neepo, neepo, piggaram piggaram

here here, somewhere somewhere
Kiswahili for "oh you know, I've been just been here and there and around somewhere"
A journal entry from the first few days in Zanzibar, an island in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Tanzania (East Africa):
Pineapple for breakfast, the best I've ever eaten! First day of classes-- lectures on Zanzibar political history, dhow [beautiful, traditional wooden boats] culture/trade/racial mixing. Ugali for lunch, a maize mush that tastes like idli from India, tomato-y curried vegetables. Took a taxi across town and arrived at our homestay (with Stormie) in the rain, drizzling; grinning, unsure. Walked through alleyways just starting to get muddy, twisting behind houses, then ours: brown and pale orange concrete. An inner courtyard with bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, dining and living room all splitting off. Stormie and I each have a luxuriously large, soft bed in a shiny pepto-bismal-pink room with white whale-ribbing ceiling. Our host mom is BB Alwiyah [BB is a respectful prefix, like Mrs.] which means "higher power." She is 72 and amazing, speaks good english but is hard of hearing. Has 9 children. Loves long walks around Stone Town and on the beach early in the morning. The house is directly next to the mosque (Mskiti) and there are 5 prayers a day, the first call blares at 4:30 AM! Then we go walking at 6 AM. Today we stopped at the beach and swam (with a dolphin ? Maybe.) and she read the Koran onshore. Several soccer teams were practicing. Le Corbusier-style aparment complexes along the road.
In the house, there are all the fixtures but no running water (for 10 years now), and filling buckets with the pump at the mosque is free, but everyone else has to pay. In the morning, boys bike by balancing jugs filled to top. BB Alwiyah says water is "very difficult." In fact, "everything" has been difficult since the revolution-- when many people were killed for no reason. Before the revolution [1963], the British government met everyone's needs: healthcare, services; now, even erasers for schoolkids must be purchased. She has so much to say it's a honor to listen. We walk through the streets and she points at the political posters and tells me about the elections and a shift in the governing party. Now she's hoping things will change ("they promise")-- Shah Allah! She says "alluh" and it sounds like a heavy stone sinking, dropped without a splash, a flat and swallowed tone.
In the streets, greetings ripple and bounce and it catches me off guard:
Jambo (Jambo)
Mambo (Poa)
Habari (Mzuri)
Salaam Aleykum (Aleykum Salaam)
It's easier to adjust to the heat of the sun than the warmth of the streets.
Handshakes are important. I tend to hesitate, fumble [I'm getting better, figuring out the rhythm! poleh poleh, slowly]
I like to try wearing my kanga [traditional East African-print fabric like a big sarong] as a hijab, headscarf, especially at night. It's like an alter ego. Still attracts attention as a foreigner, but people seem more respectful [almost all of the women cover themselves for modesty, social norms, sun protection], think it's a beautiful and traditional look, if slightly confusing. I am Lebanese? Libyan? Arab?


AND, most importantly, ABOUT THE FOOD...
Zanzibar produces cloves and coconuts as commodities, but so many spices are grown here which makes the food fresh and amazing.
Pilau- "spice rice," with lots of cumin, coriander, ginger, black pepper, salt. Sautee onions then add a bunch of garlic and the spices, then add washed rice and fill the pot with water and simmer (for half an hour?)
nazi- coconut. There are 56 uses for the coconut tree-- leaves, husks, fruit. Cook any vegetables or beans, or green bananas, especially "spinach" which really means any leafy greens, in coconut milk, spices and chili, and a bit of tomato paste.
chappati- NOT the same as Indian chappati, flatbread. White flour with a bit of oil, add salted water until it forms a dough, knead lightly (to aerate) for half an hour (the longer, the softer the bread) then break into balls. Roll each dough ball flat with a rolling pin until 8 or so inches across, then put a bit of oil on the palm of your hand and rub it on the surface, then make a small rip in the center and expand the hole to the edges, rolling the dough into a circular ring. Break the circle, roll it in your hands like a rope. Lay the rope down and form a coil, tucking the end underneath. Then use the rolling pin to flatten, and cook in an oiled iron pan on a charcoal stove.
This is what I learned from Fasaha, my homestay sister for one night in the beach village of Jambiani.
Embe is mango and they're in season and have never tasted so good. Small yellow-orange ones are sold in pyramid-stacked heaps from street vendors or in the fruit market, unripe mangoes are sliced and spiced with chili salt.
Heading out by ferry on the 24th to spend Christmas in Dar Es Salaam ("heaven of peace"). Lots of love,
Bih-dye, See you later