The communist daughter

With coco leaves along the border
Sweetness sings from every corner
Cars careening from the clouds
The bridges burst and twist around
And watching something warm and moving
Bends towards herself the soothing
Proves that she must still exist
She moves herself about her fist
Sweet communist... the communist daughter
Standing on the seaweed water.


Not exactly something you’d expect to see on a tropical island off the coast of East Africa, eh?

Zanzibar’s had just about every kind of government imaginable over the years. From African chiefs, to Arab sultans, to Portuguese, German, and British colonial rule, to socialism, to the 1 1/2 party democracy of today (there are two parties, but only one of them ever wins). There are a few crumbling buildings left over from the colonial period, but they’re all in pretty bad shape:


During the extremely bloody revolutionary period of the late 50’s and early 60’s, in horrific displays of nationalism more than 17,000 foreigners, (many of them engineers, traders, and craftsmen), were massacred. Those who weren’t killed made the wise decision to leave. As a result, very few engineers remained on the islands, and the new socialist government had to rely on foreign contractors. The Soviets were more than happy to help, and sent some East German architects to help “modernize” the islands.

The story goes that the architects came to Zanzibar with plans to construct a number of apartment and government buildings in the drab Soviet style that was all the rage at the time. After the architects arrived, however, they were so enchanted by the natural beauty of the islands that they decided to scrap their original plans. For months they toiled over new designs, ultimately producing blueprints for elegant, Middle Eastern styled buildings. Unfortunately for us all, the Zanzibar government officials of the time were quick to shoot down the engineers’ ambitions. They didn’t want stylish buildings; they wanted “modern” ones. As a result, the islands are now scattered with towering, dreary monuments to Zanzibar’s socialist stint.


While far from aesthetically appealing on their own, the buildings are down right absurd given their surroundings. Every day when I walk into town to work, on my left I see:

And on my right:


It is kind of amusing that while we are in the most opposite of places imaginable, my sister and I are both subjected daily to the same delightful Soviet aesthetics. Libby is studying abroad in St. Petersburg at the moment. As unbearable as the summer African heat is, I don’t even want to imagine how crippling the cold of Russian winter must be. Hey, at least global warming is on her side I suppose. And I’m not gonna lie, the thought of flopping around in some snow right now is more than a little appealing. My thermometer hasn’t dropped below 82 since I’ve been on site. I’m going to be in trouble when I get back home to winter in Maine at the end of this Peace Corps gig. Sometimes in the mornings here it gets down to the low 80’s… and I need to put on a pullover. Africa broke me.

So, as foreign of an idea snow may be to me at the moment, it’s something downright alien to the people here. Most people here don’t even know their own word for snow, “theluji.” It’s not a particularly relevant term. It’s pretty funny when I show some pictures from home to the locals… especially ones of me skiing. I usually explain skiing as riding down an ice-covered mountain on really long shoes. More than one person has seen this picture and asked if it was taken in Dar es Salaam:


Let that sink in for a second.

Yes, some people here think Dar es Salaam has mountains and snow. As funny as that is, it’s actually not entirely surprising. The majority of the people here have never been to the mainland, and some have never even left their hometowns. Minibuses, (called dala dalas), are the main form of transportation in Tanzania, and the ones that go through my town have big signs displaying the town name and the name of the island’s capital, (this whole having to not disclose my location thing is getting real old, by the way). More than one person I’ve encountered didn’t know where the dala dalas go after they leave town. They didn’t know the name of the capital of their own island. I’d find this absurd, but there are places in northern Maine where the residents are just as geographically impaired. I’m from a hick state.

What northern Maine doesn’t have are pink chickens:


Apparently it’s a natural condition. When the chickens grow up the tone darkens into a reddish brown. But still. Bright pink baby chickens. You don’t see THAT every day...

So overall my life’s been pretty good for the past few weeks. I’ve recovered completely from the malaria now, (thanks to everyone who sent their well wishes!), have gotten into a rhythm with teaching, and I’ve been out and about around town.

This weekend I attended an afternoon wedding party. It was nice. There was lots of dancing, and some local drummers and singers gave performances.



As you can see, all of the women here wear headscarves outside, (and some even wear full veils). During school hours, female students wear thin, uniformed scarves. Every school has its own set of colors, and when schools get out in the afternoon the streets are flooded with a whole rainbow of hooded heads. Sometimes it feels like little armies of mages have invaded the town.

Here are some of the local primary school students next to my home:


The little kids here are super cute.

Teaching at my school has been going really well. My students are great, and seem genuinely excited to be learning computers. Some days there’s no power and I have to resort to teaching theory and hardware basics, but even then the students are really attentive. I have to give them credit, whenever I had a teacher who spoke really bad English in college I just zoned right out, and to native speakers I’m sure my Swahili sounds utterly terrible. The classes are going great though. Last week I set up some of my advanced students on email, and I hope to get them each connected with an American pen pal. (So if you’re high school or college aged and want to make an African friend, shoot me a line!)

It’s really nice to be at a supportive and peaceful school. I’ve heard some horror stories from other volunteers who have to deal with dubious class scheduling, corrupt teachers and headmasters, and ridiculous corporal punishment. I’m lucky in that I haven’t had to deal with any of that. It’s probably because I’m at a college instead of the typical secondary school Peace Corps assignment, but I’m definitely not complaining.

The only truly outlandish thing that’s happened so far at my school occurred this past week. One of the students was possessed by a demon.

Yup.

That’s right.

A demon.

My week was weirder than yours.

I was upstairs teaching a class when a girl in the classroom below mine started screaming hysterically. She started running around shouting jibberish until some other students and teachers managed to restrain her. I asked one of the teachers what was wrong, and was told that the girl was being possessed by a “shetani,” or demon. Apparently this is fairly common at schools all over the island. Voodoo’s a bitch. It seems evil spirits tend to attack in waves too, most commonly around exam time. Those evil spirits sure are crafty.

Just to be safe, (apparently demons can be contagious), school was called off for the day. It’s the Tanzanian version of a bomb threat. Some of the staff and students were visibly unnerved, and one of the teachers asked why I wasn’t afraid. My (admittedly lame) answer: mzungu magic. She seemed to buy it.

What followed next was some strange session that I guess amounted to a Muslim exorcism. I couldn’t tell what was going on as most of it was in Arabic, of which I only know a handful of expressions. Oh well, sometimes it’s best not to know.

I’ve been told by numerous folk that the most feared shetani on the island is named Popo Bawa, which literally means Bat Wing. Popo Bawa doesn’t bother with trivial school time hysterics either. Oh no, Popo Bawa is far more menacing. He’s a squat, creepy looking bat creature as black as the night itself. He’s about a meter in height, and has a single giant eye in the middle of his forehead. Popo Bawa’s victim wakes up in the middle of the night completely paralyzed and sees the demon materialize through the wall and approach the bed. The helpless prey is unable to move or cry for help as he or she, (Popo doesn’t discriminate), is anally pillaged by the demon.

... Really, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Apparently in the late 90’s Popo Bawa’s attacks became so frequent that he created an island wide hysteria. People slept outside and on rooftops in an effort to escape the creature’s sick conquests. The mass panic got so bad that the government had to deploy soldiers and broadcast radio announcements to attempt to calm people down. Eventually the island’s mightiest witchdoctors and sorcerers gathered and used their magic to drive Popo Bawa away. He’s gone for now, but word on the street is that his return is imminent. All I know is that if I get ass raped by an African demon I’m quitting the Peace Corps and going home. Yessir, game over.