DAYS 17 - 27

Day 17

Kiswahili thus far

My Swahili is progressing slowly but surely. I’m building up my vocabulary everyday and try to speak as much as I can until I’ve exhausted every word I know. It’s a fairly simple language to learn with standard greetings and replies that everyone is familiar with. I’ve also been using my other languages to help me remember words that sound similar.

-’Left’ in Tagalog is ‘kaliwa’, but in Swahili ‘kulia’ is right.
-‘salamat’ in Tagalog is thank you, in Swahili ‘salama’ is ‘in good health’

-Si for yes in Spanish is now negative in Swahili:
Eg.
Nina dada (I have sisters) vs. Sina Kaka (I don’t have brothers)
Ninapenda embe (I like mangoes) v. Sipendi maziwa (I don’t like milk)
-meza is also used for table in Swahili
-I used ‘chupa’ for ‘lollipop’ in Spanish, in Swahili it’s now ‘bottle’.

-‘Haya’ in Cantonese is also in agreement in Swahili.

A little bit of Swahili History (from the Lonely Planet, which has been my bible since I’ve been here!)

“Swahili” means ‘of the coast’, from the Arabic word sāhil and refers to both the Swahili language and Islamic culture of people living in Eastern Africa, from Somalia in the north, down to Mozambique in the south. Both Swahili language and culture is a mixture of Bantu, Arabic, Persian and Asian influences.

About 10k years ago, nomadic hunter/gatherers dispersed across Africa and brought to the east end a language similar to southern Africa’s Khoisan. Cut to 3-5k years ago, and the Khoisan speakers were coupled with Cushitic speaking farmers and cattle herders who made their way to present day Ethiopia. More migrations would happen before Tanzanians can trace their ancestry to about 1000 BC. Bantu speakers from Niger delta in the west end began to move east into what’s now Cameroon, D.R. of Congo (formerly Zaire), and then into what is now considered Eastern Africa.

These Bantu speakers brought with them skills in agriculture and iron production, and settled into villages. Pretty soon, they displaced or absorbed the Cushitic and Khoisan speakers and became more prominent. Nilotic people, who are ancestors of the Maasai, made their entry for the final wave of migrations into the 18^th century. At this time, Omani Arabs dominated Zanzibar (they were engaged in slave trade over there) and it was then that Swahili culture began to flourish.

The great trade caravan routes solidified the Swahili language as a colloquial dialect in Eastern and Central Africa. And of course what’s African history without the invasion of the good ‘ol West (they’re still pretty indifferent to the West here and I don’t blame them). Missionaries crept onto the continent, and adopted the language as their primary means of communicating with the locals.

Up until then, Swahili had been written exclusively in Arabic script, but some dude named Johann Ludwik Krapf decided it would be better applied in the Roman alphabet. By the 19^th century, Swahili became the mother tongue for a majority of Tanzanians, although some speak it as a 2^nd language or as a 2^nd mother tongue together with their tribal language.

What I found interesting about the language so far is they have different classes for nouns. Nouns have a completely different verb agreement depending on its class, which include –people, places, animals, insects, inanimate objects and body parts. It gets confusing especially when it comes to possessive pronouns because “my books” will have a different subject/pronoun agreement from “my family” because books would fall under the ‘inanimate objects’ class of nouns, and ‘family’ would fall under ‘people’ class of nouns.

Vitabu vyangu (my books)
Ndugu zangu (my family)

Hakuna Matata

Yes, Disney movies have actually taught me a thing or two and “Hakuna Matata” is a real expression in Swahili and really means “no worries”, their version of “hasta maňana”. Also “Simba” really does mean lion!

Day 18

What have I gotten myself into..

Feeling awfully sick, I can’t take the nausea anymore. I’m this close to quitting the anti malaria drugs, but I’ve been told malaria’s no fun ride either!

Am I gonna survive the year…?

Day 19

No power, no work

The power was out all afternoon and I felt the whole day was wasted away. When the power goes out, the work stops. Our office being in a grungy part of town does not have backup generators and we’re stuck in a small, smelly, hot, cramped room where we work in close quarters. The office gets chaotic, especially since we’re up against deadlines to secure monies from the global fund.

There are 5 computers shared amongst 14 staff in total, including myself. Only one of the five computers is connected to the internet and printer. It gets really aggravating when you’re working on that computer, in the middle of something and all of a sudden a window pops out of nowhere cause someone has just gone ahead and stuck their flash drive in the computer to print a document.

Today I couldn’t hear myself think. With the power gone out, and a deadline tomorrow everyone was frantically scrambling around the office. Bruno left for a conference in Johannesburg on Monday ‘kindly’ left me a proposal for the African Medical Research Fund (AMREF) due on Thursday. Today is Wednesday.

I brought the work home with me to complete on my computer which only had 30% battery power left. I was able to finish just in time, before the battery completed depleted (I’m pretty good, huh!). It is now 9pm and the power has just been restored.

I’ve thought about offering my laptop for office use and bringing it with me everyday but don’t want to risk getting robbed on the way to or from work which I’ve heard happens to a lot of foreigners.

Day 20

Boycotting the Dala Dala

I’ve given up on the smelly “Dala Dala” (their name for the buses here which aren’t really buses, but transport vans) and get off the moment I feel nauseous. It isn’t enough to breath through my mouth anymore, it’s an awful stink that’s a pungent mix of body odour, cheap perfume and other unidentifiable smells I don’t even want to know. I was never big on perfume and hardly wear the stuff, but the women and girls here pile the stuff on that mixed in with the other smells it’s just unbearable.

The ride to work is only about 25-30 minutes and I ride for as much as I can stand it, before I feel nauseous and get off, usually at the halfway mark, then walk the rest of the way. It’s nice and cool in the morning so it’s a great walk, and I don’t have to worry about the danger of throwing up on the people I’m crammed up against.

I walk home everyday now which takes just over an hour depending on how many stops I make. The village I walk through is filled with so many shops and stands where they sell a variety of different fresh fruits, veggies, & nuts. I usually make a stop to pick up some fruit, which ends up being my dinner.

There is a clearing along the path I walk where a bunch of kids are always playing in the dirt. They’re so friendly and eager to talk to you and play, I stop and ‘hang out’ with them for a bit. They know my name now and holler at me whenever I walk by and I’ll talk to them with as much Swahili before I exhaust my supply of words.

Also I’ve learned to ‘walk like an African’ and take my time to stroll through the village and actually enjoy soaking it in this way. There is so much to take in it feels surreal at times and I have to remind myself it’s real and people really do live the way the do here.

Re: Lack of photos

Everyone back home’s been emailing and demanding to see pictures so I’ve finally posted some but I have to warn you, they’ll be very boring. It’s mostly scenery, what my house & bedroom looks like, and a fruit stand.

When I’m out walking around I’m usually by myself, and it isn’t safe for me to whip out the camera without risking getting robbed. I don’t even answer my cell phone in public and wait until I’m home to take it out at all. That was the first piece of advise I got from all the locals, and other foreigners here. People here have been known to snatch cell phones right out of a person’s hand and run off.

But to be honest, no matter how well captured (and I’m not much of a photographer anyway) pictures will never do this place justice… I know it sounds so contrived but pictures really aren’t enough to exhibit the reality of what I see on a daily basis. Any photos I take are more for the benefit of people back home to see, than they are for me, cause images I see everyday will forever be etched in my mind.

But “hakuna matata” I’ll try my best to take more and post them anyway.

Day 21

My first Friday night out dancing –African style!

I’ve been here 3 weeks already but feeling sick the whole time I haven’t been able to really get out and enjoy myself just yet. Hoyce, the girl I’m living with, took me to a popular pub/club where locals like to go eat and dance. The place was packed. It was an outdoor area sheltered by a roof made from coconut leaves and cheap plastic patio furniture and chairs. There were a few other foreigners in the crowd so I didn’t feel so self-conscious unlike the last party I went to where I was the only non-black person and people wouldn’t stop starring.

When we got to the club, we hadn’t even sat down yet and guys were already asking for dances. I didn’t want to dance right away and wanted to just sit back and watch at first, but Hoyce pushed me forward and I more than got my feet wet.

I was exposed to a good deal of West African music in Mali, which has very similar rhythms to some Cuban and Latin music, hence the Afro-Cuban influence. Eastern African music seems a bit softer, gentler, not as intense and rhythmic as Western, but still has the passionate flair that I love in Latin American music. Dancing to it was absolutely exhilarating. We stayed t’ill after midnight and by the time we got home I was exhausted but thrilled that I had finally been able to enjoy a night out.

Day 22

Vivid Dreams

I wanted to sleep in today but the damn roosters don’t know that it’s Saturday and still crow at 5am. Additionally the dreams I have are really truly vivid and bizarre, and a number of completely random people have made appearances, from my MP who I met briefly before I left, to Mrs. Kim, my first-ever piano teacher who used to hit my hands with her ruler whenever I made mistakes. I wake up in the morning feeling like I haven’t really slept cause I’m so alert and active in my dreams.

Market Place

I’ve decided Saturdays will be my market day and ventured out to the beaches. It’s about a 30-minute bus ride, but I’m boycotting the Dala Dala so it took me an hour and a half to walk the whole way. It’s a wonderful walk though, there’s so much to see along the way and I get a good ocean breeze so walking in the heat isn’t so bad. I went to the fish stands and people are literally thrusting fish in your face to show you how fresh, plump, & healthy they are, urging you to buy. I picked out a slab of kingfish and baked it for dinner.

Christopher, the guard

I now know enough Swahili to be able to strike up a very simple conversation and learned the guard who I’ve been calling Tyrese (cause he looks like the singer) is actually named Christopher. He never smiled before but now he smiles when I approach the gate and we talk some, and even share a special handshake. I greet him good morning, he’ll ask me how I slept, I’ll say just fine, and he’ll wish me a good day, give his signature chuckle, clasp his rifle and I’ll be on my way out the gate.

My Saturday night

Hoyce invited me to go out dancing again, but after my long walk into town I didn’t have any energy to do anything else so just decided to stayed in for the night. I’m trying to pace myself with the books cause I’ve only been here just over 3 weeks and already finished 3 of them. So I decide to pop in some of the computer games I brought with me.

I collected those CD’s that come in cereal boxes and built up a library of games, which I kept until now. I found them while I was packing and moving out of my place and took them with me to keep me from boredom and thought they’d come in handy on a day like today. Before I knew it was addicted to Roller Coaster Tycoon!!

Day 23

Proud to be a Canadian

I went downtown to meet with the other Canadian, Johanne. She’s a French Canadian lawyer in her early 40’s working for Legal Aid Human Rights Tanzania. I’ve learned that books are a valuable currency here among other Cooperants and Expats. If we were in prison I would so be the guy on top and everyone else would be my bitches! She was elated to learn that I brought a large collection and was offering to pay me just to borrow some. I had to laugh and waived her off and told her of course she can borrow my books.

It was so nice to be able to talk to someone from home. It’s just dawned on me how much it means to be “Canadian’. I’ve done my share of travelling before but didn’t give it much thought until now, and was oblivious to how I was perceived as a Canadian. Whenever I tell people I come from Canada, they beam and immediately warm up to me. Someone once asked me if I identify as a Canadian or Filipino/Chinese, and I really wasn’t sure at the time. I guess you don’t really think of who you are until you leave home and have to present yourself to strangers as whatever it is you are.

But it’s different for those of us who are the first generation, born Canadian. We’re the ones caught in between, ‘grass without roots’ if you will. Here people are constantly asking me about, and comparing ‘life in Canada’. When I answer their questions about traditions, cultural habits, behaviours, attitudes etc etc and I find myself telling them all about the Filipino/Chinese habits we practice at home. That was when it struck me that this IS the ‘Canadian’ way of life, being able to practice your culture/heritage in a country so full of diversity.

I talk about both, general Canadian traditions, and people of other cultures within Canada. When I try and illustrate to them everything ‘Canadiana’, people here have a hard time grasping the range of lifestyles that can exist within a single nation. Up until now I haven’t given it much thought, and even taken it for granted. But I do love and very much appreciate being a Canadian.

Henry, a co-worker is constantly peppering me with questions, curious about life in Canada, and comparing our lifestyles and traditions. He’s always so intrigued and fascinated when he notes our commonalities and differences. The other day he asked me, “If I came to Canada, how would people see me?”. I thought about it for a brief moment, then answered, “You would simply be Henry”.

Day 24

Changes so far

My hands back in my piano days were once worth a pretty penny, now they’re dry, rough and chapped from the constant abuse of hand sanitizer. My feet are now grimy and coarse from the mosquito bites and dirt roads. I still have large scabs from when I scratched the bites along my legs and arms. Cause I don’t like wearing hats and walk outside a lot, I’m already a shade darker. I’m still building up immunity to their bugs in the food & water, and get queasy and stomach-achy from time to time. Other than fish I’ve stayed away from the meats, and load up on fresh fruits I buy almost everyday from the fruit stands I pass on my way home from work.

Day 25

Formalities

They are very big on formalities here and it can take forever just to greet someone. It goes back and forth for ages before you get to any actual conversation or the purpose of your meeting.

Standard greetings usually begins with

“Hujambo” to which you reply “Si jambo”
you are then asked “habari za mchana” (how is everything today?)
and you always reply “nzuri” (good)
then move on to ask how is everything at work: “habari za kazi?”, how is everything at home: “habari za nyumbani”
…and it goes on back and forth

If the person you are greeting older, or of higher status than you, you are to give the respectful greeting “Shikamoo” similar to the Filipino “mano po” or Chinese “akong/apau”.

You are then replied “marahaba” and then you can proceed with the regular greetings. I greet ‘mama’ everyday with ‘shikamoo’ and all the directors considered ‘high status’ or older persons I come across everyday. Sometimes random kids will go up to me and give me “shikamoo” and I have to answer “marahaba”

There are more laid back formal greetings reserved for colleagues around the same age as you or at the same level, “Mambo” or “Vipi Mambo”, to which the reply is “Poa”. It’s probably about the equivalent in English to “how’s it going” “it’s cool”

Day 26

Missing my routine back home

It is only after 9pm and I’m already drained. Back home I could get by on only 6 hours sleep and still have enough energy for an 18-hour day. I didn’t have a cozy sit-down job either, where I could relax behind a desk all the time. I did field work and was travelling across the GTA from as far as Durham to Peel region on any given day.

During the week I would work a full day, sometimes extra hours, head straight to Oxfam committee meetings afterwards, then meet with friends for dinner/drinks, and still managed to fit in either a workout or night of dancing, get home by 12:30 – 1am, wash up, do some reading or watch the repeat of the Daily Show & Colbert Report, in bed by 2am, and do the whole thing over again the next morning.

Friday nights would be the whole days routine plus a later night of dancing, or out at a movie, or hanging out with friends or family.

Saturdays I’d catch up on reading, do laundry and other errands, practice piano, spend time with my grandma (usually in the kitchen while she’s barking instructions at me how to cook the proper way), dance for a good 4 hours at salsa dance practice in the afternoon, followed by more dancing, movies or parties at night.

Sunday would be my day to recuperate and spend time with my parents, and grandma.

Here, the trek to and from work on the dreaded, smelly ‘Dala Dala’, the trips to town, and the work itself is already twice as exhausting and by the time I come back home I’m completely drained. I haven’t even begun fieldwork yet so I’m hoping it’s just my body still adjusting to my environment.

My routine in Africa so far

The roosters are already crowing by 5am, by 6am I’m up and out of bed and hop in the shower. Getting ready takes about a quarter of the time here, than it usually takes me at home cause I’ve cut out so many steps. I never wore a lot of makeup to begin with but with the heat here, I don’t bother with it at all and only slap on sunscreen. I barely wear my contact unless I’m going out at night, and wear my glasses the majority of the time now, otherwise my eyes dry up and it’s like sandpaper in my eyes. Now that my hair’s shorter I just run a brush through it and wear a headband or clip it back out of my eyes. I don’t have to blow dry it anymore!

I don’t dress how I would in the summer time back home back cause the women and girls here dress fairly conservative. I don’t feel comfortable dressing the same way here anyway cause the men already stare and jeer as it is. I brought several pairs of Capri’s, different length skirts and sarongs, which I’ll pair with a blouse or tank top.

By this time it’s about 6:30 – 6:45 am, and in Toronto time about 11pm (my time is 7 hours ahead). Anthony is usually getting ready for bed at this time so we’ve scheduled our daily call to be around 6:45 –7am when I’m sitting for breakfast and he’s winding down for the day.

After our rapid-flight chat to get as much mileage as we can from the cheap 15-minute phone cards, I’ll bid him goodnight while he wishes me a good day. I have my breakfast the maid has prepared for me –usually a bowl of fruit, eggs & toast, while I read through the local Dar es Salaam paper we get daily here, “This Day”. The NBA finals and the high school murder in Toronto has made its’ way into Dar news. As I leave the compound I greet Christopher, the guard, then head to work.

The amount of work I get done depends on whatever else they thrust at me to try and provide consultation or help fix, and whether there’s power. Some days we’re required to attend meetings with different sectors, or drive into different towns to perform evaluations, so that will eat up a good chunk of the day and I’m constantly feeling like I’m behind in the timeline I’ve set for myself.

At the end of the day, I’ll walk home and make a stop at the internet cafe which costs $500 TZ shillings for half ‘n hour, (~$0.50 cents Cdn). I zip through emails and check the headlines of Toronto news to see what’s going on back home, then head home and make myself dinner. By this time it’s about 7pm. I’ve cooked once since I’ve been here so my dinner ends up being the fruits I buy at the stands on my way home from work and I’ll just spoon peanut butter to get some protein in me. I re-hydrate on loads of water and sit out on the balcony with my laptop and write/blog. Depending on how much I have to say or reflect on about the day, it could take from 10 minutes to an hour.

I’ll shower for the 2^nd time in the day, study my Swahili, read in bed for a bit, then hit the sack at about 10:30 and do it all over again when the roosters start crowing at 5am.

Day 27

Today I celebrate my 10-year anniversary of my Sweet 16

This is my first birthday away from home and I’m feeling terribly homesick right now.
My Birthday Wish:
Is a cure for AIDS too much to ask?
Ok, realistically…
I hope I never get sensitized to the stuff I see around me.