For the first time since I’ve been here, I’m allowed to eat and drink in public.
The Holy Month of Ramadhan, the Muslim fasting season, ended Wednesday. This is a big deal, because I love food. And because it's constantly scorching hot in the middle of the day, and now it's okay to drink water to stay hydrated instead of sneaking sips under my office desk.
My body was dropping health hints to me all week, including a terrifying weekend bout with a stomach bug. I spent all day Friday and most of Sunday making bathroom trips in 30-minute intervals. I figure it happens to everyone once and I'm lucky to get it over with now. I also figure my mind is justifying the awful things my body was doing to me.
Sunday, after getting blackout drunk on Saturday night (which, to be fair, was pretty sober, but Stone Town was suffering from a city-wide blackout), we hit the sandbank again for some swimming and snorkeling. This time, though, we were there for the tides to rise and the island to disappear entirely. It was extremely cool to walk up past the tides as they swallowed the island; the currents came from both sides, and the water pressure cascaded into huge splashes of water that could knock you off your feet. Extremely weird looking back on the boat ride home: the island was gone.
So Wednesday was the beginning of Eid - the celebration that marks the end of Ramadhan. Basically, it's a time to feast and lavish children with toys and money. For the daytime festivities, my friend Giddy invites me to his uncle Juma's small stone hut, hidden in the dusty side streets just out of town. Inside, the one bulb that used to flicker with sporadic light has burnt out, leaving small windows as our only light source. Breakfast is more of an early dessert: we eat six or seven different types of cakes and play with the kids, after which we go our separate ways before a massive lunch feast.
Shortly after 1pm, Juma’s house is packed with relatives and their friends: more than 20 people cram into the room. The heat and sugar attract flies that triple us in numbers. In waves, we sit circles of five or six on a straw carpet and feast on chicken, rice and vegetables. Gidibo’s cousin gives a couple thousand shillings to one of the youngins, and a few minutes later we’re drinking ice cold Cokes and feasting on a rare dessert – chocolate-covered ice cream bars.
Juma privately takes me aside and tells me he's actually impressed with my brutal Swahili and says I'm welcome to practice the language at his home any time. All I have to do, apparently, is knock on the door during the day time and tell them what I'd like cooked for dinner, then just show up at night. What service! His hospitality comes with a warning: that it's easy to watch six months in Zanzibar fly by and learn almost nothing.
“As a matter of fact,” he says (and this is how he starts nearly every sentence) “It is you yourself who will decide how much you learn while you are here… Language is only part of it. Swahili is a rich culture.”
At night, the children gather for a massive festival of food, toys and carnival games (roulette, ring toss, and so on). More than a hundred tents crowd a huge field and kids come to spend their Eid cash on toy guns, dolls, balloon animals. Most of this money has been collected by going door-to-door with a tupperware container in classic "trick or treat" fashion. As the sun sets on the carnival, a bass-pumping children's disco opens up and the kids let loose with some serious dance moves. The party rocks until midnight.
It's a pretty jubilant time to be in Zanzibar. Tourists have been flooding the streets on the "now's the time to come" advice of Lonely Planet & Co., but none of the locals seem to care. Families are content to spoil their kids a little with gifts and fresh new clothes to celebrate a month of religious sacrifice. Women parade the streets in far greater numbers than I've seen since I've been here (sadly, they're usually inside cooking the gigantic evening meal) and their kangas are every colour of the rainbow.
All in all, it's just nice to see everyone smiling. And to be able to eat meat on a stick for lunch.
Seeing people so happy makes me think of home and the things I miss. Other than the obvious ones (my family, Steph, my friends, my dog) there are a few luxuries I feel are worth mentioning.
Things I miss the most, in no particular order:
- Honey Nut Cheerios
- The Office, Entourage and Flight of the Conchords
- Sushi
- More than one towel
- New tunes
- Rock Band
- The unwavering confidence that eating my next meal won’t put me on the toilet for 24 straight hours
- Oland’s
- Jeopardy
- Downtown Halifax
- Dressed like a Mac
- High-speed Internet
- Sour Patch Kids
- Jubilee Junction (ice cream sandwiches and "heaps" of popcorn)
- NBA basketball
On the internet note, I'm not liking my chances of posting any more pictures on Flickr the way I did in my first post. The upload speeds are poison. Instead, I'm just going to start posting weekly albums on Facebook until I find a more efficient solution.
Also, I've decided to conclude posts each week with a one Swahili translation you might get a kick out of. This week's word is:
"NAZI" - Coconut
Peace.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Times have changed in Zanzibar
A quick two weeks have flown by in Stone Town and I'm finally starting to catch my bearings.
I started Swahili classes with one Mr. Faruk, who boasts that teaching Swahili is "as easy as eating papaya." The first couple of classes were slow and frustrating, but the pace is picking up a bit and I'm starting to understand how nouns and verbs work enough to throw broken sentences together. It's a pretty beautiful language to listen to.
You actually probably know more Swahili than you think: here's a list of words you might recognize, particularly if you've watched the Lion King recently.
Rafiki - Friend
Simba - Lion
Asante sana (think "squash banana") - Thank you very much
Hakuna matata - No problem
Safari - Travels / journey
Jenga - Build
Kweli (as in our dear friend, Talib) - True
Kwanza - First
Basketball continues to be a grind - they've ditched our rest day on Sunday - but the coach tells me that the intense training is only going to last for the next two or three weeks of preseason. Basically, they're looking to work the boys into game shape, then lighten the practice load a bit to keep everyone fresh. We'll see how slack those runs actually are.
Saturday, we each paid five bucks to rent a boat out to a sandbank off the coast that disappears during high tide. During low tide, it's a killer snorkeling spot, and we lucked out to see a few lion fish, a ton of clownfish and one hilarious octopus that turned changed colours to try to avoid us. The burns on my legs and back are still healing.
The other day, one of my teammates (Gidibo, or "Giddy") invited me to his family's place to break fast. Just before sunset, I hopped on the back of his Vespa and we darted through a few alleys to find a small concrete building. The only light flickered on and off in bursts, so we mostly sat in darkness in a circle on the dusty floor. The food was incredible, and despite my poor Swahili I was treated like a total king.
I spend most of the time feeling like a five-year-old, wandering aimlessly around town and staring at people and things a bit longer than I should out of sheer curiousity. I met with one very elegant, very politically oriented lady named Salma Maoulidi helped school me in the ways that Zanzibar has changed over the years.
For a number of reasons, she says the island has regressed. In the late 19th century, she said, women were revered as leaders: everyone in the family respected them for what they did in the household, and as such they were allowed to work, play sports, etc... Now, obedience and conformity are the expected norm, and the society seems to scorn "variations" rather than celebrating unique and powerful women.
Drugs are another huge problem. I'm told that 8% of young Zanzibaris are full-blown heroin addicts; the product of an island that serves as the midway point for Afghanistan and Pakistan's in-transit dope. Middlemen can take some of the pure, cut it into trash with a ton of flour and sell it on the streets for cheap. In a place where more than half the people live on less than a dollar a day, this habit costs people about eight bucks every day because the high is so superficial. Anyway, rumour has it some of the resorts were put up as fronts to launder the drug money, so I'll definitely be trying to find ways to look deeper into that.
The final issue with Zanzibar, which I'm certain ties into the other two, is the thriving tourism industry. Tourism in Zanzibar grows about 25% per year, which is incredible considering fuel prices. That said, Salma tells me that the living conditions for the average Zanzibari haven't increased in the slightest: in fact, most of the tourism positions at hotels and restaurants aren't even filled by locals because they lack working knowledge of English. Wondering why the government hasn't put vocational training in place? Or why taxes on the profits of a US$700 per night resort aren't somehow filtered back into the social system? Or what those taxes actually are?
"The one thing you need to know about Zanzibar," Salma tells me, "is that nothing is as it seems on the surface. To truly understand this place you need to look beyond the surface."
Guess I've got my work cut out for me.
I started Swahili classes with one Mr. Faruk, who boasts that teaching Swahili is "as easy as eating papaya." The first couple of classes were slow and frustrating, but the pace is picking up a bit and I'm starting to understand how nouns and verbs work enough to throw broken sentences together. It's a pretty beautiful language to listen to.
You actually probably know more Swahili than you think: here's a list of words you might recognize, particularly if you've watched the Lion King recently.
Rafiki - Friend
Simba - Lion
Asante sana (think "squash banana") - Thank you very much
Hakuna matata - No problem
Safari - Travels / journey
Jenga - Build
Kweli (as in our dear friend, Talib) - True
Kwanza - First
Basketball continues to be a grind - they've ditched our rest day on Sunday - but the coach tells me that the intense training is only going to last for the next two or three weeks of preseason. Basically, they're looking to work the boys into game shape, then lighten the practice load a bit to keep everyone fresh. We'll see how slack those runs actually are.
Saturday, we each paid five bucks to rent a boat out to a sandbank off the coast that disappears during high tide. During low tide, it's a killer snorkeling spot, and we lucked out to see a few lion fish, a ton of clownfish and one hilarious octopus that turned changed colours to try to avoid us. The burns on my legs and back are still healing.
The other day, one of my teammates (Gidibo, or "Giddy") invited me to his family's place to break fast. Just before sunset, I hopped on the back of his Vespa and we darted through a few alleys to find a small concrete building. The only light flickered on and off in bursts, so we mostly sat in darkness in a circle on the dusty floor. The food was incredible, and despite my poor Swahili I was treated like a total king.
I spend most of the time feeling like a five-year-old, wandering aimlessly around town and staring at people and things a bit longer than I should out of sheer curiousity. I met with one very elegant, very politically oriented lady named Salma Maoulidi helped school me in the ways that Zanzibar has changed over the years.
For a number of reasons, she says the island has regressed. In the late 19th century, she said, women were revered as leaders: everyone in the family respected them for what they did in the household, and as such they were allowed to work, play sports, etc... Now, obedience and conformity are the expected norm, and the society seems to scorn "variations" rather than celebrating unique and powerful women.
Drugs are another huge problem. I'm told that 8% of young Zanzibaris are full-blown heroin addicts; the product of an island that serves as the midway point for Afghanistan and Pakistan's in-transit dope. Middlemen can take some of the pure, cut it into trash with a ton of flour and sell it on the streets for cheap. In a place where more than half the people live on less than a dollar a day, this habit costs people about eight bucks every day because the high is so superficial. Anyway, rumour has it some of the resorts were put up as fronts to launder the drug money, so I'll definitely be trying to find ways to look deeper into that.
The final issue with Zanzibar, which I'm certain ties into the other two, is the thriving tourism industry. Tourism in Zanzibar grows about 25% per year, which is incredible considering fuel prices. That said, Salma tells me that the living conditions for the average Zanzibari haven't increased in the slightest: in fact, most of the tourism positions at hotels and restaurants aren't even filled by locals because they lack working knowledge of English. Wondering why the government hasn't put vocational training in place? Or why taxes on the profits of a US$700 per night resort aren't somehow filtered back into the social system? Or what those taxes actually are?
"The one thing you need to know about Zanzibar," Salma tells me, "is that nothing is as it seems on the surface. To truly understand this place you need to look beyond the surface."
Guess I've got my work cut out for me.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
A week in the labyrinth of Stone Town
Mambo vipi! Can't say that I love blogs, but I since loathe mass e-mails it makes more sense to let you tune into my stories on your own time. I'm your host, Graham North, and for the next six months I'll be regaling you with tales from the tiny spice island of Zanzibar.
For the most part, my weekly updates will be topical in nature - or tropical, if you will. Each week, I'll be trying to look at one main issue from as many different sides as possible to give you an idea of what life is like here. Sadly, I've only been able to see the island through one lens (a pasty, white tourist lens) so the first post is going to be a naive overview of me getting acquainted.
First off, I'm here to work with the Zanzibar Madrasa Resource Centre, which is the administrative headquarters for a network of 84 community preschools designed to help young Muslims prepare for primary school. For the most part, these kids are usually taught the Qur'an (and not much else), so it helps teach them basic skills such as counting, reading and exploring their environment.
Of course, I won't be too busy for the first month since ZMRC's office is closed for Ramadan, the Holy Month when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. Fasting implies no food, no water, no sex. Understandably, energy levels aren't exactly peaking, so the whole place is pretty quiet during the day. Luckily, it's good timing for me to get acquainted with the island and learn Swahili: my organization wants me fluent in three weeks... How do you say "not a chance" in Swahili? I don't know yet.
Stone Town itself is one of the strangest sights I've seen. It's a giant, twisting concrete labyrinth with narrow alleyways that turn every five or ten metres, giving you plenty of opportunities to get lost. Your best bet is to know the direction you go in and try to stick to it - surprisingly harder than it sounds. The whole area is pretty fun to look at from a bird eye's view:
View Larger Map
Luckily, my place is right in the heart of Stone Town, and it's near everything I need: work, the market, the gym, the daladalas (public transport mini-buses) and even the basketball court.
In an attempt to avoid living the expat life, I joined the local basketball team; the Stone Town Yankees. We practice six days a week from 9pm to 11pm (although it usually stretches to midnight). I don't think I know what I've gotten myself into - these guys are doing sprints and pushups and sit-ups for every mistake you make in a drill, and the heat is plain devastating to play in.
When the weekend hits, there's always plenty to do. Sunday we hopped on a daladala to Kendwa beach in the North. It costs five bucks for a round-trip bus ticket to go to this unbelievable beach and hang out all day drinking bottles of Coke and swimming in the Indian Ocean. Locals didn't mind us swimming out to their anchored boats and diving off the top... If you don't feel like making the day trip up North, there's a pretty nice beach called Mtone Marine just outside of Stone Town, and it features some killer sunsets.
That said, Zanzibar is a place that gets an unnecessarily paradise-like reputation because of its beaches and resorts, when in fact the people of the island are seriously struggling. More than half the people here live on less than a dollar a day - that statistic is almost cliche now in developing areas, but think about it: that's one meal a day if you're lucky. Resorts on the East coast are raking in US$500 a night from European tourists and the locals don't see a penny. I'm here to find out more about this and hopefully shed a little light on what can be done.
In the meantime, I'll be fumbling around town with broken Kiswahili trying to make myself stick out less. The Internet is too slow here to upload pictures onto the blog, but I'll put some up on Flickr and keep a link. I'll try to update with some good pictures whenever possible, but there is a cultural belief that having your picture taken steals a piece of your soul, and I hardly think that's the best way to make friends!
Graham
For the most part, my weekly updates will be topical in nature - or tropical, if you will. Each week, I'll be trying to look at one main issue from as many different sides as possible to give you an idea of what life is like here. Sadly, I've only been able to see the island through one lens (a pasty, white tourist lens) so the first post is going to be a naive overview of me getting acquainted.
First off, I'm here to work with the Zanzibar Madrasa Resource Centre, which is the administrative headquarters for a network of 84 community preschools designed to help young Muslims prepare for primary school. For the most part, these kids are usually taught the Qur'an (and not much else), so it helps teach them basic skills such as counting, reading and exploring their environment.
Of course, I won't be too busy for the first month since ZMRC's office is closed for Ramadan, the Holy Month when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. Fasting implies no food, no water, no sex. Understandably, energy levels aren't exactly peaking, so the whole place is pretty quiet during the day. Luckily, it's good timing for me to get acquainted with the island and learn Swahili: my organization wants me fluent in three weeks... How do you say "not a chance" in Swahili? I don't know yet.
Stone Town itself is one of the strangest sights I've seen. It's a giant, twisting concrete labyrinth with narrow alleyways that turn every five or ten metres, giving you plenty of opportunities to get lost. Your best bet is to know the direction you go in and try to stick to it - surprisingly harder than it sounds. The whole area is pretty fun to look at from a bird eye's view:
View Larger Map
Luckily, my place is right in the heart of Stone Town, and it's near everything I need: work, the market, the gym, the daladalas (public transport mini-buses) and even the basketball court.
In an attempt to avoid living the expat life, I joined the local basketball team; the Stone Town Yankees. We practice six days a week from 9pm to 11pm (although it usually stretches to midnight). I don't think I know what I've gotten myself into - these guys are doing sprints and pushups and sit-ups for every mistake you make in a drill, and the heat is plain devastating to play in.
When the weekend hits, there's always plenty to do. Sunday we hopped on a daladala to Kendwa beach in the North. It costs five bucks for a round-trip bus ticket to go to this unbelievable beach and hang out all day drinking bottles of Coke and swimming in the Indian Ocean. Locals didn't mind us swimming out to their anchored boats and diving off the top... If you don't feel like making the day trip up North, there's a pretty nice beach called Mtone Marine just outside of Stone Town, and it features some killer sunsets.
That said, Zanzibar is a place that gets an unnecessarily paradise-like reputation because of its beaches and resorts, when in fact the people of the island are seriously struggling. More than half the people here live on less than a dollar a day - that statistic is almost cliche now in developing areas, but think about it: that's one meal a day if you're lucky. Resorts on the East coast are raking in US$500 a night from European tourists and the locals don't see a penny. I'm here to find out more about this and hopefully shed a little light on what can be done.
In the meantime, I'll be fumbling around town with broken Kiswahili trying to make myself stick out less. The Internet is too slow here to upload pictures onto the blog, but I'll put some up on Flickr and keep a link. I'll try to update with some good pictures whenever possible, but there is a cultural belief that having your picture taken steals a piece of your soul, and I hardly think that's the best way to make friends!
Graham
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