A Unitarian Family's Adventure in Zanzibar

Bruce Walton (November 19, 2006)

I never dreamed I'd wander through an open-air market and barter for my goods in Tanzanian shillings.

I never dreamed I would walk the narrow streets of a third world city and stand outside a Christian church, built in 1862 as a memorial to the slave trade and listen as the priest led worship accompanied by the drone of the African drum and chant. But, we have done all these things.

ARRIVING IN A FOREIGN LAND...

The silence of each night was broken by a voice drifting soothingly over the rooftops of the village. It's a little before 5am and the voice calls the men to prayer at one of the village mosques. You lie there thinking, "god, it's early", as you drift off back to sleep for another hour. So began our time in Jambiani, a small village on the east coast of the Island of Unjunga, more commonly known as Zanzibar.

We had traveled there for an experience, a cultural experience; a chance to live and work somewhere totally foreign to what we had known so far in life. From our community in Guelph, defined by our friends and family and our Unitarian principles, we traveled half way round the world to see what life was like.

The adventure had begun two years previously. Jennifer and I had been wondering how we could expose ourselves and our children, Makyla and Samantha, to a unique experience that would, among other things, challenge us and challenge our views of things. We had looked into Child Haven but found it not conducive to children attending. I happened across an article in a Canadian Chiropractic publication that told of a clinic started by a Vancouver Chiropractor and his wife, on the island of Zanzibar. They were providing care to the local population with volunteer chiropractors, in exchange for room and board. They had never had a family attend before, so I emailed the hosts, Alistair and Pat, and said, "Hey, I've got the Chiropractic skills, and I'd like to do this, but I'd like my family to come. Any thoughts?" He emailed back, in his laid back manner and said, "well, we've never hosted a family before, but let's give it a go!"

Two years later, to the day of the first email, we traveled from Canada to England, overnight from London to Kenya and surviving a long lay-over, we boarded a plane in Nairobi, traveled over the Kenyan and Tanzanian plains, past Mt Kilimonjaro and over the blue-green tropical waters of the Indian Ocean landing in Stonetown, the capitol of Zanzibar.

The village, we were to live in, was 50km from town, but the road conditions and mode of transportation, made the journey 90 minutes, one way. For me, this journey in and out of Stonetown was always my reminder that we were, for the first time, in the third world. The streets were crowded with people, lined with open-air shops and clogged with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. There were produce-laden bicycles and motorized scooters; packed and stacked passenger "dala dala's" and minivans. It was dusty and dirty. It was hot and the air was thick with the smells of butcher stalls, stacks of fish, people cooking and garbage strewn everywhere.

VILLAGE LIFE AND MAKING A CONTRIBUTION...

Our work, in this community, consisted of health care clinic hours in the mornings, which were my responsibility, and a few hours of English and keyboarding skills in the afternoon, where the girls helped. I am so thankful we took the time to search out an opportunity that involved contributions to a local community. Working while living in a community allows one a greater depth of experience than merely being a tourist.

I cannot deny there have been many times in my life where I have felt simply overwhelmed at the size and complexity of the problems that face our world. As such, I have chosen, many times, to remain a bystander. After all, I'd convince myself, what can I do that will make a difference? Our experience, while at times challenging, has taught each of us that any one little thing you can do, will make a difference. In future I will never doubt this. The people I got to know, the patients I cared for, the students my family guided were all grateful for any help we could give. It was indeed a privilege and honour to walk through that village and be asked can you help me write this letter, or would I stop by to help an ailing grandmother or elderly uncle.

We immersed ourselves in the rhythm of life that seemed to evolve in Jambiani. The beat of the drum was heard in the call to prayer five times a day. The tempo of life was dictated by the weather and the tides. The beginning and end of the daily song punctuated by a predictable sunrise and sunset. What didn't get done today would get done tomorrow ? hakuna matata. To me, people lived in the moment in this community. They certainly worked hard to meet their needs, but they spent little time worrying over the superfluous, media-injected wants that dominate our culture.

I remember thinking of people back home, always striving to achieve that illusive sense of living in the moment. While the yoga sessions and the meditation classes can give us periods of ease and relaxation, each of us get dragged back into the schedule of modern living and once again, the moment has slipped passed.

Since returning home it is one of the things I miss most about Zanzibar. I am, once again, scheduled, glancing at my palm pilot or laptop before committing to anything. Rarely have I had the chance just to say... sure, I'd like to do that, why not go right now! People in this village made their living in a variety of ways, typically in a manner we would refer to as diversified income streams! Women worked hard all day long. From sun up to sun down, they were in motion even if it was "slow motion" by our standards. They tended the children and the house, rarely were they not doing something to meet their family's needs. When the tide was low they were tending the seaweed farms or the coconut husk piles. When the tide was high they were washing clothes by hand, spreading the seaweed to dry or cooking over open fires within their home areas. Men were busy at a variety of tasks from modest farming, to fishing to gathering firewood for cooking, and onto more skilled trades, like working in the tourism industry, building houses or running a taxi service.

THE CHILDREN...

The children, as you would expect, were as remarkable as they were needy, as dirty as they were cute, as wise as they were innocent. They were never far away...hovering at the front gate, calling the girls out to play?Mariyam, Samira were the names they gave our children. A walk on the beach, unless it was at 6 in the morning or late at night, was never without a young child following along. They'd choose to dig for soup clams at low tide in front of our place in the hopes I'd bring out the guitar or the kite. They were intrigued with us, especially our daughters. Despite the language barrier, they taught each other games and would be gone at play for hours on end.

And, on those special nights when the tide was low and the moon was full and passing through a cloudless sky, everyone headed to the beach. There were soccer games, singing and dancing. I'd often take out the guitar in the evening to play along with the gentle accompaniment of the waves. Before long several children were gathering around to listen, clap and make up a variety of Swahili-lyriced songs to the cords for This land is Your Land and Country Roads. It did not matter that we did not understand what the other was saying, only that we were having a fun time singing, dancing and frolicking, the sand between our toes, the moon glistening upon our brows. At one point, early in our visit we taught them "Old MacDonald Had A Farm". For several nights after we could here them out front singing "ee-I, ee-I oh ", calling us to join them for more fun. I have to say that the most vivid memories, those that will remain etched in my mind forever, will be of the people we met and left behind when we departed. Although our paths crossed for only a short period of time, they all have left their mark on me. So many of them were children, I know I will always wonder what has become of them.

CONCLUSION

In the build-up to our trip I wondered if I'd come back changed. Would I be inspired to sell everything and live more simply. I know Jennifer secretly hoped to find the inspiration that would finally clear the clutter from our lives. At the very least, I committed to myself to be a keen observer. I wanted to avoid being a missionary, providing a solution to every problem, an answer to every question. I wanted to observe the relationships and connections that made this world tick. I wanted to practice my UU principles... respect for the interdependent web, free and responsible search for truth and meaning, and an acceptance of one another.

I am confident that this experience has woven its way into my life and the lives of my family, planting ideas and perspectives deep within each of us. How these seeds will grow and develop, I cannot say for sure. For now, I simply wrestle with my heightened awareness of the inequities that exist in the world. Since my return, I have found it hard to empathize with what we worry and fret over. When looked at closely, we typically worry over wants and not needs. I cannot say for sure, but, at least on the surface, there was a peace and contentment with life on the faces of those who lived in the village that I have seen in few other places. I believe that contentment was there because they lived in an interdependent community. Everyone looked out for everyone else. One of the most important and moving connections I observed on my trip was to see my daughters awaken to a new reality of life.

Several times we met people, like ourselves, born and raised in a western community who were now traveling or living and working in a foreign land. As we talked with them, sharing our stories and adventures, I found myself observing my children. They were glued to the conversations. One could hear the proverbial wheel turning in their heads. It was as if they were growing before my eyes. I could hear the internal dialogue... "Wow, you mean life doesn't have to be go to school in Guelph, get a job, pay your taxes, partner up, start a family and grow old." "Wow, you mean I could work and travel the world and live in a foreign land helping people?"

I know my children appreciate their good fortune to have been born into the convenience of our culture. Now, it seems, they are so much more aware of the costs associated with these conveniences. They seem far more sensitive to the disparity that exists between the many cultures of the world. And, now, they seem far more willing to ask "What can I do to make a difference?" This experience, I imagine, has made it palpable to them... the future belongs to them and their children and their survival in that future depends on the choices we make today.

I am confident that, having made the long trek to a land far, far away, my children truly appreciate the interdependent web of life of which we all play an integral role in. And, I know they know that, while a problem may be huge in its scope and complexity, everyone has a role to play in being part of the solution. This summer we were privileged to play a small part of a solution and I believe that we got as much out of participating as those we were there to help.

I will leave you with a series of images of some of the many people we connected with while in Zanzibar, those that we helped, who were the same ones who helped us. As you watch these images, may we all be reminded that we are all part of an interdependent web of life: that we are all deserving of worth and dignity, and, when you help remind another of their dignity, you in turn, affirm your own.