Stonetown, Unguja – Immigration Faff and Tourist Attractions

Jambo Mr Bean - boats in Stonetown harbour

A visit to the immigration office in Chake Chake and a long discussion between all the staff members (who were distracted somewhat by a diversion into my marriage status, or lack of) uncovered that they do not deal with foreigners. Quite who the immigration office in Chake Chake does deal with I’m not too sure, and there are very few foreigners anyway… but this meant I had to travel to Unguja this week to apply for our permits.

On Tuesday morning I waved goodbye to Beth and Romina and started off on my journey. All was going well, squished on a dala-dala with a small boy on my knee, until the dala-dala began some tractor/motorbike sound and spluttered to a stop. This meant everyone had to get off the dala-dala ans walk up the hill, while a group of men poked around in the engine. This was repeated on every hill (Pemba is quite hilly!), until finally we reached Mkoani, the port in the south of the island, just in time for the ferry.

The ferry journey was another experience entirely. We were all solemnly handed sick bags, and I was soon to find out why. The channel between the south of Pemba and northern Unguja is very rough, and soon there were people being seasick all around me. Perhaps the extra $60 for the plane is worth it…

There was good and bad news when I reached immigration in Zanzibar Town. Firstly the bad news – a volunteering resident permit had increased from $120 to $550 in July. Good news – as volunteers under a government ministry we could apply for a different permit, which was free. However this permit needed another letter from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a whole load of forms to be filled in, and more passport photos. This meant a wild goose chase around a number of different offices to get the required paper work, charming officials in broken Swahili and standing in crowds of people waving bits of paper in the air, all held up by a number of power outs. However, after three trips to the office, I have been assured they will be ready next week – hooray!

For the rest of my time in Stonetown was time for me to be a tourist. It was actually quite a culture shock to see so many wazungu tourists wandering round the narrow streets in huge tour groups in short shorts – nothing like Pemba! It’s clear to see why Stonetown is so popular though – a wonderful mix of Swahili, Arabic, Indian and European culture and peoples, shops full of spices, bright kitangas and jewellery, markets full of strange looking fish, groups of men drinking coffee and playing dominos on the street corners, spicy Indian foods and cocktail bars overlooking the harbour. Zanzibar’s famous doors are everywhere, even simple and crumbling buildings have an impressive decorated door.

Zanzibari doors and winding streets

Stonetown market - fish and spices

Visiting the old Slave Market

Iced coffee and a newspaper, possibly the highlight of the whole trip

On Friday I took a small boat out to Prison Island, a small island just a few kilometres away which was originally used as a prison and then a quarantine zone during the British Empire. Now it has a hotel and a turtle sanctuary. I think this was my first turtle encounter - they were as big as me (if I was turtle shaped), have heads like snakes and even make a hissing sound. They didn’t eat me alive, so I think we’re friends…

Arriving at Prison Island

Making friends with the turtles

Snorkelling off Prison Island

Then it was up early on Saturday morning, another stomach churning trip back across to Pemba, two squished dala-dala trips later and I was back home, with a huge pile of laundry to do in the muddy lake.

Watching sunset from Africa House, the old English Club

Workshops, Washing and our Project Coordinator Dilemmas

Since moving to the Shamba last weekend things in Pemba have really started to talk shape – we now feel like part of the local community. However the children still seem to regard us as a novelty, shouting ‘bye bye muzungu’ everywhere we go, clapping and singing whenever we collect water and sitting outside our house staring at us when we come home.

Tenteleni volunteers surrounded by crowds of small children

On Monday school was closed because of the boat accident, so we decided to explore the local area, after an impromptu English-Swahili lesson with some of the children of the family we are staying with. We walked to Vitongoji, the village just a few minutes away, but within a couple of minutes we had seen pretty much everything, and been seen by pretty much everyone. So we decided to walk in the other direction towards the beach, which were told by our new family members, kaka (brother) Fundi and kaka Ahmed was only 1km away. So we set off behind them in high spirits. After over an hour of walking along a dusty road we finally made it to a deserted lodge overlooking the beach. The tide was out and there were lots of fishermen collecting things from rock pools, but not an ideal swimming location. We did manage to find the gardener and get a luke warm soda to help us on the way back though.

Vitongoji village

Beth, Fundi, Ahmed and me at Vitongoji beach after a long walk

The most exciting event of Monday was getting our bicycles – second-hand sit-up-and-beg bikes with a basket, just like being back in London. It’s pretty hard work getting up some of the hills, but it is great to have so much freedom to explore and at least do a little bit of exercise. Wazungu (white people) are rare in Pemba, and we have been told it is considered a ‘taboo’ for Muslim women to cycle (it’s probably too hot with their long dresses and headscarf anyway), so a female cycling muzungu is an odd sight to most Pembans.

However on my first day of cycling around Chake Chake district I was ‘detained’ by an army officer for talking on my phone near the army camp. Although the signs only say no photography, apparently I look suspicious and could have been a spy, so was dragged to the army office for questioning. The whole incident was actually quite amusing – I think they just wanted to find out what I was doing and made up a good excuse to do so.

On Tuesday morning I was woken up early (5.30am) by one of the volunteers for some Project Coordinator duties – two major disasters had struck our home. Number one – there was a frog in our bathing bucket. Number two the toilet (a kind of squat/long-drop affair) was blocked. Amazingly I was very grown up and dealt with both dilemmas successfully, maybe I am becoming accustomed to African life after all. However the frog has become a daily occurrence in the bathroom, but at least now I have someone to sing to in the shower.

The rest of the week was hectic, organizing and running workshops in the four schools we are working in, Shamiani, Fidel Castro, Wawi and Connecting Continents [www.connectingcontinents.de]. All of the workshops seemed to go really well, and the local Sheikhan even turned up to two of them, which was a great privilege. At most of the meetings when it came to the opportunity for any questions the most common, and usually the first, question was ‘how old are you and are you married?’ I had thought we wouldn’t get so many proposals here due to the religion, but due to the high demand for wives (Muslim men can marry up to four wives), many of the younger male teachers seem keen to try! Explaining that you’re not willing to become a Muslim and can’t cook usually puts them off though.

Working Together Workshop at Connecting Continents Secondary School

Spending so much time in the schools gave me a good opportunity to chat with some of the teachers, most of whom are really curious to know more about the UK. At Fidel Castro I had a really interesting conversation with a group of male teachers about religion and terrorism. They were really interested to know what people in the UK thought of Muslims. It was difficult to answer truthfully and not be offensive though, however people here are the kindest and most welcoming people I have ever met. Everybody offers to help you in some way, showing you the way, inviting you for a meal and even offering to lend you their Vespa.

Romina and me at Fidel Castro Secondary School

After such a hectic week it was finally the weekend. My trainers had their first outing in Pemban dirt as I went for a run, shouting ‘Salama’ at surprised locals and almost making one man fall off his bike in shock. However an hour was enough, even at 7am it was very hot and I collapsed in a sweaty heap on the porch. After recovering from my run it was time to join the local women at the lake to do our clothes washing. The water is very brown and I have no idea how they manage to get their whites done, but we did our best. There were about 25 women and children also at the lake, washing clothes, themselves and babies. It is the only place I have seen women not so covered up – obviously it is the area where headscarves and long dresses can be abandoned. However Beth took it a step to far – an old woman came up to us, gesturing wildly and pointing to Beth and my kitanga. First we though she wanted her to cover up her cleavage, but then we heard the word ‘knickers’ and figured out everyone had been able to see Beth’s pants as we were washing. When we finally figured out what was going on this brought hilarity to the group of women and children.

The daily chore of collecting water

There are certain parts of Pemban life that I don’t think I’ll ever manage to get used to though. Firstly is the amount of fish in the diet, everything tastes of fish, even the rice and vegetables. The markets are fully of baskets of smelly fish covered in flies, so when I come home I too smell of fish, only to be greeted by a fish dinner most nights. The other difficult thing is the lack of embarrassment over belching and burping – it seems to almost be expected, not just at meal times, but any time of day. One of the guys who lives with us managed to burp his way through an entire movie (Mama Mia – we thought they would have loved it, but by halfway we were the only ones left watching – maybe my singing scared them away). Lastly I am also confused that the majority of people greet you with either ‘good morning’ or ‘bye bye’, regardless of the time of day. Even in Swahili it’s wrong, but when I correct people they look at me like I’m crazy. I think I’ll stick to greetings in Swahili, much less complicated.

On Sunday we decided to take a trip out of the Shamba to the beach on the other side of Chake Chake, Wesha. It wasn’t a great day for swimming as it was really windy, but we made the most of the sofas overlooking the sea, some good Western food (pizza!) and a beer. It was lovely to spend a day away from the hectic-ness of the village and to be able to read a book in peace without being stared at.

Relaxing with a beer in Wesha - perfect end to the week

The port at Wesha

This week holds another adventure – I am off to Unguja, the main Zanzibar Island, to deal with immigration and work permit documents. However I hope there will be time for some sight-seeing while I’m hanging around, and maybe even a trip to the beach!

Tutaonana badye (see you later)

Ramadan, Eid, Cows Beaches and Shamba Life

Twenty-one hours, three stop-overs (Doha, Nairobi and Dar es Salaam) and an audiobook (When God was a Rabbit) later, I finally completed my journey from London Heathrow to Pemba Island ‘International’ airport, which turned out to be little more than a hut with a glorified bit of tarmac in front of it. As the small six-seater plane made it through the clouds and the island came into view I had my first taste of what the next three months would hold – palm trees, blue sea, white beaches and lots of tin huts.

Pemba is a small island (only 67km long) about 80km north-east of Zanzibar (Unguja). In Arabic it is known as ‘El Huthera’ (Green), which actually describes the island perfectly as it is almost jungle-like everywhere apart from the towns and sea. The population is under 400,000; so in such a community visitors, especially ‘wazungu’ (white people), stick out like a sore thumb. But the most predominant aspect of Pemban life which immediately stands out is the friendly nature of the people. Everywhere you go people will greet you warmly, and even try out some English on you and let my practice my (shaky) Swahili. Everyone is very willing to help, whether you want to find a cold drink, try a local dish or just have a wander round town, so I have already made plenty of friends in Chake Chake, the main town.

When I first arrived on Pemba the holy month of Ramadan was still being observed, meaning that during daylight hours all adults and children above the age of 7 fast, only eating a small meal at 6.30pm after the sun sets, and a main meal in the middle of the night. Pemba is predominantly Muslim country, the only Christians seem to be those who have emigrated from the mainland, which meant that getting any food during Ramadan was near impossible, apart from at market stalls late at night. For the first few days I survived on egg and chips and oranges I managed to scavenge from the market – all I can say is Pemba should advertise itself as a new extreme diet boot camp during Ramadan.

The festivities that came after Ramadan more than made up for a few days of going hungry though. I was invited to spend the day with Nassor, one of my local colleagues from our partner organization EdLITE [http://www.edlitezanzibar.org]. The day was a fantastic rapid introduction to Pemba culture and lifestyle. First we had breakfast at Nassor’s home, including some special Eid cakes and chai, which tasted delicious after so long without a proper meal. Then Nassor took me on a tour of all his relatives’ houses, as is tradition on the first day of Eid (sort of like relative visiting in the UK, apart from here most live within walking distance). I seemed to meet most of the population of Gombani village, as well as a few of the surrounding areas, and at each house I was given more special Eid cake, chai or juice, which was all delicious. By the time we reached the final house I was stuffed, only to be greeted with an invitation to join them for lunch, which consisted of a mountain of rice. By the time I left I felt like I had put on a couple of kilos during the morning, but also that I had begun to understand a little more of Pemban and Muslim culture.

The next day Nassor had a completely new adventure in store for me, which was great as all the schools and offices were still closed to celebrate Eid. We drove out to a small rural village in the south of the island, where an income-generating project involving cows has been set up. One of the cows had given birth, but was then unable to stand up. So I joined the group of men who had a plan to get the cow back on its feet. After a short trek through a forest of coconut, banana and clove trees we reached an area where three cows were tied up, one certainly looking worse for wear. The men began to dig holes in the ground to drive in some wooden poles, watched by all of the village children. After about two hours work in the hot sun (I was sweating and I was only sitting down), the men had built a small wooden three-sided structure and began to drag the cow up the hill and squished it inside. Apparently this was going to help it stand. I have no idea whether it worked or not, but the poor cow looked like it needed some water and to see a vet, not to be hauled about and poked with sticks. Nevertheless it was interesting to see life in the rural village and explore some more of the island; just the view of the jungle and hills was worth the trip.

On Saturday the volunteers, Beth and Romina, arrived in Pemba, which was quite a relief as I had been roaming Chake Chake alone (or with newly acquired Pemban friends) for the past week. Muzungus are pretty rare in Pemba, so when I did see one I had the tendency to jump upon them and quiz them about what they were doing on ‘my’ island. One turned out to be a newly arrived peace corps volunteer, while another was a M&E guy from UNDP, both of whom were equally surprised to see another foreigner. So when the volunteers arrived we made quite a spectacle snaking through the small streets of the town. I felt rather like a mother duck with my brood of volunteers following on behind. The very next day we started our training programme with the four local volunteers, Mohammed, Mzee, Haji and Mussa. It was a great feeling to finally have the project underway, and soon the small room was filled with hysterics as we taught them ‘Old McDonald had a farm…’ and exchanged ideas on culture. The local volunteers were particularly interested and confused by what they called ‘courtship rituals’ in the UK, just as we were equally bemused by the Muslim tradition of men having up to four wives. While they were bemused about the fact you might date someone for years before getting married (and might not actually want to ever get married), we were equally confused about how a husband managed to spread himself between four wives. Apparently he can keep some kind of diary system or something…

One of the biggest challenges of living in Pemba is the language barrier as few people speak English well, and my KiSwahili is still limited to greetings, introductions and finding food. This challenge manifested itself when we ran out of toilet paper in our hotel. First we asked the receptionist in English, then we found our phrase book and thought we had it solved (karatazi ya chooni). However he returned with the paperwork concerning our room instead. Due to the desperation of the situation I then attempted to act out toilet paper in some kind of bizarre charade , while also repeating the phrase in Swahili, with the poor receptionist guy looking more and more confused. Then in a last ditch attempt I tried drawing a picture, but my artist skills are pretty limited. Thank goodness for Mummy packing an emergency supply of tissues!

At the end of the week we were invited to a head teacher’s house for lunch, and afterwards to a debate at one of the secondary schools. After lunch the teacher gave me a tour of the local area on the back of his moped, which was an adrenaline pumping experience as he was talking on the phone, while negotiating chickens, children and pot holes, while also gesticulating to me all the local points of interest. At the debate we were introduced as special guests and I was asked to be in charge of scoring the students’ grammar. If only they’d know how limited my knowledge of English grammar actually is…

Finally it was the weekend and we could enjoy a day out of Chake Chake. We took a boat trip to Misali Island, about 1 hour and a half by boat from Pemba. We spent the morning exploring the island’s beaches and chasing crabs around the beach, and the afternoon snorkelling along the coral reef surrounding the island, which was fantastic. I have no idea what any of the fish were called, but they looked so beautiful and colourful I could have stayed there all day. Unfortunately the sun had other ideas and I had to escape into the shade before I became a lobster.

On Sunday we moved from Chake Chake to our home for the next ten weeks, in a small village called Vitongoji, about 10km from Chake Chake. There is not much in the village apart from a few tomato sellers, a primary school and lots of small children. We went to collect water in the evening, but all of the nearby taps were off, so we had to go about 10 minutes away to the well. By the time we got there we had a huge band of small children following us. When it came to carrying the heavy buckets of water back to the house Beth and me attempted to carry them on our heads, which drew whooping, clapping and singing from the children. After a couple of minutes we had to stop though – my head has still not adapted to African living.

We were supposed to start the project in the schools today, but unfortunately there has been a disaster in Pemba, so today was declared a national day of mourning. In the early hours of Saturday a ship sailing between Unguja and Pemba sank, taking with it about 200 or so of the 800 passengers on board, most of whom were Pembans returning home [http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14864400]. Such a great loss of life has really affected the small community here, with almost everyone knowing someone who was on the boat.

So that’s the news from my first two weeks in Pemba island and my new homeland. I’m sure the next few months will hold numerous adventures and excitements – and I’ll be sure to let you know!