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)
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