So, quite a while ago now, I came
down Kilimanjaro, met my friend in Dar Es Salaam, watched my dad drive away in
a somewhat questionable taxi, and boarded a ferry to the Tanzanian spice island
known as Zanzibar. Kate and I were met at the ferry terminal by a Tanzanian man
holding a cardboard sign with her name on it. He guided us through the back
alleys of Stonetown, boutiques of colorful artwork and overpriced tourist items
flying by as I tried to keep up. We arrived at the hostel to discover our room
was four very steep flights of stairs up, right on the deck overlooking the
back alleys and architecture of the city. The view was amazing and the weather,
stifling hot. We pulled our two twin beds together under the ceiling fan,
although most nights I spent spread-eagle without sheets, trying to capture an
bit of coolness that I could.
After our brief rest, we began our
journeys on the town. We wandered the tiny streets, occasionally jumping out of
the way of passing scooters and mopeds in the narrow alleys. The buildings were
so different than the one-story mud houses I’ve seen for almost two years, and
the back alleys were dotted with
mosques, not the usual Christian churches of Rwanda. Men and women passed by in
traditional Islamic attire, and tourists seemed to be everywhere. Initially the
sundresses, tank tops and shorts were shocking, and I fought myself to not pass
judgment, as I also resorted to shorts as soon as we hit the beach and I didn’t
remove them practically until we returned to Stonetown a week later.
Our
first night in Zanzibar, we wandered around looking to fill the seafood shaped
void that had been growing in me since I left the Pacific NW. Finally we
settled on a little place where I ordered clam chowder and crab alfredo. I was
in mini-heaven. As we sat, we made friends with the other patrons who turned
out to be US aid workers in Rwanda. We were also approached by the owner who
was a returned Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya, now living in Zanzibar. It was
such a wonderful and friendly first night on the island. We went to bed
absurdly hot, but full of great food and content spirits, ready to wake the
next day for more adventures and exploration.
Kate
(my friend) is an immensely patient and laid back person, in many ways my polar
opposite. But, I have to hand it to her, she put up with my consistent
complaints of overheating and sweating as we wandered around the island! Day
two, we walked around more of Stonetown, through the market, along the
boardwalk and even got some ice cream bars (which were AMAZING). Although
Tanzania has a different currency (shillings) than Rwanda (francs), the
increments are both by the thousands. The shilling’s exchange rate is more than
the franc however, $1 being equal to RFW 607 (Rwanda) and 1,500 shillings. So
in Tanzania, when anyone quoted me a price, my reaction was always shock at how
expensive things were, even though they really weren’t. I never got the hang of
shillings versus francs.
It
was also very hard not to be able to communicate, reminiscent of my first eight
months in Rwanda. They speak Kiswahili in Tanzania, and although there are some
similarities in Kinyarwanda, my Swahili pretty much maxes out with hakuna matata, and asking what time it
is (not that I could understand their answer to that question)! So, I couldn’t really communicate or bargain,
which I have come to love. I imagine myself back at Safeway in the states
telling a check-out clerk to lower their price. May not be the best approach.
Anyways, back on the spice island, we went to dinner that night at the open air
seafood market. Between 50 and 100 merchants set up barbecues and ovens and make seafood brochettes, pizza, and other
things. There is fish on a stick octopi or squid tentacles, mussels on a stick
and full shrimp or lobster. The choices were kind of overwhelming and sometimes
relatively disgusting looking, although I’m sure they were absolutely
delicious. We each got fish. We also ran
into a lot of volunteers we knew from Rwanda and met a lot of PCVs from other
countries.
The
next day we boarded an open-air version of the squeeze bus. Really it was a
truck converted to transport people, but it was awesome, as I didn’t have to
fight with a bunch of people to keep the windows open. I got all the air I
wanted. We rode this to almost the northernmost tip of the island to a place
called Nungwi. After a 15 minute walk, we checked into our bungalow and got
settled. Our hotel was really nice, on the quieter end of the beach. It also
was home to a natural pool which in turn was home to between eight and ten
turtles that you could swim with. Every
morning the employees would scour the beach for seaweed filling a bucket they’d
leave next to the pool. We could go and feed the turtles, and they were so used
to this that as soon as a person would approach, they’d swarm the steps. I have
to admit, this made it a little daunting to get in at times, but I did like to
sit on the steps and feed and watch the turtles swimming around their home. The
pool was affected by the tides, so low tide, the water barely hit my waist, and
high tide, I couldn’t touch the bottom.
We
were a one minute walk from the beach which is where I went almost as soon as
we arrived. Unfortunately it was low tide which exposes a series of tide pools
that run most of the length of the beach. This left the ocean (the swimmable
portion) at least a ten minute walk, maybe closer to 20, wading through the
shallower water across a field of sea urchins. Several times we saw tourists
limping along the beach as a result of urchin encounters. So I walked a ways
along the beach and saw what there was to see, but mostly I watched the ocean.
Later we walked the opposite direction in search of dinner. We settled on a
place called Mangys which stood in a central area for beach access restaurants.
We were enticed by the name, and the sign for happy hour out front. Although I
love so many things about Rwanda, one of the things I would change is the
complete lack of cocktails. When there is hard liquor on the menu here, it is
served in a very expensive shot form. So, happy hour and cocktails were two
things I hadn’t seen since my last month in Oregon, and I hate to say, I missed
them.
We
had burgers and drinks and we indulged in our week long vacation on the beach.
Each day we walked along the beach. It felt so good to be barefoot, walking
along the shockingly blue ocean on white sand beaches. Several other volunteers were staying about
three kilometers down the beach in a place called Kenwa. We wandered down and
hung out with them, including on New Years. We also got massages a couple of
times in their village. They were party central on the beach and it was always
nice to see them, then be able to head back to
our quiet end of the island. Walking to their hotel on New Years, we got
trapped by high tide and we couldn’t pass. Used to Oregon where places are not
built literally right to the edge of the ocean, it was so surprising to me that
at high tide there was nowhere that we could pass.
One “inclusive” (as the guard told me,
although he meant to say “exclusive,” and with how he treated us, I really want
to call him an idiot for his mistake) resort refused to let us pass along their
property, so we had to (after being escorted off their property) make our way
to the main road and walk the long way around, at night. When we finally
arrived, our friends were nowhere to be found and you can’t buy anything at
their hotel without a hotel charge card, which I again thought was relatively
ridiculous. Finally we found them and our bight really began. The hotel had a
live show, followed by fireworks and lots and lots of dancing. It very much
felt like your typical “people getting away, without supervision, and going
crazy” shindig. It was a great and distracting night which is awesome because I
usually hate new years. Finally around 4 AM, Kate and I began our trek back to
our hotel, only to get stuck by high tide yet again. After being escorted off
the “inclusive” hotel’s property again, we finally decided to call for a taxi at
another hotel who were amazingly inviting and helpful.
We
slept in on the first with me groaning audibly every time the power went out
and the fan would stop. It was amazing to be able to dip my feet into the
Indian Ocean on the first of January. I was really happy not to have internet
access as the first thing I saw when I
was able to check my facebook were all the tributes to Linds and Steph. These
tributes are amazing and it’s awesome to be reminded of all the great things
about these two amazing women, their lives, and the people in them, but as soon
as I read these tributes, my heart felt instantly heavy. So, I spent New Years
with them in my heart, toes in the final physical resting place, without the heaviness
for the first time since January 1,2007. It was nice and empowering to have a
happy New Years, especially with the ocean creating such close ties.
Anyways,
the second was our last full day on the island. We walked to Kenwa and got
massages, the time planning around the high tide schedules. On the walk back,
we stopped to swim and Kate came foot to sea urchin. The animals got their
spiny spurs stuck deep in both her feet. She then became one of those limping
tourists. I followed her limping to the nearest hotel where a random employee
worked to pull the spines out and rubbed her foot with soothing papaya. This
endeavor was followed by a fun-filled distracting happy hour back at Mangys.
Kate was in a lot of pain, but the happy hour did help!
Finally
the day arrived to leave the beautiful Zanzibarian beaches and spend a couple
nights in Dar Es Salaam back at the Best Western Hotel thanks to Kate’s parents
this time. We hopped a bus back to Stonetown only to find all the ferries, but
the night ferry, were booked that day. So we bought our night ferry tickets and
headed to the park to wait for boarding at 8 PM. After another seafood market
buffet and another ice cream bar we headed for the ferry, found our seats and
waited. The ferry was supposed to leave at 10 PM. As ten hit, an announcement
was made that due to choppy seas, the ferry would wait until 3AM to depart.
After seven hours of sitting, and rocking with the waves, sleeping intermittently,
and feeling like I’d been on the most obnoxious slow motion roller coaster
ever, my stomach was relatively upset, and the ferry set off.
About
5 AM a small child started vomiting absurdly loud in the packed cabin, which
made it more difficult to distract me from my own queasiness. I never
understood my brother’s complaints of sea sickness while he was in the Navy. We
grew up on the water, it is home to me. But, he was definitely right, the ocean
is very different than rivers. Finally 7 AM rolled around, we arrive in port,
got a rickshaw to the Best Western just in time for the awesome breakfast
buffet. We turned on the air conditioner, ate mango, bacon and French toast
with real syrup, then crashed after an 11 hour ferry ride.
The
day we spent here was nice and relaxed. I spent most of it resting, still
trying to calm my stomach. Kate made it
out to Subway, something I hadn’t eaten since high school and we enjoyed hot
showers and bad movies on the tv. We awoke at four to catch the bus back to
Rwanda. Although long, the bus to Rwanda wasn’t so bad. When we crossed the
border, I was so happy to be able to communicate again. We made it to Kigali
about 36 hours later, and I barely made a bus to Butare, and only did because
some man sold me his ticket. Checking into my hotel in Butare, I felt so
relieved to be back in home territory. Here, I ran into a couple PCVs from my
group and we grabbed dinner together. It was an amazing conclusion to a much
needed and wonderful vacation. The next day I hopped a bus home and felt
rejuvenated, happy and ready to tackle my last six months in Africa.
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