In short, Pemba is beautiful but/because underdeveloped, and tensions can run high there because Pemba has for hundreds of years had less money, development, and political power than Unguja—which, in turn, has claimed to have had less money, development, and political power than the mainland (or at least the part of the mainland that Zanzibaris see most: Dar es Salaam). So when I decided to administer questionnaires in half of the archipelago’s 10 districts, it seemed only fair to go to half of Unguja’s 6 districts and half of Pemba’s 4 districts. . . . And I was a little curious about much-storied Pemba.
So this past weekend, my research team and I packed up and headed over the short distance to our sister island. I’m going to offer a diary of the trip to give a window into what traveling, living, and researching has been like—in Pemba, and more generally in Zanzibar. (Note: this entry is quite a bit longer than my usual ones—I hope not too long to be of interest.)
Thursday
In the afternoon, I left Unguja in advance of most of my 5-person research team, with my research assistant Fatma and my friend Naheed (doing research of her own and coordinating her trip with ours). During the half-hour flight from Unguja’s tiny airport to Pemba’s tinier airport, we were reminded again of how beautiful the sea is in Zanzibar.
Arriving at the hotel in town, we had the now-familiar experience of the flexibility of prices. The hotel reservation had been made over the phone by one of my research assistants—in Kiswahili. When Naheed and I showed up, obviously foreigners, things changed. Fatma was placed in the room that had been booked, but we were shifted from a “double” into a “twin” room, and it was only the next day that we learned that the hotel expected us to pay $65/night, rather than the 40,000 Tsh price (about $32) at which we’d booked. Naheed and I pulled out our passports and showed that although we’re US citizens, we’re residents of Tanzania and entitled to non-tourist prices, and we negotiated a rate of 45,000 for the twin room with two beds—a better deal than the 40,000 for the double room with one bed, but not a fun conversation to have.
Friday
Naheed went off to do her research, and Fatma and I headed out to a nearby town to talk with the District Administrator and to make sure that everything was in order for the Saturday’s session. We’d planned a fairly tight schedule for Saturday, with 15 questionnaires in the morning, and 15 in the afternoon. Because many of the respondents do not read well, the questionnaires are administered orally, and each questionnaire takes about an hour to administer. A long day, for sure, but many of my research assistants had never been to Pemba, and I wanted to make sure that we all had a little chance to explore the island, so we decided to consolidate the research activities into one day.
The Administrator knew we were coming but hadn’t started to gather respondents yet, so we were glad that we could talk in person and clarify what we wanted: a diverse group of people from 3 shehias in the region. During the conversation, we learned that the Administrator was planning to ask only people from the urban area because it was more convenient. For our research, this would have been a disaster; rural areas are where the level of literacy is the lowest, and although I want to talk with people who are literate as well as with those who are illiterate, my entire study would be compromised if I didn’t have access to people from rural areas. Again, I was glad that we had come early to talk in person.
We found out that the obstacle to working with rural residents was transportation; unlike Unguja, Pemba is hilly and crisscrossed with wide rivers and islets that make transportation slow and relatively more expensive. In Unguja, I’ve been offering respondents the equivalent of bus fare and a soda and snack to make it realistic for them to participate in the study, and in Pemba, the bus fare is two to six times as expensive. So we adjusted our reimbursement fee (and I mentally checked how much cash I’d brought with me), and all was set. We returned to town and had a similar conversation with the Administrator there.
All ready for the next day, I settled into the hotel room and dove into the books I’d brought with me to read: two books about literacy and social policy in Africa that I’d bought in the US—both of which would be nearly impossible to buy or afford in Africa itself. My research here is enabled by the books I brought and the scholarly articles to which I have access through the University of Puget Sound electronic collections. I’ll leave in Zanzibar nearly all of the scholarly materials I’ve brought with me—either with colleagues here that I know will use them or donated to the university library here.
Intermittently while I was reading, I chatted with Fatma, who had checked out of her hotel room to stay with a friend and was relaxing in my room while she waited. I’ve enjoyed these kinds of opportunities to talk informally with Zanzibari women. In private spaces, social barriers are relaxed, and Zanzibari Muslim women take off their headscarves and buibuis (long black robes, worn like coats over other clothing). We talked about family, friends, aspirations, cultural differences, her options for applying to graduate school—a thoroughly enjoyable few hours.
Just before sunset, Naheed returned from her research with a colleague of hers who had a car and invited us to go to a beach for a swim. We went out—stopping along the way for fresh haluwa (a jelly-like Zanzibari sweet consisting of water, cornstarch, lots of sugar, some rosewater, and cashews—like Turkish delight without the powdered sugar coating) and for a visit to one of the nicer buildings on the island, Fidel Castro Secondary School (post-revolution, all of the high schools here were named or renamed with African and/or Communist names).
We got to the beach and saw that a swim was definitely not in the cards. The tide was way out, and between the shore and swimming depth were hundreds of sea urchins hiding in seaweed. But the sunset and the beach were beautiful, and the drive and company completely enjoyable. By the time I got back to the hotel, the rest of the research team had arrived, and we had a quick chat before everyone turned in.
Saturday
Bright and early, we got up to the standard Tanzanian hotel breakfast (fruit, eggs and toast, and tea with milk) and were off to the day’s questionnaires, leaving the hotel at 8 for our 9 AM meeting. At the first site, the respondents were all present and ready to hear our explanation of the project. I have a short explanation in Kiswahili, but I leave the majority of the explanation to my research assistants who are much more easily understood—especially in Pemba, where there are few foreign visitors. In Unguja, I find that most people know how to listen to broken Kiswahili like mine, but in Pemba I was reminded of how far I am from fluent in this language that I’ve been learning for the past eight months! In recognition of the more conservative culture in Pemba, I wore a headscarf all day, which people appreciated and/or found amusing—either way, not a bad thing.
In all, it was an exhausting but productive day. The Administrators had communicated well with the shehas, and we had a very diverse population to survey—including an autodidactic banana farmer who spoke fluent English, a 20-year-old seamstress who had never heard of the Internet, and a 70-year-old retired woman teacher who is a fan of text messaging. As in Unguja, I’m hearing loud and clear the importance of religious literacy. Here, people who have never been to a library (explaining, “God has not wished for me to go to a library”) and who can’t afford writing paper know and read the Koran, prayers, parables, and many other religious texts.
Sunday
My research assistants visited with friends and family on the island, and Naheed and I made a trip to Misali Island, perhaps the top tourist destination in Pemba. Misali is a nature preserve, known for its coral reefs, excellent snorkeling and diving, and informative nature trails. To get there, we enlisted the help of Naheed’s colleague’s friend, Mussadi, who lives in Pemba. He made arrangements for a local fisherman to take us all to the island. We’d planned to take a dala-dala to the dock, but there were only two people in the dala-dala, which usually means that it can take a half hour or more for enough people to get in for the ride to start. So we decided to hire the driver of an off-hours dala-dala. We got to the village, made our greetings to people there, made our way to the port and into the boat, and were off! The water, sky, and sun were beautiful, and we had high hopes of seeing new fish while snorkeling and maybe even some coconut crabs on our hike of the island. We were prepared for all phases of the trip we’d planned: long skirts and sleeves for walking through the village to get to the boat, shorts and swimsuits for on the island, as well as sunscreen, snorkel masks, hiking boots, water, and snacks.
Just when we were in sight of the island, the weather changed, with ominous rainclouds as far as we could see. We had been on the island only a few minutes when the skies poured down. We waited out one storm under the thatched roof shelter, reading the informational materials, watching the huge land hermit crabs, and making contingency plans.
The rain passed, and we made a circuit of the island, stopping at a couple of rocky beaches and a deserted fishing camp. It was good to be out in the woods after many months of city living. The highlight of the hike was a stop at this cave, reputed in indigenous religion to have curative powers. Although the population of Zanzibar is by some counts as much as 99% Muslim, Swahili culture still has at least one foot in traditional religion. Local healers coexist with Muslim imams, and in any given town, the ratio of mosques to local spiritual sites is about equal.
Toward the end of our hike, the rain returned, and we made it back to the shelter, dripping wet. We waited again, ate some snacks, and swatted the sand flies that were increasingly making their presence known. In most places we’ve been in Unguja, mosquitoes are the biting insects to watch out for, and they don’t usually come out until evening. This being a day trip, we’d brought sunscreen, but not our high-powered DEET insect repellant. A mistake, for sure.
Finally, the rain stopped, and we headed out to the “sponge trail,” a 200-meter-long coral formation just off the beach, where informational signs reported we could see angel fish, sea anemones, puffer fish, moray eels, and maybe even sea turtles. We’d both been snorkeling several times in Zanzibar, but never in a place where it’s possible to just walk off the beach to good snorkeling. Zanzibar does have some very nice snorkeling spots—and even better diving spots—but they’re all out a ways from shore and it’s necessary to take a boat out in the ocean to reach the spots. Even though I’ve done it several times, I still find it unnerving to hop out of a boat into the open ocean to go snorkeling, and I was looking forward to trying snorkeling within easy sight of land. But we had no such luck at Misali. The tide had come in so far that the coral were well below novice snorkeling range, and the rain had stirred up the seafloor enough that visibility was pretty poor. We did see some little fish and sea urchins, but not the rainbow of sea life we’d hoped to see.
Storm clouds were again advancing, and so we decided to head back to Pemba before the storm hit. On the way back, the boat tipped side to side, uncomfortably close to the water, but we made it back safe and sound. In the village, a dala-dala was almost full and ready to go back to town, so we hopped on. Along the way, we picked up more, and more, and more passengers. By my count, we had 32 adults and 8 children on the pickup-sized dala-dala by the time we reached town. The dala-dala said clearly on the side that it was licensed for only 20 people but, absent traffic police, these licensing regulations are treated more as suggestions than as hard limits. Nonetheless, it was a good ride—cozy and surprisingly cool inside, and passengers were laughing at the fun of trying to squeeze in and dodge the rain, and surprised to see foreigners along for the ride, as well.
Back at the hotel, we showered and tried to keep cool, but the electricity and generator were both off. Our hotel room was equipped with a hot water heater, air conditioner, and television, but during our entire stay, the air conditioner only worked during the first night, and the water heater and television never worked. For the most part the generator was on or there was a power brown-out that didn’t provide enough power to support anything but the ceiling fan and a flickering fluorescent bulb.
We headed out for dinner, but ended up returning to the hotel, where there was good food and a clean eating environment—after our day at Misali, we weren’t eager to chance the street vendor food, from which one of the research assistants had already gotten an intestinal bug.
The hotel generator was on for most of the night but stopped abruptly at about 2AM and didn’t come on again, and didn’t come on, and didn’t come on, for almost an hour. The pitch-black room grew increasingly sauna-like, given that our screenless windows were closed. The heat is one thing in the daytime, and quite another at night, when it can feel not only uncomfortable but also sinister. Using light from a flashlight, Naheed and I tucked in our mosquito nets well, temporarily repaired a couple of mosquito net holes with hair clips (essential travel tools), and opened the windows to a refreshing breeze in our corner room. Sleep would have been impossible without the breeze, but we were chagrined to find engorged mosquitoes inside our nets in the morning, along with many, many bites.
Insect bites in the US are cause for discomfort, but rarely for alarm. Looking at the nearly 100 bites I’d gotten and was trying hard not to scratch, I was alarmed and started the diagnosis process. Mosquitoes? Fleas? Sand flies? Bed bugs? All of the above? Only in a region where insect-borne diseases are rampant are bedbugs cause for celebration (gross but apparently disease-free). Days later, I’m still not certain what bit me, but I’m feeling okay, the bite marks are mostly healed, and my luggage and clothes are certainly no worse for the thorough cleaning they got. I’m hoping the anti-malarial prophylaxis I take and the battery of vaccinations I got before coming here do their work.
Monday
My research team had already returned to Unguja, and I had a few free hours before our flight while Naheed went on a research trip. I decided to go to the ruins at Pujini, one of the many places in Zanzibar with ruins of earlier Omani, Portuguese, German, and British settlements. The tropical climate is hard on buildings, so untended buildings from even the 19th century are often crumbled down to the foundations. Having been to several other ruins, I wasn’t expecting a lot of the ruins at Pujini, from a 15th-century Omani sultan, but it was something to do.
I considered taking a dala-dala, but I couldn’t get good information on how long the walk from the road to the ruins was and I decided to hire a taxi. Khamis (the driver) and I drove on the road to Pujini village, and then on the 6 km heavily rutted road to the ruins. Along the way, we saw mud houses with thatched palm or corrugated tin roofs, rice fields, mango trees, banana plants, free-range cows and chickens, and lots and lots of vegetation.
We finally got as close as we could to the ruins and headed out over muddy ground to the ruins. The mud just clung to our shoes, and we were laughing hysterically as I wondered aloud what the airline would think of me showing up for my flight in my muddy shoes. We considered turning back, but someone let us pass through his backyard to a much more clear route to the ruins. As I expected, the ruins were best appreciated with a good imagination.
We were hurried on our way by a downpour that was inconvenient but helped in the job of getting our shoes clean. When it was finally clear enough to drive back to town, we started back down the rutted road, stopping along the way to give a ride to some kids, aged around 8-11, who were carrying a live chicken, a large bag of rice, and some vegetables to town. Khamis kept stopping to see if we could use some water from a spigot to wash our feet and shoes, but none of the public spigots had any water. It was only when we got almost to the road that we found a small water container that we could use—carefully and sparingly—to get cleaned up a bit. When I got back to town, I stopped and bought Dettol, the ubiquitous disinfectant soap, and did a more thorough job of cleaning up my feet and shoes at the hotel.
By the time I was cleaned up, Naheed had returned from her research trip, and we went out in search of “mix,” the delicious soup that’s an any-time-of-day treat in Zanzibar. Mix is an Indian-inspired dish consisting of rojo (a sauce made from green mangoes, salt, and lemon or vinegar), over baghia (chickpea and onion fritters), boiled potatoes, and sometimes mishikaki (meat kababs). In Unguja, mix also includes kuchora (mashed potato balls cooked in an egg batter), but we discovered that in Pemba, they’re replaced with a hard-boiled egg. Yum.
After lunch, we flew back to Unguja, where Stone Town, with its tiny airport and its restaurants and shops, seemed like a buzzing metropolis.
This entry is quite a bit longer than my usual entries, but I wanted to give a fuller picture of what our days here are like. This is the first time I’ve gone on an extended trip without Brady and the boys, but the experience in Pemba, of traveling to “tropical” but not always glamorous beaches, giving serious thought to food and health, negotiating prices, seeing ruins, navigating transportation options, dealing with erratic and inconsistent electricity, and trying in my broken Kiswahili to forge meaningful conversations with Zanzibaris is completely typical.
After eight months here, I do feel that I am a resident if not citizen of Tanzania, and I am to some extent part of the culture as local people are. But I have a pretty strong safety net—of guide books telling me where it’s safe to stay and eat, of professional books that give context and meaning to my research, of vaccines and medications and lotions that make me likely to avoid the worst threats of the climate, and of a figurative rainy day fund that I can draw from when I’m unexpectedly over-budget or if (God forbid) I should need medical evacuation for some tropical disease. I hope that someday everyone in Africa will have the safety nets that most of us in America take for granted.
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