On falling down in Tanzania

I woke up the other morning and panicked at the idea of leaving in LESS THAN TWO MONTHS, so I'm just not going to. I feel pretty good about it since it was such a gut reaction.

In other news, I was running around campus last week, as I am apt to do about once every 20 days (we'll talk about getting fat in Africa later - it's awesome!), when I rounded a corner and, quite literally, ran into our resident female baboon, who is a huge b****. We both stopped dead, and made eye contact for twenty seconds. Then I Macaulley Caulkin screamed, and the baboon Macaulley Caulkin screamed, and we both turned and sprinted off in opposite directions. I'm a little worried she might remember me, though, because my friend Hannah has been attacked by three baboons and I'm afraid that just can't be coincidence. The most recent attack ocurred when she was munching on some golden raisins, which we miraculously found in a grocery store, and as the baboon charged her with its formidable opposable thumbs, instead of taking steps to ensure her personal safety she shoved the baggie of raisins down her shirt and tried to make a run for it. She was looking over her shoulder wildly and running as fast as she could, but the incident ended tragically with some barbed wire and men waving sticks. Well, that's how I remember it.

Last weekend my friend Nate and I went to Sunrise Beach which is on Kigamboni, a tiny little island a ten-minute ferry ride away from city center. It was a perfect day, and the only people on the beach were us and some little Asian tourists (no offense, Leigh - it made me miss you all the more). The whole day went off without a hitch, until we got ready to board the night ferry back to the mainland. First, let me explain that there is no such thing as a "queue" in Africa. People here do NOT line up. If you try to line up for something, like say, Immigration Services, the post office, or the hospital, you will immediately be branded a tourist and you will never get anything done. So we've learned, we've adapted, and after too many buses leaving without me on them, I've learned how to throw 'bows with the best of 'em.

So Nate is relaxing on a bench while I'm huddled on the dock with about 4,000 Tanzanians, waiting for the officials to open the gate so we can charge the ferry in hopes of landing one of the 20 seats they have for the ride instead of having to stand for, oh, fifteen minutes. I've got my backpack on third-trimester style to avert pickpockets while I'm scoping out the competition when suddenly the gates fling open and we're off, like the running of the bulls. I'm sprinting as fast as my foot-long legs will take me and I'm gaining on some of the mamas with the kilos of rice on their heads, but in the pitch black of night I don't see the RANDOM CHAIN HANGING FIVE INCHES OFF THE GROUND that the Tanzanians somehow have the body awareness to avoid. I hit the chain hard and pitch over the top, soaring through the air for about ten minutes until I hit the metal floor of the ferry. Because the ferry allows vehicles but boards passengers first, there's basically a big bowling lane down the middle of it, and thanks to my backpack I skidded on my stomach like a penguin on ice for fifteen feet, to the shouts of "OH NO! MZUNGU FELL DOWN, MZUNGU FELL DOWN!"

There has really never been a more concerned crowd of people, and looking up and seeing the silhouettes of about ten Tanzanians standing above me and scratching their heads at my clumsiness was a beautiful combination of humiliating and hilarious. Fortunately, though, because they all felt bad for me and couldn't figure out why that crazy mzungu just COULDN'T SEE that obvious black chain in the dark of night, several of them offered me seats and I sat happily, munching a bag of peanuts for the ride.

I have to go to "class", but we've organized a sting operation to retrieve my stolen laptop later today. I'll let you know how it goes.

Where did all the classes go?

I, for one, have no idea. My Bantu Language Structures class was supposed to meet this morning at eight, and I showed up but no one else did. And then it was supposed to meet today at four, and no one showed up again. So I'm on the internet. Haya.

We went to Zanzibar this weekend for Eid-ul-Fitr (it's the end of Ramadan, which translated into a big party since Zanzibar is 99% Muslim). Zanzibar is my favorite place, and I think for the first time I achieved some kind of zen-like state, induced by the purchase of a tiny marble elephant. I'm not sure how to explain that.

The weather was gorgeous and about 20 of us ferried over (about an hour and a half boat ride, now throw uppers this time!) early Friday morning and spent the day absorbing Zanzibari culture. Stonetown is a virtual labryinth of sorts and you can spend all day wandering around the tiny streets haggling with shop owners. I bought a ton of jewelry and scarves and spent about three hours in this amazing antique shop. We ate on the waterfront (I emerged with the correct number of eyelids this time), spent Saturday on the beach, and partied with the locals until 4 am Sunday morning.

BUT we got our stuff jacked twice. Hannah, Elizabeth, and I were waking along the waterfront in broad daylight, in a crowd, on Saturday afternoon and a 16-year-old-ish boy ran up and pushed me really hard and nabbed Hannah's purse. He was probably still pretty new at it, because Hannah held on for dear life and he only got away with her purse strap - and only for a little while. As soon as she realized what was happening, she started screaming, "MWIZI, MWIZI" and I got really caught up in the excitement and started hopping around and screaming and pointing, "MWIZI, MWIZI!" and about fifteen Zanzibari men emerged from out of nowhere and took off after him. One came back with the purse strap and all the bystanders were SO mad at him, apologizing profusely and making sure that we didn't think all Zanzibari people were like that. We didn't see the boy again, and the fact that vigilante justice is still the norm here makes that a little bit disconcerting. I'm just not going to ask questions.

Then, as we were coming home from the club on Sunday morning, we stumbled across this pizza shop. I was clapping my hands and jumping and squealing at this beautiful beacon of hope in the middle of a barren wasteland of rice and beans, and we ordered and sat around a table on the patio. For some reason the clerk wouldn't take our money immediately, so we had about fourteen bucks sitting on the table, which was dumb on our part, admittedly. Some teenage boy came by and made a big show of high fiving everyone and acting really nice, and then he simply snatched up the money and took off sprinting. We were all confused because I'm fortunately still not disillusioned enough to believe that anyone who is nice is probably stealing from me, but when we realized what happened it was pretty upsetting.

Tanzania, I understand that you're incredibly impoverished, but the instances of petty thievery are too much to handle sometimes. Having to be constantly on guard is exhausting, and every time it happens I'm a little more embittered, which I hate because I really don't want those few terrible experiences to taint my whole trip. I'm grateful that violent crime isn't so ingrained into the culture here like it is in America, but the complete lack of respect for personal property is really disheartening.

That being said, I had an awesome weekend. I really, really needed it because with classes starting (still, after five weeks, "starting") and these few but hurtful instances of being targeted for whatever reason, the weekend helped me get back on my game. I'm still struggling with whether or not to stay for the year, but I really do like it. I'm growing, at the very least.

Randoms

I haven't updated anything in a very long time for a number of reasons.
1. I have no laptop with which to update and intaneti costs me way too much money.
2. Not a whole lot has changed.

Actually, only two reasons. Classes started and there's just no way I can accurately convey what that means. Before we were white and it was a big deal, now we are white and it is a BIG DEAL. I've been called on three times in my 200-person lecture (no one else has been called on), and in my political science classes every time we talk about slavery or colonialism all heads swivel around and, as America's envoy, I'm forced to answer for several centuries of my country's sins. When I'm in a good mood the absurdity makes it hilarious, but sometimes I can't handle it and I miss anonymity something awful. This story comes to me secondhand, but in my friend Katie's African Political Thought class one of the professors was talking about what it means to be an Africa, or who is an African. He made a point of singling the two wazungu out and saying something along the lines of, "These people are trying to be African, but they never can be because they are not black." Katie passed her (white) friend sitting next to her a note that said something along the lines of, "And we respect their culture, but we're not trying to be."

WELL. The African girl sitting on her other side snatched that note up and furiously wrote, "And we don't want you to be. You pork."

The shock of being called "A pork" was too much and Katie didn't even respond, but the next time the class met that same girl passed her a note that said

To all you white bitches talking shit about Africa [sic]: You better sleep with one eye open or we'll practice our voodoo on you and you will be floating in the Indian Ocean. Signed, Black Ossama.

I, personally, think that they're both hilarious. That being said, the sentiment behind them is not, and while I'm sure a very small portion of the population actually feels that kind of animosity towards us, it's still mildly disconcerting. But I've made a point of not updating when I'm either ecstatic or depressed because even though I experience both ends of the spectrum daily, I don't think that journaling during those extreme highs and extreme lows would paint an accurate picture of what it's like to be here. Likewise, I posted those notes because that is one aspect of my experience, but certainly not the whole experience. And they're nothing to worry about, Mom.

I've got two roommates, they are both fantastic. My friend Sam has three roommates named Ernest, Milk, and Cha Cha. My friend Anders does not know his roommates' names, but he walked into the communal bathroom one day and one of them was air-drying post shower. Standing there, arms akimbo, AIR-DRYING. Quite frankly, that's basically a metaphor for greater Tanzania. Air-drying for twenty minutes when a towel would do just fine. I love this country.

My laptop was stolen.

And after four days of wailing about living in this land of thieves, I have come to terms with it. Still kind of pissed, but I'll live. I'm lucky to be here.

Also, I tried logging onto the University website to register for classes the other day, and this is what I got:





See now, that DOESN'T work. At all, actually! You win some, you lose some. That was a definite win.