Scanning the herd of wazungu who streamed out from the baggage claim area, I saw a few who, from a distance, could have been my brother. Starting to sweat, I worried about not recognizing him after two years. If I ran up and hugged the wrong mzungu, how on earth would I live down the embarrassment?
But he was the same good old brother, only a fair bit thinner, with a more European style (he lives in London now), speaking with the slightest tinge of a British accent, and throwing in ridiculous words such as “crisps” and “trousers.”
With barely a moment to breathe, we hurried away to the ferry dock and just made it onto a morning ferry headed for Zanzibar. I had heard many things about the island of Unguja (the bigger of the two Zanzibar Islands), from spice heaven, to tourist trap, to rip-off, to paradise.
These were the top ten things that surprised me about Zanzibar:
1. The dhow fishing boats being thrown about on Indian Ocean waves, packed full with as many people as can fit without sinking the boat (much like the minibuses on the mainland), and the fact that net-fishing appears to involve several people actually jumping in the water
2. The irritating inevitability of meeting with street touts wanting to take you on tours for “a good price, as you are my friend”
3. Octopus: yes, it’s rubbery and tentacly, but it’s absolutely delicious
4. Meeting Masai men on the beach who have given up a life of cattle-herding on the mainland to sell jewelry to tourists
5. Chatting with these same Masai salesmen about AIDS and learning that they believe the Masai are immune to it
6. The energy and boldness of our stout taxi driver, whose confidence with the traffic police (demanding to see their identification, a preemptive strike) prevented him from having to give any bribes
7. The beauty of Stonetown, with the windy streets, ornate wooden doors, and many mosques and churches, and the ease with which we got completely lost in it several times 8. The difficulty we had when attempting to find the exact spot Freddy Mercury, the singer from Queen, was born (we found only a poster explaining he was born in Stonetown, but the shopowners dismissed me when I asked them for more details)
9. Mangrove trees: the most amazing part of the trip for me was walking down a boardwalk completely surrounded by mangrove trees with their tentacle-like roots. They’re on a floodplain of an estuary, and when the tide is up they’re immersed in seawater. The seeds are like little spears that germinate first on the tree, then fall down and stick in the mud. We planted a few on our walk.
10. Red Colobus monkeys. They’re bold, they’re adorable, and half the time I was gawking at their cute antics, and the other half I was praying they wouldn’t jump on me. They often jumped right over our heads from tree to tree.
So that was Zanzibar. I can only take so much of being a tourist and having people yelling “Jambo mzungu!” at me, so we headed back to the mainland to begin the journey to my village.
Our return ferry trip was crazy, as we got to sit on the bow, dangling our feet over the edge while simultaneously earning nasty sunburns.
In Dar es Salaam we met up with a friend for dinner, accidentally met a famous Bongo Flavor singer named Banana Zoro, and got caught in a traffic jam with the only female taxi-driver in the city.
Then we were off on a high-speed safari to Iringa, catching glimpses of elephants and giraffes, and my brother got a chance to try his hand at bus-window bargaining for bananas and cashews using sign-language.
That night my brother (finally) agreed that I was a genius. I had the idea of getting some tandoori chicken and taking it to a place that serves awesome peas and rice, and we feasted.
Then it was off to the village. I’m used to introducing all of my male visitors as “my brother,” so this time I had to stress that he was from the same mother, same father, or from the same belly.
I had to go teach a lesson at the secondary school, so I left my brother at home. When I came back I found he had already made friends and was touring the village. I found him nodding and smiling at people who would chatter away at him in Swahili, or punch out some sentences in English.
A live chicken
We were supposed to go to lunch with some friends of mine. When we showed up they hadn’t prepared the meal, and felt awful about it. So they stuffed a chicken in a basket and told us to go cook it at home. While thanking them profusely, we exchanged dubious looks, but luckily the eldest son and daughter came to help with the slaughter. It was quite an event. The result was something that resembled maktak or chewing gum in consistency, but with a strong chickeny flavor.
The next day we set out on an all-day, work-related hike, where I visited several people I needed to see about the water project and AIDS activities. I met a little woman who demanded,”Gimme a present!” when she saw me, to which I replied “You give ME a present!” in an equally loud and rude voice. I never thought a friendship would result from the meeting, but we ended up laughing and chatting. It turns out she has AIDS, and is brave enough to be open about it, and I promised to help her and others get help from the district government. She’s actually a very strong, kind lady, despite my first impression of her.
The hike was tiring, but along the way we were given little gifts, some roast corn and a gigantic custard-apple. We got home and dug up some sweet-potatoes from the farm, and cooked them up along with sweet-potato leaf sauce. As expected, we had a few visitors, who were delighted to have another mzungu to chat with.
Low-rider
The next day we set out for Lake Nyasa, meeting my friend the taxi driver, Onne, to drive us to Matema Beach. This time there was less trouble with the traffic police, but we never expected it would be a terribly treacherous ride. Just as we turned on to the dirt road about 2 hours from the beach, the road turned to a complete bog. A flock of young men were hanging around, waiting for cars to get stuck and helping to push them through for a small fee. Onne bargained with them, and soon we were off on a side path being pushed through the mucky parts. Having lived here for almost 2 years, I didn’t think that this agreement was anything out of the ordinary, but my brother was getting nervous at the thought of these people we didn’t know leading us through the bush where the possibility of getting stuck was very high. Emerging triumphantly on the other side, we picked up a teacher who was going our way. He said that last week the road was completely impassable to traffic, but he had to take some documents to town. He hired a man to carry him on his back through chest-high water so the forms wouldn’t get wet, but the man stumbled, and they both fell in, submerging the documents. We were lucky to go when we did! We made it to the beach having crossed several rivers in the car and bottoming out from time to time. The nice part was that we had the whole beach to ourselves, as nobody else dared to risk the road.
Matema was beautiful as usual, and telling stories with Onne is always enjoyable. We rode in a dugout canoe to snorkel and look at the fish, but as it has been rainy, the water wasn’t clear. At night we ate fish from the lake, but, just as last time, I “gave back the change.” I guess Lake Nyasa fish just doesn’t agree with me.
On the way out we got stuck, and my brother and I pushed while Onne steered. I fell in the mud, right in front of a big group of secondary students who had refused to help us. Finally we got towed out of that hole, and once again hired some young guys to push us through the detour at the bog. We got stares from everyone once we reached the main road, until we could make it to the carwash.
So my advice to anyone who wants to have a good time is to go into the Peace Corps in Tanzania and then invite your brother to come visit for two weeks.
Our return ferry trip was crazy, as we got to sit on the bow, dangling our feet over the edge while simultaneously earning nasty sunburns.
In Dar es Salaam we met up with a friend for dinner, accidentally met a famous Bongo Flavor singer named Banana Zoro, and got caught in a traffic jam with the only female taxi-driver in the city.
Then we were off on a high-speed safari to Iringa, catching glimpses of elephants and giraffes, and my brother got a chance to try his hand at bus-window bargaining for bananas and cashews using sign-language.
That night my brother (finally) agreed that I was a genius. I had the idea of getting some tandoori chicken and taking it to a place that serves awesome peas and rice, and we feasted.
Then it was off to the village. I’m used to introducing all of my male visitors as “my brother,” so this time I had to stress that he was from the same mother, same father, or from the same belly.
I had to go teach a lesson at the secondary school, so I left my brother at home. When I came back I found he had already made friends and was touring the village. I found him nodding and smiling at people who would chatter away at him in Swahili, or punch out some sentences in English.
A live chicken
We were supposed to go to lunch with some friends of mine. When we showed up they hadn’t prepared the meal, and felt awful about it. So they stuffed a chicken in a basket and told us to go cook it at home. While thanking them profusely, we exchanged dubious looks, but luckily the eldest son and daughter came to help with the slaughter. It was quite an event. The result was something that resembled maktak or chewing gum in consistency, but with a strong chickeny flavor.
The next day we set out on an all-day, work-related hike, where I visited several people I needed to see about the water project and AIDS activities. I met a little woman who demanded,”Gimme a present!” when she saw me, to which I replied “You give ME a present!” in an equally loud and rude voice. I never thought a friendship would result from the meeting, but we ended up laughing and chatting. It turns out she has AIDS, and is brave enough to be open about it, and I promised to help her and others get help from the district government. She’s actually a very strong, kind lady, despite my first impression of her.
The hike was tiring, but along the way we were given little gifts, some roast corn and a gigantic custard-apple. We got home and dug up some sweet-potatoes from the farm, and cooked them up along with sweet-potato leaf sauce. As expected, we had a few visitors, who were delighted to have another mzungu to chat with.
Low-rider
The next day we set out for Lake Nyasa, meeting my friend the taxi driver, Onne, to drive us to Matema Beach. This time there was less trouble with the traffic police, but we never expected it would be a terribly treacherous ride. Just as we turned on to the dirt road about 2 hours from the beach, the road turned to a complete bog. A flock of young men were hanging around, waiting for cars to get stuck and helping to push them through for a small fee. Onne bargained with them, and soon we were off on a side path being pushed through the mucky parts. Having lived here for almost 2 years, I didn’t think that this agreement was anything out of the ordinary, but my brother was getting nervous at the thought of these people we didn’t know leading us through the bush where the possibility of getting stuck was very high. Emerging triumphantly on the other side, we picked up a teacher who was going our way. He said that last week the road was completely impassable to traffic, but he had to take some documents to town. He hired a man to carry him on his back through chest-high water so the forms wouldn’t get wet, but the man stumbled, and they both fell in, submerging the documents. We were lucky to go when we did! We made it to the beach having crossed several rivers in the car and bottoming out from time to time. The nice part was that we had the whole beach to ourselves, as nobody else dared to risk the road.
Matema was beautiful as usual, and telling stories with Onne is always enjoyable. We rode in a dugout canoe to snorkel and look at the fish, but as it has been rainy, the water wasn’t clear. At night we ate fish from the lake, but, just as last time, I “gave back the change.” I guess Lake Nyasa fish just doesn’t agree with me.
On the way out we got stuck, and my brother and I pushed while Onne steered. I fell in the mud, right in front of a big group of secondary students who had refused to help us. Finally we got towed out of that hole, and once again hired some young guys to push us through the detour at the bog. We got stares from everyone once we reached the main road, until we could make it to the carwash.
So my advice to anyone who wants to have a good time is to go into the Peace Corps in Tanzania and then invite your brother to come visit for two weeks.
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