Let the Misadventures Continue

I am wearing the same clothes, more or less, for four days now. Here's why - Our flight was to have a 2 1/2 layover in France before proceeding to Zanzibar. Due to the incompetance of the Montreal bagage handlers we lost close to an hour. Subsequently the snow storm required an additional hour long delay to de-ice the plane. We arrived at Charles de Gaulle with 25 minutes to catch the connection. Lori and I hightailed it from the arrival gate to the departure gate. As we got closer I was crushed to see what I interpreted as a badly translated notice indicating access to the plane was no longer permitted. Turns out 'Dar es Salaam' is actually a city in Tanzania and not a badly spelled advisory that 'Door is Slammed'. So while we made it to the aircraft on time, our luggage was not equally fortunate Our suitcases were not as agile. They were last seen at a café on Boulevard St. Michel drinking pastis while crooning Maurice Chevallier and Jacques Brel songs. Fortunately, AmEx has a policy in place that provides a budget for clothing, pharmaceuticals, etc. due to unanticpated delays. Unfortunately, providing the requisite documentation and invoices to them is not very likely given the types of haberdasheries available in this tiny village of Matemwe, where your intrepid travellers find themselves.

Zanzibar is 95% Muslim. More on that soon. I was hoping to find an imam who knew his way around a cutting table, shears, and a bolt of cloth. I would have submitted an invoice from Lord and Tailor, hoping it would pass muster. Alas and alack, no such luck. These 'shops' ended up suppying Lori and me with the bare necessities. Walking through the streets with our Masai guide, looking for clothes, a razor, etc. was an eye opener. We are not unaccustomed to seeing unpaved roads, half finished buildings and street vendors. What was new in this environment was the propensity of Muslim establishments. As I compose this posting at 6:45 AM the sound of a muzzerin calling the faithful to prayer permeates the atmosphere. Our guide pointed out a building.

"Madrasa" he said. I was very pleased and excited, figuring out that I would be able to purchase a couple of pairs of multi-plaid preppy shorts to add to my collection. It turns out that a madrasa is a religious school that teaches children the fundamentals (bad word choice?) of Islam. It calls to mind yeshivas. In both instances secular education is eschewed in favour of learning Koran or Torah. While I appreciate and respect learning of any form, to forgo math, literature, computers, linguistics, geography, history, etc. only serves, in both instances, to further isolate the young from mainstream society. I belive that a more rounded curiculum would,in the relatively short term, serve to break dow many of the barrirs which have led to the ongoing mistrust and cultural differentiations that are presently haunting the world. But what do I know, I ain't no Political Scientist Oh yeah, forgot; Mc Gill '77 BA International Relations; I guess I am. The saving grace, however, were two secular schools, primary and secondary, just steps away from the madrasa and the mosque. Let's hope.

Today we leave the hotel and move into more spartan accomodations at the volunteer center as the real, underlying purpose of our trip kicks in. Hopefully I will have more baggage with me soon than I'm already carrying around.