Next I found a gym. Shame to waste the sunshine I thought, but they had a separate room for women with a working treadmill AND aerobics classes! So, for a while I made my little home there, taking classes with the same group of women a few times each week.

Then I found it. Where most of Stone Town’s athletics aficionados hang out in the early hours of the morning. A beautiful stretch of beach a 10 minute walk from my house. Here, every morning (even during Ramadhan!) you will find hundreds of people walking, running, skipping and jumping. Little kids no more than 10 years old all the way to grandparents. Alongside the fishermen putting their boats out to start their work day, women jog along, some of them full veiled, some of them sporting track suits. Several exercise groups can be seen and heard from quite a distance, as their members keep their motivations high with call and answer cheers.

The only catch is that to beat the heat, which starts early, and to get to work on time, committing to my health in this way means waking at 5:30am. A small price to pay though, to feel safe running with my headphones on (the soundtrack to Wicked blaring) while I run alongside the Indian Ocean as dawn breaks. Habari za asubuhi? Salaama kabisa, ahsante sana.

Scattered throughout the narrow winding streets with the most beautiful doors one has ever seen, are large metal teapots sitting atop burning hot coals that keep the precious kahawa (coffee in Kiswahili) piping hot. Nearby at most any time of day you will find a small table or ledge with a plastic bin of coconut or peanut treats, around which men (though some women, mostly elderly women in their traditional Zanzibari bui bui dresses can also be seen) sit, chat, and watch the world go by. The coffee? Amazing. Served in small dishes which fit perfectly in one’s palm, it is a reminder to slow down and savour, as a paper cup is no where in sight.

I am lucky enough to have one of these sidewalk cafes no more than 30 seconds from my house. After greeting the kanga and Quran merchants each morning who sell their wares outside of my front door, I turn a corner to pass the fruit and vegetable market on my right (often not without seeing a carcass or two making its way to the nearby meat market). One turn left and there is the giant teapot just waiting to deliver to me the perfect kick to start off the day. After greeting the group of anywhere between 5-10 familiar faces also beginning their day with a cuppa’ jo with “asalamu walaikum” (a most beautiful greeting that I will surely miss when I return to Canada and am no doubt reminded that it is not the custom to greet Starbucks’ patrons in such a way), I am given my little cup of gold by the same man each morning. In between sips I ask him about his home, his wife and children (who he promises I will meet one day), and he asks me about my work, my family in Canada, and sees just how far my Kiswahili will stretch that particular morning.

And then, with an “ahsanteni” (thank you), I am off on my way to work, my office being located just a few windy hops, skips and jumps from my home. Not a bad way to start the day. And how lucky am I that this interaction has become normal…routine? Very lucky. Ahsante sana, coffee Gods.

From my cup of coffee that I share with the same group of elderly men each day, to the bui bui-clad women who join me on my beach runs the few early mornings a week I manage to wake up at 5:30, to the sharks/swordfish/sting rays I step over to get to buy my mangoes and papayas, to the discussions about the merits of polygamy or the hushed conversations about the islands’ contentious politics; I am reminded daily that Zanzibar’s layers are many, and it is much more than a beach paradise (though her sands are indeed white, and waters turquoise).

So, as maintaining this blog is part of my goals for 2010 (thank you Ms. B), I intend to begin by highlighting some of what has become part of my daily routine here in Stown Town’s Darajani neighbourhood.

Karibu sana.

As many of you may be aware, there have been significant changes made recently by the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs to Canadian policy language.  Among these changes the terms “child soldiers” and “International Humanitarian Law” have been replaced with “children affected by war” and “International Law” (see my blog post below).

This is cause for serious concern as these changes limit the well-formulated protections offered in international legal instruments to those most vulnerable during times of war.

Copied below are two letters addressed to the Prime Minister.  If you share the concerns raised in them, please send either the long or short version to our PM or your local elected representative.  It is time that our Government was reminded that these changes do not represent Canadian values as they claim.

LETTER 1: LONG

Dear Prime Minister Harper,

My name is ___________ and I am a ____year old Canadian currently working in _________.  It is with great concern and urgency that I contact you today.  Having been born and raised in Canada learning about the free and fair democracy that we enjoy, I take great pride knowing my concerns will be heard and adequately responded to by your office.

I write to you today concerning the recent changes in the policy language of the Department of Foreign Affairs, included amongst which the terms “child soldiers” and “International Humanitarian Law”  have been replaced with “children in armed conflict” and “International Law.” I am concerned about these changes for three main reasons: they remove key protections to those most vulnerable during times of armed conflict, they were made without adequate dialogue or consultation with the Canadian Public, and they indicate a move away from the significant contribution Canada has made in upholding human rights internationally.

Both child soldiers and International Humanitarian Law are key legal phrases with significant implications.  When classified as a child soldier, young people involved in armed conflict are recognized not as perpetrators, but as victims in need of support.  The Convention on the Rights of the Child, its Optional Protocol, and the Paris Principles are just a few of the widely accepted international legal instruments which address this issue, and Canada is party to each of them.  Through these agreements, children who are used as weapons of war have their vulnerability recognized and are entitled to assistance they desperately need as they and their communities attempt to move away from a cycle of violence.  Especially considering that the Paris Principles make clear that a child soldier includes not only those youth who carry arms, but also those who are used as porters, sex slaves, and spies; the ability to protect child soldiers and prevent recruitment as required through Security Council Resolution 1612 is critically hindered by the Canadian Government’s recent change in vernacular.

Similarly, the term International Humanitarian Law (IHL) has implications not present in its successor, International Law.  Commonly known as the Laws of War, IHL over more than one hundred years has developed into an extensive series of protections to limit the devastation of armed conflict, at the heart of which are the Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols.

I do not understand Canada’s move away from the use of this term considering the many years and international agreements that have allowed it to evolve to outline protections for civilians, women and children, aid workers, and prisoners of war to name a few.  Furthermore, the fact remains that IHL is simply not the same as International Law, which refers broadly to inter-state legalities as opposed to the specific concerns which arise during times of war.  Considering that we as Canadians find ourselves engaged in conflict in Afghanistan and as global citizens find ourselves in a world with dozens of conflicts (so many that only 3 years in the entire post WWII period have seen lower rates of war than 2008), most of which are fought in neighbourhoods and not on battlefields thus endangering even more civilians and women and children, a move that implies a limited dedication to IHL is gravely concerning.

Due to the significant repercussions and diplomatic messages sent in these shifts in vocabulary, I am particularly angry as these changes were made without adequate consultation with the Canadian Public.  Although Minister of Foreign Affairs Lawrence Cannon claims that the changes are merely semantic, scholars and political analysts have agreed that this is not so, not least due to the immediate implications in the controversial case of former child soldier Omar Khadr.  As one of the world’s most exemplary free and fair democracies, I am disappointed that my Government did not make public its intentions or engage its voters in dialogue on the issue.  These changes indicate significant ideological shifts which should not be made without the input of Canadian citizens.  As a minority government, I do not understand how your Administration can make changes in absence of public debate and assume that these reflect the values of the Canadian majority.

Lastly, as a Canadian proud of my country’s track record as an international defender of human rights, I worry that the direction your Administration is favouring puts at risk all that has been achieved  by your predecessors.  Canada’s key role in the development of international humanitarian instruments such as the Ottawa Treaty to Ban Landmines, the Rome Statute, and the United Nations peacekeeping framework are points of great pride for the Canadian public.  I do not take lightly these achievements being jeopardized by a shift in policy ideology over which I had no input.

I trust that a honest leader such as yourself would not condone these changes in the hopes that it would allow for a desirable conclusion in the case of Mr. Khadr, or to limit the international responsibilities our great nation must shoulder to protect those most vulnerable throughout the world’s conflict zones (for example sexual violence victims in the Democratic Republic of Congo).

Unfortunately, I am unable to understand why else such changes would be made so discreetly. Considering the extensive repercussions of these decisions, I hope your office will consider opening this to public debate.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

LETTER 2: SHORT

Dear Prime Minister Harper,

My name is ___________ , and I am a ___ year old Canadian currently working in __________.  It is with great concern and urgency that I contact you today.  Having been born and raised in Canada learning about the free and fair democracy that we enjoy, I take great pride knowing my concerns will be heard and adequately responded to by your office.

I write to you today concerning the recent changes in the policy language of the Department of Foreign Affairs included amongst which the terms “child soldiers” and “International Humanitarian Law” have been replaced with “children in armed conflict” and “International Law.”

Although Minister of Foreign Affairs Lawrence Cannon has claimed that the changes are merely semantic, scholars and political analysts have agreed that this is not the case.  The term child soldiers refers not only to those children forced to engage in active conflict, but also those who are forced to act as porters, spies, and sex slaves.  A move away from this well-established legal term to the more ambiguous “children in armed conflict” does not allow the Canadian Government to be more inclusive, but rather limits its responsibilities to protect those most vulnerable during times of war.  Similarly, the shift from International Humanitarian Law to International Law indicates a limited dedication to protecting the rights of those who tragically suffer the most during conflict.  International Humanitarian Law includes protections for civilians, women and children, aid workers, and prisoners of war, among others.  It is simply not adequate to replace this with International Law, which refers more broadly to inter-state legalities.

Due to the significant repercussions and diplomatic messages sent in these shifts in vocabulary, I am particularly angry as these changes were made without adequate consultation with the Canadian Public.  As a minority government, I do not understand how your Administration can make changes in absence of public debate and assume that these reflect the values of the Canadian majority.  As a Canadian proud of my country’s position as a leader and international defender of human rights, I worry that  your Administration is putting at risk all that has been achieved  by your predecessors.   I do not take lightly these achievements being jeopardized by a shift in policy ideology over which I had no input.

I trust that an honest leader such as yourself would not condone these changes in the hopes that it would allow for a desirable conclusion in the case of Omar Khadr, or to limit the international responsibilities our great nation must shoulder to protect those most vulnerable throughout the world’s conflict zones (for example to sexual violence victims in the DRC).

These changes have not been made in isolation, but are part of a larger shift that includes your office’s change to policy language regarding immunity and gender equality. Considering the extensive repercussions of these decisions, I hope your office will consider opening this to public debate.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to your response,

I then listened on to discover that “my” Government has removed the words “child soldiers” and “international humanitarian law” from its vernacular, to be replaced with “children in armed conflict” and “international law.”  Additional articles can also be found  on the CBC website, and in the Embassy Magazine.

I am not impressed.  Below is the letter I wrote to Minister of Foreign Affairs Lawrence Cannon, telling him so.

Mr. Cannon,

I am a 24 year old Canadian (from Vancouver and a recent Dalhousie graduate) writing to you from Zanzibar, Tanzania.

I have just learned of the significant changes made in the language used by your Ministry, taking out the phrases ‘child soldiers’ and ‘international humanitarian law’ and replacing them with ‘children in armed conflict’ and ‘international law.’

I am gravely concerned about this, not only as a Canadian, but as an individual who like countless others values her basic human rights.   The legal and political differences between these terms is significant.  Aside from the simple fact that the original terms and their successors do not mean the same thing, both ‘child soldier’ and ‘international humanitarian law’ are used to ensure protection for those most vulnerable during times of armed conflict.  Such protections are not present in ‘children in armed conflict’ and ‘international law.’  As a Canadian, I find these changes particularly abhorrent considering the leading role Canada has played in strengthening international humanitarian instruments such as the International Criminal Court, the Ottawa Treaty, and the United Nations peacekeeping mechanisms.

I see no other reason for these changes than to ensure your Government receives the answer it desires in the Omar Khadr case.  This however, is highly undemocratic and I would not want to assume such intentions of you or your colleagues.

Therefore, I ask that you correct any misunderstandings I may have about the ability of Canada to continue enjoying its reputation of Protector of Human Rights after these changes are made.

Sincerely,

Caity Sackeroff

As we were driving out of Stone Town, we were delayed because Tanzania’s “independence torch” was passing through the area.  Each year the torch tours the country, beginning its journey each Independence Day.  This meant that the main road we were on was blocked up with traffic waiting for the music and festivities welcoming the torch to end.

As I looked out the window, I saw a group of local girls sitting on the opposite side of the road, facing me.  There was maybe 5 of them, looking between 4 – 9 years old, sitting on a wooden structure on the side of the road watching the many cars and laughing and waving at the many wazungu inside of them.

Soon when I looked out, I saw them still sitting together, looking straight ahead at the traffic, completely unaware of their new visitor.  Crouched beside them, silent so as not to disturb, was a male tourist with his big, black, fancy digital SLR camera pressed to his face, peering closely at the unsuspecting girls, finger pressing rapidly on the trigger.

All of a sudden, one of the girls saw him and alerted the others.  In an instant they were all creaming and running away, leaving their visitor to stand up, smile as he reviewed the images he captured (which were no doubt amazing…the girls were very beautiful), and return to his tour bus.  I watched this in horror, interpreting what I saw as a complete disregard for these girls’ rights, for their wishes or opinions.  Though some may say I am overreacting, i think that what I saw resembled a safari of sorts: the search for that perfect image of “africa” with little to no question about its context or humanity.

This man did not ask permission to photograph these children, nor did he talk to them at all.  He just silently positioned himself  beside them, peered at them through a big camera, got up, and walked away.

Granted, considering these girls later returned after this man left and, amidst laugher, imitated what he had done, they may not have been wholly offended.  However, the image of him crouched beside a group of unaware children remains an upsetting one to me as in the brief time I have spent in Africa, in both Uganda and Zanzibar, it is a common occurrence.

I know that many of the beautiful images of African children lining mantels in the Global North come complete with stories, names, and laughs shared.  But I also know that many of them do not.  And I know that it would not be acceptable for complete strangers to photograph children in much of the Global North without requesting permission.  If unknown adults knelt beside our children on the playground in Vancouver to capture their images, would we not be concerned?  So why do these concerns not apply in Africa or other parts of the developing world?

This is a disturbing double standard, and perhaps most questionable of all is that I very much wanted to take a picture of the whole thing.

Lucky for me, as I enjoyed my Mix Urogo soup some nights ago, my friend and I were approached by a Maasai man,  who began asking us many of the same questions I so desired to pose to him: where we are from, what are our names, etc. Soon we were having a great conversation…he taught us a fun new phrase in Swahili and told us there are no Maasai in Zanzibar, but that he and his friends come here for a few months at a time, leaving their home in Arusha. It was great: he was wonderful and we were so excited to be talking to him. Soon I was sitting with other Masai, surrounded by them as we chatted near the famous beaded handicrafts they had made.

The conversation was fascinating. They told me about how it is hard to be living in Zanzibar, away from their home near Kilimanjaro. That they like to party here, going to Livingstone’s most Friday nights (which seems to be the place to be here on the weekend, by anyone’s standards). That the beads on their shoes mean different things, that certain colours are for Arusha, others for other places. That there are some Maasai women in Zanzibar but that they live in remote rural areas. That they are here to make money off of the tourist industry. About how they kill Lions, often by themselves.  That  the first man I met has himself killed 5.

And soon, one young man was hitting on me, going from telling me that he liked me and was glad I was his friend to trying to kiss me, to calling me his wife. Despite the constant reiteration by both of us that we are friends, the mood definitely changed. And I don’t know why I was so surprised. Should I have assumed that this interaction with a man I didn’t know in Zanzibar would be vastly different than many others simply because he is Maasai? I didn’t feel angry or violated by the situation, but rather fascinated at the perceived and real experiences of this community about which I know next to nothing. I look forward to learning more about their place(s) in the Stone Town tapestry.

Prior to and upon my arrival in Tanzania, I had been told that theft here is not common as a kind of mob justice rules with thieves being chased and beaten if they steal from anyone, foreigner and local alike. I was told to think about what I should do if I was robbed because by yelling “mwizi” (“thief” in Swahili), one triggers a beating which could lead to death.

I now know they were not joking.

On Sunday evening, as Ferry (a Dutch graduate student I met here recently) and I sat drinking and talking about our planned book exchange at a local bar (us being the only muzungus in the place), one visibly drunk patron was slowly easing his way towards us. The bar was humming with the conversation of a couple dozen people. Suddenly, this man approaches our table, takes Ferry’s bag and my cell phone (which were on top of our table), throws his beer on us, yells something in Swahili, and makes a run for it. Before I knew it, Ferry and every other man in the bar ran after him. There was a brief fight until the guy got away, leaving Ferry and I dumb-struck while the crowd continued after him. One of the waitresses found he had dropped my phone and returned it to me while those still in the bar continuously apologized and tried to make us feel comfortable. A few minutes later, the crowd returned with Ferry’s bag, which was not missing anything.

For the next hour or so until we left, the man who took our belongings came back several times, and although this was the only time that I was really frightened (at one point he held an empty beer bottle threateningly by his side), the staff and patrons at the bar looked out for us, ensuring that they talked him down until he could be escorted out. We were told that the situation is tragic as this man has been in and out of the local psychiatric hospital and gets very violent when he is drunk. He was still there when we left, and I have since learned that the situation escalated in the evening, with him being sent to the hospital.

I am still thinking about what to make of this experience. Between feeling sad at the lack of support available to this person, happy that I was cared for by those around me even though I didn’t know them, and guilty that the situation escalated after being triggered by our presence, I am at a bit of a loss.

I trust there is some irony that Ferry and I were discussing the merits of different writing on “Africa” when these events transpired, but I will not begin looking for it now.

Although this was an extremely unsettling experience, I felt an immediate sense of security with so many people going out of their way to apologize to and look after Ferry and I when we were in a vulnerable situation and could easily have been taken advantage of.

Would I have called Mwizi? Probably not.