Voodoo - what you don’t dare do - people

Have a little secret
I ain’t gonna tell
I’m goin’ to heaven and I ain’t goin’ to hell
Oh ladda me, didn’t I shake sugaree

Very strange experience the other day. I was standing in front of my house when an old woman walked by. I gave her the culturally appropriate “shikamoo,” (Swahili has a whole range of formal greetings, shikamoo being the most respectful greeting given to the elderly), and she responded with the appropriate “marahaba.” We chatted in Swahili for a few minutes and she let on that she was a relative of my next-door neighbors. After a bit she then went over to visit her family. A couple minutes later she and her family walked by my house to go wherever it was that they were going. I said hello to the family, and told the old woman that it’d been nice to meet her. She responded with some kooky hand gestures and face twitches, and one of the men in the group explained to me that she was a “bubu” and that I shouldn’t try speaking to her. Bubu means mute. He explained that she’d had a fever as a child and hasn’t been able to speak since. I tried to convince him that I’d just spoken with her, but he just kept repeating his story… probably convinced that I just didn’t understand his Swahili. The group then went on their way. Bizarre.

There are a few explanations I’ve come up with, although none are particularly good. Her affliction could be one that comes and goes, and after she spoke to me perhaps she lost the ability to speak again temporarily? Her whole family could have just decided to mess with the mzungu (means white person or foreigner) neighbor’s head? Or maybe, just maybe, the woman has been faking her muteness her whole life and occasionally talks to the random person who she knows can’t blow her cover? Honestly though, beats me. I suppose she could have just been a witchdoctor. As my father said after I told him the story, “Two words, Josh: Move. On.” He’s a wise man.

And yes, you read right. I did say witchdoctor. My island is notorious for its voodoo, and I am told people flock from all over the world to learn from the witchdoctor masters here. I’m living in the voodoo Mecca. Kinda cool, huh? After being outside at night a couple times I can definitely see why this place is thought to channel some serious black magic. The island has giant bats, a primeval jungle with sections that have never been cut down, a nightly low mist that rolls off the ocean over the empty roads and fields, foot long millipedes, bush babies (which are small, freakish looking monkeys with giant eyes who come out at night and make truly unnerving shrieks), spice smuggler and pirate hide outs, and packs of roaming dogs (people here are convinced that dogs are shapeshifters, so between that and the Muslim bias against dogs, the local dogs dare only to come out at night). The island also played a major role in the East Africa slave trade and old Indian Ocean spice trade. Some serious suffering took place in this island’s past. Now, I’m not saying I believe in voodoo. I’m just saying that if it does exist, my spice island here would be the place. I’m also sure as hell not going to declare outright that I don’t believe in it. Coming home with a witchdoctor’s curse for nonbelievers is not what I had in mind when I signed up for the Peace Corps.

Technically, practicing voodoo is illegal here. It was outlawed by a Zanzibar president years back. The story goes that his witchdoctor told him his career would eventually be ruined by a magic curse. Apparently, outlawing all witchery seemed like the logical solution. Talk about something out of a Greek tragedy! I’d go ahead and guess that more than a few local witchdoctors were angered by having their jobs forced underground by the feds, so as a result the president probably ended up with a fair share of gnarly curses. Self-fulfilling prophecy.

Despite voodoo being illegal though, (and the 98% Muslim statistic), I’m told it’s still widely believed in and practiced. Heck, I walk by a witchdoctor’s shop every day when I walk into town. Nice guy, we chat it up from time to time. Animal tarps, bones, stick sculptures, and a whole lot of crazy stuff in jars line the shop walls. And this is an established shop in one of the island’s more modern towns. I don’t even want to know what kind of crazy shit goes down out in the villages and jungle.

In other news, we’ve had a serious heat wave lately. Well over 100 degrees in the afternoon. Real humid too. Last night at 11:30 when I went to bed the thermometer clocked in at 89. My area of town’s also been without electricity and water for the past 3 days. It’s a pretty bad scene in Josh land right now. It’s so hot that I’m drenched in sweat after spending 10 seconds outside, and I have no water to shower with or electricity to power a fan. Things are looking up today though! I did manage to finally get clean this morning by taking a shower in some rain in my courtyard. I’ve also just been told that I should be getting power and water back tomorrow. Maybe I should go ask the witchdoctor?

So, happy holidays everyone! If there’s any snow at all where you are, roll around in it. And while you're at it, hug a pine tree. Do it for me. Siku kuu njema!

We can’t stop here, this is bat country

Now I’ve been happy lately,
thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be,
something good has begun



No seriously, this IS bat country. My island, (whose name, again, I am unable to disclose due to Peace Corps policies), has these critters called flying foxes. They’re not actually foxes though, just incredibly enormous bats. My first evening here I saw some flying overhead and mistook them for hawks. I was corrected by my neighbor, who proceeded to then explain that if one ever gets near me I should hit it as hard as I can, because sometimes they get rabid and attack people. Fun. Good thing Peace Corps vaccinates against rabies. U.S. tax dollars hard at work!

It’s been a long, long week, but I’m finally settling into my home. I’m living in half of a fairly large cement duplex, (another teacher at my school lives in the other half with her husband and children). I have my own living room, porch, courtyard, kitchen, a couple of storerooms, and (of course) choo. My bedroom is fairly large, and I have 2 empty guestrooms, (any brave visitors are more than welcome!).






I’m told my home was formerly occupied by a Canadian VSO volunteer a few years back. It definitely hasn’t been lived in for a good couple of years now, as it was rocking the boarded-up basement smell when I first arrived. I’ve been airing it out though, and it’s getting a lot better. Moving in has been a slow and tedious process. Aside from a few chairs and a bed, the house was completely empty when I arrived. Needless to say, I’m getting (I think) pretty good at bartering for various things in town.

I’ve already made some very good contacts in town, and am starting to get situated at my school. There’s a huge need for computer knowledge here, as NGO’s have been pouring computers and technology into Africa during the last couple years, but have completely neglected the task of educating people in how to actually use the damn machines. I’ve got my work cut out for me, no doubt, but it will definitely be rewarding. Everyone here is really eager to learn about computers and the Internet, so student motivation is definitely not going to be an issue. It does turn out though that I’ll be doing a good amount of teaching in Swahili, as English seems to be less common here than on the mainland. It’s gonna be a steep learning curve for sure, but I have faith in my ability to conjure creative hand gestures in the meantime.

Cooking’s been the major challenge so far. When I come home I’m completely wiped out from running around all day in the heat , and the prospect of cooking dinner with a kerosene stove is more than a little daunting. Because of the lack of refrigeration food needs to be bought no more than a day before it is eaten, so cooking here takes a lot of planning. I’ll get the hang of it soon I’m sure, but right now I’m struggling a bit. Buying food is an experience in and of itself, as it requires going to the town market and bartering like a madman.

Speaking of town, I live in a pretty unique place. The town is an active port, so all sorts of goods are readily available. Staple foods from mainland Tanzania come by boat once a week and we get all manner of exotic foods and spices from all over the Indian Ocean. The island also grows a lot of spice, the major export being cloves. When evening breezes pick up, the whole island smells miraculous. Combine that with the almost supernatural sounding prayers echoing out of the (many) mosques, and the island possesses a very undeniable ambience.

The people here have been incredibly inviting as well. In recent years America has cultivated somewhat of a prejudice regarding Islam, so being a non-Muslim American arriving on an almost entirely Muslim island, I was a little bit nervous. Only a few days in, I’m already embarrassed about the preconceptions I had coming in. Everyone’s been very friendly and welcoming (dare I say, even more so than on the mainland), especially when they realize that I speak some Swahili. The culture here is so very rich, I really feel fortunate to be immersed in such a place.

After 10 weeks of being more or less on the road, it’s finally nice to be home. It’s not going to be an easy two years by any means, but something tells me it’s going to fly by. Until next time, salama.