Sorry Zanzibar, You're not a Real Country

I would like to begin by saying that in the off chance something I say in this post offends you, I apologize profusely because it is not my intention to do so.

Thus far my blog has been characterized by posts lacking in controversial nature; I created this blog for the purpose of entertaining my friends and family, as a way for them to keep track of my life for these three months (hence the occasional colloquialisms and random inside jokes). While I plan on continuing to keep it "light and fluffy," I am using my post on Zanzibar and Tanzania to discuss the constant undercurrent of racism that I experienced during the past two weeks. I find this necessary to do because it really did temper my view of these two beautiful locales. I do not plan on sharing all of my memories, or the conclusions I have drawn. Those of you who know me, I will undoubtedly be picking your brain upon my return (or through email now). So with that little disclaimer, here's my post for Tanzania (and Zanzibar):

We arrived in Dar es Salaam after some intense security screening, and a random $60 fine for "luggage handling" that only David and I (apparently white people's luggage require more care- must investigate further upon return) were charged. It was actually kind of funny, because the airline seemed to only have 2 employees, as the same people who checked us in also ran the security screening and helped us board. David and I started to wonder if they'd also be flying the plane. They didn't.

Upon our painfully early morning arrival we took a taxi to the Jambo Brothers Inn, a hole-in-the-wall hotel with more security precautions than most American prisons. The next day we took a water taxi to Zanzibar. David and I were fortunate in getting front row seats on the deck- unfortunately the view was soon obstructed by young men striking pensive poses directly in front of David and I in an attempt to get my attention. It was pretty funny. What was not funny was the 7 or 8 year old boy who kept grabbing my butt, and trying to touch my underwear. His parents refused to tell him to stop, even after I'd asked (for once in the history of African transportation there was ample room to even move the kid from directly behind me). After I was on the verge of throwing the kid off of the boat, David asked them to move the kid and they finally did. Note: his parents told him to stop immediately when he poked a man on my row from his new seat. The man did not have to ask.

Probably my favorite moment that day was the realization that Zanzibar has it's own customs, and it's much more thorough than any other customs we'd been through, despite the fact that Zanzibar isn't even a country. For the first time during our entire trip, I had to present the yellow WHO form (sorry mom, I know what a pain it was to get that sucker filled out) to prove I'd had my Yellow Fever vaccine. Thus far, no other country has cared.

The moment we finished with "customs" Zanzibar we were pestered by people offering taxis, trying to grab our luggage, and more. We managed to out walk them without too much effort. Of course we were followed, but believe it or not we're accustomed to it.

We visited the Beit ul- Ajaib, which is Zanzibar's nautical history museum. I must say, I cannot consider it much of a museum as it was so incredibly one sided. There was absolutely no mention of Zanzibar's key role in the slave trade (as people who captured and sold their geographic neighbors), but they were quick to villainize the West, specifically the United States. Our Muslim guide, who understood all of our other questions, refused to respond to queries about Zanzibar's role, and flat out ignored David when he asked about Muslim slavery, which predates(and was far crueler- eunuchs, anyone?) than anything in the US by several centuries.

But the part that really got me was one part of the exhibit- which had the audacity to accuse England of destroying their economy- extreme and repeated interrogation of our guide (who probably hated us at this point for refusing to accept the half-truths the museum sold) revealed that the part of the economy England had "destroyed" was the slave trade, which was done when the British banned slavery. At this point, the statement "damned if you do, damned if you don't" comes to mind.

Now this experience is accented by the fact that the moment we set foot back in the marketplace, we're accosted by different vendors trying to sell us their wares. If we don't buy, we're accused of racism. If we don't take a certain man's taxi, we're racist. If I glare at a man who is pointedly staring at my crotch, I'm a racist bitch for not smiling back. What's worse is that since I'm a white female, it's assumed I am less than human. Here's an example (again, one of many) so you can see how I've come to that conclusion:

After spending a couple of days at Nungwi Beach, we took a dalla-dalla (aka a crappy covered pick up truck used for transit) back to Stonetown, which is the seaport were we arrived at the island. The dalla dalla at first wasn't too bad- but then, the men started boarding. There were around four Muslim women and eight or so Muslim men on the truck with us (the only white folk). Here's what happened-

1. One of the women had a heavy suitcase on the truck. A man boarding the truck saw the suitcase, saw me, and then before I realized what was going on, raised the suitcase and brought it down on my feet, then added his weight to the top of the suitcase, all while smiling in this sadistic way at me. I managed to pull my feet out from under it before the guy could put on his full weight, but it still hurt. He then sat across from me and stared at my breasts the entire time he was on the truck. At this point it's important for me to highlight what I'm wearing- a generic t-shirt that's a size too big, and men's zip off pants. Essentially I've managed to kill every curve I have for the entire purpose of avoiding sexual attention. Epic fail.

2. A man climbs into the truck, and avoids touching anyone to get to a seat. He sees me, and reaches over to grab my knee and starts moving his hand toward my crotch. I do a swift karate chop and he lets go. Let me be clear- this was no accident, he hadn't lost his balance- he wanted to touch me. As with the first man, he also ignored the black women on board and sat adjacent to me so that he could smile at me the entire 45 minute trip.

3. A third man comes in and drops a metal L bar on my feet. At this point I regret wearing open toed shoes. I'd like to point out that David is sitting next to me during all of this, and no one is harassing him. The women are staring at him, but not as brazenly as the men are at me.

4. A fourth man comes in, sits across from David, and stares at my crotch the remainder of the trip. This guy gets hypocrite points because he then chastises David for putting his arm behind the woman sitting on the other side of him to brace himself better over the bumps. White woman in very conservative clothing < black Muslim woman.

5. And finally, the herder, or the person who is responsible for getting people into the truck, gripped my knee as he pulls chickens out from under our bench. Never mind that it'd be easier for him to balance if he were using David. David noticed this and moved the guy's hand to his knee.

And this was just one 45 minute bus ride. Congratulations, Zanzibar. You've convinced me that not only racism, but sexism prevails in your "country." For those of you reading this blog with a desire to travel, if it is your desire to be treated like a sex object, look no further than Zanzibar. There were two people who treated me with the basic respect I believe all humans are entitled. Only two.

Well, it seems I got carried away ranting, so I'll try to do a separate post on Tanzania. Again, I apologize if anything I've said offends- again, it's not my intention to do so. Unfortunately when negativity dominates an experience, it's difficult for it not to contaminate the memory.