I’ve started these updates a million times over. I’ve thought of emails I need to write, things I need to catch everyone up on, those of you who have been worried, curious, or just plain peeved that I’ve slipped off the face of the earth and not bothered to stay connected. I wish I had a good excuse, like I’ve discovered a new species of pygmy manta rays or uncovered a magical healing source deep in the jungles or found the cure for idiots. Sadly, I can lay claim to none of these. I don’t even really have any good tales to tell and that is what makes me ashamed most of all. My “adventure” has become less of an adventure and more of a “settled” and that, my friends, must change soon. Isn’t that why I left home in the first place?!
Where do I start? What have I told you? Pretty much nothing? Excellent. Let’s keep it that way. Awww!!! Now that’s not very nice! I’ll try to fill in the blanks without too much rambling but come on now, it’s me; there will be excess rambling by the buckets full.
Still in Southern Mozambique, Tofo Beach, and still living a simple, surreal life. Did I mention, have I told you, do you know that I have a new job yet again? I’m the smiley, chatty, receptionist at Diversity Scuba, the finest dive shop in Tofo. It’s actually the dive shop where Natalia (remember my house mate?) and a few very dear friends work so life has fallen into place oh so nicely (and yes, it is the finest dive shop in Tofo). Started half time in early Sept and have been left to run the full time show since mid Oct. Haven’t burned the place down or thrown us into massive chaos yet so things seem to be going okay. Receptionist work, well, not my most ambitious goal, but folks, when the shop is slow, the weather is good, and I’ve sorted out all of the messes that can be created being part of a busy business in Africa, I hop on a boat and dive my little heart out. And, shamelessly, get paid to do it. Couldn’t ask for a better shop owner and manager, both of whom are keen to get me in the water as much as I can because the more I know the sites, the better I can chat it up to customers. Hmmm… like I really need another excuse to be in the water. Seriously, all good.
The only bit I continue to struggle with somewhat is the amount of time at work. I now fall into that 6 days a week, 10+ hours a day schedule. All we do is work. My entire life is at the shop. Often times, we’ll hang around or meet up with friends to try to get some sense of a life instead of going home after the doors close but there are other days where it’s all we can do to drag our sorry asses that long walk home. And that one precious day off? Sleep, clean, try to catch up. This is why three months has passed me by in the blink of an eye. I can’t think of much else that I have done other than work. But don’t get me wrong!!! I am so thankful for the job and quite grateful for the opportunity to become a fully integrated part of this community. It’s quite easy to see how people can get lost here. The beauty of this place when you can separate out the tourist bit of it all is overwhelming. I am in one of the most unique marine life environments on the planet. I have been able to dive and snorkel with creatures that are so incredible they are almost magical. My whole world comes together under these waters… it’s challenging and frightening one day, peaceful and full of bliss the next. All I want to do is dive. So I work hard, smile harder, and say “pretty please?” the next time I see the chance to hop on a boat. My life is very, very surreal.
That being said, other than the location, life here is very, very normal. It’s a tourist town despite the lack of many modern conveniences or western marketing, it’s a town of white faces and constant transients. We wake up, we work, we swim, read, or run errands in a spare moment if there is one, visit friends, we go to dinner, we chat, and we carry on. English is spoken (shame on me and my zero effort for learning Portuguese!) backpackers pass through, and most of us continue to look at what is just down the road once our time here is up. There are some lifers here, business owners or property gurus, and those of us who have proper jobs are usually on that one year or so commitment, but yeah, that “this is Africa, baby” feeling is a bit absent. A stunning holiday down that I wish all of you could see, but only if you’re going to dive with me.
I have to look back on some of the blogs I started earlier to try to cut and paste some funnies… hold on… ahhh… found one…
Have I mentioned the *kiss kiss*? Oh so lovely… now. Being Canadian, having grown up in the 3rd largest country easily laying claim to the largest sense of personal space, it of course took me some time adjusting to the overcrowding of SE Asia and then the pile on top of each other of Africa. I think I’ve managed most of the situations without too many major faux pas and have learned to smile, or grimace, and go with it. Here, in Tofo, the atmosphere is very European, being a Portuguese settled country. The “local” (those of us who live here but aren’t from Mozambique) population is a mixture of South African (again, for another day), European, and a smattering of former British colonies. As I was initially being introduced around town and the new friend leaned in for a *kiss kiss* hello, once or twice it resulted in me either bending over backwards, almost in half, hands raised in a “woah, back off!” gesture, as I wasn’t sure why this person was suddenly so close to my face, or embracing the greeter in a full body hug as they ended up air kissing a mouth full of my hair. Umm… oops… awkward. Thankfully, as I’ve said, most people here are very, very kind so my social silliness has long since been forgiven and I have eagerly jumped on the *kiss kiss* bandwagon. A very old school, classic movies, pretentious and posh tradition that I am determined to bring back to life if ever I return to the North American locale. I love *kiss kiss*.
Then there are the logistical bits. Like visas. Anyone who has travelled can share my pain. The “laws” governing Mozambique visas have a tendency to change on a daily basis. So after many long & miserable journeys, heads banged against tables, and excessive amounts of cash that I simply don’t have, a temporary and creative solution has been found. Don’t need to share the details as African police officers, immigration officials, and dark, dingy prisons aren’t on my to-do list for my time on this continent but I want to stay for a while and stay I will. It’s Africa baby, just make it happen.
Oh and how about this fun little bit? Being that this is a tourist town (mostly for hordes of South Africans), there is a boat load of cash to be made during the holidays. That being said, Natalia and I are homeless from Dec. 23 – Jan 3. Our landlord can ask as much per day as we pay per month, so yeah, we are kicked out to couch surf and rely on the generosity of those with a more secure abode. There are some comfy sofas at the dive shop should all else fail but again, so many nice people here, so many (hopefully) good friends that I don’t think I’ll have trouble finding a place to lay my head each night. The only real hassle will be temporarily packing up the home and living out of the backpack again but hey, it will get me used to what I hope to do be doing again soon. So please, if any of you have time, pass the word on to Santa that I’ll be transient on the 25th so not to worry about me too much this year. Thanks.
The 25th. Christmas day last year I was bundled and backpacked, saying goodbye to family at the Halifax airport bound for Africa and all of its unknowns. Far too little of Africa has been experienced and I can’t tell you where the year has gone or what I have done with it but it feels like a million years have passed. I don’t miss many material luxuries anymore and I’ve learned what “bare minimum” can look like but I’m starting to get very itchy feet ( I REALLY can’t stand that phrase! SO gross!) While I’m thankful for the strangely comfortable life I have set up here, I’m eagerly anticipating being on the move. Thinking back to the brief transition of exploring those bits of Tanzania before heading down here … exhilarating. Stepping on or off of a bus or plane or the back of a random pickup truck not really knowing what is actually just ahead, it’s calling to me. Time to move, time to move, time to move…
I don’t really have any plans at this point other than hopefully getting my hands on a new credit card (mine expired and the new one has been “lost in the mail”). So for the next few months at least, I will continue to hunker down and see what, if any money at all I can try to save so that I can continue the journey. It’s frustrating because the more I see, the more people I meet, the more stories I hear, the more my fire is fuelled. But Africa is expensive folks, more expensive than I could have ever imagined, and my independent wealth has not quite been realized as I continue to float through my silly life. Regardless, I count my blessings and the stamps in my passport while I stare at world maps and try to figure out how I can find my way there and there and THERE! Oh there are so many “theres” I want to see… Any and all of you are welcome to join the ride, it is one heck of a ride!
The people I’ve met here continue to amaze me. Everyone has a story, everyone has seen and done things I could only dream of. The places people have been and the experiences that have been had, completely inspiring. If only I had had my mid-life crisis 10 years earlier, I would have half of the globe covered by now. The more time I’m away, the harder it is to imagine being “settled” ever again. A 9 – 5 job, a vehicle, a mortgage, that whole “Hi honey, I’m home” thing has never seemed so foreign, so far away. I promise that I’m not turning into some loopy, hippie, drippy burnout, I promise that I continue to be very responsible and conservative by most standards here, but yeah, the disconnect to North American life is becoming more and more pronounced. Strange. Good thing? Bad thing? Really no idea. But I’m learning to not over – think and just live. Not like me AT ALL! But it’s good, it’s all good.
Summertime on the South East coast of Africa has arrived with a vengeance and all of that dripping wet heat and offensively stifling odour has returned. Wow. Hearing about the massive snow storms that seem to be crippling every major city at the moment while we are bathed in stinky sweat is just incomprehensible. That being said, I miss curling up in a nice big hoodie wrapped tightly in a soft fleece blanket watching the white stuff pile high outside the window. No matter how far I roam, I will still be Canadian at heart. Forever and ever.
So on that note, I will sign off so that I can actually get this posted. Shame on me for being so terrible about keeping in touch but I promise that I am okay. Thank you to those of you who are still interested in me and where in the world I am, thank you for helping this disconnected spirit to remain connected in some small way. As I’ve said before, it really is too easy to disappear here. Far too easy. But I won’t, I can’t, and it will not happen. I will try to find more stories to tell, more adventures to have, and more things to keep looking forward to… this girl has lots to do before she’s done.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all the very best for every other festivity that is happening right now. I will play in the sand and go for a swim in the sea as I miss all of you on that one day of the year when being together really counts. My heart is home right now. All my love.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Time is flying in Tofo
While I still am fairly limited for internet time and individual emails are just too overwhelming to even attempt at this point, I am more settled, more social, and happier than I have been since I arrived in Africa over 8 months ago. Now if that's not a good start to a blog entry, I don't know what is!
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
Living the life
I’ve been in Mozambique, my newest home, for almost two months now and haven’t written to catch everyone up at all. Shame on me! I’ve been busy though. I promise. I’ve become pretty familiar with the day to day of a small holiday town that boasts spectacular diving, world class surfing, and some of the most stunning coastline that I’ve ever seen. It feels like I’ve just arrived and been here for a very long time depending on the day. I’m learning who’s who in the zoo and the politics that go along with it. I’ve become pro at local transportation and the bartering thing when buying any and everything I might need at the local and street corner markets. I’ve become an expert pack mule and very skilled at the just-sit-and-wait. Everything moves with bizarre inconsistency here and there is absolutely no control over any of it. Being in a hurry is pointless. Being late is just the way that it goes, even if you left an hour early. No one gets upset about it because… really… what can you do? Time is irrelevant. This is Africa, baby.
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Moving to Mozambique
Mozambique. It had never crossed my mind to visit this country. I had barely heard of this country. Whenever I thought of “Africa”, I thought of places like Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia. Places made famous by romantic movies or devastation music fundraisers. In my very short amount of time in an extremely small corner of a vast continent, I have quickly come to realize how absurdly ignorant I am of this place, of these places. Overwhelmingly, embarrassingly, shamefully ignorant. Needless to say, Mozambique was not my idea but it was the best coat tail idea I have ever chosen to hop on. This place is amazing.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
Super Safari!
Safari. Safari. Safari. In Swahili, “safari” actually means “journey” so when you are asked about your safari, you’re being asked about your trip or your journey. Going on an animal safari is a journey like no other. I had a very good luck couple of days on my animal journey.
So yes, mad dash back to my room to back up the exploded backpack and sort out what I should or shouldn’t bring. “Camping” so I figure shower stuff is out. Brought a washcloth and soap thinking that would do. I’ve done dirty many, many times, I can do this again. I’ve always envisioned the glamourous pictures and postcards of pink-faced, khaki clad adventurers with pockets jammed full of camera gear, binoculars, handkerchiefs, compasses, watches, guide books, and bottles of water. I have a crappy, dinky digital camera, my icky travelling clothes, and I can get a bottle of water. I’m really kind of nervous about how silly and uncool I’m going to look heading out. Not much I can do at this point.
I’m quickly loaded into a company minivan with a very nice driver who speaks enough English that we can chat the nearly two hour drive to the campsite. On the way, he explains this place and that land – it was all so interesting. I’m finally getting some real African culture! Do you remember me telling you about our Masaai security guards? Well this is the area that they come from. They farm cattle and goats and are so beautifully distinct from their stretched out earlobes and colourfully beaded jewelry to their crimson and violet coloured blankets worn just so. I can’t help but stare – they look so regal and elegant and tribal. I’ve seen the local mamas dressed in their stunning patterned kangas and head wraps looking gorgeous in a way that only an African woman could. The Masaai however, look tribal. It gives me shivers and I stare at them the way that most African people stare at me. Such an interesting, interesting population. I really need to learn more about them and their culture.
So yes, Masaai. We had to make a stop at the Monday Masaai market along side of the road. They come to buy and sell what they need for the week. All these stalls swarming with the beautifully blanketed in from the farm to do a little business. Why did we stop? Driver had to pick up some meat for wherever he was heading. The meat markets on this side of the world are without doubt, the most terrifying experiences I continue to seek out. Not sure why I’m so fascinated as I gag my way through the various hanging carcasses, pieces of carcasses, and other random completely unidentifiable smelly bits and pieces. So we head over to the slaughterhouse stall and I secretly play my game of guess the creature. There’s an entire half of something skinned and hanging on a hook. Apparently this is exactly what driver has been looking for. The seller takes out his big ole cleaver and cuts about half way down, ties a blue plastic bag around one end of it, and I start laughing like a lunatic because the uncovered end that driver is holding on to is actually the foot of a goat. About six inches of fur that had been left on (so you can tell what kind of creature you’re eating??), cloven hoof, and here’s dinner. I’ve been told that goat is really quite good. Haven’t had the chance to give it a go yet. Aw, shucks. That’s too bad.
So we carry on and arrive in a village. Safari camping, at least with this company is done in style. Tents are pitched on a manicured lawn in the backyard of a lovely open air lodge with a proper dining room, a bar, and a sitting area with a TV. Ahhh… TV. Haven’t seen TV in ages! Soaked up a morning Al Jazeer BBC like news program in the mornings like life blood. Wow I am outta touch. Have had no clue at all what has been going on in this world over the last several months. I need to get caught up. Clueless.
Okay, anyway. I arrive to meet the group whose safari package I’m crashing. Two young couples (one a couple couple, one “just friends”) who had been out all day and were just back from their sightseeing. They were munching on snacks of popcorn and hot chocolate! Popcorn. I love popcorn. I miss popcorn. I used to have popcorn for dinner. And hot chocolate… mmmm…. chocolate. Okay, off topic. Super nice people who filled me in all the hundreds and hundreds of animals they saw at a lake safari destination today. I was bouncing in my seat just listening to them. Really? You saw all those animals?! Up close? REEEEEEALLY?!?!? Oh. My. Gosh. This is going to be incredible!
As we are all chatting and the sun is setting, I am guided from the lovely dining area to my lovely backyard tent set up under majestic coconut trees so I can sort out my stuff and shower before dinner if I want. Shower? Are you serious? Hot water? Shut up! Sadly, I only brought a bar of soap and a facecloth. I was told I was going to be camping. Didn’t think there’d be showers! So instead of soaking up some much coveted hot water, I went for a walk down the main road of the local village instead. The manager of the campsite facility (all of 23 I think) asked if he could come with me. Sure! I like company. And remember, it had been quite a while since I had the chance to have proper conversations. So we walked and chatted. Smart boy who is going to school to become a lawyer. Wanted to talk about politics and what I thought of the Tanzanian government and education systems. He has hope for his country. He recognizes the corruption, is frustrated by it, and wants change. He wants to be part of the change. An interesting young man. I will keep my fingers crossed for him but wow, he and his peers are in for one hell of a battle.
Anyway, we head back as darkness is settling in and the stars are multiplying by the second. Dinner is ridiculously yummy and I meet Dixon, our driver/guide who will be finding me loads of animals for the next two days on safari. A friendly, sociable guy who seems to enjoy his job. He was even patient with my endless questions and annoying excitement. I’m going on safari!!!
Day 1, we load into our Land Rover nice and early in the chilly, foggy morning. Yes, Land Rover. Land Rovers are born and bred here, they are the only vehicle to survive here, and they so super cool. I want a Land Rover. You look SO uber hip cruising in a Land Rover. Okay, well, maybe not here where EVERYONE is in a Land Rover, but when I get home, I’ll never look at them the same way. I want to be Land Rover chick. Right after I win the lottery to fund the purchase, of course.
So we gear up and head to Ngorongoro Crater. Okay folks, pause the blog reading and just Google this. Seriously. There’s no way I can explain this place. 19.2 km in diameter, 610m deep, 304 sq. kms. Small lakes, various kinds of vegetation, and animals, animals, animals. It’s well protected and well preserved, rightly so. It is a completely unique place, unlike anything else on the planet. And here I was, standing on the front seat of an open-topped Land Rover looking over some of the most incredible landscape, ever. Ever. Do you have those moments where you are outside of yourself, looking at the situation and it’s just too bizarre to believe? Too surreal? Is this really me? My life? How did this happen? I’m in Africa, in a crater, on safari looking for some of the most impressive creatures that never in my life did I expect to see outside of a sad, sorry zoo. How did I get here? Yeah, I’ve been having many of those moments lately.
I can’t go on and on about losing my head over and over again with the animals we saw, near and far, it would take days. But let me list the wildlife we encountered on my very first day of safari and you judge for yourself how much of a loony toon I was. Okay we saw, in no particular order…
elephants, buffalo, wildebeest, Thomson’s gazelles (LOVE these cuties!), Grant’s gazelles, hyenas, black rhino, lions (2 males, 4 females, a very rare spotting. All 5 of us simultaneously held our breath and stood dead still except for clicking cameras as a massive male brushed along the back bumper of our OPEN Land Rover. Holy adrenaline rush!), baboons, ostrich, zebra, flamingos, crown cranes, kori bustards, warthogs (super funny creatures!), eland, hippos, and hartebeest.
The zebra, gazelles, and wildebeest are too numerous to count, hundreds and hundreds of them all hanging out, eating, playing, and strolling around each other but that didn’t make them any less special as they would be right beside the vehicle, seeming to pose for photos and making their presence known. It felt like an open air zoo but what’s special about this place is that the animals are free. They are accustomed to slow moving vehicles being on the dirt roads that run through the crater so they aren’t distressed by the sounds or sights, but they also don’t connect us as food or a threat so they continue on, allowing us to observe them naturally and freely without interference. It’s a very unique observation opportunity. Yes, you don’t have to work hard to spot whatever creature you want to spot as it’s a wide open flat land, but to have an environment where the animals are completely wild and free and you can be in their space, respecting and being part of their space, that’s so very special. There were many moments where I couldn’t catch my breath. This was too good.
Our driver Dixon was full of endless knowledge and patience as we all asked a million questions and dragged out the drive for as long as we could. A 6 hour visit to the crater (plus the almost three hours travel time) turned out to be much, much longer and we definitely got our fill of every inch of that crater that we could have possibly explored. A happy, very satisfied bunch returned to “camp” over 11 hours after we left. Wow. We had to bid farewell to the “couple” couple as they had arrived a day early so were at the end of their safari and heading back to Arusha. Dinner was me and the super cute, very young “friends” couple. A table full of newcomers had arrived to begin their journey but they weren’t too interested in being social so the three of us made lists of animals and reminisced over the glorious day in a glorious place. And there’s still another day coming!!!
Slept really well, again, and was up early to pack and get ready for Tarangire National Park. Really, anything after the Crater was icing on the cake. Thick, gooey, yummy, chocolaty icing. I’m STILL on safari!
Just the three of us today and Dixon was obviously either tired of us or tired in general but we had enough energy to make up for any lack of interest that he may have had. A slow, slow, SLOW start to the drive. Actually, an exciting start to the drive as I got to see two of my beloved giraffe, something I wanted to see most of all, but then nothing. Well, some very cool and colourful birds, but no creatures, no big things for at least another hour and a half. Driving is nice, I love going for drives, but when there’s a purpose to the drive and that purpose is eluding you, it’s long and tiring and disappointing. Then, as if everyone woke up from a long nap, they were out. Again, in no particular order, we saw…
giraffe (sigh), impala, dik diks, (SO cute!!!), vervet monkeys, warthogs, ostrich, tons o f different, most colouful birds ever, zebra, baboons (an entire community of them approached us head on and surrounded the vehicle as they moved past us, 50 of them, easily), dwarf mongoose, banded mongoose, waterbuck, elephants, elephants, and more elephants, and a very elusive, prized leopard. Leopards are the hardest to spot and we found one, rounding out spotting the Big 5 that everyone on safari comes to see… buffalo, elephants, lions, rhinos, and leopards. Why are they the “Big 5”? They are the most dangerous, difficult creatures to see, hunt, and encounter. High 5s for the Big 5. Another spectacular, very long day on safari.
We drove back to Arusha, completely exhausted and fully appreciative of the experiences that we had just had. Said goodbye to the sweet “just friends” couple and sorted myself for my 7am, 10 hour journey back to Dar the next day. Falling asleep to visions of black and white stripes, tan hides with black and brown spots, and soft, curious eyes… bliss. I went on safari.
So yes, mad dash back to my room to back up the exploded backpack and sort out what I should or shouldn’t bring. “Camping” so I figure shower stuff is out. Brought a washcloth and soap thinking that would do. I’ve done dirty many, many times, I can do this again. I’ve always envisioned the glamourous pictures and postcards of pink-faced, khaki clad adventurers with pockets jammed full of camera gear, binoculars, handkerchiefs, compasses, watches, guide books, and bottles of water. I have a crappy, dinky digital camera, my icky travelling clothes, and I can get a bottle of water. I’m really kind of nervous about how silly and uncool I’m going to look heading out. Not much I can do at this point.
I’m quickly loaded into a company minivan with a very nice driver who speaks enough English that we can chat the nearly two hour drive to the campsite. On the way, he explains this place and that land – it was all so interesting. I’m finally getting some real African culture! Do you remember me telling you about our Masaai security guards? Well this is the area that they come from. They farm cattle and goats and are so beautifully distinct from their stretched out earlobes and colourfully beaded jewelry to their crimson and violet coloured blankets worn just so. I can’t help but stare – they look so regal and elegant and tribal. I’ve seen the local mamas dressed in their stunning patterned kangas and head wraps looking gorgeous in a way that only an African woman could. The Masaai however, look tribal. It gives me shivers and I stare at them the way that most African people stare at me. Such an interesting, interesting population. I really need to learn more about them and their culture.
So yes, Masaai. We had to make a stop at the Monday Masaai market along side of the road. They come to buy and sell what they need for the week. All these stalls swarming with the beautifully blanketed in from the farm to do a little business. Why did we stop? Driver had to pick up some meat for wherever he was heading. The meat markets on this side of the world are without doubt, the most terrifying experiences I continue to seek out. Not sure why I’m so fascinated as I gag my way through the various hanging carcasses, pieces of carcasses, and other random completely unidentifiable smelly bits and pieces. So we head over to the slaughterhouse stall and I secretly play my game of guess the creature. There’s an entire half of something skinned and hanging on a hook. Apparently this is exactly what driver has been looking for. The seller takes out his big ole cleaver and cuts about half way down, ties a blue plastic bag around one end of it, and I start laughing like a lunatic because the uncovered end that driver is holding on to is actually the foot of a goat. About six inches of fur that had been left on (so you can tell what kind of creature you’re eating??), cloven hoof, and here’s dinner. I’ve been told that goat is really quite good. Haven’t had the chance to give it a go yet. Aw, shucks. That’s too bad.
So we carry on and arrive in a village. Safari camping, at least with this company is done in style. Tents are pitched on a manicured lawn in the backyard of a lovely open air lodge with a proper dining room, a bar, and a sitting area with a TV. Ahhh… TV. Haven’t seen TV in ages! Soaked up a morning Al Jazeer BBC like news program in the mornings like life blood. Wow I am outta touch. Have had no clue at all what has been going on in this world over the last several months. I need to get caught up. Clueless.
Okay, anyway. I arrive to meet the group whose safari package I’m crashing. Two young couples (one a couple couple, one “just friends”) who had been out all day and were just back from their sightseeing. They were munching on snacks of popcorn and hot chocolate! Popcorn. I love popcorn. I miss popcorn. I used to have popcorn for dinner. And hot chocolate… mmmm…. chocolate. Okay, off topic. Super nice people who filled me in all the hundreds and hundreds of animals they saw at a lake safari destination today. I was bouncing in my seat just listening to them. Really? You saw all those animals?! Up close? REEEEEEALLY?!?!? Oh. My. Gosh. This is going to be incredible!
As we are all chatting and the sun is setting, I am guided from the lovely dining area to my lovely backyard tent set up under majestic coconut trees so I can sort out my stuff and shower before dinner if I want. Shower? Are you serious? Hot water? Shut up! Sadly, I only brought a bar of soap and a facecloth. I was told I was going to be camping. Didn’t think there’d be showers! So instead of soaking up some much coveted hot water, I went for a walk down the main road of the local village instead. The manager of the campsite facility (all of 23 I think) asked if he could come with me. Sure! I like company. And remember, it had been quite a while since I had the chance to have proper conversations. So we walked and chatted. Smart boy who is going to school to become a lawyer. Wanted to talk about politics and what I thought of the Tanzanian government and education systems. He has hope for his country. He recognizes the corruption, is frustrated by it, and wants change. He wants to be part of the change. An interesting young man. I will keep my fingers crossed for him but wow, he and his peers are in for one hell of a battle.
Anyway, we head back as darkness is settling in and the stars are multiplying by the second. Dinner is ridiculously yummy and I meet Dixon, our driver/guide who will be finding me loads of animals for the next two days on safari. A friendly, sociable guy who seems to enjoy his job. He was even patient with my endless questions and annoying excitement. I’m going on safari!!!
Day 1, we load into our Land Rover nice and early in the chilly, foggy morning. Yes, Land Rover. Land Rovers are born and bred here, they are the only vehicle to survive here, and they so super cool. I want a Land Rover. You look SO uber hip cruising in a Land Rover. Okay, well, maybe not here where EVERYONE is in a Land Rover, but when I get home, I’ll never look at them the same way. I want to be Land Rover chick. Right after I win the lottery to fund the purchase, of course.
So we gear up and head to Ngorongoro Crater. Okay folks, pause the blog reading and just Google this. Seriously. There’s no way I can explain this place. 19.2 km in diameter, 610m deep, 304 sq. kms. Small lakes, various kinds of vegetation, and animals, animals, animals. It’s well protected and well preserved, rightly so. It is a completely unique place, unlike anything else on the planet. And here I was, standing on the front seat of an open-topped Land Rover looking over some of the most incredible landscape, ever. Ever. Do you have those moments where you are outside of yourself, looking at the situation and it’s just too bizarre to believe? Too surreal? Is this really me? My life? How did this happen? I’m in Africa, in a crater, on safari looking for some of the most impressive creatures that never in my life did I expect to see outside of a sad, sorry zoo. How did I get here? Yeah, I’ve been having many of those moments lately.
I can’t go on and on about losing my head over and over again with the animals we saw, near and far, it would take days. But let me list the wildlife we encountered on my very first day of safari and you judge for yourself how much of a loony toon I was. Okay we saw, in no particular order…
elephants, buffalo, wildebeest, Thomson’s gazelles (LOVE these cuties!), Grant’s gazelles, hyenas, black rhino, lions (2 males, 4 females, a very rare spotting. All 5 of us simultaneously held our breath and stood dead still except for clicking cameras as a massive male brushed along the back bumper of our OPEN Land Rover. Holy adrenaline rush!), baboons, ostrich, zebra, flamingos, crown cranes, kori bustards, warthogs (super funny creatures!), eland, hippos, and hartebeest.
The zebra, gazelles, and wildebeest are too numerous to count, hundreds and hundreds of them all hanging out, eating, playing, and strolling around each other but that didn’t make them any less special as they would be right beside the vehicle, seeming to pose for photos and making their presence known. It felt like an open air zoo but what’s special about this place is that the animals are free. They are accustomed to slow moving vehicles being on the dirt roads that run through the crater so they aren’t distressed by the sounds or sights, but they also don’t connect us as food or a threat so they continue on, allowing us to observe them naturally and freely without interference. It’s a very unique observation opportunity. Yes, you don’t have to work hard to spot whatever creature you want to spot as it’s a wide open flat land, but to have an environment where the animals are completely wild and free and you can be in their space, respecting and being part of their space, that’s so very special. There were many moments where I couldn’t catch my breath. This was too good.
Our driver Dixon was full of endless knowledge and patience as we all asked a million questions and dragged out the drive for as long as we could. A 6 hour visit to the crater (plus the almost three hours travel time) turned out to be much, much longer and we definitely got our fill of every inch of that crater that we could have possibly explored. A happy, very satisfied bunch returned to “camp” over 11 hours after we left. Wow. We had to bid farewell to the “couple” couple as they had arrived a day early so were at the end of their safari and heading back to Arusha. Dinner was me and the super cute, very young “friends” couple. A table full of newcomers had arrived to begin their journey but they weren’t too interested in being social so the three of us made lists of animals and reminisced over the glorious day in a glorious place. And there’s still another day coming!!!
Slept really well, again, and was up early to pack and get ready for Tarangire National Park. Really, anything after the Crater was icing on the cake. Thick, gooey, yummy, chocolaty icing. I’m STILL on safari!
Just the three of us today and Dixon was obviously either tired of us or tired in general but we had enough energy to make up for any lack of interest that he may have had. A slow, slow, SLOW start to the drive. Actually, an exciting start to the drive as I got to see two of my beloved giraffe, something I wanted to see most of all, but then nothing. Well, some very cool and colourful birds, but no creatures, no big things for at least another hour and a half. Driving is nice, I love going for drives, but when there’s a purpose to the drive and that purpose is eluding you, it’s long and tiring and disappointing. Then, as if everyone woke up from a long nap, they were out. Again, in no particular order, we saw…
giraffe (sigh), impala, dik diks, (SO cute!!!), vervet monkeys, warthogs, ostrich, tons o f different, most colouful birds ever, zebra, baboons (an entire community of them approached us head on and surrounded the vehicle as they moved past us, 50 of them, easily), dwarf mongoose, banded mongoose, waterbuck, elephants, elephants, and more elephants, and a very elusive, prized leopard. Leopards are the hardest to spot and we found one, rounding out spotting the Big 5 that everyone on safari comes to see… buffalo, elephants, lions, rhinos, and leopards. Why are they the “Big 5”? They are the most dangerous, difficult creatures to see, hunt, and encounter. High 5s for the Big 5. Another spectacular, very long day on safari.
We drove back to Arusha, completely exhausted and fully appreciative of the experiences that we had just had. Said goodbye to the sweet “just friends” couple and sorted myself for my 7am, 10 hour journey back to Dar the next day. Falling asleep to visions of black and white stripes, tan hides with black and brown spots, and soft, curious eyes… bliss. I went on safari.
Arusha to the animals!
Arusha bound. This was way too easy. I knew there was a big proper bus that went from Moshi to Arusha as I had checked the day before. I also knew that leaving early on a Sunday morning would play in my favour as the vultures wouldn’t be out in full force quite yet. Still, they were there, waiting for me and my ginormous backpack. Yes, yes, I’m going to Arusha, I want the big bus. Oh no, no big bus to Arusha, you take minibus. I know there is a big bus going to Arusha. Oh no, no big bus, only minibus. I KNOW there is a big bus. Oh, BIG bus, yeah, big bus, but big bus not coming. Maybe 1 or 2 pm. (It’s 7am) Really? 1 or 2pm? Yes, yes, afternoon. You come with me, we buy ticket. I walk away. See a sign for Arusha and lah dee dah, a big ole bus is waiting there ready to go. I hop on board, they even put my bag in the back of the bus instead of under it, we wait until we’re full which doesn’t take long, and off we go. Pushy, aggressive, and liars. Fantastic. And please, for those of you with bleeding hearts, thinking that these poor guys are just trying to make a living, stop it. Stop it now. They are not working hard nor enterprising opportunists. They are predators. Low life. Scum. That bleeding heart would be bone dry after one day of getting charged excessive amounts of money for doing the same things the same ways, being harassed to the point of melt down, man-handled, lied to, laughed at, gawked at, and treated with an abundance of rudeness simply because of shiny white skin. And don’t say payback for centuries gone by, this is no such thing. The men who hang around bus stations, train stations, airports, and border crossing SUCK BUTT!!! Every single one of them! Wow, it has been a very rough go.
Two quick highway hours and a dirt cheap ticket. You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Easiest trip EVER! Oh, little funny… it’s Sunday, right? So this very nicely dressed guy is standing at the front of the bus, clean, sharp suit, looks respectable. I figure it’s the norm, more people than seats. But once we are underway, I see him talking, but can’t really make out who he is talking to. Then his voice starts to get louder, more projected. Oh love a duck, he’s going to save our souls!!! Bahahahaha! A bus full of predominantly Muslims and this loony toon is preaching about Jesus or God or some other random spirit. I heard one or two “Amens” but they were quickly hushed by scarved and koffia’ed passengers arguing about something or other that he was saying. Oh how I wish I could have understood. At one point, a couple of guys actually grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake but it was over pretty quickly. Apparently the soul savers are disliked even over here. A lady came on at one of the stops and took over his sermon preaching, much to his displeasure, but he soon quieted her and carried on with his bible thumping. He got one final stern warning from a few of the boys in charge about an hour or so into the trip and he zipped his lips for good. Sunday morning travel… good times, good times.
Arusha. Big city. Safari central. Located just outside of some of the most amazing national parks, it is a huge bustling centre (not nearly as big as Dar but still very big!) thriving on tourism. Lots more white faces wandering around but unlike Asia, no one is very friendly or easy to engage in conversation. Probably, like me, they all have their tout game faces on so once you’re in the zone, it’s hard to let the guard down. I understand. Really. I do.
Found my guest house with a little effort but it was early so morning girl told me that a room would be ready in half an hour. Two hours later, a different girl at the desk told me to “go check yourself” when I asked if it was ready yet. Ummm… happy much? Clean(ish) so brought my back up, went to go pee, and oh looky here, no toilet seat. And the toilet doesn’t flush. Back down I go. Grumpy Gerta said “no other rooms”. Bullshit. The morning girl showed me two to start. Then she said “why you didn’t check first?” Screw off cow. I want a room with a working toilet, please. My only other option apparently was toilet seatless as well but I don’t care, I please, a room with a working toilet. How did a toilet seat become a LUXURY?! And the toilets obviously came with a seat, you could see the knobbies where it had been yanked off. Wtf?!?! Seriously. Africa.
Now, had a map in my little travel book of this town and apparently am still dumb enough to believe that maps mean anything on this side of the world. Got so hopelessly lost wandering through the streets that I actually got worried for the very first time. Tried tourist shop after travel agency, it’s Sunday, everything is closed. I only had a couple of days so I needed to arrange a safari NOW, but for every good thing that happens (easy bus trip), I am smacked with something miserable to balance it out. I have not had one solid day of things going okay since I’ve arrived. You know how at home, you have good days and not so good days? Where everything either seems to come together or fall apart all at the same time? But on those fall apart days, you know that it’s going to be okay because you’ll wake up the next day and it’s ALWAYS better? Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. For any little thing that seems to go my way, something big usually falls apart shortly after. I make my celebrations quick and short lasted as I need to gear up for the next kick in the jaw. Bring it on, bitches!
So yes, everything is closed. By sheer luck and determined wandering, I find my way back to my guest house and pour over the deluded map trying to figure out where I was and where I want to be. Made a couple of attempts at internet, spent money to wait around for no connection, and prepared to make a safari plan early the next morning.
Well morning definitely came early as the battle of the Mosque speakers began at 5:15am. That’s okay, the sun’s not up until after 6:30am, but yeah, go ahead, yell your lungs out and praise Mecca. 5:15am.
Hit the tourist bureau to check out their blacklist for tour operators but they couldn’t be very helpful otherwise. Made some phone calls, started wandering, nothing, too expensive, nothing, ridiculously expensive. Then I stumbled into an agency, have no idea where, and the angel behind the desk said that while they didn’t have anything going, she would make a phone call to another company and check. What? Really? Gee, thanks! She hangs up, smiles, and says someone will be right over to take me to the other company. This is too good to be true, right? No way.
I’m escorted to this new office, Tanzania Private Select Safaris, and am immediately made to feel welcome while the manager was finishing up with some other clients. He takes me aside, said there’s a 3 day 2 night trip that just went out early this morning but if I was interested, they would drive me out to meet up with them for dinner and do a 2 night 2 day trip. I almost hugged him. So while he finished up, the owner came out from the back and said he’d take care of me. Ahhh, excellent. Chat, chat, chat, Indian family raised in Tanzania, Canadian connections, let’s do this thing! Papers signed, money handed over, and I hauled ass back across town to pack up the contents of my backpack that had been completely scattered over my entire room. What do I take? Camping safari… what does that mean? Will I be freezing? Will it be hot? Do I have to sleep in a tent with strangers? Hmmm… prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Teeny tiny day pack shoved full, and I’m back at the office, bouncing on my toes, ready to go. I’m hucked in a proper minivan with my own personal driver and the safari expedition is on its way. I’m going on SAFARI!!!
Two quick highway hours and a dirt cheap ticket. You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Easiest trip EVER! Oh, little funny… it’s Sunday, right? So this very nicely dressed guy is standing at the front of the bus, clean, sharp suit, looks respectable. I figure it’s the norm, more people than seats. But once we are underway, I see him talking, but can’t really make out who he is talking to. Then his voice starts to get louder, more projected. Oh love a duck, he’s going to save our souls!!! Bahahahaha! A bus full of predominantly Muslims and this loony toon is preaching about Jesus or God or some other random spirit. I heard one or two “Amens” but they were quickly hushed by scarved and koffia’ed passengers arguing about something or other that he was saying. Oh how I wish I could have understood. At one point, a couple of guys actually grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake but it was over pretty quickly. Apparently the soul savers are disliked even over here. A lady came on at one of the stops and took over his sermon preaching, much to his displeasure, but he soon quieted her and carried on with his bible thumping. He got one final stern warning from a few of the boys in charge about an hour or so into the trip and he zipped his lips for good. Sunday morning travel… good times, good times.
Arusha. Big city. Safari central. Located just outside of some of the most amazing national parks, it is a huge bustling centre (not nearly as big as Dar but still very big!) thriving on tourism. Lots more white faces wandering around but unlike Asia, no one is very friendly or easy to engage in conversation. Probably, like me, they all have their tout game faces on so once you’re in the zone, it’s hard to let the guard down. I understand. Really. I do.
Found my guest house with a little effort but it was early so morning girl told me that a room would be ready in half an hour. Two hours later, a different girl at the desk told me to “go check yourself” when I asked if it was ready yet. Ummm… happy much? Clean(ish) so brought my back up, went to go pee, and oh looky here, no toilet seat. And the toilet doesn’t flush. Back down I go. Grumpy Gerta said “no other rooms”. Bullshit. The morning girl showed me two to start. Then she said “why you didn’t check first?” Screw off cow. I want a room with a working toilet, please. My only other option apparently was toilet seatless as well but I don’t care, I please, a room with a working toilet. How did a toilet seat become a LUXURY?! And the toilets obviously came with a seat, you could see the knobbies where it had been yanked off. Wtf?!?! Seriously. Africa.
Now, had a map in my little travel book of this town and apparently am still dumb enough to believe that maps mean anything on this side of the world. Got so hopelessly lost wandering through the streets that I actually got worried for the very first time. Tried tourist shop after travel agency, it’s Sunday, everything is closed. I only had a couple of days so I needed to arrange a safari NOW, but for every good thing that happens (easy bus trip), I am smacked with something miserable to balance it out. I have not had one solid day of things going okay since I’ve arrived. You know how at home, you have good days and not so good days? Where everything either seems to come together or fall apart all at the same time? But on those fall apart days, you know that it’s going to be okay because you’ll wake up the next day and it’s ALWAYS better? Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. For any little thing that seems to go my way, something big usually falls apart shortly after. I make my celebrations quick and short lasted as I need to gear up for the next kick in the jaw. Bring it on, bitches!
So yes, everything is closed. By sheer luck and determined wandering, I find my way back to my guest house and pour over the deluded map trying to figure out where I was and where I want to be. Made a couple of attempts at internet, spent money to wait around for no connection, and prepared to make a safari plan early the next morning.
Well morning definitely came early as the battle of the Mosque speakers began at 5:15am. That’s okay, the sun’s not up until after 6:30am, but yeah, go ahead, yell your lungs out and praise Mecca. 5:15am.
Hit the tourist bureau to check out their blacklist for tour operators but they couldn’t be very helpful otherwise. Made some phone calls, started wandering, nothing, too expensive, nothing, ridiculously expensive. Then I stumbled into an agency, have no idea where, and the angel behind the desk said that while they didn’t have anything going, she would make a phone call to another company and check. What? Really? Gee, thanks! She hangs up, smiles, and says someone will be right over to take me to the other company. This is too good to be true, right? No way.
I’m escorted to this new office, Tanzania Private Select Safaris, and am immediately made to feel welcome while the manager was finishing up with some other clients. He takes me aside, said there’s a 3 day 2 night trip that just went out early this morning but if I was interested, they would drive me out to meet up with them for dinner and do a 2 night 2 day trip. I almost hugged him. So while he finished up, the owner came out from the back and said he’d take care of me. Ahhh, excellent. Chat, chat, chat, Indian family raised in Tanzania, Canadian connections, let’s do this thing! Papers signed, money handed over, and I hauled ass back across town to pack up the contents of my backpack that had been completely scattered over my entire room. What do I take? Camping safari… what does that mean? Will I be freezing? Will it be hot? Do I have to sleep in a tent with strangers? Hmmm… prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Teeny tiny day pack shoved full, and I’m back at the office, bouncing on my toes, ready to go. I’m hucked in a proper minivan with my own personal driver and the safari expedition is on its way. I’m going on SAFARI!!!
The mountain of Moshi
And I thought the trip to Lushoto was long. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Catching that early bus out of Lushoto really didn’t make a whole lot of difference. Apparently, if you were driving by car, the trip from Lushoto to Moshi, my next big destination, should take about 3 hrs. On the same kind of normal sized bus that I swear to goodness was only in constant motion once for longer than 15 minutes, it took us another 6 hours. I don’t know what I was complaining about before. At one point, a lady and her little girl in addition to several bags had an entire bedroom set disassembled and waiting to be put under the bus. I think it took half an hour before all of her stuff was loaded and she got on the bus tsking at the fact that there weren’t many seats left. Chick, we are moving your HOUSE, just get on the bus and shut the hell up. Besides stopping more times along the highway than any regular downtown city bus and sitting next to the annoying leaner, can-I-have-your-email guy I mentioned before, it was a fairly uneventful trip. I was counting my blessings. Good highway, not too much traffic, really, I couldn’t have asked for more. And we arrived in Moshi.
Moshi is the starting point for most people who do the Kilimanjaro trek, hence… tourist trap. That being said, it reminded me a little bit of say, Banff, back home. Some tacky tourist bits but so very pretty. Plus, being confined to island nothingness over the last several months, I was quite happy to see some simple luxuries catering to our white needs (like familiar name brands. ***sigh*** I’m so pathetic.)
The touts here are much more accustomed to white faces stumbling off a bus so they were ready for me. As my bag was pulled out from under the bus, 6 nasty buggers pushed at each other to grab my bag with the pretense of helping me. I held on tight as by this point I have now once again mastered my confidence. With the most amazing “Put my bag down NOW, please!” (f**K off implied), all 6 of them held their hands up with a look of feigned innocence and stepped back. Yes! I’ve still got it! I walked into a nearby shop, asked for directions to my guesthouse, and marched the 4 blocks to where I settled in. All by myself. I’m going to be just fine.
Strange guesthouse as there wasn’t really a reception area and common bathrooms were in plain view of the staff who were just lounging around but secure and overlooking the main street. The noise was a bit much but a little balcony gave me the perfect view of all of the crazy comings and goings. Two locals latched on immediately as they were obviously part of the hotel hanger outs. One was a tout, or course, the other a local artist. Dropped my bag and asked them to find me a good place for food. Across the street, local vendor, great food. The tout sat with me, chat, chat, chat, sell me this, sell me that, until the artist guy came over and shooed him away, telling him to let me relax. Are you kidding me? Really? … Thank you. And he continued to shoo away anyone else he saw harassing me as he was visiting with other people up and down the street. He reminded me a lot of one of the guys I worked with back home so I had that sense of awww... you’re kinda familiar so I like you… but besides that, he was genuinely respectful and courteous. The only request he made as I was leaving was to come and look at his work if I had time. I had every intention to, but being the scatterbrain that I am, I didn’t even remember it until I was on the bus heading out of town. Disappointing. Crap.
Wandered town and was assaulted with shouts coming from every group or creepo I passed. A variety of hellos, how are yous, friend, and blah, blah, blah. And as a note for those of you who think I’m being a nasty cow by being frustrated with all of these kind, welcoming people, please understand that there is nothing kind or welcoming about it. Firstly, it’s men, only men who shout aggressively and do what they can to demand your attention. And second, they get in your face. They follow you, continuing to shout as you try to ignore them. They come right up beside you and get within inches of your face. Twice, I was sworn at in rage and called I’m not sure what for not stopping to engage them in what I’m sure would have been a riveting discussion about what? Why you’re on the street shouting at white women instead of working or helping your family? Or why your breath smells like rotting meat? Or how about the current state of your exceptionally corrupt government? No?? ? Again, way to ruin my experience folks. Thanks very much.
The women are lovely. Those who did say hello were speaking in a normal volume and were in no way aggressive about it. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It’s nice to watch the mixture of Christian and Muslim populations here. Covered or not, the women seemed genuinely empowered and modern. Mind you, I’m sure that’s only because the conservative fundamentalists were behind locked doors at home, but the women I did encounter on the streets, same as everywhere else, seemed to be the kindest and the hardest working of the bunch, by far. By far. How they tolerate the oafs that surround them is beyond me.
Crowded town but not for tourists sake. At any time of the day the streets are full of people coming and going. Coming from where? Going to where? Do any of you have to work? Streets full of people driving erratically or strolling slowing. What they lack in their sloth like pace on their feet they compensate for once they’re inside a vehicle. Sidewalks full of people who have laid out anything under the sun that you could ever want or need but it was geared for locals, not tourists. And lots of drinking. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t seen civilization in ages, but African men like their beer. 10am, noon, after noon, whenever. Most places that sell beer are usually pretty full. I’ve been told the drinking & driving statistics here are pretty high. Ya think?
So blah, blah, blah, always try to be in shortly after dark because it really does get nasty but this makes for lonely, quiet nights. I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in ages so poor English speaker who decides to make my acquaintance anytime soon. Poor, poor sucker.
It wasn’t nearly as cold in Moshi but it was cloudy. Lots of rooftops to take in the view of Kili but cloudy skies mean no view. Not having luck with views.
Had made a plan to visit a nearby town to see what had been mentioned as a pretty nice walk through some small villages that led to a waterfall. Sorted out the local minibus to take and set out early in the morning. Was so obscenely harassed as I stood waiting for the bus that my head almost exploded. I don’t know about you, but unfortunately, I have that horribly frustrating reaction of when I get really mad, I can start to cry. Pisses me off to no end because, believe me, you are NOT defeating me. I just want to drive the closest sharp(ish) object so far into your heart that I can actually feel the satisfaction I would get from it just by thinking about it. Pure rage. So I left. I couldn’t do it. I honestly think I was on the verge of hurting someone and I could feel tears behind my sunglasses. So I went back to my guesthouse, did some laundry, gave it some time, and tried again. Much better handled the second time around. Not sure there was any less harassment, but I was in better control of my rage.
Minibus was full beyond capacity, but I’m used to that, no biggie. I counted 18 in what should have sat 11. Not too bad. But then we started to drive. And we keep stopping. People on laps, standing in between the seats, being pushed in by the guy who was taking the money, all in all, I couldn’t even turn my head side to side. Not so great considering I had a guy’s crotch less than two inches from my nose. I think he was as uncomfortable as I was, well, maybe not AS uncomfortable, but yeah, I figured that after that trip, I qualify as a porn star should I ever feel the need to change careers. Wow.
Again, wildly attacked as soon as I stepped off the bus but bee-lined it out of their reach and breathed in some clean foothills air. It’s so funny because as soon as you’re maybe 10 metres away from where the buses stop, they all seemed to be turned back by some sort of invisible tout force field. Just…need…to…make…it…across…the…line… Ahhhhhh… I’m free.
Managed to find the right way all by myself, despite the directional retardation, and just like before, the further I got from minibus central, the nicer the people became. Down a directly vertical and very slippery mud path to the bottom of a waterfall where guides were waiting to take me to the base of the waterfall through the river. Umm… no thanks. Hung around for a bit, felt a little awkward, then made my way back. It was pretty, but yeah, it was a waterfall. As before, it was the walk and the people that made the trip worthwhile.
Another harrowing trip back to Moshi but I noticed that it wasn’t nearly as cloudy by late afternoon. Made for a rooftop patio across the street from my guest house and found apparently every single white person in town. Even though I sometimes really miss so many things about home and need to reconnect with the white girl in me, I tend to avoid most of the touristy hotspots and try to rub elbows with the locals when I can. So as I hung my head over the side of an incredible patio, the clouds slid down and the snow covered top of Mount Kilimanjaro was in perfect, clear view. Even though I couldn’t share in the bonding experiences of making that climb as it seemed everyone else was doing, I was equally in awe and felt very fortunate just to have seen the top of that magnificent mountain. Maybe one day, I can come back and make that seven day journey to the top of Africa… maybe one day…
The perfect ending to my busy couple of days in Moshi town.
Moshi is the starting point for most people who do the Kilimanjaro trek, hence… tourist trap. That being said, it reminded me a little bit of say, Banff, back home. Some tacky tourist bits but so very pretty. Plus, being confined to island nothingness over the last several months, I was quite happy to see some simple luxuries catering to our white needs (like familiar name brands. ***sigh*** I’m so pathetic.)
The touts here are much more accustomed to white faces stumbling off a bus so they were ready for me. As my bag was pulled out from under the bus, 6 nasty buggers pushed at each other to grab my bag with the pretense of helping me. I held on tight as by this point I have now once again mastered my confidence. With the most amazing “Put my bag down NOW, please!” (f**K off implied), all 6 of them held their hands up with a look of feigned innocence and stepped back. Yes! I’ve still got it! I walked into a nearby shop, asked for directions to my guesthouse, and marched the 4 blocks to where I settled in. All by myself. I’m going to be just fine.
Strange guesthouse as there wasn’t really a reception area and common bathrooms were in plain view of the staff who were just lounging around but secure and overlooking the main street. The noise was a bit much but a little balcony gave me the perfect view of all of the crazy comings and goings. Two locals latched on immediately as they were obviously part of the hotel hanger outs. One was a tout, or course, the other a local artist. Dropped my bag and asked them to find me a good place for food. Across the street, local vendor, great food. The tout sat with me, chat, chat, chat, sell me this, sell me that, until the artist guy came over and shooed him away, telling him to let me relax. Are you kidding me? Really? … Thank you. And he continued to shoo away anyone else he saw harassing me as he was visiting with other people up and down the street. He reminded me a lot of one of the guys I worked with back home so I had that sense of awww... you’re kinda familiar so I like you… but besides that, he was genuinely respectful and courteous. The only request he made as I was leaving was to come and look at his work if I had time. I had every intention to, but being the scatterbrain that I am, I didn’t even remember it until I was on the bus heading out of town. Disappointing. Crap.
Wandered town and was assaulted with shouts coming from every group or creepo I passed. A variety of hellos, how are yous, friend, and blah, blah, blah. And as a note for those of you who think I’m being a nasty cow by being frustrated with all of these kind, welcoming people, please understand that there is nothing kind or welcoming about it. Firstly, it’s men, only men who shout aggressively and do what they can to demand your attention. And second, they get in your face. They follow you, continuing to shout as you try to ignore them. They come right up beside you and get within inches of your face. Twice, I was sworn at in rage and called I’m not sure what for not stopping to engage them in what I’m sure would have been a riveting discussion about what? Why you’re on the street shouting at white women instead of working or helping your family? Or why your breath smells like rotting meat? Or how about the current state of your exceptionally corrupt government? No?? ? Again, way to ruin my experience folks. Thanks very much.
The women are lovely. Those who did say hello were speaking in a normal volume and were in no way aggressive about it. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It’s nice to watch the mixture of Christian and Muslim populations here. Covered or not, the women seemed genuinely empowered and modern. Mind you, I’m sure that’s only because the conservative fundamentalists were behind locked doors at home, but the women I did encounter on the streets, same as everywhere else, seemed to be the kindest and the hardest working of the bunch, by far. By far. How they tolerate the oafs that surround them is beyond me.
Crowded town but not for tourists sake. At any time of the day the streets are full of people coming and going. Coming from where? Going to where? Do any of you have to work? Streets full of people driving erratically or strolling slowing. What they lack in their sloth like pace on their feet they compensate for once they’re inside a vehicle. Sidewalks full of people who have laid out anything under the sun that you could ever want or need but it was geared for locals, not tourists. And lots of drinking. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t seen civilization in ages, but African men like their beer. 10am, noon, after noon, whenever. Most places that sell beer are usually pretty full. I’ve been told the drinking & driving statistics here are pretty high. Ya think?
So blah, blah, blah, always try to be in shortly after dark because it really does get nasty but this makes for lonely, quiet nights. I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in ages so poor English speaker who decides to make my acquaintance anytime soon. Poor, poor sucker.
It wasn’t nearly as cold in Moshi but it was cloudy. Lots of rooftops to take in the view of Kili but cloudy skies mean no view. Not having luck with views.
Had made a plan to visit a nearby town to see what had been mentioned as a pretty nice walk through some small villages that led to a waterfall. Sorted out the local minibus to take and set out early in the morning. Was so obscenely harassed as I stood waiting for the bus that my head almost exploded. I don’t know about you, but unfortunately, I have that horribly frustrating reaction of when I get really mad, I can start to cry. Pisses me off to no end because, believe me, you are NOT defeating me. I just want to drive the closest sharp(ish) object so far into your heart that I can actually feel the satisfaction I would get from it just by thinking about it. Pure rage. So I left. I couldn’t do it. I honestly think I was on the verge of hurting someone and I could feel tears behind my sunglasses. So I went back to my guesthouse, did some laundry, gave it some time, and tried again. Much better handled the second time around. Not sure there was any less harassment, but I was in better control of my rage.
Minibus was full beyond capacity, but I’m used to that, no biggie. I counted 18 in what should have sat 11. Not too bad. But then we started to drive. And we keep stopping. People on laps, standing in between the seats, being pushed in by the guy who was taking the money, all in all, I couldn’t even turn my head side to side. Not so great considering I had a guy’s crotch less than two inches from my nose. I think he was as uncomfortable as I was, well, maybe not AS uncomfortable, but yeah, I figured that after that trip, I qualify as a porn star should I ever feel the need to change careers. Wow.
Again, wildly attacked as soon as I stepped off the bus but bee-lined it out of their reach and breathed in some clean foothills air. It’s so funny because as soon as you’re maybe 10 metres away from where the buses stop, they all seemed to be turned back by some sort of invisible tout force field. Just…need…to…make…it…across…the…line… Ahhhhhh… I’m free.
Managed to find the right way all by myself, despite the directional retardation, and just like before, the further I got from minibus central, the nicer the people became. Down a directly vertical and very slippery mud path to the bottom of a waterfall where guides were waiting to take me to the base of the waterfall through the river. Umm… no thanks. Hung around for a bit, felt a little awkward, then made my way back. It was pretty, but yeah, it was a waterfall. As before, it was the walk and the people that made the trip worthwhile.
Another harrowing trip back to Moshi but I noticed that it wasn’t nearly as cloudy by late afternoon. Made for a rooftop patio across the street from my guest house and found apparently every single white person in town. Even though I sometimes really miss so many things about home and need to reconnect with the white girl in me, I tend to avoid most of the touristy hotspots and try to rub elbows with the locals when I can. So as I hung my head over the side of an incredible patio, the clouds slid down and the snow covered top of Mount Kilimanjaro was in perfect, clear view. Even though I couldn’t share in the bonding experiences of making that climb as it seemed everyone else was doing, I was equally in awe and felt very fortunate just to have seen the top of that magnificent mountain. Maybe one day, I can come back and make that seven day journey to the top of Africa… maybe one day…
The perfect ending to my busy couple of days in Moshi town.
Lovely Lushoto
The bus ride to Lushoto, high up in the mountains north of Dar, takes 6 hours only because we stop at every 3 house village and random person standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere along the way. Underneath the bus or wherever there is space inside the bus, the bus-luggage-boys will huck a random bag of vegetables, a mattress, or full wobbly cardboard boxes tied with twine and leaking who knows what. Some people seem to pay, others don’t, students, travelers, weirdos, I really don’t have a clue. Nor do I care. I have a seat under my bum and a window to stare out of, I’m doing just fine.
The first two hours of the journey were complete bliss. I was on the move again; a traveler, doing and seeing things that were brand new AND I had a sleeping child in my lap. The mama who plunked down beside me was struggling a bit with the maybe year and a half year old that was trying to sleep on her. Ummm… want me to take him? Please? And she hands him over. So there’s me, Whitey McWhite Girl with a sleeping African child wrapped up in my sarong cuddling in my arms. You should have seen the heads snapping back for a second look when we passed by slowly enough for people to see through the windows. *sigh* Heaven. But my window was half missing so it didn’t shut all the way. As we headed a bit further north, the wind that I was quite enjoying was getting a bit cool. Mama and I decided that I needed to hand him back over to her, out of the wind. And it started to go downhill from there…
The scenery changed from dry, flat, brush land to green, green, green rolling hills then bigger, greener, steeper mountains. A very narrow switchback road wound through whole villages with pretty, tidy rows of farming land that looked like they had been carved quite perfectly out of the side of these dewy, shimmering, rain-forest covered inclines. As we drove higher and stopped frequently to let off people or parcels, I noticed two things; the people outside were wearing heavier and heavier clothing and the chorus of vomiting bus passengers was almost comical, if it wasn’t so completely gross. I kept my eyes closed as we were in motion, mostly to avoid becoming an unwelcome addition to the nauseating melody but was sure to take a quick look around at each of the many stops. Yep, clouds are getting lower and the toques and puffy jackets are out. I’m in cold country.
Oh and I forgot to tell you about the running of the food vendors at each and every bus stop. People selling everything from drinks, fruits and vegetables, snacks, random household items, and full loaves of sliced white bread (this one I don’t get. Everywhere I’ve been, there are hundreds of people selling these loaves of bread but you’ll never ever find someone selling a sandwich and I’ve never seen a local eating bread with any of their dishes. I don’t know.) Anyway, they swarm the bus, often running at full speed with cardboard boxes filled neatly with their wares or plastic tubs balanced quite delicately atop their heads. They try desperately to get your attention through the open windows and had the bus not been as high off the ground as it was, I’m pretty sure they would have reached right through to grab your attention. People on the bus yell and point to what they want, purchase is tossed in, money is tossed out. It’s a complete madhouse of noise and capital enterprise. It’s what I imagine the floor of the NYSE to look like after the opening bell has been rung. Buy! Sell! Buy! Sell! And as the bus pulls away, these nutbar vendors continue to yell and shout while running AFTER the bus, like they’re going to make a last minute Hail Mary pass to someone who just realized that they really, really, REALLY want that 2 kgs of oranges that they didn’t want 5 minutes ago when the bus was standing still. How they don’t get run over and killed is beyond me. Absolute gong show.
But they work hard for their money. The touts at the bus stations, however, are my least favourite people on the planet. Least favourite. I can go from peaceful bliss to utter rage in the span of 3 seconds flat when dealing with these icky, aggressive slimebags. And yes, they are slimebags. They are everywhere in the world so this is nothing new to me, but again, the aggressive nature of it all here just pushes me over the edge. Quaint, small Lushoto was no different. There was a lady who was sitting behind me on the bus who spoke English and she was so concerned about the touts at this stop that she got off the bus with me, stood guard while I retrieved my massive backpack from under the bus, and offered to escort me to a guesthouse even though this wasn’t her stop! Wow. Thank you, darling! But no, no, you’ve done more than enough already, thank you so much. She pointed me in the direction I wanted to go and hopped back on the bus, looking very, very concerned. Hmmm… what am I in for?
I’m pretty good at giving the shove off to whomever thinks they are about to become my new best friend but for some reason, my skills weren’t quite up to par yet as this was only the very first day in a completely new place all on my own. This Rasta kid, looked maybe 20 years old, with all of his front teeth rotted down to black-edged points latched on to me and would not leave me alone. He followed me from guest house to guest house as I checked out my options and tried to convince me to come to his tourist information shop. At first it was “No, thank you. I’m not interested, thank you. I’m okay, thank you.” He tried to get as much information out of me as possible and was nervously trying on the hey, I’m your new best friend act but failing miserably. I’m guessing he was either incredibly dumb or incredibly desperate. Maybe some of both.
I managed to be rude enough to shake him just before I checked into a suitable place to stay. Dropped my bag, put on a few extra layers, and headed back down into town to check things out. The centre of town was the low point (physically and emotionally) and everything else around branched out and up. Up, up, up with a massive bag on my bag. Uhh yeah, haven’t done this in a while. Holy crap. Wandered through the nice little dirt road town blatantly ignoring all of the shouts for my attention and continuing to brush off Rastafang who seemed to pop up freaking everywhere! Sat down at a place that I thought was off the main route as I was starving and as I’m writing in my journal, friggin Rastafang shows up out of nowhere and sits down with me! Seriously, I almost punched the guy. He kept talking, I kept writing. I couldn’t believe it. And I had had enough. So as kindly as I could, I told him to piss the hell off, that I wanted nothing to do with him, his company, or his stupid Rasta lifestyle, and that he was starting to make me very, very angry. He eventually left and made sure to yell his “Mambo rafiki! (How’s it going, friend!) from a fair distance away whenever he saw me again. I continued to ignore him. There are some times in life when persistence does not pay off, my friend, does not pay.
So blah, blah, blah, it got cold and damp, I walked as much as I could, it’s always pitch black by 7pm in equatorial Africa, so shortly thereafter I was curled up under the blankets of my room trying to understand how I could be freezing my face off in AFRICA!!! Woke up to cold and rain the next morning and waited it out for as long as I could then bundled up in every article of clothing that I had underneath my rain coat and a handy dandy clear rain poncho (oh the looks I was getting!) and headed out to this viewpoint that was supposed to 8kms away and spectacular. Again, up and up and up in the drizzly rain but the further I got from the centre of town, the pretty the view and the nicer the people. Despite the miserable weather, I was a happy girl.
I followed the red, muddy road through small villages where nobody stared or grabbed at me to come into their shop but offered kind hellos and genuine smiles with their greetings. This was what I was looking for. As I walked higher, the clouds got lower and I ended up feeling like a gorilla in the mist. The viewpoint access was alongside a gorgeous lodge built to take full advantage of what is supposed to be a most spectacular sight. What I got? The edge of the cliff in the middle of a thick, grey cloud. It was really quite spooky. I couldn’t see a meter down. There was nothing. Looking over the edge, it was like the absolute end of the world. The rocky lip of the cliff, then nothing. A very creepy, strange feeling. I stood there feeling quite foolish but still happy that I made the trek up as the people on the way through were worth it. The manager of the lodge invited me in to look around and walked through the nearest village with me for a little ways back down, introducing me to people along the way. Sweetheart of a little old man who spoke excellent English and studied for a number of years in Cuba. Again, no view, but completely worth the trip.
Got back to town soaking wet, full of mud, and absolutely exhausted. 16kms was a nice little morning jaunt for this lazy butt. Massive market had enveloped any available space in the town upon my return so I wandered for a while until I was ready for collapse. Ate at a little side vendor where I was obviously the centre of conversation but treated so nicely, was helped to sort out my bus ticket for the next morning (that was surprisingly legitimate), and just chilled out. A very good day indeed.
The next morning, as luck would have it, I came down to the bus station 45 minutes , just because you never know, and the little food vendor guy from the day before got me on a bus that was leaving straight away rather than waiting. Sweet deal. He was a cutie pie of a little guy and shook my hand several times before giving me an awkward little hug and sending me on my way. See!!! I KNEW there were nice people out there! I knew it!
It wasn’t long before a strange young man plopped himself right up beside me and thought I would be a good opportunity to show off his English skills. Dude, it’s 7am and you smell bad, talking to you is the last thing I want right now. He spent the majority of the trip leaning full body up against me despite me taking up half my seat and jabbing a few of my super pointy elbows into his side. Somewhere in the middle of the trip, he hands me a piece of paper and pen and asks me for my email address. This happens all the time. People I have barely spoken to and will never speak to again ask for my email address. Apparently this is the thing to do. So whoever in this world has the email address: jberton@hotmail.com, I am truly sorry. I’m giving them AN email address, just not mine. Yes, yes, yes, I’m a big, fat meanie, but come on now! At least if someone at home is asking for your phone number, they’ve bought you a drink first. When you have been in my personal space making my journey exceptionally uncomfortable because you are on my ass and smell like ass, I do not want to be your pen pal (Is that a thing anymore, pen pal?) or email buddy or facebook friend. Really, I don’t. But thanks.
So my quick and cold trip to Lushoto was surprisingly similar to the mountains of Vietnam and despite small, short lived annoyances, this was a good start to my journey. Very good indeed.
The first two hours of the journey were complete bliss. I was on the move again; a traveler, doing and seeing things that were brand new AND I had a sleeping child in my lap. The mama who plunked down beside me was struggling a bit with the maybe year and a half year old that was trying to sleep on her. Ummm… want me to take him? Please? And she hands him over. So there’s me, Whitey McWhite Girl with a sleeping African child wrapped up in my sarong cuddling in my arms. You should have seen the heads snapping back for a second look when we passed by slowly enough for people to see through the windows. *sigh* Heaven. But my window was half missing so it didn’t shut all the way. As we headed a bit further north, the wind that I was quite enjoying was getting a bit cool. Mama and I decided that I needed to hand him back over to her, out of the wind. And it started to go downhill from there…
The scenery changed from dry, flat, brush land to green, green, green rolling hills then bigger, greener, steeper mountains. A very narrow switchback road wound through whole villages with pretty, tidy rows of farming land that looked like they had been carved quite perfectly out of the side of these dewy, shimmering, rain-forest covered inclines. As we drove higher and stopped frequently to let off people or parcels, I noticed two things; the people outside were wearing heavier and heavier clothing and the chorus of vomiting bus passengers was almost comical, if it wasn’t so completely gross. I kept my eyes closed as we were in motion, mostly to avoid becoming an unwelcome addition to the nauseating melody but was sure to take a quick look around at each of the many stops. Yep, clouds are getting lower and the toques and puffy jackets are out. I’m in cold country.
Oh and I forgot to tell you about the running of the food vendors at each and every bus stop. People selling everything from drinks, fruits and vegetables, snacks, random household items, and full loaves of sliced white bread (this one I don’t get. Everywhere I’ve been, there are hundreds of people selling these loaves of bread but you’ll never ever find someone selling a sandwich and I’ve never seen a local eating bread with any of their dishes. I don’t know.) Anyway, they swarm the bus, often running at full speed with cardboard boxes filled neatly with their wares or plastic tubs balanced quite delicately atop their heads. They try desperately to get your attention through the open windows and had the bus not been as high off the ground as it was, I’m pretty sure they would have reached right through to grab your attention. People on the bus yell and point to what they want, purchase is tossed in, money is tossed out. It’s a complete madhouse of noise and capital enterprise. It’s what I imagine the floor of the NYSE to look like after the opening bell has been rung. Buy! Sell! Buy! Sell! And as the bus pulls away, these nutbar vendors continue to yell and shout while running AFTER the bus, like they’re going to make a last minute Hail Mary pass to someone who just realized that they really, really, REALLY want that 2 kgs of oranges that they didn’t want 5 minutes ago when the bus was standing still. How they don’t get run over and killed is beyond me. Absolute gong show.
But they work hard for their money. The touts at the bus stations, however, are my least favourite people on the planet. Least favourite. I can go from peaceful bliss to utter rage in the span of 3 seconds flat when dealing with these icky, aggressive slimebags. And yes, they are slimebags. They are everywhere in the world so this is nothing new to me, but again, the aggressive nature of it all here just pushes me over the edge. Quaint, small Lushoto was no different. There was a lady who was sitting behind me on the bus who spoke English and she was so concerned about the touts at this stop that she got off the bus with me, stood guard while I retrieved my massive backpack from under the bus, and offered to escort me to a guesthouse even though this wasn’t her stop! Wow. Thank you, darling! But no, no, you’ve done more than enough already, thank you so much. She pointed me in the direction I wanted to go and hopped back on the bus, looking very, very concerned. Hmmm… what am I in for?
I’m pretty good at giving the shove off to whomever thinks they are about to become my new best friend but for some reason, my skills weren’t quite up to par yet as this was only the very first day in a completely new place all on my own. This Rasta kid, looked maybe 20 years old, with all of his front teeth rotted down to black-edged points latched on to me and would not leave me alone. He followed me from guest house to guest house as I checked out my options and tried to convince me to come to his tourist information shop. At first it was “No, thank you. I’m not interested, thank you. I’m okay, thank you.” He tried to get as much information out of me as possible and was nervously trying on the hey, I’m your new best friend act but failing miserably. I’m guessing he was either incredibly dumb or incredibly desperate. Maybe some of both.
I managed to be rude enough to shake him just before I checked into a suitable place to stay. Dropped my bag, put on a few extra layers, and headed back down into town to check things out. The centre of town was the low point (physically and emotionally) and everything else around branched out and up. Up, up, up with a massive bag on my bag. Uhh yeah, haven’t done this in a while. Holy crap. Wandered through the nice little dirt road town blatantly ignoring all of the shouts for my attention and continuing to brush off Rastafang who seemed to pop up freaking everywhere! Sat down at a place that I thought was off the main route as I was starving and as I’m writing in my journal, friggin Rastafang shows up out of nowhere and sits down with me! Seriously, I almost punched the guy. He kept talking, I kept writing. I couldn’t believe it. And I had had enough. So as kindly as I could, I told him to piss the hell off, that I wanted nothing to do with him, his company, or his stupid Rasta lifestyle, and that he was starting to make me very, very angry. He eventually left and made sure to yell his “Mambo rafiki! (How’s it going, friend!) from a fair distance away whenever he saw me again. I continued to ignore him. There are some times in life when persistence does not pay off, my friend, does not pay.
So blah, blah, blah, it got cold and damp, I walked as much as I could, it’s always pitch black by 7pm in equatorial Africa, so shortly thereafter I was curled up under the blankets of my room trying to understand how I could be freezing my face off in AFRICA!!! Woke up to cold and rain the next morning and waited it out for as long as I could then bundled up in every article of clothing that I had underneath my rain coat and a handy dandy clear rain poncho (oh the looks I was getting!) and headed out to this viewpoint that was supposed to 8kms away and spectacular. Again, up and up and up in the drizzly rain but the further I got from the centre of town, the pretty the view and the nicer the people. Despite the miserable weather, I was a happy girl.
I followed the red, muddy road through small villages where nobody stared or grabbed at me to come into their shop but offered kind hellos and genuine smiles with their greetings. This was what I was looking for. As I walked higher, the clouds got lower and I ended up feeling like a gorilla in the mist. The viewpoint access was alongside a gorgeous lodge built to take full advantage of what is supposed to be a most spectacular sight. What I got? The edge of the cliff in the middle of a thick, grey cloud. It was really quite spooky. I couldn’t see a meter down. There was nothing. Looking over the edge, it was like the absolute end of the world. The rocky lip of the cliff, then nothing. A very creepy, strange feeling. I stood there feeling quite foolish but still happy that I made the trek up as the people on the way through were worth it. The manager of the lodge invited me in to look around and walked through the nearest village with me for a little ways back down, introducing me to people along the way. Sweetheart of a little old man who spoke excellent English and studied for a number of years in Cuba. Again, no view, but completely worth the trip.
Got back to town soaking wet, full of mud, and absolutely exhausted. 16kms was a nice little morning jaunt for this lazy butt. Massive market had enveloped any available space in the town upon my return so I wandered for a while until I was ready for collapse. Ate at a little side vendor where I was obviously the centre of conversation but treated so nicely, was helped to sort out my bus ticket for the next morning (that was surprisingly legitimate), and just chilled out. A very good day indeed.
The next morning, as luck would have it, I came down to the bus station 45 minutes , just because you never know, and the little food vendor guy from the day before got me on a bus that was leaving straight away rather than waiting. Sweet deal. He was a cutie pie of a little guy and shook my hand several times before giving me an awkward little hug and sending me on my way. See!!! I KNEW there were nice people out there! I knew it!
It wasn’t long before a strange young man plopped himself right up beside me and thought I would be a good opportunity to show off his English skills. Dude, it’s 7am and you smell bad, talking to you is the last thing I want right now. He spent the majority of the trip leaning full body up against me despite me taking up half my seat and jabbing a few of my super pointy elbows into his side. Somewhere in the middle of the trip, he hands me a piece of paper and pen and asks me for my email address. This happens all the time. People I have barely spoken to and will never speak to again ask for my email address. Apparently this is the thing to do. So whoever in this world has the email address: jberton@hotmail.com, I am truly sorry. I’m giving them AN email address, just not mine. Yes, yes, yes, I’m a big, fat meanie, but come on now! At least if someone at home is asking for your phone number, they’ve bought you a drink first. When you have been in my personal space making my journey exceptionally uncomfortable because you are on my ass and smell like ass, I do not want to be your pen pal (Is that a thing anymore, pen pal?) or email buddy or facebook friend. Really, I don’t. But thanks.
So my quick and cold trip to Lushoto was surprisingly similar to the mountains of Vietnam and despite small, short lived annoyances, this was a good start to my journey. Very good indeed.
Dar and beyond
Since it’s never too wise for a single girl traveler to be outside after dark, I’ve compromised and hidden myself INSIDE an internet café. I’ll make a mad dash for the guest house when it’s time to go but for now, as far as I’m concerned, I’m absolutely fine.
So yep, been traveling Africa on my own for a few days now and have managed to stay alive. Why on earth I was ever afraid traveling through SE Asia, as many of you experienced with me, I’ll never know. Asia was a lovely spring stroll compared to this place. Challenge I wanted, challenge I got. AND I tend to stand out just a little bit more here, just a lil bit.
Had a couple of days in the big city of Dar Es Salaam to take care of some things and buy a few things (camera!) before I jetted out. It’s distressing how expensive Africa can be, especially when I’ve been unemployed for so long. Many things, like some types of local transport, are cheap cheap, but other things can be ridiculous, like necessary plane tickets and essential cameras. *sigh* What can I do? Sell my long hair and flaps of white skin on the streets if I need to, I guess. Please oh please don’t let it come to that yet. I just started! The sacrifices I am prepared to make though… all in the name of adventure!
So yeah, apparently I am THE most directionally challenged individual on the planet. I knew this already but I think I had somehow convinced myself that I really wasn’t that bad. Map in hand and I still spent the better part of an entire day walking in circles. I walked and walked and walked, sure that I was heading in the right direction and when I looked up and around, I shit you not, I was in the exact same place that I started. I almost cried. That being said, the very next day, all that getting lost served me well and I found my way to and fro without incident. Directionally retarded? yes. Slow learner? absolutely. Stubbornly persistent? you betcha. I’ve got inner city Dar down like the back of my hand, baby, back of my hand.
Decided to take the local city bus to the western style mall that is just outside of the city. Got there, even switched buses, without incident and was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Okay, side note… crowds. There are crowds in Asia. Big, busy crowds hustling and bustling about. I managed to live through it and came out fairly untouched by it all. But those crowds have nothing on the crowds here. And I’m not sure what it is. Yes, I am. Who am I kidding? I know exactly what it is. The numbers are probably the same but transport here is much less organized, way less efficient and exceptionally more dangerous. Shocking? Not so much. More concerning than the modes of transportation though is the complete disregard the locals here seem to have for each other. Walking down the street or passing by each other, they’ll smash into each other, or knock each other around, or push each other out of the way without the slightest sense of common decency. It’s truly bizarre to watch and then, to be part of.
Now put this type of mentality into a situation where there are far too few buses, dala dalas, bikes, taxis, or whatever. Any time a bus… oh another side note… when I say “ bus”, I mean minibus so it has seats for maybe 20 people… okay, carry on… so yeah, whenever it slows down, there will be at least double if not triple the capacity of that bus waiting to storm the open door. They will be pushing, shoving, elbowing, hitting, and shouting at each other as they all attempt to board the bus at the same time. And these are well dressed, civilized people, not mad crazy hatters! On my way to the mall, I avoided peak hour so I calmly walked on and walked off and even got a seat. On the way home, I was a dumbass and almost paid for it with my life.
Okay yeah, so crowded bus, but I’m doing alright with the crowds. I’m even learning to stand my ground and throw some nasty elbows. As we approach my stop, I start to get a little nervous. The masses had gathered outside, shoving and elbowing their way out to the middle of the road as the bus veered down on them, full speed, blaring the horn. I thought, right, I’m in no hurry, no need to push my way INSIDE the bus to the front, I’ll just hang back. Dumbest idea EVER. As I was going to be the last to get off the bus, I could see the mob outside of the window growing more violent, more aggressive. This was going to be ugly. Stepping down onto the first of two steps that would lead me to the chaotic city street, apparently my white skin blended into the bus’s interior. One step down and the mob lunged forward. Men grabbing, hitting, shoving, and elbowing me as at least 50 people all tried to get into the one door I was trying to get out of. I was jammed back onto the step and no matter how hard I pushed, I was being shoved backwards and side to side, two-hand pushed by people trying to get past me and everyone else in the crowd. I was painfully aware that if I lost my balance at that point, I would have been trampled and no one would have been bothered as they were getting on that bus no matter what. And I was losing my balance. Just as the sour taste of panic started to creep up the back of my throat, a big mama who was part of the muscle of mob hustling on the ground in front of me managed to catch my eye as I was being crushed and overtaken. She stepped aside, just an inch, but it was enough for me to gain the leverage I needed to throw myself forward and out into free, sweet space. I didn’t stop. I just kept walking, quickly, mostly to ward off the panic that was threatening to swallow me whole and to try to catch my breath from the mob crushing. Brand new experience but one I don’t care to have again, thank you very much. Sadly, I know this won’t be the last of it.
Every single bus situation seems to be the same. Not enough space and too many people. I have learned to ask for help. I was up at 4:30am for my 6am taxi to get me to the bus station for before 6:30am for my 7am bus. My taxi driver walked me right up to my bus to Lushoto and made sure I got a ticket AND a window seat! The bus stations are impossible to describe. Big, open dirt plot, maybe some signs, maybe not, random small shops set up alongside what could be a road, buses big and small driving, parking, idling in a wild array of complete chaos but it’s only chaos to me because apparently everyone seems to know where they are going. And everyone is shouting; ticket sellers, vendors, passengers, drivers, everyone. I’m pretty sure they’re not even shouting AT anyone, they’re all just shouting. Once I’m smushed into my seat, it’s actually quite entertaining to watch.
I got the window seat for the 6 hour journey to Lushoto and a mama wrapped head to toe in bright orange skirts and scarves shoves her way in beside me, elbow resting on my hip bone, legs stretched out in the aisle. And she was only a tiny thing. I guess my extra padding looked like nice, soft cushioning for her journey. She had a cute little boy in her lap who was quiet as a mouse and they both settled in amongst bags and suitcases to make the sardine packed trip to anywhere but here. Most important thing… she didn’t smell badly. A rarity here. So elbows and all, I was quite content. See ya later big city, I need some breathing room!
So yep, been traveling Africa on my own for a few days now and have managed to stay alive. Why on earth I was ever afraid traveling through SE Asia, as many of you experienced with me, I’ll never know. Asia was a lovely spring stroll compared to this place. Challenge I wanted, challenge I got. AND I tend to stand out just a little bit more here, just a lil bit.
Had a couple of days in the big city of Dar Es Salaam to take care of some things and buy a few things (camera!) before I jetted out. It’s distressing how expensive Africa can be, especially when I’ve been unemployed for so long. Many things, like some types of local transport, are cheap cheap, but other things can be ridiculous, like necessary plane tickets and essential cameras. *sigh* What can I do? Sell my long hair and flaps of white skin on the streets if I need to, I guess. Please oh please don’t let it come to that yet. I just started! The sacrifices I am prepared to make though… all in the name of adventure!
So yeah, apparently I am THE most directionally challenged individual on the planet. I knew this already but I think I had somehow convinced myself that I really wasn’t that bad. Map in hand and I still spent the better part of an entire day walking in circles. I walked and walked and walked, sure that I was heading in the right direction and when I looked up and around, I shit you not, I was in the exact same place that I started. I almost cried. That being said, the very next day, all that getting lost served me well and I found my way to and fro without incident. Directionally retarded? yes. Slow learner? absolutely. Stubbornly persistent? you betcha. I’ve got inner city Dar down like the back of my hand, baby, back of my hand.
Decided to take the local city bus to the western style mall that is just outside of the city. Got there, even switched buses, without incident and was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Okay, side note… crowds. There are crowds in Asia. Big, busy crowds hustling and bustling about. I managed to live through it and came out fairly untouched by it all. But those crowds have nothing on the crowds here. And I’m not sure what it is. Yes, I am. Who am I kidding? I know exactly what it is. The numbers are probably the same but transport here is much less organized, way less efficient and exceptionally more dangerous. Shocking? Not so much. More concerning than the modes of transportation though is the complete disregard the locals here seem to have for each other. Walking down the street or passing by each other, they’ll smash into each other, or knock each other around, or push each other out of the way without the slightest sense of common decency. It’s truly bizarre to watch and then, to be part of.
Now put this type of mentality into a situation where there are far too few buses, dala dalas, bikes, taxis, or whatever. Any time a bus… oh another side note… when I say “ bus”, I mean minibus so it has seats for maybe 20 people… okay, carry on… so yeah, whenever it slows down, there will be at least double if not triple the capacity of that bus waiting to storm the open door. They will be pushing, shoving, elbowing, hitting, and shouting at each other as they all attempt to board the bus at the same time. And these are well dressed, civilized people, not mad crazy hatters! On my way to the mall, I avoided peak hour so I calmly walked on and walked off and even got a seat. On the way home, I was a dumbass and almost paid for it with my life.
Okay yeah, so crowded bus, but I’m doing alright with the crowds. I’m even learning to stand my ground and throw some nasty elbows. As we approach my stop, I start to get a little nervous. The masses had gathered outside, shoving and elbowing their way out to the middle of the road as the bus veered down on them, full speed, blaring the horn. I thought, right, I’m in no hurry, no need to push my way INSIDE the bus to the front, I’ll just hang back. Dumbest idea EVER. As I was going to be the last to get off the bus, I could see the mob outside of the window growing more violent, more aggressive. This was going to be ugly. Stepping down onto the first of two steps that would lead me to the chaotic city street, apparently my white skin blended into the bus’s interior. One step down and the mob lunged forward. Men grabbing, hitting, shoving, and elbowing me as at least 50 people all tried to get into the one door I was trying to get out of. I was jammed back onto the step and no matter how hard I pushed, I was being shoved backwards and side to side, two-hand pushed by people trying to get past me and everyone else in the crowd. I was painfully aware that if I lost my balance at that point, I would have been trampled and no one would have been bothered as they were getting on that bus no matter what. And I was losing my balance. Just as the sour taste of panic started to creep up the back of my throat, a big mama who was part of the muscle of mob hustling on the ground in front of me managed to catch my eye as I was being crushed and overtaken. She stepped aside, just an inch, but it was enough for me to gain the leverage I needed to throw myself forward and out into free, sweet space. I didn’t stop. I just kept walking, quickly, mostly to ward off the panic that was threatening to swallow me whole and to try to catch my breath from the mob crushing. Brand new experience but one I don’t care to have again, thank you very much. Sadly, I know this won’t be the last of it.
Every single bus situation seems to be the same. Not enough space and too many people. I have learned to ask for help. I was up at 4:30am for my 6am taxi to get me to the bus station for before 6:30am for my 7am bus. My taxi driver walked me right up to my bus to Lushoto and made sure I got a ticket AND a window seat! The bus stations are impossible to describe. Big, open dirt plot, maybe some signs, maybe not, random small shops set up alongside what could be a road, buses big and small driving, parking, idling in a wild array of complete chaos but it’s only chaos to me because apparently everyone seems to know where they are going. And everyone is shouting; ticket sellers, vendors, passengers, drivers, everyone. I’m pretty sure they’re not even shouting AT anyone, they’re all just shouting. Once I’m smushed into my seat, it’s actually quite entertaining to watch.
I got the window seat for the 6 hour journey to Lushoto and a mama wrapped head to toe in bright orange skirts and scarves shoves her way in beside me, elbow resting on my hip bone, legs stretched out in the aisle. And she was only a tiny thing. I guess my extra padding looked like nice, soft cushioning for her journey. She had a cute little boy in her lap who was quiet as a mouse and they both settled in amongst bags and suitcases to make the sardine packed trip to anywhere but here. Most important thing… she didn’t smell badly. A rarity here. So elbows and all, I was quite content. See ya later big city, I need some breathing room!
The Great Escape
Woke to a too-many-rums-the-night-before headache and thankful that I had the regular traveling OCD state of mind to have had all the bags packed and ready to go the night before. Bumbled my way through the last of the cold showers in a sewer smell bathroom with various sized creatures perched, lodged, or cowering on every ledge and in every corner. Shook my head and smiled just a little bit at the recognition that there has been an enormous and angry looking spider sitting ready to attack in a nest like web directly over the shower head for the past several days and I have carried on without the slightest hing of panic induced hysteria. Progress folks, progress. I was ridiculously happy to see the sun turning the dark sky from night to bright, clear blue as the rains from the day before would have made travel miserable, if not impossible. All hopeful signs that this was going to be a good day for the beginning of my African journeys.
Made my way down to the familiar resort territory and glanced at the mess that had been left from the night before, the day before, and most likely the day before that. Didn't feel the slightest inclination to tidy up, as i would have done, every other morning before. Had a quick chat with Dave about how late breakfast was this morning and again, no urge to go into the kitchen and sort out the status, none whatsoever. Grabbed a bottle of water to soothe that irritating headache, and went to sit at the water's edge to watch the tide and the sun and the beginning of the day one last time. It was as beautiful as it was the day I arrived or maybe a little more so as I felt like I was looking at it as an outsider, on my way out. A very peaceful, liberating feeling. That sounds so sad.
I've been thinking a lot over the last few days of how disappointed I am in myself, that I've allowed the politics and the bitterness of the owners here overshadow what could have been a much richer experience. I got so sucked into the nastiness of it all that I became part of the nasty. I was negative, angry, hostile, and focused on escape, blinded to the experiences that I could have been having. Not the ideal I was hoping for. I've decided to write a farewell email to the owner, not friendly but hopefully being the bigger man, simply thanking them for the opportunity and stating that I choose not to have my lasting memories of this place be of conflict around money. Word has it that he is already slagging me off to whomever is in earshot but as I sat and watched the waves that one last time, I realized that for once, I really don't care what someone else thinks of me. I will find peace with all of this, I will accept it for the experience it has been, and I will look forward to this new part of my journey, a little bit wiser and hopefuly in a much more positive state of mind. It's exhausting being angry and offended all the time. Exhausting.
I carefully and purposefully avoided goodbyes to almost every single staff member. I don't do goodbyes at the best of times and this would have just been too complicated. I wrote each one of them a little note that Mac will pass on and I will close the door on this chapter. I have closed the door. I will miss Mac and I will worry about him, but he's got his own life and he will live by his choices. I managed to help hook him up with a very cute girl who arrived to do some diving so for now, he is a very happy boy. It's pretty cute and I'm smug as a bug to have played a role in the matchmaking. Life goes on...
Of course our dear sweet taxi driver who I asked to pick me up at 8am didn't arrive until after 9am. We barrelled out of the resort at 9:15am to try to cover the hour and 15 minute trip in record time as my flight was at 10:30am. We slowed down just enough for our Swahili business man to throw himself in the truck as we flew through town... he had my passport with my visa extension. I ran to the toilet as they checked in my bags (there is no screening process here) and they shoved me through a door telling me the plane was leaving. Not even a chance to say goodbye. My phone read 10:28am as an impatient but lethargic looking darling told me I was late as she made gestures to allude to searching my carry on then ushered me through. I walked beside the trolley that was taking my bags to the plane, hopped up, and we were off. A quick stop in Zanzibar, bags put on a new little plane, and arrival in Dar just after noon. The airport was dead quiet and I was ready for the taxis. No customers put the ball in my court!
As I staggered under the weight of an overstuffed backpack, out of practice and out of shape, they descended. Pointing to a very official looking but completely fraudulant board, they demanded $25USD to take me the 20 mins I knew it would take me to get to my hotel. I was not going to lose this game. Smiled and shook my head, told them I was a resident, that I had been back and forth to that hotel several times, shot down all of their illogical reasons for the fee, and within 5 mins, I got them to the 15,000Tsh (almost half!) that I knew was the right price and we were on our way. But I'm not easily fooled - Africa is going to be WAY tougher than SE Asia... WAY!
I have since settled into my room, wandered desperately in several different attempts to find an ATM that would work with my card, took a much needed and extremely comfortable nap, made plans and sorted directions for the chores I need to get done tomorrow, filled my belly with some yummy food, am writing to all of you, because I love you all and need to keep in touch, will find some chocolate, and then soon retire to my room as the darkness is far too scary in this part of the world. Not tired but I know this area is noisy so uninterrupted sleep will not be an option. Better to just hunker down and rest for what I know will be a draining day tomorrow as I attempt to negotiate city streets via local transport. Sucker for punishment every step of the way.
So off I go. I hope future entries will be of an entirely different nature than they have been so far and I expect that there are many more tests to come. Stay tuned my friends, and wish me luck... xoxo
Made my way down to the familiar resort territory and glanced at the mess that had been left from the night before, the day before, and most likely the day before that. Didn't feel the slightest inclination to tidy up, as i would have done, every other morning before. Had a quick chat with Dave about how late breakfast was this morning and again, no urge to go into the kitchen and sort out the status, none whatsoever. Grabbed a bottle of water to soothe that irritating headache, and went to sit at the water's edge to watch the tide and the sun and the beginning of the day one last time. It was as beautiful as it was the day I arrived or maybe a little more so as I felt like I was looking at it as an outsider, on my way out. A very peaceful, liberating feeling. That sounds so sad.
I've been thinking a lot over the last few days of how disappointed I am in myself, that I've allowed the politics and the bitterness of the owners here overshadow what could have been a much richer experience. I got so sucked into the nastiness of it all that I became part of the nasty. I was negative, angry, hostile, and focused on escape, blinded to the experiences that I could have been having. Not the ideal I was hoping for. I've decided to write a farewell email to the owner, not friendly but hopefully being the bigger man, simply thanking them for the opportunity and stating that I choose not to have my lasting memories of this place be of conflict around money. Word has it that he is already slagging me off to whomever is in earshot but as I sat and watched the waves that one last time, I realized that for once, I really don't care what someone else thinks of me. I will find peace with all of this, I will accept it for the experience it has been, and I will look forward to this new part of my journey, a little bit wiser and hopefuly in a much more positive state of mind. It's exhausting being angry and offended all the time. Exhausting.
I carefully and purposefully avoided goodbyes to almost every single staff member. I don't do goodbyes at the best of times and this would have just been too complicated. I wrote each one of them a little note that Mac will pass on and I will close the door on this chapter. I have closed the door. I will miss Mac and I will worry about him, but he's got his own life and he will live by his choices. I managed to help hook him up with a very cute girl who arrived to do some diving so for now, he is a very happy boy. It's pretty cute and I'm smug as a bug to have played a role in the matchmaking. Life goes on...
Of course our dear sweet taxi driver who I asked to pick me up at 8am didn't arrive until after 9am. We barrelled out of the resort at 9:15am to try to cover the hour and 15 minute trip in record time as my flight was at 10:30am. We slowed down just enough for our Swahili business man to throw himself in the truck as we flew through town... he had my passport with my visa extension. I ran to the toilet as they checked in my bags (there is no screening process here) and they shoved me through a door telling me the plane was leaving. Not even a chance to say goodbye. My phone read 10:28am as an impatient but lethargic looking darling told me I was late as she made gestures to allude to searching my carry on then ushered me through. I walked beside the trolley that was taking my bags to the plane, hopped up, and we were off. A quick stop in Zanzibar, bags put on a new little plane, and arrival in Dar just after noon. The airport was dead quiet and I was ready for the taxis. No customers put the ball in my court!
As I staggered under the weight of an overstuffed backpack, out of practice and out of shape, they descended. Pointing to a very official looking but completely fraudulant board, they demanded $25USD to take me the 20 mins I knew it would take me to get to my hotel. I was not going to lose this game. Smiled and shook my head, told them I was a resident, that I had been back and forth to that hotel several times, shot down all of their illogical reasons for the fee, and within 5 mins, I got them to the 15,000Tsh (almost half!) that I knew was the right price and we were on our way. But I'm not easily fooled - Africa is going to be WAY tougher than SE Asia... WAY!
I have since settled into my room, wandered desperately in several different attempts to find an ATM that would work with my card, took a much needed and extremely comfortable nap, made plans and sorted directions for the chores I need to get done tomorrow, filled my belly with some yummy food, am writing to all of you, because I love you all and need to keep in touch, will find some chocolate, and then soon retire to my room as the darkness is far too scary in this part of the world. Not tired but I know this area is noisy so uninterrupted sleep will not be an option. Better to just hunker down and rest for what I know will be a draining day tomorrow as I attempt to negotiate city streets via local transport. Sucker for punishment every step of the way.
So off I go. I hope future entries will be of an entirely different nature than they have been so far and I expect that there are many more tests to come. Stay tuned my friends, and wish me luck... xoxo
coward...
Quick update...
He didn't respond to my email which tells me my point was made and he knows I am right. His response? To tell Mac to not pay for my plane ticket off of the island, claiming it's because I'm leaving early, despite him encouraging me to leave early. Too cowardly to address it himself. Spoiled rotten child.
Mac and Dave are both shaking their heads as 1., I brought in business and saved their asses by keeping this place functioning the 2 1/2 days that Mac was in jail even after this fight for the money began and 2., I've just brought in another $2500 worth of business as there is a couple looking to do a diving course but my computer is the only working computer they can use. If they couldn't do the course, the couple wasn't going to stay. Dave says I'm too nice for my own good. Right now, I'm so angry I could scream.
Mac says he'll find a way to pay for my ticket but I don't want any favours at this point. It's the cheap little $75 plane ticket off the island, that's how petty he's being! Dave says I should take my computer and run, telling the owner to suck it. Mac just looks nervous.
Every single person who has ever left this company, EVERY, SINGLE, PERSON has left under miserable circumstances, I knew I wouldn't be any different. I just can't believe that in addition to stiffing me on the cash, he is looking for other ways to screw me over. And he wants me to chat with the new upcoming teacher to help prepare her... oh I am so tempted but am remembering... if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. I really want to warn her, but at this point, I just need to cut my losses and run for the hills.
Any other suggestions are welcome,,, seriously.
He didn't respond to my email which tells me my point was made and he knows I am right. His response? To tell Mac to not pay for my plane ticket off of the island, claiming it's because I'm leaving early, despite him encouraging me to leave early. Too cowardly to address it himself. Spoiled rotten child.
Mac and Dave are both shaking their heads as 1., I brought in business and saved their asses by keeping this place functioning the 2 1/2 days that Mac was in jail even after this fight for the money began and 2., I've just brought in another $2500 worth of business as there is a couple looking to do a diving course but my computer is the only working computer they can use. If they couldn't do the course, the couple wasn't going to stay. Dave says I'm too nice for my own good. Right now, I'm so angry I could scream.
Mac says he'll find a way to pay for my ticket but I don't want any favours at this point. It's the cheap little $75 plane ticket off the island, that's how petty he's being! Dave says I should take my computer and run, telling the owner to suck it. Mac just looks nervous.
Every single person who has ever left this company, EVERY, SINGLE, PERSON has left under miserable circumstances, I knew I wouldn't be any different. I just can't believe that in addition to stiffing me on the cash, he is looking for other ways to screw me over. And he wants me to chat with the new upcoming teacher to help prepare her... oh I am so tempted but am remembering... if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. I really want to warn her, but at this point, I just need to cut my losses and run for the hills.
Any other suggestions are welcome,,, seriously.
And it just keeps getting better.
Hello all!
Oh how incredible it is that so much can happen in such a small place in such a short period of time. Let’s review the most important news, shall we? Hesitating going to Mozambique? Over it. I’m going. If I end up penniless, lost, and confused there is amazing coastline all the way down so Beach Bum Beaton it is. Really, I came here for an adventure, I’m being offered an adventure of a lifetime with some very cool company, why on earth would I turn it down? If I don’t find work, I’ll figure it out. I always figure it out. So yes, I am going to Mozambique. My poor friend, Brendan. That boy has tolerated some full on freak out from this nut job and still encourages me to come down. I think we’ll be just fine, absolutely fine.
There has been some SERIOUS drama on the work front. First let’s start with me copying and pasting an email conversation that I’ve had with the director. I’ll take out names and addresses but you’ll get the gist of the story.
Hi R!
Hope you guys are having a great time, connecting with lots of friends, drinking lots of really good drink, and causing tons of trouble. Just as a holiday should be. Have attached my resignation letter, had it ready for the 1st but unfortunately, just got internet back today. Cc'ed it to Mac, as apparently he's in charge. Give my best to C, please!
Janice
Mac is most definately in charge.
I cannot see him physically restraining you.
You have but one life... Live it.
R
Thank you, R. After discussing time lines with Mac, so as to have an extra body here while he is away, I am thinking of flying to Dar on the afternoon of the 27th as Mac should be back the evening of the 25th. I can turn in my visa application for Mozambique on the 28th and then spend the next week or so hopefully seeing a bit of Tanzania while I wait for my visa to be processed. CB has suggested that I must try to do a safari as it is Africa, after all, and gave me some ideas of where to go. Any ideas or suggestions that you have would be really appreciated as it’s hard to know where to start and what to highlight. I’m looking at this being a good excuse to get that blog up and running again, as you’ve said. Also, if there is a possibility of accessing the 100USD / month for my time here, it would open up some options for me in terms of travel. Thinking that maybe if I get chased by a lion or two it will help with losing the ass I’ve gained. Thanks again. Talk to you soon.
Janice
Janice,
I repeatedly asked you to accept the 100$ a month and you kept
declining saying you had renumeration enough. I therefore did not
budget for it so the answer regrettably is no.
I wish you had taken it on a monthly basis.
R
Hi R,
Yes, that is rather regrettable. I do remember two conversations we had about the $100, the first one being whether I would take the payment in Tshillings, to which I replied, of course, and the second one being after a lengthy discussion on budgets, my role within the company, and how strapped SD was at the time, it was added, oh and we have to pay you, to which I replied, not to worry about money right now, I was fine. I didn’t mean for that to imply that I wanted to waive the honorarium completely. I understand that this is a very slow time for the business. Please see that this is something that I was depending on, maybe not receiving the whole lump sum at once, but at some point. Are there other options we can explore here?
Janice
Janice,
your exact words were "I feel I have been renumerated more than enough"
sorry about this, but when you said no. I took it to be no.
R
***This will be the next and final email that I will send to him in a couple of days as there has been some other drama that needs to cool first. I know his response will be bitter and unchanged, these emails are quite kind and apologetic but I’m jaded because of my dealings with him thus far. $500 is a good chunk of money that he is conveniently now trying to back out of… good times for me.
R,
You illustrated my point of misunderstandings perfectly by quoting what you state to be my exact words; I have not once in my life used the word “renumeration” or “remuneration” (which is what I think you meant to type) hence, showing me quite clearly that this was not a situation of me turning down the money, but of a miscommunication. I have always depended on that $100 honorarium as a put away fund for the travel I intended to do once I left Pemba. Again, my comments of you not needing to worry about paying me “right now” in no way implied that I was turning down the small token of agreed upon money after I have been unemployed for several months. That makes no sense as I have always known that I would need it.
I have never asked to be compensated for anything extra that I have done for you here at your resort and that is where I think the misunderstandings have developed. You’ve spoken to me several times about past situations where you’ve been asked to pay someone for helping out around the resort when you made it clear that you had no intention of paying them. To this, I said that I understood and did not expect to be compensated for the extra responsibilities I have taken on. I’ve had no problem covering the resort a number of times while all of your staff have been away or when you have needed assistance and I do believe I have done a good job of it based upon the feedback from you and from guests. I want nothing for that, and never have. Again, I think these are the conversations you are remembering.
It’s a shame that you feel there’s no room for discussion considering my stay and I continue to be baffled as to how it came to this. These emails are simply inquiring about honouring what was the original agreement for my teaching. Nothing extra, nothing more. I do hope that you recognize the difficult situation that this has placed me in and will reconsider exploring options with me.
***I’ll be sure to post the response, guaranteed it’s going to be a doozy. He’s such an idiot!
Oh and it gets better. I went diving yesterday for the first time in over a month. Things have been quiet, no staff around to teach, might as well get in the water. Weather has been rough so conditions have been challenging – exactly what I wanted. We hop back in the boat after our first dive and sweet boat captain Mohamed tells me that the cleaning girl called him while we were under the water. 10 armed police men came and arrested Mac but no one knows what’s going on. Dave and I have a little chat, trying not to let the guests overhear, and essentially, what can we do? We’re out at sea, the guests want to dive, Mac’s already gone… carry on? So we do. I’m a little pre-occupied on dive #2, no doubt, GM in Tanzania jail… this isn’t going to be good.
Get back to the resort and start making calls. Our Swahili paperwork-administrator-lawyer-business guy who works at the resort and our Swahili taxi driver both speak excellent English, are well connected, and are already on the case at Mac’s side. Thank goodness! After a million phone calls and tons of back and forth, it seems that the corrupt tourism board took Mac to jail for a payment that wasn’t made from before was even here. NINE YEARS AGO!!! They claimed that he was summoned to court and didn’t show. No such summons was ever delivered here. AND this is a civil case, not a criminal case, they should be suing the company, not charging Mac, yet they insisted on putting him in jail and criminally charging him as personally responsible for the lack of payment from NINE YEARS AGO as he is the current manager!!! Think of all of those horror stories you’ve heard about 3rd world jails, no food, no sanitation, complete dire straits. Yep, we’re freaking out.
And in the midst of all of this, we have two guests and oh looky here, a walk in guest. Sure, no problem. Ummm… I’m handed a set of keys that was tossed to a local staff member as Mac was being carted away, I have no money as other staffers are running to me asking for supplies and food to take care of the day to day, and I’m to try to sort out this new guest who wants prices and packages and la-dee-dah. Why don’t you just settle in and we’ll talk money later, ‘K? Awesome.
Dave is the hired help, supposed to be the dive shop manager and running the resort when Mac is away, but he wants nothing to do with any of it. Nothing. Says he doesn’t know what to do anyway and it’s all up to me. Hmmm… really, after the BS that the owners are putting me through, why on earth would I want to keep this place running? WHY? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. So off I go. I get Dave on the phone with the owners in the UK asking them for pricing. I clean a room, arrange food and fuel for the boat and generator on credit, and take phone calls from our business and taxi guys with regular updates and to do lists on Mac. I get a phone call from the owner’s wife with pricing and set about getting our new guest settled. Oh, and by the way, I’m just the volunteer English teacher.
The night continues on with its chaos of business and taxi guy coming and going to gather what they need for Mac and to make a plan. The jail is a good hour’s drive from here and much longer by local transport. I ask Dave to sit down to dinner with the guests, as we all sit at one table together, to be hospitable but he has this issue with eating at night and says he’s just going to his room. This happens a lot. Dave, seriously, help me out here. Nah, they’ll be fine, good night all. He’s 45 and the EMPLOYEE here. COME ON!!! Thanks. So I try to sit for dinner, get called away, and never really make it back to the table. After the guests have eaten and toddled off to their rooms for the night, I get into a nice discussion with our night guards using kitchen staff as translators. I’m pretty sure one of them is stealing fuel but tonight is NOT the night for me to have it out with him. I give him the extra 10L of fuel he says he needs to keep the generator running and try to get to bed.
My head is on runaway setting. Did I send the right clothes and things for Mac? Oh poor Mac, I can’t believe he’s in jail… an African jail! Curses to death on the owners and their exceptionally insensitive and self-preserving responses to all of this (he was giving regular updates on facebook! Complete clod.) What else can I do? How am I supposed to keep this place running with no money and almost no food? Why can’t more strings be pulled to get Mac out of jail? Why is Mac IN jail? The owner is the prince son of an Indian so and so connected to every high official from here to there and we can’t get him out of jail for a civil case?! Around and around and around.
Morning comes with a phone call at 6:30am. Taxi guy is trying to reach bushiness guy but can’t get him. I gave Dave a 7am chore – get up and drive our business guy half way to where he needed to be to be with Mac and pick up the fuel arranged on credit on the way. I’ve never heard a grown man whine and moan so much about everything. I’ve tried to have a sense of humor and make fun of him a bit about it, but seriously, you’re a grown man! While he’s gone, I crack the whip at the kitchen girl who has been late with breakfast everyday and I get the new guest sorted out and fitted up for his diving kit as he wants to go diving. I continue to field phone calls, tend to three guests who are surprisingly needy, and get the dive boat set to go. When there haven’t been guests for a while, it’s amazing how quickly everyone seems to forget the expectations of their job. 9am Dave returns, scoops up his divers and they’re off.
Then I start in on another search and taaa-duuummmmm! Found the missing briefcase that has 1. Mac’s passport, and 2. Cash. Sweet, sweet cash. Spent the morning paying off the debts I managed to accrue, greeted, schmoozed, and convinced two more new walk –in guests to stay as that brings me more cash, rearranged and cleaned rooms as the guy from yesterday needed a new room and the two new guests needed to be set up but we’re down to almost no staff for low season. Sent this staff here and that staff there to get the bits and pieces we still needed. Sorted paper work for bills and orders, continued with the phone calls, and continued to worry about our dear incarcerated friend, Mac.
Dave and the divers return. Dave eats lunch and goes to bed, such is his routine, until the generator comes on late afternoon. He’ll be on his computer for a couple hours then disappear to his room for the night. I spin and putter around as now that they have returned, everyone seems to need this and that, staff want this and that and it’s hard to walk away from people with a simple, “sorry, I don’t work here”. Supplies here are bought on an as needed basis. We need this for lunch, send someone to the village, we need this for dinner, someone else needs to go this time. It’s ridiculous. And all the while I’m not sure if I should be spending the money that I found but I figure telling the guests, “sorry, we don’t have toilet paper tonight” isn’t really an option. Really.
The day blurs into the evening and I ask Dave to just keep an eye out while I run up and take a quick shower as it has been a long, stinky time since this girl last smelled like soap. Can I just please leave the phones with you? I just need a shower. Imagine the best 4 year old whiny voice you can… but I don’t want to talk to guests. Dave, I’ve been with them all day, there’s a bunch of other crap I need to do later, please, just give me half an hour, you don’t have to talk to guests, if they need anything, I’ll get it when I’m back. Please just answer the phones because it might be about Mac. He said he’d grab a beer and sit in the lounge area but he wasn’t going to do anything and he was going up to his room straight after I got back. I took the phones with me to the shower. Again, thanks Dave, thanks.
And that’s exactly what happened. I came down, he went to his room. 7:30pm. Not his job, he was done working. I continued on with phone calls that one minute said Mac was out, the next, nope, he’s in for one more night. I tried to get info for guests on airlines and reservations and things that I have no idea about and I tried to be as hostess hospitable as I could be. Things slowed then stalled out around 9pm and the guests were left to entertain themselves. Me? I blog. See, you guys are THAT important to me! Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I’ve just been fuming a bit and this is a good release for me. All about me, all about me, all about me.
On that note however, I do need to crash. Mac is still not home, but it sounds a little like he has gained international celebrity status and may not be struggling or suffering nearly as much as my tormented imagination figures. Sounds as if British High Commission representatives on are the case, ex-pats who have been business owners here for decades are calling in favours and pulling strings, and Mac is front and centre attention of all things government in Pemba right now. But he’s still in jail. Fingers crossed for freedom tomorrow…
HE’S FREE! HE’S FREE! HE’S FREE! Our boy Mac was released from his vile captors around noon today. Before I get into it though, I went back and read what I wrote before… and I said DAVE was a whiner?! Holy crow! I’m ridiculous! I might be the biggest whiner / complainer on the block! Sorry about the oh-poor-me sob story. Being responsible for this place is not difficult, not in the least. Apparently being tired gives me the creative freedom to make running a pokey little resort sound like manning the latest mission into space. Wow. Sorry about that folks. This crybaby has cowboy’ed up and has gotten over herself. Seriously. Ridiculous.
So MAC! He’s back, he’s very quiet, and he’s pretty shaken. Have given him lots of hugs and lots of space. He’s not wanting to talk about it so much yet. He can joke about the conditions, they were shit but not as horrid as I had imagined, but I think he’s more traumatized by the realization that he was set up as a tool to be used and held for ransom by a very coordinated and corrupt government effort. Really. He is completely vulnerable and when it comes down to it, alone. All the phone calls in the world can be made and money thrown by the bucket fulls but it comes down to him at the mercy of some very twisted, powerful men who have an agenda. Terrifying.
I had some time to talk, or rather listen to our business guy and taxi guy after they had returned our dear GM to the comfort of familiar surroundings. Oh dear friends, the stories they were telling. I know there are many sides to how this all went down, but these two have been the ones in the court and in the jail. These two have been the ones on the phones and in offices with lawyers and magistrates and judges at all times of the day and night over the last 48hrs. They haven’t slept, eaten, or seen their families. These two had to raise the money and put up their own to get Mac out. These two are who made it happen. Guess who’s taking all the credit? The stories they were telling, about the director yelling, screaming, swearing, and threatening the magistrate, caused the magistrate to dismiss any hopes of Mac being released last night. These two went on and on about how hated the owner is, on this island and with locals, how ignorant he is about people and relationships, which in turns makes things infinitely more difficult. They said he throws money at people and thinks it will make problems go away but all it has done is make things worse because he doesn’t know how to talk to people. Sound familiar? These two said that if the owners were here when Mac went to jail, they feel for sure that Mac would still be in jail because the owner does nothing but make things worse with blind, childish rage. But he’s the hero in all of this. You should see the facebook sellout. It’s disgusting. Do you guys remember where I am working? Check it out on facebook and read the statuses… it makes me absolutely sick. Free PR for his resort. Utterly shameful.
Mac was supposed to leave on a much needed holiday in a couple of days to go visit his sister and relax for the first time in months. They have his passport, he is out on bail, and cannot go anywhere off of the island for the next 30 days. I don’t even know what to say to him. I want to smuggle him out in my backpack. Mac’s a really good guy who has been set up and left to take the fall for years and years of political and personal mismanagement by some very selfish individuals. There is a direct link back to the owners mistreating someone or other and most of the crime or drama that has happened here. Yes, yes, this is Africa and there are shady deals and crime all around, but this is different. I’m a little biased because I have a huge hate-on for these two right now, but to see the two educated, LOYAL employees of this place shake their heads in disgust and distress over how this has gone down… it speaks volumes. Volumes. Please keep Mac in your thoughts and send as much positivity over this way as you can… this boy is going to need it.
I still haven’t figured out my timeline for departure and travel yet. Some of it will depend on how long I can get my Tanzania visa extended for. I’m really excited to start travelling and seeing things and experiencing at least a little bit of Africa. Animals! Oh how I want to see animals. Which reminds me… I really need to get a camera.
So signing off for now so I can get this posted. I’ll keep you guys filled in as I seem to have lots more time on my hands lately. Hoping that once I leave here the stories will be much more interesting and a whole lot less negative and whiny. I really need to work on that, don’t I? Sorry about that folks. I should have moved on a long time ago. Anyway! Stay tuned for the latest…
xoxo
Oh how incredible it is that so much can happen in such a small place in such a short period of time. Let’s review the most important news, shall we? Hesitating going to Mozambique? Over it. I’m going. If I end up penniless, lost, and confused there is amazing coastline all the way down so Beach Bum Beaton it is. Really, I came here for an adventure, I’m being offered an adventure of a lifetime with some very cool company, why on earth would I turn it down? If I don’t find work, I’ll figure it out. I always figure it out. So yes, I am going to Mozambique. My poor friend, Brendan. That boy has tolerated some full on freak out from this nut job and still encourages me to come down. I think we’ll be just fine, absolutely fine.
There has been some SERIOUS drama on the work front. First let’s start with me copying and pasting an email conversation that I’ve had with the director. I’ll take out names and addresses but you’ll get the gist of the story.
Hi R!
Hope you guys are having a great time, connecting with lots of friends, drinking lots of really good drink, and causing tons of trouble. Just as a holiday should be. Have attached my resignation letter, had it ready for the 1st but unfortunately, just got internet back today. Cc'ed it to Mac, as apparently he's in charge. Give my best to C, please!
Janice
Mac is most definately in charge.
I cannot see him physically restraining you.
You have but one life... Live it.
R
Thank you, R. After discussing time lines with Mac, so as to have an extra body here while he is away, I am thinking of flying to Dar on the afternoon of the 27th as Mac should be back the evening of the 25th. I can turn in my visa application for Mozambique on the 28th and then spend the next week or so hopefully seeing a bit of Tanzania while I wait for my visa to be processed. CB has suggested that I must try to do a safari as it is Africa, after all, and gave me some ideas of where to go. Any ideas or suggestions that you have would be really appreciated as it’s hard to know where to start and what to highlight. I’m looking at this being a good excuse to get that blog up and running again, as you’ve said. Also, if there is a possibility of accessing the 100USD / month for my time here, it would open up some options for me in terms of travel. Thinking that maybe if I get chased by a lion or two it will help with losing the ass I’ve gained. Thanks again. Talk to you soon.
Janice
Janice,
I repeatedly asked you to accept the 100$ a month and you kept
declining saying you had renumeration enough. I therefore did not
budget for it so the answer regrettably is no.
I wish you had taken it on a monthly basis.
R
Hi R,
Yes, that is rather regrettable. I do remember two conversations we had about the $100, the first one being whether I would take the payment in Tshillings, to which I replied, of course, and the second one being after a lengthy discussion on budgets, my role within the company, and how strapped SD was at the time, it was added, oh and we have to pay you, to which I replied, not to worry about money right now, I was fine. I didn’t mean for that to imply that I wanted to waive the honorarium completely. I understand that this is a very slow time for the business. Please see that this is something that I was depending on, maybe not receiving the whole lump sum at once, but at some point. Are there other options we can explore here?
Janice
Janice,
your exact words were "I feel I have been renumerated more than enough"
sorry about this, but when you said no. I took it to be no.
R
***This will be the next and final email that I will send to him in a couple of days as there has been some other drama that needs to cool first. I know his response will be bitter and unchanged, these emails are quite kind and apologetic but I’m jaded because of my dealings with him thus far. $500 is a good chunk of money that he is conveniently now trying to back out of… good times for me.
R,
You illustrated my point of misunderstandings perfectly by quoting what you state to be my exact words; I have not once in my life used the word “renumeration” or “remuneration” (which is what I think you meant to type) hence, showing me quite clearly that this was not a situation of me turning down the money, but of a miscommunication. I have always depended on that $100 honorarium as a put away fund for the travel I intended to do once I left Pemba. Again, my comments of you not needing to worry about paying me “right now” in no way implied that I was turning down the small token of agreed upon money after I have been unemployed for several months. That makes no sense as I have always known that I would need it.
I have never asked to be compensated for anything extra that I have done for you here at your resort and that is where I think the misunderstandings have developed. You’ve spoken to me several times about past situations where you’ve been asked to pay someone for helping out around the resort when you made it clear that you had no intention of paying them. To this, I said that I understood and did not expect to be compensated for the extra responsibilities I have taken on. I’ve had no problem covering the resort a number of times while all of your staff have been away or when you have needed assistance and I do believe I have done a good job of it based upon the feedback from you and from guests. I want nothing for that, and never have. Again, I think these are the conversations you are remembering.
It’s a shame that you feel there’s no room for discussion considering my stay and I continue to be baffled as to how it came to this. These emails are simply inquiring about honouring what was the original agreement for my teaching. Nothing extra, nothing more. I do hope that you recognize the difficult situation that this has placed me in and will reconsider exploring options with me.
***I’ll be sure to post the response, guaranteed it’s going to be a doozy. He’s such an idiot!
Oh and it gets better. I went diving yesterday for the first time in over a month. Things have been quiet, no staff around to teach, might as well get in the water. Weather has been rough so conditions have been challenging – exactly what I wanted. We hop back in the boat after our first dive and sweet boat captain Mohamed tells me that the cleaning girl called him while we were under the water. 10 armed police men came and arrested Mac but no one knows what’s going on. Dave and I have a little chat, trying not to let the guests overhear, and essentially, what can we do? We’re out at sea, the guests want to dive, Mac’s already gone… carry on? So we do. I’m a little pre-occupied on dive #2, no doubt, GM in Tanzania jail… this isn’t going to be good.
Get back to the resort and start making calls. Our Swahili paperwork-administrator-lawyer-business guy who works at the resort and our Swahili taxi driver both speak excellent English, are well connected, and are already on the case at Mac’s side. Thank goodness! After a million phone calls and tons of back and forth, it seems that the corrupt tourism board took Mac to jail for a payment that wasn’t made from before was even here. NINE YEARS AGO!!! They claimed that he was summoned to court and didn’t show. No such summons was ever delivered here. AND this is a civil case, not a criminal case, they should be suing the company, not charging Mac, yet they insisted on putting him in jail and criminally charging him as personally responsible for the lack of payment from NINE YEARS AGO as he is the current manager!!! Think of all of those horror stories you’ve heard about 3rd world jails, no food, no sanitation, complete dire straits. Yep, we’re freaking out.
And in the midst of all of this, we have two guests and oh looky here, a walk in guest. Sure, no problem. Ummm… I’m handed a set of keys that was tossed to a local staff member as Mac was being carted away, I have no money as other staffers are running to me asking for supplies and food to take care of the day to day, and I’m to try to sort out this new guest who wants prices and packages and la-dee-dah. Why don’t you just settle in and we’ll talk money later, ‘K? Awesome.
Dave is the hired help, supposed to be the dive shop manager and running the resort when Mac is away, but he wants nothing to do with any of it. Nothing. Says he doesn’t know what to do anyway and it’s all up to me. Hmmm… really, after the BS that the owners are putting me through, why on earth would I want to keep this place running? WHY? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. So off I go. I get Dave on the phone with the owners in the UK asking them for pricing. I clean a room, arrange food and fuel for the boat and generator on credit, and take phone calls from our business and taxi guys with regular updates and to do lists on Mac. I get a phone call from the owner’s wife with pricing and set about getting our new guest settled. Oh, and by the way, I’m just the volunteer English teacher.
The night continues on with its chaos of business and taxi guy coming and going to gather what they need for Mac and to make a plan. The jail is a good hour’s drive from here and much longer by local transport. I ask Dave to sit down to dinner with the guests, as we all sit at one table together, to be hospitable but he has this issue with eating at night and says he’s just going to his room. This happens a lot. Dave, seriously, help me out here. Nah, they’ll be fine, good night all. He’s 45 and the EMPLOYEE here. COME ON!!! Thanks. So I try to sit for dinner, get called away, and never really make it back to the table. After the guests have eaten and toddled off to their rooms for the night, I get into a nice discussion with our night guards using kitchen staff as translators. I’m pretty sure one of them is stealing fuel but tonight is NOT the night for me to have it out with him. I give him the extra 10L of fuel he says he needs to keep the generator running and try to get to bed.
My head is on runaway setting. Did I send the right clothes and things for Mac? Oh poor Mac, I can’t believe he’s in jail… an African jail! Curses to death on the owners and their exceptionally insensitive and self-preserving responses to all of this (he was giving regular updates on facebook! Complete clod.) What else can I do? How am I supposed to keep this place running with no money and almost no food? Why can’t more strings be pulled to get Mac out of jail? Why is Mac IN jail? The owner is the prince son of an Indian so and so connected to every high official from here to there and we can’t get him out of jail for a civil case?! Around and around and around.
Morning comes with a phone call at 6:30am. Taxi guy is trying to reach bushiness guy but can’t get him. I gave Dave a 7am chore – get up and drive our business guy half way to where he needed to be to be with Mac and pick up the fuel arranged on credit on the way. I’ve never heard a grown man whine and moan so much about everything. I’ve tried to have a sense of humor and make fun of him a bit about it, but seriously, you’re a grown man! While he’s gone, I crack the whip at the kitchen girl who has been late with breakfast everyday and I get the new guest sorted out and fitted up for his diving kit as he wants to go diving. I continue to field phone calls, tend to three guests who are surprisingly needy, and get the dive boat set to go. When there haven’t been guests for a while, it’s amazing how quickly everyone seems to forget the expectations of their job. 9am Dave returns, scoops up his divers and they’re off.
Then I start in on another search and taaa-duuummmmm! Found the missing briefcase that has 1. Mac’s passport, and 2. Cash. Sweet, sweet cash. Spent the morning paying off the debts I managed to accrue, greeted, schmoozed, and convinced two more new walk –in guests to stay as that brings me more cash, rearranged and cleaned rooms as the guy from yesterday needed a new room and the two new guests needed to be set up but we’re down to almost no staff for low season. Sent this staff here and that staff there to get the bits and pieces we still needed. Sorted paper work for bills and orders, continued with the phone calls, and continued to worry about our dear incarcerated friend, Mac.
Dave and the divers return. Dave eats lunch and goes to bed, such is his routine, until the generator comes on late afternoon. He’ll be on his computer for a couple hours then disappear to his room for the night. I spin and putter around as now that they have returned, everyone seems to need this and that, staff want this and that and it’s hard to walk away from people with a simple, “sorry, I don’t work here”. Supplies here are bought on an as needed basis. We need this for lunch, send someone to the village, we need this for dinner, someone else needs to go this time. It’s ridiculous. And all the while I’m not sure if I should be spending the money that I found but I figure telling the guests, “sorry, we don’t have toilet paper tonight” isn’t really an option. Really.
The day blurs into the evening and I ask Dave to just keep an eye out while I run up and take a quick shower as it has been a long, stinky time since this girl last smelled like soap. Can I just please leave the phones with you? I just need a shower. Imagine the best 4 year old whiny voice you can… but I don’t want to talk to guests. Dave, I’ve been with them all day, there’s a bunch of other crap I need to do later, please, just give me half an hour, you don’t have to talk to guests, if they need anything, I’ll get it when I’m back. Please just answer the phones because it might be about Mac. He said he’d grab a beer and sit in the lounge area but he wasn’t going to do anything and he was going up to his room straight after I got back. I took the phones with me to the shower. Again, thanks Dave, thanks.
And that’s exactly what happened. I came down, he went to his room. 7:30pm. Not his job, he was done working. I continued on with phone calls that one minute said Mac was out, the next, nope, he’s in for one more night. I tried to get info for guests on airlines and reservations and things that I have no idea about and I tried to be as hostess hospitable as I could be. Things slowed then stalled out around 9pm and the guests were left to entertain themselves. Me? I blog. See, you guys are THAT important to me! Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I’ve just been fuming a bit and this is a good release for me. All about me, all about me, all about me.
On that note however, I do need to crash. Mac is still not home, but it sounds a little like he has gained international celebrity status and may not be struggling or suffering nearly as much as my tormented imagination figures. Sounds as if British High Commission representatives on are the case, ex-pats who have been business owners here for decades are calling in favours and pulling strings, and Mac is front and centre attention of all things government in Pemba right now. But he’s still in jail. Fingers crossed for freedom tomorrow…
HE’S FREE! HE’S FREE! HE’S FREE! Our boy Mac was released from his vile captors around noon today. Before I get into it though, I went back and read what I wrote before… and I said DAVE was a whiner?! Holy crow! I’m ridiculous! I might be the biggest whiner / complainer on the block! Sorry about the oh-poor-me sob story. Being responsible for this place is not difficult, not in the least. Apparently being tired gives me the creative freedom to make running a pokey little resort sound like manning the latest mission into space. Wow. Sorry about that folks. This crybaby has cowboy’ed up and has gotten over herself. Seriously. Ridiculous.
So MAC! He’s back, he’s very quiet, and he’s pretty shaken. Have given him lots of hugs and lots of space. He’s not wanting to talk about it so much yet. He can joke about the conditions, they were shit but not as horrid as I had imagined, but I think he’s more traumatized by the realization that he was set up as a tool to be used and held for ransom by a very coordinated and corrupt government effort. Really. He is completely vulnerable and when it comes down to it, alone. All the phone calls in the world can be made and money thrown by the bucket fulls but it comes down to him at the mercy of some very twisted, powerful men who have an agenda. Terrifying.
I had some time to talk, or rather listen to our business guy and taxi guy after they had returned our dear GM to the comfort of familiar surroundings. Oh dear friends, the stories they were telling. I know there are many sides to how this all went down, but these two have been the ones in the court and in the jail. These two have been the ones on the phones and in offices with lawyers and magistrates and judges at all times of the day and night over the last 48hrs. They haven’t slept, eaten, or seen their families. These two had to raise the money and put up their own to get Mac out. These two are who made it happen. Guess who’s taking all the credit? The stories they were telling, about the director yelling, screaming, swearing, and threatening the magistrate, caused the magistrate to dismiss any hopes of Mac being released last night. These two went on and on about how hated the owner is, on this island and with locals, how ignorant he is about people and relationships, which in turns makes things infinitely more difficult. They said he throws money at people and thinks it will make problems go away but all it has done is make things worse because he doesn’t know how to talk to people. Sound familiar? These two said that if the owners were here when Mac went to jail, they feel for sure that Mac would still be in jail because the owner does nothing but make things worse with blind, childish rage. But he’s the hero in all of this. You should see the facebook sellout. It’s disgusting. Do you guys remember where I am working? Check it out on facebook and read the statuses… it makes me absolutely sick. Free PR for his resort. Utterly shameful.
Mac was supposed to leave on a much needed holiday in a couple of days to go visit his sister and relax for the first time in months. They have his passport, he is out on bail, and cannot go anywhere off of the island for the next 30 days. I don’t even know what to say to him. I want to smuggle him out in my backpack. Mac’s a really good guy who has been set up and left to take the fall for years and years of political and personal mismanagement by some very selfish individuals. There is a direct link back to the owners mistreating someone or other and most of the crime or drama that has happened here. Yes, yes, this is Africa and there are shady deals and crime all around, but this is different. I’m a little biased because I have a huge hate-on for these two right now, but to see the two educated, LOYAL employees of this place shake their heads in disgust and distress over how this has gone down… it speaks volumes. Volumes. Please keep Mac in your thoughts and send as much positivity over this way as you can… this boy is going to need it.
I still haven’t figured out my timeline for departure and travel yet. Some of it will depend on how long I can get my Tanzania visa extended for. I’m really excited to start travelling and seeing things and experiencing at least a little bit of Africa. Animals! Oh how I want to see animals. Which reminds me… I really need to get a camera.
So signing off for now so I can get this posted. I’ll keep you guys filled in as I seem to have lots more time on my hands lately. Hoping that once I leave here the stories will be much more interesting and a whole lot less negative and whiny. I really need to work on that, don’t I? Sorry about that folks. I should have moved on a long time ago. Anyway! Stay tuned for the latest…
xoxo
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