ZIFF 2014: Day 2

I started having back cramps a few weeks before I left. The first time, I thought I’d thrown out my back or taken a hard bump on the bike. By Saturday, I spent an hour fighting off the pain so I could get out of bed. Standing was agony. I checked myself into the ER. The pain had grown so fierce they wondered if I’d had a heart attack. I was scanned, x-rayed, tested. Nothing. No cracked vertebrae, no slipped disc, no heart attack. They gave me muscle relaxants and painkillers. I started seeing a chiropractor, who x-rayed me again. Nothing. By every test we can run, there’s nothing wrong with my back except for sudden, painful, immobilizing cramps.

I had dreaded the Old Fort Amphitheatre. It’s built Roman style, including the stone seating. (Next year, bring stadium chairs – maybe UA will loan). I thought I’d wake up in agony from sitting on that rock all night. I woke up fine. We took the taxi back to Stone Town. I explored a bit while the students explored on their own. At the ATM, I ran into some American college students – a third Study Abroad program (Ole Miss). I gave them my card and asked if their faculty director could contact me.

I met with Julie Weiskopf, the faculty director for the Wisconsin program. We talked about things that did and didn’t work in Study Abroad for the better part of two hours. I didn’t realize how isolating Study Abroad can be for the faculty member. If you come alone, as I did, you have no peers to talk to.

We went to the Old Fort Showings and caught a movie called Mother of George. I wasn’t crazy about it, nor ZIFF’s handling of the film. The movie centers around a young Nigerian couple in New York. The newlyweds are under intense pressur to start a family. When all else fails, the mother of the groom (played by Angelique Kidjo) tells her daughter-in-law to sleep with the groom’s brother. “It’s the same blood,” she says. “All women do this.” The young bride, desperate, approaches the brother and he reluctantly agrees. She gets pregnant, and everyone’s happy until she confesses the truth of the conception. Then the whole family falls apart, but there seems to be some hope of reunion at the end.

ZIFF censored about 15 minutes of the movie. They seemed reluctant to show people trying to conceive a baby – in a movie about people trying to conceive a baby. If that’s the case, ZIFF, don’t show the movie. I’d rather not see it at all than see a black screen cover the actors while they perform.

I also made several contacts: an Egyptian film critic, the head volunteer at ZIFF, and the director of the educational programming for ZIFF. We ended the night at the Mambo Club, the nickname for the large, grassy space next to the amphitheatre. ZIFF brings in musical acts to play nightly. The traditional stuff happens before the movies; night is for club music.

I noticed something at the Mambo club, or a lack of something: veils. Most women here veil, but at night, in the “club”, the veils mostly came off. I’ll have to ask about that.

ZIFF Day 1: Mandela

In the morning, I walked over to Impact Africa to ask about a good taxi driver they knew. I passed by the bartender/kitesurfing instructor at Coral Rock. He said, hey did you hear the newsZ? A bomb went off in Stone Town.

I got on the internet as fast as I could. One person killed, several wounded. The bomb went off near a mosque used by visiting Muslim clerics in preparation for Ramadan. Foreign press attributed the bombing to tensions on the island. Local gossip said this was trouble one of the foreigners brought with him. The bombing was nowhere near a touristy part of Stone Town. I wrote the program office and my chair to let them know what had happened, and that I planned to proceed as scheduled. If I thought anything looked out of place or unsafe, I’d put the students on the next plane.

As we got into Stone Town, we fell behind the Women’s Program Parade. Every year ZIFF sponsors a themed Women’s Program, which includes movies, concerts, the dhow race, workshops, and other events. This year’s theme is GBV (Gender Based Violence). We saw that the parade was protected by no less than a dozen uniformed army soldiers, and at least that many police. I’d assume some onlookers were plainclothes cops. Once we got to the Old Fort, we found at least 50 uniformed police and soldiers, some holding old but well-used weapons. Inside, they showed me the area for bag searches and the metal detectors. Okay. Okay.

We had a few hours to kill before the opening ceremonies. I told the students to look around and familiarize themselves with the layout. I checked out their art area, where everyone tried to sell me everything. No one in their right mind buys stuff on the first day of a festival; wait until the last day. I explored the area a bit, then headed over to Livingstone to use the internet. A charming French woman named Gell sat at my table. She could pass for Helen Mirren’s sister. She’s just taken a job for one of the safari companies. I gave her my information: maybe next year I can include a safari on the trip. I definitely want to get to the mainland in any case. As dusk fell, the waiters came around offering insect repellent to the customers. I got out my supply of Bug Off from the Left Hand Soap Company. Gell loved the smell – I let her try it, and then I let her have it as long as she promised to order some online. Soapy – I want a cut of any French safari sales in Tanzania.

Here’s what I didn’t know about ZIFF: opening night is a red carpet event. Red carpet as in who are you wearing, paparazzi, limosuines, swimming pools and movie stars, and an actual red carpet. Not everyone gets dressed up, but I definitely felt underdressed. We sat through the usual opening speeches and technical glitches, including a long, long, long, boring, long speech by the 2^nd vice president of Zanzibar. Then we saw Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom.

I purposely avoided seeing the movie in the States or on the plane. I wanted to see it here, on the island, in the open air. It’s a great movie, surprising at times. What affected me the most was remembering the protests I was in, the marches, walkouts, sit-ins. I participated in the takeover of the University of Texas President’s office (for about 2 hours).  When Mandela got his freedom, we were so convinced that we – American college students – had done it. And when I worked for IFESH, their narrative was that the Sullivan Principles had done it. In talking to my students on the way home (starting with the hated phrase “when I was your age”) I said that external pressure hastened the economic collapse of the apartheid government, but didn't end apartheid. The South African people won their own freedom.

slow day

Relatively quiet day. I lectured briefly, then told the students to explore the town. We caught the World Cup game with some Africa Impact volunteers, who told me how to get a better price for Stone Town taxis and the name of a good local doctor.

Sweet Sweetback's Blog-ass Song

I used to blog all the time. In fact, I used to be a bit of an internet celebrity, back in the old LiveJournal days (pour out a 40 for my LJ homies). Somewhere around 2006 or so, it stopped being fun. I found people wanted to date me to be in the blog, or wanted to hang out with me so they would show up in the blog, or wanted everyone but them to show up in the blog, or didn't like something I said, or.... So I quit. Every now and then I've thought about restarting the blog. I've even made two half-hearted attempts. But that was all a long time ago. Much has changed. I've also seen a bit of encouragement lately from some friends and colleagues.

So...

I'm back. Back to blogging, back to daily public writing. Back to the way I started writing. It's time. So if you were a fan of my old ulitave columns, or a reader from my stint as Whorizontal, or a reader of my fiction and nonfiction, or a fan of my spoken word, stay tuned and call your friends. If you're a student or former student, or we met at a conference, or you're one of my friends from Liberia or Zanzibar, hello again.

If you don't like me or my stuff, I'm doing this specifically to irritate the shit out of you. You gave me lemons, I made gin and tonic. 

Mosquito

Julie left to observe a hospital and training facility on the mainland. She’ll rejoin us in a week or so.

Africa Impact volunteers invited us to observe their kindergarden and 1^st grade classes at [name of school] , and adult education classes that meet in Jozani Forest. I told thew students (all female) to dress up. Zanzibar is a highly gendered society, and teaching is the only profession available for most women. I’d already observed that every teacher at ever school in Kikadini was female. Having my female students dress up supported the teacher’s professionalism.

On the other hand, I had to dress down. These kids had never seen an adult male inside their school, and had possibly never seen a man in a coat and tie. They would assume that I was someone from the government, and refuse to speak or participate in the lesson. They would also defer to me. Wearing a suit could undermine their regular teacher’s authority, and I couldn’t do that. I also moved back and forth between classes, taking pictures. After the initial surprise, they got back to business.

Compared to my experiences in Liberia, the Zanzibari schools were remarkably well-kept, clean, and orderly. They have electricity and running water, plus a good supply of teaching materials in Swahili and English. No smashed furniture, no protruding rusty nails, no absenteeism, no drunkenness, no fighting. (My Liberian friends – I know you don’t want to hear that. But it’s the truth.) The kids played a few warm-up games and then learned the names of food. They were adorable.

Sorting out dinner has been harder than I expected. The property owner gave me some prices for local food, and I based my budget around those. However, she seems to have made those numbers up out of thin air. No one – not even her own staff – has honored any quote she gave me. So today I arranged dinner with a local nicknamed Mosquito. He claimed he could make a simple chicken with coconut curry dinner for 3500 TS per person. When I pressed him, he admitted that his sister would do the actyual cooking. Fair enough. He asked for a 10,000 TS advance so he could buy the chicken, and I’d pay him the rest when the food was ready.

In the afternoon, we went into the Jozani Forest to observe and adult education class. Jozani is the home of the endangered Red Colubus monkey, which only lives here. Class was held at a pavilion a few hundred feet from the entrance. On the way in the students passed the word – look out for the python. Apparently the park rangers had captured a python someone had set loose on the island. They kept it in an enclosure as an attraction, but didn’t know how much food a python requires. The python got hungry and escaped. So if you think you see something moving, it’s probably just a hungry python. Hakuna Matata.

Today was Play day – the students had been split into four groups based on English language ability and developed their own dramas. While the students rehearsed, one volunteer announced her blog had been picked up by Huffington Post. You know, I thought, its time for me to get back into the blogging business.

The winner was called Bad Teacher – a hilarious revenge drama with social and economic overtones. Another group vied for first place, but they were the clear winners in my book. They had mastered the language enough to use humor. They won an electronic snowman that played Silent Night, which was the only trophy-looking object the volunteers could find.

We rested in the later afternoon, and then Mosquito turned up. The food was ready, but he’d need help carrying it from his sister’s house. He seemed overly happy. Asha sent Issa with me to collect the food. When we got to his sister’s house, I remembered my manners and took my shoes off before entering. The food smelled wonderful, and I was starving. Then came the bad – Mosquito demanded another 40,000 TS. I reminded him that we had set a price of 3500 each. He replied that he didn’t care, and he wanted 10,000 each. The 10,000 I’d spotted him seemed to have been forgotten. We argued. Mosquito started yelling and threatening. I told him the deal was off.

I found my students and we went to the local kebab house for bbq chicken and fries. Not the healthiest dinner, but enough. I also arranged for Asha, our housekeeper, to cook the next night. Later, I ran into Pandu, a local and as it turns out, a friend of Mosquito. I refused to say Hakuna Matata (“no worries”), which worried him. I told him the story in bits, saying I didn’t want to call the police, I didn’t even want to mention the man’s name or his family could suffer. Pandu cut me off. “Was it Mosquito?” he asked. “Yes.” I replied. “Was he already drinking?” Pandu asked. Ah. Mosquito is the town drunk. Pandu gave me his number and said he’d get the original 10,000 back from Mosquito.

Late that night, Coral Rock Hotel showed the World Cup opening game via projection screen on the beach. The nearly full moon shone overhead, the waves lapped the shore, the stars twinkled, and Brazil spanked Croatia. We walked home along the beach. Not a bad way to end the night.

The bad news

Rick Appling passed away after a too-short fight with cancer. His wife Carol is the graduate secretary at Alabama, and the first person I spoke to about the graduate program.

That same night, I got a message from a former student in Liberia. He got suckered by one of the fraudulent NGOs that operate there. Now he’s broke and nearly homeless. He’s looking for a job, a scholarship, anything that can help. If you know of any job anywhere in Liberia for a young man with good English skills, please let me know.