need registration numbers, reflective triangles and annual inspection stickers.
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