The freedom of food consumption

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.