(full disclosure: written by Becca and Sam, however the part that is "linguistic and annoying" is Sam's alone)
Hawajambo! Wiki hii, sisi tunakaa Dar es Salaam na tunaenda shule kujifunza kiswahili.
Hello! This week, we are staying in Dar es Salaam and are going to school to learn Swahili. Our class has three other students, another American (a grad student) and a really cool Dutch couple who will be living here for three years. We are all very much beginners. Becca's vast knowledge of Swahili was covered in the first two days of class, and so we've been soldering on through the morphological slog together. Kiswahili is an agglutinitive language, which means that tense, subject, and object are all reflected as prefixes (for the most part) on the verb. It makes the language somewhat like a fill-in-the blank puzzle where each element has a position that must be filled in. So, the vocabulary is by far the hardest part. The vocab is a mixture of Bantu and Arabic, with some Portugese and English words mixed in. Often times, the origin of a verb dictates the type of prefixes attached to it.
Our host family has been very kind and welcoming, only making fun of us a little bit for all of our linguitic fumbling. The father is a lawyer and the mother runs a catering business. Most of our time at home, however, is spent with their kids, who have been very nice to us. We're still figuring out the rhythms of the family, but we think that we've almost got it. We'll see what the weekend brings.
Yesterday, we went on "Expedition Mbili: The Search for Mpira kwa Soka" [Expedition Two: The Search for the Soccer Ball]. Our host brother, who does not play much football, suggested that we try the sports store at the local upscale shopping center. But they charged over $50 for a soccer ball! Instead, following the advice of an old man who sells us Coca-Cola after school, we hopped aboard a dala-dala (local bus) for an hour-long ride into the bustling center of Kariakoo, considered the most "African" neighborhood of Dar (as opposed to "Indian" or "mzungu" [white]). It was a great success! And three hours later, Sam was playing soccer with a new ball and a bunch of local schoolboys. And Becca was showin off her Swahili by explaining to the host family why, for the first time since we arrived in Dar, the two of us were not side by side.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Back in Stone Town
Combining Zanzibar's two best known commodities, spices and tourism, a Spice Tour is definitely a Zanzibarian experience. The spice plantations here seem to be (at least according to our guide) mostly family owned plots of two or three acres that intercrop a huge variety of fruits and spices to sell to middlemen. It is actually pretty incredible, you walk around from one tree to the next and one is growing peppercorns while the next is growing leeche or pineapple. The best part of the tour is that you get to taste something from every tree. Cinnamon bark next to iodine, pomello next to clove or nutmeg. Finally, the tour ended up with a local meal, delicious but predictably overspiced, in a nearby village.
The one bump in the road was the mysogynist tourguide. Becca was the only woman on the tour, and the boys (and young men) who helped pick the fruit capitalized on her welcoming spirit by annoyingly bequeathing her with a ring, necklace (in the shape of a frog), handbag, and crown, all sewn from bannana leaves. And then asking for a tip. It was unfortunate that our guide, who was obviously in cahouts with the boys, did not help us out more in refusing their "gifts." And I know it made Becca uncomfortable to be singled out--especially because she did not want to be mean--and feeling taken advantage of. Added on top of some (predictably) sexist comments about division of labor on the spice plantation--women can't harvest the coconuts because the trees are too high, for example--and it made the rest of the tour a little harder to swallow.
Otherwise, I am loving it here in Stone Town. While the decay is certainly disheartening--it is sobering to think that the Omani sultan occupied the city until the 1860's--the beauty that remains is just incredible. And, as someone who is so interested in the way that ideas, goods, and religion moved in the past, Zanzibar was certainly the center of that world. Did you know, for example, that many American whaling ships stopped here throughout the early 19th century (and especially in the 1830's)? And it's only in the second half of this century that dhows--many of which originated or stopped in Zanzibar--ceased to be the main vehicle for trade stretching from South Africa to the Persian Gulf to China. It's pretty cool.
The one bump in the road was the mysogynist tourguide. Becca was the only woman on the tour, and the boys (and young men) who helped pick the fruit capitalized on her welcoming spirit by annoyingly bequeathing her with a ring, necklace (in the shape of a frog), handbag, and crown, all sewn from bannana leaves. And then asking for a tip. It was unfortunate that our guide, who was obviously in cahouts with the boys, did not help us out more in refusing their "gifts." And I know it made Becca uncomfortable to be singled out--especially because she did not want to be mean--and feeling taken advantage of. Added on top of some (predictably) sexist comments about division of labor on the spice plantation--women can't harvest the coconuts because the trees are too high, for example--and it made the rest of the tour a little harder to swallow.
Otherwise, I am loving it here in Stone Town. While the decay is certainly disheartening--it is sobering to think that the Omani sultan occupied the city until the 1860's--the beauty that remains is just incredible. And, as someone who is so interested in the way that ideas, goods, and religion moved in the past, Zanzibar was certainly the center of that world. Did you know, for example, that many American whaling ships stopped here throughout the early 19th century (and especially in the 1830's)? And it's only in the second half of this century that dhows--many of which originated or stopped in Zanzibar--ceased to be the main vehicle for trade stretching from South Africa to the Persian Gulf to China. It's pretty cool.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
TI’m writing today from the mini internet café at our hotel on Kendwa beach, on the northern coast of Zanzibar. It’s gorgeous here - fine white sand, palm trees, water so clear you can see past your toes. . . the works. We’re having a great time relaxing on the beach and enjoying the luxury of our hotel, though it is certainly unsettling that I can be sitting here writing this while the rest of the island goes without electricity.
The cable bringing Zanzibar’s power from the mainland broke over a month ago, and the only places with electricity are those with their own generators. While people have been remarkably patient, their patience is quickly running thin. Tourism’s high season is about to start, and people are afraid that now the tourists won’t come. Or they’ll come and the island won’t have the infrastructure to support them.
Sam and I made dinner reservations yesterday by telling the restaurant seven hours ahead, so they would have enough time to go to the market to buy the fish they would be serving us. That’s how it goes if you can’t refrigerate anything. As dinner time rolled around we walked down the beach to the restaurant, stopping along the way at a store to buy water. “You don’t want cold?” The shopkeeper asked us, grinning from ear to ear, as we brought a bottle from the shelf up to pay. He pointed to the refrigerator, now full of cold water. The power was back! We all stood there a moment, celebrating with one another, before Sam and I continued on to the restaurant. What a difference! There was music blasting, twinkle lights shining, and an excited group of men clustered around the bar watching the TV. Our waiter ran over to us, beaming. The excitement was palpable.
Dinner was incredible. The food was delicious, and the mood euphoric. Then just as we were finishing, the lights cut, the music stopped, and the TV went dead. We all paused a moment, not knowing what to say, while the owner rustled up some candles. The mood dead, they rushed us out while we lamely told them how we hoped the power would come back soon. But as the owner said, “who knows, maybe tomorrow, maybe another month. We just don’t know.” Not knowing what to say, we awkwardly said our goodbyes and walked back down the beach to our hotel. . . still lit and blasting music into the night.
The cable bringing Zanzibar’s power from the mainland broke over a month ago, and the only places with electricity are those with their own generators. While people have been remarkably patient, their patience is quickly running thin. Tourism’s high season is about to start, and people are afraid that now the tourists won’t come. Or they’ll come and the island won’t have the infrastructure to support them.
Sam and I made dinner reservations yesterday by telling the restaurant seven hours ahead, so they would have enough time to go to the market to buy the fish they would be serving us. That’s how it goes if you can’t refrigerate anything. As dinner time rolled around we walked down the beach to the restaurant, stopping along the way at a store to buy water. “You don’t want cold?” The shopkeeper asked us, grinning from ear to ear, as we brought a bottle from the shelf up to pay. He pointed to the refrigerator, now full of cold water. The power was back! We all stood there a moment, celebrating with one another, before Sam and I continued on to the restaurant. What a difference! There was music blasting, twinkle lights shining, and an excited group of men clustered around the bar watching the TV. Our waiter ran over to us, beaming. The excitement was palpable.
Dinner was incredible. The food was delicious, and the mood euphoric. Then just as we were finishing, the lights cut, the music stopped, and the TV went dead. We all paused a moment, not knowing what to say, while the owner rustled up some candles. The mood dead, they rushed us out while we lamely told them how we hoped the power would come back soon. But as the owner said, “who knows, maybe tomorrow, maybe another month. We just don’t know.” Not knowing what to say, we awkwardly said our goodbyes and walked back down the beach to our hotel. . . still lit and blasting music into the night.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Rain and Religion in Zanzibar
From breakfast today at the rooftop terrace of the Clove Hotel here in Zanzibar, we saw the candy cane-looking towers of a Hindu temple nearby. Becca was already planning on going there, but I got excited just looking at it. As we made our way to the temple, it began raining. The really neat thing about being out in the rain here is that, for most men at least, life just stops (many of the women, it seems, are not slowed by a little rain). Everyone gathers under the nearest awning and just chats until that particular cloudburst has passed. It's sort of like a party game, meeting new people every few blocks.
Inside the temple was beautiful. The courtyard was full of color, with insense burning at the altars. I left an offering with Shiva to assure a safe trip for Becca and me. On our way out, a Zanzibarian Hindu explained to us how the Indians were the original colonial power in Zanzibar, only being supplanted by the British in the last few hundred years.
Soon, we were lost in Stone Town. Looking for the Anglican Cathedral, we were directed to St. Joseph's Catholic church, a beautiful place of worship. A church baliff, fittingly named Joseph, gave us a peek inside. In one the naves, the parishoners had constructed a model of Golgoltha's lair that was clearly the pride of the congregation. I really loved the Marian images around the church, and I wonder which incarnation is most salient to those on Zanzibar. On the way out of the church, we met the friar, dressed in bright green.
Tomorrow, we will head to Kendwa, in the north part of Zanzibar for three days on the beach. Have a good one, everyone!
Inside the temple was beautiful. The courtyard was full of color, with insense burning at the altars. I left an offering with Shiva to assure a safe trip for Becca and me. On our way out, a Zanzibarian Hindu explained to us how the Indians were the original colonial power in Zanzibar, only being supplanted by the British in the last few hundred years.
Soon, we were lost in Stone Town. Looking for the Anglican Cathedral, we were directed to St. Joseph's Catholic church, a beautiful place of worship. A church baliff, fittingly named Joseph, gave us a peek inside. In one the naves, the parishoners had constructed a model of Golgoltha's lair that was clearly the pride of the congregation. I really loved the Marian images around the church, and I wonder which incarnation is most salient to those on Zanzibar. On the way out of the church, we met the friar, dressed in bright green.
Tomorrow, we will head to Kendwa, in the north part of Zanzibar for three days on the beach. Have a good one, everyone!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Night Before...
It's 11:45pm here in Roosevelt Island in New York. There's a pile of luggage by the door, and we're almost ready for bed. Tomorrow, Becca and I are off to Tanzania. We'll be visiting Zanzibar, attending Swahili language school in Dar-es-Salam, teaching English in Moshi, and spending a few days on safari with Becca's parents.
Throughout the next twelve weeks (and beyond), Becca and I hope to be updating the blog as we continue to accumulate and reflect on our experiences in Tanzania. Check in to the site periodically as we post text (and hopefully the occasional picture). Also, please leave any comments that you have. We would love to hear from you!
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