Burning garbage is the most common method of getting rid of it here. The hill is not actually a hill, simply trash. 
Livestock feeding on what we throw out. 
A field of garbage you'd see anywhere on the island. The houses in the background are residential buildings considered good quality here. They were built by the Chinese years ago, hence the area's name Mchina.
Normal living conditions in Stone Town
Some people have asked me to describe the real Zanzibar, the one that I see all around me, every day, all the time. Here it is.
I live in a nice house. The family I live with owns 3 houses in real estate, a daladala, and the father has a job working with the Tanzanian government. The family is pretty much set for life unless some sort of natural disaster occurs. The house beside mine, however, is a crumbling mess of rocks and sticks. The wall that is supposed to offer some sort of privacy or protection has a gaping hole in it that is open for everyone to walk through.
Everywhere I go there is trash. There is no escaping it. In Canada, I walk around pieces of stray garbage. Here I walk through it. The trash itself is flattened and compacted, pressed into the ground so firmly from all the feet that step on it that it is sometimes hard to tell exactly what it originally was. Last week I didn't notice that I had stepped on a smushed rat until it stuck to the bottom of my sandal. There is hardly anywhere to put trash here, and those places must be completely full. Here the only way I see people getting rid of garbage is burning it in the streets. There are many football fields in Zanzibar. The edges of these are lined with heaps of garbage, and picking through it all are cows, cats, chickens, and dogs. It really makes me wonder what exactly I'm eating whenever I'm served meat here. A month ago I would have thought that this much garbage is violating human rights, now I just accept it.
Speaking of human rights, on Monday Tyler and I were teaching our English Club some human rights. In front of the students was the UN Declaration of Human Rights. We said "These are rights that everyone in the world has. We are all equal, we all have a right to an opinion and a free press." A girl stood up, and in broken English stated "Here in Tanzania we do not have Article 2."
Zanzibar has a 60% unemployment rate. Most people have created small businesses for themselves for sustenance living. Stalls and makeshift markets line the road as people try to sell their wares that we would find anywhere in Canada. Everyone sells the same thing it seems. Bananas, sunglasses, skirts, chickens, miscellaneous items, whatever they can get their hands on.
Yesterday in Mahonda was interesting. After teaching my class Stephanie and I went to find some food. While we were eating we saw a drunk father beat his son with a stick in public. I was so furious, I had to force myself to stay seated and watch as the kid was beaten to the ground. As his father dragged him home, the red lines of blood running down the sobbing boy's face were clearly visible.
My friend Carlos also took me to his house that day. He led me down a dirt path a short distance from the school to a door that didn't fit its frame. His little brother answered the door, and we entered his house. There was not much, a small dirt patch without a roof, and an open air kitchen on the side with 2 rooms seperated by curtains were the only things there. His mother and father were there sitting on the ground eating their food. They greeted me warmly and asked how life was in Canada. I replied, "I Canada life is good. Very good." The father shook his head and said, "Here life is bad. Zanzibar is poor. See?" he pointed around him at the surroundings. "Zanzibar is poor. We have no money. It is good that Carlos knows English, because now he can go to Canada and get a good job. You will take him with you to Canada." I said "If Carlos has enough money to come to Canada, I promise you he can live with me for as long as he likes." The man thanked me, his gratitude was overwhelming. Carlos led me away from his house. "When I come to Canada, I make enough to bring the rest of my family there too." "Why Canada? Why not Europe or America? They are good too." "Because you are in Canada" was his only answer.
Wherever Tyler, Steph and I walk there are always groups of men sitting down with their backs against the wall, staring at the traffic go past them. These are the men who are unemployed, who are not able to provide for their families. It seems there is no end to them.
The overpopulation is outstanding here. So far I have not seen a speck of land that has not been turned into use for humans. Nothing is wasted. When cows graze in the soccer fields it is because there is nowhere else for them to go. They are moved to the side when matches occur. Even in the rural areas I have not seen a clump of trees that are not used for growing spices or coconuts. It is impossible to escape the prescence of humans, and it seems to me that the situation is only going to get worse. Every day when school gets out there is an ocean of pale yellow and dark blue uniforms clustering around candy stalls, riding on daladalas or simply walking down the street for those who cannot afford a ride.
The food is interesting here. Everything is fried, grilled or is a fruit. Yesterday my diet was fried bread, an orange, 2 servings of french fries, 4 samosas, and fried shrimp (small portions of each). Today will be similar, and on the way back to my class soon I will be eating more fried food that Mama has prepared me. The other day we went to a restaurant, the same one I went to on my first day here. I ordered the same meal and was unable to finish it. This tells me that my stomach has shrunken considerably within the last 3 and a half weeks. I wonder what it will be like in another 5 weeks.
I live in a nice house. The family I live with owns 3 houses in real estate, a daladala, and the father has a job working with the Tanzanian government. The family is pretty much set for life unless some sort of natural disaster occurs. The house beside mine, however, is a crumbling mess of rocks and sticks. The wall that is supposed to offer some sort of privacy or protection has a gaping hole in it that is open for everyone to walk through.
Everywhere I go there is trash. There is no escaping it. In Canada, I walk around pieces of stray garbage. Here I walk through it. The trash itself is flattened and compacted, pressed into the ground so firmly from all the feet that step on it that it is sometimes hard to tell exactly what it originally was. Last week I didn't notice that I had stepped on a smushed rat until it stuck to the bottom of my sandal. There is hardly anywhere to put trash here, and those places must be completely full. Here the only way I see people getting rid of garbage is burning it in the streets. There are many football fields in Zanzibar. The edges of these are lined with heaps of garbage, and picking through it all are cows, cats, chickens, and dogs. It really makes me wonder what exactly I'm eating whenever I'm served meat here. A month ago I would have thought that this much garbage is violating human rights, now I just accept it.
Speaking of human rights, on Monday Tyler and I were teaching our English Club some human rights. In front of the students was the UN Declaration of Human Rights. We said "These are rights that everyone in the world has. We are all equal, we all have a right to an opinion and a free press." A girl stood up, and in broken English stated "Here in Tanzania we do not have Article 2."
Zanzibar has a 60% unemployment rate. Most people have created small businesses for themselves for sustenance living. Stalls and makeshift markets line the road as people try to sell their wares that we would find anywhere in Canada. Everyone sells the same thing it seems. Bananas, sunglasses, skirts, chickens, miscellaneous items, whatever they can get their hands on.
Yesterday in Mahonda was interesting. After teaching my class Stephanie and I went to find some food. While we were eating we saw a drunk father beat his son with a stick in public. I was so furious, I had to force myself to stay seated and watch as the kid was beaten to the ground. As his father dragged him home, the red lines of blood running down the sobbing boy's face were clearly visible.
My friend Carlos also took me to his house that day. He led me down a dirt path a short distance from the school to a door that didn't fit its frame. His little brother answered the door, and we entered his house. There was not much, a small dirt patch without a roof, and an open air kitchen on the side with 2 rooms seperated by curtains were the only things there. His mother and father were there sitting on the ground eating their food. They greeted me warmly and asked how life was in Canada. I replied, "I Canada life is good. Very good." The father shook his head and said, "Here life is bad. Zanzibar is poor. See?" he pointed around him at the surroundings. "Zanzibar is poor. We have no money. It is good that Carlos knows English, because now he can go to Canada and get a good job. You will take him with you to Canada." I said "If Carlos has enough money to come to Canada, I promise you he can live with me for as long as he likes." The man thanked me, his gratitude was overwhelming. Carlos led me away from his house. "When I come to Canada, I make enough to bring the rest of my family there too." "Why Canada? Why not Europe or America? They are good too." "Because you are in Canada" was his only answer.
Wherever Tyler, Steph and I walk there are always groups of men sitting down with their backs against the wall, staring at the traffic go past them. These are the men who are unemployed, who are not able to provide for their families. It seems there is no end to them.
The overpopulation is outstanding here. So far I have not seen a speck of land that has not been turned into use for humans. Nothing is wasted. When cows graze in the soccer fields it is because there is nowhere else for them to go. They are moved to the side when matches occur. Even in the rural areas I have not seen a clump of trees that are not used for growing spices or coconuts. It is impossible to escape the prescence of humans, and it seems to me that the situation is only going to get worse. Every day when school gets out there is an ocean of pale yellow and dark blue uniforms clustering around candy stalls, riding on daladalas or simply walking down the street for those who cannot afford a ride.
The food is interesting here. Everything is fried, grilled or is a fruit. Yesterday my diet was fried bread, an orange, 2 servings of french fries, 4 samosas, and fried shrimp (small portions of each). Today will be similar, and on the way back to my class soon I will be eating more fried food that Mama has prepared me. The other day we went to a restaurant, the same one I went to on my first day here. I ordered the same meal and was unable to finish it. This tells me that my stomach has shrunken considerably within the last 3 and a half weeks. I wonder what it will be like in another 5 weeks.
Don't get me wrong, I still love every day I'm here. Volunteering here is one of the best things that has ever happened to me; I've been waiting years to come here. Now that I've arrived, the reality is far more shocking than I thought it would be...
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