Friday, February 15, 2008

The Queen and I, feedback loops, a place named Bububu, and dala dalas

This entry had been lying around my hard drive for a few months now, and never got around to posting it until now. Enjoy!

“After two months of rest from my blog, I have returned to update you all on what has been happening on this side of the planet from a hotel room in Kampala, Uganda. The power has just been cut due to a rolling black out, and I’ve just returned from dinner at a local bar that consisted of goat and chips, washed down with a beer. Great time to sit and bring you up to speed.

“After spending lots of hours slaving away at creating project briefs for AKF Tanzania, which included merry-go-rounds of comments from people as far away as Geneva, I was asked to go to Uganda to help AKF put together briefs advertising the Madrasa Pre-School Programme (see my June entry for an explanation of what this is) that will be used to inform visiting dignitaries and other delegates of the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting of the work AKF is doing in early childhood development. The meeting is happening later in November, but the whole city is behind schedule in preparing to host the conference. My driver from the airport pointed out one large hotel that was designed and built solely for the purpose of this three day meeting, and was suppose to have been finished last month. The roof was still missing and the interior was still one giant concrete mass, at least from what I could see as our car sped by. Local papers have also reported other delays. Fiber-optic wires for high speed internet are still being laid, and pot-hole filled roads are still being refurbished, and telecommunications lines are still being installed. The arrival terminal at Entebbe was still under construction when I arrived, still in need of signs to help visitors navigate the terminal. The whole city is cramming to get everything done before 52 heads of state arrive to promote trade and co-operation between Commonwealth countries. The Queen is also supposed to attend, but the local papers speculate she will not be amused at the current rate of progress. I can’t help but think I’ll be joining this rush effort by assisting AKF create these materials.

“Prior to this trip I have just been leading a bland, 9-5 lifestyle in Zanzibar, with my actual working hours being more like 8-7. Originally sent to me by my room mate as a joke, it reflected my internship experience perfectly, which is incredibly sad and scary to think I can now relate to Dilbert:



When not waiting for comments from Geneva (all AKF communications documents must be signed off by the AKF world head quarters before publication), who by the way weren’t wild about the font and colour of a few briefs I sent in for review, I have also spent time settling into my new digs in Bububu. It's a satellite community of Stone Town and is named after the sounds a train running through the area used to make.

Myself and the other interns decided to move because of the cheap rent and location in a local neighbourhood. We were getting tired of the wazungu wafting around Stone Town with their cameras and questions, which was annoying made things feel claustrophobic. So we moved into a gorgeous home in the suburbs, hiring two guards to keep the peace during the day and evening times. We’ve been happy ever since. Being the only visible foreigners in the neighbourhood, we stand out as obvious targets for malicious beings looking for a house to break into, but given the tranquility of the area, and that one of our guards does a kung-fu-style work out routine every morning in the back yard (I think he’s ex-Zanzibar KGB), I doubt we’ll be hit.

The 20 to 30 minute commute into work by dala dala is also interesting. Last night I talked with a Masaai merchant who was decked out in full tribal garb, about why he moved from Arusha to Zanzibar (money), and what it takes to become a Masaai warrior, to which he responded ‘kill a lion and snip snip’. The latter referred to male circumcision, which is done at the age of 15, when Masaai men become Moran worriers and assume larger household responsibilities, like looking after cattle, the main tribal currency. He was shocked that I didn’t own any cattle. To him I was poor. He had 100 grazing the grass lands somewhere in Arusha tended to by his distant family.

The other night I chatted with a man who claimed to be a free lance journalist. He was in the middle of writing his first novel, “Kiss on the eyes” that was about an adulterous wife who broke her husband’s heart by “prostituting” herself. It was apparently based on a true story, his, and he became quite angered at the thought of the whole experience when I asked for further details. He told me he was currently in the market for “a nice wife” and had sent somebody to Pemba on his behalf to find him something appropriate, “Mungu akipenda” (“if God wishes”). I bit my tongue and wished him luck in finding a wife that could put up with him, to which he laughed in great amusement.

Then there was the man who invited me to his mosque after I tried to describe what being “agnostic” means in broken Kiswahili when he asked about my religious beliefs. He looked rather disappointed after listing to my explanation. To him I was probably a lifeless, lost soul in need of redemption and guidance. If I see him again I’ll follow him up on his offer out of my own curiosity…until then, I’ll be at the bar sinning by enjoying fine, imported brews!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Smile if you're Sad

So I was en route to Entebbe airport in Uganda one day, flying with Air Tanzania, and we stopped in a city called Mwanza to refuel (it was featured in a horribly biased documentary, which was some how nominated for an Oscar, called “Darwin’s Nightmare”). While looking out the passenger-seat window to get a better view of the UN aircraft parked on the tarmac (they do flights to the refugee camps located near the Rwandan/ Burundi boarders in Kagera district, near Mwanza), I noticed this:



Yeah, that wet stuff surrounding the left wing it is jet fuel. It had just poured out moments before I took the shot because someone forgot to stop pumping it in. As a result, fuel literally burst out of the wing and began pooling on the tarmac, spreading underneath the plane and filling the cabin with nauseating fumes. Shocked, I looked out the window to observe the reactions of the ground crew, expecting them to take my panic seriously and run about madly in an attempt to immediately fix the problem. Instead they stood in a small group and looked on with big smiles, laughing happily.

This mzungu was shocked.

I guess the fact that highly inflammable liquid had doused the left wing and spread underneath our plane didn’t strike anyone outside as being dangerous. Maybe it was a ‘routine breaker’ - something that could literally light up a dull week by throwing an amusing sound and light show, starring burning engines accompanied by a chorus of screaming passengers.

My mind started to carelessly interpret events through an “us vs. them” lens. I was tired and had not eaten breakfast.

How dare "they" have the audacity to act so carelessly and laissez-faire towards a potentially dangerous situation! If this happened in Canada, “we” would do something about it immediately or heads would role big time and public humiliation would follow on the 6 o’clock news! No one would dare laugh, but instead be uptight and serious!

Flustered, I sat back in my seat, shut my eyes and thought about the training session in cultural awareness I received in Ottawa in June. One of the seminar leaders talked about how body language and facial expressions mean different things in different cultures. For example, people in Thailand apparently smile if they are in pain (maybe a Thai reader could verify the accuracy of this statement) and confuse any non-suspecting Westerner who may think they’re just extremely happy.

His observation in Asia offered an interesting perception on things. So with it in mind, I began to perceive the ground crew as stressed, shocked and ridden with anxiety; their laughter reflected a cultural norm to ward off anxiety during times of duress. This was much more pleasant than “they want us to burn, burn, burn because they’re bored” interpretation, and so I stopped hating them.

Surprised at my sudden change of heart, I started to think of other things I could analyse through this new perspective. I thought of a comment made by a visitor to Zanzibar a few months ago, who remarked on how happy people looked, especially the street beggars, despite the apparent poverty in which they lived.

To instead think those 'poverty smiles' reflected the pain and misery stemming from life lived in miserable, dollar-a-day conditions, and not a happiness found through a minimalist lifestyle (sorry to the Saddus and Buddhists reading this) put an interesting spin on things.

Smile if you're sad.


A fire truck eventually arrived and someone casually sauntered over from the group and grabbed the hose to spray down the plane with water, with a smile in tact. We finally left some time after and arrived at Entebbe two hours late, much to the chagrin of those waiting for our arrival.

They were frowning, which I guess was a good thing.





Thursday, January 31, 2008

"It's Alive!"

Since it has been over four months since my last entry, I thought I should attempt to revive my blog after it apparently died. Why the neglect? I ended my last entry in September stating I’d contribute more articles after my eyes stopped hurting “from staring at computer screens all day long.” The truth is my eyes never stopped hurting after that entry. I decided that sitting at my desk after work when I’d normally make a post was not healthy. Instead I desired to go home early and relax by watching a movie, or visiting the pub the the ocean to have a beer. So that’s what I started trying to do, but as it turned out, really couldn’t. This post will describe “why” in 682 words by briefly summarizing the past four months.

In November I spent a lot of my free time (and I admit, some work time) researching and applying to grad schools on the net. It was time consuming but got it done, so "go future". I was also summoned to Uganda to help the AKF office in Kampala prepare briefs for the Commonwealth Heads of State Meeting (CHOGM).

How was that, you ask?

I can’t remember much because my eyes were glued to my computer screen all day and night long, on which I pumped out stories describing the good work of the pre-school madrasa programme in Uganda and Kenya, and also made brochures and posters. I mastered MS Publisher and learned the art of graphic design in 12 hours, and became familiar with the business centre at the Serena Hotel when sending documents to Geneva for review (despite the Government having supposedly laid high speed internet cables all over the city for CHOGM, I could only access a high speed connection at the Serena [a fancy 5 star hotel with a great lobby pianist who comes on at 5pm weekday evenings], formally the Nile Hotel, where Idi Amin’s goons tortured many throughout the 70s).

Of course the hard work was balanced with some fun. After working late into the evening, I’d take joy rides on the backs of motorbikes Kampalans call “boda-bodas” just for the hell of it, ate Ethiopian food, danced the night away at an Irish Pub, and enjoyed the season finale of Big Brother Africa 2 (talk about drama) with some wonderful, AKF East African interns in a watering hole that felt like ‘The Metropolitan’ martini bar in Ottawa.

After leaving on the eve of the conference (interns don't get to stay for such events), I returned to Dar es Salaam where I was based for two weeks. I was asked to make posters and other communication materials for an early learning festival the local Ismaili community was hosting for the general public. This required more late nights finicking with colours and font sizes to make the posters look just right. It also involved hours of being stuck in Dar’s infamous traffic jams, melting in 35C heat in a taxi that smelt like fish (I avoided the dalas when I could to keep sane). I survived and returned to Zanzibar two weeks later for rest. My eyes were still very strained.

Christmas soon followed with a welcomed visit from my brother. We stayed in Dar for a bit with a local ex-pat friend and then booted up to Arusha to do a one-day safari. Long story short, the company we hired ripped us off by charging us park entrance fees that did not exist. They also showed up to work on the day of the excursion incredibly hung over, smelling of booze and cigarettes. If the urge to see wild animals in Tanzania ever strikes you, DO NOT contact Ahsante Tours (www.ahsantetours.com). You’re trip will be memorable for arguing with the accountant and not for seeing the animals.

January arrived and my eyes started feeling better after a good rest. The Champaign and rum on the beach during New Year’s Eve must have helped. But the sojourn ended as quickly as it had come, as I devoted most of my time to help my friend, Hemed, launch his company, Salama Island Tours. Check out www.salamatours.com to see what Zanzibar has to offer!

So it’s now January 31st and I have one month left before my internship on the spice island is over. I know it’s cliché but I’ll say it anyways: it feels like time has flown. This can be a blessing if you’re a Western business person who, used to the fast pace of life back home, lives in a place like Zanzibar, where time and space can slow to a near stand still. The "pole pole" ("slowly slowly") attitude of many (but not all) on the island and coastal region can turn decent, well polished foreigners into freak shows. I’ve seen it happen in Dar. Thankfully I’m not in that category (yet) and still have lots of flexibility remaining.

So that’s my excuse for ignoring the blog: strained eyes. But now they are no longer throbbing, so I’ll write again soon. Hopefully see you there.