It's our last day in Zanzibar and I'm nursing a monster hangover courtesy of last night's New Year's Party, dancing on the beach til 5am. Ugh. Tomorrow we leave for Dar Es Salaam, to catch a bus to Nairobi and hopefully not get caught up in the violent disputes raging there over the contentious election.
As I look back over the last 3 months, they've been 3 very happy and special months. Many many happy memories of good people and fun times and also of special little moments, little acts of random kindness or scenes of breathtaking beauty that pepper life here. Zanzibar is fast changing but it's still not hard to scratch the surface and discover something quite wonderful underneath.
I'm now a qualified divemaster and pretty pleased to be one. Learning to divemaster has been a challenging and rewarding experience and many images of underwater landscapes and sealife will remain etched into my memory for many years. I think it might possibly be the best job in the world - even on a Monday morning I look forward to coming to work.
So now it's onwards and upwards to Ethiopia to see how trekking the highlands for Link Ethiopia compares to plumbing the depths for Scuba Do. As always though, it's not the destination that matters, it's the journey; and the next few weeks are shaping up to be an interesting one.
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Sunday, 23 December 2007
Paradise lost
The hotel next door to us has just changed hands to become an all inclusive italian resort, complete with animateurs and a terrible shit disco. And it's all private property now. Yup, I can no longer cross their patch of beach to go to work, i gotta walk around their property. The masai security guards are evidently unhappy about this unAfrican custom they're being asked to enforce and sheepishly ask you to leave - it seems to go against every bone in their body to take land that belongs to everybody and make it into the private domain of ignorant and spoilt tourists.
But all along, the beach it's the same story. Local artists who scrimp a living in their shacks along the beach are being told at gunpoint to clear off or see their livelihood burnt down. No reason given but evidently these locals who have lived on this beach for generations are a "nuisance" to the tourists who want to fly halfway across the world in order not to leave their hotel. Greedy developers are hungrily eyeing their land, which legally belongs to everyone but as is so often the case, will soon come under the relentless steps of privatisation and "free market capitalism." Some paradise.
Driving around the island has really made me realise how out of control the development is here. Zanzibar is being carved up into small sections of walled concrete, locals being driven from their traditional homes. In Jozani forest, a local nature reserve, I learnt that if every tourist who comes to Zanzibar eats just one lobster or crab, that's 63,000 crabs or lobsters a year. How long is this sustainable? Everyday I see reefs being agressively overfished as the demand for seafood escalates but noone's thinking about tomorrow.
You could argue that tourism is good for the economy and sure, a lot of people do find employment in the tourist trade. Driving around the more touristy spots, you could be forgiven for thinking that Zanzibaris enjoy a reasonable standard of living: houses are well built from bricks, not just wooden shacks. But stray off the path a little and you'll find farmers struggling to make a living. As we learnt on a tour of a local spice farm, not too long ago Zanzibar was self-sufficient and bountiful, noone paid for food, you just went to the fields and took your fill. Now on the ill-thought out advice of the World Bank, farmers are told to grow only export crops, the price of which is being driven down and down by unfair free market policies. I was invited to a local home in the village here in Kendwa last night, to the house of the well-to-do old man - I was surprised to see that even here, in a village which does much better than most from the tourist trade, not a single house had electricity or running water.
The average waiter here makes about $100/month, working 10 hour shifts, 6 days a week. Meanwhile wealthy hotel owners and frequently foreign investors watch the money flow into their hands. It's the vacuum cleaner effect of deregulated capitalism, sucking the wealth out of an area and making people trespassers on their own land.
Okay, so that's my rant. Rebuttals welcome.
But all along, the beach it's the same story. Local artists who scrimp a living in their shacks along the beach are being told at gunpoint to clear off or see their livelihood burnt down. No reason given but evidently these locals who have lived on this beach for generations are a "nuisance" to the tourists who want to fly halfway across the world in order not to leave their hotel. Greedy developers are hungrily eyeing their land, which legally belongs to everyone but as is so often the case, will soon come under the relentless steps of privatisation and "free market capitalism." Some paradise.
Driving around the island has really made me realise how out of control the development is here. Zanzibar is being carved up into small sections of walled concrete, locals being driven from their traditional homes. In Jozani forest, a local nature reserve, I learnt that if every tourist who comes to Zanzibar eats just one lobster or crab, that's 63,000 crabs or lobsters a year. How long is this sustainable? Everyday I see reefs being agressively overfished as the demand for seafood escalates but noone's thinking about tomorrow.
You could argue that tourism is good for the economy and sure, a lot of people do find employment in the tourist trade. Driving around the more touristy spots, you could be forgiven for thinking that Zanzibaris enjoy a reasonable standard of living: houses are well built from bricks, not just wooden shacks. But stray off the path a little and you'll find farmers struggling to make a living. As we learnt on a tour of a local spice farm, not too long ago Zanzibar was self-sufficient and bountiful, noone paid for food, you just went to the fields and took your fill. Now on the ill-thought out advice of the World Bank, farmers are told to grow only export crops, the price of which is being driven down and down by unfair free market policies. I was invited to a local home in the village here in Kendwa last night, to the house of the well-to-do old man - I was surprised to see that even here, in a village which does much better than most from the tourist trade, not a single house had electricity or running water.
The average waiter here makes about $100/month, working 10 hour shifts, 6 days a week. Meanwhile wealthy hotel owners and frequently foreign investors watch the money flow into their hands. It's the vacuum cleaner effect of deregulated capitalism, sucking the wealth out of an area and making people trespassers on their own land.
Okay, so that's my rant. Rebuttals welcome.
Monday, 17 December 2007
This is Africa, no drink driving laws in Africa!
Last week we rented a car for the duration of my parents' stay. Wow. After months of trudging through the heat along dusty tracks, a car was an unbelievable luxury. I admit I enjoyed it to the full, blasting around the island behind the tinted windows of a Suzuki Jeep, pretending to be some local "big man".
I was quite shaky at first having not driven for over a year and, indeed, never having driven an automatic, so managed to cause quite a bit of havoc in Stone Town as I tried to pull off in park and reversed the wrong way around corners, car lurching forward due to an overly sensitive accelerator. It took us a while to work out how to turn the ignition (no it's not that simple!) so we managed to cause a scene at the garage, while puzzled attendants scratched their heads and a line of cars honked and laughed at the stupid white man unable to work a simple car. Fantastic.
Despite these initial hiccups, Africa's "make it up as you go along" approach to driving (and indeed most things) charmed me and I was soon overtaking around blind bends up hills, narrowly avoiding chickens on rocky excuses for roads and honking my heart out. Ah Africa, no rules in Africa! No pesky speed limits to worry about or drink-driving laws to stop you enjoying your night out or maximum passenger limits - if there's room, you can take your entire family and the cow.
On an island with a conspicuous lack of police, the roads is the one area where the police are noticeably present. But don't worry, they're not interested in your safety or whether you've got a bootload of marijuana, they just want to check your license, chat to you about Man Utd and maybe get a bit of baksheesh cos your brake light's out of order.
The highlight of the week was on the return drive to Stone Town, where I took a wrong turn and found myself on a highway in which traffic had been directed into a single lane due to roadworks. Things were working fine though with cars passing slowly and people backing up or pulling over to let larger vehicles through. Fine, that is, until I managed to miss the unsigned crossover point where normal traffic resumed. I began to wonder why cars were now hurtling towards me at speed and no one was slowing to let me pass. Indeed, everyone seemed quite excited by my presence, waving and honking. Like a good bemused white man, I honked and waved and smiled back, ploughing on the wrong way down a one-way street. Soon I found myself at a busy cross-roads, trying to turn right into on-coming traffic. Luckily a little old man on a bicycle held up traffic just long enough for me to pounce on this opening, rejoining the right side of the road with a sigh of relief. It was only then that I noticed two policeman had been patiently watching the whole drama, arms folded, quiet smiles on their lips. Instead of pulling us over, they merely smiled and waved us on our way.
I was quite shaky at first having not driven for over a year and, indeed, never having driven an automatic, so managed to cause quite a bit of havoc in Stone Town as I tried to pull off in park and reversed the wrong way around corners, car lurching forward due to an overly sensitive accelerator. It took us a while to work out how to turn the ignition (no it's not that simple!) so we managed to cause a scene at the garage, while puzzled attendants scratched their heads and a line of cars honked and laughed at the stupid white man unable to work a simple car. Fantastic.
Despite these initial hiccups, Africa's "make it up as you go along" approach to driving (and indeed most things) charmed me and I was soon overtaking around blind bends up hills, narrowly avoiding chickens on rocky excuses for roads and honking my heart out. Ah Africa, no rules in Africa! No pesky speed limits to worry about or drink-driving laws to stop you enjoying your night out or maximum passenger limits - if there's room, you can take your entire family and the cow.
On an island with a conspicuous lack of police, the roads is the one area where the police are noticeably present. But don't worry, they're not interested in your safety or whether you've got a bootload of marijuana, they just want to check your license, chat to you about Man Utd and maybe get a bit of baksheesh cos your brake light's out of order.
The highlight of the week was on the return drive to Stone Town, where I took a wrong turn and found myself on a highway in which traffic had been directed into a single lane due to roadworks. Things were working fine though with cars passing slowly and people backing up or pulling over to let larger vehicles through. Fine, that is, until I managed to miss the unsigned crossover point where normal traffic resumed. I began to wonder why cars were now hurtling towards me at speed and no one was slowing to let me pass. Indeed, everyone seemed quite excited by my presence, waving and honking. Like a good bemused white man, I honked and waved and smiled back, ploughing on the wrong way down a one-way street. Soon I found myself at a busy cross-roads, trying to turn right into on-coming traffic. Luckily a little old man on a bicycle held up traffic just long enough for me to pounce on this opening, rejoining the right side of the road with a sigh of relief. It was only then that I noticed two policeman had been patiently watching the whole drama, arms folded, quiet smiles on their lips. Instead of pulling us over, they merely smiled and waved us on our way.
Friday, 30 November 2007
Sugar Momma and the Full Moon Party
We were sitting around the other night, chatting with Baraka, a local batik artist with a torso like that model from the calvin klein adverts, Ame, the cheeky receptionist of the dive centre and Dan, the smiley Malawian divemaster, when conversation turned to a local phenomenon: the "Sugar Momma". Sure, you've heard of Sugar Daddies but out here it's the other way around, spend a bit of time on this beach and you'll spot ropey older women, looking like they belong in Benidorm, probably called Sharon or Tracy, wrapped around a local beach boy. For them it's the "African Experience", the flattery of being lavished attention by a handsome young guy with a physique honed by hard work and meagre diet, for the beach boys it's a ticket out of poverty. For everyone else it's a source of great amusement. I don't know whether to regard it with sadness or amusement - i guess if they are both happy in their own way, then what the hey?
The Sugar Mommas were out in force at the full moon party last weekend. Before you imagine scenes of Goan revelry, hippies bopping to repetetive gabba music 'til dawn and poi on the beach, stop. Instead imagine the scene from the cheap drinks night in the shoddiest club in Leicester or Plymouth and you're spot on. Yup, both full moon parties here have failed to live up to their names, inspiring mostly horror mixed with amusement. Even though this is Zanzibar the formula is straight out of one of those clubs: tons of sleazy local men, pissed and making passes at anything with four limbs, whilst white guys in shirts dance awkwardly to commercial hip-hop. It's scenes like this that make me question humankind... is this where evolution and the advanceof globalisation has brought us?
The Sugar Mommas were out in force at the full moon party last weekend. Before you imagine scenes of Goan revelry, hippies bopping to repetetive gabba music 'til dawn and poi on the beach, stop. Instead imagine the scene from the cheap drinks night in the shoddiest club in Leicester or Plymouth and you're spot on. Yup, both full moon parties here have failed to live up to their names, inspiring mostly horror mixed with amusement. Even though this is Zanzibar the formula is straight out of one of those clubs: tons of sleazy local men, pissed and making passes at anything with four limbs, whilst white guys in shirts dance awkwardly to commercial hip-hop. It's scenes like this that make me question humankind... is this where evolution and the advanceof globalisation has brought us?
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Sharing a taxi with several tourists the other day reminded me how much the "them and us", white/black, superior/inferior complex still exists. Two french ladies, very much suffering from culture shock, were constantly complaining to the driver about leaving late, about speed and then tried to direct HIM to the their hotel, assuming he was an idiot, not a native Zanzibarian who's driven these roads for twenty years. Okay, so they were French, but still, I found myself pretty disgusted.
It's subtle but portrayals in the western media of Africans as mainly poor, uneducated, starving, victims or perpetrators of conflicts mean that many people still come here with a subconscious assumption about African people. It shows in the way some tourists talk down to locals, or adopt pidgin english and generally treat them as if they were children. Others are constantly suspicious and regard all interactions with Swahili people as minefields, arguing over change or storming out of shops when they think they are being overcharged, when mostly they're not.
The point is that there is so much depth and complexity to Swahili and indeed African culture that western imperialism mostly ignores, indeed the "history" of this continent as it is taught in our schools begins with colonisation, wiping out thousands of years of vast civilisations with the stroke of a pen. So many people fail to scratch beneath the surface and try to understand this culture and the lives of people here.
For example, if you've never eaten in a restaurant with waiter service, how can you know what people expect? If you're a poor taxi driver, trying to provide for a family of ten, of course you're going to try to get as many people in as possible. If you had to leave school at 10, you're going to speak pidgin English. If you don't own a watch, how can you be on time? If there's no waste collection service or any bins, of course the streets will be dirty. Complaining and shouting is not something that's done around here, largely because if you live somewhere where daily life is a struggle, what's the good of complaining?
Living out here is like a process of unlearning, gradually attempting not to see things through the lens of Western perception and trying to see why things are the way they are and why people act the way they do.
It's subtle but portrayals in the western media of Africans as mainly poor, uneducated, starving, victims or perpetrators of conflicts mean that many people still come here with a subconscious assumption about African people. It shows in the way some tourists talk down to locals, or adopt pidgin english and generally treat them as if they were children. Others are constantly suspicious and regard all interactions with Swahili people as minefields, arguing over change or storming out of shops when they think they are being overcharged, when mostly they're not.
The point is that there is so much depth and complexity to Swahili and indeed African culture that western imperialism mostly ignores, indeed the "history" of this continent as it is taught in our schools begins with colonisation, wiping out thousands of years of vast civilisations with the stroke of a pen. So many people fail to scratch beneath the surface and try to understand this culture and the lives of people here.
For example, if you've never eaten in a restaurant with waiter service, how can you know what people expect? If you're a poor taxi driver, trying to provide for a family of ten, of course you're going to try to get as many people in as possible. If you had to leave school at 10, you're going to speak pidgin English. If you don't own a watch, how can you be on time? If there's no waste collection service or any bins, of course the streets will be dirty. Complaining and shouting is not something that's done around here, largely because if you live somewhere where daily life is a struggle, what's the good of complaining?
Living out here is like a process of unlearning, gradually attempting not to see things through the lens of Western perception and trying to see why things are the way they are and why people act the way they do.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
DJ Jizzy James in da House
Last week we approached the amusingy German manager of a local bar and asked him if we could DJ (well, press play on the ipod) for him one night. He replied "Ja zat vould be good, we are liking zee eighties and zee cheese and zee hip hop in zee moment". I assured him I had plenty of that and then set about putting together a four hour mix of relentless pounding drum n bass and techno. Teehee. Unfortunately, all the bars round here play a mixture of terrible eurotrance and commercial rap so we were determined to give people something good.
It turned out to be a really fun night, being a dj is pretty fun, especially when you're being plied with free drinks and can go around to people introducing yourself casually as "the DJ". The DnB was well received but the locals still prefer their beanie man and sean paul... will have to work on them.
It turned out to be a really fun night, being a dj is pretty fun, especially when you're being plied with free drinks and can go around to people introducing yourself casually as "the DJ". The DnB was well received but the locals still prefer their beanie man and sean paul... will have to work on them.
Sunday, 11 November 2007
Observations on Zanzibar
I've got so many half-thought out ideas and impressions to blog about that I can't seem to find one subject to write about. Thus, I thought I'd just jot down some general observations about life here.
1. Zanzibar's palms, white sand beaches and azure sea is not just a beautiful cliché, it is the original inspiration for all tropical paradise clichés. Sometimes, I can't believe I live in such a breathtaking place. The sun on the sea at noon glitters like diamonds and the water is crystal clear like a swimming pool.
2. Zooming along on a speedboat dressed in a wetsuit, wind whipping my hair, a white line of coast spreading out behind, makes me feel like a Navy Seal.
3.”Karibu” (“Welcome”) is a word that defines Swahili culture. Life here is filled with little acts of kindness and people will go out of their way to help you when they see you’re a visitor. Hang around the house and it’s not long before a plate of fresh mango or some rice and stew is pushed into your hands. Look lost at the minibus stand and people will help you find the right one. It’s a different welcome to other places I’ve been – not the minor-celebrity style attention you receive in Ethiopia, nor the obsessive over-feeding of Senegal or the touristy service of South East Asia, there’s a open, friendly but not intrusive attitude here that makes me feel very at home.
4. As in all African countries, greetings are paramount and there are dozens of them. I think it's indicative of the value placed on community here - after all, if you haven't got dvd players or playstations to entertain you, people are a valuable resource. Greetings include: Habari - how are you? /Mambo - how's life? / Vipi - How's it going? / Sema - Say what? / Salama - Peace / Karibu - welcome. Moving around here is necessarily at a slower pace because to get from a to b you inevitably spend up to 5 minutes at a time going through endless greetings with everyone you meet. Only slightly annoying when you desperately need the loo.
5. Despite the massive influx of tourist dollar, there's very little of the Thai-style aggressive touting. Furthermore, people haven't lost their traditional ways: walking home along the beach at night, it's common to see a group of Masai having a good old drum and a singalong, not for the benefit of any tourist.
1. Zanzibar's palms, white sand beaches and azure sea is not just a beautiful cliché, it is the original inspiration for all tropical paradise clichés. Sometimes, I can't believe I live in such a breathtaking place. The sun on the sea at noon glitters like diamonds and the water is crystal clear like a swimming pool.
2. Zooming along on a speedboat dressed in a wetsuit, wind whipping my hair, a white line of coast spreading out behind, makes me feel like a Navy Seal.
3.”Karibu” (“Welcome”) is a word that defines Swahili culture. Life here is filled with little acts of kindness and people will go out of their way to help you when they see you’re a visitor. Hang around the house and it’s not long before a plate of fresh mango or some rice and stew is pushed into your hands. Look lost at the minibus stand and people will help you find the right one. It’s a different welcome to other places I’ve been – not the minor-celebrity style attention you receive in Ethiopia, nor the obsessive over-feeding of Senegal or the touristy service of South East Asia, there’s a open, friendly but not intrusive attitude here that makes me feel very at home.
4. As in all African countries, greetings are paramount and there are dozens of them. I think it's indicative of the value placed on community here - after all, if you haven't got dvd players or playstations to entertain you, people are a valuable resource. Greetings include: Habari - how are you? /Mambo - how's life? / Vipi - How's it going? / Sema - Say what? / Salama - Peace / Karibu - welcome. Moving around here is necessarily at a slower pace because to get from a to b you inevitably spend up to 5 minutes at a time going through endless greetings with everyone you meet. Only slightly annoying when you desperately need the loo.
5. Despite the massive influx of tourist dollar, there's very little of the Thai-style aggressive touting. Furthermore, people haven't lost their traditional ways: walking home along the beach at night, it's common to see a group of Masai having a good old drum and a singalong, not for the benefit of any tourist.
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