Anna do = published online

Hi all, please click on the link, click on the title of this blog post, and see my first online "publication". With thanks to Lisa for making the publication possible. And with thanks to Aisha Gothey for providing the written form of the rhyme!

Thus is the law of the writer, and the child.

Anna anna anna do!

I thought to add some fun anecdotes from children whom I have met in Zanzibar:

Fatma, a young girl in an adjacent alley way to the one in which I live, is the salesperson for her mom's chapatis. They sell fresh chapatis (as do at least half of the women in Zanzibar) every day, on the side of the, well road would be an over statement, on the side of the alley way. She is spunky and young and oh so funny to talk to, even though I speak kidogo (a little bit of) kiSwahili and she speaks no kidogo kidogo English.

She could never remember my name so I decided I was going to be called Khadija (Pronounce Hadija, but when you say the Kh sound, give it a bit of a phlegm-y growl in the back of your throat). Now I hear, most evenings when I walk past, "Khadija, mambo vipi?" (howzit, how are ya?) "Mambo poa! Habari za leo?" (I'm good/sweet/fine. How has your day been?) I reply to her. And then, these last few evenings there have been no chapatis, only and then I put my hands on my hips and ask "chapati waphi?" (where are the chapatis?) and she laughs a loud, confident laugh and says "Hamna chapati!" (No chapati). We're mates, us two.

*

The alley ways of Stone town are fantastic (and really, I mean FAN-TAS-TIC) to play hide a seek in. You needn't even try to hide, you get lost if you daydream for but a moment. But none-the-less, the children play hide and seek. A lot. And this is the little song that they use to choose who is going to be on (it's like Eenie, meenie, miney, moe), and it's in nonsense swahili:

Anna anna anna do,
kachanike basto,
ispiringi mitido,
anna kwa, anna kwa,
duku duku lemba kwa fuus!

Thus is the law of the children.

Lingerie shopping in Zanzibar

Now who'd have ever though that this would happen in Zanzibar. Lauren, in all her ripped jeans and old t-shirt glory, strolling through the very muddy streets of Darajani, holding up panties and bra's in search of vaguely matching black nickers and bra. The reason? Well, I am not allowed to tell yet, it is a surprise. In a few weeks time the reason for such a shopping expedition will be revealed. It is nothing saucy or down right gross. But I just can't tell you right now.

So back to the topic at hand. Underwear shopping.

It is not like an experience anywhere else.

Issue 1: all shops, wait, correction, most shops on the island are owned/managed my men. All underwear shops are owned/managed, it seems, by men... sigh...

Issue 2: there is one thing lacking in Zanzibar. Manners. Of men. Towards foreign women.

Please pause for a rant. No matter what you wear, whether you expose your shoulder and knees, or cover them up, young men on the island still treat you like a common whore. So now I pretty much wear what I want. Modestly. But I do still cover up a lot of the time, in solidarity with the women who need to cope with the heat, while covering in many layers. End of rant.

Issue 3: The stalls are in the open.

Now most of you know that I am not a shy person. While it is a bit disconcerting to have to flash around lacy nickers in the public (conservative) eye, it really can be done.

Except every time I walked up to a stall (except one owned by a dear old man), the silly hormonal and rude men would saunter up and begin helping your to choose your own underwear. Ai...

I told most to **** off (not the F word, but similar sentiments). Suffice to say I was hot and bothered by the time I left the swarming muddy mess that is Darajani (after a hard rain storm). And I had no undies (there are no black bras in Zanzibar...)

Two funny anecdotes:

At one stall, while browsing through the black nicker options, the owner brought out this (granny pantie style) beige one, signally that this was my skin colour, not black. The more I insisted I wanted black, the more he insisted that I was wrong that I needed (frilly, embroidered, thick-as-hell) beige high waisted nickers...

The second, at another stall, the owner asked if I wanted "bikini". So if the nickers were high waited (this is for the men reading this blog), as women, we know that bikini is low cut. 20 seconds later out he swung bright red and green and black THONGS, waving them in front of me, asking if the size is right, if I want smaller. And no matter how much I waved me hand and said "Hapana, hapana" (no, no), he still insisted, "another colour...??"

You gotta love Zanzibar... Ai, but the men.... This is for another post...

So keep glued to this amazing, Spectacular Spectacular blog. And the reason for the Lingerie shopping will be shown.

Baadaye

The Wheelbarrow deal

Hello all my avid fans, this is a quick post, thank you to all who were able to donate money to the wheelbarrow fund and thank you to those who couldn't for some reason but wanted to none the less. I loved it that people were so generous in thought, time and money. Before things are finalised I want to ask if those who deposited money please send me an email (africanstorygatherer@gmail.com) because I dont know who all did the depositing and because I want to send a list of contributers to NGP.

Th-U-nks guys!

Travel friends

I thought it about time to write about the friends I have made while travelling.

In Mozambique I met Hanna, Myles and Jess. Hanna is Finnish, Myles Brittish and Jess American. Jess and Myles are one lovely couple. We clicked, us four, and spent a happy plus-minus week travelling from Maputo to Toto to Inhambane (remember pronounced N-yam-ban-e) and finally to Vilankulo. Jess is an amazing teller of stories and we would inevitably be left giggling after one of her many stories about everyday life that ended up being like a gripping 2 minute movie. Myles is just as funny, and would have us giggling at his stories of living in England and Nairobi and then going to study abroad and then applying for a foreign exchange semester to go back to Nairobi to spend time with his friends. And one thing he always warned us about:

REMEMBER THAT PEOPLE AT HOME WILL NEVER BE THAT INTERESTED IN LOOKING AT ALL OF YOUR TRAVEL PHOTOS.

Hanna and I spent many happy lazy hours on the deck chairs in Toto sharing a couple of 2M beers and crunching on slightly burnt carstanias (cashews, coal roasted and salted). And spent many hours swimming in the waves or walking through the markets.

And then we parted and it was sad but I soon came to learn that travelling friends are intense and for a short period of time and just a lot of fun.

In Nkhata Bay I met Amy, Kwame (not travelling, from Nkhata Bay/Mzuzu) and Sari and we hit it off - my Butterfly friends. We formed the Dreadlocked Mermaid intercontinental gang, including Viola, Emily and Cat. This idea was concieved on one lake swim when I climbed onto a rock that angled out of the water, and while sitting on the rock in a 'mermaid pose' I declared myself a mermaid, a dreadlocked mermaid and invited Sari, a fellow dreadlocker to join me. And then I told the others that they must join as well. We may sound like a cheap 90s pop band...

Also at Butterfly, I met Matt. And Sarah and Liam (the Irish people). Matt and the Irish people and I were going to travel in a train carriage together from Mbeya to Dar es Salaam. Liam came down with Malaria however and so Nemone took one of their tickets. Matt, Nemone and I. We bonded in out 15 hour train station floor sleep and then our 24 hours train ride to Dar. We bonded lke no one can understand. In those almost 48 hours we developed a friendship like no other. Matt looked after Nem and I so well. In Zanzibar we all met up again and well, there is something about having shared those expeience that have made us comfotable and happy in each others company. Matt left about a week ago and Nem left 3 days ago. How sad that they have left my life, for now.

My Irish people, they too left a while ago and it was sad, no longer waking up to them in my house. We lived in the same house, renting rooms. We were a big bussling group: Me, Matt, Nemone, Sarah, Liam, Dulla (Zanzibar), Faisl (Zanzibar), Matthias, Sean, Robyn, Kati. And one by one they left - Matthias, Sarah, Liam. Matt. Sean. Namone. Kati.

Friends come and go and it is bitter sweet meeting and leaving the lovely people behind each time you move (or stay as in my case, with everyone leaving Zanzibar). But we always exchange email addresses and should anyone find themselves in the home place of the many friends, you always know you will have a place to stay. This is life, changing and moving. And it is a wonderful lesson to learn that nothing in life in constant, that this too will change. And it is important to live in the present. All the time. And enjoy the people while they are here with you. What fantastic, special and beautiful experiences I have had!!! I am blessed.

In closing, there was a horrific ferry accident off the coast of northern Zanzibar, traveling to Pemba. There were many people returning to Pemba after Eid celebrations in Zanzibar. There should have been 600 people on board. There were 800-1 000 people on board. There may have been more. Because the ferry was over loaded and there was no proper documentation of how many people went on board, there is no recod of the people who may still be missing. Reports vary, but it seems up to, close to and over 200 people died.

Dulla lost his sister on that ferry. My friend was broken on Saturday. I borrow a translation that I found on another blog. It is a sign that appeared somewhere in the island. It is somber but beautiful as well.

Brothers and Sisters of the islands of Unguja and Pemba: This is an announcement of the deaths that took place today there in the ocean because of the sinking of MV Spice — it is already down, nothing more will come out. God bless the dead and give them a good place in heaven. They have already passed, we are going the same way.

(http://blog.contrarymagazine.com/2011/09/notes-on-a-zanzibar-tragedy/#.Tmx2hzJGgJE.facebook)

Zanzibar, the land of contrasts

The image that will always stay with me of Zanzibar was at the airport. If for some reason I lose all forms of memory recall of my travels, I will not lose this one. I wish I had had my camera out and ready to snap the situation. But alas, it was not. And so in lack of picture, I resort to descriptive language.

The Zanzibar airport is tiny. International, but tiny. And so the collectors-of-passengers stand outside. And as with all airports there is a security guard posted outside. At one point in my time standing outside there was a young man who had either set off an alarm detector coming out of the airport or wanted to enter through the exit. In either case, he had to be frisked and then have a metal detector run over his whole body. And so this happened.

He stood with his legs apart and his arms up in a “hands up, you are under arrest” position, as a woman, the security guard, frisked and then metal detector-ed him. And what was amusing about this? She was dressed in full Muslim regalia, long black dress, long sleeved in the melting heat, head scarf, everything minus the burqa. With her official security guard name tag. Totally more important than this man in front of her.

And it made me giggle inside and then hope that the position of the woman within Muslim worlds is in fact getting better. Islam does have a bad name, a bad stereotypical name, much true and false about it. Maybe Zanzibar is setting the standard for Muslim woman around the world?

T.I.A. This is Africa. The Land of contrasts.



The inside of a dala dala, Tanzania's equivalent of a taxi/chappa/minibus taxi. In Zanzibar however, it is an open sided pick up truck.