Our Swahili-speaking abilities improve every time we visit Zanzibar (and even in between trips, thanks to classes and internet radio), but we still slip up and confuse words now and then.
Okay, more than now and then. But Zanzibaris are polite enough to not point them out to us. Unless the mistake is so bad that all we get is blank stares or hearty laughs or shocked gasps.
Here are a couple examples of our funnier mistakes and mispronunciations:
"Niligonga mguu uchumi." I banged my foot against the economy.
It should have been, "Niligonga mguu chuma!" I banged my foot against the steel pole.
"Nipe sabuni ya kuongea na kulea." Can I have soap so I can talk to people and raise children?
It should have been, "Nipe sabuni ya kuoga na kunawa." Can I have soap for bathing and washing hands?
"Wanawake wote wa Merikani huvaa serikali." Most American women wear governments.
It should have been, "Wanawake wote wa Merikani huvaa suruali." Most American women wear pants.
"Ninasoma chooni." I study in the bathroom.
It should have been, "Ninasoma chuoni." I study at the university.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
random pictures of us in Pemba
Thought you might enjoy seeing some of our pictures from Pemba, but there are so many of them I will group them in slide shows.
These are of the three of us around town and at home:
These are of the three of us around town and at home:
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
rain in Pemba
It’s not the rainy season, but it rains nearly every day anyway. I’ve never been here during the long rainy season and I’m not sure I want to, with the heavy water running muddy and murky and toxic down the roads and ditches. Even in the cool, dry season that is now the water in the stream in the bottom of the valley emits a putrid smell and unearthly bluish glow and the houses nearest it are on the cheapest plots of land. The rain when it comes in this cool, dry season is quick and loud and weighty, pouring on the tin roof with a glorious sound that muffles conversation and is surprising every time. In Stone Town’s narrow stone streets, these rains create instant rivers of the walkways, with side streams feeding in from the alleys into the larger openings.
Boys playing soccer scatter to the higher ground of baraza and porch steps, under the awnings, to wait it out, because they never last long, these rains. Juma was caught on the wrong side of the street-turned-river on one of his first days in Stone Town when he was three, stuck crying under a tin awning as the rain made a noise too loud for his little heart to handle, too far away from his mama, and he never quite forgave the rain and the tin roofs for that. A teenage boy looked and understood his desperation, hefted him up and raced him across the little river to me, both of them soaked by the falling water, and the teenager’s jeans soaked up to his knees from the street water.
Boys playing soccer scatter to the higher ground of baraza and porch steps, under the awnings, to wait it out, because they never last long, these rains. Juma was caught on the wrong side of the street-turned-river on one of his first days in Stone Town when he was three, stuck crying under a tin awning as the rain made a noise too loud for his little heart to handle, too far away from his mama, and he never quite forgave the rain and the tin roofs for that. A teenage boy looked and understood his desperation, hefted him up and raced him across the little river to me, both of them soaked by the falling water, and the teenager’s jeans soaked up to his knees from the street water.
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