So, I’m almost three months late in writing about this
trip. But hey, I’m on Africa time. Hakuna Matata, right?!
In late February, I joined two other
PCVs, Laura and Aditi, for a week-long trip to Zanzibar, Tanzania. Laura had
just been there November, but loved it so much that she was willing to go back
with us.
It was surprisingly smooth from the
beginning. Our Precision Air flight
actually left early from Entebbe. That’s not a typo. Our plane. In Africa. Left early. But before we could taxi down to the runway,
the flight crew requested that some people shift to the front of the plane
because it was only half full. We flew
over Lake Victoria, the largest in Africa.
After crossing the desert of Western Tanzania, we made a brief stop at
Kilimanjaro Airport. We changed planes
and went through customs in Dar Es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania. Once we finally got over the coast and
started our descent onto the island, we were greeted by a huge, white full
moon.
We claimed our luggage at a desk because
they didn’t even have a conveyor belt.
After finding a taxi driver and crossing the small, graveled parking lot
we made our way into Stonetown. I could
already smell meat cooking on the street and feel the humidity in the air. I was already in love.
After checking into St. Monica’s hostel,
which is part of a former church (that used to have slave quarters), I headed
out solo to explore the surrounding streets and get a bite to eat. When in doubt, head to the food stand that is
crowded. Earlier, I noticed one where
people were eating chips (fries). Can’t
go wrong with fried food! It seemed like
people were ordering and cooking from both sides. So, I awkwardly stood around as the only
white person (which I’m very good at) until I got the nerve to push my way to
the front and discovered the cook was making a soup. After
I already ordered a bowl, I noticed their method of washing dishes. They scraped off the food into one bucket, or
maybe it was the street, and then quickly dunked the bowl into another bucket
with dirty water and handed it back to the cook. Too late to turn back now! I heard a couple speaking Chinese, so I took
my bowl and sat down on a bench next to the young woman, who was wearing a hijab (head covering for Muslim women). It’s
funny the things we find comfort in, like the fact that I was drawn to two
strangers speaking Mandarin even though there were some people speaking English
around me. As I chatted with them, I
discovered they were from Guangzhou province, which borders Hong Kong. The soup was actually pretty tasty with beef
kebabs hot off the grill, chips, and shredded cabbage in a thick broth that was
almost like gravy.
The next morning we walked down to the
pier to find someone to take us to Prison Island. Pretty quickly we got a good deal and waded to
our boat. The “captain” had to put the
motor on the back of the boat, which I found odd. Prison Island was never
actually a prison, but used to quarantine people arriving to East Africa. We had heard that there were tortoises on
this island and got excited about the prospect of seeing them flopping around
all cute in the waves on the beach.
Nope. They were all corralled
into a muddy, wooded area where European tourists were crouching next to them,
petting their enormous shells and necks, and even straddling them while posing for
pictures. But, the island had spectacular views of turquoise waters.
That afternoon we hired a driver to take
us to Matemwe, on the northeastern part of the island, facing the Indian Ocean. We stayed at a backpacker’s place called
Key’s Bungalow. It was owned by a gentleman
whose family was from India, but he made it clear to me that was Swahili. Key’s was a bit spartan for the price; no seat
on the toilet, only a curtain separating the bedroom from the bathroom and sand
everywhere because there was virtually no sidewalk between the rooms and the
restaurant. But we were right on the
beach with hammocks and lounge areas and a very open, breezy restaurant. The best part about staying at Key’s was the
staff, mainly Simba and Chips.
Simba was in his mid-thirties, constantly
smoking and had dreadlocks, which he claimed he had been growing for nine years.
The only work I ever saw him do was in the mornings when he put cushions on the
lounge chairs. But he was very likeable,
always smiling and shaking hands with us.
He spoke enough English to interact with his guests, but wasn’t
fluent. On our third night, he just sat
down with the three of us during our dinner and tried to strike up a
conversation. It was clear that he had
been drinking most of the day and most likely smoking something funny. He was trying so hard to have a conversation with us, but after a few minutes we
could no longer follow his train of thought or hold back our laughter. I want to make it clear to we were not
laughing at his English, because we all know how difficult it is to not only
learn a second language, but to also have the confidence to use it with someone
you’ve only known a few days. He was
pointing at me and saying things like “You go back America. You very niiiiice.
You first model.” Then out of nowhere, shot his finger at me and in a high
pitch voice said “PEW!” Several nights
later when we returned to Stonetown, we heard kids playing in the alley behind
our hostel saying “PEW! PEW!” So, it
wasn’t just a weird Simba moment, but some type of Zanzibar or Kiswahili expression.
Aditi and I still greet each other with
“PEW!”
Chips was in his early twenties and took
care of the bar/reception area (which was in the restaurant). He had some type
of cut on his cheek, so it was covered with a band-aid most of the time. On our last day there, he told us it was his
birthday. So, we all went out to the
beach and took photos with him and Simba.
Chips started singing the birthday song, but called himself
“Chipsy”. But we just followed his lead
while Simba made his eyes bug out during one photo.
The beauty of Zanzibar is legendary, but it
struck me in an unexpected way. After
dinner on our first night, we were relaxing at our table when I spotted a
reddish light on the horizon. When I pointed it out to Aditi and Laura, we first
thought it was a flame or a light on a ship.
But then, about a minute later, we could tell it was the moon. It was the biggest, brightest, most beautiful
orange moon I have ever seen. Now, I’ve
seen harvest moons in Kentucky, but well after they’ve already risen. This was the first time I’ve ever witnessed a
true moonrise. And to be able to see it
emerge from the Indian Ocean was something to behold. We just sat there in awe for a while. Then, Aditi and I walked down to the beach where
boats were bobbing in the reflection of the moonlight. If I could have just walked through the water
to the horizon, I totally would have hugged the moon. I was so drawn to it. Now I understand why Pagans claim they get
their energy from the moon. (I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, either. I
actually served with a Pagan in Peace Corps China). Every night after dinner, it became a game
with us and Chips to predict how long it would be until the moon would rise. We only saw it one more time and it was pretty
disappointing when we couldn’t see it at all the last few nights.
On our second day, we went snorkeling. Once
we got away from the shoreline and closer to the reef, we started to fully
appreciate how pristine the water was; completely clear and the most stunning
shades of turquoise you can imagine. I have seen similar waters in the Cayman
Islands and Thailand. But Zanzibar took
the cake. After anchoring near several
other boats, we followed our guide, Hussein to the reef. Hussein was quite a
character; doing flips off the back of the boat (usually at Aditi’s request) and
throwing starfish at me. At first we
were in a somewhat shallow part of the reef where we floated above all kinds of
fish; black and white striped, red and purple, blue starfish, and some eels. Out of nowhere, my arms started stinging all
over, but I never saw any jellyfish. Then,
Aditi shot up out of the water and said “Did you feel that?!” We figured out that
we just had to swim away from that area and we were fine, for a few minutes
anyway. Suddenly the reef just dropped
off and the water turned a deeper shade of blue. At its edge, there was a school of yellow fish
that were swimming in a column formation. I wanted to be in that school, in that column
of yellow fish. Badly. So, I tried a few times to swim down to them,
but the pressure was too much for my ears. Rays of sunlight were streaking around my
shadow on the reef. I actually thought to myself, “If I died right now, I would
die happy.” Yes, I realize how much of hippie I sound like, but I can't help it!
On our last full day at the beach, Laura
and I decided to go parasailing. She had
been before, but this was my first time.
We took a dinghy out to a speed boat which was piloted by a Turkish
man. I later noticed that the parachute was
sponsored by Turkish Airlines. I was the
first to go up. Ascending was really
fun, but I have to admit that I was still a little scared once I was up in the
air. Whenever I looked down at the boat
and the water, my stomach got butterflies, so I told myself to just focus on the
horizon and the features of the island. I’m glad I had the experience, but I’m not
sure if I’ll do it again.
When we got back that afternoon, the
three of us attempted to walk out to the sand bar during low tide. As we made our way from the beach, we walked
through rows of farmed seaweed. The water never got above my knees, but there
were spiky sea urchins everywhere. Luckily,
I was wearing my trusty old Chacos, because it was like a minefield. Aditi and I had to point out the safest
trails to each other. It was starting to
stress me out, so I turned around to go have a beer at the restaurant.
I’m truly my mother’s daughter, squeezing
in as many swims as I can on a beach trip.
Later that afternoon, after the sun dipped behind the palm trees, Laura
and I played around in the waves of the high tide. Out of nowhere, about 10
local boys (most of them naked) swam toward us. They kept showing off, demanding
we watch them flip and dive. Then, they
started singing a Swahili song, and I was able to pick up about three words, so
I tried to sing along. On our last
morning at Matemwe, I woke up right before first light and headed out to the
beach. I waded out to my waist, dipped my head in the water, and watched the
sunrise. Sometimes I still can’t believe
I got to see sunrises and moonrises on
the same trip.
Food is a huge part of travelling for me.
I’m not really a seafood person, but I
wasn’t going to pass up the chance to eat fresh seafood right on the beach in
Zanzibar. In the afternoons, dozens of
wooden boats with white, triangular sails anchored all up and down the coast. Young boys would wade out to them and bring in
fish, squid, and octopus to the small market right down the beach from us. But we noticed something really weird. Young boys and old ladies were beating the
shit out of squids with
sticks or by throwing them on the sand over and over. I was baffled and thought
to myself, “Aren’t they already dead if they’re out of the water?” On our last
day, Aditi and I wondered around the market taking photos and finally figured
out that they were trying to get the ink out of the squid. Ah-ha!
We spent our last day on the island by
touring Stonetown. The coolest part was going on a spice tour. A taxi driver named Mr. Jumba Jumba
entertained us by playing his cassettes of Zanzibar music on the drive out
there. The spice farm was a hilly, wooded
area that was situated at the highest point on the island. We got to see how
the spices grow and most importantly, smell cardamom, cinnamon, jasmine, ylang
ylang, curry, turmeric, cloves, and vanilla.
It was heavenly. That evening, we hung around the waterfront area eating
street food and watching boys dive into the water. I had actually read an article about them in
a Ugandan newspaper several months before our trip. All up and down the pier, boys dripping wet
were getting running starts and doing all kinds of crazy flips and dives as friends
cleared paths for them and tourists snapped pictures (including yours truly).
A few months after our trip, I almost applied for
another volunteer position in Zanzibar. It was for six months with the Clinton Health
Access Initiative doing research on malaria.
I had daydreams of all the snorkeling and scuba diving I could do. But they wanted someone to start before my
Peace Corps service here ended, which I wasn’t willing to finish early. As attractive it sounded to live in paradise
and continue working in something I’m so passionate about, I’ve realized that I’m
ready to move on to the next phase of my career, where I can get paid to do
what I love and keep on discovering new kinds of paradise.
