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

losing it!

Today is … day 5?? of complete isolation. Day 2, however, of sunshine. Yes, sweet, sweet sunshine. Some clouds, stinking hot, but sun, sun, sun. My hair has dried out, my bed has dried out, and my clothes are sweaty once again. There’s no happy medium here but I’ll gladly take the blistering, melt my face heat over the days of drizzle and downpours, thank you very much.

Our final of the only two guests over the past two weeks departed, I think quite happily, the morning of the 1st of May and it has been me, Mac, and Dave (the new, 40-something English dive shop manager who arrived about one month ago) since then. 3 of us. That’s it. Neither Mac nor Dave are the chattiest of fellows once the initial hellos and how are yous have been said, (you know how you always seem to have something to say to your friends but can’t be bothered to talk to your family?) so I have very quickly become annoying Annie as I bounce from lad to lad, trying to engage either of them in the smallest amount of conversation. Initially I would get a sigh or an obligatory one word answer but it has deteriorated to shut ups, please fuck offs, and finally, avoiding me completely. Completely. When we do come together to eat lunch and dinner, the conversation takes one of two avenues… the current state of English football (soccer) or tales of their cocaine fuelled benders from pre-Pemba lives and their plotting and giggling like school boys with a stolen porn mag as to how they can score some “bugle” and “percy” here knowing full well that I have nothing to contribute to either conversation or experience. They do take pity on me from time to time, noting when I’ve been exceptionally quiet for stretches, and throwing me a bone with a question or two to invite a bit of chat, but I’m careful not to take it too far. This, is what my social life has been reduced to.

My feelings aren’t the least bit hurt (well… okay… maybe a little) as it’s not like they’re hanging out with each other, palling it up and slapping shoulders as boys do. They are either holed up in their rooms or in random isolated corners of the plot avoiding everything in general. I am quickly going out of my mind. And it has only been five days. I’ve read hmmm… 3 ½ books, continued with my teaching, done laundry when it didn’t need to be done or had no possibility of drying, and thought way, way, WAY too much. Oh. Did I tell you that for all five of these days, our internet has not worked? No internet. At all. Completely shut off from everything. Everything. EVERTHING! Yes, I know, I know, for those of you up to your eyeballs in work and stress I’m sure it sounds like the absolute ideal, but when isolation is not self-imposed, it quickly becomes alarmingly constricting. Alarmingly. I have reached that stage.

Rumour has it that two unexpected guests may arrive this afternoon and four more are scheduled to arrive in two days. I have a very sad feeling that one or both of those rumours will fail to materialize. So I sit, and I wait, and I continue to feel very, very stuck. I can’t look for work, hell, I haven’t even handed in my notice yet as we’ve had no internet, I can’t email home or creep out facebook or try to figure out what on earth I’m going to do once I leave this place. And that’s supposed to be really soon! I’m pretty torn at this point. I’m desperate to get out of here but I think I’ve more or less convinced myself that I can’t go to Mozambique, there’s just no way that I can see that working. I haven’t told Brendan yet. At this point, our texts still have the “you’ll love it here” and “when I’m there” tones to them, but I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I just don’t see any way to make it happen. Can you imagine? Here I sit, biding my time, as he continues his fabulous journey down the coast in search of work. He sends message once he’s found something, I start my own fabulous journey, following a somewhat similar trail, and hope beyond hope that I’ll be able to sweet talk someone, anyone, near where he has secured work, that I’m equally employable. And then what? What if there’s no work? What if there’s nothing at all? I drain out the rest of my meager savings in hopes of seeing him when he has a day off then after some time, we can move on to the next leg of our journey together? Ummm… yeah, right. He tells me I think too much, he tells me that I just need to go with it and it will work out; it did in Asia, it will here, but I don’t think I have that strength left anymore. Too practical, too old, too cynical to believe in his romance. Trust in my universe, I keep telling myself to trust in my universe, but what if all of the hesitation and humming and hawing that I’m experiencing IS my universe telling me that I’ve had my adventures, I’ve lived less than some but more than others, and it’s time to just sort it all out?? What if it’s time to bow out gracefully before I crash and burn? I feel like I may be getting close to that crash and burn.

***sigh*** welcome to my melodramatic cabin fever dronings. This is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. Ramble, ramble, ramble. Be patient, hang in there, guaranteed that I’ll be back to happily planning my trip to Mozambique and Brendan by this time tomorrow. Guaranteed. Isn’t this SO much more interesting than me painting pretty, glossy pictures of palm trees and sandy beaches with frilly cocktails in hand?! Life… good times, good times.

P.S. not sure why my blog automatically marks my entries as having “explicit content”?? I WISH I had explicit content to share!

P.P.S. At the time of this posting, the hurricane like winds and torrential downpours have returned with a fury to show the sun who’s boss. Damnit.

back on the island

Well, I’ve been back on planet Pemba for just over a week now and let me tell you, the transition hasn’t been an easy one. No big shock there. BUT!!! I have good news… Mr. & Mrs. Almighty are planning their final voyage as they really truly will be moving off the island to a new house on the mainland by month’s end. They’ve been talking about it for as long as I’ve been here and apparently for eons before such that so none of us actually believed it would happen BUT, they are leaving on holiday (AGAIN!) and not returning, except for small visits, as of… NOW! He left yesterday, she leaves tomorrow and they don’t resurface on our plot until mid June. Mid… JUNE!!! Mac has been in their house and said yep, cabinets, cupboards, rooms all packed up… they are really, really going. I thought he was going to cry out of sheer joy when he told me. They will continue to be the directors, but from afar, leaving Mac in charge of the day to days, as it should be, as GM. Well, that’s the plan, anyway. So with the chaos of them packing and planning, I’ve been able to duck and roll in skillful avoidance and may never have to see them again. Oh how sweet that sounds.

The transition has been tough for more than just having to face “them” again. It’s never easy being the one left behind and it wasn’t until I got back here did I realize how much of my day to day involved Brendan. When there are only a few of us here, one person being gone leaves a pretty big hole. So I’ve had to readjust how I spend some of my time and of course, I’ve been missing someone who was extremely good company for me on this loco lonely island.

There were two good days when I got back (“good” being a relative term as in sweating salty rivers through your clothes while your deodorant doesn’t even have a whiff of a fighting chance) where we saw the sun. Now, the rains have arrived. Before I left, we’d have a sheet of water thunder down for a half an hour or so from time to time, day to day, but the sun would burst through and everything would be dry then sweaty in an instant. As of a few days ago, the skies clouded over solid and grey and the only reprieve we’ve had from the sheet rain is when it stops just long enough to gather up more water from the sea, more anger from the witchcraft, and call in the nasty back up bully, Sideways Wind. It has not stopped and it will not stop, for at least another month. Holy crap.

How do you describe “rainy season” unless you’ve been through one? We’re not talking the flash floods that stop traffic and back up sewers provoking stir crazy moms everywhere to plop bathing suits and rubber boots on their house bound munchkins encouraging them to stomp through puddles while she waits on the phone for the unavailable plumber for a couple of days. We’re not talking heavy rain for a day or two due to a storm system blowing in that secretly we kinda like because it’s a good excuse to snuggle up on the couch, watch a movie, and do absolutely nothing. We’re talking about that same, makes-the-front-page-news storm system parking its ass over head and not moving. Ever. EVER! Not after two days, not after four days, maybe, just maybe after 30 days. 30. Days. Shut. Up.

And it’s cold (again, a relative term) because everything is wet. Constantly wet. Climbing into bed when the bed, the sheets, the pillow is damp… EWWWW!!!! Putting on clothes that have been zipped in my suitcases but have had the wet air soak through the now damp suitcase making my nice, used-to-be-clean clothes kinda sticky and starting to smell like mold despite the sprigs of vanilla I’ve planted in between layers. Doing laundry in the brief 5 minutes when the rain is regaining strength and having it hang in my room for three or four days before it’s less wet enough to wear. And the worst… the absolute worst… is being cold and wet all day long and the only option for a shower is a cold one where you have to dry off with a damp towel. ***sniff.sniff.sniff*** Oh can you hear me whining???

Brendan had a cold the last couple of days that we were in Dar but I wasn’t too concerned as I rarely, rarely get sick. My slight sniffles have turned full on into an ear/chest/head cold and I only managed to drag my ass out of bed yesterday for about two hours. I’ve gone through two full rolls of toilet paper blowing my nose, and I’m now walking around like a snot zombie, mouth hanging open, unable to hear much of anything, random bits of tissue stuck here and there, grunting, groaning, coughing, and spitting. Oh so sexy! Lastly, there’s one more problem with the rain, one that I am blaming plainly, squarely, and fully for actually getting this sick…

Every night since my return, there has been a party of raging, screaming, screeching frogs who begin their agonizing, ear-splitting calls around 10 or 11pm and go NON-STOP til the sun comes up around 6am. Not the deep *Croak**Croak* sound that gently lulls you to sleep but the shrill “WEEEEEEET!WEEEEEET!WEEEEEET!” that drills deep into my brain. They are parked directly outside of my window. Directly. They are so loud that if you’re in my room when they are screaming their ridiculous stories to one another, you can’t actually have a conversation. We think they’re in the boat that is rammed up under my window (and by the way, none of the windows here have glass, they are all just open screened windows). So loud and unrelenting are these tiny, multiplying by the moment, hopping horrors that Mac, who lives next door and sleeps like the dead, has been kept awake by them. When we go out to try to find them, they of course all fall instantly silent with our approaching footsteps. My earplugs minimize the noise the tiniest bit, we have drained the boat, poured bleach in the remaining water, cut all the grass in and around it… nothing. There is no way to stop them. Add the rats that continue to use my room as their own personal gymnasium (did I tell you I watched them bounce and bound across my mosquito net directly over my head as they made their way to my belongings to eat my soap and/or any other unattended to hygiene product?!) AND a bush baby who has moved in (he runs along the tops of my walls and pokes his head in to look or shout at me) scratching, pulling at the thatching, and howling at the moon – I have not slept. In days and days and days. I’ve been able to find some relief around 6:30am and will be so exhausted by this point that I can crash until about 9am, but I’ve then had to face the sneer and rolling eyes of our happy leaders as I arrive down quite late in the morning. I’ve tried to sleep in the day time but I’m so over-tired I can’t fall asleep. I’m a complete mess. No big surprise that here, in the middle of Africa, drenched in the now never-ending rain, I have a nasty cold and am slightly, ever so slightly miserable. Ahhhhh… life is good.

The days here are very slow since I’ve returned because there are no guests. I lied. We have two, they will be leaving this weekend, and as it stands as of now we will have zero for the entire month of May. This being the case, we have cut back on staff which leaves me with very few people to teach. Drag, drag, drag. Can’t go diving, there are no guests, can’t go exploring, we are mudded and flooded in, can’t go for a kayak, the water is too rough… I’m going to have to start drinking heavily as really, there’s absolutely nothing left to do. And this will be the routine for the next month. Anyone up for some rest and relaxation? Seriously, if you want to do NOTHING … maybe read? maybe eat occasionally?? definitely shut down?? boy I can hook you up! Give me a call.

Now for the good news… (yes, I’m a whiner but I’m working hard to try to balance it out just a little bit.) My resignation letter is complete. I’ll email it to the boob ,, er,, boss, I mean BOSS! on May 1st giving him a month’s notice. He’ll be angry and he’ll sputter and spout, but being that he’ll be in Europe, I think I’ll be able to handle his tirade via internet. I do have to tread lightly however because my visa for Tanzania runs out May 21st and I need him to get me one more which would finish off my time here and allow me to travel a bit. Fingers crossed that I can sweet talk him enough with all of the “wonderful experiences” I’ve had at his lovely abode that he won’t give it a second thought and maybe even give me a reference letter. Why on earth I’d want a letter from this place, I really don’t know, but this is the only African experience I have to go on.

So resignation almost complete but no job in sight yet. It’s going to be more difficult than I had originally thought, definitely not easy Asia, but that doesn’t mean that I’m waving the white flag of surrender yet. Brendan has just made it across the Mozambique border so hopefully he’ll have better luck, and once he finds a job, I can then push hard for finding connections, making connections, or selling my soul to the devil. It’s Africa, something will work out. (the power of positive thought!)

Oh, special mention here, by the way, Ms. Ashley D.L.! A friend from high school, reconnected via Facebook who has surprisingly been following my histrionic drama. Ashley actually went through the trouble of searching and sending me info on jobs in Mozambique! One of the most thoughtful and kind things EVER. Thank you, Ashley! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I was absolutely blown away by your email. I have people watching out for me everywhere – I can’t tell you how amazing that feels. I continue to be very well taken care of. Fabulous.

AHHHHHHHH!!!! It’s 6pm and the sun has peeked out just below the clouds that it is setting under! The rain has stopped for the last 20 minutes and I can hear myself think again! Oh happy day! Happy day! I went up to my room earlier to deal with the puddles on the floor from the rain that blew straight in through the windows soaking anything within 5 feet and pretty much walked straight out. Now that I have a breath of Mr. Sun, I will find the energy to deal with my moldy room. SEE! Things are working out just fine! I’ll try to get this posted soon and since really, there’s not a whole lot going on here, I’ll be boring you all with my blah blah blah rantings probably a little more often. Until then, my friends…

Now THIS is what I've been looking for!

Ahhhhhhh... Zanzibaaaaaaaahhhhhhhrrrr!!!
***sighhhhhhhhh….***

I have made it off the island of Pemba and my whole world is right again. Oh why didn’t I do this sooner? I arrived in my swiftly suffocating island paradise 3 ½ months ago and had no idea how stifling it really was until I had the chance to step outside of it all. Oh I am so excited to be stepping, skipping, and jumping outside of it all. I said I was only going to be gone a week – please give me the strength to stay true to that word. It’s going to be very, very difficult to go back at this point.

Brendan has finished working at the dive shop so we planned a holiday for me to accompany him for a couple of days in Zanzibar then the mainland while he gets things sorted out for his return to the motorbike journey of putt, putt, puttering down through Africa. I needed to get out of Pemba, had never seen Zanzibar or Dar es Salaam so now seemed like the perfect time to check out the real world. And my oh my the real world it has been. Stonetown is really only a two hour ferry ride south of Pemba but come on now people, this is Africa. NOTHING is as it’s supposed to be.

Woke up nice and early in the morning as we had planned to take the dala dala (the local pick up truck / mini bus thing) from the village 1km outside of the resort (Makangale village) into the town where you catch the ferry. The dala dala comes through Makangale everyday at 7am, drives to the next town of Konde, where you switch to another dala dala that takes you to the ONLY “city” on Pemba, Chake Chake, where you switch dala dalas again to get to Mkoani, where you catch the ferry. ***SIGH!*** The owner’s wife had offered to drive us the 1km from the dive shop to Makangale so we were off to a good start. And then Africa happened. We waited and we waited as crowds of gaping, staring, curious children gathered, school kids tripped and stumbled as they walked past, heads turned backwards with owl-like ease, to look wide-eyed and open mouthed, and adults stood mute and unsure until some random bit of reasoning in the back of their still and silent heads shook them free from their trance. Two white kids waiting for local transport. Local transport that of course, doesn’t come.

A friendly teenager who we had both had brief passing conversations with in the village before but of course didn’t recognize us combined his desire to practice English with an inconsequential ability to be helpful. He needed to catch the same dala dala to get to the next town of Konde where he goes to school. After much chatter and checking with this person and that, it was determined that the dala dala would not be leaving Makangale until 9am; there would be no way for us to make the 12pm ferry. This information was relayed with a shoulder shrug and small smile to us and another local who was waiting for the same transport to catch the same ferry. The teenager offered us his condolences as he hopped on the back of a friend’s bicycle to make it to school. In the meantime, Zanzibar Major, the local waiting with us, arranged to have an oxcart, yes an oxcart, carry our luggage as the three of us hoofed alongside to get to Konde. For the next hour and a half or so, Brendan, Major, and I walked the 8kms of dirt road and tarmac through the forest and into town in the thankfully early morning hours – hot but not fall over and die hot. Why we couldn’t find a bigger oxcart that we could actually ride in as well was beyond me but the fact that we often had to stop and wait for the ox to catch up, well, it was probably a good thing that we set the pace on foot.

So off to a bit of exhausting start. Luck looked like it was turning in our favour a bit as the dala dala from Konde to Chake Chake left quite quickly after we arrived and as the rain started to pour down on our arrival in Chake Chake, we raced to hop in departing NOW dala dala to Mkoani. Good timing all around. I think. I mean, we just walked 8kms being followed by an oxcart. But yeah, we’ll say good timing.

I just don’t have the words to describe travelling by local transport here. Crammed in like sardines is just way too comfortable because the sardines are all lined up nice and neat, side by side, same same, you know what you’re getting. Dala dala travel is benches alongside the length of an extended truck bed, covered by a tarp-like contraption, thankfully, with the amount of people crammed in actually being fairly impressive, if you’re looking from the outside in. If you’re inside, well, it’s a bit of a different story. Sitting with legs and arms jammed tightly together, if both of your butt cheeks are on the seat, then it means that one of someone else’s butt cheeks is on your lap, and feeling the elbows, hands, feet, hair, clothing, hot breath, and other random bits of your neighbours pressing deeply into your lack of space. Add heat, dust, diesel, random unidentifiable smells from packages and their owners, live chickens stuffed into woven bamboo baskets and frequent, lurching stops and starts, and there you have it folks, welcome to local travel. Best part… I loved it! I was with people, I was in a moving vehicle, I was watching people laughing and having conversations, and I was seeing things I hadn’t seen before. I probably could have done without the oh-dear-I-think-someone-may-have-pooped-their-pants odor for part of the ride, but really, it was all an adventure. I was a happy girl.

Into Mkoani, time to get a ticket for the ferry. It’s an accepted thing here that there is one very reasonable price for locals, for everything, and one extraordinary price for foreigners. And when I say extraordinary, I mean even when compared to prices at home. Africa is very, very expensive for white faces. Very. So the local price for the fast ferry that was leaving ASAP, the only one going on that day, is 18,000 Tshillings. Roughly $18 CDN, give or take. The foreigner’s price… 52,000 Tshillings. 3 times the local quote. No small mark ups here, my dear. And they know, you either pay the price or you’re stuck in town for the night, where they can charge you a small fortune to stay at one of the only two seedy guesthouses. You’re at their grinning, evil mercy. Completely. We had limited funds because of course the one ATM in Chake Chake wasn’t working. Brendan managed to work a deal where we paid some Tshillings and some US dollars to get on this soon to be departing ferry. Tickets in hand, we march down to the pier.

Oh love a duck, how the entire continent of Africa hasn’t simply imploded upon itself is a mystery to me. As hundreds of us gathered, pushed, pulled, shoved, and crowded our way around the ramp of the ferry, they had yet to let the current passengers off. As ferry staff and then eventually a couple of official looking police officers (??)attempted to get the lot of us to form lines, drawing ropes across here and there so that people couldn’t enter from the sides, the wave of eager to board cattle pushed past these mob organizers and inched ever forward. Shouts and small arguments broke out here and there which did nothing but provide opportunity for others to sneak into the anger created spaces as opposing parties squared off over who should bring what and who should be where. I pushed back, firmly stood my ground, then eventually elbowed and shouldered my way forward, smile on my face, focus in my step. We were getting on this boat. And with much determination (and only the slightest bit of aggression) we did.

By the time we were on the boat, all of the seats were taken as was most of the available space in aisles or on any flat surface wide enough to place a bottom, a body, or a bag. Ooooo… a set of stairs… ooooo… empty seats… swwwweeeeeet! We cozied ourselves in, fully knowing that this is the 1st class section (not in any way different from the other section, just up a set of stairs), but as more people poured in and more seats filled up, we busied ourselves with being the ignorant white folk preparing for our ocean journey. An official looking man in a clean while uniform came by at one point, looked at our tickets, and told us these were first class seats and we needed to move. Yeah, right. Not that easily Mister. Brendan asked if all the seats were actually purchased and if we could stay if there were still empty spots. The man was distracted, repeated that they were first class seats and we should go downstairs then moved on to some other random make-me-look-important task. We saw him later in the journey as he was sitting in the row directly ahead of us, watching the terrible local movie being shown on the TV. So much for first class only. It became apparent that ALL space is available space, you just have to get your way in there and buy time enough not to move because once the boat is in motion, all bets are off. The entire first class section, seats, floors, ledges, stairs, and any other clear flat surface, was being sat and / or slept upon as we pulled away from port. Nicely done, white folks, nicely done.

The two hour ferry ride was pretty uneventful as I had popped my trusted anti-throw up meds and was blissfully drooling on Brendan’s arm like a toddler at naptime. I love that medicine. Brendan’s keen been-in-Africa-for-a-long-time senses were on full alert as Stonetown harbor came into view. Come on, grab your bag, let’s get to the exit. We were one of the first to be standing by the ramp as we docked, thank every star in the sky, so we were able to avoid the crushing mass exodus as the same load of cattle we boarded with was now intent on disembarking.

While Brendan waited for bags to be passed down off the ferry, I stood back and watched. The people, the porters, the cargo, the vehicles, the mass of swirling, flowing, endless waves of black and flashing colours of fabric as the carefully covered women bustled about pulling scarves over heads and the men pushed and shoved packages and luggage along. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Bags in hand and off we tromped. Brendan had been to Stonetown before so we were able to march confidently past the shouting, grabbing, touts and straight out into the dirty, smelly, very alive port town streets. A friendly fellow guided us to a nearby guesthouse that was surprisingly clean and cheap. It has only been open since February, I think there were 5 of us in total staying there, 24 hr electricity, running HOT water, and clean…sigh…delightfully clean. Yes, we’ll stay here. By the time we got in to the room, it must have been nearing 5pm. We had been on the move since 6:30am. Ex-haus-TED! But rounds to be made, town to be seen! As the sun started to fade, I was expertly guided through the most intricate system of narrow alleyways running every which way through towering, ancient, crumbling concrete buildings that blocked out most of the sky; the most elaborate maze I’ve ever seen. Brendan’s navigational nuances came in very, very handy. I found myself laughing for no reason at all as we wandered through town looking at the famous Zanzibar doors and doorways (google it, they are stunning!), finding bizarre little shops around each little nook and cranny alley turn, coming out to an amazing seafood night market being set up alongside the water, and watching the busy tourist nightlife come alive. We sipped yummy fruit juices on a rooftop patio while the market slowly filled and I felt every bit of weight slip effortlessly from my shoulders as all thoughts of life on Pemba disappeared. All of my senses were singing a happy little song. This was going to be a very, very good next few days.

Wandering through the market of nicely organized table tops set up on the newly constructed promenade that runs parallel to the busy waterfront, the barbequed seafood options were staggering, and a little sad, as I’ve spend many of my days watching their brethren kin swimming alongside me in the vast Indian Ocean. Brendan chatted up one of the finest and friendliest vendors around as I watched the people drift by. A few skewers on a plate, a glass of freshly squeezed sugar cane juice in hand, and tired bums resting on concrete benches still warm from the day’s blazing sun – life is oh so good. A fabulous place to sit and soak up this new world as there are more locals than tourists who stop by for a quick dinner of the catch of the day and a relaxing visit overlooking the water and the various ships passing by. Plus, Zanzibar was without power, from December until March, and it is now coming into low season. We white faces were few and far between. I am loving this town.

Was woken up by the skies crashing down in the middle of the night – sounded like a semi truck racing through an echoing tunnel, but turned out to be the seasonal rains that unleash their fury this time of year. The rain seemed to bring with it a choking sulfur smell that we couldn’t place so couldn’t control. What the hell is going on here?! But heavy – lidded and half asleep, if it didn’t go away, we’d deal with it in the morning. Phew! Stinky!

The morning came, the rain stayed. Hanging out in the guesthouse was not an option so raincoats on, we tromped out to see what wet and soggy Stonetown had to offer. Markets and vendors were still humming in full force but the tourists seemed to be hunkered down so it was exactly what I came to see – locals doing their local thing. Busy, crowded, loud, smelly, pushy, bizarre at the bazaar – I was a happy kid! A long, soaking wet day (rain coats can only do so much for so long) covering endless ground sloshing in squishy shoes and I-feel-like-I-peed-myself clothes, nerves eventually wore thin. I can be supremely annoying – chat, chat, chat, question, dumb question, random comment, even more dumb comment, what’s this? what’s that? what do you think? hey! look at this! chat, chat, chat – oh my gawd SHUT UP!!!! Yes, poor boy probably could have and should have strangled me. He had been here before, I hadn’t, I was free from isolation, I was swimming in new and strange and exciting sights and sounds and smells… I was revving in high gear, he just wanted to chill after escaping the constricting world from whence we came. I was more than a little too much. Despite the drenched day and some testy moments, no one killed the other one, I got to see and do more than I could have ever done on my own, and I am convinced that going back to Pemba is definitely going to be short lived.

The skies cleared late in the afternoon and the African sun continued as we spent the rest of the day and some of the next seeing more of what we could see before hopping the next ferry to the mainland. Much more controlled crowds, an almost empty boat, and an uneventful journey. Welcome to Dar es Salaam. The big city. Big time.

Dar is a proper city. Crazy and crowded and all of the chaos that goes with a big third world city, but it’s a real city with everything we have at home. Well… let’s not get carried away. But yeah, there are shops and restaurants and traffic circles and oh so many cars. Cars, cars, cars. Wow, there are a lot of cars. We arrived late in the day so we settled into a less nice guest house in a much less nice place but it’s buzzing and it’s easy and life continues to be very good. Thankfully, the rain has been sporadic and the heat has been much more bearable as is the season. It’s more of a touristy area but the city is so crowded that really, other than the guesthouse and a few western style restaurants (filled with locals) it’s not the kind of touristy that you would think. The street where is guesthouse is located is double stuff packed all day long – several mechanic and auto parts shops are busy with the constant stream of vehicles in need of some sort of repair. Shocking! No, no, not really. We’ll get to the driving conditions later. There is constant whooping and hollering over the banging and clanging as they stand around, squinting and scratching their chins in unison contemplating their next move. Tools and parts and people strewn lazily about the “sidewalk” and store fronts – you never know what you might need. This place is the definition of organized chaos. Well, using “organized” as loosely as possible. The only hassles are taxis shouting to shuttle you around, other than that, I can tolerate the hellos or minor attempts at English conversation. This is a good time of year to be here.

A busy couple of days as there are things to be done. Went to where Brendan was keeping his motorbike and got to see and experience this mode of lethal transportation first hand. I love it, as many of you would remember… me… the back of a motorbike… heaven, but holy crow, there were a couple of moments as we were weaving through cars weaving through over-crowded, nonsensical streets where my heart was racing a bit out of fear and my stomach was fluttering as it tried to find a place to rest in my throat. More than the concerns for our general well-being though, I was thoroughly impressed with how Brendan was able to find his way around, no turn backs needed, and get us to where we were going. I think he was pretty impressed with himself too. Boys and their pride when it comes to finding the way. I’m actually A-OK with it because really, my lemming like sense of direction would have me falling off the nearest cliff and having no idea of how I got there. I am quite happy to sit back and be led around. Quite, indeed.

Funny life, here in big city Tanzania. Incredible mixture of colours and races as mosque speakers blare over honking horns and squawking street vendors. Ranges of female coverings from full burkas, hijabs, scarves, and random other bits of black or brightly coloured sparkly, stunning decorated cloth to the traditional and beautiful kangas wrapped around bodies, bums, and beautiful African heads to regular ole western style wear (not western as in cowboy, but western as in western world, just to clarify). The men are pretty western casual in their clothing, unless it’s mosque or prayer time when you’ll see a few more long light coloured nighties running around. It’s the women, always the women, who catch your eye.

Oh, and every single person, from the big city to my small village, owns a cell phone. No word of a lie. They may not have enough to eat tonight or their humble home may be in desperate need of repair, but everyone has a cell phone. Everyone.

The men, ahhhh, the men. They do like to lean. Most days, all day long, you’ll see handfuls, groups, throngs of men leaning, lounging, reclining, or full out sleeping in every stoop, on every corner, under every tree, outside every shop, in, around, and ON the lots of parked cars, and generally anywhere that you may want or need to walk. The women? As with most places in Africa, they are busy swishing, swooping, and swirling through the streets. Baskets, bags, boxes, and buckets on heads, cleaning, cooking, shopping, tending to, or straightening up. There is a strong business class here, many people dressed smartly rushing here and there, but you know that at home, there are the hard-working African Mamas holding it all together. Every book you read, every story you hear, it’s the women, always the women, who push life on. My sense of inadequacy grows by the day as I simply drift by, witness to the power of an African woman.

Even though Brendan needed to get lists of things accomplished before he’s ready to head down the coast of Mozambique, he indulged me in motorbike rides when he could. A day spent heading south, intending to follow the water line but instead found ourselves a bit turned around, was better than we could have planned. The scenery ranged from proper towns buzzing with thousands of people shifting on street corners as they waited for this local bus or that one, darting across the streets choked with every mode of transportation imaginable, all trying to squeeze into that last little space of concrete to get one short inch ahead of the next one (thank goodness for the motorbike as we politely but assertively pushed past them all) to blink-and-you-miss-it settlements of a fistful of mud huts and a few roadside vendor stalls offering to sell you whatever you might need, regardless of what it might be. The well maintained highway was mostly free of traffic until we came upon one of these towns or villages and instantly there appeared a solid line of vehicles and scattering people as far as the eye could see. Where did you come from? Where the hell are you going? What on earth is going on here? Cruising along to sudden dead stop, eek our way through the gaping stares hanging out of open car and bus windows, and then off again. So very, very strange.

But so much fun. Stopping for lunch at a beautiful convention resort in the middle of nowhere with no business but us and being treated with such kindness, people watching and being watched as we stopped to buy an excessive amount of fruit from the street vendors for a ridiculously small amount of money in one of the towns in constant motion, nobody pulling at us or seeing our white faces as an opportunity to take money. People carried on with their normal day to day and were polite, welcoming, but not the least bit intrusive or harassing. There was no tourism here, just life. It was fantastic.

We found lots of western style supermarkets (that I went NUTS over!) and even found a proper shopping mall on the outskirts of town, again, all thanks to Brendan’s Superman sense of direction and determination to get to where we wanted to go. To get around this city on that bike was a feat that cannot be dismissed lightly. Asian city crowding is one thing, there are motorbikes and scooters and vehicles by the gazillions, but African city crowding is a whole different ball game. Very few bikes, a million more cars, SUVs, and buses, all in some state of disrepair or severe distress loaded with excessive amounts of random people and cargo being driven with even more reckless abandon on roads barely intended for use. And I sat back, held on, and enjoyed the ride. Doesn’t really seem fair, does it?

I think more than anything, I was just completely over the moon excited about seeing civilization. Crazy or calm, harassing or welcoming, familiar or weird, it was all absolutely wonderful. Being on that resort for months had wiped my mind clear of life in the real world. While I was functioning day to day, normally puttering along, I was quickly and unknowingly sliding into a deprived and mangled life of reclusion where things become acceptable, simply because there is no option for change. It’s one of those things where you have no idea of how far gone you are until you surface again. And I have surfaced again. I have surfaced sputtering, choking, and gasping for the air that I had no idea I was in desperate need of. I have finally been introduced to the lives, culture, and experiences that I came here looking for. My heavy heart has been woken up to the adventure that lies just outside of that twisted and barbaric place that I have called home these past few months. I can shake my head in sorrow or I can see it as an opportunity to fully appreciate what the next part of my journey can be after being deprived of it for so long. Yes, yes, that’s what I’ll do. Start planning my journey.

After bidding a very sad farewell to someone whom has become deeply near and dear to my heart, I have returned to island life. Not one single guest for days to come and tension so thick I felt my throat close pulling into the plot. The bully has returned, his temper being more vicious and less in control than ever. He has verbally attacked his wife and Mac with a brand new level of fury and both of them continue to play the part of shrinking violet. Again, being where we are, so far from everything, are there really many options? As much as it angers me to see this creep doing what he does, I feel for both of them and I want to shake both of them. They are too deeply entrenched with this place and this man to see how wrong his behaviour is but they are also limited by the mind-numbing isolation that this place creates. Or so it appears. I’ve asked Mac why? Why does he continue to allow himself to be treated this way and he just looked at me with the heaviest eyes I have seen in a very long time, shook his head slowly and replied, “I don’t know.” To egg this beast on or even to merely stand up to him has potentially violent consequences. It appears that everyone has simply learned to stand by, a few steps back with head bowed, waiting out the tirade then tiptoeing lightly until you are again worthy enough to be spoken to. And yes, today he is Mr. Happy Sunshine. It’s sick. There’s no need to go into all of the gory details but the toxicity of this place is devastating. I must get out.

My long winded nature continues, big surprise, and now I need to go about planning my escape. It’s not as easy as it may seem as I have to figure out visas, where I’m going, what I’m doing, and how I’m getting there all while being unemployed. I think I’ll still stick with the plan of heading to the south of Mozambique but there are still things I want to see in Tanzania before I go. I hadn’t planned to hit Moz. until June but I can’t imagine being here for another 6 weeks. I just can’t imagine. But I have to plan carefully and quietly because if word gets out, he could make my life very, very difficult. He has been digging for information with what he thinks are innocent and carefree questions since I got back but really, I’m not that dumb. My answers remain vague, I am keeping my distance, and remembering that less is better here.

Now I am tasking you, my dear and dedicated readers, with sending good karma my way. If anyone has suggestions, connections, or job possibilities in Tofo or Inhambane Mozambique, please send them my way. I’ll be doing as many searches via sketchy internet as I can but finding work online in Africa is about as hopeless as me waking up 6’ tall tomorrow morning. I can wish as much as I’d like, but it ain’t gonna happen. Come on universe… throw me a good one!!!

Feeling stuck

So much for me keeping up to date with the blog thing. Sadly internet availability has been reduced even further and finding a good chunk of time to sit down and get my thoughts together has been hard to do. I can’t really say why, it’s not like I’m in the midst of a hustling bustling life style here, but there’s always something that seems to prevent me from just sitting and writing.

Having just surpassed the three month mark, I’ve been doing a bit of comparing between this experience and my SE Asia tour. Obviously completely different experiences. The devastating, character building culture shock that brought me to tears on a regular basis as I struggled to find my footing Thai style has not been the case this time. To be honest, there hasn’t been much culture shock at all as I live, eat, and breathe western style resort. Okay, okay, the litany of new creepy crawlies and the stifling, suffocating heat have taken some getting used to, but that’s not culture, that’s country. As decision questioning as those first couple of months were in Thailand, I was in a new place, seeing and doing new things, and feeling very much alive as every single sense was being assaulted every single day. I got what I came for. Three months here and I have been robbed via home invasion, witnessed and experienced work / home bullying like nothing I’ve ever seen before, seen British colonized Africa in all its horrid glory, met some of the most socially unstable individuals wandering the far corners of the globe (and for good reason… when you’re a complete social misfit, isolation really is the only place for you!), and I have come to believe that my presence here is more or less irrelevant. Three months, here, on the plot, same couple of faces telling the same self-indulgent stories to random new guests who stop by for a few nights here and there. Can you see where I’m going with this? Can you read my head space? I’m pretty sure I need out.

I could bore you for ages with the messy details of horrid conversations, nasty behaviours, shockingly ridiculous methods to some kind of African hotel madness where only they know best, but all that will do is infuriate me further. Ever y single employee who has left this place has been spoken about as being totally and utterly useless. Every single one, no matter what, is a waste of life. After all these years, do you really think the SAME problems lie with the numerous people that have come and gone? At some point, don’t you think you’d start to take a look at it a little differently? Just a little? Nope. Too arrogant. They were all useless assholes, I will be a useless asshole when I leave, and everyone who comes afterwards will hear all about it. Accepted it and ready to move on. This asshole has had the same brutally ridiculous experiences that all who have come before me have had, and I too, want out before the mental ward gates close me in completely. I will be weak, dishonourable, shameful, and pathetic if I choose to bow out before my loosely agreed upon six months but hopefully my soul will still be somewhat intact. Quite simply, this place is thoroughly f**ked up.

So what’s next? I am officially open to suggestions. My gorgeous travelling soul mate Deb who has just finished India and is now back in our SE Asian heaven is encouraging me to come back to the land that captured my heart. We can hang out, find work, do nothing, whatever. My responsible side is on panic overload as I am constantly shushing that voice in the back of my head telling me that I am unemployed and this is unacceptable. So I could what? Find another teaching job… there are millions out there but this experience has pretty much cooled any interest I’ve ever had in teaching. Sad really because I loved my Thai kids and the fun I had teaching them. So maybe another teaching job in Thailand? Kinda feels like a step backwards. A teaching job somewhere else? Not sure. I don’t think I’m meant to be a teacher. I could head back home to Canada, as mom & dad always think I should do because life is better when family is home, but I know I’d just leave again so that seems like a waste of time and money. I could look into hospitality jobs, as has been suggested by various people here, but I’m not sure I’d stay in Africa so again, I need to sort out where I want to go. Or, and this is the big “OR…..” I could accept Brendan’s offer to follow him south to Mozambique, find work in a down there for a few months, and then continue on travelling and discovering and adventuring.

Oooooo… snuck that one in, didn’t I?! Not so much. Okay, here’s the general scoop…

You all remember Brendan. Kiwi dive instructor who arrived just after I did and threw the three other girls here into complete and utter chaos. Life has changed quite a bit since the tension of dive drama has been relieved and staff numbers have been reduced. This very small resort on a very small island draped in isolation provided opportunities for Brendan and I to spend more time together as really, other than Mac, we are the only staff here. Few guests, little diving, a good chance to get to know each other. We’ve gotten along really well and a little while ago, he invited me to meet him down in Mozambique where he wants to be around the beginning of June. He plans to leave here this week, motorbike his way south until he hits a good dive town in the southern part of the country, find work in a dive shop for another few months, and have me be part of it all. *gulp* really? Umm…

So as I try to over-think, over-analyze, sabotage, and more or less find fault with this plan, I am having a hard time coming up with reasons not to go. I’m done with this place, have been for a while now, don’t have a job lined up, not sure what I want to do anyway, and am being presented with an opportunity to check out a new country, spend time with a really great guy, and who knows, maybe find that amazing new job in an amazing new place. It will take him about 6 weeks or so to get down to where he wants to go and I understand that A LOT can change in that period of time so I’ve left it at this… if, nearing the end of those 6 weeks, he still wants me to come down, he needs to get in touch with me and I’ll go. I’ve been trying to look into jobs possibilities online but hello? This is Africa. You don’t and you won’t find jobs online. I just have to go. Know for sure that I don’t want to work as a divemaster so will have to try to see what, if any, other opportunities there may be down that way if I get there. Won’t know if I don’t go, right? Right. At this point, if I go, I’ve got nothing to lose, if I stay here, there’s a good possibility that things will get very, very ugly.

Trying to think of some funnies to tell you all about but am sadly having a hard time coming up with any. I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t been exposed to any new experiences. Day in and day out, it’s the same thing. New guest faces come and go but it’s the same blurry days with the same blurry staff who all seem to be drifting through their lives. I can see that I’ve fallen victim to this as well, which is why I know I need out. There’s really nothing of note to tell you about my “students”. Some are interested, others aren’t. Some are progressing, others aren’t. Some may remember me when I go, others won’t. Very little seems to impact most people here, it’s just too small and too far removed from absolutely everything other than what is right in front of the end of a nose. And this will continue and continue and continue. It will not change. I’m still waiting for that life changing experience where I fall in love with Africa and African people, where my heart is overwhelmed, my perspectives are shaken to the core, and I am a different human being for what I’ve seen and done… yeah, that’s not going to happen. Not here anyway. I’m hoping that maybe Mozambique will provide me with that opportunity I’ve been promised by so many people before I hopped that first plane over here. Apparently those experiences are out there, I’m just going to have to look a little further to find them. Fingers crossed…

Ooooops... I'm falling behind

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

You found me... nicely done!

Welcome to those of you whose curiosity was peaked enough to follow me to this new and pseudonym – ed blogsite. I made the mistake of accepting my place of employment, here on out referred to as… hmmm… TTC (temper tantrum central) on my facebook, and have received nothing but criticism after correction after clarification following each and every entry. Regardless of how neutral or kind I have tried to be, I have been condemned to grief and condescending commentary. That and the fact that I have been experiencing some rather significant personality conflict issues with the owner leaves me with no other option than to air my dirty laundry under cover. I have NO ONE to talk to about this! You, my secret blog readers, are it. And recently the rage is seething and boiling just below the barely pulled together surface grin that I am trying to pass off as a smile.

Being the outsider here allows me to stand back and watch. Watch how people interact. Watch how the staff interact with the guests, the staff interact with each other, the big guns interact with the little guns and how it all fits together. To say that the levels of maladjustment and arrogance are suffocating, well, now that wouldn’t be very nice, would it? So I won’t say it, I’ll just think it, quietly, and write. For the two months that I have been here, the owners have been here for about a month of it as they have travel and other obligations. I’ve had a chance to see the local staff interact with each other and us mzungus as the general atmosphere of the place swings from one extreme to the next depending on who is stomping around the grounds.

Now, from the owners’ point of view, they feel that OF COURSE there is more stress when they are around because nothing gets done, we f**k off, do nothing, and f**k everything up when they are away (direct quotes by the way) so they spend all of their time here picking up the pieces. Ummm… okay. Surprisingly enough, the resort continues to operate, guests come and go, all seem to be very happy, and nothing has imploded as long as I’ve been here. Well, the generator has stuttered and stopped a few times, we ran out of things here and there but believe it or not, Mac was able to get it all sorted out without major meltdown. There’s just no way to describe the bizarre way things operate here and how NASTY people can be to each other. Okay wait, let me rephrase that, how nasty one or two people can to be to the rest of us. When the owners are around, everyone tiptoes very quietly and tries desperately to stay out of their line of vision. As of the last few days, I am included in the duck and run. Not good.

I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly it is that I struggle with so much in terms of the personal interaction. There are a few key traits that have set me off and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to recover and simply accept them as the way the business is run. The list is as follows, you tell me what you think…

1. Name calling. When you are frustrated, angry, tired, put off, busy, moody, or whatever the case may be and you’re dealing with people, calling them names, to their faces or behind their backs as you cut them up to whomever is listening, makes for poor presentation. A common combination of “stupid” and a random curse word is usually the beginning of the rant. There have been a few incidents that I’ve witnessed that have left me open-mouthed and speechless. How can you speak to or about someone like that?! Wow. It makes me shudder.

2. In conjunction with the name calling is the shouting. Not the simple raised voice, I’m getting kinda pissed here, but the full on roar that guests overhear and anyone really who may be in the general vicinity of a few thousand miles. Shouting about how stupid they think someone is, in English or Swahili carries on to ripping strips off the cowering and nodding victim cornered by their present state of rage. It blows in and quickly blows out but it shatters any sense of peace and harmony that was previously intact.


3. Creating problems that they feel need to be discussed, addressed, resolved, discussed, addressed, and around and around OUT. OF. NOTHING. If there is a random comment made or “someone” just happens to be in a mood, it can quickly turn into a huge deal that again, just leaves me standing, jaw dropped. If the mood is good, a sarcastic comment made gets a good laugh and the day carries on, if there was pee in someone’s cornflakes and we haven’t taken note of the brooding black cloud circling the growling head, there is usually silence, a meeting called, and then a talking to. What happened with Max and B was a bad situation turned disaster by decisions made on impulse and reactivity, strong emotional reactivity. What has happened to me was the same. They react without thinking, sometimes try to dig themselves back out, but mostly just carry on making things worse and worse. Shall I illustrate with a couple of personal cases? I think I shall…


As has been mentioned in previous rants and raves, I was asked and then naturally took over some of the general day to day tasks. I am usually the first one down in the mornings so I would get the housekeeping staff and sometimes the kitchen sorted out. This carried on throughout the day. I managed to complete all of my teaching and it worked in nicely with the staff getting to practice their English by asking me for room keys, toiletries, foods, etc. Most evenings, I was asked if I would either help out by tending bar (which was essentially standing behind the bar chit-chatting and handing off the occasional beer) or taking dinner orders if we were busy. Sure. No problem. Been doing it for 20 years, I love it. Guests would ask me things throughout the day as I was often the only one around so I would take care of them, guests needed things from the office so I would get it. I didn’t mind, it was quite good puttering around, needs were being met, people seemed happy. And yes, teaching was still being done.

After the owners returned from their almost three weeks away and the drama was unfolding with the dive team, the first two days back, I did no teaching as the owners were on a mission to straighten this whole place out. There was nothing to be straightened out but the delusionary mania was on whirlwind setting. I was assigned to various housekeeping tasks, inventoried rooms and supplies, set up rooms, sorted things out and a variety of other chores. I ran around like a madwoman, being laughed at for how much I was sweating my balls off (I must have really sweat them off because I checked and nope, I don’t have any) and was fine with this knowing that it was short lived and I would be straight back to teaching, which I was. Max and B were gone within what? Four days of the owners return? I’m pretty sure it was four. The first two days, I was doing as I just described then on with the teaching. On the day following their departure, I was pulled aside and given a talking to about my place here at the resort. I am here to teach and teach only. I am not to be doing anything other than teaching. This went on and on. In my head, I am seeing lists of things that they requested of me since I’ve arrived and more recently upon their return and all of the work I was assigned to, non-teaching related, of course. And I am of course muttering to myself a very bewildered WTF?! Okay, fine, fine. Teaching it is. No problem. So as guests and staff continued to come to me for various items and I advised them that I was no longer able to help, I saw time being wasted and people getting frustrated at an empty office and needs not being met. Not my problem. This is the way things run in Africa.

Yes, this is a long story… bear with me… I’m getting there.

So a couple of times over the last two months, various guests have chatted with me and asked me why I’m not in hospitality as opposed to teaching, suggesting that I look into jobs in big hotels. Seems to fit, have done some type of hospitality job for the last 20 years, maybe this is what I’ve been looking for? I’ve gotten a few email addresses and made a few contacts. Really, just networking, no big deal.

This past week, a lovely couple who live in Zanzibar, acquaintances of the owners, came to stay for a bit. Somewhere along the line, a similar conversation was struck up. As the couple was preparing to depart, the wife had requested my email address, which I had given her, and as she handed it over to her husband, the owner joined us and asked why they would possibly need my contact info. I told him that they knew of a place that was looking to hire and the couple was going to try to help me out for when my time is up here. I saw the black cloud gathering and I bid my farewells quickly.

I kid you not, within 5 mins of the couple leaving the car park, the Mac's cell phone rang, he was summoned to the owners’ house for a meeting, and I knew something was coming. Couldn’t really be sure what it was, but knew the miserable crotch was about to embark on a rampage. In the middle of a class, at 9:44am, I was ordered into the office and my students were instructed to wait at the table. For the next 35 mins I was told that they were concerned as I am not meeting their teaching expectations. Ohhhhhh…. Ooookkaaaaaay. That’s the angle were taking here, is it? Okay. Continue…

So it went on and on, them telling me that they were concerned that I was feeling that there wasn’t enough to keep me busy so I was taking over tasks that were not my place to take over and in turn I wasn’t teaching. I offered them the log I’ve been keeping since my arrival of who and when I have been teaching but funny enough, they weren’t interested in seeing it. This then turned into a conversation about me thinking about a job in hospitality and what a “stupid” idea that is (that lovely word again). They know that I’ve was considering applying for other teaching positions and I was asked what happened to this plan. I said that I was just keeping my options open, looking at all kinds of possibilities as I’m not really sure what I want. WELL! I was informed that I would never get a job in hospitality as I’m not qualified and even if I managed to get a job I would get jacked around and be miserable and heaven forbid I actually manage to land a decent job that I enjoyed, it would still be a bad idea because working in hospitality is a lowly, “dishonourable” job. ***sigh*** okay, okay, okay. What can I say at this point? What is there to say?

I was told to “spit it out” – am I happy here or not?! I told them I was (what choice did I have?) They would find me other jobs to keep me busy if I need to keep busy to stay happy and they want to see more teaching. (sorry, sticking to my 4 hrs a day, thank you very much). When they are gone for 3 weeks and then spend their days from 8:30am until 2:30pm on the dive boat, of course they don’t see me teaching – they’re not here!!! I continued to smile and nod, yessir, yessir all the while trying to figure out when the next flight out is. I knew that once the girls left I would be the next target, I just hadn’t quite worked out what the angle would be. This was the angle. And the game was on.

I returned to my waiting students at 10:22am. They were hanging their heads for me as they were directed by the owner not to move so they were witness to the ridiculousness. They’ve encountered their own ranting rages so the looks of empathy were quite funny. I pulled a face at them, the tension cracked, and we carried on. In the back of my mind, I was wishing that my Swahili included words like “asshole” “douche bag” and “loud mouth”. I’m working on adding them to my vocabulary.

This entry has actually taken several days and several editions to get to this PG-rated version. The day of the scolding and the day after, the owner was a complete prick to me. Wouldn’t talk to me except to snarl a random order of “do this” or “do that”. The final kick to the teeth was the night after the loving and motivational speech, a bunch of guests, Anya, and Brendan were all heading out to the beach to watch the sunset and I was invited to go. I was approached by Mac at my room just before we all were to head out and asked “Ummm… were you planning to go with them?” “Well, kinda. Why, what do you need?” “Ummmm… the owners (insert names here) invited me to go with them and their buddies to another resort for drinks” “Okay, so go.” “Well, we kinda need someone to watch the place while we’re all out” “Sorry, pardon?” “Well, there won’t really be anything to do, but just in case someone needed something, you know what to do.”

My head almost exploded. So one effin day after I got the speech to stay the hell away from any kind of resort work, that hospitality work is not in my future, that I need to focus on teaching and only teaching and I am not to represent the resort in any way, I am asked to stay behind and watch the place. AND THEN! I found out later from Brendan that HE was invited too but decided not to go. All of the “staff” were invited to leave the resort to go to another resort for drinks and I was asked to stay behind, to watch the place and the remaining guests. A case of cool kid syndrome taken to a whole new level.

I could have been a complete bitch and said no. Sorry, I’m going where I was invited and really, it’s out of the realm of my responsibilities but the only one who would have suffered at that point would have been Mac. He seemed so excited to be included in the cool kid party that it just didn’t make sense to complicate things for him. But this, my dear friends, is the kind of bullshit that has brought out violent and revenge filled tendencies. Back and forth, do this but only when it’s convenient for me, arrogance and complete disregard for anyone or anything beyond the end of their nose. And the arrogance is so complete that there is no possibility of even discussing the inconsistency of their expectations of me as they know all, they say all, the logic is modified to fit their current need or state of mind, and we’re all a bunch of effin idiots. It’s absolutely fascinating. A couple of guests who are aware that I’m not allowed to function In any kind of resort capacity were asking me why everyone was away, why I was watching the shop while everyone was away but couldn’t even get them a roll of toilet paper, and what exactly my role was supposed to be. How do I answer that? Seriously. I’m looking for suggestions. Besides a big ole F.U., I’m running out of words right now.

But two days have passed since then and I’m now out of the doghouse and being spoken to and joked with throughout the day. I keep my responses brief and busily stay out of sight. It’s just ridiculous. OH! Did I tell you my birthday greeting from Mr. Owner? “Oh hello, it’s your birthday. “ “Yes, it is.” “How old are you now, then?” “36” “Oh shit, well there goes any chance of you ever having a family, eh?” “Thank you. I’m going diving.” Who says stuff like that?!?!

ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!! Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Guest after guest has made comment about what an overwhelming, obnoxious, socially inept, arrogant, and abrasive know-it-all he is but they can walk away after their week long holiday. I have nowhere to go. I’m trapped. Actually, that’s a good way to sum it all up – I am trapped. Trapped on this twilight zone resort where it is white king supremacy inside the gates and dusty, devastated, in the middle of nowhere wild Africa just down the road. Can you imagine going to one of those nice all inclusive resorts and never leaving the property? Now imagine it being a not-so-nice resort and not leaving for TWO MONTHS!!! Besides my daily walks / runs in the morning and a couple of quick trips in the car, I have not left the property. Oh dear GAWD I am on my way to the nuthouse. Certified. Done.

Okay. Okay. Okay. It’s over. It’s all okay. I feel better. I’m okay. ***WHEW!*** I’m going to be just fine. The majority of this is all from the fact that there is no one I can talk to. Mac and I get along really well and are each other’s shoulder to cry on, but I’m still very guarded as his loyalty needs to be with his employer and I don’t ever want him to feel stuck in the middle. This entry has been the first real opportunity to let it all out and wow, you all have suffered the consequences. There’s so much more I could talk about, like how I get emails from the friend of the owner who recruited me, whom I have never met but the owner apparently confides in, commenting on what is happening here and my role in it (who are you and seriously, you aren’t even here!), how it costs the owner $300 a month just to have me here, how the physical conditions I am living in continue to deteriorate but this makes me high maintenance, and that I’m supposed to get two days off a week but haven’t taken them because when I ask for them, I get the eye roll and the “really? Well, I guess if you need one but it shouldn’t interfere with your teaching” response. Oh. Okay then. Never mind. I’d love to continue to volunteer teach for six straight months and never leave the plot. It sounds absolutely DREAMY!!! Oops. Sorry. Got caught up in it again. That really was the last of it. I promise.

But as I’ve said before, as the storm blows in, it always blows out, and in the space of me writing this over a few days, I have gone from a useless twat to the best thing that has ever happened to this place. He has been chatting up guests, telling them how much the staff have improved in their English, I was invited on a friends only dive trip, to help out as a DM but who cares?! (turned out to be freaking spectacular!) he has been laughing and joking, being his regular charming and story-telling self, having regular conversations with me as all is now good in his world. It’s full on bizarro. Bi-zarr-O!!! So as the eggshells have hardened and the tiptoes fall to flat feet, all of us around the plot have loosened up a tad but senses remain on high alert as there’s no telling when the next typhoon and all of its accompanying damage will blow through.

Because of all that has been written thus far, you now understand why I’ve had to go incognito to continue my writings. And you have to admit, it’s a little more fun to bear witness to my emotional meltdowns rather than the simple, newsworthy reporting that was happening just previous to the blog diversion. I am feeling MUCH better now that I’ve had a chance to sort it all out for you and as always, I am able to gain perspective and put my head back on straight once I’ve had a chance to let it all out. Not entirely sure how long I will stay, depends on the day and how well I am at controlling my impulses when the next bit of rage is directed my way.

I am currently trying to look at the positives in my present day boss as the thunder cloud has dispersed and I can look back at this and try to see both sides to it all. He can be exceptionally funny and a wonderfully talented story teller when the mood strikes him, he can be generous to a fault as many of his friends come to stay and dive here in exchange for random bits of work around the plot, i.e., fixing some electrical glitches, getting the Land Rovers up and running, and various guests getting discounts on most things, he has been there and done that when it comes to most things so is full of random knowledge (this often contributes to his know-it-all-ness but still, some of it is useful), and he somewhere in there, he can be quite sensitive to those souls who need a little extra attention. Sadly, most of these qualities are lost as he stomps his way around the plot shouting orders and reliving the colonial settling of Africa directing all of us as if we are slaves. He is the poster child for adult ADD and has no filter when it comes to common manners or decency (he will often interrupt or walk away from a conversation whenever another thought compels him) so he comes off as an incredible asshole, stumbling bull in a china shop. He wakes with a roar and rips through the day upsetting everything in his path with inconsistent expectations and self-gratifying urges. He is, quite simply, an uncontained child running wild in his own playground. He comes from money and sees himself as quite hospitable but again, we all see ourselves in the softest of lights. Watching guests cringe as he publicly yells at and humiliates staff or shouts across the dining room to summon whoever he feels like is lost on him. He is the king. Loud, self-absorbed, and proud. When you are on his good side, he makes you feel over the moon as he pumps your ego to new and glorious heights just in time for him to smash it all to bits if you are caught in the midst of his nightmarish and devastating fist thumping. At this moment, I’ve been asked to watch the fort yet again as more friends leave and they head to the other resort for drinks. He acknowledged this time that he is taking advantage of me at least, but still, what choice to I have in the matter? Smile and nod, yessir, keep out of the way.

They are leaving for another 10 days and we all are waiting patiently. It will be so lovely and so peaceful and so quiet as we enjoy the calm then gear up to face another round of spewing, displaced anger upon their return. Now that I’ve caught everyone up on why I have been neglecting the blog, I will soon start writing about the humourous and charming tidbits that have been lost in all of the emotional chaos of the last month. This is obviously no longer a blog as it is nearing novel proportions but as I’ve said, now that the pent up devastation has been relieved, I will check in more often and keep the notes much more light. Thanks to all of you for letting me get all of this off my chest and please stay tuned for the regular scheduled programming. There is some funny s**t that happens here. Later taters!!!