Up the Coast
Zanzibar Research Diary: Day Seven
Read the sixth part of my field diary: Out of Town
Today it’s Friday, which is basically Islamic Sunday. There’s a big prayer today, which means starting at 2pm rather than 1pm. I pass the morning the same way as yesterday — walking up to the resort to help out the other students with their research. Today, however, spending too long on my knees in the sea means quite painful sunburn on my upper legs and forearms.
At 1pm I head back to the house, hot and bothered, and jump in the shower to cool me down. It helps a bit, but then I hear a banging at the gate. Said is half an hour early today. Of course. I let him in with a towel wrapped around my waist, quickly finish my shower and get dressed.
Today we’re going past Marumbi and even further up the coast to Uroa — another village, close to the entrance of the bay to the open ocean. Here, when I ask people if they remember any years that were stormier than usual, everyone mentions the 2004 tsunami. I ask if it reduced fish catches and get a range of answers — from “not at all” to “about 50%, permanantly”. The answer is probably somewhere in between.
It’s a hot day, so Said buys us a couple of bottles of MALTY — a carbonated apple-and-malt soda. It basically tastes like Appletiser. He explains that you can always buy it because the apple-y scent means most people think it has alcohol in (which is banned under Islam), so refuse to drink it. I decide not to point out that there’s small amounts of alcohol in almost everything.
A cockerel is crowing loudly next to us and I say something silly like “quiet down, chicken”. Said is surprised — he says he thought that male hens had a different name in English. I explain that they do and I was just being lazy, but that you have to be careful about using the word “cock” because it doubles as a term for a man’s penis. This causes him great delight, and he starts explaining in detail how the swahili word for “shark” is a slang term for a vagina, and the name of a small fish is slang for a child’s penis. Silly words for your naughty bits seem to be a feature of languages the world over.
The interviews go smoothly, if a little unremarkably — there’s none of the fiestiness of Marumbi here in Uroa, things are more laid-back. We decide that there’s still not much for us in Chwaka, so devise a complicated plan to get to Michamvi — a village on the far side of the bay — the next day. It involves me getting the bus to Stonetown (an hour west of Chwaka), meeting Said, then getting a taxi to Michamvi (an hour east of Chwaka). It’s a bit ridiculous, but apparently the only way. That means getting the local dala-dala bus on my own tomorrow, which is a faintly scary prospect, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I wussed out and got a taxi, so I’ll give it a go.
On my walk back to the house, I’m joined by another young guy called Ali. He knows where I live and suggests a short cut, which sets alarm bells ringing slightly, but I go with it anyway and it turns out fine. He’s a teacher, and has pretty good English — if some slightly weird ideas about eating fish. I ask why there are no fish left in the bay and he says that it’s because of increasing numbers of fishermen.
I ask why there are so many fishermen, and he explains that it’s because eating fish turns the village men’s sperm into supersperm that means many more children. “Aha…” I say, faintly bemused.
It’s sunset and the football field is hosting what seems to be an important game — spectators line the sides of the pitch. I stop for a moment to watch, until I realise that I’m quite close to the goal and there’s a striker bearing down on my position. I jump out of the way, but the goalkeeper collects the shot without too much difficulty and I feel a little silly.
Then, just as I’m rounding the corner to the door, I hear someone shout “Hello sir!”. I turn around and it’s a young guy sat on a bench with a woman either side of him. I wave back and he says “Please, may I speak with you?”. He’s a student at the financial services school in Chwaka and wants to practice “an international language with which I can conduct transactions”, he says. I smile and say sure, and he bombards me with a series of questions — where I’m from, what I’m doing here (I was warned not to use the phrase “climate change” in my interviews, and didn’t, but it turns out that almost everyone knows what it is) and so on.
The conversation quickly moves on from such banal matters, and he asks whether I have a wife, why not, whether I think his fiancee is beautiful, and so on. The English is very impressive, if a little formal, and I tell him so. He comes as close as I’ve ever seen an African come to blushing and thanks me profusely.
At home, the house is empty. The others are all still out in the field, and the dinner arrives. It’s fish (again), salad (again) and rice (again), but this time the tomato stew has been replaced by a delicious coconut curry. It’s fantastic, and I pour loads over my rice and ignore the fish entirely.
The others float in, and just as we’re finishing dinner our landlord Mcha materialises — he’s limping and we ask why. “Sea urchin,” he explains. Ouch. The affected foot is twice the size of the other one, and we offer him some painkillers to bring down the swelling. We bring out a two-litre bottle of water to take the pill with and he takes a swig then puts the water down next to his leg. After a few more pleasantries, he picks the bottle up and hobbles out with it. It’s a bit of a cheeky move (especially as we pay considerably more for things like bottled water than the locals do), but it’s not like we can’t afford another one, and he’s hurt, so we let it slide.
The night is drawing in, so I work on my thesis for another hour or two before turning in. Tomorrow comes the great dala-dala adventure.
Read the eighth part of my diary: Crossing the Bay
This is a diary of my fieldwork for my masters’ thesis in environmental science. I’m trying to assess the likely impacts of climate change on coastal communities in developing countries. If you’re interested, you can read more about it here, or ask me any questions you have on Twitter.
