Finally I am really feeling settled into Pemba life. I have found the best places to buy the necessities of life, from toothpaste to kashata (kind of like peanut brittle, but not so brittle), via local fruit and fresh juice. I have also located the best places for lunch, from chai and buns stalls to egg and chips to rojo, a mix of potatoes, fried bean patties, boiled egg and cassava chips (or any combination of the above) mixed together with a spicy sauce made from tomatoes and mangos. I have my work space well and truly fixed up – a terrace overlooking the town which serves much needed cold soda. On my way home every day I have my coffee hut to hang out at and chat KiSwahili with the local guys. I can’t go anywhere without bumping into (often literally on Chake Chake’s narrow streets) someone I know – surely a true sign of becoming part of the community. But I am now into my last two weeks of the project, and the ‘pole pole’ (slowly slowly) Pemban life I have been living is starting to catch up with me.
Obligatory coffee break before cycling home
The daily chore of collecting water from the well, and then carrying it home
Despite all this there are still a multitude of customs, traditions, rules, attitudes and perspectives I still haven’t got my head around, and I don’t think I ever would. Life here seems totally disorganized, nobody has any idea what is going on from one day to the next, which makes life here an organizational nightmare. You can turn up to school to run a workshop to find the majority of the teachers absent, while the others are either eating cassava under a tree or sleeping on a mat in the staff room, as the children run wild in the classrooms.
Since arriving here I have experienced the warmest greetings of any community, with almost everybody being excited and happy to see you, hugely appreciative of the work we are doing, and falling over themselves to help us in some way. But the fall-out over Gaddafi’s death has highlighted to me how great the divide is between Muslim and Christian in Africa, and the extent to which people here hold a negative view of ‘the West’. Although in the British media the Arab Spring is portrayed as a local and organic uprising of Muslims against oppressive leaders, many people here see it as a US and UK sponsored attack on Islam. A quick chat with my ‘Baba’ (father, in my Pemban home) on the day of Gaddafi’s death revealed that he was fiercely pro-Gaddafi, who he saw as a visionary leader of Islam, although he also recognized that Libya had sponsored terrorism.
Pembans are also extremely proud of their culture, religion and traditional way of life, and have a fear of anything that might undermine this. They have seen the development of neighbouring Unguja, with an influx of tourists, rise in drug use, prostitution, HIV/AIDS and a seeming decline in religious fervour, and are determined to protect their island’s way of life. In many ways I admire this, they recognize what is important to their community and what makes this small island unique. Despite the boost the economy would receive from tourists, they also realize tourism can have negative effects. Yet in many ways this dogged attachment to tradition, culture and religion can be seen as a brake on development. Many issues in society are simply ignored, with disabled people, drug users and unmarried women often seeming like outcasts from the community. Prayer time and religious festivals take up so much time that it is not surprising that jobs don’t get done, building work is running months behind, teachers cannot finish the syllabus and businesses fail to stay afloat. In many cases people often fail to get effective treatment for simple illnesses and diseases because of beliefs in evil spirits, the devil and ancestral spirits, which means they usually seek help from traditional medicines, herbs and witchdoctors before attending the hospital or clinic. However against this background Pemba is also relatively developed – most people have some form of employment or income, most people have attained some secondary education, even if their level of English is poor, the roads are in relatively good condition and the number of large 4x4s driving around suggests there are a number of wealthy families.
Studying English at Sober House
Since my last blog I have finished the English course at Sober House, the rehabilitation centre for alcohol and drug users. I have really enjoyed my time there, chatting with the guys, sharing jokes over lunch of beans and rice and seeing them really progress in their English speaking skills. However we have also had a number of hilarious conversations. In one class I decided to introduce some reading as most of the students were away having a medical check-up, so I pulled out what I thought was a relatively straight-forward novel about an Australian, fraud and prison. However three pages in I realized the language was not as simple as I had first remembered, and was having to explain almost every other word. Embarrassingly one such word was ‘erection’. How to explain to a group of four adult men in broken Swahili-English, while Beth was in the corner giggling away… Since then we have had quite a few in-depth life conversations. I was approached by one guy to explain what a ‘pimp’ was – I advised him it probably wasn’t a good career choice for after he finished the programme – while two others asked me for help on chatting up girls. From what I have seen of men in Pemba so far, they definitely need help. The usual routine seems to go something like this – ‘Jambo muzungu! Where are you from? What’s your name? Are you married? Not married! I need a wife!’. Sometimes they neglect the asking of the name part, that isn’t essential in the first meeting.
My students from Sober House
Since my last blog I was also invited by the local Imman to visit the primary school in the main mosque in Chake Chake. I felt honoured to be allowed to enter the mosque as a non-Muslim, and was intrigued to see inside. It wasn’t quite as exciting as I had expected, but pretty special all the same. They have a small primary school within the mosque, with about 150 children from the age of 5 up to 14. First I was taken to the youngest classes to sing some songs, play some games and help with maths (fortunately nothing more was demanded of me than counting up to 10, phew). Then I was taken to the Standard VI science class. I was quite happy learning about plant growth along with the pupils, until the teacher held out the chalk to me and announced Miss Asilla was now going to teach about seed germination and give notes. I tried to find some help from a text book, but there was nothing, so I improvised with some information about nutritious soil, water, temperature and light and a big picture of a seen becoming a flower. The teacher seemed to love it, but really didn’t get the point that I haven’t studied biology for over 7 years now, and even at the time didn’t really have a grasp of the subject… Anyway at least the pupils got to draw a pretty picture!
Two Form IV Graduates singing a traditional Swahili poem
One weekend we were also invited to attend a Form IV graduation ceremony at one of the schools, Connecting Continents. It was a fun event, with traditional sung poems (all in Swahili so I had no idea what was going on), a play in which Beth starred as the crazy muzungu and afterwards lots of cake! The strangest part of the day was the graduates’ attire – they all had to wear what looked like a black shower cap with ribbons around it with a matching sash and the head master and the guest of honour were also dressed in the same get up. They seemed to really enjoy it though, which is the most important thing.
Beth, Haji and me at Connecting Continents School - rocking the headscarf!
So far (touch wood) I have managed to remain surprisingly healthy here on Pemba, but just last week Beth and me were hit with a strange pox like rash which we think we have caught from playing with some village kids. They are always scratching. I probably should have known better – who knows where they have been – but they are pretty cute. However the end result was looking like we had chicken pox for a couple of days and coating ourselves in anthisan. I am happy to say that I am now back to normal and pox free though!
Romina on Vitongoji beach
Last weekend it was Romina’s birthday, so she celebrated by baking a cake with the older children and then taking the whole swarm of kids off to the beach, about a 30 minute walk away from our house. Fortunately when we arrived it was high tide, so the children had great fun splashing around (in their pyjamas), jumping in the fishing boats and enjoying the evening sun. Even though they live on such a small island and the beach is so close, they don’t seem to visit that often – I guess for their parents it’s not actually that exciting. Anyway we dragged/carried back an exhausted and salty bunch of kids, all with tales to tell of adventures with the wazungu.
Enjoying the sun and beach with the children
Little Sada splashing around in her PJs
And last, but not least, here are some pictures of the beautiful children that come to the library storytelling club – absolutely adorable!
