I've never really thought of myself as a social dynamo. I tend to be quiet, let others do most of the talking, and settle for being tolerably friendly without trying too hard to impress. If there's one thing I've learned about myself this trip, though, it's that I can be a lot more sociable than I give myself credit.
And one place where sociability is key to the enjoyment of one's experience – in my mind at least – is most certainly Zanzibar. Unlike the bustling, heaving Arusha or the crowded, rushed Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar is a place for relaxation, friendliness, and general laidbackness. “Hakuna matata”, if you will.
Walking down the myriad alleyways that form spider-web mazes through the entirety of Stone Town, you'd be forgiven for assuming that the things you'd pay most attention to are the beautiful stonework, the handcrafted doorways, and the decaying beauty of 17th century architecture. In fact, what really makes Stone Town special is its very friendly people.
It's in this regard that I give myself some credit for my social skills. Specifically, the skills granted to me because of my efforts to learn the peoples' native language – Swahili.
Walking down the streets or alleyways of Zanzibar, I was able to converse with shopkeepers, kids and general walk-abouters throughout my days there. Most people were surprised that I was even able to speak Swahili – as typical whiteys like myself on the island apparently don't really bother trying. Thanks to my time spent learning the language in Arusha and Tengeru, I was able to have a much more social – and therefore rewarding – experience on the island than other Westerners I met along the way. Whether it was discussing Tanzanian soccer, Canadian weather or prattling on about any old nonsense, I made a point of making conversation with any local who said hello to me. With the wealth of friendly, talkative people about, this was a simple task. I even explained to one person what the term "prosecution" meant. He had it written down on a tiny piece of paper, and was saving that piece of paper for the mzungu that might talk to him that day.
“The Real Africa” is a strange term that's often tossed about by travellers to the continent. Is it the nature, the food, the cities, the air, or a mixture of everything? If there's one qualification that could possibly make the cut – in my opinion – it's that you haven't experienced Africa unless you've (properly) interacted with its people.
The same really goes for any culture. So – if you come to Tanzania and your only interactions with its native people are when you order wine and lobster in English, or ask your safari guide how long the gestation period of the black rhino is, then you haven't experienced “The Real Africa”. And trust me, this is the case for some tourists. There, I've made it official.
I therefore feel, perhaps immodestly, that I've experienced a more “genuine” trip than other travellers might have. One friend I made in Zanzibar, Aleem, a nice Scottish lad from Manchester University, had been on the island for over a month and only seemed to know one phrase – “mambo poa” – which he was using incorrectly. Like the townfolk, he was equally surprised by the fact that I could string a brief conversation together with passerbys. Knowing how to speak the language also made it far easier to get good prices for souvenirs in the plethora of street shops in Stone Town's alley ways. I could almost halve some of the original asking prices.
All of this isn't to say that I'm blessed with some incredible capacity for learning languages: I really only know a smidgeon of Swahili, and can understand it far better than I can speak it. What's more, most of my conversations with people turned into a cocktail of English and Swahili, both parties trying to throw out words and phrases that the other might recognise.
But a smidgeon is all one really needs to engage in simple conversation with locals – and thus to get a qualified certificate of having experienced “The Real Africa”. I'll have to buy the t-shirt now.
Next: What I actually done did in Zanzibar
Monday, March 29, 2010
Zanzibar: the journey
While a tame exercise for many people, for me, setting off on a cross-country tour towards Zanzibar was definitely the most daunting part of this whole Tanzanian adventure.
Ordinary little man goes off on big, crazy trip – it's the archetypal journey narrative and one that I'm now proud to have performed myself. Prior to heading down the long traveller's road, I read through J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit – one of my favourite books. Poor pampered little Bilbo Baggins finds himself whisked away on a quest, and is forced to harden and endure the physical and mental hurdles that await. This nice read put me in the right frame of mind on Monday morning, when I had to awake in twilight and head off down the pitch-black road with a heavy backpack and no handkerchief in my pocket (well, I did have a few packs of travel Kleenex).
So I was travelling in charted coaches, taxis and ferries – not on a pony through the Desolation of Smaug – but like Bilbo, my journey wasn't without its complications.
For one, I was forced to buy a second bus ticket at the last minute, after my first one became useless because the manager of Dar Express decided to die – leading to a temporary company shutdown. Stuck on the Kilimanjaro Express, with no air conditioning, it was a stuffy ride but the views of Mt. Kilimanjaro through my left-hand window made the trip easier. Ten and a half hours went by surprisingly fast.
Arriving at Ubungo station in Dar, I found my bearings and tried to screw my head on straight. The long drive had left me fairly dazed – not least because the head cold I was suffering from screwed with my sinuses (dropping from 1400m to sea level makes your ears pop a lot). With my useless Dar Express ticket in hand, I sought to rectify that situation and get a refund. A half hour of discussions between three staff members later, I got myself an exchange and booked a return ticket for Saturday.
Then came the Battle of the Ubungo. My guidebook – which until this point had been Word-of-God reliable – implied that a taxi to town shouldn't cost more than 5000 Tsh. I therefore spent a good 20 minutes arguing with a pack of taxi drivers (never argue with a pack of taxi drivers) over what price I should pay. They wanted 1500 Tsh. At the end, I got away with 9000 Tsh, but still felt ripped off. More-so when the driver insisted I pay half up front, at a gas stop. As it turns out, 1500 Tsh was a fairly reasonable fee, as it is the price agreed upon by staff at the Jambo Inn (who booked my return taxi on Saturday for as much).
After a night at the Jambo, I went to buy my ferry ticket to Zanzibar. This was an even more frustrating experience, as there was no distinguishing between genuine ticket agents and touts looking to charge extra commission fees. I'm pretty sure I ended up with a tout – though the sale still took place at a ticket booth. I paid 110,000 for return tickets – which is about the right price if you're travelling first-class (roughly 55,000 per ticket). I thought as much when I handed over my money, and only realized moments later that he had given me economy tickets. Secondly, and more worryingly, my return ticket didn't have a port tax stamp on it – which is mandatory. Long story short, it worked out in the end. I went to the Zanzibar ferry terminal later in the week and got a free stamp, then snuck into first-class seating on the return trip to Dar Es Salaam.
The final lap of my trip – the bus home – was satisfyingly free of any real hiccups. I had asked for a window seat, and had been assigned the wrong number, but the man next to me was sympathetic and swapped with me. Apart from that, it was smooth driving (along a bumpy road with overzealous speed-bumps). I got back to my hobbit hole in one piece, threw off my shoes, and took a well-earned night's rest.
Next - Zanzibar: the people
Ordinary little man goes off on big, crazy trip – it's the archetypal journey narrative and one that I'm now proud to have performed myself. Prior to heading down the long traveller's road, I read through J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit – one of my favourite books. Poor pampered little Bilbo Baggins finds himself whisked away on a quest, and is forced to harden and endure the physical and mental hurdles that await. This nice read put me in the right frame of mind on Monday morning, when I had to awake in twilight and head off down the pitch-black road with a heavy backpack and no handkerchief in my pocket (well, I did have a few packs of travel Kleenex).
So I was travelling in charted coaches, taxis and ferries – not on a pony through the Desolation of Smaug – but like Bilbo, my journey wasn't without its complications.
For one, I was forced to buy a second bus ticket at the last minute, after my first one became useless because the manager of Dar Express decided to die – leading to a temporary company shutdown. Stuck on the Kilimanjaro Express, with no air conditioning, it was a stuffy ride but the views of Mt. Kilimanjaro through my left-hand window made the trip easier. Ten and a half hours went by surprisingly fast.
Arriving at Ubungo station in Dar, I found my bearings and tried to screw my head on straight. The long drive had left me fairly dazed – not least because the head cold I was suffering from screwed with my sinuses (dropping from 1400m to sea level makes your ears pop a lot). With my useless Dar Express ticket in hand, I sought to rectify that situation and get a refund. A half hour of discussions between three staff members later, I got myself an exchange and booked a return ticket for Saturday.
Then came the Battle of the Ubungo. My guidebook – which until this point had been Word-of-God reliable – implied that a taxi to town shouldn't cost more than 5000 Tsh. I therefore spent a good 20 minutes arguing with a pack of taxi drivers (never argue with a pack of taxi drivers) over what price I should pay. They wanted 1500 Tsh. At the end, I got away with 9000 Tsh, but still felt ripped off. More-so when the driver insisted I pay half up front, at a gas stop. As it turns out, 1500 Tsh was a fairly reasonable fee, as it is the price agreed upon by staff at the Jambo Inn (who booked my return taxi on Saturday for as much).
After a night at the Jambo, I went to buy my ferry ticket to Zanzibar. This was an even more frustrating experience, as there was no distinguishing between genuine ticket agents and touts looking to charge extra commission fees. I'm pretty sure I ended up with a tout – though the sale still took place at a ticket booth. I paid 110,000 for return tickets – which is about the right price if you're travelling first-class (roughly 55,000 per ticket). I thought as much when I handed over my money, and only realized moments later that he had given me economy tickets. Secondly, and more worryingly, my return ticket didn't have a port tax stamp on it – which is mandatory. Long story short, it worked out in the end. I went to the Zanzibar ferry terminal later in the week and got a free stamp, then snuck into first-class seating on the return trip to Dar Es Salaam.
The final lap of my trip – the bus home – was satisfyingly free of any real hiccups. I had asked for a window seat, and had been assigned the wrong number, but the man next to me was sympathetic and swapped with me. Apart from that, it was smooth driving (along a bumpy road with overzealous speed-bumps). I got back to my hobbit hole in one piece, threw off my shoes, and took a well-earned night's rest.
Next - Zanzibar: the people
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Toronto here I come
I apologize for the self-congratulatory, self-indulgent nature of this post, but seeing as most of my friends read this blog I thought it would be a good way to spread the news.
Accepted an offer to York Uni to study Communication & Culture today, which means I will be living in Toronto for the next two years. Probably starting in May. Hurrah!
That's all.
Accepted an offer to York Uni to study Communication & Culture today, which means I will be living in Toronto for the next two years. Probably starting in May. Hurrah!
That's all.
Chapter closed
A trip to Dar Es Salaam awaits me on Monday, followed by an anticipated foray to Zanzibar. Unless some unforeseen disaster – which I've been getting increasingly paranoid about – awaits me. As if to bait my anxiety, I just learned from Lema that the bus company who I bought a ticket from suspended their services on Friday, after a death in the management's family. If they are operating on Monday I should be OK, otherwise I'll have to attempt to go with a different company at the last minute. Annoying (and weird that an entire company stops business because of non-employee's funeral), but I'll have to wait and see.
As I've mentioned many times previously, this Zanzibar trip essentially represents the end of my volunteering experience here. For the first few weeks of this experience, I was feeling a little down – perhaps pessimistic – about what I could realistically achieve. I resolved to do what I could in the time I had, with a basic target of making a little money for the mamas, and an ideal target of creating a solid and contingent business for them. With the shared efforts of my volunteering partner Robin, I believe we've achieved that ideal.
In brief, here's what we've gotten done:
While the list is modest, I'm happy with it after two months' work. As you would expect, it leaves out the plethora of the tiny details, miscellaneous complications and daily grinds that came up along the way. Getting a printer, finding ink, trekking out to the middle of nowhere to find safari companies, learning how to make the products, explaining business procedures in limited English translation, selecting the best products, making countless early-morning daladala trips, creating work records, etc, etc.
I'm sure that teaching English, building schools, looking after children or other such activities would have provided an extremely enriching experience; but for me, doing something out of my comfort zone professionally-speaking was an alien task in itself and thus rewarding in a special way.
In short, I have not saved the African people (as I clearly set out to do), but I do feel like I've done something helpful for a small group of women, and thus their families too. Naturally, the whole shebang could fall apart if, for whatever reason, the business is not able to continue – but I have to accept that certain things are out of my hands once I am gone.
Following a post-Zanzibar update, then, I think that this blog will shortly be coming to an end. Writing it has been a nice way to flex my braincells, as well as document memories I'll look back upon fondly in twenty years, when my beaver-tail coaster business is thriving in the trendy boutiques of Toronto.
(Actually, I think I'll survive happily if I never have to market jewellery or household goods again in my life).
As I've mentioned many times previously, this Zanzibar trip essentially represents the end of my volunteering experience here. For the first few weeks of this experience, I was feeling a little down – perhaps pessimistic – about what I could realistically achieve. I resolved to do what I could in the time I had, with a basic target of making a little money for the mamas, and an ideal target of creating a solid and contingent business for them. With the shared efforts of my volunteering partner Robin, I believe we've achieved that ideal.
In brief, here's what we've gotten done:
- Selected a pair of product types (coasters and bracelets) that were suitable to serve as gifts for a safari company to give to clients.
- Refined and improved both products (made smaller, easier to make, more consistent in size, shape and style)
- Designed marketing materials to promote business to safari companies.
- Created packaging arrangement for products (labels tied onto individual coasters and bracelets with a fancy bow, courtesy of Robin)
- Divided prospective earnings into three categories (wages, expenses, Educare overhead)
- Approached three safari companies (Access 2 Tanzania, Massai Wanderings and Tropical Trails)
- Sold trial pack (15 coasters and 15 bracelets @ 75,000 Tsh) to Massai Wanderings.
- Sold first regular pack (15 coasters and 15 bracelets @ 90,000 Tsh) to Massai Wanderings. Successfully entered into regular business agreement.
While the list is modest, I'm happy with it after two months' work. As you would expect, it leaves out the plethora of the tiny details, miscellaneous complications and daily grinds that came up along the way. Getting a printer, finding ink, trekking out to the middle of nowhere to find safari companies, learning how to make the products, explaining business procedures in limited English translation, selecting the best products, making countless early-morning daladala trips, creating work records, etc, etc.
I'm sure that teaching English, building schools, looking after children or other such activities would have provided an extremely enriching experience; but for me, doing something out of my comfort zone professionally-speaking was an alien task in itself and thus rewarding in a special way.
In short, I have not saved the African people (as I clearly set out to do), but I do feel like I've done something helpful for a small group of women, and thus their families too. Naturally, the whole shebang could fall apart if, for whatever reason, the business is not able to continue – but I have to accept that certain things are out of my hands once I am gone.
Following a post-Zanzibar update, then, I think that this blog will shortly be coming to an end. Writing it has been a nice way to flex my braincells, as well as document memories I'll look back upon fondly in twenty years, when my beaver-tail coaster business is thriving in the trendy boutiques of Toronto.
(Actually, I think I'll survive happily if I never have to market jewellery or household goods again in my life).
Musician, murderer?
Attended the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda on Wednesday morning to watch the verdict for the appeals case of one Simon Bikindi. Bikindi was a well-known composer and singer in Rwanda, active prior to the genocide. His songs have been banned in Rwanda since 1994, as their messages were seen by many as a call-to-arms for genocidal murder.
Wednesday's proceedings lasted less than an hour, during which the sole speaker was the central judge of the tribunal. Bikindi was appealing his current sentence – which is to serve 15 years in prison, from 2001 – on a collection of grounds. The ground given the most attention by the judge's summary (and I therefore expect it was Bikindi's most fundamental plea) was that Bikindi's previous defence council was inadequate and therefore unable to properly defend him.
In a previous trial, Bikindi had been found guilty of incitement to commit genocide. The prosecution had proved, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the singer had made a speech from an Interhamwe vehicle equipped with a sound system, encouraging those in hearing distance to start killing.
In response to the Bikindi's appeal, the prosecution brought a rebuttal of their own – that the accused's sentence should be lengthened to at least thirty years, if not life. For not only was Bikindi guilty of this Interhamwe vechicle crime, they argued, but he had also had a far wider impact through his music and political action prior to the genocide. He was even once accused of having participated in genocidal killings, as well as training Interhamwe militia.
With this battle of appeals, the case therefore had a lot of potential to be quite exciting. Because of this, the press box was packed – not an empty seat in sight. I was lucky to steal a working headphone set from the seat front of me, after I realized no sound was coming through mine.
In spite of the excitement of the packed audience area, the trial resulted in a judgement that rejected both Bikindi's and the prosecution's appeals. He'll go back to prison to serve out the remaining six years of his sentence (unless another appeal is brought forward) before becoming a free man once again.
I suspect that many people in attendance were hoping that Bikindi would be made to face a harsher sentence as a result of the new trials. Evidently, this was not the case. Though it is jarring to know that a man who may have played a part in brain-washing regular Rwandan people into committing murder, through his music and the power of radio, will not be persecuted to the full capacity of the court.
On the other hand, though Bikindi has been proven guilty of one crime – the instance in the Interhamwe vehicle – it's probable that hundreds of people could be guilty of the same thing, but avoided justice because they were lower-profile targets than this infamous musician. Is it fair that he is jailed for that crime while others guilty of the same thing walk free?
As I know little about Bikindi other than what today's events have informed me of (as well as some tertiary internet research), I'll cease my rambling commentary. Definitely glad I got to witness this part of the ICTR though.
Wednesday's proceedings lasted less than an hour, during which the sole speaker was the central judge of the tribunal. Bikindi was appealing his current sentence – which is to serve 15 years in prison, from 2001 – on a collection of grounds. The ground given the most attention by the judge's summary (and I therefore expect it was Bikindi's most fundamental plea) was that Bikindi's previous defence council was inadequate and therefore unable to properly defend him.
In a previous trial, Bikindi had been found guilty of incitement to commit genocide. The prosecution had proved, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the singer had made a speech from an Interhamwe vehicle equipped with a sound system, encouraging those in hearing distance to start killing.
In response to the Bikindi's appeal, the prosecution brought a rebuttal of their own – that the accused's sentence should be lengthened to at least thirty years, if not life. For not only was Bikindi guilty of this Interhamwe vechicle crime, they argued, but he had also had a far wider impact through his music and political action prior to the genocide. He was even once accused of having participated in genocidal killings, as well as training Interhamwe militia.
With this battle of appeals, the case therefore had a lot of potential to be quite exciting. Because of this, the press box was packed – not an empty seat in sight. I was lucky to steal a working headphone set from the seat front of me, after I realized no sound was coming through mine.
In spite of the excitement of the packed audience area, the trial resulted in a judgement that rejected both Bikindi's and the prosecution's appeals. He'll go back to prison to serve out the remaining six years of his sentence (unless another appeal is brought forward) before becoming a free man once again.
I suspect that many people in attendance were hoping that Bikindi would be made to face a harsher sentence as a result of the new trials. Evidently, this was not the case. Though it is jarring to know that a man who may have played a part in brain-washing regular Rwandan people into committing murder, through his music and the power of radio, will not be persecuted to the full capacity of the court.
On the other hand, though Bikindi has been proven guilty of one crime – the instance in the Interhamwe vehicle – it's probable that hundreds of people could be guilty of the same thing, but avoided justice because they were lower-profile targets than this infamous musician. Is it fair that he is jailed for that crime while others guilty of the same thing walk free?
As I know little about Bikindi other than what today's events have informed me of (as well as some tertiary internet research), I'll cease my rambling commentary. Definitely glad I got to witness this part of the ICTR though.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Massai Massala
Time for a little update on how the business is going. Don't worry – in spite of all my orphanaging, genociding, dreaming and philosophizing, I've still had time to do what I actually came here to do: save the world with fine crafts.
We finally heard back from the first safari company we visited – Access 2 Tanzania – and they gave us a committed “probably” to agreeing to buy a trial pack, eventually. The catch is that we have to wait until the peak season for safaris picks up – which won't be until at least June. Still, a lot better than “no”.
Though neither Robin nor I will be in Tanzania at that point, it should still be possible for the women and Mr. Shija to continue business without us. Really, that's the entire point of this exercise – to allow the Mama Machumba group to thrive as a business without needing outside help ever again.
The second safari company – Massai Wanderings, the one that did buy a trial pack the other week – has basically agreed to commit to regular business with Mama Machumba Crafts. This is a big win for the group, and for me; an affirmation that my work here will have made a long-lasting difference to the lives of the women. Leaving here knowing we had made them some money is nice – but knowing they'll be able to continue making money for themselves is far more rewarding.
This morning, I dropped off our second pack of handicrafts to Donna, the owner, who has also informed us that she will be going back home to Australia for three weeks starting on Wednesday. This shouldn't be much of a problem, though, as it means we'll be able to prepare stock for her company. With a fresh 90,000 Tsh in my pocket for the women, I must admit to have betrayed a swing in my step today.
The business will be basically out of my hands come next week, as my upcoming Zanzibar trip essentially puts a full stop on the terms of my sentence. I'll be back for less than week, during which I'll take time to see whatever I've missed in Arusha, wrap things up with the Mama Machumba group, buy some souvenirs, print off my plane tickets, and avoid catching malaria.
My volunteer partner, Robin, will remain working with the group for an additional month, which leaves me optimistic she'll have enough time to ensure the ultimate goal of enabling the women to maintain their business independently.
One more thing: ate a delicious curry dinner at the tiny Big Bite restaurant in the middle of Arusha, after a hearty recommendation from the Rough Guide, which hailed it as the best Indian restaurant in East Africa. I won't argue with that - as it's the only Indian restaurant in East Africa I've ever eaten at – but it was certainly ridiculously tasty. I had chicken tiki massala and Robin ate some weird potato thing, which I initially smirked at, but then found it to be the tastiest dish on the table.
We finally heard back from the first safari company we visited – Access 2 Tanzania – and they gave us a committed “probably” to agreeing to buy a trial pack, eventually. The catch is that we have to wait until the peak season for safaris picks up – which won't be until at least June. Still, a lot better than “no”.
Though neither Robin nor I will be in Tanzania at that point, it should still be possible for the women and Mr. Shija to continue business without us. Really, that's the entire point of this exercise – to allow the Mama Machumba group to thrive as a business without needing outside help ever again.
The second safari company – Massai Wanderings, the one that did buy a trial pack the other week – has basically agreed to commit to regular business with Mama Machumba Crafts. This is a big win for the group, and for me; an affirmation that my work here will have made a long-lasting difference to the lives of the women. Leaving here knowing we had made them some money is nice – but knowing they'll be able to continue making money for themselves is far more rewarding.
This morning, I dropped off our second pack of handicrafts to Donna, the owner, who has also informed us that she will be going back home to Australia for three weeks starting on Wednesday. This shouldn't be much of a problem, though, as it means we'll be able to prepare stock for her company. With a fresh 90,000 Tsh in my pocket for the women, I must admit to have betrayed a swing in my step today.
The business will be basically out of my hands come next week, as my upcoming Zanzibar trip essentially puts a full stop on the terms of my sentence. I'll be back for less than week, during which I'll take time to see whatever I've missed in Arusha, wrap things up with the Mama Machumba group, buy some souvenirs, print off my plane tickets, and avoid catching malaria.
My volunteer partner, Robin, will remain working with the group for an additional month, which leaves me optimistic she'll have enough time to ensure the ultimate goal of enabling the women to maintain their business independently.
One more thing: ate a delicious curry dinner at the tiny Big Bite restaurant in the middle of Arusha, after a hearty recommendation from the Rough Guide, which hailed it as the best Indian restaurant in East Africa. I won't argue with that - as it's the only Indian restaurant in East Africa I've ever eaten at – but it was certainly ridiculously tasty. I had chicken tiki massala and Robin ate some weird potato thing, which I initially smirked at, but then found it to be the tastiest dish on the table.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
In Zanzibar did Alex a stately pleasure trip decree
I came to Tanzania at an interesting cross-roads in my life. A bridge over mildly bubbling water.
In December, I completed my Honours B.A. Degree in English, finally putting the wrapping over five and a half years of studying and working professionally at university. As I didn't learn quite enough in that half-decade, I then applied for a Master's in Communication/Media/Vagueness at three universities in Canada: York (Toronto), Western (London) and Concordia (Montreal).
My heart is set on York, as the city of Toronto pulls at my vein-strings and the thought of studying with the faculty of two top-tier Canadian universities warms my intellectual blood. This joint program with Ryerson would begin in September, which left me with January-August to fill my time productively.
Since the start of 2010, I've done OK – I came to Africa to “blow my mind” and that's about it. When I return, though, my living situation will be a bit up in the air. So this update serves, in part, to let people know where, if, when, how, why, and what my domestic plan is for the next chapter of my life.
I won't hear back about my university applications until sometime in April. Presumably not on April 1, unless the academic administration have some cruel sense of humour. The track of my life depends rather intently upon this sneaky little month.
Upon my return to Canada, one thing is certain: I'll be living in Newmarket for most of April.
I will then await a reply from my Master's applications. If I hear successfully from York, I plan on moving to Toronto to a central apartment I have my eye on. As this is my first choice, it's my current plan if not for the cautious pessimism that prevents me from putting all my eggs in the same basket. If only Western, Concordia or no university replies in affirmation of my acceptance, I'll try to settle myself in Waterloo for the summer.
As my plans of action have developed further since I left Canada – and now I may never be returning permanently to what I considered “home” back in February – it will be interesting to see how I cope with the “reverse culture-shock” that can occur when one returns to their home after an extended stay abroad. Perhaps I will go completely insane. Newmarket, with its highways, cineplexes, shopping malls and stock clearance warehouses represents the polar opposite of what life has been life in Tanzania, so abject madness is quite possible.
More likely, hopefully, is that my journeys in Africa will have better prepared me to the nomadic lifestyle that I may be subjected to upon my return to Canada.
“But you've only stayed in one place this whole time!” I hear you cry. Well, apart from my five-day safari into the heart of East Africa's national park territory, I also have a final excursion ahead of me – this one experienced on my lonesome.
On March 22 I'll be taking a ten-hour bus from Arusha to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania's largest city, for a night's stay at a backpacker's inn. Come morning, I'll hop on a two-hour ferry (hopefully the speedy Sea Express at 7 a.m.) and make my way to Zanzibar, birthplace of Freddy Mercury and the African slave trade.
I'll be staying at a cozy little place in the shadow of the House of Wonders, the island's most famous landmark and once the tallest building on the continent. It's not that big though. After three nights' stay, I'll head back to Dar Es Salaam by afternoon cruise and spend another night there before taking an early-morning bus back to the centre of the universe, Arusha.
While I'm most excited to see the cultural phenomenon that is Zanzibar, I'm also intrigued to see how interesting its port, Dar, will be. It's nickname in Swahili, “Bongo”, refers to the fact that to survive in the city, you need “wits”. My Rough Guide assures me that the city is an under-appreciated gem, so I'll give it a fair shot.
Regardless of how the trip pans out, I'm excited at the prospect of doing some independent travelling, something that faintly resembles “back-packing”, but with the security of luxury bus lines and the comfort of a light luggage load.
My only real paranoia is that, in spite of my meticulously organized scheming of this trip (which has been narrowed down to where I will eat each night), something will go awry and I'll have to respond with a change in plan. The schedule is a pretty firm house of cards though, so I doubt that anything but a serious roadblock could truly topple the deck.
In December, I completed my Honours B.A. Degree in English, finally putting the wrapping over five and a half years of studying and working professionally at university. As I didn't learn quite enough in that half-decade, I then applied for a Master's in Communication/Media/Vagueness at three universities in Canada: York (Toronto), Western (London) and Concordia (Montreal).
My heart is set on York, as the city of Toronto pulls at my vein-strings and the thought of studying with the faculty of two top-tier Canadian universities warms my intellectual blood. This joint program with Ryerson would begin in September, which left me with January-August to fill my time productively.
Since the start of 2010, I've done OK – I came to Africa to “blow my mind” and that's about it. When I return, though, my living situation will be a bit up in the air. So this update serves, in part, to let people know where, if, when, how, why, and what my domestic plan is for the next chapter of my life.
I won't hear back about my university applications until sometime in April. Presumably not on April 1, unless the academic administration have some cruel sense of humour. The track of my life depends rather intently upon this sneaky little month.
Upon my return to Canada, one thing is certain: I'll be living in Newmarket for most of April.
I will then await a reply from my Master's applications. If I hear successfully from York, I plan on moving to Toronto to a central apartment I have my eye on. As this is my first choice, it's my current plan if not for the cautious pessimism that prevents me from putting all my eggs in the same basket. If only Western, Concordia or no university replies in affirmation of my acceptance, I'll try to settle myself in Waterloo for the summer.
As my plans of action have developed further since I left Canada – and now I may never be returning permanently to what I considered “home” back in February – it will be interesting to see how I cope with the “reverse culture-shock” that can occur when one returns to their home after an extended stay abroad. Perhaps I will go completely insane. Newmarket, with its highways, cineplexes, shopping malls and stock clearance warehouses represents the polar opposite of what life has been life in Tanzania, so abject madness is quite possible.
More likely, hopefully, is that my journeys in Africa will have better prepared me to the nomadic lifestyle that I may be subjected to upon my return to Canada.
“But you've only stayed in one place this whole time!” I hear you cry. Well, apart from my five-day safari into the heart of East Africa's national park territory, I also have a final excursion ahead of me – this one experienced on my lonesome.
On March 22 I'll be taking a ten-hour bus from Arusha to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania's largest city, for a night's stay at a backpacker's inn. Come morning, I'll hop on a two-hour ferry (hopefully the speedy Sea Express at 7 a.m.) and make my way to Zanzibar, birthplace of Freddy Mercury and the African slave trade.
I'll be staying at a cozy little place in the shadow of the House of Wonders, the island's most famous landmark and once the tallest building on the continent. It's not that big though. After three nights' stay, I'll head back to Dar Es Salaam by afternoon cruise and spend another night there before taking an early-morning bus back to the centre of the universe, Arusha.
While I'm most excited to see the cultural phenomenon that is Zanzibar, I'm also intrigued to see how interesting its port, Dar, will be. It's nickname in Swahili, “Bongo”, refers to the fact that to survive in the city, you need “wits”. My Rough Guide assures me that the city is an under-appreciated gem, so I'll give it a fair shot.
Regardless of how the trip pans out, I'm excited at the prospect of doing some independent travelling, something that faintly resembles “back-packing”, but with the security of luxury bus lines and the comfort of a light luggage load.
My only real paranoia is that, in spite of my meticulously organized scheming of this trip (which has been narrowed down to where I will eat each night), something will go awry and I'll have to respond with a change in plan. The schedule is a pretty firm house of cards though, so I doubt that anything but a serious roadblock could truly topple the deck.
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