This entry had been lying around my
hard drive for a few months now, and never got around to posting it until now.
Enjoy!
“After
two months of rest from my blog, I have returned to update you all on what has
been happening on this side of the planet from a hotel room in Kampala, Uganda.
The power has just been cut due to a rolling black out, and I’ve just returned
from dinner at a local bar that consisted of goat and chips, washed down with a
beer. Great time to sit and bring you up to speed.
“After
spending lots of hours slaving away at creating project briefs for AKF
Tanzania, which included merry-go-rounds of comments from people as far away as
Geneva, I was asked to go to Uganda to help AKF put together briefs advertising
the Madrasa Pre-School Programme (see my June entry for an explanation of what
this is) that will be used to inform visiting dignitaries and other delegates
of the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting of the work AKF is doing in
early childhood development. The meeting is happening later in November, but
the whole city is behind schedule in preparing to host the conference. My
driver from the airport pointed out one large hotel that was designed and built
solely for the purpose of this three day meeting, and was suppose to have been
finished last month. The roof was still missing and the interior was still one
giant concrete mass, at least from what I could see as our car sped by. Local
papers have also reported other delays. Fiber-optic wires for high speed
internet are still being laid, and pot-hole filled roads are still being
refurbished, and telecommunications lines are still being installed. The
arrival terminal at Entebbe was still under construction when I arrived, still
in need of signs to help visitors navigate the terminal. The whole city is
cramming to get everything done before 52 heads of state arrive to promote
trade and co-operation between Commonwealth countries. The Queen is also
supposed to attend, but the local papers speculate she will not be amused at
the current rate of progress. I can’t help but think I’ll be joining this rush
effort by assisting AKF create these materials.
“Prior
to this trip I have just been leading a bland, 9-5 lifestyle in Zanzibar, with
my actual working hours being more like 8-7. Originally sent to me by my room
mate as a joke, it reflected my internship experience perfectly, which is
incredibly sad and scary to think I can now relate to Dilbert:
When not waiting for comments from
Geneva (all AKF communications documents must be signed off by the AKF world
head quarters before publication), who by the way weren’t wild about the font
and colour of a few briefs I sent in for review, I have also spent time
settling into my new digs in Bububu. It's a satellite community of Stone Town
and is named after the sounds a train running through the area used to make.
Myself and the other interns decided
to move because of the cheap rent and location in a local neighbourhood. We
were getting tired of the wazungu wafting around Stone Town with their cameras
and questions, which was annoying made things feel claustrophobic. So we moved
into a gorgeous home in the suburbs, hiring two guards to keep the peace during
the day and evening times. We’ve been happy ever since. Being the only visible
foreigners in the neighbourhood, we stand out as obvious targets for malicious
beings looking for a house to break into, but given the tranquility of the area,
and that one of our guards does a kung-fu-style work out routine every morning
in the back yard (I think he’s ex-Zanzibar KGB), I doubt we’ll be hit.
The 20 to 30 minute commute into
work by dala dala is also interesting. Last night I talked with a Masaai
merchant who was decked out in full tribal garb, about why he moved from Arusha
to Zanzibar (money), and what it takes to become a Masaai warrior, to which he
responded ‘kill a lion and snip snip’. The latter referred to male
circumcision, which is done at the age of 15, when Masaai men become Moran
worriers and assume larger household responsibilities, like looking after
cattle, the main tribal currency. He was shocked that I didn’t own any cattle.
To him I was poor. He had 100 grazing the grass lands somewhere in Arusha
tended to by his distant family.
The other night I chatted with a man
who claimed to be a free lance journalist. He was in the middle of writing his
first novel, “Kiss on the eyes” that was about an adulterous wife who broke her
husband’s heart by “prostituting” herself. It was apparently based on a true
story, his, and he became quite angered at the thought of the whole experience
when I asked for further details. He told me he was currently in the market for
“a nice wife” and had sent somebody to Pemba on his behalf to find him
something appropriate, “Mungu akipenda” (“if God wishes”). I bit my tongue and
wished him luck in finding a wife that could put up with him, to which he
laughed in great amusement.
Then there was the man who invited
me to his mosque after I tried to describe what being “agnostic” means in
broken Kiswahili when he asked about my religious beliefs. He looked rather
disappointed after listing to my explanation. To him I was probably a lifeless,
lost soul in need of redemption and guidance. If I see him again I’ll follow
him up on his offer out of my own curiosity…until then, I’ll be at the bar
sinning by enjoying fine, imported brews!
BY
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