Life is good. No angry spitting dragons around for the next few days all is well at the inn. It has been a very nice couple of days and that has allowed us all to breathe easily and enjoy each others’ company once more. It has also given me a bit of an opportunity to reflect on some of the things that are really quite nice about this area instead of focusing on when and how I can get out of here. I’ve had some really neat experiences so far and sadly they have been overshadowed by the Turkish bully who really, in spite of his incredible intelligence, doesn’t seem to have much of a clue. Let’s be done with all of that now, shall we? Let’s talk about some of the interesting little things on the island called Pemba.
Where to start? Oh! I know! A mini motor scooter trip. As things have slowed down a bit here, some of us have had more a chance to have a bit of time off and do a few things. That can translate into a nice long sleep in, maybe cutting the day short and hitting the pool (it’s a little one, but it is magical in this heat), a nice long midday nap, or finding a few hours to get off this plot. One afternoon, Brendan and I took off on a scooter that we rented off of a staff member (and it was a proper little scooter barely room for two. SO funny!) to see what we could see around this place. I think I mentioned that he has been travelling Africa first by bicycle then by motorbike for the past several months so despite the sand and dirt roads with sink holes and speed ditches (not bumps!), the broken up bits of concrete road riddled with massive tree roots and wild African foliage, and the very occasional flat smooth tarmac, I trusted him as our driver. We kinda sorta took a look at a map and a general direction of where we wanted to head and set out. It was quickly apparent that road signs and maps are absolutely useless here. Just random pieces of art or graffiti actually, no true sense of direction or traveler’s assistance. We decided to follow roads as they popped up and see where we ended up.
As most of my teeth rattled out of my head, I was reminded of how much I LOVE seeing the world on the back of a bike. Through the forest or dusty, dried fields, on main roads dodging bicycles, cows, chickens, and children, through back dirt paths and village clearings barely wide enough to walk on… I have missed it so much. Seeing the stares and the waves as we stumbled and bumbled our way around was pretty funny. In villages big and small, everyone had a “hello!” or a Swahili greeting to welcome us to places that very rarely see white faces. It’s really hard to talk about or even begin to describe the poverty here because sadly, it becomes something that I’ve just become accustomed to seeing. The houses are basic and bare mud huts with hanging strings of thatched roofing, you know that the tattered rags or scraps of clothing people are wearing are very likely their only pieces of clothing, and the bare, wide, flat feet of SE Asia are nothing compared to the hooves and paddles on the people here as many don’t own or simply don’t wear shoes. They have little but remain happy, gracious, and inviting. This is Africa, folks.
Something I’ve noticed more as a generalization than anything, is fairly distinct body shaping. For the most part, there are two body types of men. They are either teeny, tiny rail thin lads that are most likely tough as nails but look like you could send them sailing with a good solid breeze, or they are granite blocks. There are quite a few quarries and physical labour jobs around here so the demands of the work has created these muscular oxen that look as if their days are spent in the local gym. Tough, tough, tough. And then there are the ladies. The only teeny tinies I have seen are the old mamas hobbling around, tending to this and that, while they care for great, great grandchildren running wild amongst the tethered goats and free range fowl. Otherwise, these girls got back!! Big ole bums and little waists wrapped in their kangas, with a set of boobs to balance out the booty. It’s amazing. Poverty or not, these girls are bouncing along as they travel from one hut to the next. Not tall girls, not fat girls, just booty girls. They are beautiful!!! The kidlets all seem to be quite thin and of course there are those that are malnourished and obviously very unwell, but somewhere in all of that doom and gloom, the kids seem very, very happy. Making do with nothing, just like I’ve seen before, and it makes me embarrassed for the over-indulgence of our culture. Resiliency is an entirely different concept here. Not only do they survive, they find joy and laughter despite the struggle. My life has been very, very good and very, very easy.
So yes, we sputtered and puttered along seeing some amazing out of the ordinary places and meeting some amazing and out of the ordinary people. At one point, we ended up driving through this interesting little village and what looked like well-worn footpaths through a maze of houses placed tightly together. Out of nowhere, this exceptionally happy man popped out and started shouting and pointing “Beach-i! Beach-i!” Ummmm…, sure, let’s find a beach. So we vroomed along in the general direction that he was pointing and I about fell of the back of the bike when I looked back and saw that this grown man was running along behind us, continuing to point and laugh and gesture animatedly. I let Brendan know that we had our own village idiot personal escort and we didn’t have a chance to lose him as the path was so rocky and rough in parts that he was able to catch up to us and walk, bounce, and giggle along side. A very nice man, but obviously a little soft in the smarts department.
Regardless of his mental standing, we ended up at this beautiful little harbor spot. No beach, but a few boats and eventually, many children. Village idiot was trying to point out where you would end up if you went this way or that way and I smiled and nodded, not really sure what he was going on about but I didn’t want to burst his happy bubble. I left Brendan so he could take some photos and wandered around a little bit in the open farmer’s field that was just up from the waterfront. Random cows tied here and there in, dry, dusty fields giving me much the same looks as the locals do, wondering who the heck are you and what the HELL are you doing here???, lots of hot, hot sun, and wide open Africa. Then I heard the chittering, chattering. I made my way back down to where we had left the scooter, I mean BIKE, very cool, very hip, very gangsta BIKE, and saw the children starting to come from here and there across this wide open field. All of them hesitant but wonderfully curious. No screaming or yelling or charging towards us, just these beautiful little coffee coloured waifs floating and drifting ever so much closer to where we happened to be. There’s always a brave one in the crowd who can get the interaction started and all it took was me finding the one who could make eye contact, putting my hand up and out for a high five, and he was mine. I begged Brendan to let me take a couple of them home. I was in love.
Kneeling in front of him and clapping our hands, I was able to get three more of the sweetest little bravehearts to stay with me and play for a bit. There were many others who lingered just outside of the play zone, watching but not sure of me and my intentions but that was okay, I had four Swahili babies giving me their full attention and my heart was so very happy. Brendan took a bunch of photos while I just tried not to munch on these darlings, all of them maybe between 5 and 7 years old. Absolutely edible. I’ll try to post a few pics on facebook. So we stayed and played, then continued on our journey.
We found another random road that took us to yet another random place, and this time, to what seemed to be a bigger, much more densely populated village. As we neared the outskirts, there were the usual greetings and hellos, but as we rounded a corner and came into what appeared to be the centre of town, children started pouring out of houses and stores, running into the main dirt road and after us, all yelling and screaming what we initially thought were greetings. They were running fast, but we had wheels and Brendan had the good sense not to stop. When I looked back over my shoulder, the road was choked with at least 50 children of all ages and sizes, yelling and chasing us at full speed. I laughed in spite of the hair on the back of my neck starting to stand up. We cleared town and soon realized that we were on a only- one-way- out road. The people on this smaller dirt road that was lined with quarries and quarry workers looked as if it would eventually lead to a beach but the sun was starting to set and we didn’t really know where we were. We turned the bike around and steeled ourselves for the trip back. Neither of us said anything about how we felt going through the crowded town the first time but as we neared town again, nothing needed to be said. People had lined the road, knowing and waiting for us to come back through. It was mostly children and the numbers had grown immensely but I could also see adults behind the throngs of smaller faces or looking out of partly shaded windows. As we approached, Brendan kept it straight and speedy as the kids closed in and the shouting became a chant. I saw puzzled faces, angry faces, hyped up mob mentality faces, and rocks, shells, and other random things being clutched in the hands of those who had not yet joined in on the frantic chase. In the time that we had been away, they had worked themselves up to such a frenzied state that they were no longer friendly, they had become a running, screaming, chanting mob. When a fist full of gravel and small stones hit my face, I silently urged Brendan to urge the scooter a little faster and no one dared step in front of the bike. We were chased, the chanting of a word we have yet to translate being shouted at an eerie fevered pitch and we focused on just getting out of town. This was not the friendly Swahili folk we had come to know and love. It was very, very bizarre. And I was so thankful that Brendan could read the situation and the ratty, unreliable bike well enough to get us out of dodge. What the HELL was THAT?!?!
We carried on home, shaking off the Children of the Corn encounter, and happily bumping along knowing that the creepy village was thankfully, nothing more than a new story to tell, which of course, we did. After telling the story and asking questions upon our return, we discovered that we had stumbled into an area that most people in Pemba choose to avoid. To backtrack just a little bit, Pemba is the hotspot of lowdown, nitty gritty, real live witchcraft. People come from all over the world to practice, learn, and become masters of the trade. There are dark, dark spirits here (no pun intended!) We apparently wandered into a very impoverished, suspicious of all, uneducated, incestuous, backwoods, backwards, witchcraft town. Disturbed people? Definitely. Unsafe? Who knew? We obviously didn’t. It’s hard to know if anything would have happened if we would have stopped or if we had responded differently but I’m okay to leave it at we got through, we got out, it’s all good. I said I wanted adventure, I am finding it in small bits and pieces.
My days continue to be fairly monotonous for the most part and are slipping quickly away. I avoid the spoiled, angry child when he is fuming and am getting better at reading the moods. I have been going for walks / small runs past the village into the nearby forest and that has been an experience unto itself as well. The children in our nearest village are so misbehaved and so uncharacteristically rude that I have learned key phrases in Swahili to shout as them as I pass by to prevent myself from picking up rocks and chucking them instead. I know, I know, they are children, but BELIEVE me… it’s really bad. Even before I can see them, they have somehow spotted me and it starts. One group will start screaming, and I mean screaming at the top of their possessed little lungs… MUZUUUUNNNNNGGGUUUUU!!! BAAAAA-BYYYYYYYYYEEEEE!!! BAAAAA-BYYYYYYYEEEEE!!!! (that's bye-bye. no clue why they scream bye-bye instead of hello). For the first little while, I’d answer back or give a little wave but this encouraged them to escalate to running across the fields or roads to jump in front of me, run beside or behind me, all the while screaming as loudly as they can. They’ve grabbed at my elbows and hands, they’ve tried to cut me off, they’ve made rude gestures and mocked me, all the while shouting and screaming and being little terrors. Never in a millions years would they ever treat an elder of their own in this way. Never. These cultures are very much about respect. But for some reason here, with me, I have become a game for them. I’ve spoken to a few of the staff members about it and they gave me some advice and reassured me that I am not over-reacting. They see white people all the time being so close to the dive resorts so it’s not a novelty for them. It’s a really disappointing situation because it makes me not want to go anywhere near the village or have anything to do with the people. I will continue to ignore and outrun them throwing out the occasional tongue lashing when needed but wow, I’m losing my mind stuck on the this plot and I’m losing my mind when I leave. What a mess!!!
AND!!! We lost wireless internet a couple of weeks ago and this has left me without access to a computer because the connections are either being used for work or by the guests. I have become thoroughly disconnected. Hence, no status updates, responses to emails or continued blogging. So for now, I will try to get better with writing as much as I can offline so that I can just simply post the new blog and keep everyone informed. This one has taken me over a week and a half to finish. Things continue to be rough but I am finding my way. Mac has been too busy to do much of anything, guests have been few but they quickly become my new best friends when they do arrive, I’ve been diving when I can, and Brendan and I have been hanging out much more as we’re the only ones left. He helps me keep it all in perspective and that laid back cool guy attitude reminds me that seriously, this is only temporary, find the good stuff. And yes, there is good stuff. The diving, the happy students (sometimes), the ever increasing control over spiders ruining my life, the confirmation that I don’t need to live with much at all to live well, and the growing confidence that wherever I end up, I can usually figure it out and be absolutely okay. I’m so sorry I haven’t been keeping in touch, but yes, I will try to do better. Thank you for the concern and for the continued interest in me and my life. I miss you all and love you more. Talk to you soon. xoxo
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