On being a herd animal...and on...shoes

Let's face it, we human beings are basically herd animals. We feel safe in numbers, and while I guess there are some true lone wolves out there, I feel more like a sheep. I like being part of many (well, at least some of the time) and I immensely dislike sticking out of a crowd like the proverbial black sheep. To stay with that metaphor I am more like a white sheep among many black ones here and wherever I go I stick out. And since I mostly travel alone I am likely to be the only Mzungu around. Of course people notice me and given the African mentality they react by starting a conversation or just wanting to know how I am doing. While this is basically a good thing, it can be quite taxing for someone who is basically a shy person like me. So when a friend came this weekend and we went on my customary weekend trip together I was ecstatic. Finally I was part of a herd again (well a teeny tiny flock anyways), I cannot tell you how good that felt. Sharing the decisions, being able to confirm or discuss something that was being said to you in Kiswahili or just being able to talk in a common language. Yes, I definitely like being part of a herd and it's not a bad thing, sheep are very nice animals after all.

Oh, yes, the part about shoes. I seem to have a hard time with them here. I am on to my fifth pair now. The first pair I lost at the wedding, and they had been a nice pair of sandals, too, very comfortable (here I say thank you, Nina, for giving them to me). Well, apparently that nice pair of sandals have caught the fancy of one of the wedding guests and I hope they make someone happy now who wouldn't be able to afford a pair like that otherwise. But that had left me basically sans shoes at the wedding and I had to borrow a pair from my hosts. The next day I was the proud owner of some swanky leather flip flops with beads which I had bought for the price of about $7. Those were very nice indeed and they served me for about two weeks. Then I went on that fateful trip to an interesting but isolated island on the north-western coast. There are no boat-landings anywhere, rather you get out of the boat and wade towards the shore. As there are sometimes sharp rocks and/or trash in the water you keep shoes on for that endeavor. In this case the ground was very muddy as there was a mangrove forest nearby. We were presenting a veritable spectacle for the villagers who were watching us with barely contained mirth, two white ladies splashing in the water almost falling in (actually the children were laughing) and of course what had to happen did happen: My foot got stuck in the mud and by trying to get it out the strap broke. So there I was, shoeless again... And of course on that island there was no place to get a new pair. My friendly guide loaned me his flip-flops but after constantly losing them because they were too big, I went barefoot like the villagers, which again amused the children to no end. Boy, I can really use a pedicure now. Well, as soon as I was back on the mainland I made a real bargain and got a pair of bright blue plastic flip-flops for about 50 cents. Unfortunately they were neither very attractive nor very comfortable. So. back in town I bought my third pair here. A pair of black flats for about $5. Yet, bad luck again, after wearing them for a day I had two huge blisters on my heel so just now I bought another pair of sandals for $7. Let's hope they are my last!

Oh, and sorry no pictures today. I'm having computer difficulties!


As for the Antiquarian Knowledge:
There is a kind of sheep dog that when raised together with sheep will think of himself as one and will defend his herd against predators to the death! Cool, huh? Confirms my belief that we all want to be part of the herd!

On weddings...

weddings vary a lot from country country. I have been to weddings in Germany, the US, Syria and now Zanzibar, so I guess I can say I have some experience.
Take the wedding I went to in the States for example, I had been somewhat prepared for it, having watched several Hollywood chick flicks, in which weddings played a big part, so I knew there was going to be a rehearsal, bridesmaids, groomsmen and all that stuff we do not have in Germany, but still there where some things that surprised me. One of them was how early it was all over, I mean it didn't last past midnight...in Germany wedding celebrations go on until the wee hours...
But even that was longer than the celebrations I have been to here in Zanzibar (yes plural, I have already been to four and apparently there are more to come). Twice I tagged along with my host family here. Both times it was quite an act to get all the various female relatives together in a car and drive there, then we only made a short appearance of 45 min. max., which was shorter than the time it took to get ready. We got there, caused quite a stir because of bringing me, a Mzungu (white person) to the party and then I was passed on from woman to woman (surprisingly not many men were there), I had to eat, dance and pose for pictures (I have no idea in how many wedding pictures I will now turn up, but it was a lot).
The other wedding I had been to was different, I had been invited by a waitress I had befriended in one of the cafés here. So these were, contrary to the first wedding, rather poor people. I was brought to a place right behind the huge apartment buildings that fringe stone town (for my German readers who have been here: behind the “Plattenbauten”). There is a huge sprawling settlement of simple small one story buildings with tin roofs. Here I was greeted by a whole bunch of children, who attached themselves to me, hanging on to my hands and clothes, babbling excitedly, since obviously not too many white visitors come here. Here again I was brought to several families houses to be introduced to all the family members (especially unmarried male ones!) and plied with soda and cookies. We then went to the house of the bridegroom (he is the waitresses' older brother). There was a small band playing, something called kidumba and several female guests had arrived and were gathered around the band. The guests were all female and the band consisted of only male members. After I asked who was the bride and where the groom was, it was explained to me, that this was only the first day, the actual wedding ceremony (which is private by the way, with only the most important and closest relatives in attendance) would take place on the next day. So on this first day there is a henna ceremony, which takes place apparently at the bride's and the groom's house respectively. So there was music (performed by men, whose major role in weddings apparently is to provide the entertainment) and women were dancing. All the while there were women arriving with food which was taken into one of the houses. I was again passed around from woman to woman and so was my camera, with which everybody wanted to take pictures. After a while I got handed a kanga (a piece of colorful printed cloth) which I was told to wrap around my hips. Then I was placed in the middle of the musicians who were sitting around a circle. There were already women dancing on top of some short tables that formed some kind of platform. I was hauled up on that platform and had to dance, by shaking my hips and booty. I was very glad for my belly dance lessons, so I didn't appear quite so foolish. Actually I raised quite a cheer and was complimented for my dancing abilities (I'm sure they were just polite, since I saw them dancing, and, oh boy I will never be able to move my lower body like that...even the little girls are better than me).
This performance actually raised my suitability as a potential daughter/sister/granddaughter-in-law (yes I am quite a catch here) and I was asked over and over again if I wasn't looking for a husband by chance... Actually those conversations usually start with the question if I'm married, which I answer with “not yet”, then the question on how many children I have to which I answer again “none yet” which causes (regarding my advanced age of almost thirty) unbelieving tsking sounds and the question if there was something wrong with me, which I deny. Then supposedly my disadvantage of already having gathered some dust on the shelf is outweighed by the fact that I am European and thus rich so they proceed to introduce me to various single male relatives in the hope to secure a match. At which point I resort to a polite white lie, saying that I already have a boyfriend at home. Which causes two different reactions, either people scold my imaginary boyfriend for not having married me yet (yes, shame on him, what's he waiting for?) and for letting me travel all by myself (I am capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much) or I am told to ditch said boyfriend, since Swahili men make better husbands... So since they say nothing gets men interested as much as some competition, where are you, my imaginary husband to be? Better snatch me up before some one else does....

Back to the wedding: The actual religious ceremony, where the the marriage contract is signed is private, with only few people in attendance. But again the ceremony is surrounded by a big party with lots of music, dancing and food. By speaking of food, at the henna ceremony the evening before there were lots of people who did not actually belong to the wedding party. They were neighbors drawn by the music and the dancing which was all going on outside. So to make sure that only those that were invited received food you were handed a little coupon, this coupon you hand to the girls giving out the food and in return you are presented with a tin container of food and a drink. The food itself was not consumed there, it was meant to be taken home(it made an excellent lunch box for work), because very soon after the food was handed out the groom received his gifts (with lots of laughter, bawdy jokes by the women and an embarrassed groom) and the party slowly but definitely broke up. The next day there actually was food consumed together, then there were pictures to be taken with the bride and groom and more music and dancing. Sometimes there is even a third day of festivities...
Altogether it was a fun event. I lost my shoes, which I had to take off for the dancing and apparently someone liked them so much that they took them home, so now I have a snazzy pair of flip flops with beads... and I have a lot of insight of how wedding work here, very good for my research!

And on that note, here is the piece of Antiquarian Knowledge for the day:
In Kiswahili the verb “to marry” is used differently for men and women. While a man actively marries (“anaoa”) a woman is married in the passive sense of the verb (“anaolewa”). A little in contrast to the festivities were the women play such an active role and the men are the passive ones...

On modes of traveling...

I have always liked traveling by bus (it comes right after traveling by train). It usually is cheap, you get to see a lot of the landscape and the local people, and it is ecologically more sound than being alone in your car. That is why I opt for taking the buses in most places I find myself in. I have traveled that way in many cities and countries. Even in the USA where supposedly only poor people take public buses and many people think you're kind of strange if you voluntarily hop on one of them. (I guess with rising gas prices that might change...)
The cheapest way to get around here is going by Minibus. That means either one of those small Toyota vans or some sort of Pick-up with a roof. Now the name minibus is quite aptly chosen, those things are small, but nevertheless one wouldn't believe the number of people and baggage one can fit into one of them... The minibus system is not new to me, I have traveled with them several times in my sojourn in the Middle East. But I have never shared one with 25 people, yes, you can fit 25 people on the back of a pick-up. Mind you, there are actually rules on how many people are allowed in one bus (and it is way less than 25) and the buses get stopped and checked frequently by the police, but what happens is that the police raise a fuss and start discussing it with the driver, meanwhile a couple of the passengers (usually young men, who have been hanging on at the back,) sneak around the police stop to jump back on some hundred meters beyond and some money changes hands and off we go again...
Now another thing is where to get on and off these buses. There are three main stands in Stone Town and the buses are numbered (the system of numbering makes no sense whatsoever though) and they are marked with their final destination. All you have to do is find out which bus passes the point where you want to get out (thank you 'Rough Guide' for providing that information), you get on the bus and tell the conductor (yep, there's always one of these on the bus, too, taking up space, and he'll hopefully let you know when it is time for you to get out (so far it has worked quite well). This is far easier than it was in the Middle East, because the signs on the buses there made no sense to me whatsoever (first of all, it takes a little longer for me to make out the Arabic script, and then did those names or places mean nothing to me). So I had to ask around a lot to find the right bus. And often I would find myself chucked out still pretty far away from those places I wanted to go to. So here in Zanzibar it is not so hard to get to those places, and to get back is pretty easy. You just stand on the side of the road and flag those buses down, you might have to let some pass, because there is absolutely no room for one more but eventually one will stop and squeeze you in...

As for the piece of Antiquarian Knowledge:

You can find these minibuses all over the world. In Turkey they are called dolmus, in Lebanon Service and in Tanzania Dala-Dala. The name apparently derives from the amou nt of money one used to pay for them...

On food...

I do not know how many of you have ever tried to eat with your fingers (and I do not mean the stylish finger food nowadays served at fashionable parties). It is not as easy as it looks, there is also a certain etiquette to it. This may vary from country to country. Here in Zanzibar there is the rule that you should use your right hand only (the other one is considered unclean, since it is the one you use to clean yourself after using the bathroom (no toilet paper)). So with your right hand you scoop up the food on your plate, not so bad when it is potatoes or chunks of vegetables or meat, a little trickier when it comes to rice and spinach, very difficult when you have to break off pieces of bread or fish or so with one hand only. Then you pass your hand with the food to your mouth and somehow deposit it there. Without dropping too much on the way. As I said it is not as easy as it looks and I'm far from looking as elegant at it as the women here. Oh well, I am trying and elegant isn't the sort of description that comes to mind immediately when thinking about me anyway...
The food here is really good, even though half of the time I have no idea what exactly I am eating. I do try everything and mostly it is a pleasant surprise. I have to admit though that I really don't like octopus (much to the disappointment of the people here) and that pili pilis have proven to be to strong for me (much to the amusement of the people here).... As for the fruit... oh boy, the Mangoes and Papayas we get in Europe just cannot compete, they are so delicious here... and there are all kinds of fruits I have never seen and tasted before... it's all very exciting and I consider myself very adventurous. Oh, and I noticed that the three chicken that were running around in the court yard are conspicuously absent and that we did have several dishes containing chicken lately....
The funny thing is that my host family thinks I am not eating enough, even though I feel like that's all I do. They think I'm on a diet. Me! Now there's a laugh....

As I didn't manage to post a the habitual piece of Antiquarian Knowledge last time, here are two pieces for today:

On tourism:

The first travel guide that included specific information on transportation, accommodation, prices and so on was published by a German publisher in 1836: the famous Baedeker (it still exists today). It was said to be very accurate and thorough, there is the legend that Karl Baedeker, the publisher dropped a pea at every twenty steps when visiting the Milan Cathedral so as to be able to report the exact number. There go those Germans....

On food:

The 19th century not only saw the Scramble for Africa but also the invention of canned food. Eating food out of cans was considered to be sophisticated and a status symbol. So all those colonials would rather eat their meals out of a can instead of enjoying all the delious fresh produce around them. Just to show white man's superiority....

On being a tourist .... or not

In certain circles being a tourist is almost as bad as stealing candy from a child...
and looking around me those descriptions of the bad tourist hold more than a grain of truth. There are the Italian girls (and women) who see nothing in running around a Muslim town in skimpy tops and miniskirts, there's the British guy who calls the waiter 'hey you', there is the Dutch couple who treats the shopkeeper as a quaint but simple child and on and on it goes. There are dozens of hotels being built right in front of the beaches, with no regard to the culture or the environment. There are hordes of tourists descending on the towns and villages like plagues of locust, bestowing a jovial 'jambo' on everyone without knowing (or caring) that it is only the ignorant tourist version of the proper greeting, complaining about the lack of toilet paper and amenities and not realizing that there a people living here on less a day than the amount they spend on one beer alone.
Yes, all that can be true and yet ... even those of us who are aware of these things and try to avoid being a 'tourist' and some of us would even be offended to be called such... yet here we are: tourists. After all is being said and done, I am one of those great hordes who migrate to far places in search of beauty and adventure.
It is also true that I have spend a lot of time and effort at learning about the local culture and the language, after all it is part of my studies, and one really cannot expect the average tourist to have that kind of in-depth knowledge. And yes, I am not living here in the typical tourist style, not even the low budget 'authentic' backpacker kind. But I am, just like any other tourist here, a guest, perhaps a little more conscious of the fact than most.
So, yes, I like to do tourist stuff. I like to go and gawk at the sights, I like to do things I wouldn't do at home (either because it is not possible there or because you need the certain 'vacation feeling' for it). And sometimes I want to behave like a real tourist, I want to hang out in the Internet Cafés, because they connect me with the people and places that I do miss at odd moments, I like to browse around the shops selling souvenirs, even though they are overpriced and not very 'authentic' (whatever that may be), I like to sit down with other tourists and compare notes and yes, sometimes I even like a little break from all the strange and exciting and new and interesting and culturally valuable and so on things around me .... and just sit down with a package of chocolate chip cookies bought at an outrageous price just because for a moment they make me feel at home...
So go ahead and call me a tourist because that's what I am.
And here is the truth about it: Yes, Tourism sometimes does have a bitter aftertaste to it...and we should do what we can to avoid that, but being a tourist in itself is not a bad thing. It means we are curious about the world around us but at the same time we are very grounded in the things that we know and that make us feel safe and sometimes we might need a little bit of both at the same time.

On being lonely... but not alone

(As the Internet connection is not always reliable here, I usually write my posts in advance and just copy and paste them later into my blog in an internet café. This is why this post has been written a couple of days ago, in a momentary bout of the blues- So not to worry I am quite alright, and have reconciled myself with this beautiful island)

It is an interesting phenomenon that you can be lonely even if you are surrounded by a crowd. Loneliness is quite different from being alone. Sometimes I like being alone, sometimes I even need to be. I find large numbers of people at once quite oppressive at times, so I need some time to myself to decompress. But being lonely is different. Lonely is when everybody around you seems to belong to someone. Lonely is being different from everyone around you. Lonely is not being able to participate because you don't understand the social codes. Lonely is not being able to share the little things that happen to you...
I often feel lonely. But it usually does not matter as much because I have books. I never feel lonely when I read. I always belong. Books are like friends, I understand them and they understand me. There is no need for lengthy explanations. No need to try to fit in. But now I have run out of books. I have reread the ones I have with me several times. So tomorrow I will venture out to find a book. And then I will have to find a place to be ALONE... to be with friends who understand me.
It is not very easy to be alone here. You cannot simply sit down somewhere, at the beach or a park for instance, and hope to be left alone. There is always someone who'll start talking to you, be it the papasi (ticks) at the seafront who would try to sell you mittens on these tropical beaches if they had to, be it the street children who present you with little flowers and then want money for them or be it just the curious old lady next to you on the bench in the park. There is always someone who is interested in you and what you are doing. Yes, it is nice to be somewhere where everybody is very friendly and you are constantly greeted on the streets. But you know what? Sometimes I find myself thinking fondly of the inhabitants of my hometown Berlin, who would look at you as if you had just cursed the black plague upon them and their descendants if you dare to say 'Good Morning' to them. As the saying goes: 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'.
Likewise, it is not easier to find a quiet place in the house I'm staying in. It has been a busy household to begin with, but now a whole bunch of relatives have come visiting and I find myself sharing my room with two of them...
So this trip so far is one big learning experience. Learning about other cultures and values, but also about myself and the things that are important to me that so far I have been taking for granted... It is very educating indeed...

PS: I have found a book (the prices for books here are outrageous), and now I am happily traipsing along with the colonial troops in World War I East Africa. (William Boyd, "An Ice-Cream War")

Mom, these are for you:

and to the piece of antiquarian knowledge of the day:
The name Barack is Arabic and means 'Blessing', for those of you who didn't already know. (As for his middle name 'Hussein' it means little Hassan and not 'Evil Personified' as some Republicans want to make us believe.)

On Language

One usually doesn't realize how important it is to one's basic contention to be able to express oneself freely. To just interact with the people around you on a normal level and speed. Even as a tourist in another country one might run into the odd occasion where one has to resort to signing and rudimentary words to be understood. But usually one is surrounded by other tourists with whom one shares at least one language in which one can communicate more or less competently (i.e. English).

Now, I have been studying Kiswahili for quite some time and I manage to make myself understood most of the time and I am now at the point at which I understand a great deal of what is being said to me if the person takes care to speak slowly enough. Yet it is at times very tiring and frustrating to be able to communicate only on a very basic level and quite slowly. To be unable to contribute more complicated thoughts to a conversation. On the whole, to feel like a kid in kindergarten again.
I am in the quite wonderful situation to be surrounded by Swahili native speakers, who, for the most part, are only able to communicate with me in their native tongue and only to a little extent in English. My vocabulary grows by leaps and bounds and every day it becomes a little easier to make myself understood. Yet, I sometimes long to have a real conversation where the words flow freely and there's no stumbling along in half sentences and groping for the right word...
Think about this next time you have a conversation with someone or even if you just go to the bakery to buy some bread. And think about it when next time you meet a foreigner who might not appear very intelligent by the things he or she contributes to a conversation. He or she might be just groping for the right word, and instead of being a stupidly grinning dingbat she might be a grad student at university....

The Piece of Antiquarian Knowledge of the day:
While there are oodles of loanwords from English and Arabic in Kiswahili and even some Portuguese words, there is only one German loanword that I am aware of: shule (i.e. Schule or school). I wonder what that says about us as a colonial power....