Swahili Divers, my current abode, is a world of it's own. Food, fuel, and supplies are brought in by oxcart or ratty pieces of pulled together vehicles, power is available in the evenings via a tempermental generator, water is pumped from a main water line into our tanks that fill with their gravity favourable designs, and meals are cooked over charcoal and propane in one of the most frightening but functioning kitchens I have ever had the chance to see. Lovely basic guest huts, a crammed and littered office, a well run dive shop, and a mismatched bunch of white faces holding it all together steps from the very big sea. The tide changes are significant, ranging from having the waves at your toes just off the grassy front or walking out in ankle deep water for 20 minutes just to get to the anchored dive boats. Sandy bits, lots of sharp coral and rocky floor and the ever despised sea urchins multiplying daily, lying in wait to pierce the next unsuspecting water baby. I have yet to go barefoot around this place. The seaview of every shade between blue and green goes on forever, the sky is so big at night that you can see the curve of the earth and if you walk far enough away from the huts and electricity, you can actually see the different colours of yellows and oranges in the stars. I've never seen that before. Dizzying. Mesmering. Our property is fenced in, chain linked all the way around except at the beachfront. Just at the edges, where my front door looks through very thick bush out onto a farmer's field, I can hear and see and smell a very different world, even in the black of night. I'm not sure if it's the lingering fear of my shadow monster encounter or a genuine instinct telling me that crossing that line in the darkness is unwise, but when the sun is down, even inside the security of our fenced in boundary lines, I don't go far without a dog by my side.
I had a conversation with a Kiwi instructor who arrived here a couple of weeks ago and plans to stay and work for a while. He has been travelling through Africa for six months, initially by bicycle and most recently by motorbike after he finally realized how massively overwhelming this size of this continent really is. He was alone for parts of his travels but with a friend or two for most of the trip. Talking about finding and seeing places where white faces just don't go - the hassle, the stares, the complete isolation and adventure was everything I want for my own story, but unless I find two male travel partners, it will not happen. Even he, a self-sufficient, easy-going guy, was thankful for what proved to be necessary and often life-saving company most of the way. Quite simply, this is not a place that any woman could travel easily on her own, especially one who is all of just over 5 feet tall. Hassles aside, life is cheap here and a female life is the most disposable kind. When I think back to my initial hesitation of travelling SE Asia on my own I laugh at how easy it was and how the majority of my fears were completely unwarranted. Here, it's just different. So very different. I remember people telling me that getting around Asia was easy, I was worrying for nothing, but here, the tales and experienced wisdom say something else. It's hard, it's dangerous, and it's not something I should do on my own. Period. I want to travel here but I'm not sure where I start. I don't want to do the hopping from aid agency to aid agency, the stories and opinions of the value of these things here could fill pages, so I will keep asking questions of those who know best. Then, if I do find my way, I will be behind locked doors by nightfall. That's just the way it goes. The night markets were one of my most favourite Asian pasttimes but we're not in Asia anymore, Dorothy. I've put it out there, to the universe, and on my last big trip, all kinds of things seemed to simply fall into place. I'm hoping that my luck will continue for the next bunch of opportunities. In the meantime, I'll practice my spear throwing technique. Just in case.
Mkangale Village
Heading out of our chain linked fence, following a dirt path large enough for an oxcart and just maybe a vehicle if all limbs are inside and the patches of small trees that sporadically line the path are in need of a bit of pruning, you can stroll through a strange plot of farming field, some tended to, some not, some thriving patches, some wilted and neglected. There are a couple of strange rock quarries in the open fields on either side of this path that are being hammered and hacked at as piles of white, dusty boulders are smashed and thrown out of a large pit onto a growing pile along side. I think this is used for building structures, I'm not sure. I'll have to ask. Dry, dusty fields randomly give way to an enormous burst of the deepest green mushrooming leafy tree that looks so out of place and completely full of life. I think they're wild almond trees - huge, inedible nuts, not our kind of almonds. I passed one of the biggest trees I have ever seen and immediately thought of The Tree of Life, from what? The Lion King? I don't know. There was some kind of Disney theme playing in my head. There's that huge tree in Victoria on the Leg. grounds that everyone has had their picture taken in front of, it's just so, so big. This tree, in the middle of this seemingly barren farming field, dwarfs that Victoria tree hands down. Such a bizarre contrast. Maybe that's why the fields are so dry, because these random trees have sucked up everything within reach? Who knows. But I really, really, REALLY need a camera. Damn shadow monster a@@munch.
Bahahahahaha!!! A rat just fell from our thatched roof ceiling and splatted on the concrete floor. Didn't kill itself but definitely rang his bell. Currently hiding under the solid table that is being set with food for our buffet lunch. Oh island life.
Okay, sorry. Back to the village...
It's only about a kilometre until you reach the first sprinking of mud and clay huts, topped with thatched rooves, thrown like a handful of jacks. No order, no reason. Small but solid, could be brand new or 100 years old. Impossible for me to tell. As I came into an open "developed" area where there were more of these huts, some of them getting bigger, some of them obviously better made, the children start to surface. Those who aren't in school. In tattered clothing, covered in dust, they run closer but nowhere near close enough for me to actually get a good look at their smiling and shouting faces. It's like an invisible boundary stopped them dead in their tracks. Mzungu, white person from the dive resort, go no closer. Funniest thing... as they all giggle and wave and climb over each other to shout louder... they all yell "bye! bye!" Bye bye??? I've never heard this. Lots of versions of "Hellooooo!" or "what's your name?" or other kinds of greetings, but this is the first place I've encountered all of the children, all of them, waving and shouting "bye! bye!" You could see that they meant it as a greeting, but it was just weird.
It's about 8:30am so the "roads", bigger dirt paths, that cut through the "stores", houses that sell things, are filling with people walking here and there as the school boys skitter around in their royal blue trousers and whitish coloured shirts, girls in the same colours but ground length skirts and waist length ?hijabs? (a square piece of material with a circle cut out - you can see their faces poking through but they are completely covered from their hair, under their chin and it falls loosely over their shoulders and down. They look like ghost costumes from behind.) Shy but curious, these children come closer, so many of them heading towards the school, and they say "hello" or "what's your name?" Some want a reply, some just want to hear the words coming out of their months before they hurry away. Very, very cute. A group of three little girls who couldn't have been more than 10, were quite confident in their approach, followed me for quite some time, then began to taunt and giggle as they chirped away in Swahili. Don't have a clue what they wanted or what they were saying, but they thought I was pretty funny looking, I guess. Loads and loads of children. They all were heading to the school, but no one seemed to be on any kind of schedule that I could make out. I'm thinking structure isn't too much of a concern here.
I poked my head into the open space and yard that contains the three concrete bunkers placed in a U-shape... the school. Children everywhere, inside and out, going from one room to the next, wandering around, and chatting to each other. Was greeted by a few older students and I asked if a teacher was around. Nice man, looked maybe 20 himself, told me that they had 1000 students and 19 teachers. Not sure how accurate his numbers are, perhaps they see some students on one day and others on the next. Did not see any other teachers. He seemed keen to have me come and help. I smiled and nodded, he gave me his number and asked me to call so he could set up a meeting with the headmaster, I said I would have to see how things go on my "holiday". People talk. I am NOT working. I am here on a dive holiday. It was before 9am - I thought maybe school hadn't started yet. It looked like our schools at recess time.
Tucked the phone number in my pocket and made my way out. Didn't want to get sucked into anything. Continued to stroll through the village. Lots of smiles and hellos, a few clingers, but ignoring them sent them on their way, and more dirt encrusted children, not in school but sitting idly in small groups along the sides of the road. Maybe their parents were working, maybe they were in the houses or walking to get food, not really sure, but the younger ones clung to the older ones. Despite the dirt and dust, snotty noses, and tatters, they all seemed to be happy. They all waved and shouted their "bye! bye!" It was such a strange sight. Muslim village so all of the women were covered in beautifully coloured scarves (kangas). I felt rather undressed in my mid-calf capris and t-shirt but the thought of more clothing, even for the sake of fewer stares, was stifling. The sun bakes you, even at 8 in the morning.
One eager to speak young man who said he had finished school tried to answer some of my questions - said the kids to go school from 7 - 9am then head home for an hour tea break, come back to school and finish the day at 1pm. Didn't really fit with the number of children I saw heading to school and the timeline but then again, what do I care? Their schedule is their schedule. I'm sure they've got it worked out. He showed me the "clinic" which was essentially wooden benches lined with women and children waiting on who knows what and some of the "shops". Then he asked me for my silver ring and decided to move on when I said no. Wasn't the least bit surprised. Very casual, just thought he'd ask. Why not?
All of the people I passed, men, women, and children, were all so smiley and friendly but most definitely kept their distance. No one wanted to shake my hand or walk with me, some wanted to practice the few english words they know and shout out Swahili greetings, but other wise, it was just smiles and waves to the strange white girl cruising through town. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I need to head out there, much more often, to see if I can get some of them to cross that white man boundary. This is our home, that is their home. The division was painfully clear. I guess it will always be that way, a white man's business in an African man's home. I can't imagine how things must look from their perspective, how strange it must all be. I remember how much I loved being part of my little Thai town. Knowing faces in the market and my laundry lady and my motorbike taxi drivers... I was part of them. I don't think that will be an option here. But I will try...
My next big plan, to take local transport into "town", Chake Chake. It's where the airport is, I guess just a smidge of civilization, an hour away from here. Will plan to go soon and let you all know how it goes. Need to brush up on my Swahili greetings first, but want to head out and make a day of it as soon as I can. This place is amazing, but I can only sit still for so long. Coming up on a month here... unreal. Love you all. xoxo
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