Chaos

I have a new roommate who has revolutionized my experience here in Zanzibar.  I met her when she arrived (we found each other on a small Zanzibar listserv for expats).  As she described her first reactions to Zanzibar, I was reminded of how confused I also was getting here.  She describes walking off the ferry and onto the street into chaos and an informal system that is just not logical to the Westernized Mind.  She says she said to herself, This is a street, Rose.  A street.  to find anything familiar.  That's how foreign the culture here can feel.  Different language (not latin based at all, so it is difficult to find similar words), different customs, an importance on politeness (but you have to figure out what is actually considered polite) and a whole lot of strangers saying they want to help you when you're not sure who's actually on your side.  To the untrained eye, the streets are chaotic.  Cars beeping, bike bells dinging, men yelling out greetings, venders trying to sell to the mzungus (foreigners).

When Rose arrived (just last week), I realized that I had started to see some order in this madness.  The actual act of walking down the street involves my attention to be in a few places at once.  I must look down to make sure I don't trip on stray trash or rocks (there is no trash system here except for people to dump their trash in unofficially designated trash spots).  I must pay attention to where I am turning because I WILL get lost in the tangled mess of the Stone Town streets and alleys if I don't.  Then there are the men.  They like to have what I like to call The Greet-Off.  This is when they shout one of about 20 different greetings that exist in Swahili (I know about 4) and wait for the appropriate response.  If I get it, they will continue presenting more greetings until the mzungu is stumped and cannot answer anymore.  This feels much more like a test than a welcome to the country.

Speaking of chaos, Rose and I ventured to the most turbulent, chaotic place in Zanzibar- the Darajhani Market- to buy some much needed vegetables.  The scene is just like I described above without any alley ways, 10 times more people per square inch and everyone is selling something to me. In Swahili.  Rose and I had just learned our numbers in Swahili that morning, and learned how to ask how much something costs, so we decided to try using it.  The conclusion was we needed more practice.  When our landlord found out we had learned our numbers in Swahili, she had us counting for anyone within shouting distance.

Yesterday, Rose and I went to yoga in ancient ruins

and this morning, we woke up early and worked out on the beach with this group of crazy Zanzibaris called.... the Obama Group. Apparently, they got their fancy name from an inspirational speak Obama gave once.  Who knows.  Anyway, it was such a great experience, we promised to return.  

By the way, did I mention they love Obama here?  When I say I'm from the United States, they get excited and say, Obamaland!  I've now cut the interaction shorter and just claim "Obamaland" as my country.  Thank God I wasn't here when Bush was president.

Still here- Day 9

I met an angel today.  She showed me her apartment, fed me and, most importantly, gave me hope.  I have been struggling with feeling isolated and lonely since I've gotten here.  My "free accommodation" is, indeed, free but is quite far from the city center (Stone Town), where almost everything happens.  It takes quite a bit of effort and money to get to Stone Town when I want to be connected to civilization.  So today I decided to put on my Big Girl Panties and look for an apartment in town.  Everything is so informal in Zanzibar, barely any information or advertising is online- finding a place to live is almost purely by word of mouth.  You need to know someone who knows someone who knows someone who might still be looking for someone to rent an apartment.  Tricky when you don't know anyone.

So, long story short, I was given a phone number of an American named Amanda.  She is my angel.  I called her to see her apartment to possibly rent it.  Then, as I shared my pitiful story of the loneliness and isolation, she began to connect me to this community.  She signed me up to listservs and gave me phone numbers.  She even took me to her boyfriend's cousin's place to see an available apartment and translated and negotiated in Swahili on my behalf.  We ended up spending close to 7 hours together today.

We ended this whirlwind-of-a-day at a seaside garden watching a breathtaking sunset with about 20 different street venders selling food on set up tables.  As the sun went down. each table put up their own gas lamp which created this magical feel across the garden.  I ate octopus, freshly caught shrimp and whitefish.  Super delicious.  Super cheap.  And this is the best part- this event happens every night.  We chatted for over an hour, and sat amongst the Zanzibar community watching the sunset and the boats come in to dock.

This story may seem quite trivial to you, but it has shifted the direction my Zanzibar Experience is going in.  I was very bored, lonely and frustrated this past week.  This was my daily schedule:

6:30:  Start talking myself into waking up because, frankly, I hadn't slept well AGAIN.
6:45-7:15:  Choose from 3 available outfits that are weather appropriate (Ever hear of Africa hot?  Exactly...) and respectful to the prominent Islamic culture (covers my shoulders and knees) and pound coffee and a peanutbutter sandwich.
7:15-7:45:  Wait for the phone call telling us that the school bus is ready to pick us up.
7:45-8:30:  Ride to school with 20 children smushed into a 7 passenger van.
Side note:  When one of the teachers told me I would be riding to and from school in a bus crammed full of children, I wanted to cry.  American children are little hellions on buses.  They yell, they fight, they curse and yell some more.  However, these beautiful little African children are actually quite pleasant on the bus.  Every morning, I hoist myself onto that bus and find a place to sit by grabbing a small child and putting them on my lap.  They lay against me and, with the same glazed morning-eyes I have, we wake up quietly the rest of the ride.

8:30-2:00:  An average school day
2:00-2:30:  Bus ride home (a little more lively, but still quite enjoyable)

Then... I spent the rest of the day SITTING with my roommates in my living room until I go to sleep.  I wanted to claw my eyes out.  Unfortunately, living in a free accommodation far from the city and living a frugal lifestyle means a lot of cereal and sandwiches and A LOT of sitting on your computer or reading a book.  Doing this 5 days a week for 7-8 hours an evening makes me think water torture might look like fun.

So meeting my angel today has given me hope that I can find a place in this little island community.

Karibu Zanzibar (Welcome to Zanzibar)

Arrived in Zanzibar yesterday.  I am currently sittin gin the Africa Hotel because 1- I needed to get out of the hotel after a long nap and 2- after being toted around a city full of a foreign language, I am ready to be around some English.  It is interesting- the people of Zanzibar are not very friendly to meeting people who do not speak Swahili.  I am sure it is partly because they do not speak any Englisah (or very little), but I remember in Mendoza that they would a tleast make the attempt to comunicate because everyone was seen as family and possib lty because they are expecting you to know some Spanish.  As I live here, I will see if I become more accepted and spoken to.

Since my departure from Mendoza, I have felt a relative calmness and assurance that everythign will work out just fine.  I think this is, in part, from my extensive experience with the back packers coming through Monkey Hostel showing me that they have journied around the world and so can I.

I had a tearful goodbye with my family from the hostel, still missing their constant presence in my daily life.  Their constant harassment on Facbeook shows me the feel the same.  I find it takes a little while to truly let go of the previous place I lived and to conpletely be present in the place I live now.  I even talk about both Cusco and Mendoza to people I meet here.  I am sure the mental comparisons and memories will fade as I have new experiences, new memories and form new connections.  I think there is a natural process that bridges someone from old to new experiences, similar to a DJ blending from one song seemlessly to the next without the abrupt jolt of silence.  I guess that would be the equivalent of culture shock.

I spent the next two days with my friend Cameron in Buenos Aires exploring the city, getting last-minute essentials and nursing a terrible hangover after a.bit.too.festive first night in BA.  I blame it on the Tango.  Cameron was a great host and the perfect person to see me off.  This was my first journey I was to complete ALL ON MY OWN.

I spent the next 20 hours on planes, eating large meals on airplanes and waiting in airports.  When I arrived in Dar Es Salaam, I realized that I had NO cash on me!  I quickly found that all TWO cash machines at the airport were broken and was instructed to pay my visa tax when I landed in Zanzibar.  Well, to my luck, the ONE cash machine in Zanzibar was also broken.  A note was written on my visa and my pássport was confiscated until I was able to pay the fee.  As I gathered my cumbersome backpack, I was praying to the Good Kharma Gods that my ride (the Headmaster of my new school) has arrived or will arrive.  I had not had any communication with her for quite a few days.  Well, to my good fortune she and her husband were there waiting for me and were gracious enough to lend me the money to retrieve my visa.  Phew.  Crisis averted.

I was wisked away to their hotel ( yes, the one they owned) I was to be staying at for the next few nights because my room-to-be was not clean yet.  On the ride there, I found they striggled  bit with English and didn't have the benefit of having similar between our two languages, like English and Spanish.
I need to interupt this to meantion that I am fully apprecitaing sitting on a gracefully decorated balcony sipping tasteful wine.  As Cameron said, the one thing we can count on taking away from Argentina is that fact that we will be wine snobs from now on.  I am listing to dark, invisible waves crash to the shore and nondescript, but perfect for the environment, instrumental music in the background.  My table is only lit by candlelight.  Am I in heaven?

To continue, when we stopped the hotel, I dropped my stuff, took a shower to wash off the Travel Grime and went to dinner at their suggested restaurant- chinese food.  Pretty good, might I add.  Towards the end of dinner, as I became increasingly delirious, I was brought back to the hotel and fell into a deep sleep.  I was woken up by beautiful singing at 4 AM.  A nearby mosk was chanting their morning prayers.  Being amongst such a beautifully religious culture is, honestly, refreshing. Traditions that a population so whole-heartedly believe in, they are willing to cover up almost their entire bodies (which, might I add, is a mysteriously seductive way to dress) amd get up at the godawful time of 4 AM to show their devotion to their faith.  If I am woken up every morning by a population giving thanks and  having faith, I think I can get used to this.

After much difficulty getting back to sleep (not fun), I woke up tired once more.  I was made breakfast by the receptionist.  Might I add, I haven't gone hungry since I left Buenos Aires.  I was fed 3 full meals on my flights and fed consistantly since I have arrived on this island.  At breakfast, the receptionist attempted (at my request) to teach me some Swahili.  Nothing stuck after 5 seconds of learning it.  Literally nothing.  After breakfast, I was, once again, wisked away to do paperwork for my work visa.  While waiting in the tour agency office that my boss and her husband also own (yes- they own a school, hotel and tour agency), I found the internet was down... over the entire island.  Apparently, electricity and internet can occassionally go down over the entire island.  Keep the candles handy!

Next, I needed to take my photo for the visa.  I was taken to a very local and very busy market.  On the way, I realized that it will take me a little while to get used to being driven on the left side of the road.  Every ounce of navigation intuition that I own is being challenged as danger signals flash in my brain every 5 seconds.
At the market, I found that I felt a little uncomfortable.  The culture on Zanzibar Island is the first culture that is truly foreign to me.  It is not the dress or the language that brings in the feeling (even though it does frustrate me that I have NO idea what people are saying to me or about me), it is the manner men call out to me.  Will responding warrant further harassment?  Is ignorning them rude?  I usually know the appropriate response...   Also, as I am toted around from the photo studio to a booth selling sheets, people address my new boss but never me.  I am treated as if I am not even there except for my new boss.  I am hoping this is somehow cultural and not a sign of rudeness.  Keeping an open mind.

I am then driven to the school.  This is what I always envisioned a school to be.  No flourescent lights and sterile hallways.  Everything's a little dirty and a bit imperfect. Students' artwork and projects are displayed everywhere as well as important learning information.  The faded construction paper most things are created with is crudely taped to walls but clearly a symbol that someone was proud of this work, not because someone required that a certain amount of work e put up at certain times.  I come in when lunch is ending, which apprently, was the most hectic part of the day.  With about 15 children eating at a long, plastic-covered picnic table, I wouldn't quite call it hectic, but the cleaning up procedure could use a little improvement.  I was later told about an idea that would pull one of the teachers away from lunch duty and there was concern about there not being enough teachers on duty for lunch.  ind you, there arer 47 children TOTAL in the school and about 7 teachers.  I think I can handle covering that teacher's duties.  I am used to handling over 40 students alone, half of which are considered "handfuls."  My new boss agreed with me.  Oh, how I've missed working with children.

After meeting some of my students I will be teaching for the summer, and possibly the next school year if I choose to stay on, I was taken to eat a traditional Zanzibar lunch.  An informal order-at-the-counter-at-your-own-risk kind of place.  The food, I found, was quite similar to Indian food.  Score.  I was then dropped at the hostel where I, once again, feel into a deep sleep and guiltily slept the day away.

Awaking at night, I had no idea if this town was safe to navigate at night, especially being a woman.  I asked the receptionist, but something got lost in translation and I was left as clueless as before.  He offered to take me to a garden a bit of a walk away which I initially accepted.  After going back to my room, and weighing my options of getting esorted by a local, yet being alone with the stranger, I opted to venture out on my own to this hotel/bar which was noted on multiple websites.  The benefit of going to a known tourist bar is that i know it is relatively safe and there is even a possibility of meeting someone who speaks my language.
I have some questions that I would desparately lke answered.  Right now, all I need is patience to wait to move into this apartment with another teacher to get my questions answered by someone who is in my situation, and not a local.

This place is absolutely magical.  It is feels like the love child of Aladdin and a tropical paradise.  The dirty run-down buildings and small alleyways are part of the charm.  People ride bikes, walk slow and laze around here because, well, life is good.  Hakuna Matata.