Hello all,
We're in Pemba now. We've been very busy setting up a new household and getting to know our neighbors. Sarah has had to make significant changes to her project, but it looks like she'll get some great stuff done. I'm plowing through my books and playing some basketball.
Most importantly, though, I'm putting in some serious World Cup watching time. Wow, if you haven't been watching, it's time to start. I gathered outside with a group of about 50 people yesterday around the only TV in our neighborhood to watch Ghana play Brazil. I won't disparage the referees except to say "They sucked!" Ghana represented us Africans well.
More later, as internet connection permits.
Here's a wikipedia entry on our new home: Pemba
We live in a town called Chake Chake.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
flying to Pemba
Since my internship starts tomorrow, we are flying to Pemba this afternoon. Juma's overjoyed to fly on another prop plane; as for me, I'm a bit nervous to start my work.
My internship is a "Qualitative Evaluation of Intermittent Presumptive Treatment (IPT) for Malaria and Anemia in Pregnant Women."
Um, yeah.
No, really, I do know what that means. Pregnant women are at high risk of malaria, and it often leads to low birth weight in their babies. Anemia is a further complication of both pregnancy and malaria, so pregnant women and their babies get a double-whammy. Everyone gets malaria, and 80% of pregnant women are anemic in Pemba, so this is a high-risk population. The IPT consists of single-dose treatments for malaria along with iron and folic acid supplements, taken (hopefully) at least twice during pregnancy. Studies show that this kind of treatment, giving women malaria treatment on the assumption that they have malaria, works better than only treating diagnosed cases. And by "works better" I mean fewer maternal and infant deaths and better birth weight for the babies. Always a good thing.
So these drugs have been delivered to women over the past while, and I, along with a student from Cornell, will interview health care workers and pregnant women about the program. Do they take the drugs? Why or why not? Are the drugs available, acceptable? Are there side effects? etc. Then we'll write a report for the government which will hopefully work toward improving the program.
______
I'll try to put some pictures up, but these computers are slooooowww.
My internship is a "Qualitative Evaluation of Intermittent Presumptive Treatment (IPT) for Malaria and Anemia in Pregnant Women."
Um, yeah.
No, really, I do know what that means. Pregnant women are at high risk of malaria, and it often leads to low birth weight in their babies. Anemia is a further complication of both pregnancy and malaria, so pregnant women and their babies get a double-whammy. Everyone gets malaria, and 80% of pregnant women are anemic in Pemba, so this is a high-risk population. The IPT consists of single-dose treatments for malaria along with iron and folic acid supplements, taken (hopefully) at least twice during pregnancy. Studies show that this kind of treatment, giving women malaria treatment on the assumption that they have malaria, works better than only treating diagnosed cases. And by "works better" I mean fewer maternal and infant deaths and better birth weight for the babies. Always a good thing.
So these drugs have been delivered to women over the past while, and I, along with a student from Cornell, will interview health care workers and pregnant women about the program. Do they take the drugs? Why or why not? Are the drugs available, acceptable? Are there side effects? etc. Then we'll write a report for the government which will hopefully work toward improving the program.
______
I'll try to put some pictures up, but these computers are slooooowww.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
mazikoni, or the burial
Yesterday morning Hassan, our old research assistant and friend, showed up at our guest house. He chastised us for not looking him up sooner, and reported that Bwana Chai (Mr. Tea), a man Justin once interviewed in '99, passed away. The funeral was that afternoon in Makunduchi, the village we lived in in '99. Did we want to come? At the risk of sounding really cold, we couldn't remember the deceased, but we went so we could attend the Swahili funeral and visit with old friends.
Men are responsible for burials here. Women usher in life in female-only births, and men usher out life. I gathered with the women a few meters away from the burial site. They were all dressed in their village-best, dresses and double kangas (brightly colored and patterned lengths of cloth, wrapped around the body). The women chatted quietly among themselves, waiting for the funeral procession to pass.
Justin and Juma went with the men, where a few men were preparing the body (washing and wrapping it in kangas) inside a house. A wooden stretcher with a box frame, covered in kangas and a green cloth beautifully embroidered in Arabic writing from the Quran, served as the temporary coffin for the procession. Several men carried it out to a grove of banana trees where the deceased would be buried. Men gathered around in a tight knot, and several men helped the body down into the 5-foot grave. A man read the appropriate funeral verses from the Quran, and they covered the body with leaves, then earth.
Near where I was sitting, a woman in a house began to wail and mourn. Others joined in her cries, lending support and encouraging her to let out her grief. The deceased was an old man; I assume it was a widow or daughter mourning him.
Islam permeates life cycle rituals. After a child is born, its father recites a verse of the Quran in its ear, so its first thoughts and voices are of God. Upon death, the Quran is read again, and the body is buried to face Mecca.
__
After the funeral, we visited an old friend, Bi Chida (pronounced Bee Cheetah). She's an old woman, with one child and four grandchildren. For some reason, she latched on to me in '99, and we visit her every time we come. Electricity has finally reached Makunduchi, so now she has a TV, a fridge, and lights. Her child must be doing pretty well to support her mother like that. Bi Chida's income is in coconut fiber rope. She buries coconut husks on the beach for a few months to treat them, then digs them up, pounds the sand out of them, separates the fibers, then twists, twists, twists them in her hands to form long ropes. If I remember right, it sells for something like a penny a meter.
We brought Juma's soccer ball, and he played outside the house with the village kids, who were delighted to hear a little white boy chatter away in a foreign language. Juma loved seeing the animals--cows, goats, ducks, chickens, and butterflies--and the plants--banana trees, coconut trees, cassava, corn. We returned to the city in the late afternoon. We'll probably travel up to Pemba (where my internship is) on Thursday.
Men are responsible for burials here. Women usher in life in female-only births, and men usher out life. I gathered with the women a few meters away from the burial site. They were all dressed in their village-best, dresses and double kangas (brightly colored and patterned lengths of cloth, wrapped around the body). The women chatted quietly among themselves, waiting for the funeral procession to pass.
Justin and Juma went with the men, where a few men were preparing the body (washing and wrapping it in kangas) inside a house. A wooden stretcher with a box frame, covered in kangas and a green cloth beautifully embroidered in Arabic writing from the Quran, served as the temporary coffin for the procession. Several men carried it out to a grove of banana trees where the deceased would be buried. Men gathered around in a tight knot, and several men helped the body down into the 5-foot grave. A man read the appropriate funeral verses from the Quran, and they covered the body with leaves, then earth.
Near where I was sitting, a woman in a house began to wail and mourn. Others joined in her cries, lending support and encouraging her to let out her grief. The deceased was an old man; I assume it was a widow or daughter mourning him.
Islam permeates life cycle rituals. After a child is born, its father recites a verse of the Quran in its ear, so its first thoughts and voices are of God. Upon death, the Quran is read again, and the body is buried to face Mecca.
__
After the funeral, we visited an old friend, Bi Chida (pronounced Bee Cheetah). She's an old woman, with one child and four grandchildren. For some reason, she latched on to me in '99, and we visit her every time we come. Electricity has finally reached Makunduchi, so now she has a TV, a fridge, and lights. Her child must be doing pretty well to support her mother like that. Bi Chida's income is in coconut fiber rope. She buries coconut husks on the beach for a few months to treat them, then digs them up, pounds the sand out of them, separates the fibers, then twists, twists, twists them in her hands to form long ropes. If I remember right, it sells for something like a penny a meter.
We brought Juma's soccer ball, and he played outside the house with the village kids, who were delighted to hear a little white boy chatter away in a foreign language. Juma loved seeing the animals--cows, goats, ducks, chickens, and butterflies--and the plants--banana trees, coconut trees, cassava, corn. We returned to the city in the late afternoon. We'll probably travel up to Pemba (where my internship is) on Thursday.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Happy Father's Day
to Dads, Grandpas, and all the other fathers!
Anyone keeping up with the World Cup? We've watched a bit on community TVs here and there. Ghana beat Czech Republic last night, crazy. People here are pretty excited about the various African teams, but also have favorites like Brazil or England.
We bought Juma a kid-size soccer ball--football, excuse me--so he's pretty popular with the neighborhood kids. Earlier, so many kids were playing that it intimidated him a bit, and he decided to be coach. He'd sit on the sidelines (a porch) and call in orders. "Pass it!" But the kids don't know English, so we'd have to translate and then tell Juma how to say it in Swahili. Every once in a while he'd jump into the fray and call out "One point!" or "Zero points!" in a very commanding voice and demeanor.
It seems that everyone recognizes us (it's hard to forget the little white boy who speaks Swahili), and pours out the greetings to catch up on two years of our absence. "Has it been two years already! Wow! How's Juma? Does he remember Swahili? No? He'll learn, he'll learn."
Anyone keeping up with the World Cup? We've watched a bit on community TVs here and there. Ghana beat Czech Republic last night, crazy. People here are pretty excited about the various African teams, but also have favorites like Brazil or England.
We bought Juma a kid-size soccer ball--football, excuse me--so he's pretty popular with the neighborhood kids. Earlier, so many kids were playing that it intimidated him a bit, and he decided to be coach. He'd sit on the sidelines (a porch) and call in orders. "Pass it!" But the kids don't know English, so we'd have to translate and then tell Juma how to say it in Swahili. Every once in a while he'd jump into the fray and call out "One point!" or "Zero points!" in a very commanding voice and demeanor.
It seems that everyone recognizes us (it's hard to forget the little white boy who speaks Swahili), and pours out the greetings to catch up on two years of our absence. "Has it been two years already! Wow! How's Juma? Does he remember Swahili? No? He'll learn, he'll learn."
Saturday, June 17, 2006
soccer, tortoises, rain
This week is basically vacation for us, catching up with old friends, hanging out, and napping. Today is almost enforced hanging out as it's raining on and off. We've barely left the guest house. Our old American friend and former professor, Gary, (the man who introduced us to Zanzibar) is here now, so we've spend the morning catching up. Would you believe it's been seven years since we started coming to Zanzibar?
Yesterday we took a little outmotor boat to Changuu Island, five miles off of town, to see the famous giant tortoises and to snorkel a little. The tortoises were a gift from the Seychelles (where they are indigenous) in the early 20th century. A few are over 100 years old or more and big enough for a person to ride (but we didn't). Juma feed one some leaves, which delighted both Juma and the tortoise. Of course, we forgot our camera, just as we did seven years ago this first time we visited the island. Guess that means we'll have to go back sometime.
Health: fine
Mosquito bites: 3 between all of us
Blood-filled mosquitoes killed: 3
Juma's Swahili vocab: about 10 words
Mornings woken up thinking, "I don't want to do this.": 2
Mornings quickly recovered from the mild culture shock: 2
Times lost in the winding narrow streets of town: 4
Yesterday we took a little outmotor boat to Changuu Island, five miles off of town, to see the famous giant tortoises and to snorkel a little. The tortoises were a gift from the Seychelles (where they are indigenous) in the early 20th century. A few are over 100 years old or more and big enough for a person to ride (but we didn't). Juma feed one some leaves, which delighted both Juma and the tortoise. Of course, we forgot our camera, just as we did seven years ago this first time we visited the island. Guess that means we'll have to go back sometime.
Health: fine
Mosquito bites: 3 between all of us
Blood-filled mosquitoes killed: 3
Juma's Swahili vocab: about 10 words
Mornings woken up thinking, "I don't want to do this.": 2
Mornings quickly recovered from the mild culture shock: 2
Times lost in the winding narrow streets of town: 4
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Well, this post is going to be short, because I am suffering from that most heinous of afflictions--acute jet lag. Seriously, if the guys at the CIA really wanted information from somebody they should just put him on "economy" class for a couple of days--right now I'd give my left leg for some sleep.
Sarah got a little more sleep on the planes than I did, so she's okay. Juma slept like a log; he's raring to go. His Swahili is coming back fast, and he is happy with everything but the constant walking. That is how we get everywhere--we walk and walk and walk....
Our layover in Amsterdam was great. We hung out at a park for a while and then went to the Van Gogh museum. They have over 200 of his paintings there--amazing.
This was one of my favorites:
Anyway, we're safe. I'll post more later.
Sarah got a little more sleep on the planes than I did, so she's okay. Juma slept like a log; he's raring to go. His Swahili is coming back fast, and he is happy with everything but the constant walking. That is how we get everywhere--we walk and walk and walk....
Our layover in Amsterdam was great. We hung out at a park for a while and then went to the Van Gogh museum. They have over 200 of his paintings there--amazing.
This was one of my favorites:
Anyway, we're safe. I'll post more later.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
last night in New Haven
This is it. The night before the trek to Tanzania. It's always a little nerve-wracking to make such a big leap (or three leaps, as we have three flights) all the way to the other side of the world. The worst feeling is being on the plane after take-off, thinking, "There's no turning back. Three months." It's a little panicky, a little exciting. To paraphrase Owen Wilson's character on Armageddon, "I'm like 98% exicted a 2% scared. Or is it 2% excited and 98% scared?" I had the same feeling when I was pregnant with Juma. "That's it. This growth will be inside me for nine months. There's no backing out. I'm a parent forever." At least there's a return flight from Tanzania.
You'd think I'd be fine, considering I've made this trip three times before. And it certainly helps that it's not a leap into the unknown. But we are going to a new island, a new city. So we have to learn a whole new town, meet new friends, try not to offend new people, deal with new immigration officials.
Our flights take us from New York to Amsterdam, then Nairobi, Kenya, then Zanzibar (Unguja Island), Tanzania. Unguja is the island we lived on in 1999, 2001, (2002 for Justin), and 2004, though it's commonly referred to as Zanzibar. Zanzibar technically refers to a group of islands. We'll spend a few days there, then head up by plane or boat to Unguja's sister island, Pemba.
What brings us there this time? First of all, our love for Zanzibar. Secondly, I need to conduct an internship for my public health degree, and wanted to do so in Zanzibar. Justin wants to write his dissertation for his history degree on Zanzibar. And as several dissertations and books have been written about Unguja's history, but very little has been done on Pemba's history, he has wanted to go there. I found an internship on Pemba with some researchers from Cornell, so it worked out for both of us. I'll explain more about my internship later.
Juma just gets to come along for the ride. So far, he's most excited about the two jet planes and the prop plane we'll be flying on over the next three days. He's lucky; he can sleep most of the time.
You'd think I'd be fine, considering I've made this trip three times before. And it certainly helps that it's not a leap into the unknown. But we are going to a new island, a new city. So we have to learn a whole new town, meet new friends, try not to offend new people, deal with new immigration officials.
Our flights take us from New York to Amsterdam, then Nairobi, Kenya, then Zanzibar (Unguja Island), Tanzania. Unguja is the island we lived on in 1999, 2001, (2002 for Justin), and 2004, though it's commonly referred to as Zanzibar. Zanzibar technically refers to a group of islands. We'll spend a few days there, then head up by plane or boat to Unguja's sister island, Pemba.
What brings us there this time? First of all, our love for Zanzibar. Secondly, I need to conduct an internship for my public health degree, and wanted to do so in Zanzibar. Justin wants to write his dissertation for his history degree on Zanzibar. And as several dissertations and books have been written about Unguja's history, but very little has been done on Pemba's history, he has wanted to go there. I found an internship on Pemba with some researchers from Cornell, so it worked out for both of us. I'll explain more about my internship later.
Juma just gets to come along for the ride. So far, he's most excited about the two jet planes and the prop plane we'll be flying on over the next three days. He's lucky; he can sleep most of the time.
creative spelling
Juma's been learning to read--and write, using "creative spelling." He sounds out the word and writes what he hears. This morning, I helped him type out last night's dream:
Juma’s dream, night of
(There was a dragon and a lion and you were in the house. I was outside.)
He continued to type, both for fun and to spell some names.vvvhbcggbhbjh
juma
Justin
Saru (Sarah)
Gfds
Donld duc
Hjhbhvhv
Gfffcfgv vvbjfhghheryttdsrerhfh
Friday, June 09, 2006
the case of the terrible mother
At Juma's school, there's a little window that looks out to the parking lot called "the goodbye window." After parents drop off their kids, they go outside and stop by the window for one last wave goodbye. The teachers have found that this helps the kids cope with saying goodbye to Mom and Dad for the day.
A few weeks ago, I forgot to stop by the window. Completely blanked. Just went straight to the car and drove off. Juma waited at the window for me, but I never came. He got a little upset, a teacher noticed, and they agreed that Mama just forgot and that Juma would tell me so when we got home. He did and I apologized profusely.
Monday, I forgot again. After school, Juma told me so, angrily this time. To make it up to him, we pretended our living room window was the goodbye window, and I "dropped him off at school," met him at the window, walked off, returned and "picked him up from school." We repeated the game three times, though Juma could have gone on for an hour.
Tuesday, he reminded me, "Mom, don't forget the goodbye window. Don't just leave." He was worried. I told him, don't worry, I won't forget this time. On the way out the door, I met the school director and I told her Monday is Juma's last day because we're going to Tanzania. We talked for about thirty seconds, then I remembered Juma was waiting at the window.
I rushed over to find him crying. He thought I'd left, after all his worries and reminders. I apologized and mimed a hug and kiss through the window, and he turned away wiping away his tears, but better.
Could I be a worse mother?
Well, yeah, okay, I could. But there is nothing more heartwrenching than knowing you made your own kid cry from sadness. I reassured him that afternoon, told him why I had been late, and gave him extra hugs. He was okay with it.
Wednesday, Justin took him to school. Justin went straight to the goodbye window, but by the time he got there, Juma was already crying from worry. Oh, I've scarred him! Thursday, I took him again, and again, by the time I got to the window (about 10 seconds), tears were welling up. After school I asked him why he cried even though I came straight to the window. He said, "Well, I was waiting, not crying, and when you got there, my stomach was already crying." In four days, he'd formed a habit of worrying if Mom would say goodbye.
Today, Justin reported that he was fine. At lunchtime today, I'm going to bring in some donut holes for the whole class to say goodbye to Juma. Monday is his last day.
A few weeks ago, I forgot to stop by the window. Completely blanked. Just went straight to the car and drove off. Juma waited at the window for me, but I never came. He got a little upset, a teacher noticed, and they agreed that Mama just forgot and that Juma would tell me so when we got home. He did and I apologized profusely.
Monday, I forgot again. After school, Juma told me so, angrily this time. To make it up to him, we pretended our living room window was the goodbye window, and I "dropped him off at school," met him at the window, walked off, returned and "picked him up from school." We repeated the game three times, though Juma could have gone on for an hour.
Tuesday, he reminded me, "Mom, don't forget the goodbye window. Don't just leave." He was worried. I told him, don't worry, I won't forget this time. On the way out the door, I met the school director and I told her Monday is Juma's last day because we're going to Tanzania. We talked for about thirty seconds, then I remembered Juma was waiting at the window.
I rushed over to find him crying. He thought I'd left, after all his worries and reminders. I apologized and mimed a hug and kiss through the window, and he turned away wiping away his tears, but better.
Could I be a worse mother?
Well, yeah, okay, I could. But there is nothing more heartwrenching than knowing you made your own kid cry from sadness. I reassured him that afternoon, told him why I had been late, and gave him extra hugs. He was okay with it.
Wednesday, Justin took him to school. Justin went straight to the goodbye window, but by the time he got there, Juma was already crying from worry. Oh, I've scarred him! Thursday, I took him again, and again, by the time I got to the window (about 10 seconds), tears were welling up. After school I asked him why he cried even though I came straight to the window. He said, "Well, I was waiting, not crying, and when you got there, my stomach was already crying." In four days, he'd formed a habit of worrying if Mom would say goodbye.
Today, Justin reported that he was fine. At lunchtime today, I'm going to bring in some donut holes for the whole class to say goodbye to Juma. Monday is his last day.
Monday, June 05, 2006
preparing for Zanzibar
Over the past few months, I've brought up Zanzibar with Juma in order to prepare him for our big trip this summer (next week!). Last night at bedtime, I prepped him by saying he only has school 5 more days (a week and a half less than his classmates). As much as he likes school, he was excited at the prospect of summer vacation.
We got to talking about Zanzibar, and he pointed out some pictures on his wall of him with his friends from Zanzibar.
Juma: I don't remember him or him or him or her or her or her or her. I just don't remember.
Sarah: Yeah, you were pretty little. But we'll say hello to them again before we move to our new house in Pemba [Zanzibar's sister island].
Juma: pointing out a football jersey he was wearing is three of the pictures And I miss that football shirt! I don't have it anymore.
Sarah: But you have lots of other football shirts.
Juma: But not that one. I haven't seen it in a long time. It makes me sad. beginning to cry I really hope I can see my football shirt again!
Sarah: Don't worry, it's in a box; we'll see it again. We'll find it.
Juma: sniffling Okay.
We got to talking about Zanzibar, and he pointed out some pictures on his wall of him with his friends from Zanzibar.
Juma: I don't remember him or him or him or her or her or her or her. I just don't remember.
Sarah: Yeah, you were pretty little. But we'll say hello to them again before we move to our new house in Pemba [Zanzibar's sister island].
Juma: pointing out a football jersey he was wearing is three of the pictures And I miss that football shirt! I don't have it anymore.
Sarah: But you have lots of other football shirts.
Juma: But not that one. I haven't seen it in a long time. It makes me sad. beginning to cry I really hope I can see my football shirt again!
Sarah: Don't worry, it's in a box; we'll see it again. We'll find it.
Juma: sniffling Okay.
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