Zanz – Part 2/3
Zanzibar – Day 2 (minus the gory stuff…executive decision)
So, early in the morning I had set off with a new driver to go back into Stone Town to do more of what I did the previous day. I met a lot of the same people, and some of the people who were too shy or for whatever reason didn’t want me to talk with them or photograph them, were eager to meet me. That happens a lot. I don’t visit one place just once. I go back as many times as I can. It ingratiates you, however briefly, into the community, people talk about the crazy American with the tattoos (Tattoos are surprisingly uncommon in Tanzania – though Henna is popular) who was here yesterday, or this morning, or whenever. Going back allows you more access than you would normally have. People always ask me how I get the photos I get – the fleeting connection, the intimacy, whatever. I won’t give away all of my tactics, but returning over and over is a good place to start.
Anyway, spent a couple of hours in Stone Town and my driver was a little con artist himself. He seemed to manage to get stopped at every single checkpoint the Polisi had set up (see? I learned Swahili – gotta learn Zulu now). He didn’t have a tourist certification card or his driving papers, so he had to keep paying 1000 or 2000 Shillings (and asking me to pay it for him – that’s about $1 to $1.75ish a pop) which I’m sure he got a portion of (sorry for Aji, I took it out of his end-of-day pay). Corruption is the biggest criminal problem in Tanzania.
Aji took me to meet some of his colleagues that hung out under some Mango trees outside an abandoned apartment complex. Taxi drivers/tour guides are your best bet for finding fellow English speakers. The gents he introduced me to gave me an hour long discourse on the state of the nation and then we spoke about fun stuff like Liverpool beating the pants off of Man. U, 4-1 the other day, they told me about their businesses and families and eventually I told them about the holdups by the Polisi. They asked if that happened in the United States. I laughed it off…”No, in the USA cops don’t ask for a few dollars – bribery like that is highly illegal and everyone can be thrown in jail. We call that, ‘nickel and dime, bullshit.’ No, in the United States we have corruption that is more likely around the millions and billions of dollars and it is done in the open.”
They were absolutely stunned. The numbers were incomprehensible to them. They were so competent in English that I decided to explain the bank failures, Bernie Madoff, and the credit crunch happening in the West. Who says you need fancy Universities to understand this stuff on the basic level. They said it sounded like a Hollywood movie. I realized just how ridiculous it really sounds when it is put in a vacuum. They were great guys and I hope they are reading this now. Everyone I meet gets my contact information and I am constantly inundated with messages from countless people I’ve met. That’s the best part of all of this.
Aji and I left his group of friends under the Mangoes and he took me to a New Town (That is a proper name, not an adjective) called Colombia. The people of these New Towns name their villages (which is the proper descriptor, imo) after soccer teams. Colombia is a very small village that is very similar to those found in backwaters of India and China. I’m going to write a post about my opinions contrasting Asia/India with Africa. But, to put it bluntly, it seems quite similar to me, so far.
So, we are in this town called Colombia and perhaps a group of 20 men greet me and bring me a Coca-Cola (which, as much as I would have liked to have declined) enjoyed with much gusto, to their squeals of delight. Those who didn’t speak English conveyed questions and conversation with me through counter-parties and 45 minutes was spent just getting to know these men who seemed to be, if not elders, influential people in their town. These were the men, and they did the work. It was Sunday, their only day of rest. The children still attended the Madrasa and prayers were still called five times, but they were basically just shooting the shit. (The sense of community I find in impoverished lands is remarkable, especially compared to places back home in the States.)
As I am becoming more of a known quantity, I ask to be invited into some homes and to take photographs of the women and children. Of course, they said. I was their brother now. I asked how many foreigners visited their village…They all burst out laughing…Answer enough for me. So, I was in a familiar situation. I was drawing crowds of children, mostly, and some inquisitive looks from those who were watching the group moving along with me, pointing out things they wanted me to see, people they wanted pictures of…To a man, they all wanted photos with their friends and family, which I gladly obliged. (I will include one or two in a later post).
So, you, gentle reader, are getting an idea of how these wonderful things were occurring. It is not easy to describe events like these that I have had the privilege of being part of in more countries, cities, towns and villages than I could hope to ever remember, even at my tender age, but this is how it is when you travel hard and fast and make connections with such beautiful people that will shape the rest of your world. These are some of the most kind and decent people I have ever met. I will discuss this more in my post comparing and contrasting my experiences in Africa with those in the Far East and India, but suffice to say, for the moment, that these are a welcoming people, far more so than any other group I’ve encountered in my travels.
As the locals say, Hakuna Matata…
David :: Mar.19.2009 :: Photography, journal entry, travel :: No Comments »