Canned cheese is Weird

I should be clear about something: This is NOT a development blog. I may rant about life in the developing world, but that's just me venting. I am not in Zanzibar to save the starving kids, cure AIDS, or fix the broken government. This is a personal blog. Its supposed to be about my life, experiences and my take on everything from politics to cheese. (Its the processed Kraft stuff, but it comes in a tuna can.)
I've noticed that I'm changing - I was never shy, but I'm starting to become more of a self-starter. For example, I started reading a book about Urban Design and failed Colonialism in Zanzibar. And then I started to contact locals that were interviewed by the author. (It's fairly easy to find someone here just by asking - people might send you to 10 wrong places but eventually it works.) And then I found out that the professor who wrote the book is back in Zanzibar for a few months. A little later and I now have his phone number. This is relatively new for me. I think it may be the friendly/ask-anyone-anything culture here that's changed me. Locals call it the "survival of humanity." They see the West as devoid of care and concern for your fellow 'binadamu' (sons of Adam).
Toronto can be cold (temperature-wise too), but I liked it. The concrete city, inside and out. It was efficient and you were free to be yourself, because really, nobody you didn't care about spoke to you anyway. At the same time, I guess that meant nobody was willing to help a stranger. And I have noticed before that in smaller Ontario towns, people are friendlier. (Except for the racist ones, but I digress.) This isn't very coherent, but I guess what I mean is: It's taken Zanzibar to make me realize that a city's stone walls don't have to match the hearts of its people. To be fair, you do have to conform here. Wear shorts or start talking without going through a 5 minute intro of your whole family, and you won't get any help. Back in Toronto - wear a pink tutu on the subway, and you're just from Rosedale.