Nobody Like Us Zanzibar Chronicles April 2005

Common Currency

“The driver will tell you when it’s safe to fire up that splif.” And he does – three friendly police checks later. “Go to happy head”.

Makes it easier to see the subtle swagger in the young women’s gait. No one is really in a hurry but the hotel staff have a uniform to respect. And service is #1. How would you like that pot – bulk or rolled?

I have some doubts – like every place I try to see. And I have some holiday agenda – some stories to write – some harmonica tunes to learn (Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner). I can do these and get high every day.

Been here three nights already – am I ahead of you yet?

Mornings you cruise the beach back and forth the three hours of bright white sand and today a little cross training at the cold beer stop with a shockingly high priced G&T it’s not cheap to keep those pounds from adding up.

I have always been fascinated by creative processes. The tile layer’s strategy of starting in the middle of the floor to minimize total error – musta been a German. The “do something different every day” approach necessitates understanding the past – I like to buy a bag a weed and a newspaper to rollout it in and see what happens.

Just sit for a moment

And see what happens

In the late 90’s I wrote a poem – “Horizons on the Wall” – celebrating public art at Britannia High School in East Vancouver – and the “Lions” – twin mythological coast peaks.

“The distance lions call”

India

Pakistan

Kenya

I can almost see their shores

Don’t read this yet. Give that horizon another minute

Even though its flat

It took quite some time for those in attendance to re-assemble after that lengthy call to imagination. Like Afghanistan, ZanziBAR is very much in the present – although the later offers gentle breezes to assist the focus. I am on R and R – Reconsider and Reload. Create the next two months rational and make it alive. Step by step. What’s the dream?

Being in Afghanistan has integrated well with some immediate plans. You want to fix up the house and have a place to securely grow old in – or just grow. You are confronting that long term insecurity - there are plans in be extracted from those soon to be insulated walls.

The driver tries to give back one more dollar after I though we had finalized the mixed currency transaction for the enjoyable trip here.

You bargain him up.




Some of what the baby saw

The baby in the cabin next door seems to cry a lot. Maybe because there is competition coming in about three months.

“Mommy and Daddy are always talking about it. Talking to it! Nothing concrete. But it sounds so warm and comforting.”

Or am I standing in a Ruth Cole closet hearing some parents abuse their kid? How close is the intervention red light. What is my cue to step out and cry for help?

Imagine you are that same crime writer who fictionalizes hiring a female sex worker to let you watch anonymously from the clothes closet and you end up witnessing her murder and 20 years later you get married to the cop assigned to track down the witness.

Gotta love John Irving. He is so distracting

From the next door distress. In public now – softening up future witnesses. Or maybe the child is destined to be a vigorous human rights lawyer who cannot be silenced.

Not during my vacation please.

Our vacation - please – the amateur writer and aspiring harmonicast and sand between toes explorer all compete for attention. A time constrained problem – ah what a rush.

Be distracted a moment by my fantastical leap a few days ago when given the opportunity to model the symbiotic relationship between “women’s literacy” and “home school teaching opportunities” in the “increase the number of female teachers” objective function.

A harmonious group of 30 young men sweep the beach. The baby is mesmerized. She probably has never heard harmony before. Listen to it build. Reaching a climax – grabbed by the salty off shore swell. The baby looks around curiously. A woman at the bar raised a glass for the “fit young boys”.

As the white sea noise returned he breathes again. Reassured by the horizon, and the slow billowing sails of the coming home catch. Tomorrow is along long time

Rake your feet on the coral as you grab the languid tide. Stroke against the gentle surf – sail on a heartbreak. When you stop – humbled up for air my many seasoned nights and days. There is an ocean all around. Sun danced. Sea air cools your forehead . Life has a short history.

Kiss the pre dawn light - I need an alarm but no more incentive. Sit still for justa moment – into your last dream – moments ago – just sit – who is there.

Then the sun announces – time to rise and embrace - step small into today - settle soft onto the scene - test your best patience for nothing but light.

And mercifully the world reawakens. A program needs to be identified, resourced and delivered. I hide my indolence with equivocal waving of book and pen. A self criticism really- mitigated somewhat by my one hour roundtrip walk to the bar in arbitrary pursuit of a short story quota

Seems like the neighbours are leaving. Luggage preoccupies a coupla porters. There are good byes - the cute young bar tenderess has clearly endeared herself to the missus. And a smile for him. There is an almost beyond polite reluctance to leave.

Or perhaps some contention over the bill.

At least they are talking




“The price of dropping oil is heating up”

For the third consecutive day the headlines scream “Bin Laden – New Tapes discovered”. In the weeks since his rumoured apprehension, the Osama media archive had skyrocketed in value. And the prognosis for anti-terrorist professionals had hit rock bottom.

“I hate looking for a new job. The pay sucks …” okay so lets get somewhat efficient about it …

Heh here’s one … “The Serious Organized Crime Agency (SOCA) is an arms length instrument of the Home Office enacted to conduct a specialist and relentless attack on racketeers …”

Is it a management position? ….

“SOCA operates in a fast moving environment of exploding drug sophistication. Traffickers run slick businesses – they recruit from the best institutions for their finance and operations staff.”

Will I have to spin a lot of numbers? .,...

“Recent competition in the cocaine trade has cut margins to almost unacceptable levels given the risk involved. The plunging price of cocaine is particularly surprising given the decline in global leaf production every year since 1999. And cocaine – unlike heroin – is perishable – it can not be stockpiled.”

Is it in fact a marketing job? …

“Instability at home and significant out migration makes Turkey a great new investment. The Kurd and Albanian diasporas should see excellent growth. Columbian dealers in Britain are diversifying into the more profitable opiates. Overall, the dissolution of ethnic and family bond makes a our job easier worldwide.”

How do I position my operations experience? ….

“Marijuana and cocaine are essentially “feather" commodities – they get added on to shipments that have excess space but not weight. Ghanaian pineapples and vegetables have been found to be heavily feathered with these drugs in warehouses in East London.”

Are there any language requirements? ….

To move cocaine from product to market both English and Spanish are essential. For ecstasy it’s Dutch. People in the heroin trade speak more than 120 different languages, making it difficult to develop new supply routes.

Where is the corporate opportunity? …..

“Customer service – reliability of supply. Happy customers with few price objections. There people are not shoppers, they are consumers.”

Are there social implications? …

Competition in the drug trade is good for the consumer, which means it is bad for anyone trying to reduce or eliminate drug taking.




Pineapples are not cucumbers

“Nanasi si tango huliwa kwa mpango” ….

Pineapples are not cucumbers …” – almost certainly a piece of regional wisdom. A slogan on a humble kanga. My one bargain hunting venture - I also got “nikulipe nini kwa wema uko nitenda” Plus a youthful looking scalping – nice to feel the breeze behind my ears again. And a soothing massage too – with home cooked coconut oil – “you just boil off the milk.”

Surely she had ventured there. A week ago when I first looked at a map of the country I recognized some place names from her earlier life. Long land rover hauls to Morogoro. Serengeti nights. Months old daughter ceremoniously making way for the army ants

Years of itinerancy and a drawerful of culturally appropriate skirts – her characterization of my collection when we started sharing closet space. I had a bright selection of Indian sarongs – for select white walls. And faded Indonesian lungi that clothed me on those indolent summer days. Lengths of Thailand did occasional table cloth duty. My most treasured travel memories – functional pieces of art which crossed many cultures.

It wasn't just memories I was buying. There was also employee loyalty – I’d asked my Indian project manager to delay his vacation a coupla weeks and needed some good silk sarong to appease his father in law. I shared this motivation with the vendor after we agreed on a price. He showed me the manufacturer’s label. “Tanzanian premium kanga – Mumbai India.”

“Ashanti sana” - “thanks very much”

Ah globalization. I could hardly visualize its distant metropolises with sand between toes and a cold “safari” lager to cut the heat.

“Akuna matada” – “no problem.”

Well there are just too many clues to leave them unattended. Kwa meads “for”. The letter “m” in front of a word might indicate the person who does the word. “saan" might make its predecessor superlative. Her analysis would have certainly been more comprehensive and bold.

Her clues … we probably forced them underground for a while – turned them into unnecessary pain. The way I often force memories to serve my sadness – refusing to leave disappointment to the future.

I should leave those clues alone. There is the more pressing puzzle of Farsi to unfold. And “teacher quality development strategy” to spearhead. Puzzles with some of the pieces, and some values attached to their connection. Even the naming and framing as puzzles commands significant respect – or at least salary. A challenge with not too much emotional attached.

Until I spit out – innocent on vacation to buy a few sarong. And confront her kangas.

In reality I seek them out. Those kangas that framed her "not quite Bottecielli" hips. With their archived mysteries – “nanasi si tango” …






A Casting out

There IS a SCENE in the heart of Herat. A happeningness. Yoga, rugby against a youthful afghan team, and even a mobile bar.

World Vision’s decision to enter the 1st annual western afghan theatre festival was not taken lightly.

It is partly about working in the community. Inspiring and helping shape a common language. It was to no small extent a reaction to ongoing religious and faith labeling. Too many glass ceilings had proven impenetrable. And then here was the management survey – a significant number of the national staff felt like they were being preached to.

And of course there were lot of stories waiting in staff closets.

The casting team moved quickly. The national counterpart coordinator summoned his charges. “They wanna do a play about life in Afghanistan and each of you has a crack at a good part.”

Or did they? Closer inspection revealed that counterparts had:

a) no job descriptions

b) no instructions about what to work on

c) no performance based way to distinguish one from the other

When questioned, many could not even name their international counterpart

Count on a cooler head ….

“wait a minute let’s all step back and take a look at who the characters are before we cast them.” It was the Canadian – whenever the Italian management consultant was in the room he felt obliged to speak up for process.

“What motivates them?”

Well the boss is a big hearted do-gooder – perhaps trying to atone for the years of his minister father’s failed conversions. Definitely trying to make Christianity useful. And his first kid is on the way – can’t hurt to give it some culturally appropriate religion – the best lessons are the good examples. And the bad

Long term leadership probably rests with the deputy country director. You can get tight sharing Indonesia glory days. Stay clear of recent separations.

Maybe the “running from” theme has some convergence with our disarmament work in Afghanistan. One struggles to find a good metaphor here – guns and their idealized absence has some universal relevance. Let's say we persuade every neighbourhood warlord with his ten person militia to give it up – what will we do with all those gunless – gutless - people. How do we give them confidence that the folks down the street will also disarm.

Then there’s the German clock work. The little bit of power everybody gets from being a piece of the machine. I really love our chief administrator’s sarcasm – the bite to alert but not to hurt. “Das verschreibt er bleibt” – but don’t hold me to it.

Mr. Commodities – from Kenya – is a great negotiator. He enters every senior management debate by saying “I tend to agree with …” – always trying to find some workable compromise – without selling his staff short.

Bottom line - Nobody can play us like we do.

But we still need someone to change the sets.






Time difference

On my fifth day at the resort I finally noticed the tide chard chalked on the blackboard near the entrance to the bar. This could make life even easier.

Wow these people need help I thought. Great info but what day is it – I looked helplessly at the “dayslashmonth” column. “Oh that has not been updated for a coupla weeks" – one of the slick mainland service girls I find so engageable

I’ve settled in to the punctual routine of a few early morning coffees and naps and then a long foray along the beach to write a drink. A good cock tale perhaps.

My time indifference had already taken a beating that day when the hair cut lady showed up a l'heure for my shave. I was quickly at home in the office she rents at the resort – for 40% of the take. You got your batik on display – the henna colours – the braiding beads - and the kids in their school uniforms photo and the ”how did you end up in ZanziBAR” story retold for another mainland soul. Work., Obligations to children. The spark of independence that shines in these young women who take their equatorial time with me.

I am shorn, and slotted for a healthy hour message tomorrow. I am rolling in good numbers – whose gonna be my next supplier? I slow down at reception, and grab at the hoots and “look young” salutations. “Can you cut me a better deal on the next four nights.” She has to take it to her manger – I hadn’t expected any time delay in the negotiations.

No objection - at least there is a clear process in place. Careful now you are slipping towards a price comparison. Its vacation time remember. Follow that slick dhow propelled monsoon winds. Make the horizon my clock.

Has any time really passed?

They drop anchor and cast late morning lines. And as they mind the sea they talk about – what? – women – children – something that is their own – where is the own I have?






Dropped from a high height

Well we could have dropped the food and the accountability paper work and low literacy instruction booklet or we could have distributed the emergency rations from the regional health centres. Not sure we had that much time for a land rollout – and besides “drop” is so much more multilateral – like the German helicopters.

As long as we get a good set of photos in the report from our clients – yes folks this is the future of development with customer surveys and other slick marketing tools. But no condoms.

I am on the beach but never far from the two cornerstone organizational development issues

Put the facts in …

Know the criteria …

But i am early disturbed by the bar tender who tells me that the hot singer on the boom box died recently. Not context offered.

Don’t get too relaxed. Every choice has some fall-out. Heh the heat got turned up immediately the boss embraced the starvation emergency. Our loyal funder wondered why we had food left over from last year.

Some lives were saved and some rich people’s money well spent. This is what God intends. There will always be some folks in need.

But that is not why the drop vs. distribute decision is so monumental. Management started wondering much more strategically.

Can I write something intelligible to inspire a thread. A backwards decoding.

Check out those harmonies. So “I IV V” – ah easier to look genuine. Or at least to repeat and popularize.

Stay readable. It costs not more than a little focus on the every stroke. Some people need a very specific brush to the character shape.

We dropped. From a great height.

That was one month ago. Tomorrow our new manager will be starting in that zone. I hope they didn’t hire his brother – wife pregnant with #2 in two years.

Give some things a fighting chance.





Enjoy the Entrails

I wish you could see the smell of those squid. Guts in discrete piles on the beach. They will be dog food soon but are low priority now. The calm heart settles the stench just above nose level. There is still a faint breeze on your forehead. Until you stop moving

A colleague in Afghanistan has in her photo collection a gigantic phallus like squash in the market on the Turkmenistan border. You can almost feel its size, radiating the midday heat. Zanzibar squid parts seem much more sinister.

Another catch has been transacted – the beach will return to a quiet hypnotic surf. As it does in every story when we step back from the need to plot. Or the directors advice to cast motivation.

But sensation is hard to ignore. That hot sand is on the therapeutic side of painful. But losing ground as I get no shadow respite. Long before any danger of burning I succumb to my plastic sandals.

I am just in time for the last few bids on a gigantic swordfish. Two men cooperate to cart it away. There seem to be three parties in the auction. If I knew my numbers I might get a sense of how the bidding went. Definitely heated. Some big feast happening somewhere.

I’d hate to be the guy who couldn’t go higher. Hey there is always some disappointment be cause somebody else got it for just slightly more than you were willing to pay. But I am talking about having to take every body out for dinner tonight and blow a much bigger wade. Or spend the next coupla hours hanging about and hoping there is another auction.

Enjoying the entrails.




It rains in season

“It should be raining soon – it’s the rainy season.” I could not elicit any more specific prediction in response to my “when”? It seems plans had been made. Just let them unfold.

Like the way children explode onto a harmonica beach. There’s fear of an alien sound so intrusive at close range. But a curiosity to witness something unique – to participate in a little scene.

By that time I had parade of 50 and some crowd control was necessary. Quick demo. Breathe in and out makes a tune. Try it. You, you, you, gently folks, like this …

Lots of happy lips. And a little creativity stirred. Makes em restless – which could be a problem if they cannot manage disappointment.

I have a brief fantasy about taking ten kids for a week and running a music class. One of my first narratives chronicled the formation of “Elvis was a Truck drier” – a Vancouver garage jam band works. We looked for new sounds – we were indulgent but soft in the drugs we used to purse unexplored territory. We never did much professional development except play. Throughout my professional life in diverse domains I have looked for training opportunities – can’t help but make one a fuller person.

How here where the comparisons makes sense. Where can I best invest. In Afghanistan. Get a music class going. Make myself useful. During the rainy season. “When its supposed to rain.”




An unequivocal lingering

She brings the coffee unannounced this AM. I wanted an unequivocal first taste. Unchallenged by mango juice or banana slice. Then as wished a settling down to breakfast under her curious gaze. As always I linger.

To smell the damp thatch before it dries in the noon day sun. To trace yesterday's traffic in the beach sand before it gets raked back to Japanese garden perfection. To capture as much of the former wine as was still witness today’s grape.

She studies the small breakfast crowd with smiled curiosity. Paid to obverse – when the fruit plate is done replace it with the croissant and crepes – and no sugar in this batter please. Paid to grace the dining room, to be the smile of hospitality, of obligation suspended.

The coffee cups the morning so warmly. And hot milk. Those of us with former lives in North American Italian neighborhoods know the dangerous pace of a strong brew. Committed to the crowd if one needs to be supportive of an Italy world cup drive.

Let it flush your checks. Let it bite your palette. Note - test - your sense – your more alive nose. You are your more nose alive.

She will try to take the coffee pot as part of a grand sweep of the table. You will raise your glance patronly over the set and she will rearrange it free of dishes and you will meet her eyes with little sparkle of thanks and she will shuffle to the kitchen and her other royal self and you will wonder from your mouth again. Another sip

Try this out with just a little sugar. Heh that aromatic bite stills shines. You have always treated coffee as the sacrosanct morning drug inviting your work to spread out on the kitchen table at home. Imagine trying something new

I hardly hear the sea front roll. The volume raising the beat stepping up as is fame down. The morning thinks shower – are the days of monsoon waiting over?

I am set for my thesis on this breakfast cup. A generous pot goes far. I catch the sea swell, the in tide and some wind fatten reef crest almost a mile off shore. I imagine we can see India.

I rest on that horizon for a minute – the Goa not visited because of visa fuckup. As so it’s the coffee that will linger. That will be the unequivocal.


Copywrite Notice Peter Gillies May 2005