The island of Zanzibar has been without power since the middle of December. A power line installed below the Indian Ocean’s turquoise waters in the late sixties by the Swedish(?) was said provide electricity to the island for up about 25 years. Forty years later, the cable old and in long need of replacement finally snapped and the 990,000 residence have been without electricity ever since. Fully knowing the condition of the island, we decided to bring my mother there anyway.
My mom arrived without any complications in Dar Es Salaam on the 9th of January. Thankfully for us, but maybe not for her, she brought with her some cooler weather from Vermont. Dar is typically so humid and sticky you can ring you clothes out and make afternoon tea. But on the day she arrived cloud cover had rolled in and we spent our first night with her in Dar unaccosted by the heat.
The next morning we made our way down to the Ferry dock, Jonah donning Mom’s suitcase on his head in true African style and patiently made our way through the crowds of street ticks ushering us inside the office as if we had no idea as to where we were going and if they weren’t all there to show us how to walk inside the building we never could have done it without them-it is these kind of experiences that are wearing on me…it is nice to have a community help you, though after a while you realize it is not for your benefit at all. Unfortunately we had just missed the early boat-once again, the guide book was wrong and I should have called the office, had there been a number to call-so we bought tickets for the 12:00 boat and helped ourselves to complimentary tea and samosas.
When the boat arrived we made our way down to the dock with the other passengers, amazed at the lack of order, the pushing and shoving, the sheer determination of the Tanzanians to get on the boat, as if it was the last chance ever to get to Zanzibar. Though it might not have been the last chance, it was definitely for a purpose that the chaos ensued. As we made our way closer to the boat, we quickly realized we were suddenly at the back of the line. Having not been as pushy and having taken the time to stop and hand off our larger luggage, the stampede of the locals had filled the boat before us and all at once the queue to get on the boat stopped. Women in long robes and head scarves yelled and pleaded, men shouted, the crowd gathered at the ramp leading up to the boat pushed and heaved in protest. I managed to make my way to the side of the ramp and in my best Swahili demanded to either have our luggage or to be let on the boat. I was fuming inside at this point as we had been the first to buy our tickets, we had waited patiently and all the while, unbeknownst to us, the greed behind the counter of the boat company had sold too many tickets and was now prohibiting us to get on. I could hear the pleas of mothers’ whose children were already on board, another foreigner protested that her bags were already aboard, and I glared at the man stopping us all from getting on. Meanwhile Jonah and Mom had pushed their way to the front of the line and stood waiting for me to tell them what to do. All at once the man looked at me and said, “Hurry, get on. Hurry!” Mom and Jonah leapt upon the opportunity and stepped up the ramp. I on the other hand was standing next to and below the ramp and had to be pulled onto and over the side. The issued a small riot of the others behind me throwing their children up and over the sides, following my lead. Once on board I tried to regain my composure, but was so mad and embarrassed that this was how the country I was here to help acted that I completely lost it. The man who had finally permitted me aboard saw my emotional state of melt down and tried to usher us into the main seating room. I only glanced inside to see it was completely full. “I paid for three seats and we want three seats!” I demanded. White foreigners have to pay almost three times as much as the locals. “Ok, come with me,” the man said leading the way to the main cabin. And that is where we ended up riding, Mom perched high on a captain’s chair, bobbing eloquently on the Indian Ocean’s white caps next to two Tanzanian ship Captains, while Jonah and I enjoyed our own little deck just off the cabin complete with a full view of the sea and fresh air. After a good cry I settled into the ride, feeling slightly ashamed of myself and now bad that we had such good seats. But, you have to understand that when you are here to help a country, it is utterly disappointing when its residence cannot even help themselves by merely forming an orderly line. Needless to say, my Mom did much better than I and throughly enjoyed her ride to Zanzibar. Our only other little snag in the journey to the island is that Jonah brought a copy of his passport along with him, rather than the original, which has his stamped visa in it. After much pleading and discussion with an immigration officer who kept talking directly to me about the purpose of “control”, he let Jonah onto the island only after he wrote a sincere apology letter to Zanzibar about forgetting his passport. I was surprised we got off that easy and was waiting to hear how much we had to bribe our way in.
In the Lonely Planet, Mary Fitzgerald, the author for the area writes, “Step off the boat onto Zanzibar, and you’ll be transported through the miles and the centuries-to the ancient kingdom of Persia, to the Oman of bygone days with its caliphs and sultans, to the west coast of India with its sensual rhythms and heavily laden scents. In Stone Town-the heart of the archipelago-narrow, cobbled alleyways wind past Arabic-style houses with brass-studded wooden doors. Elderly men in their Kanzu (white robes) and Muslim caps chat animatedly over cups of strong coffee while playing a seemingly never-ending game of boa (a board game). Nearby, veiled women in their flowing, black bui-bui (cover-alls) pause to share the latest gossip, while children chase balls through the streets.” She goes on to warn tourists of the other side of Stone Town with its street urchins, harassing you to into being your unofficial tour guide, dangerous motorbikes cruising through the labyrinth of the very narrow and zigzagging streets and the high costs you must pay to be a visitor. I have to say that we enjoyed both the good and the bad of Zanzibar, with our without electricity.
The island hummed and growled, sputtered and farted, sang and chirped the songs of a generator orchestra. Women, whose family could not afford a generator, sat in dark shops by day and kerosene restaurants by night. Hotels acquired tourists by advertising how long their fans would run through the night. But despite the lack of electricity and despite the loud rumble of generators each night, most of the hotels were still packed. We finally found refuge in the Koukins Hotel-an old building with a long, winding wooden staircase up the middle and a rooftop terrace where we enjoyed breakfast each day. Through the hotel we booked a Spice Tour that brought us out a local forest where black, white and red pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, vanilla beans, nutmeg, ginger, turmeric, and all sorts of strange fruits were being grown as an edible forest garden.
Our other adventures on the island included a birthday party for our dear friend Martin, whom we had spent Christmas with and who has lived on the island for almost 2 years, dinner out at Freddy Mercury’s, Queen’s own lead singer who was born on the island, and a three day beach holiday with a bunch of Rastas, who run a very chill, yet comfy place along the turquoise waters of Jambiani’s beach line. All of us thoroughly enjoyed the rest, the reggae music and the fresh seafood.
We decided to catch the earliest boat back to the mainland and bought our ticket the day before, double, even triple checking it was for 7am the next morning. We awoke before dawn, packed our bags, said goodbye to our dear hosts at Koukins and their generator (which, by the way, did not run through the hot, sweaty nights), and wandered through the maze of the Stone Town streets, which by at the this time were being navigated and mastered by Jonah and his excellent sense of direction. By first light we and a few other disappointed travelers-mostly Wazungus-found out the boat was not leaving until 9:30 and we would just have to wait. This is Tanzania exactly.
Our voyage home was uneventful and comfortable in first class (we pushed and shoved with the best of them and got amazing seats!) Back in Dar we called our faithful Taxi driver, Samuel- a super sweet man who always insists I pay whatever fare I desire-and made our way to the Ubongu Bus Station where we boarded the bus back to Morogoro.
Visiting Tanzania without going on Safari is like going to Vermont and not stopping by a Sugarhouse. It is an amazing experience, magical and rewarding. It is also a bit like driving through Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. The animals are all there on display, though they are completely wild and free to roam about; it still sometimes feels like a glorified zoo. Our guide, Innocent, stressed that it is not a zoo and that we would be lucky to see any animals at all. But animals we saw-oh my! Giraffes, zebras, monkeys, elephants, and even a few lions-though they were very far in the distance and lounging heavily in the tall grass. But the animals were beautiful and extremely interesting to watch. We ended the day with Indian food and in good company (several other travelers had joined us as well as Sandra and her mother who was visiting from Holland).
On Saturday we went out to the school where the girls were very excited and curious about our mother’s. It was great to show my mom around the school and to see the girls living there, as they have just returned from break and are now living in the dormitories. My mom held a crocheting workshop which many of the girls really enjoyed.
On Sunday Mom and I returned to Dar where we found a great beach banda to stay in next to the ocean and outside of the city. Just beyond the ferry to Zanzibar we found there is another ferry that takes you to a beach resort area. Every 5 minutes or so a huge barge packed with cars and people shuttles you across the bay to the outlying peninsula, where there are white sand beaches enjoyed by both Tanzanian and visitors alike. There we had the ocean, a pool and plenty of sunshine. We did some last minute shopping and mostly relaxed. On Monday I brought her to the airport and met up with Jonah in town. We stayed at the beach banda for 2 more nights.
As most of you know, the last time I was here volunteering, I lived in the city of Arusha, which sits below the mountains of Kilimanjaro and Meru. Jonah and I sat on a bus for nine hours in order to return to my old stompin’ grounds, to the Tanzanian city I love the most. My reunion with friends and places there helped me remember why I need to be here. The cool mountain air, chilly nights and bearable days were a fresh and rejuvenating feeling. We stayed with my friend Stevie Wow! Who is one of the most open-minded and caring Tanzanian’s I have ever met. His friends Frank and Elvis fall into the same category. Frank is kind and always happy. Elvis is extremely intelligent and motivated. He peddled 10,000 kilometers on an old mountain bike all over East Africa. He is now giving presentations on his travels and is writing a book.
I got to revisit Women in Action (WIA) the organization I worked for last time after Aang Serian proved to be a complete waste of time and money. Mama Mosha from WIA is still doing amazing work and helping out thousands of woman in need. Check out their website, www.womeninaction.org. And I also paid a visit to my friend Loshiro’s village in the Maasai planes. I really wanted to see them, bring them some food and to have Jonah meet them. Their village is extremely poor. Most all of my Maasai friends that I talked with told me their villages were struggling due to climate change and land issues. All of the cattle and most of the sheep and goats in Loshiro’s village died last spring and their corn simply dried up and withered back onto the dry barren land. The children looked as if they had not grown in the year and half that I have been gone. Only the flies have grown in numbers, covering their faces almost entirely. The babies were blinded and near suffocating with the amount of winged creatures filling their noses and open gasping mouths, their hands dirty and caked with mud, food, manure, and most likely their own excretement where also alive and buzzing with insects. It was really hard to be there and watch. Our trip there was short and difficult. Our taxi driver kept threatening to charge more on the already expensive trip out-we didn’t have the time to walk out-so we said our goodbyes and piled back in and drove away on nonexistent roads through sunken, eroding fields, past grazing cattle, now restocked and enjoying the benefit of the rains, past mud bomas and grinning Maasai children. We made one more stop on our way out to a family who had lost their baby girl that morning. They sat around in a quiet daze, neither crying nor talking, just sitting. Loshiro said it was good she had died, because she had suffered so much and now she is with God and is no longer suffering. He gave them money so they could buy tea when all the visitors came to pay their condolences. I donated some of the money from the Fundraiser to this village to get some food and to help pay some of Loshiro’s school fees so that he can finish his education to be a tour guide and make money for his village.
Stevie took us back to Moshi where we saw Mt Kili from the bus window and where we hiked to an excellent waterfall that I had been to before, and where we sampled local brew.
I have to admit, I miss Arusha a lot. I miss its mild climate, my friends there, the shops and local restaurants that I knew so well, the busy markets and the people. Morogoro just isn’t as friendly and its hot-have I mentioned this yet? It is hot enough that drops of sweat are carousing down my back and my legs as I type at 11 in the morning inside, out of the sun.
Now that the school is up and running, my daily schedule has changed. We don’t have access to the car anymore. The girls have taken over the watering and the humidity has set in over our garden plot. Lots of food is growing and being harvested. The girls have been dining on the eggplants, tomatoes, beets (though they don’t know how to cook them and have been eating them raw, so naturally they hate them!), amaranth, and several other African greens. The major problem now is that the bugs have made our garden into a glorified snack bar. We have worms in the tomatoes, aphids of some sort on the eggplant leaves and beetles on the cucumbers. Our natural pesticide is not really doing the trick, so I need to research something and do it fast! Frank continues to increase the number of beds to plant in, which is fine, but I think it is too big and may be a reason we will have so many bugs. I really want to implement more of a natural forest garden in permaculture terms, but that is proving to be extremely challenging to explain. Luckily one of the teachers is a botanist and is interested and she speaks fluent English. So my duties over the next month or two is to train her and to plant trees-lots and lots of trees!
Jonah leaves in less than a week and I think he is looking forward to returning to the cold and to sugaring. Stop by and see him in Mud City and you can share stories over back pan tea in the Sugar House. I on the other hand will be sweating it out here, but look forward to getting back to Vermont in the Spring. I miss you all and apologize that I haven’t written in a while, but I had lots of traveling to take care of and visitors to entertain.
Be well, and keep in touch!
Much love,
Linz
