My first video (not from Africa)

I finally edited and uploaded a video I shot in February in Rio de Janeiro during Carnaval. I had to clear up some space on my hard drive for the Africa videos so that was a good incentive to finally finish this one. Unfortunately the quality of the images and sound suffered a bit during the compression process to make it eligible for YouTube, but in any case here it is:

Ode to Small Airports

I will miss the small airports of East Africa when I leave in two days. On this trip, I've passed through five (Dar es Salaam, Zanzibar, Pemba, Kilimanjaro and Nairobi), and they've largely been very pleasant, mostly because they are absent of hassle. Major airports in the U.S. and U.K. have become in my mind serious tests of patience. The long lines, the tedious unpacking of laptops, the derobing of belts and shoes, and most of all, the increasingly bad attitudes of travelers and airport and airline staff have turned what used to be a relatively painless routine into a breeding ground for stress.

I'd forgotten than airports could be friendly places where you can be free to savor departure and the still mind-boggling speed of air travel that tosses you from one place to another.

My favorite airport on this trip was on the island of Pemba in Zanzibar. There was not a single person in line to check in so I sailed through that step. Security consisted of an ancient, rattling X-ray machine and a shy woman who gingerly patted down my bag and peeked through a gap in the zippers before giving me the nod to go through. I sat in the nearly empty waiting area and watched the sun set, drinking a Stoney Tangawizi, a gingery soft drink in a brown bottle that sends a peppery blast of fizz up your throat just after it's been opened. Slowly other passengers trickled in, and chatted quietly. A man with a prosthetic leg sat down next to me, removing the leg to rest before climbing the short steps to the plane.

Flights before mine came and went, the airline staff for ZanAir and Coastal Aviation periodically calling out the names of cities in soft voices. There was no loud speaker, no frenzy, nothing to buy except soft drinks and small bars of chocolate, no one striding around furiously or shouting into their BlueTooths. The only noise to break the gentle hum was the sudden jangle of dance club beats or bells from cellphones. When my flight to Dar was announced, 12 of us shuffled out the door into the purplish light of the warm evening, climbed the short steps and settled into whichever narrow seat was available. I sat in the first row, just behind the pilots who were also incidentally the stewards, insomuch as they told us to buckle up. The cockpit was tiny and simple, but I took comfort in the fact that I wasn't in Nigeria, where loads of airplanes have crashed in recent years. It was all in all a very relaxing passage by air, and one that I will not forget.

Some photos

Here I am talking to one of the guy's from the Misali Island Conservation Association (see the link to the Monitor story below) on the island of Pemba in Zanzibar. At this point I wasn't covering my head at all.

An American named Gail, a Swede-Somali-Kenyan named Hodan and a Swede named Karl whom I met at my guesthouse in Zanzibar. Taking a photo in the Bedoin-style tent at the guest house was my idea after a night out at a bar.

In Nairobi

I have many things to share but unfortunately am in a cyber cafe just for a second and will have to post those reflections on the last week tomorrow. But here's a quick update of what I've been up to the last few days. Last night I flew from Arusha to Nairobi after about 10 days in Arusha, where I was working a story about bednets used to prevent malaria and another one on how trade with China is creating new opportunities for Tanzanians. I had many eye-opening experiences in the process of reporting those stories, which I will elaborate on soon.

On my flight I sat next to a Senegalese man who may win the prize for "Most Interesting Person to Sit Beside on an Airplane" at least for 2007. He is the #2 at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda and was headed to Marrakesh to give a presentation to Interpol on the status of 14 key suspects in the Rwanda genocide trials who are currently fugitives in various countries in Africa. Among other things, this guy's staff tracks the movements of these fugitives, who are of course being protected because of their deep pockets by the governments of the countries in which they're hiding. Those countries include Kenya, Congo, and Zambia, among others. I never got a chance to observe the proceedings of the tribunal in Arusha but my new friend said it had been a slow week and I hadn't missed much. Now, of course, I have a good contact if I ever want to come back to report on it.

I would have liked to cross the Tanzanian-Kenyan border by land because I like borders and border towns, but I wanted to get the chance to see my friend Dimitri here in Nairobi, who is departing for Zimbabwe and Zambia tomorrow. Dimitri works for Joint Voluntary Agency where he interviews refugees from all over Africa in various refugee camps around the continent to help the eligible ones get refugee status in the U.S. It's fascinating work, and I wanted to catch up with him before he leaves.

I was surprised to experience a form of culture shock arriving in Nairobi last night from Tanzania. Though they are neighbors and part of the East African Community, there is a stark economic difference between the two countries. Nairobi's clusters of tall buildings, shiny fast food joints connected to gas stations, hip cocktail lounges, restaurants that serve things like gingerbread and field greens, and multi-ethnic malls buzzing with shoppers make Dar es Salaam seem like a languid backwater. Nairobi is clearly so much better connected to the global economy, and its momentum is palpable. 'll be here for about two days and then will head out to a small town near Mt. Kenya for a story on malaria and climate change and then another place yet to be determined for yet another story on malaria.

The good news is that to date I haven't gotten malaria! I've been taking my Malarone faithfully, and am happy to report its been effective. I haven't been in any seriously malaria-prone zones, but spent some time in villages around Arusha interviewing people who currently are suffering from malaria or just had it, so the chance of me getting it was decent, I suppose, without the prophylactics.

Story in Christian Science Monitor

My story on the Muslim fishermen is running on page one of the Monitor today. There's also a short audio bit you can listen to on the site:

http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1031/p01s04-woaf.html

Arusha: City of Bad Teeth

There is something startling about the people I meet on the street in Arusha: the color of their teeth. I've been in a lot of places where dental care is far from top notch, but this is clearly an anomaly. Person after person, in the hotel, in the taxi, on the sidewalk, in the grocery store smile to reveal a row of chompers the color of whiskey or light rum. Most shockingly, many people have discolored Central Incisors, or two front teeth.

For a couple of days I thought this might just be a coincidence and another indicator of poverty and poor health care. But one day, after meeting an African with good teeth, I worked up the nerve to ask him about it. The young man, smiling at my preface of complimenting his lovely white teeth, explained that it was no coincidence. "The water here, it comes from Mt. Meru, and it's very bad for teeth." He had been raised in a nearby village closer to Mt. Kilimanjaro, which fortunately had a different source of water, hence his pearly whites. I asked about what it was exactly in the water that caused early tooth decay, but he wasn't sure.

I asked around a bit more and it turns out that there are exceptionally high levels of naturally-occurring fluoride in the water, which causes something called fluorisis. It can apparently also lead to birth defects and other nasty stuff. It really seems insult to injury that not only are there very few dentists here, but the water alone can destroy your teeth.

Do you know where your old ice skates are?

Because I think I saw mine today. I was passing through the market in downtown Arusha when I spotted a large pile of shoes on the sidewalk with women and children hovering over it.
You know when you donate clothes to poor children in Africa? Well, this is where they sometimes end up -- for sale, in a pile on a sidewalk in the heart of Africa. This skate had not yet been de-bladed, but I imagine someone will come along and make use of the blade one day. Because you wonder what a Tanzanian is supposed to do with an ice skate. Once de-bladed, the stiff white boot will be left for some poor child whose mother will see it as a good durable shoe. Or maybe it will be there forever, with other mateless or stiff shoes on a crooked sidewalk in northern Tanzania.

Most people here in Arusha aren't desperately poor so you can see why they might not jump at an old figure skate. It's Tanzania's second largest city and an important political seat for the region. The East African Community, the region's intergovernmental organization, has its base here as well as the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. This week I am going to try to sit in on the hearings, which should be interesting. Arusha is also known as the "safari capital" of Tanzania, so tourism is a very business around here.

I've already seen my fair share of plump Americans and Europeans fully decked out in khakis and vests with way more pockets than anyone but a fisherman could use. (The pith helmet has apparently finally hit the dust as an unnecessary and ridiculous accessory.) This species is often seen boarding fancy LandRovers with the names of tour companies like Snow Leopard Safaris, Inc. embossed on the side. As far as I know there are no snow leopards in TZ, but maybe all the other animal names were taken. Actually that's hard for me to believe. I certainly haven't seen any buses or LandRovers go by with the name of Springhare (an unusual rodent that resembles a kangaroo), Klipspringer (a small sturdy antelope easily recognized by their odd tip-toe stance), Warthog (nasty ungulates that snort and trot around on pathetically short legs), or Hyrax (a guinea-pig look alike). All of these species are native to Tanzania, but just can't compete with leopards (snow or non-snow) and elephants.

An unsavory offshoot of the tourism business is the large number of touts and hustlers trying to sell you things you don't want. I miss the unobtrusive and modest Muslims of Zanzibar. Of course there were people hawking plenty of things there, but they were decidedly less persistent.

Now for some good Tanzanian hip-hop

I recently discovered a really interesting blog by an American woman who was in Tanzania for nine months on a social entrepreneurship fellowship with the Acumen Fund. She worked directly with a factory that produces insecticide-treated bednets here in Arusha, which incidentally I might write about next week.

She tipped me off to this excellent video by the Tanzanian MC Professor Jay. Lots of great images from the streets of Dar es Salaam and even the bush.

Power and Hip Hop in E.A.

The power went out each night I was in Chake Chake, igniting a sudden burst of furious squeals from children who gathered together outside in the evening to sing and play. On Saturday night, the power was out for about twenty minutes, and when it came back on the children erupted yet again, but this time into joyous cheers. On Sunday the outage was longer, and I ate my dinner in candlelight, in the company of a surly Chinese man about my age who spoke only a tiny amount of English. He was in town on some kind of business, though I could not discern what.

Prior to the outage and the arrival of my food (chicken in coconut curry sauce with biryani spiced rice), I watched East African TV on Channel 5 with Reheed, a young man in an African print shirt who worked in the restaurant of my hotel. Reheed was born on Pemba, and was working at the restaurant to save up money to return to school on Unguja, the main island of Zanzibar. There he wanted to continue his studies in English and computers.

The program we were watching turned out to be a rather comical East African version of MTV, and alternated between American hip hip and R &B music videos of the likes of Fabolous, T.I. and Beyonce, and their East African imitators. One of the most provocative imitations was a video by a Ugandan girl named Wiwi, who bore somewhat of a resemblance to Beyonce, at least in her round nose, and long straightened hair. The video involved her and some backup dancers doing a lot of gyrating in an alleyway, presumably in Kampala, and singing in English some kind of solicitation or rejection of a man.

Next up came a video from Fabolous, the American rapper, which predictably boasted an ostentatious montage of dollar signs, large diamond rings, and fly cars. The images seemed even more off-putting and absurd viewed in Africa. Reheed was fully engrossed with the video, but it was interrupted, appropriately, by the evening call to prayer. I asked Reheed if he was going to pray, he replied, somewhat sheepishly, “Later.”

Fabolous was followed by Oscar Huwonde, a Kenyan hip hopper who Reheed said was singing in a Kenyan tribal dialect rather than Swahili. Huwonde’s video was a ridiculous imitation of an American rapper’s adulation of big spending, yet with a peculiarly wholesome spin. Huwonde sat on the porch of a large, new house complete with Greek-style columns -- certainly a McMansion by Kenyan standards -- in a do rag, gold chain and massive sunglasses. But instead of being surrounded by gyrating ho’s, he was accompanied by just two women who sat on a spacious green lawn cradling toddlers. The message here was a bit unclear to me. Was Huwonde advocating leaving the life of a player and settling down at a house with a big yard? Or was this just his way of showing off his TWO wives and fecundity? There’s no question that in East Africa men flaunt their numerous wives and fecundity all the time. On Monday I met a fisherman who proudly boasted to me about his three wives and 17 children. But where those traditions and the influence of the American playa lifestyle intersect, I don’t yet know. Good topic for an anthropology or sociology dissertation in any case.

Aerial View of Zanzibar's Islands of Unguja and Pemba

Sorry for the lapse in posts. I was quite busy on Pemba and then lost my patience with an incredibly slow internet connection back in Dar es Salaam yesterday.

Saturday was a clear day and I was able to take these photos out the window of my 20-seater prop plane flying to Pemba. There are some fantastic coral reefs around the archipelago, which makes it a magnet for scuba divers. I've never learned to dive so I didn't do much underwater exploring, but at least got to take peek via a snorkel mask.

On Sunday, I went out to a tiny uninhabited island called Misali off the west cost of Pemba. There are far fewer tourists on Pemba than the main island, and my inquiries into hiring a boat to take me out there in the town of Chake Chake yielded only one offer from a somewhat obnoxious teenager of $100 to go there and back, which was an absurdity. So I went back to my hotel to ask Nasser, a nice guy behind the desk, about how I might get out to Misali on Sunday for less than $50. He noted that boats usually depart from a small port town called Wesha at 8 a.m. Nasser also hooked me up with his friend Farouk, who would be my faithful driver for the next few days. (More on Farouk later.)

Farouk and I headed down to Wesha at 8 on Sunday and poked around among the fishmongers and their malodorous ware. The morning's catch -- tiny fish of an impossibly luminescent silver hue that I wish I'd photographed -- had just arrived, and we wove our way through the mongers amid the transfer of the fish to banana-leaf lined baskets on the backs of bicycles bound for villages around the island. After Farouk inquired (in Swahili) with more than five guys who might have boats or might know someone who knows someone who has a boat that goes to Misali, we were approached by a scrawny guy with a warm smile who was obliged to come to the rescue. I was in luck, in fact, because a middle-aged Italian doctor named Paolo had already planned to hire the scrawny guy's boat for the day to go fishing around Misali. All we had to do was wait for him to show up at 8:30 a.m., which he did promptly, to board the slender wooden boat with an outboard motor, and we were off.

Paolo had been on Pemba on and off for four years working for the Tanzanian government on the National Malaria Control Programme and various other programs. I had heard that malaria incidence on Zanzibar had dropped significantly in recent years, due mostly to widespread distribution of bednets and indoor spraying of insecticide, and Paolo confirmed these reports. But, he said, many other things were still killing Zanzibaris and making them sick, including other nasty parasites that have flourished in the tropics like schistosomiasis. also known as flatworm. Ick. Paolo's comment reminded me that I probably should not even be using tap water to brush my teeth in a place like Pemba.

On that note, I've fortunately managed to stay healthy so far, although I've been a lot more careful around street food (no, I did not eat any of that orange octopus) and other temptations that I normally am during travel. One of the things about reporting on health issues is that you become increasingly paranoid about food, water and germs in general. I'd never call myself a germophobe, but I can say that I now spend a lot more time thinking about bacteria, viruses and parasites than I ever did before.

After about an hour and a half of motoring along, mostly in silence as Paolo was a rather introverted type or at least not in the mood for small talk in English, we arrived at Misali. Farouk had come along as well and so he and I alighted on the beach while Paolo went off to fish for tuna.

Misali is surrounded by some of the richest coral reefs in the Indian Ocean and was made a Marine Conservation Area in 1998. The island consists of 200 hectares, mostly forested with mangroves, and ringed on a few sides by white sand beaches. During the day rangers hang around ostensibly to monitor the waters for illegal fishing, but they seemed more interested in talking to the visitors and showing us caves rumored to be haunted by ghosts.

I went out to Misali to look into an innovative environmental education program there that has engaged both the local fishermen and their religious leaders. I'll post the links to the stories I'm writing on this topic once they run.

I stayed on Misali for about six hours, talking with the rangers and various fishermen. I borrowed some snorkeling gear and checked out the reef, which seemed significantly more diverse and healthier than coral I've seen elsewhere. The sun was very strong, so unfortunately I came away with a rather ugly red and white tan line around my neck, as though someone had attempted to strangle me. But all in all, it was not a bad day of work. It's surreal days like this when I operate in a semi-state of disbelief, that this can't possibly be what I do for a job. Here's a Misali pic:

On to Pemba

I've been in Tanzania now for a week, which means I have about 3.5 weeks left. Somewhat frightening considering how many things I'd like to do between now and then. Indeed, the ambitious plan laid out in my first post now seems utterly absurd. I probably will still make it to Kenya, but Uganda and Rwanda are pretty much out of the question.

Travel itself is slow -- as in transit from place to place -- but more than that it's proven very time consuming to find the right people to interview and then pin them down. Everyone in the fields I'm interested in -- health and the environment -- seems to travel a lot. Each expert I've contacted is coming or going, mostly to Europe or other parts of Tanzania. I'm verging on whining here, and I know I promised I wouldn't whine, so let's change the subject.

Tonight is my last night in Stone Town, the historic part of Zanzibar Town. Last night I celebrated the departure of a Swedish-Kenyan-Somali who was here for five weeks teaching. I'm not sure I need yet another despedida (farewell party in Spanish) tonight, but who knows what will crop up. So it goes in the realm of travelers -- someone's always leaving, moving on, and there's always an excuse to drink several Kilimanjaro beers. It's now my Tanzanian beer of choice, but probably only because it was the first kind I tried upon arrival. The friends I've made here generally prefer Serengetti, but I honestly don't taste the difference.

Tomorrow morning I'll fly up to Pemba, a smaller island that is also part of the semi-autonomous nation of Zanzibar. I've managed to get a couple of assignments to write about an innovative marine conservation project up there. I'll stay in a town called Chake Chake and then take a boat out to an atoll, that judging from the few photos I've seen, will be spectacularly beautiful. Then it's back to Dar es Salaam on Monday for some interviews and on Tuesday or Wednesday, a bus up to Arusha in northern Tanzania. It's been quite hot in Zanzibar so I'm looking forward to the cooler mountain climate in the north. Will post more photos soon.

In Zanzibar

I've been in Zanzibar for about three days now, and have slowly grown accustomed to the daily rhythms of a Muslim community. Most mornings I am awoken around 5 a.m. to the dawn call to prayer by the neighborhood mosque. I'm staying in a simple guest house in a neighborhood called Malindi, and the local mosque is about two blocks away.

I eventually go up to the roof terrace for breakfast, which is fruit, bread, a boiled egg and coffee. There's a nice view of motley rooftops and the port. There are several smaller islands offshore with brilliant turquoise patches around them. That shade of turquoise never fails to be a tonic for the human brain...

As I walk into town I see many veiled women, a few in the full, all black face veil. Most, however, have some kind of colorful hijab -- loose clothing topped by a scarf worn around the head and under the chin. Some men have the embroidered pillbox hat; others are bare headed. Everyone is speaking Swahili, but they routinely call out to me and other foreigners, "Hello, Jambo, Karibu, How are you?"

During my time in Washington, the International Reporting Project (the fellowship program I'm in) sponsored a lunch with Pamela Constable, a veteran foreign correspondent of the Washington Post. She gave me particular advice for working in a Muslim region: dress with respect, in other words wear long sleeves and long pants or skirts and cover your head. My Lonely Planet guidebook says the same, but minus the head scarf. I've been following this advice so far, but have been surprised by how few foreigners seem to know this. Every day I see the bare limbs of sun-browned Europeans, who've clearly come from Zanzibar's beaches, and wonder if the locals have just gotten used to it, or does it continue to offend them?

Of course there's nothing very definitive about customs or behavior on Zanzibar because it's a place where Arab, Indian, Portuguese and African (and just a touch of Persian) traditions blend together. I've been to the Anglican Church, which is also the site of the old slave market. The altar is in fact built on top of what was a whipping post. Nothing like a whipping post to make you feel repentant. Next door there is a hostel that has in its basement the cells in which the slaves were held. I've been inside catacombs and other spooky places but these cells take the cake. They are a meager three-feet high and you can easily imagine the horrific experience of being chained up in there, bleeding and sick, after being marched maybe 80 miles to the coast from your village, then packed tightly inside a dhow sailboat or other ship, and then forced into the cell before being sold at auction at the market next door and then shipped off to Saudi Arabia or some other Arab country. I could go on and on about the history of the East Africa slave trade, but maybe will find a link to do it better justice than I could.

Throughout the day, I hear other calls to prayer. I've seen a variety of mosques and supposedly there are some Hindu temples in town as well. By evening, the women and children come out in their finest dress -- at least they have the last three nights. Ramadan ended on Friday, so Zanzibar has been consumed by Eid festivities every night, but I think they are over now. The last few nights, seemingly all of Zanzibar has congregated at a grassy park by the water called Foroghani Gardens, where there is a street food market serving up mostly seafood on a stick. The photo above of the little boys was taken there.

I've had mixed results in my attempts to shoot photographs. Some people don't seem to mind, others give me dirty looks as soon as the camera comes out. Just before I took the one of the little boys above, a street food vendor stuck his hand in front of my lens, blocking the shot. This was accompanied by some hissing. I find that the longer I hang around a place or a group of people, the sooner they get distracted from the fact I'm there, and I can shoot with some ease.

Right now I'm pursuing a story on how teachings from the Koran have persuaded Zanzibar fishermen to switch to environmentally friendly methods. So I need to get on it.


Below is a random photo of Zanzibari spices from a spice tour I went on. Hopefully I will have some time to write about that later....

Port of Dar es Salaam

Dar es Salaam Fish Market

Some photos from the fish market. Not sure why the octopus turned such a brilliant orange after being cooked. Could be the spices, could be the natural color. Unco0ked, it was the typical gelatinous grey...