Honesty

Last week, as I was walking into the gate of my school/home, the askari (security guard) asked me if I had been eating a lot.  When I attempted to clarify in my terribly small amount of Swahili what he meant, he made a hand motion that made it abundantly clear- he was telling me I had gained weight.  Actually, he was the third person to tell me something of that nature since I had returned from vacationing in South Africa.  The first was the cleaner at my school who literally said "You got fat" in her limited English.  The second was another teacher who told me she could tell I had a good time from my cheaks (as she pinched them).  Now, let me be clear.  This is not the first time my weight has been the topic of conversation.  Once in a while, when I put some effort and wear something flattering to school, the local teachers have a debate when one typically announces "You've lost weight" and someone else jumps in quickly, "No she hasn't."  See, losing weight here is typically seen as a bad thing.  It means you can't afford food or that you're possibly sick.  Having some meat on your bones is a sign of wealth and health.
Now, coming from a culture that is obsessed with losing weight, I have a mixed reaction whenever this comes up.  I know that they are trying to be complimentary and polite (which is considered very important in this culture) when, in fact, it is the opposite of polite in my own culture.  After much though about these comments that come up once in a while, I have decided to enjoy them instead of feeling insulted (which is how my western peers tend to feel).  The fact is, I, as an American, feel a certain way about weight loss and weight gain because of socially imposed messages and standards.  I can choose to separate myself from that and enjoy the fact that people here are trying to be nice and make me feel good.

On a different perspective on honesty, I was told  a few days ago from a woman who has lived here for 30 years about a basic difference in westernized culture and Tanzanian culture.  This difference came up when I was discussing a local who has been teaching for many years and and still needs to be reminded not to leave the children unattended.  The amount of reminders and honesty she is asking people to have with her on a DAILY BASIS is astounding in my point of view.  But the very basic difference of cultures is that my westernized American culture is a guilt culture and Tanzanian culture is a shame culture.  While I would be guilty leaving the children unattended, and thus choose not to do that, she does not feel there is anything wrong with what she's doing unless she is caught.  That's the difference.  Americans have much more of an internal compass and Tanzanians tend to have more of an external compass of "right" and "wrong."  Also, an interesting dynamic is created with this shame culture.  When interacting with Tanzanians, as an outside, I must be careful in certain interactions, such as bargaining.  If I am too loud or forceful, I could potentially shame a vendor.  This is still a dynamic I am exploring  How do I get what I believe is a fair price (or even figure out what's fair) without dishonoring the person I am dealing with?  What am I able to say in public and when is it necessary to give simple criticism (like, "You spelled that wrong") in private?  

South Africa... Not really Africa.

I am finding that it is easiest to write about my travels in a certain country after I have left that particular place.  It helps with perspective, I guess.  Spending my December vacation (it’s summer here) for three weeks in South Africa was…. relieving.  It gave me a break from the sticking-out, the harassment, the smells and the chaos. 

I was travelling with my friend Linda.  She was a great travel partner- we have opposite Travel Handicaps.  I joked that neither of us would have made it through this vacation without the other.  Where I had the memory, she had the sense of direction.  Where I was organized and could find where we put things, she made all of the plans for our lodgings… but couldn’t always find where she put information.  Where I was the driver, she was the map reader. 

South Africa, particularly the Western Cape, was the most civilized, polite country I have ever visited.  Even on the road, there are unspoken rules about passing politely, where the Passer puts on their flashers to thank the Passee and the Passee flashes their lights to say “you’re welcome.”  Well, that couldn’t be accurate.  In South Africa, they rarely say “you’re welcome”- they say “It’s a pleasure.”  How pleasing is that to hear?  Waiters, taxi drivers, the guy who holds the door for you.  They all say it.  It is such a pleasant response to “thank you,” I’m thinking of bringing it back to the states and starting an It’s A Pleasure Revolution.

I was also impressed with the state that South Africa is in with regards to how they take care of their poor.  In some towns, they were neon-vested men who would help you park.  They were energetic and tried to be as helpful as possible, even when no help was needed.  Then, when you returned to your car, they’d show you how they watched over your car to make sure no one scratched it or hurt it in any way.  Then, we learned, the expectation was to tip them the equivalent of 12 to 50 cents.  This is how these towns help to feed and employ the poor.  Linda and I fondly named these guys our Parking Angels.

In general, Linda and I spend our vacation leisurely driving from one end of the Western Cape to the other.  We saw breathtaking landscapes, little shanty towns on the side of the road (they euphemistically call “informal settlements”), meeting friendly locals that didn’t judge us for being American, being disappointed from some hostels and absolutely enchanted by some of the small town guest houses.  We stocked up on wine from our wine tour and drank it each night before dinner.

One activity that Linda and I were looking forward to was the Cape Town Minstrel Carnival.  It is, essentially, a tradition that has been carried on since slavery, when the blacks were only given one day off:  January 2.  It is, essentially, a huge parade that is put on by different communities in and around Cape Town.  Linda and I were blown away at how many people came out to see this, but when we looked closer, we realized that the only other white people there were also tourists.  The crowds were so thick surrounding the streets, Lind and I had to search hard to find a peep hole.  Each act consistently started with small children with a lot of spunk and energy.  These kids weren’t shy.  Then a big band full of horns and drums followed with spirited dancing and mind blowing face paint.  Apparently this goes from about noon to 10 PM, or later (said some).  Each group wore matching outfits with brilliant colors and umbrellas to match.  It was really interesting being at such a large event put on by and for the community.

Shortly after watching that event, Linda and I flew "home"- back to Arusha.  Arriving back at 2 AM, and having an hour drive back to campus, I reflected on my experience for the past 3 weeks and how it felt to be back.  I have to admit, it felt good to have something familiar to return to.  There was a mild sense of "home" that I felt on the drive from the air port.  There was also a sense of anticipation of the harassment, chaos, funky smells and how I am going to truly make this rough-around-the-edges place, truly, my home for two years.

Side note:

If you are reading this, I would LOVE it if you would comment!  Knowing that people are reading, and enjoying, my blogs will help me to write more often.  When you don't say anything, it feels like no one is reading.  It would brighten up my day to hear your thoughts and reactions!

trapped

My experience in Arusha, for the past 3 months, has been difficult. 

The thing that has come most easily:  teaching four year olds

The thing I am still trying to find:  community

I decided, upon arriving in Arusha, that I wanted to find a community outside of my school community.  I have found this much more difficult here than in other places I have lived abroad because the Arusha community tends to run in tight circles, having to almost unnaturally force your way in.  These tight-knit communities are an understandable reaction to the constant turnover of volunteers and travelers on safari that blow through town on a weekly basis.

Going out in Arusha can be tricky.  Whenever plans are made, and a bunch of us go out, I find myself wandering away from my mzungu friends because I am frankly embarrassed to be with such a large group of mzungus (white people).  There are clear assumptions made about me as a white person living in Africa, made by Africans, that are difficult enough to combat and side step the effects of these assumptions.  Butto arrive with a whole group of us?  I might as well wave my white flag (no pun intended).  Common assumptions about the Whities include:

-they are entitled to our money

-we don’t mind having our personal space and right-not-to-be-touched violated often

-we make better babies (literally told to me)

-we can take these poor African men away to a better life

-they are entitled to our money

A co-worker once told me:  The men that want to talk to you are not the men you want to talk to.  What a terrible irony.  Notice I’m only addressing socializing with men.  The community of Tanzanian women is actually very tight and can be quite difficult to break into.  But don’t worry, I’ve been working on it.

Now let’s talk about standards of beauty.  I’m just going to say it- I am a white girl trapped in an African woman’s body.  The men LOVE it here.  I had one guy tell me I looked just like his wife.  Yep- she’s African.  The men went nuts when I was in Zanzibar and now they’re absolutely crazy here as well.  The women I know that have thicker bodies here get FAR more attention than our skinnier friends.  It just blows my mind how women traditionally seen as a beacon of beauty in the states aren’t looked at twice here because, frankly, they don’t enough meat on their bones.

Now, with all of this local attention, you might be wondering what I’m doing about it. Even though I love to “shop locally,” I have not met anyone that meets standard.  There is a statistic floating around the expat community of how many men would meet “westernized women’s” standards like: faithful, honest, doesn’t text 20 times a day, not jealous.  They say that one percent of the local men have these qualities.  When someone finds a good man from Arusha they are even referred to a part of “The One Percent.”  So, there you go.  The likelihood of finding love here is most likely… one percent.

Feels Like Home To Me

I've been home (the US) for a week after being abroad for 14 months.

First meal:  In an airport restaurant.  Ordered nachos with extra guacamole on the side.  Surprised that the guacamole wasn't avocado, but just green mush.  Gross.  Meal came within 5 minutes of ordering it and the bill came 2 minutes after I finished eating.  All of it happened so fast, I wondered if it had happened at all.  Holy crap, American service.  Take a chill pill.

The following meals:  I overate at each and every one.  I have been uncomfortably full since I stepped back in the states.  So, in a truly American way, eating has become much more of a recreational activity than a survival mechanism.

First shopping experience:  First of all, Americans forget that shopping is really a complete sensory experience.  Over time, our senses get used to this overstimulation and it becomes an everyday experience.  But for the out-of-touch, it is very overwhelming.  The smell of perfume, the light pop music playing from invisible speakers, all clothes easily displayed within reach, the comforting lighting.  I would have been happy just walking around, singing to American music and touching all of the soft clothing.  Everything was so visually appealing.  Good job, Mall Design People.  I was successfully lulled into a shopping daze.

Things I am constantly surprised about since being back:

• Everything and everyone smells good.  All of the time.
• Everything is so orderly.  People stand in lines.  Cars stay in their lanes and drive the proper way.
• Food choices.  Oh, how I missed you, Salad Dressing Section.
• Music I can sing along to playing in public places.  Which I have done.  Quite loudly.
• How ABSURD commercials are (TV and radio).
• The ease at which I can order things and get EXACTLY what I want.
• How well I sleep on comfortable mattresses.  And how common they are.

During my last few weeks in Zanzibar, I was definitely ready to go home.  By "home", at the time, I was just thinking about the US in general.  But just having arrived in Atlanta a few hours ago, I realized the "home" I fantasized about was, actually, Atlanta.  Interesting how I identify myself with a place called "home" even though nothing I own is here except the vast majority of my friends.  This is the place I found myself as an adult in the "real world."  This is where I learned how to pay rent on time, go to work when I didn't want to, take part in community beerfests and be so familiar with a place I can go on autopilot after being away for over a year.  Abroad, when asked where I was from, I told people that I grew up in Miami, went to college in Connecticut and taught in Atlanta.  Yes, I said all of that because I identify strongly with all 3 places.  But it is Atlanta that feels like coming home to an old, familiar friend.  

Cats, Trash and Cell phones

Zanzibaris believe that dogs are one of the dirtiest animals alive.  Therefore, unlike Mendoza, there are no stray dog issues.  The island is over-run by cats.  So since I get to be choosy, I only pet the really cute kittens.  These cats feed off of generous locals as well as the trash.  

Let's talk about the trash situation here.  There is a very poorly run sanitation system on the island and a strong culture of littering, which grates on the nerves of anyone born and raised outside of Zanzibar.  Growing up, Americans are very clearly taught "littering is bad."  Here, it is normal.  I do believe that it started as a harmless tradition of throwing biodegradable food, like a banana peel, on the ground.  But as consumerism and globalization has impacted this small island, candy wrappers and plastic bags get tossed on the street next to the banana peel.  Even when I put out the trash, I pay someone to collect it and toss it somewhere.  I'm not sure where that might be, seeing that I only know of exactly ONE dumpster on this island.  It's possible it is toted about 100 feet down the road to the trash/rock heap that is also home to the neighborhood cat family (see picture below).  All I know is that this trash issue becomes an eye sore for what is naturally a magnificent paradise.

So let's talk about cell phone culture.  Cell phones, compared to the US, are a relatively new commodity here.  So they're still figuring out how this instant communication fits into their relaxed way of life (more later on how the relaxed environment plays a huge part in the work environment).  Somehow, between the deals anyone can get on extra texting and phone call minutes and the fact that no one seems to have much to do during the day, texting and calling people "just to say hi" many times a week is considered normal.  And when one does not respond to all 12 calls/texts in the last week, there is questioning of how much that person values the friendship.  As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Zanzibaris LOVE their greetings.  Well, they also love them on text!  Do you know how many texts it requires to have this greeting back-and-forth!?!?  Here is a typical greetings text translated into English:

Zanzibari:  Any news?

Me:  No news.

Zanzibari: Anything the matter?  (Not considered negative here.  It's standard to ask.)

Me: Everything's fine.

Zanzibar:  How're things?

Me:  Cool.

Zanzibari:  How's work?

Me:  Good.

Zanzibari:  How's Rose (my roommate)?

Me:  She's fine.

Zanzibari:  How's it here (literal translation)?

Me:  It's good.

Phew!  Glad we communicated.

Power

Power (the electrical kind) is optional in Zanzibar.  Maybe unreliable is a better word.  The government has daily blackout periods at fairly inconsistent times and durations.  Whenever the power goes out, anyone that has been here for over a year has a story about the time Zanzibar lost power for over 3 months.  Without warning.  Makes you thankful for yet another thing a first world country can provide.  Lately, though, we had been getting less and less blackout periods, which clearly spoiled us.  So when I attended ZIFF (Zanzibar International Film Festival) which attracts thousands to the island each year to attend, we were blissfully watching the opening movie, when in the climax of the movie, the power shut off.  Typical Zanzibar.  If that happened in the states, people would be hooting and hollering, clapping, jeering, demanding for their money back for sure.  Here, the crowd just quietly waited for it to come back on.  Whenever THAT was going to happen.  We gave it half an hour and left, never seeing the end of the movie.

Another issue Zanzibar has with power is the strange dynamic between the locals to the foreigners.  Tourism is not huge in Zanzibar yet, as it still remains a bit of a world secret as such a unique paradise.  But still, there is a significant tourism industry here and the locals have adapted their behaviors to what how they believe a foreigner should be treated.  This can vary from a friendly basic conversation about where I'm from or what I'm doing here to very blunt come ons.  All of these behaviors go under the umbrella of "welcoming" the mzungu. 

A mzungu in Zanzibar is assumed to have money.  Dating a mzungu, I've been told many times, is seen by many men as better than dating a local.  The mzungu women are unreasonably put on a pedastal to this ridiculous height so us women have to make up stories about "my husband wouldn't be very happy if he saw you talking to me."  Not much else will get these men away.  I have strengthened my skill of being really upfront, far beyond what would be considered polite in the states, to get my point across to these men.

"Can I have your phone number?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to have it."

or

"I really, really like you."

"I don't want a boyfriend."

"Why?"

"Because I don't.  I don't need to give you an answer."

"But you can change your mind."

"No, I won't.  I feel uncomfortable being your friend.  Please don't call me anymore."

These interactions seem very harsh, but they are absolutely necessary.  Men and women, here, are not friends.  That is a foreign concept to them.  So saying the classic Let's just be friends line just has the opposite effect.

My roommate, Rose, and I even went to a local restaurant today for a quick bite.  Within 2 minutes of sitting down, 5 men, one-by-one, came to our table to sit down, absolutely uninvited.  The first two plainly stared at us until the next couple sat down and started a conversation.  But it was obvious that the attention we were getting had to do with this idea that mzungu women are better to be with.  It is a sad power dynamic that makes me on edge and a little bit cranky.

I sound a bit jaded with the local men because I am.  They are quick to start a conversation, quick to fall in love and not too easy to reject.  Being on the defense all of the time, unfortunately, takes its toll.  

On a lighter note, I have bought my ticket to the United States on Aug. 8 and will be return to Arusha, Tanzania to teach at St. Constantine's International School on Aug 25 for two years!  This decision was made  because of the two things I know most at this moment:

1- I need to earn real money.

2- I don't want to teach in the states any time soon.

So, Arusha, Tanzania, here I come!  Just a little background, Arusha is the closest city to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater, both of which are stunning.  The Lion King was solely based on the Serengeti.  Here are some pictures from Google of the Serengeti:

Is the Lion King theme song playing in your head?  Because it's playing in mine.

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.