:( leaving Zbar

Mambo vipi? (Swahili equivalent of "what's up?")

These past few weeks since getting back from the US have been SOOOO busy! Lots of loose ends to tie up for our research project, world cup fever has started and we've only made a modest dent in packing up the house. We're leaving Tuesday to move to Mombasa, Kenya and will be there until early August. I'm going there to be the teaching assistant for the Yale summer session course on East African History. I'm looking forward to living in Mombasa again now that I'm used to the particulars of life in this part of the world and with my Swahili being much better than it was 1 year ago. I am quite sad to leave Zanzibar, though. While transitioning to Mombasa last year seemed like we had to do-without a number of things that are easily available in the US, compared to Zanzibar, Mombasa is a step up. For one thing, there is a movie theatre there, and a 24-hour grocery store. Hooray for urban development.

I am sad to leave Zbar because I'm comfortable here, I know where to go to get things, and I am a huge fan of the "Azam men" aka the men who ride around on white bicycles fitted with coolers that sell popsicles (the best 18 cents you'll ever spend here) and ice cream. I guess that's one area where Zbar exceeds Mombasa. While I haven't mastered all of the twisting alley ways in Stone Town, I generally know in which direction to point myself when I need to go somewhere. I have my regular people I go to when I buy tomatoes and someone different for avocados and balungi (I think it's pomelo in English). I'll miss our pitch-dark and grungy office entrance and working in my office smelling both the pungent bloody scent from the butchery and the freshly ground spices from the shop next door. I'm not sure I have described our office in this blog yet, but it is right behind the main open-air market where you buy produce, fish, chicken, goats, beef, bread, rice, beans, and small dukas (shops) sell various packaged goods. I usually ride my bike from our house the 6km into town, from a residential area near where the President lives to the comparatively lively and "urban" center of town. I'm slightly an odd sight when I ride my bike because I'm one of 3 people I have ever seen wearing a helmet here, out of the thousands who ride bicycles. A friend of mine joked with a Zanzibari guy who asked why we wore helmets that we wazungu need to wear helmets because we're not protected by Allah and the kofias (embroidered hats that most Muslim men here wear). There my friend was undermining any chance for a public health initiative promoting helmets making people believe their hats and Allah would keep them safe... awesome.

When you can see the conglomeration of dala dalas (pick-up trucks made into public transportation vehicles) on the right, I turn left to the "2-way" road that can't actually fit 2 lanes of traffic that goes behind the market. I usually have to keep my eye out for the large fish, manta rays, or squid that are getting parsed up early in the morning as the fishermen bring them in. Some days I get a light shower on my feet as I ride through the trail of salt water, blood and dirt that drain from their resting place... obviously this isn't by choice, but is unavoidable because there are too many other people standing, walking, talking, riding bicycles or mopeds, or some car trying to get through. Wednesdays are the most challenging because the men who sell wood furniture also set up their goods to be sold along this street, consuming 1/2 of the available territory plus the space for the people who are looking at their goods. The bell on my bike was stolen a few months ago and I haven't yet spent the $1 to get it replaced, partly because the brakes on my bike are so loud and squeaky that they do a better job of warning people I'm coming than my bell ever could.

Once I'm through the foot shower I get to wind my way around to the back side of the market where I have to get off my bike and walk it the last 20 meters to our office entrance. On the way I see the same 10 fruit and vegetable vendors every morning with their produce on their carts or propped up on boxes and crates with their scales nearby. There is one guy who spits out greetings almost faster than I can respond. I've gotten better and instead of being on the defensive to his "mambo vipi? shwari? mzima? habari gani?" I've started launching them at him at the same speed which makes us simultaneously ask and respond to our own greetings, and usually elicits a smile from everyone. Once I catch sight and the scent of the slabs of cow parts held up on huge metal hooks that look like you could catch a whale if you were to use it for fishing (yes, I know whales are not fish, but you get the idea), I turn into a little alley to the backdoor of our office building. On the dusty beige wall at that corner "asali ya pemba ipo" is scrawled in red paint that dripped as it was drying, making it seem quite morbid even though it is a mere announcement that honey from the island of Pemba is sold at the duka around the corner. I unlock the door to our office and hoist my bike up the 1-foot high step and roll the bike toward the staircase. I have to leave the door open while I lock up my bike because the light is not usually on so it's pitch black. Our office is on the 2nd floor and the staircase is one where even I have to duck to make sure I don't hit my head due to the low ceiling clearance. I've seen our office rats scurrying around a few times near this staircase when the light is on and I walk up, so I actually prefer the light to be off when I enter in the mornings so I don't need to acknowledge that the rats are there first thing in the work day. As much as I appreciate them as my welcoming committee, I can do without.

The office has three rooms and a small kitchen that branch off the main entryway. It's a simple place, but from the second room there is a balcony that looks down on the backdoor entrance and the alley there. We have 3-4 Zanzibari women who have been working with us for the past 6 months who come each day and make sure that we all sit down for tea around mid-day for a proper bite to eat. Eating and working at the same time is not admired. With our office so close to the market, we hear the shouts of the men as things are loaded, unloaded, bickered over, celebrated and announced. Every day around 1pm there is a man who comes around selling rat traps & poison who has a loudspeaker with a recording shouting "sumu la paaaaaaanyyyyyaaaaaaaa buku na .....". Many sellers have this same recording, and before I had seen where that voice was coming from, I assumed it was some recording about Allah and religion and the like. Oops. I was wrong. I've never figured out what the last part of the message says but the first part says "poison for rats, bukus, and..." now rats, we all know. Bukus, on the other hand, are more like the rodents of unusually large size as seen in The Princess Bride film. Some are as big as small dogs. They're intimidating and I'm glad I haven't had too many encounters with them. I've contemplated making that recording my ringtone. It'd be unique, that's for sure.

After finishing work for the day I ride my bike home past the soccer fields where numerous pick-up or semi-organized teams are playing. All of them are male. Most afternoons there are two basketball courts occupied also by males. I've once seen a female handball game but the teams were both from Dar es Salaam, or "the mainland," a place blamed for any moral decline in Zanzibar due to the fact that a smaller proportion of the mainland Tanzanian population is Muslim. It's a funny relationship Zanzibar holds with the mainland. Zbar thinks quite highly of itself and believes it would prosper more if it weren't a part of Tanzania, even though that's not likely true.

There is one big hill that I have to ride up on my way home that is somewhat of a challenge. It's fun to push past other bicyclists who have abandoned ship and are walking their bikes up the hills as I'm in a (long-ish) skirt. Most bicyclists here are male, although there are a sprinkling of females. Once past that hill it's easy to cruise the rest of the way home and in the afternoons I sometimes get into leap-frogging with the 12-year old boys who are also on the road. It is one of the few times where I get to have G-rated trash talk, our exchanges consisting of something like "ehhh! mzungu!" "ongeza zaidi (go faster)" "unenda wapi? (where are you going?)" "nenda nenda! (go go!)" "huwezi (you can't!)". It's mildly satisfying and ensures that I have a negative split for coming home compared to my time going into town in the mornings. I turn off the main road onto a smaller 2-way street and then 1km later turn just before the big orange mosque onto our bumpy dirt road. I'm a pro at avoiding the potholes below and tree/shrub branches from above. Through the tall metal gate and I'm home.

So, there's a synopsis of a day in my life. Ultimately, the buildings, people, and things I see each day are just ordinary and non-remarkable for most people here. It's just how things are. It's not exotic, it's not striking, it's just the way it is.

A view from our office balcony

We went to the sandbank with our research ladies this past week, which was the first time they had ever gone in their lives. I think I've been there nearly a dozen times this past year. None of them know how to swim so we gave them quick tutorials and life jackets. It's a good thing it's so easy to float in the ocean because the salt content is quite high! It was fun to see how they were able to relax and not worry that they weren't dressed in their normal buibui (long sleeved & full-length black dress with head scarf) while they were swimming. In contrast to the everyday market scene that is common for Zanzibaris, going to the sandbank is not something that is ordinary. It's much more of a touristy thing to do, mostly because it costs 30,000/= (~$24) to go, an amount that is not likely to be spent on a beach trip by average Zanzibaris. Talking with them about the trip to the sandbank made me more aware of how people can exist in the same setting but have quite different versions of life. To me, Zanzibar is linked with the beautiful beaches and a desire to take advantage of them while for our research ladies the beaches don't hold much appeal for sunbathing, swimming, or otherwise.

L-R: Rukaya, Fetty, Solomon, Alison, Tuma, Umi in the boat on the way to the sandbank. Fetty didn't want her pic taken because her headscarf wasn't on properly. Sorry, Fetty.

Ok, I'm off to go pack! yikes. so much stuff to put into suitcases. The move to Mombasa involves the following:

-schlepping the 25+suitcases (estimation, given that we had 23 last year and have more stuff now) to the ferry port in Zbar, loading those bags onto the ferry (part 1 of my 2 least favorite parts due to the hectic nature of the port and having to ward off people taking your stuff w/o you asking them to help you).

-2 1/2 hr ferry ride to Dar... then part 2 of my least favorite bit, unloading the luggage and keeping track of the kids.

-sleep in Dar, leave the packed safari van in the car lot and hope nothing gets stolen, leave Dar at 4am to beat the traffic and get to Mombasa in time to watch the US-Algeria game... the drive could take anywhere from 8 to 12+ hours. We'll see how many times we get stopped by the cops. A good 1-2 hours of the drive is on a bumpy and dusty dirt road, so we'll arrive in Mombasa with a nice coating of reddish-brown Tanzanian soil.

-unload everything in our flat in Mombasa. It's right near Fort Jesus, a Portuguese-built monstrosity right on the ocean. I think the flat is about 1/3 the size of our current house. Hopefully it's slightly larger than last year's apartment, but I guess I'll find out when I get there.

wish us luck! I'll try to write again once we're in Mombasa.

Zanzibar in NYC? Yes indeed. I plan to go here after landing in NYC in August, although I'm sure it won't have the same feel that the true Zbar does :-)

also: in other news, we've been playing a few rounds of Yahtzee here and there at home during the night and I had been having trouble with getting a full house, so naturally, I practiced. I haven't missed getting a full house since. How's that for defying the odds and logic?

And, there will be another Maine kiddo in Lille next year in my same program, and she has worked in Nairobi and has been to Zbar, too! What are the chances of the Maine-Lille-East Africa combo? I'm excited.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY. Love ya Daddy-o. Hope the weather's nice so you can go for a long motorcycle ride :-)