A Fish Called Dave

As is all too often for the last few years my time is being dominated by several travel courses at the same time (which I can't truly complain about since I'm inevitably the driving force in creating all of them; in a Marxist sense, I'm complicit in my own oppression).  Steve and I are still trying to get all the receipts and paperwork in to Finances for our trip to Zanzibar in January.  I've been swapping emails with my friend Inder in India about next spring's return trip to India.  We're in the middle of interviewing prospective students for next January's return-return-return trip to Zanzibar.  Oh, yeah, and I'm leaving for Jordan in four days.  Yikes.  Still, as oppression goes, that's not too bad.  Anyway, as part of the prep for leaving the country again (now, where is my Passport again?) I'm also carving off time for the mundane tasks such as clearing the 1500 pictures off my phone.  This, happily, and necessarily, forces me to think about doing something with said pictures, and so be prepared for a ton of travel posts, which is what I figured would happen to the blog this year anyway as I got caught up (and as we've passed into the post-Proustian universe; this is a big deal because I find the Proustian universe much more interesting than the Marvel or DC universes). 

As part of the Zanzibar interviews we often find ourselves showing  next picture as something akin to a litmus test for prospective students.  The top picture is typical lunch fare at the Sea View Hotel where we stay in Pemba.  When we're in Dar Es Salaam or Stone Town it's possible to get a wider variety of food, but on a quieter, agricultural island like Pemba you get what they serve (which is fine, because it's always good).  Whatever they serve for lunch or dinner, there will doubtless be a small mountain of fish.  You can certainly be a vegetarian and go on the trip, although it's a bit of a challenge.  It's a great life lesson for the students because they are forced to consider how something as seemingly simple and personal as deciding to become a vegetarian is also a choose based on a certain degree of privilege.  It's not really a choice, or a category, naturally understood on Pemba: why would you willingly turn down protein?

Happily the students quickly, usually anyways, adapt, and even start eating the fish with their hands; well, hand, the right hand, and the lefties learn to sit on their left hands and relearn the fine art of eating.

I knew that Genevieve would have no trouble, since she's traveled more than me.  She did catch me off guard when she named her fish Dave.  There was no explanation given, but the popular theory was that Dave was an ex-boyfriend.  There is no official confirmation on that theory.