Forward ever

The heat is on, on the street
Inside your head, on every beat
And the beat's so loud, deep inside
The pressure's high, just to stay alive
'Cause the heat is on

My parents were kind enough to pay me a visit for 2 weeks in April. It was great to see them… my first contact with people from my “old” life since arriving here in September. They’ve sent me an entry of their own to post, so here ya go:

Ma and Pa Stern, signing on…

THE CHAMPION OF HOT



Repeat after us: ni joto sana. It is very hot. Very, very hot. This is the temperature in Josh’s courtyard, (yes, that says 114 degrees). Note: it is autumn where he is now. Oh, you say, it must be cooler inside because of the many years that the locals have perfected construction techniques to maximize cooling.

Yeah, well, this is inside.



The first time we walked the 2k from Josh’s home to his worksite down Heartbreak Hill, as Paul calls it, he almost had heatstroke. Sue was fine, though. The locals thought she had lived there all of her life. She fit right in.



The heat at Josh’s site is way beyond what we have ever experienced . . . and it’s autumn. How he does this on his own after working all day in the heat remains a mystery.

Sue gave Josh a break from daily cooking and cleaning, which is often very hard to do. First, you have to go to the market and barter for food. Since Sue is Josh’s mother, people gave her extra! Next, clean food within an inch of its life and cook it forever in the heat of the kitchen area, (did we mention it was hot?). Then, clean dishes very carefully with boiled water. And during this whole process you never know if the power will go off and you have to switch to the kerosene or coal stoves, or if the water pump will die and you have to go scooping with the bucket. One time while Sue was cooking during a monsoon, lightning struck a tower near Josh’s house and came through the electric outlet onto Sue’s hand and out her foot. She lived to talk about it, albeit incoherently for awhile, but her hand hurt for a week. Doing laundry is also a trip. Water buckets in the courtyard and line drying. You have to time the drying for the hot sun times and avoid the rains. You would think things would dry in a second in that sun but NO, the humidity is so high it takes forever. If it takes too long for them to dry you need to wash the clothes again as they begin to smell like mold. And when you take the clothes off the line, you have to shake out the families of mosquitoes that hide in the folds. Great fun.



THE SHETANI

As Josh has explained, his island is populated by very nice people and very bad shetani. Popo Bawa is the most renowned, but there are others, and one of them paid particular attention to Paul. The Fan Shetani. First, while Paul was working on the window screens The Fan Shetani caused the overhead fan to attack Paul’s hand, slicing one of his fingers.

Then, a smaller fan on a stand attacked the other hand, slicing it open. Later when plugging in the fan, Paul almost got electrocuted. Finally, Paul expressed great regard for the powers of the Fan Shetani and decided to avoid Josh’s fans altogether. All was well. We were also at the whims of the ever-fickle Generator Shetani for power, which was iffy at best. This is the Island’s only power. Without it there is no way to move any air in the hot, humid house. Sleeping under netting in a hot house with absolutely no breeze is utterly oppressive. Our moods changed nightly as the power came on or off.

JOSH’S PETS

Outside of Josh’s front door you will find a motley crew of goats, cows, cats, chickens, and (at night) toads. Josh particularly likes the goats. The way they bleat loudly at all hours, with that piercing, fingernails-on-the-blackboard quality.



DALA DALA

The pubic transportation is by means of dala dalas. Imagine driving on the back roads of Maine. You see in the distance off in a field an abandoned pickup truck with a sapling growing up through the engine. Well, take that relic, clean it up a little, put some used tires on it, bolt two wooden benches along the side, weld some bars on it to hold up a roof, and you’ve got yourself a dala dala. When we were in one once, there were 33 people, a baby, and two chickens in it, along with a load of wood and various bundles of vegetables and clothes on the roof. Whenever we thought it was unimaginable to squeeze anyone else in the dala dala, Josh woefully whispered the refrain: “There’s always more room.” It is it unbearably hot, and a large amount of less-than-healthy exhaust accompanies the passengers.

THE BIRDS

They’ve got flying dogs. Josh says they’re a type of bat called flying foxes. No. They’re dogs. They’re huge. It’s like looking up and seeing a scene from a 1930s Bela Lugosi Dracula movie. Fortunately, they fly very high in the sky, which is why they survive, as explained below. The only other birds we saw in the sky were these big crows with what look like white vests. They fly very high too, which is why they survive. The ground birds are stupid, dirty chickens, which deserve to die but don’t. These are the only birds here. Why? Because the kids kill all of the other birds that are within slingshot range. Why, do you ask? Protein.

JOSH

Josh is skinnier and his hair is shorter.



He has been posted in a ridiculously hot spot and in a culture as foreign from that in Maine as you can imagine. He has withstood two bouts of malaria and one of dysentery. Through all of it, he works hard everyday and has become part of the community. Several families have adopted him as one of their own.



Josh has worked extremely hard in his school and community, and the people there truly are appreciative. And he has done it under the most difficult of conditions. We are truly proud of him, and after being with him for two weeks we now fully understand the magnitude of his accomplishments.

And, we do look forward to visiting him, and his new friends, again.

This town is full of monsters

With your feet on the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick, and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
And there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself:
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Way out in the water, see it swimmin’



Swahili possesses some priceless expressions. “Pole,” (pronounced pole-lay), is one such expression. It is the universal Swahili word for “sucks to be you,” regardless of the degree of suck. Friend stubs his toe? Toss him a pole. Shopkeeper’s store is robbed? Pole! Neighbor’s mother just died? A pole is appropriate. Really, a handy word. It also happens to be this month’s theme! Pole Zanzibar. Pole, more than enough.

Without reservation I can say that this past month has been the strangest of my entire life. Remember our old pal Popo Bawa, everyone’s favorite serial sodomite bat demon? Remember how I said witchdoctors were predicting his imminent return? Well, my friends, Popo returned with a vengeance, and he went medieval on the folk of my little island.



Now, my last blog entry prompted an unprecedented flood of emails. As much as I would like to think my sharp wit and brilliant prose are to thank, I am willing to concede that it was perhaps something else that drew your particular interest. I am an engineer, after all, not a writer. No, I’m gonna go ahead and surmise that it was the universal hilarity of an anal raping bat demon on the loose that got you all excited (sickos).

Following my last post, a couple of you were kind enough to send me a link to a BBC article discussing a recent Popo hysteria in Dar es Salaam. It seems that in late February Popo returned from exile, and his first stop was Dar. People slept in the streets and on rooftops (Popo can’t get you if you’re not in your bed), built bonfires, and were in a general state of mass panic. As it so happened, us island volunteers were going to Dar the very next week for a Peace Corps conference. Oh joy!

A couple days before my journey to Dar, one of my students approached me with perhaps the most excited grin I’ve ever seen. He was so pleased he could barely get his words out. Apparently the night before he had finally completed training his pet shetani (shetani is Swahili for demon). With its new training, his shetani could now protect him from a Popo Bawa attack. Now, as much as I wanted to let out a chuckle, by the impressed looks of the other students listening I sensed this was no laughing matter. I did manage to get a few questions out though. What does his supernatural friend look like? Hard to explain, plus foreigners are unable to see it without special training. Where does it sleep? An empty glass bottle. Can a person have multiple pet shetani? Absolutely, (gotta catch ‘em all!). What do they eat? Animal sacrifices once a month. What exactly is used in the demon training process? Green magic, (silly question I guess). Peace Corps Tanzania is rapidly turning into Dungeons and Dragons.

Green magic. And why not, right? A bit later another student offered me a longer explanation about the magical forces of the world. She’s one of the local green magic experts, a child prodigy of sorts. Very well respected. So, the world has two types of magic: Blue and Green. Blue magic is only used for evil. A powerful blue wizard is capable of telekinetic feats, flying, throwing lighting bolts, and summoning blue magic shetani. Blue magic shetani include Popo Bawa and Genies. General opinion is that Popo Bawa attacks are the result of government-trained sorcerers of the mainland trying to terrorize the islands. (There’s a long history of political conflict between the Zanzibar Islands and the Tanzanian mainland, but that’s the topic for another time). Blue magic can be countered by two forces: Green magic and Allah. Pray hard enough, and if you’re very lucky, Popo can’t getcha.

Green magic, on the other hand, is neither good nor evil. It is more subtle than Blue, and is used in charms, protection spells, curses, and possessions. A Green magic oracle is even capable of future predicting visions. Green magic is very powerful, and even prayer cannot be used to counter it completely. Cursed by a Green spell, I’m afraid it’s a trip to the local witchdoctor for you. The girl explained this all to me with such fervor and sincerity, I was actually kind of touched by her heartfelt explanation. Upon returning home I asked some of my neighbors about my new “understanding” of the world, and they concurred that, indeed, this is how the magical forces of the world operate. They all insisted that I was a damn fool for not bringing any protection, (whether magical or Islamic), with me to Dar. Popo Bawa was on the prowl, after all. Now, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, so I was willing to take my chances.

Despite not having a spirit-in-a-bottle, I managed to avoid any Popo attacks. My Dar trip was actually really great. It was my first time in more than 3 months off the island, and oh man did it feel good. After three months out in the boonies, Dar was a glowing beacon of civilization.

The conference’s purpose was to provide training to Peace Corps volunteers and our Tanzanian school counterparts for HIV/AIDS education. Most of the information was very useful, and my counterpart and I have now started putting together a program to train local teachers to teach primary and secondary school students about HIV/AIDS. After a week long conference about the reality of AIDS in Africa, it’s hard to not get involved. Tanzania, in particular, has been devastated by the virus. Scientists think the virus even originated in the lake region of Uganda and northwest Tanzania. Infection rates in Tanzania are believed to be above 10%. Scary stuff. HIV/AIDS education here is an uphill battle, but hopefully we’ll be able to reach a few people. Many Tanzanians are convinced that infection is caused by an angry god or evil spirits. Take the appropriate spiritual measures, and you have nothing to worry about. If evil spirits can give HIV/AIDS, than my island is screwed. Popo Bawa gets around.



Lucky for all of us, Popo Bawa had actually already left Dar by the time we arrived. He’d migrated north to Tanga, a staging ground before the ruthless onslaught on his island homelands. (I’m not entirely sure just how his travel plans became public knowledge… Green magic witchdoctor foresight?) His attack on my island would start in the southern port town, and from there he would travel north, ultimately to my town. His arrival just so happened to coincide with our return from the conference. Lucky. (Popo Bawa Tanzania Tour 2007 t-shirts are pending.)

Admittedly, when I returned home Popo Bawa was not on the top of my list of concerns. It seems while in Dar I managed to pick up a nice case of Amoebic Dysentery. I’m ok now, but over the course of about a week I managed to lose almost 10 pounds. No good. Another surprise after coming home was the complete absence of mosquitoes. Before I went to Dar mosquitoes at my village were a major problem. Apparently while I was away the government came and carpet-bombed my town with DDT. You all remember DDT, everyone’s favorite carcinogen of the 50’s! I guess people here decided cancer later was better than malaria now. The project is actually US funded I’ve learned. The US believes it has created a less cancerous version of DDT, but before using it in the Southern USA, (where malaria has returned thanks to global warming), they’re testing it in small parts of East Africa. In terms of insect slaughtering power, the stuff works! Word’s still out on the reduced cancer though… I’ll let you know in 10 years. Being a guinea pig ain’t easy, but someone’s gotta do it.

While a decent number of people in my town were slightly nervous about Popo Bawa before my trip to Dar, by the time I returned everyone was in absolute hysterics. Many people admitted to having been assaulted by the demon in recent days. Apparently when Popo is going medieval on his victims he makes a point to tell them that if they do not tell everyone about what happened then he will come back the next night for twice as long. As such, I’ve received more than a small number of sobering Popo confessions over the past few weeks. These aren’t just from the local quacks either; we’re talking about some of the most educated people in town. When a grown man comes to you and admits to being anally raped by a demon the night before, it’s not easy to come up with an appropriate response. Seriously, what can you possibly say to that? As multi-purposed as the word may be, I feel like even the most somber “pole” doesn’t quite capture just how much sympathy these tragic victims deserve.



What’s amazing is just how prolific Popo manages to be every night. I mean, that pesky demon covers a lot of ground (and people) over the course of a single night. After some serious thought, (when you’re living alone on an isolated African island, one has a lot of time on one’s hands), I’ve concluded that there are only two possibilities. Either there is more than one Popo Bawa, (the oldest horror movie trick in the book), or Popo is rocking some space-time bending Santa-esque powers. Popo Bawa: Santa of sodomy.

Now it might have been the insides-devouring parasites making me a bit delirious, but I have to admit that after a few days back in town even I was getting a bit freaked out by Popo. Every night I would hear countless screams across the countryside. One night while biking home from a friend’s house I heard a chilling “Allah! Acha Popo, acha! Nenda Popo!” coming from someone’s home. Translation: “Oh God! Stop Popo, stop! Get away Popo!”



At this point you may be thinking that it would be impossible for the situation on the island to get any weirder. You would be wrong. I’m pretty sure I now know what going mad feels like. One afternoon I was sitting in a small restaurant in town and I was pleasantly surprised to see a couple new faces. A couple of Christian missionaries from Sweden had come to the island to do a bit of work. Needing to get a lot off my chest, minutes after meeting these people I went an on enormous rant about the current Popo Bawa invasion and how crazy the entire town seemed to have gone. This was a bit of a faux pas. Apparently, these two already knew about the demons of the island. In fact, part of their mission here was to help combat the demon problem. Scandinavian demon hunters... no joke. They were convinced that the main problem here is that people try to use “good” demons and Islam to fight evil demons. Apparently there is no such thing as a good demon, and by using them the locals are opening up a door for evil demons to come through. Even the power of Allah is incapable of defeating the demon onslaught. Nay, only by accepting Jesus into their hearts will the good folk of the Zanzibar Islands be able to drive Popo Bawa and his brethren away for good.

While I was listening to this, I received a text message from one my more sensible and grounded students. It seems the night before Popo paid her a visit and proceeded to strangle and beat her with his magic. Fortunately, before Popo could succeed in doing what he does best, the girl’s magic shetani managed to drive him away.

The whole Popo Bawa scare hit its peak when storms of people began to take the streets at night in search of Popo and the evil wizards they believed were responsible for sustaining him. A couple men were stoned and beaten a week or so ago, (luckily they lived). A few nights ago, however, one accused sorcerer was killed. He was burned alive by an angry mob. The man was caught with some animal horns and other “magical” items. I mean, with such blatantly incriminating contraband, what else was there to do? I’d say the man got off light, really.

Word on the street is that Popo finally left the islands a day or two ago. (I guess the angry mob got the right guy?) People are still shaken up by the whole ordeal, but things are finally starting to get back to normal. I know I, for one, will never forget these past few weeks. I’m also proud to say that Popo never, uh, violated my sovereignty.

And now, everyone say it together:

“Pole Tanzania. Pole Zanzibar. Pole sana.”