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.