This continues from the previous two posts:
This is when the street vendors are out, selling their loafs of bread, and their fried octopus for 100 shillings a piece and the customers stab the white meat with toothpicks while dropping the coins on the table all in one motion and then pop the bits, suction cups and all, in their mouths. It’s men out at this hour, the women home with the kids, making the last minute preparations for the light evening meal. It’s men who are out, chatting and buying and lingering near the kerosene lamps fashioned from old cans of bug killer and thin rope for the wick. I am uncomfortable going out at that hour to buy the bread and chipsi mayai that is our dinner almost every night. The only other women out are a few sellers of chapati and maandazi and their reputations are questioned because of it. Perhaps they are widows or divorcees or their husbands are drunks or military and stationed far away and send all their money to their mistresses instead of home, and perhaps these women sell sex on the side and perhaps they don’t but it doesn’t matter because every one believes they do anyway. They are desperate for the money, desperate enough that the gossip doesn’t matter because their children’s bellies are empty and mothers can do anything to fill their children’s bellies. If I was a Pemban, it would be me with the questionable reputation, and my husband too, because why would he send his wife out among all those men to buy the food, when he should do that himself, while I stay protected in the house. But since I am not Pemban, since I will never be Pemban, no matter how hard I try to fix my accent and how well I tie my head wrap, I can go out to buy the evening bread and people know it’s not because I do not have a husband to do that but because I am foreign and foreigners have their own customs, and they do things in their own way, not uswahilini, the Swahili way.
But it took me a long time to learn to accept that, and I used to be always angsty about doing things just right and by local custom and habits, but that’s okay now, because I’ve seen that some customs are just patterns that mean not much and others are even hurtful and those are okay to break even if it makes people a little uncomfortable.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
more musings in Pemba
This follows from my previous post:
It helped, too, that I came to Pemba after three trips in Unguja. In Unguja, I made most of the mistakes, the cultural faux pas that broke the norms that are so normal that people don’t even realize I broke them, just that they are uncomfortable somehow. Through daily interaction and screwing up and offending and people mercifully pointing things out to my blind American self, I picked up little by little the behavior that helped people feel like I was a little less out of place, a little more than a tourist, a little more at home. The endless greetings; the modest and clean, pressed clothes; the slow walk down the street; the passing people so our right sides are closest. And the timing of the day: the early hour that begins the day, the work and chores--sweeping, laundry, shopping--in the morning, the late, big lunch in the early afternoon; then the afternoon shower and change of clothes, and the late afternoon visiting. When people’s work and chores are done, and the women sit around the barazas near their houses and gossip and maybe embroider or plait mats or each others’ hair, and the men head out to favorite hang-outs, the younger ones to play soccer, the older ones to sit on public baraza and discuss social issues. Or to just sit and be there, with each other. Calling out greetings to others who pass by, always ending in karibu, welcome, always ending with karibu.
If you walk anywhere at those early evening hours, from four or five to well past dark, you best be prepared to take your time. This is the social hour, where neighbors meet and talk and keep up their friendships. Greeting everyone you pass is essential; missing anyone is rude, even if it was only because it was so dark you couldn’t notice them sitting there, 15 feet away at the neighboring baraza. Call out shikamoo to the old ones, and hujambo to the middle-aged ones, and mambo to the young ones, chei chei to the toddlers.
to be continued...
It helped, too, that I came to Pemba after three trips in Unguja. In Unguja, I made most of the mistakes, the cultural faux pas that broke the norms that are so normal that people don’t even realize I broke them, just that they are uncomfortable somehow. Through daily interaction and screwing up and offending and people mercifully pointing things out to my blind American self, I picked up little by little the behavior that helped people feel like I was a little less out of place, a little more than a tourist, a little more at home. The endless greetings; the modest and clean, pressed clothes; the slow walk down the street; the passing people so our right sides are closest. And the timing of the day: the early hour that begins the day, the work and chores--sweeping, laundry, shopping--in the morning, the late, big lunch in the early afternoon; then the afternoon shower and change of clothes, and the late afternoon visiting. When people’s work and chores are done, and the women sit around the barazas near their houses and gossip and maybe embroider or plait mats or each others’ hair, and the men head out to favorite hang-outs, the younger ones to play soccer, the older ones to sit on public baraza and discuss social issues. Or to just sit and be there, with each other. Calling out greetings to others who pass by, always ending in karibu, welcome, always ending with karibu.
If you walk anywhere at those early evening hours, from four or five to well past dark, you best be prepared to take your time. This is the social hour, where neighbors meet and talk and keep up their friendships. Greeting everyone you pass is essential; missing anyone is rude, even if it was only because it was so dark you couldn’t notice them sitting there, 15 feet away at the neighboring baraza. Call out shikamoo to the old ones, and hujambo to the middle-aged ones, and mambo to the young ones, chei chei to the toddlers.
to be continued...
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
thoughts in Pemba
We are back and home safe. The day after arriving in the US, we boarded our 6th plane in 4 days and flew to Seattle for a family reunion. Yesterday we got back from that and have been catching up on errands, laundry, and sleep since then.
Over the next couple weeks, I'll post more about our Pemba trip, along with pictures. For now, here is a bit I wrote while in Pemba when my muse hit me. (I had just read two Cormac McCarthy books, so his style influenced me a little. Bear with me.)
Legs stretched out in front of me, laptop on my thighs, I sit on the king size bed with the light green fitted sheet we brought from America, ‘cause there are no fitted sheets here, and this is the first trip we’ve been smart enough to just bring one with us, but the damn sheet is only queen size so it always popping off at the corners. Which makes it not much better than a flat sheet folded under the mattress, like how they do it here, but at least the one we brought for Juma’s bed fits his mattress. There are three pillows on our bed, but only two of us, but that’s okay. And one floral-print flat sheet, which I use as a blanket, because it never gets cold enough here to need more than a sheet. And sometimes, when the electricity is out and so there’s no ceiling fan, it’s too hot for even that, and I sleep like Justin does, as naked as possible, trying to have no part of my body touch any other part lest my body be covered in a sticky, sickly sweat all night. But that happens anyway, even with the fan on, and I am always ready for a shower first thing in the morning, even if I took one just before bed. And the showers are always cold, and the chill feels good in this heat. It feels good to be cold for at least a few minutes twice a day.
The laptop plays random songs from our giant collection of modern music. Scar Tissue is on now. I never brought music with me before. It was somehow not rugged enough, to go to Africa and bring all my American music and discman and mp3 players and gig after gig of music on our hard drive. Like listening to something familiar, instead of the local music, would take away from my experience, make it less African. I’d never make it to the status of “gone native” if I brought U2 and The Killers and Red Hot Chili Peppers with me. I was like that, before. Tried as hard as possible to get into the culture, and leave our Americanness behind. Then about the time when people started to joke with me that we were really Pemban now--I dressed right, I talked right, I acted right--I started to relax on my impossible previous standard. I am American and always will be, no matter how I dress and talk and act. That buibui covers my body, but it never covers the fact that I am white. And my accent will give me away, every time. Every damn time. Even on the phone.
It’s not that I’ve given up trying. I still pay attention to cultural cues and greet right and dress right and know when to give which gift of which size and when to take off my shoes and when to extend my hand and when to keep it by my side and when to eat the food offered and how much of it and what the best time of day is to go visiting. I just gave up trying to force myself into the impossible--to become Zanzibari. I will always be foreigner to them; I have accepted that. And with that acceptance that came finally after three painful-but-enjoyable trips, I loved it all the more here.
More later...
Over the next couple weeks, I'll post more about our Pemba trip, along with pictures. For now, here is a bit I wrote while in Pemba when my muse hit me. (I had just read two Cormac McCarthy books, so his style influenced me a little. Bear with me.)
Legs stretched out in front of me, laptop on my thighs, I sit on the king size bed with the light green fitted sheet we brought from America, ‘cause there are no fitted sheets here, and this is the first trip we’ve been smart enough to just bring one with us, but the damn sheet is only queen size so it always popping off at the corners. Which makes it not much better than a flat sheet folded under the mattress, like how they do it here, but at least the one we brought for Juma’s bed fits his mattress. There are three pillows on our bed, but only two of us, but that’s okay. And one floral-print flat sheet, which I use as a blanket, because it never gets cold enough here to need more than a sheet. And sometimes, when the electricity is out and so there’s no ceiling fan, it’s too hot for even that, and I sleep like Justin does, as naked as possible, trying to have no part of my body touch any other part lest my body be covered in a sticky, sickly sweat all night. But that happens anyway, even with the fan on, and I am always ready for a shower first thing in the morning, even if I took one just before bed. And the showers are always cold, and the chill feels good in this heat. It feels good to be cold for at least a few minutes twice a day.
The laptop plays random songs from our giant collection of modern music. Scar Tissue is on now. I never brought music with me before. It was somehow not rugged enough, to go to Africa and bring all my American music and discman and mp3 players and gig after gig of music on our hard drive. Like listening to something familiar, instead of the local music, would take away from my experience, make it less African. I’d never make it to the status of “gone native” if I brought U2 and The Killers and Red Hot Chili Peppers with me. I was like that, before. Tried as hard as possible to get into the culture, and leave our Americanness behind. Then about the time when people started to joke with me that we were really Pemban now--I dressed right, I talked right, I acted right--I started to relax on my impossible previous standard. I am American and always will be, no matter how I dress and talk and act. That buibui covers my body, but it never covers the fact that I am white. And my accent will give me away, every time. Every damn time. Even on the phone.
It’s not that I’ve given up trying. I still pay attention to cultural cues and greet right and dress right and know when to give which gift of which size and when to take off my shoes and when to extend my hand and when to keep it by my side and when to eat the food offered and how much of it and what the best time of day is to go visiting. I just gave up trying to force myself into the impossible--to become Zanzibari. I will always be foreigner to them; I have accepted that. And with that acceptance that came finally after three painful-but-enjoyable trips, I loved it all the more here.
More later...
Monday, June 30, 2008
travel
Well, we are on our way back to the US. Today, we left Pemba and are on the mainland in Dar-es-Salaam, waiting for our morning flight. I didn't get hardly any chance to post stories and pictures, sorry about that. I'll post some more when we are back in the US.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
pics from big Juma's wedding
No time to write, but here are some pictures from the wedding:
And the three of us crammed into the back of the car along with the bride and groom. Too weird. But the groom insisted we ride with him when he picked up the bride.
And the three of us crammed into the back of the car along with the bride and groom. Too weird. But the groom insisted we ride with him when he picked up the bride.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Things have been both good and worse this past week. The first part of the week, I managed to get 17 surveys with patients and a good interview with a man at a AIDS support organization. I arranged with him to have him help me recruit several more patients to my survey, and we set up an appointment for Saturday. So that was great.
But then on Thursday, I woke up with a head cold, and I've been suffering from it ever since. Luckily, I didn't have any work appointments for Thursday or Friday, and Justin was great enough to take Juma so I could sleep and rest for two days. My big day of surveying patients on Saturday came, and Justin made all the arrangements to get food and drink to give them as a thanks. He also hauled 16 kilos of rice to the organization's office, only to find that all the 12 people whom I thought were there waiting for me were waiting for something else entirely. The guy I made arrangements with finally showed up an hour late, and told me the people I should talk to are all at a seminar in the center of town at the old fort. So I called up our friend who drives a taxi and had him haul all the rice and refreshments, along with me and my research assistant downtown. There were a good two dozen people there at the seminar--but I'd already surveyed every single one of them. So that was a gigantic bummer and frustration. But everything with my research had been going really well up to that point, so I guess I was due for a "TIA" (This is Africa) day.
Later that same afternoon, I had set up an in-depth interview with a man who is HIV+ and heads a support organization (a different one). When I showed up at the appointed time and place, he wasn't there, so I called him (thank goodness cell phones made it to Pemba!). He had suddenly gone out of town, and hadn't called me to cancel because he phone was all out of money (all cell phones use pre-paid cards here). Second big bummer of the day. So I dragged myself and Justin and Juma and my assistant all around town to get nothing done, all the while feeling like crap because of my cold. Ugh.
That evening, we were invited to a maulid (a Koran signing ceremony with boys playing drums, reciting, and dancing tamely) to celebrate a friend's nieces wedding, so we got all decked out in our nice clothes and made our appearance. All the women go to these, and get dressed up in dresses that are shiny, shimmery, and/or sheer, and usually pastel. Weddings are one of the few chances women have to look all nice and not have to put on a buibui (the black robe) to cover it up. I'll post a picture of me in my fancy Pemban dress (imported from Oman) later.
Today is our best friend, Juma's, wedding. I'll post more about it and some pictures of it later. He's our oldest friend here and takes his responsibilities as Juma's namesake very seriously.
But then on Thursday, I woke up with a head cold, and I've been suffering from it ever since. Luckily, I didn't have any work appointments for Thursday or Friday, and Justin was great enough to take Juma so I could sleep and rest for two days. My big day of surveying patients on Saturday came, and Justin made all the arrangements to get food and drink to give them as a thanks. He also hauled 16 kilos of rice to the organization's office, only to find that all the 12 people whom I thought were there waiting for me were waiting for something else entirely. The guy I made arrangements with finally showed up an hour late, and told me the people I should talk to are all at a seminar in the center of town at the old fort. So I called up our friend who drives a taxi and had him haul all the rice and refreshments, along with me and my research assistant downtown. There were a good two dozen people there at the seminar--but I'd already surveyed every single one of them. So that was a gigantic bummer and frustration. But everything with my research had been going really well up to that point, so I guess I was due for a "TIA" (This is Africa) day.
Later that same afternoon, I had set up an in-depth interview with a man who is HIV+ and heads a support organization (a different one). When I showed up at the appointed time and place, he wasn't there, so I called him (thank goodness cell phones made it to Pemba!). He had suddenly gone out of town, and hadn't called me to cancel because he phone was all out of money (all cell phones use pre-paid cards here). Second big bummer of the day. So I dragged myself and Justin and Juma and my assistant all around town to get nothing done, all the while feeling like crap because of my cold. Ugh.
That evening, we were invited to a maulid (a Koran signing ceremony with boys playing drums, reciting, and dancing tamely) to celebrate a friend's nieces wedding, so we got all decked out in our nice clothes and made our appearance. All the women go to these, and get dressed up in dresses that are shiny, shimmery, and/or sheer, and usually pastel. Weddings are one of the few chances women have to look all nice and not have to put on a buibui (the black robe) to cover it up. I'll post a picture of me in my fancy Pemban dress (imported from Oman) later.
Today is our best friend, Juma's, wedding. I'll post more about it and some pictures of it later. He's our oldest friend here and takes his responsibilities as Juma's namesake very seriously.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
an outing
I promised pictures, so here are some from a day we visited Juma's favorite spot--the old colonial-era dock in the mangrove swamp. We visited twice that day, once at nearly high tide and once at low tide. We don't take pictures much here, because people are generally suspicious of our intentions of taking pictures of them or the surroundings. But here at the dock there was no one around, so I took the opportunity to snap some pictures of us.
These pictures are good to show you how very green it is, as well as the kind of clothes we wear here. In the backgrounds, you can see mangrove, banana, mango, and other trees, as well as some colonial-era ruins (a customs house for the port). Juma is in long sleeves and long pants, shoes and socks, despite the heat, to protect against mosquito bites.
We chose button-up shirts because they are lighter than T-shirts and easier to wash by hand and dry by sun, too. Justin wears button-ups and long pants because that is what men wear here (only boys wear shorts).
The black gown I am in is called a buibui, named after the word for spider (because it's black), and I wear my regular clothes underneath it. I only wear the buibui and head cover when I'm outside the house (and I usually throw on a head cover if any males come to the house to visit, too). I don't have to do this, but, hey, "when in Rome." Many people stare at me, yes, but they would stare at me anyway, and most people appreciate that I try to dress in the local style, and respectfully modest. And to answer your other question I'm assuming you are asking, yes, it is hot. Which is why I generally am drenched in sweat when I get home from anywhere, and take a quick, cool shower. But even without the extra clothes, I'd be drenched in sweat. It's hot and it's humid and that's life here.
It is rather strange being back and remembering all the things that were weird or uncomfortable for us the first couple times we came, but are totally normal now. Like the other day when I got back from a long day's work, and it was hot and icky and the electricty was out, so there was no fan to cool me off. And the one thing that sounded best to me was a cup of hot, steaming ginger tea. So I got one, and, man, did that hit the spot. It wasn't until the next day that I realized how terribly odd it would be for me to want a cup of hot, spicy tea on a hot day in the US.
There are lots of other things, too, that I have been trying to remember, things that used to be weird. Like saving zip lock bags for reuse. And washing clothes by hand. And sleeping under a mosquito net. Finding spiders have built webs on our drying clothes during the night. Showering from a bucket of cold water (we have running water, but sometimes I use the bucket, just 'cause it's there). Eating with our hands instead of a fork. Eating fish with the head and fins still on. Listening to people speak Swahili and actually comphrending it.
Well, I best be off to mommy-duty so Justin can go play basketball.
These pictures are good to show you how very green it is, as well as the kind of clothes we wear here. In the backgrounds, you can see mangrove, banana, mango, and other trees, as well as some colonial-era ruins (a customs house for the port). Juma is in long sleeves and long pants, shoes and socks, despite the heat, to protect against mosquito bites.
We chose button-up shirts because they are lighter than T-shirts and easier to wash by hand and dry by sun, too. Justin wears button-ups and long pants because that is what men wear here (only boys wear shorts).
The black gown I am in is called a buibui, named after the word for spider (because it's black), and I wear my regular clothes underneath it. I only wear the buibui and head cover when I'm outside the house (and I usually throw on a head cover if any males come to the house to visit, too). I don't have to do this, but, hey, "when in Rome." Many people stare at me, yes, but they would stare at me anyway, and most people appreciate that I try to dress in the local style, and respectfully modest. And to answer your other question I'm assuming you are asking, yes, it is hot. Which is why I generally am drenched in sweat when I get home from anywhere, and take a quick, cool shower. But even without the extra clothes, I'd be drenched in sweat. It's hot and it's humid and that's life here.
It is rather strange being back and remembering all the things that were weird or uncomfortable for us the first couple times we came, but are totally normal now. Like the other day when I got back from a long day's work, and it was hot and icky and the electricty was out, so there was no fan to cool me off. And the one thing that sounded best to me was a cup of hot, steaming ginger tea. So I got one, and, man, did that hit the spot. It wasn't until the next day that I realized how terribly odd it would be for me to want a cup of hot, spicy tea on a hot day in the US.
There are lots of other things, too, that I have been trying to remember, things that used to be weird. Like saving zip lock bags for reuse. And washing clothes by hand. And sleeping under a mosquito net. Finding spiders have built webs on our drying clothes during the night. Showering from a bucket of cold water (we have running water, but sometimes I use the bucket, just 'cause it's there). Eating with our hands instead of a fork. Eating fish with the head and fins still on. Listening to people speak Swahili and actually comphrending it.
Well, I best be off to mommy-duty so Justin can go play basketball.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
electricity is back!
Sorry about the long pause in posting. The entire island is dependent on a tanker to bring oil to the island so they can burn the oil to make electricity. And as the island waits for the tanker, the electricity is always rationed. We'd have electricity for a few hours in the wee hours of the morning (like 3am to 6am sometimes, or 11pm to 1am) but never when it was useful. And never when I could use the internet cafe. But the tanker finally arrived today, thank goodness, so the food in our fridge can stop going bad, I can make more copies of my survey for the 20 new patients I'll get tomorrow, and I can update you all about what's been going on.
Research-wise, I've gotten almost 30 survey participants, which is great, and I've talked to a few doctors, nurses, and activists about the HIV/AIDS situation here. I'll get more tomorrow and Wednesday, so I'm feeling good about things. I've been making some contacts, too, and met a fellow American public health student who is also doing HIV work, but on the other island.
She was stuck in Pemba today because of a full flight (those 12-seater planes fill up fast), so we showed her around the town. Not that there's all that much to see. I took her to my haunts: the hospital and HIV/AIDS center, but no one was in, as it's Sunday. Justin showed us around his 'hood, the Archives and history Museum, which was quite well done and cool. While there, it began to rain really hard. You know, those tropical non-rainy season rains that just come down loud and fast. So we waited at the archives and munched on a wonderfully juicy and delicious mango and some sugar cane, and drank young coconut juice. Mmm, mmm, mmm. There are certain perks to living on a tropical island in the Indian Ocean.
Once the rain let up a bit, it was Juma's turn to pick the destination to show off Chake Chake (the town) to our guest, who, incidentally, is also named Sarah. Juma picked his still-favorite spot, the dock where the crabs are. This time, we spotted some new species. And since we're not biologists, we call the new species "the blue ones," "the black ones with the white dots and orange claws," and "the ones with the red claws." Scientific, no?
Juma was supremely excited to have another English-speaker to talk to, and he told her stories almost non-stop. If she wasn't in her 20s, I think Juma might've asked her out. He is still having trouble adjusting and is unwilling to play with the other kids here, but he's having a good time overall. Tonight, he quite contently showed me the suction cups on the octopus leg he was holding before he popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, I loooove octopus."
As for Justin, he's started playing basketball again. He scored four baskets for his team yesterday before injuring his toe and limping home. His friends here come visit every day, and he has been extremely supportive of me in my work. He even ran out and bought kilo after kilo of rice for me to give to my interview participants, lugging 25 kilos on his back across town. He's the best.
Yesterday, we decided we needed a break from the work so we took off to the north end of the island to one of the only beaches. It was relaxing and fun to swim and just soak up some sun (never mind that I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt over my swimsuit because there were so many Pembans around). It was our half-way-through-the-trip vacation, and much needed. We just couldn't be here and not spend a day at a beach.
We hope all is well with you.
Research-wise, I've gotten almost 30 survey participants, which is great, and I've talked to a few doctors, nurses, and activists about the HIV/AIDS situation here. I'll get more tomorrow and Wednesday, so I'm feeling good about things. I've been making some contacts, too, and met a fellow American public health student who is also doing HIV work, but on the other island.
She was stuck in Pemba today because of a full flight (those 12-seater planes fill up fast), so we showed her around the town. Not that there's all that much to see. I took her to my haunts: the hospital and HIV/AIDS center, but no one was in, as it's Sunday. Justin showed us around his 'hood, the Archives and history Museum, which was quite well done and cool. While there, it began to rain really hard. You know, those tropical non-rainy season rains that just come down loud and fast. So we waited at the archives and munched on a wonderfully juicy and delicious mango and some sugar cane, and drank young coconut juice. Mmm, mmm, mmm. There are certain perks to living on a tropical island in the Indian Ocean.
Once the rain let up a bit, it was Juma's turn to pick the destination to show off Chake Chake (the town) to our guest, who, incidentally, is also named Sarah. Juma picked his still-favorite spot, the dock where the crabs are. This time, we spotted some new species. And since we're not biologists, we call the new species "the blue ones," "the black ones with the white dots and orange claws," and "the ones with the red claws." Scientific, no?
Juma was supremely excited to have another English-speaker to talk to, and he told her stories almost non-stop. If she wasn't in her 20s, I think Juma might've asked her out. He is still having trouble adjusting and is unwilling to play with the other kids here, but he's having a good time overall. Tonight, he quite contently showed me the suction cups on the octopus leg he was holding before he popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, I loooove octopus."
As for Justin, he's started playing basketball again. He scored four baskets for his team yesterday before injuring his toe and limping home. His friends here come visit every day, and he has been extremely supportive of me in my work. He even ran out and bought kilo after kilo of rice for me to give to my interview participants, lugging 25 kilos on his back across town. He's the best.
Yesterday, we decided we needed a break from the work so we took off to the north end of the island to one of the only beaches. It was relaxing and fun to swim and just soak up some sun (never mind that I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt over my swimsuit because there were so many Pembans around). It was our half-way-through-the-trip vacation, and much needed. We just couldn't be here and not spend a day at a beach.
We hope all is well with you.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
mosquitoes, crabs, and acting out
It's fun and interesting being back in Pemba. We recognize so many people, and they remember us, too. It seems that very little has changed; most of the people work in the same shops, and all the shops are still there. The food costs a little more money, but is still quite cheap (for us). All the married women have at least one more kid, and just can't figure out why we haven't provided Juma a sibling yet. Everyone here wants lots of kids--many have around 10.
I met the perfect contact for my research, and he's helping me out a lot. I was pretty intimidated coming here and just trying to start my project, but I feel like things are working out well. This time, I am researching medications for HIV/AIDS, such as the barriers to taking them, how people access them, etc. Partly because of this, I've finally been given a nickname: Bi Kidawa. It means Little Ms. Medicine. I like the name a lot, and am proud to have a nickname. Anyone who is anyone has a nickname or two. Also, I am starting Arabic lessons tonight. The teacher is a woman in the neighborhood who teaches children to read the Quran. Should be fun.
Juma is adjusting. Slowly. He's feeling the culture shock, and has so far refused to make friends of the kids in the neighborhood. He gets along with Justin's friends fine, but is too scared to hang out with children because he forgot his Swahili. He's eating the food well enough (he's always been a small eater), and is fine with his mosquito net, his strange clothes (always long-sleeve button-ups, long pants, shoes and socks, even in the heat, to protect against mosquitoes), and the house.
His favorite activities are playing video games (in the house), going on evening walks to buy bread and octopus (his favorite food here!), and looking for crabs in the mangrove swamp at the end of the ocean. We snapped some pictures of crab-finding at both low tide and high tide; we will post some as soon as possible.
Justin is also doing well. His old friends have invited him to play basketball once again, and he is a wonderful stay-at-home dad for Juma. I have to go!
I met the perfect contact for my research, and he's helping me out a lot. I was pretty intimidated coming here and just trying to start my project, but I feel like things are working out well. This time, I am researching medications for HIV/AIDS, such as the barriers to taking them, how people access them, etc. Partly because of this, I've finally been given a nickname: Bi Kidawa. It means Little Ms. Medicine. I like the name a lot, and am proud to have a nickname. Anyone who is anyone has a nickname or two. Also, I am starting Arabic lessons tonight. The teacher is a woman in the neighborhood who teaches children to read the Quran. Should be fun.
Juma is adjusting. Slowly. He's feeling the culture shock, and has so far refused to make friends of the kids in the neighborhood. He gets along with Justin's friends fine, but is too scared to hang out with children because he forgot his Swahili. He's eating the food well enough (he's always been a small eater), and is fine with his mosquito net, his strange clothes (always long-sleeve button-ups, long pants, shoes and socks, even in the heat, to protect against mosquitoes), and the house.
His favorite activities are playing video games (in the house), going on evening walks to buy bread and octopus (his favorite food here!), and looking for crabs in the mangrove swamp at the end of the ocean. We snapped some pictures of crab-finding at both low tide and high tide; we will post some as soon as possible.
Justin is also doing well. His old friends have invited him to play basketball once again, and he is a wonderful stay-at-home dad for Juma. I have to go!
Monday, June 02, 2008
pemba
Wow, it took me only 30 minutes to get to the site. Sheesh.
Well, we arrived safely in Pemba on Friday afternoon, after traveling by 4 planes (including one that only fit 5 passengers) and for 45 hours. We're still recovering from the jet lag (Juma thinks one AM to 5 AM is day time).
The best part about being back is seeing our old friends. They had all but given up hope of seeing us again, since we are a year late, so were extra pleased to see we returned to their obscure corner of the earth.
It's the "cool" season now, so we are sweating profusely and shower twice a day to deal with the heat. We moved into our same old house as in 2006, and rehired our old cook, The Woman Who Talks 10 Miles a Minute. It's good Swahili-listening practice, that's for sure.
I best be off. Later (as soon as the electricity and the internet connection work out for us.)
Well, we arrived safely in Pemba on Friday afternoon, after traveling by 4 planes (including one that only fit 5 passengers) and for 45 hours. We're still recovering from the jet lag (Juma thinks one AM to 5 AM is day time).
The best part about being back is seeing our old friends. They had all but given up hope of seeing us again, since we are a year late, so were extra pleased to see we returned to their obscure corner of the earth.
It's the "cool" season now, so we are sweating profusely and shower twice a day to deal with the heat. We moved into our same old house as in 2006, and rehired our old cook, The Woman Who Talks 10 Miles a Minute. It's good Swahili-listening practice, that's for sure.
I best be off. Later (as soon as the electricity and the internet connection work out for us.)
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