I’ve started these updates a million times over. I’ve thought of emails I need to write, things I need to catch everyone up on, those of you who have been worried, curious, or just plain peeved that I’ve slipped off the face of the earth and not bothered to stay connected. I wish I had a good excuse, like I’ve discovered a new species of pygmy manta rays or uncovered a magical healing source deep in the jungles or found the cure for idiots. Sadly, I can lay claim to none of these. I don’t even really have any good tales to tell and that is what makes me ashamed most of all. My “adventure” has become less of an adventure and more of a “settled” and that, my friends, must change soon. Isn’t that why I left home in the first place?!
Where do I start? What have I told you? Pretty much nothing? Excellent. Let’s keep it that way. Awww!!! Now that’s not very nice! I’ll try to fill in the blanks without too much rambling but come on now, it’s me; there will be excess rambling by the buckets full.
Still in Southern Mozambique, Tofo Beach, and still living a simple, surreal life. Did I mention, have I told you, do you know that I have a new job yet again? I’m the smiley, chatty, receptionist at Diversity Scuba, the finest dive shop in Tofo. It’s actually the dive shop where Natalia (remember my house mate?) and a few very dear friends work so life has fallen into place oh so nicely (and yes, it is the finest dive shop in Tofo). Started half time in early Sept and have been left to run the full time show since mid Oct. Haven’t burned the place down or thrown us into massive chaos yet so things seem to be going okay. Receptionist work, well, not my most ambitious goal, but folks, when the shop is slow, the weather is good, and I’ve sorted out all of the messes that can be created being part of a busy business in Africa, I hop on a boat and dive my little heart out. And, shamelessly, get paid to do it. Couldn’t ask for a better shop owner and manager, both of whom are keen to get me in the water as much as I can because the more I know the sites, the better I can chat it up to customers. Hmmm… like I really need another excuse to be in the water. Seriously, all good.
The only bit I continue to struggle with somewhat is the amount of time at work. I now fall into that 6 days a week, 10+ hours a day schedule. All we do is work. My entire life is at the shop. Often times, we’ll hang around or meet up with friends to try to get some sense of a life instead of going home after the doors close but there are other days where it’s all we can do to drag our sorry asses that long walk home. And that one precious day off? Sleep, clean, try to catch up. This is why three months has passed me by in the blink of an eye. I can’t think of much else that I have done other than work. But don’t get me wrong!!! I am so thankful for the job and quite grateful for the opportunity to become a fully integrated part of this community. It’s quite easy to see how people can get lost here. The beauty of this place when you can separate out the tourist bit of it all is overwhelming. I am in one of the most unique marine life environments on the planet. I have been able to dive and snorkel with creatures that are so incredible they are almost magical. My whole world comes together under these waters… it’s challenging and frightening one day, peaceful and full of bliss the next. All I want to do is dive. So I work hard, smile harder, and say “pretty please?” the next time I see the chance to hop on a boat. My life is very, very surreal.
That being said, other than the location, life here is very, very normal. It’s a tourist town despite the lack of many modern conveniences or western marketing, it’s a town of white faces and constant transients. We wake up, we work, we swim, read, or run errands in a spare moment if there is one, visit friends, we go to dinner, we chat, and we carry on. English is spoken (shame on me and my zero effort for learning Portuguese!) backpackers pass through, and most of us continue to look at what is just down the road once our time here is up. There are some lifers here, business owners or property gurus, and those of us who have proper jobs are usually on that one year or so commitment, but yeah, that “this is Africa, baby” feeling is a bit absent. A stunning holiday down that I wish all of you could see, but only if you’re going to dive with me.
I have to look back on some of the blogs I started earlier to try to cut and paste some funnies… hold on… ahhh… found one…
Have I mentioned the *kiss kiss*? Oh so lovely… now. Being Canadian, having grown up in the 3rd largest country easily laying claim to the largest sense of personal space, it of course took me some time adjusting to the overcrowding of SE Asia and then the pile on top of each other of Africa. I think I’ve managed most of the situations without too many major faux pas and have learned to smile, or grimace, and go with it. Here, in Tofo, the atmosphere is very European, being a Portuguese settled country. The “local” (those of us who live here but aren’t from Mozambique) population is a mixture of South African (again, for another day), European, and a smattering of former British colonies. As I was initially being introduced around town and the new friend leaned in for a *kiss kiss* hello, once or twice it resulted in me either bending over backwards, almost in half, hands raised in a “woah, back off!” gesture, as I wasn’t sure why this person was suddenly so close to my face, or embracing the greeter in a full body hug as they ended up air kissing a mouth full of my hair. Umm… oops… awkward. Thankfully, as I’ve said, most people here are very, very kind so my social silliness has long since been forgiven and I have eagerly jumped on the *kiss kiss* bandwagon. A very old school, classic movies, pretentious and posh tradition that I am determined to bring back to life if ever I return to the North American locale. I love *kiss kiss*.
Then there are the logistical bits. Like visas. Anyone who has travelled can share my pain. The “laws” governing Mozambique visas have a tendency to change on a daily basis. So after many long & miserable journeys, heads banged against tables, and excessive amounts of cash that I simply don’t have, a temporary and creative solution has been found. Don’t need to share the details as African police officers, immigration officials, and dark, dingy prisons aren’t on my to-do list for my time on this continent but I want to stay for a while and stay I will. It’s Africa baby, just make it happen.
Oh and how about this fun little bit? Being that this is a tourist town (mostly for hordes of South Africans), there is a boat load of cash to be made during the holidays. That being said, Natalia and I are homeless from Dec. 23 – Jan 3. Our landlord can ask as much per day as we pay per month, so yeah, we are kicked out to couch surf and rely on the generosity of those with a more secure abode. There are some comfy sofas at the dive shop should all else fail but again, so many nice people here, so many (hopefully) good friends that I don’t think I’ll have trouble finding a place to lay my head each night. The only real hassle will be temporarily packing up the home and living out of the backpack again but hey, it will get me used to what I hope to do be doing again soon. So please, if any of you have time, pass the word on to Santa that I’ll be transient on the 25th so not to worry about me too much this year. Thanks.
The 25th. Christmas day last year I was bundled and backpacked, saying goodbye to family at the Halifax airport bound for Africa and all of its unknowns. Far too little of Africa has been experienced and I can’t tell you where the year has gone or what I have done with it but it feels like a million years have passed. I don’t miss many material luxuries anymore and I’ve learned what “bare minimum” can look like but I’m starting to get very itchy feet ( I REALLY can’t stand that phrase! SO gross!) While I’m thankful for the strangely comfortable life I have set up here, I’m eagerly anticipating being on the move. Thinking back to the brief transition of exploring those bits of Tanzania before heading down here … exhilarating. Stepping on or off of a bus or plane or the back of a random pickup truck not really knowing what is actually just ahead, it’s calling to me. Time to move, time to move, time to move…
I don’t really have any plans at this point other than hopefully getting my hands on a new credit card (mine expired and the new one has been “lost in the mail”). So for the next few months at least, I will continue to hunker down and see what, if any money at all I can try to save so that I can continue the journey. It’s frustrating because the more I see, the more people I meet, the more stories I hear, the more my fire is fuelled. But Africa is expensive folks, more expensive than I could have ever imagined, and my independent wealth has not quite been realized as I continue to float through my silly life. Regardless, I count my blessings and the stamps in my passport while I stare at world maps and try to figure out how I can find my way there and there and THERE! Oh there are so many “theres” I want to see… Any and all of you are welcome to join the ride, it is one heck of a ride!
The people I’ve met here continue to amaze me. Everyone has a story, everyone has seen and done things I could only dream of. The places people have been and the experiences that have been had, completely inspiring. If only I had had my mid-life crisis 10 years earlier, I would have half of the globe covered by now. The more time I’m away, the harder it is to imagine being “settled” ever again. A 9 – 5 job, a vehicle, a mortgage, that whole “Hi honey, I’m home” thing has never seemed so foreign, so far away. I promise that I’m not turning into some loopy, hippie, drippy burnout, I promise that I continue to be very responsible and conservative by most standards here, but yeah, the disconnect to North American life is becoming more and more pronounced. Strange. Good thing? Bad thing? Really no idea. But I’m learning to not over – think and just live. Not like me AT ALL! But it’s good, it’s all good.
Summertime on the South East coast of Africa has arrived with a vengeance and all of that dripping wet heat and offensively stifling odour has returned. Wow. Hearing about the massive snow storms that seem to be crippling every major city at the moment while we are bathed in stinky sweat is just incomprehensible. That being said, I miss curling up in a nice big hoodie wrapped tightly in a soft fleece blanket watching the white stuff pile high outside the window. No matter how far I roam, I will still be Canadian at heart. Forever and ever.
So on that note, I will sign off so that I can actually get this posted. Shame on me for being so terrible about keeping in touch but I promise that I am okay. Thank you to those of you who are still interested in me and where in the world I am, thank you for helping this disconnected spirit to remain connected in some small way. As I’ve said before, it really is too easy to disappear here. Far too easy. But I won’t, I can’t, and it will not happen. I will try to find more stories to tell, more adventures to have, and more things to keep looking forward to… this girl has lots to do before she’s done.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all the very best for every other festivity that is happening right now. I will play in the sand and go for a swim in the sea as I miss all of you on that one day of the year when being together really counts. My heart is home right now. All my love.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Time is flying in Tofo
While I still am fairly limited for internet time and individual emails are just too overwhelming to even attempt at this point, I am more settled, more social, and happier than I have been since I arrived in Africa over 8 months ago. Now if that's not a good start to a blog entry, I don't know what is!
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
Living the life
I’ve been in Mozambique, my newest home, for almost two months now and haven’t written to catch everyone up at all. Shame on me! I’ve been busy though. I promise. I’ve become pretty familiar with the day to day of a small holiday town that boasts spectacular diving, world class surfing, and some of the most stunning coastline that I’ve ever seen. It feels like I’ve just arrived and been here for a very long time depending on the day. I’m learning who’s who in the zoo and the politics that go along with it. I’ve become pro at local transportation and the bartering thing when buying any and everything I might need at the local and street corner markets. I’ve become an expert pack mule and very skilled at the just-sit-and-wait. Everything moves with bizarre inconsistency here and there is absolutely no control over any of it. Being in a hurry is pointless. Being late is just the way that it goes, even if you left an hour early. No one gets upset about it because… really… what can you do? Time is irrelevant. This is Africa, baby.
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Moving to Mozambique
Mozambique. It had never crossed my mind to visit this country. I had barely heard of this country. Whenever I thought of “Africa”, I thought of places like Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia. Places made famous by romantic movies or devastation music fundraisers. In my very short amount of time in an extremely small corner of a vast continent, I have quickly come to realize how absurdly ignorant I am of this place, of these places. Overwhelmingly, embarrassingly, shamefully ignorant. Needless to say, Mozambique was not my idea but it was the best coat tail idea I have ever chosen to hop on. This place is amazing.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
Super Safari!
Safari. Safari. Safari. In Swahili, “safari” actually means “journey” so when you are asked about your safari, you’re being asked about your trip or your journey. Going on an animal safari is a journey like no other. I had a very good luck couple of days on my animal journey.
So yes, mad dash back to my room to back up the exploded backpack and sort out what I should or shouldn’t bring. “Camping” so I figure shower stuff is out. Brought a washcloth and soap thinking that would do. I’ve done dirty many, many times, I can do this again. I’ve always envisioned the glamourous pictures and postcards of pink-faced, khaki clad adventurers with pockets jammed full of camera gear, binoculars, handkerchiefs, compasses, watches, guide books, and bottles of water. I have a crappy, dinky digital camera, my icky travelling clothes, and I can get a bottle of water. I’m really kind of nervous about how silly and uncool I’m going to look heading out. Not much I can do at this point.
I’m quickly loaded into a company minivan with a very nice driver who speaks enough English that we can chat the nearly two hour drive to the campsite. On the way, he explains this place and that land – it was all so interesting. I’m finally getting some real African culture! Do you remember me telling you about our Masaai security guards? Well this is the area that they come from. They farm cattle and goats and are so beautifully distinct from their stretched out earlobes and colourfully beaded jewelry to their crimson and violet coloured blankets worn just so. I can’t help but stare – they look so regal and elegant and tribal. I’ve seen the local mamas dressed in their stunning patterned kangas and head wraps looking gorgeous in a way that only an African woman could. The Masaai however, look tribal. It gives me shivers and I stare at them the way that most African people stare at me. Such an interesting, interesting population. I really need to learn more about them and their culture.
So yes, Masaai. We had to make a stop at the Monday Masaai market along side of the road. They come to buy and sell what they need for the week. All these stalls swarming with the beautifully blanketed in from the farm to do a little business. Why did we stop? Driver had to pick up some meat for wherever he was heading. The meat markets on this side of the world are without doubt, the most terrifying experiences I continue to seek out. Not sure why I’m so fascinated as I gag my way through the various hanging carcasses, pieces of carcasses, and other random completely unidentifiable smelly bits and pieces. So we head over to the slaughterhouse stall and I secretly play my game of guess the creature. There’s an entire half of something skinned and hanging on a hook. Apparently this is exactly what driver has been looking for. The seller takes out his big ole cleaver and cuts about half way down, ties a blue plastic bag around one end of it, and I start laughing like a lunatic because the uncovered end that driver is holding on to is actually the foot of a goat. About six inches of fur that had been left on (so you can tell what kind of creature you’re eating??), cloven hoof, and here’s dinner. I’ve been told that goat is really quite good. Haven’t had the chance to give it a go yet. Aw, shucks. That’s too bad.
So we carry on and arrive in a village. Safari camping, at least with this company is done in style. Tents are pitched on a manicured lawn in the backyard of a lovely open air lodge with a proper dining room, a bar, and a sitting area with a TV. Ahhh… TV. Haven’t seen TV in ages! Soaked up a morning Al Jazeer BBC like news program in the mornings like life blood. Wow I am outta touch. Have had no clue at all what has been going on in this world over the last several months. I need to get caught up. Clueless.
Okay, anyway. I arrive to meet the group whose safari package I’m crashing. Two young couples (one a couple couple, one “just friends”) who had been out all day and were just back from their sightseeing. They were munching on snacks of popcorn and hot chocolate! Popcorn. I love popcorn. I miss popcorn. I used to have popcorn for dinner. And hot chocolate… mmmm…. chocolate. Okay, off topic. Super nice people who filled me in all the hundreds and hundreds of animals they saw at a lake safari destination today. I was bouncing in my seat just listening to them. Really? You saw all those animals?! Up close? REEEEEEALLY?!?!? Oh. My. Gosh. This is going to be incredible!
As we are all chatting and the sun is setting, I am guided from the lovely dining area to my lovely backyard tent set up under majestic coconut trees so I can sort out my stuff and shower before dinner if I want. Shower? Are you serious? Hot water? Shut up! Sadly, I only brought a bar of soap and a facecloth. I was told I was going to be camping. Didn’t think there’d be showers! So instead of soaking up some much coveted hot water, I went for a walk down the main road of the local village instead. The manager of the campsite facility (all of 23 I think) asked if he could come with me. Sure! I like company. And remember, it had been quite a while since I had the chance to have proper conversations. So we walked and chatted. Smart boy who is going to school to become a lawyer. Wanted to talk about politics and what I thought of the Tanzanian government and education systems. He has hope for his country. He recognizes the corruption, is frustrated by it, and wants change. He wants to be part of the change. An interesting young man. I will keep my fingers crossed for him but wow, he and his peers are in for one hell of a battle.
Anyway, we head back as darkness is settling in and the stars are multiplying by the second. Dinner is ridiculously yummy and I meet Dixon, our driver/guide who will be finding me loads of animals for the next two days on safari. A friendly, sociable guy who seems to enjoy his job. He was even patient with my endless questions and annoying excitement. I’m going on safari!!!
Day 1, we load into our Land Rover nice and early in the chilly, foggy morning. Yes, Land Rover. Land Rovers are born and bred here, they are the only vehicle to survive here, and they so super cool. I want a Land Rover. You look SO uber hip cruising in a Land Rover. Okay, well, maybe not here where EVERYONE is in a Land Rover, but when I get home, I’ll never look at them the same way. I want to be Land Rover chick. Right after I win the lottery to fund the purchase, of course.
So we gear up and head to Ngorongoro Crater. Okay folks, pause the blog reading and just Google this. Seriously. There’s no way I can explain this place. 19.2 km in diameter, 610m deep, 304 sq. kms. Small lakes, various kinds of vegetation, and animals, animals, animals. It’s well protected and well preserved, rightly so. It is a completely unique place, unlike anything else on the planet. And here I was, standing on the front seat of an open-topped Land Rover looking over some of the most incredible landscape, ever. Ever. Do you have those moments where you are outside of yourself, looking at the situation and it’s just too bizarre to believe? Too surreal? Is this really me? My life? How did this happen? I’m in Africa, in a crater, on safari looking for some of the most impressive creatures that never in my life did I expect to see outside of a sad, sorry zoo. How did I get here? Yeah, I’ve been having many of those moments lately.
I can’t go on and on about losing my head over and over again with the animals we saw, near and far, it would take days. But let me list the wildlife we encountered on my very first day of safari and you judge for yourself how much of a loony toon I was. Okay we saw, in no particular order…
elephants, buffalo, wildebeest, Thomson’s gazelles (LOVE these cuties!), Grant’s gazelles, hyenas, black rhino, lions (2 males, 4 females, a very rare spotting. All 5 of us simultaneously held our breath and stood dead still except for clicking cameras as a massive male brushed along the back bumper of our OPEN Land Rover. Holy adrenaline rush!), baboons, ostrich, zebra, flamingos, crown cranes, kori bustards, warthogs (super funny creatures!), eland, hippos, and hartebeest.
The zebra, gazelles, and wildebeest are too numerous to count, hundreds and hundreds of them all hanging out, eating, playing, and strolling around each other but that didn’t make them any less special as they would be right beside the vehicle, seeming to pose for photos and making their presence known. It felt like an open air zoo but what’s special about this place is that the animals are free. They are accustomed to slow moving vehicles being on the dirt roads that run through the crater so they aren’t distressed by the sounds or sights, but they also don’t connect us as food or a threat so they continue on, allowing us to observe them naturally and freely without interference. It’s a very unique observation opportunity. Yes, you don’t have to work hard to spot whatever creature you want to spot as it’s a wide open flat land, but to have an environment where the animals are completely wild and free and you can be in their space, respecting and being part of their space, that’s so very special. There were many moments where I couldn’t catch my breath. This was too good.
Our driver Dixon was full of endless knowledge and patience as we all asked a million questions and dragged out the drive for as long as we could. A 6 hour visit to the crater (plus the almost three hours travel time) turned out to be much, much longer and we definitely got our fill of every inch of that crater that we could have possibly explored. A happy, very satisfied bunch returned to “camp” over 11 hours after we left. Wow. We had to bid farewell to the “couple” couple as they had arrived a day early so were at the end of their safari and heading back to Arusha. Dinner was me and the super cute, very young “friends” couple. A table full of newcomers had arrived to begin their journey but they weren’t too interested in being social so the three of us made lists of animals and reminisced over the glorious day in a glorious place. And there’s still another day coming!!!
Slept really well, again, and was up early to pack and get ready for Tarangire National Park. Really, anything after the Crater was icing on the cake. Thick, gooey, yummy, chocolaty icing. I’m STILL on safari!
Just the three of us today and Dixon was obviously either tired of us or tired in general but we had enough energy to make up for any lack of interest that he may have had. A slow, slow, SLOW start to the drive. Actually, an exciting start to the drive as I got to see two of my beloved giraffe, something I wanted to see most of all, but then nothing. Well, some very cool and colourful birds, but no creatures, no big things for at least another hour and a half. Driving is nice, I love going for drives, but when there’s a purpose to the drive and that purpose is eluding you, it’s long and tiring and disappointing. Then, as if everyone woke up from a long nap, they were out. Again, in no particular order, we saw…
giraffe (sigh), impala, dik diks, (SO cute!!!), vervet monkeys, warthogs, ostrich, tons o f different, most colouful birds ever, zebra, baboons (an entire community of them approached us head on and surrounded the vehicle as they moved past us, 50 of them, easily), dwarf mongoose, banded mongoose, waterbuck, elephants, elephants, and more elephants, and a very elusive, prized leopard. Leopards are the hardest to spot and we found one, rounding out spotting the Big 5 that everyone on safari comes to see… buffalo, elephants, lions, rhinos, and leopards. Why are they the “Big 5”? They are the most dangerous, difficult creatures to see, hunt, and encounter. High 5s for the Big 5. Another spectacular, very long day on safari.
We drove back to Arusha, completely exhausted and fully appreciative of the experiences that we had just had. Said goodbye to the sweet “just friends” couple and sorted myself for my 7am, 10 hour journey back to Dar the next day. Falling asleep to visions of black and white stripes, tan hides with black and brown spots, and soft, curious eyes… bliss. I went on safari.
So yes, mad dash back to my room to back up the exploded backpack and sort out what I should or shouldn’t bring. “Camping” so I figure shower stuff is out. Brought a washcloth and soap thinking that would do. I’ve done dirty many, many times, I can do this again. I’ve always envisioned the glamourous pictures and postcards of pink-faced, khaki clad adventurers with pockets jammed full of camera gear, binoculars, handkerchiefs, compasses, watches, guide books, and bottles of water. I have a crappy, dinky digital camera, my icky travelling clothes, and I can get a bottle of water. I’m really kind of nervous about how silly and uncool I’m going to look heading out. Not much I can do at this point.
I’m quickly loaded into a company minivan with a very nice driver who speaks enough English that we can chat the nearly two hour drive to the campsite. On the way, he explains this place and that land – it was all so interesting. I’m finally getting some real African culture! Do you remember me telling you about our Masaai security guards? Well this is the area that they come from. They farm cattle and goats and are so beautifully distinct from their stretched out earlobes and colourfully beaded jewelry to their crimson and violet coloured blankets worn just so. I can’t help but stare – they look so regal and elegant and tribal. I’ve seen the local mamas dressed in their stunning patterned kangas and head wraps looking gorgeous in a way that only an African woman could. The Masaai however, look tribal. It gives me shivers and I stare at them the way that most African people stare at me. Such an interesting, interesting population. I really need to learn more about them and their culture.
So yes, Masaai. We had to make a stop at the Monday Masaai market along side of the road. They come to buy and sell what they need for the week. All these stalls swarming with the beautifully blanketed in from the farm to do a little business. Why did we stop? Driver had to pick up some meat for wherever he was heading. The meat markets on this side of the world are without doubt, the most terrifying experiences I continue to seek out. Not sure why I’m so fascinated as I gag my way through the various hanging carcasses, pieces of carcasses, and other random completely unidentifiable smelly bits and pieces. So we head over to the slaughterhouse stall and I secretly play my game of guess the creature. There’s an entire half of something skinned and hanging on a hook. Apparently this is exactly what driver has been looking for. The seller takes out his big ole cleaver and cuts about half way down, ties a blue plastic bag around one end of it, and I start laughing like a lunatic because the uncovered end that driver is holding on to is actually the foot of a goat. About six inches of fur that had been left on (so you can tell what kind of creature you’re eating??), cloven hoof, and here’s dinner. I’ve been told that goat is really quite good. Haven’t had the chance to give it a go yet. Aw, shucks. That’s too bad.
So we carry on and arrive in a village. Safari camping, at least with this company is done in style. Tents are pitched on a manicured lawn in the backyard of a lovely open air lodge with a proper dining room, a bar, and a sitting area with a TV. Ahhh… TV. Haven’t seen TV in ages! Soaked up a morning Al Jazeer BBC like news program in the mornings like life blood. Wow I am outta touch. Have had no clue at all what has been going on in this world over the last several months. I need to get caught up. Clueless.
Okay, anyway. I arrive to meet the group whose safari package I’m crashing. Two young couples (one a couple couple, one “just friends”) who had been out all day and were just back from their sightseeing. They were munching on snacks of popcorn and hot chocolate! Popcorn. I love popcorn. I miss popcorn. I used to have popcorn for dinner. And hot chocolate… mmmm…. chocolate. Okay, off topic. Super nice people who filled me in all the hundreds and hundreds of animals they saw at a lake safari destination today. I was bouncing in my seat just listening to them. Really? You saw all those animals?! Up close? REEEEEEALLY?!?!? Oh. My. Gosh. This is going to be incredible!
As we are all chatting and the sun is setting, I am guided from the lovely dining area to my lovely backyard tent set up under majestic coconut trees so I can sort out my stuff and shower before dinner if I want. Shower? Are you serious? Hot water? Shut up! Sadly, I only brought a bar of soap and a facecloth. I was told I was going to be camping. Didn’t think there’d be showers! So instead of soaking up some much coveted hot water, I went for a walk down the main road of the local village instead. The manager of the campsite facility (all of 23 I think) asked if he could come with me. Sure! I like company. And remember, it had been quite a while since I had the chance to have proper conversations. So we walked and chatted. Smart boy who is going to school to become a lawyer. Wanted to talk about politics and what I thought of the Tanzanian government and education systems. He has hope for his country. He recognizes the corruption, is frustrated by it, and wants change. He wants to be part of the change. An interesting young man. I will keep my fingers crossed for him but wow, he and his peers are in for one hell of a battle.
Anyway, we head back as darkness is settling in and the stars are multiplying by the second. Dinner is ridiculously yummy and I meet Dixon, our driver/guide who will be finding me loads of animals for the next two days on safari. A friendly, sociable guy who seems to enjoy his job. He was even patient with my endless questions and annoying excitement. I’m going on safari!!!
Day 1, we load into our Land Rover nice and early in the chilly, foggy morning. Yes, Land Rover. Land Rovers are born and bred here, they are the only vehicle to survive here, and they so super cool. I want a Land Rover. You look SO uber hip cruising in a Land Rover. Okay, well, maybe not here where EVERYONE is in a Land Rover, but when I get home, I’ll never look at them the same way. I want to be Land Rover chick. Right after I win the lottery to fund the purchase, of course.
So we gear up and head to Ngorongoro Crater. Okay folks, pause the blog reading and just Google this. Seriously. There’s no way I can explain this place. 19.2 km in diameter, 610m deep, 304 sq. kms. Small lakes, various kinds of vegetation, and animals, animals, animals. It’s well protected and well preserved, rightly so. It is a completely unique place, unlike anything else on the planet. And here I was, standing on the front seat of an open-topped Land Rover looking over some of the most incredible landscape, ever. Ever. Do you have those moments where you are outside of yourself, looking at the situation and it’s just too bizarre to believe? Too surreal? Is this really me? My life? How did this happen? I’m in Africa, in a crater, on safari looking for some of the most impressive creatures that never in my life did I expect to see outside of a sad, sorry zoo. How did I get here? Yeah, I’ve been having many of those moments lately.
I can’t go on and on about losing my head over and over again with the animals we saw, near and far, it would take days. But let me list the wildlife we encountered on my very first day of safari and you judge for yourself how much of a loony toon I was. Okay we saw, in no particular order…
elephants, buffalo, wildebeest, Thomson’s gazelles (LOVE these cuties!), Grant’s gazelles, hyenas, black rhino, lions (2 males, 4 females, a very rare spotting. All 5 of us simultaneously held our breath and stood dead still except for clicking cameras as a massive male brushed along the back bumper of our OPEN Land Rover. Holy adrenaline rush!), baboons, ostrich, zebra, flamingos, crown cranes, kori bustards, warthogs (super funny creatures!), eland, hippos, and hartebeest.
The zebra, gazelles, and wildebeest are too numerous to count, hundreds and hundreds of them all hanging out, eating, playing, and strolling around each other but that didn’t make them any less special as they would be right beside the vehicle, seeming to pose for photos and making their presence known. It felt like an open air zoo but what’s special about this place is that the animals are free. They are accustomed to slow moving vehicles being on the dirt roads that run through the crater so they aren’t distressed by the sounds or sights, but they also don’t connect us as food or a threat so they continue on, allowing us to observe them naturally and freely without interference. It’s a very unique observation opportunity. Yes, you don’t have to work hard to spot whatever creature you want to spot as it’s a wide open flat land, but to have an environment where the animals are completely wild and free and you can be in their space, respecting and being part of their space, that’s so very special. There were many moments where I couldn’t catch my breath. This was too good.
Our driver Dixon was full of endless knowledge and patience as we all asked a million questions and dragged out the drive for as long as we could. A 6 hour visit to the crater (plus the almost three hours travel time) turned out to be much, much longer and we definitely got our fill of every inch of that crater that we could have possibly explored. A happy, very satisfied bunch returned to “camp” over 11 hours after we left. Wow. We had to bid farewell to the “couple” couple as they had arrived a day early so were at the end of their safari and heading back to Arusha. Dinner was me and the super cute, very young “friends” couple. A table full of newcomers had arrived to begin their journey but they weren’t too interested in being social so the three of us made lists of animals and reminisced over the glorious day in a glorious place. And there’s still another day coming!!!
Slept really well, again, and was up early to pack and get ready for Tarangire National Park. Really, anything after the Crater was icing on the cake. Thick, gooey, yummy, chocolaty icing. I’m STILL on safari!
Just the three of us today and Dixon was obviously either tired of us or tired in general but we had enough energy to make up for any lack of interest that he may have had. A slow, slow, SLOW start to the drive. Actually, an exciting start to the drive as I got to see two of my beloved giraffe, something I wanted to see most of all, but then nothing. Well, some very cool and colourful birds, but no creatures, no big things for at least another hour and a half. Driving is nice, I love going for drives, but when there’s a purpose to the drive and that purpose is eluding you, it’s long and tiring and disappointing. Then, as if everyone woke up from a long nap, they were out. Again, in no particular order, we saw…
giraffe (sigh), impala, dik diks, (SO cute!!!), vervet monkeys, warthogs, ostrich, tons o f different, most colouful birds ever, zebra, baboons (an entire community of them approached us head on and surrounded the vehicle as they moved past us, 50 of them, easily), dwarf mongoose, banded mongoose, waterbuck, elephants, elephants, and more elephants, and a very elusive, prized leopard. Leopards are the hardest to spot and we found one, rounding out spotting the Big 5 that everyone on safari comes to see… buffalo, elephants, lions, rhinos, and leopards. Why are they the “Big 5”? They are the most dangerous, difficult creatures to see, hunt, and encounter. High 5s for the Big 5. Another spectacular, very long day on safari.
We drove back to Arusha, completely exhausted and fully appreciative of the experiences that we had just had. Said goodbye to the sweet “just friends” couple and sorted myself for my 7am, 10 hour journey back to Dar the next day. Falling asleep to visions of black and white stripes, tan hides with black and brown spots, and soft, curious eyes… bliss. I went on safari.
Arusha to the animals!
Arusha bound. This was way too easy. I knew there was a big proper bus that went from Moshi to Arusha as I had checked the day before. I also knew that leaving early on a Sunday morning would play in my favour as the vultures wouldn’t be out in full force quite yet. Still, they were there, waiting for me and my ginormous backpack. Yes, yes, I’m going to Arusha, I want the big bus. Oh no, no big bus to Arusha, you take minibus. I know there is a big bus going to Arusha. Oh no, no big bus, only minibus. I KNOW there is a big bus. Oh, BIG bus, yeah, big bus, but big bus not coming. Maybe 1 or 2 pm. (It’s 7am) Really? 1 or 2pm? Yes, yes, afternoon. You come with me, we buy ticket. I walk away. See a sign for Arusha and lah dee dah, a big ole bus is waiting there ready to go. I hop on board, they even put my bag in the back of the bus instead of under it, we wait until we’re full which doesn’t take long, and off we go. Pushy, aggressive, and liars. Fantastic. And please, for those of you with bleeding hearts, thinking that these poor guys are just trying to make a living, stop it. Stop it now. They are not working hard nor enterprising opportunists. They are predators. Low life. Scum. That bleeding heart would be bone dry after one day of getting charged excessive amounts of money for doing the same things the same ways, being harassed to the point of melt down, man-handled, lied to, laughed at, gawked at, and treated with an abundance of rudeness simply because of shiny white skin. And don’t say payback for centuries gone by, this is no such thing. The men who hang around bus stations, train stations, airports, and border crossing SUCK BUTT!!! Every single one of them! Wow, it has been a very rough go.
Two quick highway hours and a dirt cheap ticket. You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Easiest trip EVER! Oh, little funny… it’s Sunday, right? So this very nicely dressed guy is standing at the front of the bus, clean, sharp suit, looks respectable. I figure it’s the norm, more people than seats. But once we are underway, I see him talking, but can’t really make out who he is talking to. Then his voice starts to get louder, more projected. Oh love a duck, he’s going to save our souls!!! Bahahahaha! A bus full of predominantly Muslims and this loony toon is preaching about Jesus or God or some other random spirit. I heard one or two “Amens” but they were quickly hushed by scarved and koffia’ed passengers arguing about something or other that he was saying. Oh how I wish I could have understood. At one point, a couple of guys actually grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake but it was over pretty quickly. Apparently the soul savers are disliked even over here. A lady came on at one of the stops and took over his sermon preaching, much to his displeasure, but he soon quieted her and carried on with his bible thumping. He got one final stern warning from a few of the boys in charge about an hour or so into the trip and he zipped his lips for good. Sunday morning travel… good times, good times.
Arusha. Big city. Safari central. Located just outside of some of the most amazing national parks, it is a huge bustling centre (not nearly as big as Dar but still very big!) thriving on tourism. Lots more white faces wandering around but unlike Asia, no one is very friendly or easy to engage in conversation. Probably, like me, they all have their tout game faces on so once you’re in the zone, it’s hard to let the guard down. I understand. Really. I do.
Found my guest house with a little effort but it was early so morning girl told me that a room would be ready in half an hour. Two hours later, a different girl at the desk told me to “go check yourself” when I asked if it was ready yet. Ummm… happy much? Clean(ish) so brought my back up, went to go pee, and oh looky here, no toilet seat. And the toilet doesn’t flush. Back down I go. Grumpy Gerta said “no other rooms”. Bullshit. The morning girl showed me two to start. Then she said “why you didn’t check first?” Screw off cow. I want a room with a working toilet, please. My only other option apparently was toilet seatless as well but I don’t care, I please, a room with a working toilet. How did a toilet seat become a LUXURY?! And the toilets obviously came with a seat, you could see the knobbies where it had been yanked off. Wtf?!?! Seriously. Africa.
Now, had a map in my little travel book of this town and apparently am still dumb enough to believe that maps mean anything on this side of the world. Got so hopelessly lost wandering through the streets that I actually got worried for the very first time. Tried tourist shop after travel agency, it’s Sunday, everything is closed. I only had a couple of days so I needed to arrange a safari NOW, but for every good thing that happens (easy bus trip), I am smacked with something miserable to balance it out. I have not had one solid day of things going okay since I’ve arrived. You know how at home, you have good days and not so good days? Where everything either seems to come together or fall apart all at the same time? But on those fall apart days, you know that it’s going to be okay because you’ll wake up the next day and it’s ALWAYS better? Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. For any little thing that seems to go my way, something big usually falls apart shortly after. I make my celebrations quick and short lasted as I need to gear up for the next kick in the jaw. Bring it on, bitches!
So yes, everything is closed. By sheer luck and determined wandering, I find my way back to my guest house and pour over the deluded map trying to figure out where I was and where I want to be. Made a couple of attempts at internet, spent money to wait around for no connection, and prepared to make a safari plan early the next morning.
Well morning definitely came early as the battle of the Mosque speakers began at 5:15am. That’s okay, the sun’s not up until after 6:30am, but yeah, go ahead, yell your lungs out and praise Mecca. 5:15am.
Hit the tourist bureau to check out their blacklist for tour operators but they couldn’t be very helpful otherwise. Made some phone calls, started wandering, nothing, too expensive, nothing, ridiculously expensive. Then I stumbled into an agency, have no idea where, and the angel behind the desk said that while they didn’t have anything going, she would make a phone call to another company and check. What? Really? Gee, thanks! She hangs up, smiles, and says someone will be right over to take me to the other company. This is too good to be true, right? No way.
I’m escorted to this new office, Tanzania Private Select Safaris, and am immediately made to feel welcome while the manager was finishing up with some other clients. He takes me aside, said there’s a 3 day 2 night trip that just went out early this morning but if I was interested, they would drive me out to meet up with them for dinner and do a 2 night 2 day trip. I almost hugged him. So while he finished up, the owner came out from the back and said he’d take care of me. Ahhh, excellent. Chat, chat, chat, Indian family raised in Tanzania, Canadian connections, let’s do this thing! Papers signed, money handed over, and I hauled ass back across town to pack up the contents of my backpack that had been completely scattered over my entire room. What do I take? Camping safari… what does that mean? Will I be freezing? Will it be hot? Do I have to sleep in a tent with strangers? Hmmm… prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Teeny tiny day pack shoved full, and I’m back at the office, bouncing on my toes, ready to go. I’m hucked in a proper minivan with my own personal driver and the safari expedition is on its way. I’m going on SAFARI!!!
Two quick highway hours and a dirt cheap ticket. You’ve GOT to be kidding me! Easiest trip EVER! Oh, little funny… it’s Sunday, right? So this very nicely dressed guy is standing at the front of the bus, clean, sharp suit, looks respectable. I figure it’s the norm, more people than seats. But once we are underway, I see him talking, but can’t really make out who he is talking to. Then his voice starts to get louder, more projected. Oh love a duck, he’s going to save our souls!!! Bahahahaha! A bus full of predominantly Muslims and this loony toon is preaching about Jesus or God or some other random spirit. I heard one or two “Amens” but they were quickly hushed by scarved and koffia’ed passengers arguing about something or other that he was saying. Oh how I wish I could have understood. At one point, a couple of guys actually grabbed him by the back of his jacket and gave him a shake but it was over pretty quickly. Apparently the soul savers are disliked even over here. A lady came on at one of the stops and took over his sermon preaching, much to his displeasure, but he soon quieted her and carried on with his bible thumping. He got one final stern warning from a few of the boys in charge about an hour or so into the trip and he zipped his lips for good. Sunday morning travel… good times, good times.
Arusha. Big city. Safari central. Located just outside of some of the most amazing national parks, it is a huge bustling centre (not nearly as big as Dar but still very big!) thriving on tourism. Lots more white faces wandering around but unlike Asia, no one is very friendly or easy to engage in conversation. Probably, like me, they all have their tout game faces on so once you’re in the zone, it’s hard to let the guard down. I understand. Really. I do.
Found my guest house with a little effort but it was early so morning girl told me that a room would be ready in half an hour. Two hours later, a different girl at the desk told me to “go check yourself” when I asked if it was ready yet. Ummm… happy much? Clean(ish) so brought my back up, went to go pee, and oh looky here, no toilet seat. And the toilet doesn’t flush. Back down I go. Grumpy Gerta said “no other rooms”. Bullshit. The morning girl showed me two to start. Then she said “why you didn’t check first?” Screw off cow. I want a room with a working toilet, please. My only other option apparently was toilet seatless as well but I don’t care, I please, a room with a working toilet. How did a toilet seat become a LUXURY?! And the toilets obviously came with a seat, you could see the knobbies where it had been yanked off. Wtf?!?! Seriously. Africa.
Now, had a map in my little travel book of this town and apparently am still dumb enough to believe that maps mean anything on this side of the world. Got so hopelessly lost wandering through the streets that I actually got worried for the very first time. Tried tourist shop after travel agency, it’s Sunday, everything is closed. I only had a couple of days so I needed to arrange a safari NOW, but for every good thing that happens (easy bus trip), I am smacked with something miserable to balance it out. I have not had one solid day of things going okay since I’ve arrived. You know how at home, you have good days and not so good days? Where everything either seems to come together or fall apart all at the same time? But on those fall apart days, you know that it’s going to be okay because you’ll wake up the next day and it’s ALWAYS better? Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. For any little thing that seems to go my way, something big usually falls apart shortly after. I make my celebrations quick and short lasted as I need to gear up for the next kick in the jaw. Bring it on, bitches!
So yes, everything is closed. By sheer luck and determined wandering, I find my way back to my guest house and pour over the deluded map trying to figure out where I was and where I want to be. Made a couple of attempts at internet, spent money to wait around for no connection, and prepared to make a safari plan early the next morning.
Well morning definitely came early as the battle of the Mosque speakers began at 5:15am. That’s okay, the sun’s not up until after 6:30am, but yeah, go ahead, yell your lungs out and praise Mecca. 5:15am.
Hit the tourist bureau to check out their blacklist for tour operators but they couldn’t be very helpful otherwise. Made some phone calls, started wandering, nothing, too expensive, nothing, ridiculously expensive. Then I stumbled into an agency, have no idea where, and the angel behind the desk said that while they didn’t have anything going, she would make a phone call to another company and check. What? Really? Gee, thanks! She hangs up, smiles, and says someone will be right over to take me to the other company. This is too good to be true, right? No way.
I’m escorted to this new office, Tanzania Private Select Safaris, and am immediately made to feel welcome while the manager was finishing up with some other clients. He takes me aside, said there’s a 3 day 2 night trip that just went out early this morning but if I was interested, they would drive me out to meet up with them for dinner and do a 2 night 2 day trip. I almost hugged him. So while he finished up, the owner came out from the back and said he’d take care of me. Ahhh, excellent. Chat, chat, chat, Indian family raised in Tanzania, Canadian connections, let’s do this thing! Papers signed, money handed over, and I hauled ass back across town to pack up the contents of my backpack that had been completely scattered over my entire room. What do I take? Camping safari… what does that mean? Will I be freezing? Will it be hot? Do I have to sleep in a tent with strangers? Hmmm… prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Teeny tiny day pack shoved full, and I’m back at the office, bouncing on my toes, ready to go. I’m hucked in a proper minivan with my own personal driver and the safari expedition is on its way. I’m going on SAFARI!!!
The mountain of Moshi
And I thought the trip to Lushoto was long. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Catching that early bus out of Lushoto really didn’t make a whole lot of difference. Apparently, if you were driving by car, the trip from Lushoto to Moshi, my next big destination, should take about 3 hrs. On the same kind of normal sized bus that I swear to goodness was only in constant motion once for longer than 15 minutes, it took us another 6 hours. I don’t know what I was complaining about before. At one point, a lady and her little girl in addition to several bags had an entire bedroom set disassembled and waiting to be put under the bus. I think it took half an hour before all of her stuff was loaded and she got on the bus tsking at the fact that there weren’t many seats left. Chick, we are moving your HOUSE, just get on the bus and shut the hell up. Besides stopping more times along the highway than any regular downtown city bus and sitting next to the annoying leaner, can-I-have-your-email guy I mentioned before, it was a fairly uneventful trip. I was counting my blessings. Good highway, not too much traffic, really, I couldn’t have asked for more. And we arrived in Moshi.
Moshi is the starting point for most people who do the Kilimanjaro trek, hence… tourist trap. That being said, it reminded me a little bit of say, Banff, back home. Some tacky tourist bits but so very pretty. Plus, being confined to island nothingness over the last several months, I was quite happy to see some simple luxuries catering to our white needs (like familiar name brands. ***sigh*** I’m so pathetic.)
The touts here are much more accustomed to white faces stumbling off a bus so they were ready for me. As my bag was pulled out from under the bus, 6 nasty buggers pushed at each other to grab my bag with the pretense of helping me. I held on tight as by this point I have now once again mastered my confidence. With the most amazing “Put my bag down NOW, please!” (f**K off implied), all 6 of them held their hands up with a look of feigned innocence and stepped back. Yes! I’ve still got it! I walked into a nearby shop, asked for directions to my guesthouse, and marched the 4 blocks to where I settled in. All by myself. I’m going to be just fine.
Strange guesthouse as there wasn’t really a reception area and common bathrooms were in plain view of the staff who were just lounging around but secure and overlooking the main street. The noise was a bit much but a little balcony gave me the perfect view of all of the crazy comings and goings. Two locals latched on immediately as they were obviously part of the hotel hanger outs. One was a tout, or course, the other a local artist. Dropped my bag and asked them to find me a good place for food. Across the street, local vendor, great food. The tout sat with me, chat, chat, chat, sell me this, sell me that, until the artist guy came over and shooed him away, telling him to let me relax. Are you kidding me? Really? … Thank you. And he continued to shoo away anyone else he saw harassing me as he was visiting with other people up and down the street. He reminded me a lot of one of the guys I worked with back home so I had that sense of awww... you’re kinda familiar so I like you… but besides that, he was genuinely respectful and courteous. The only request he made as I was leaving was to come and look at his work if I had time. I had every intention to, but being the scatterbrain that I am, I didn’t even remember it until I was on the bus heading out of town. Disappointing. Crap.
Wandered town and was assaulted with shouts coming from every group or creepo I passed. A variety of hellos, how are yous, friend, and blah, blah, blah. And as a note for those of you who think I’m being a nasty cow by being frustrated with all of these kind, welcoming people, please understand that there is nothing kind or welcoming about it. Firstly, it’s men, only men who shout aggressively and do what they can to demand your attention. And second, they get in your face. They follow you, continuing to shout as you try to ignore them. They come right up beside you and get within inches of your face. Twice, I was sworn at in rage and called I’m not sure what for not stopping to engage them in what I’m sure would have been a riveting discussion about what? Why you’re on the street shouting at white women instead of working or helping your family? Or why your breath smells like rotting meat? Or how about the current state of your exceptionally corrupt government? No?? ? Again, way to ruin my experience folks. Thanks very much.
The women are lovely. Those who did say hello were speaking in a normal volume and were in no way aggressive about it. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It’s nice to watch the mixture of Christian and Muslim populations here. Covered or not, the women seemed genuinely empowered and modern. Mind you, I’m sure that’s only because the conservative fundamentalists were behind locked doors at home, but the women I did encounter on the streets, same as everywhere else, seemed to be the kindest and the hardest working of the bunch, by far. By far. How they tolerate the oafs that surround them is beyond me.
Crowded town but not for tourists sake. At any time of the day the streets are full of people coming and going. Coming from where? Going to where? Do any of you have to work? Streets full of people driving erratically or strolling slowing. What they lack in their sloth like pace on their feet they compensate for once they’re inside a vehicle. Sidewalks full of people who have laid out anything under the sun that you could ever want or need but it was geared for locals, not tourists. And lots of drinking. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t seen civilization in ages, but African men like their beer. 10am, noon, after noon, whenever. Most places that sell beer are usually pretty full. I’ve been told the drinking & driving statistics here are pretty high. Ya think?
So blah, blah, blah, always try to be in shortly after dark because it really does get nasty but this makes for lonely, quiet nights. I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in ages so poor English speaker who decides to make my acquaintance anytime soon. Poor, poor sucker.
It wasn’t nearly as cold in Moshi but it was cloudy. Lots of rooftops to take in the view of Kili but cloudy skies mean no view. Not having luck with views.
Had made a plan to visit a nearby town to see what had been mentioned as a pretty nice walk through some small villages that led to a waterfall. Sorted out the local minibus to take and set out early in the morning. Was so obscenely harassed as I stood waiting for the bus that my head almost exploded. I don’t know about you, but unfortunately, I have that horribly frustrating reaction of when I get really mad, I can start to cry. Pisses me off to no end because, believe me, you are NOT defeating me. I just want to drive the closest sharp(ish) object so far into your heart that I can actually feel the satisfaction I would get from it just by thinking about it. Pure rage. So I left. I couldn’t do it. I honestly think I was on the verge of hurting someone and I could feel tears behind my sunglasses. So I went back to my guesthouse, did some laundry, gave it some time, and tried again. Much better handled the second time around. Not sure there was any less harassment, but I was in better control of my rage.
Minibus was full beyond capacity, but I’m used to that, no biggie. I counted 18 in what should have sat 11. Not too bad. But then we started to drive. And we keep stopping. People on laps, standing in between the seats, being pushed in by the guy who was taking the money, all in all, I couldn’t even turn my head side to side. Not so great considering I had a guy’s crotch less than two inches from my nose. I think he was as uncomfortable as I was, well, maybe not AS uncomfortable, but yeah, I figured that after that trip, I qualify as a porn star should I ever feel the need to change careers. Wow.
Again, wildly attacked as soon as I stepped off the bus but bee-lined it out of their reach and breathed in some clean foothills air. It’s so funny because as soon as you’re maybe 10 metres away from where the buses stop, they all seemed to be turned back by some sort of invisible tout force field. Just…need…to…make…it…across…the…line… Ahhhhhh… I’m free.
Managed to find the right way all by myself, despite the directional retardation, and just like before, the further I got from minibus central, the nicer the people became. Down a directly vertical and very slippery mud path to the bottom of a waterfall where guides were waiting to take me to the base of the waterfall through the river. Umm… no thanks. Hung around for a bit, felt a little awkward, then made my way back. It was pretty, but yeah, it was a waterfall. As before, it was the walk and the people that made the trip worthwhile.
Another harrowing trip back to Moshi but I noticed that it wasn’t nearly as cloudy by late afternoon. Made for a rooftop patio across the street from my guest house and found apparently every single white person in town. Even though I sometimes really miss so many things about home and need to reconnect with the white girl in me, I tend to avoid most of the touristy hotspots and try to rub elbows with the locals when I can. So as I hung my head over the side of an incredible patio, the clouds slid down and the snow covered top of Mount Kilimanjaro was in perfect, clear view. Even though I couldn’t share in the bonding experiences of making that climb as it seemed everyone else was doing, I was equally in awe and felt very fortunate just to have seen the top of that magnificent mountain. Maybe one day, I can come back and make that seven day journey to the top of Africa… maybe one day…
The perfect ending to my busy couple of days in Moshi town.
Moshi is the starting point for most people who do the Kilimanjaro trek, hence… tourist trap. That being said, it reminded me a little bit of say, Banff, back home. Some tacky tourist bits but so very pretty. Plus, being confined to island nothingness over the last several months, I was quite happy to see some simple luxuries catering to our white needs (like familiar name brands. ***sigh*** I’m so pathetic.)
The touts here are much more accustomed to white faces stumbling off a bus so they were ready for me. As my bag was pulled out from under the bus, 6 nasty buggers pushed at each other to grab my bag with the pretense of helping me. I held on tight as by this point I have now once again mastered my confidence. With the most amazing “Put my bag down NOW, please!” (f**K off implied), all 6 of them held their hands up with a look of feigned innocence and stepped back. Yes! I’ve still got it! I walked into a nearby shop, asked for directions to my guesthouse, and marched the 4 blocks to where I settled in. All by myself. I’m going to be just fine.
Strange guesthouse as there wasn’t really a reception area and common bathrooms were in plain view of the staff who were just lounging around but secure and overlooking the main street. The noise was a bit much but a little balcony gave me the perfect view of all of the crazy comings and goings. Two locals latched on immediately as they were obviously part of the hotel hanger outs. One was a tout, or course, the other a local artist. Dropped my bag and asked them to find me a good place for food. Across the street, local vendor, great food. The tout sat with me, chat, chat, chat, sell me this, sell me that, until the artist guy came over and shooed him away, telling him to let me relax. Are you kidding me? Really? … Thank you. And he continued to shoo away anyone else he saw harassing me as he was visiting with other people up and down the street. He reminded me a lot of one of the guys I worked with back home so I had that sense of awww... you’re kinda familiar so I like you… but besides that, he was genuinely respectful and courteous. The only request he made as I was leaving was to come and look at his work if I had time. I had every intention to, but being the scatterbrain that I am, I didn’t even remember it until I was on the bus heading out of town. Disappointing. Crap.
Wandered town and was assaulted with shouts coming from every group or creepo I passed. A variety of hellos, how are yous, friend, and blah, blah, blah. And as a note for those of you who think I’m being a nasty cow by being frustrated with all of these kind, welcoming people, please understand that there is nothing kind or welcoming about it. Firstly, it’s men, only men who shout aggressively and do what they can to demand your attention. And second, they get in your face. They follow you, continuing to shout as you try to ignore them. They come right up beside you and get within inches of your face. Twice, I was sworn at in rage and called I’m not sure what for not stopping to engage them in what I’m sure would have been a riveting discussion about what? Why you’re on the street shouting at white women instead of working or helping your family? Or why your breath smells like rotting meat? Or how about the current state of your exceptionally corrupt government? No?? ? Again, way to ruin my experience folks. Thanks very much.
The women are lovely. Those who did say hello were speaking in a normal volume and were in no way aggressive about it. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It’s nice to watch the mixture of Christian and Muslim populations here. Covered or not, the women seemed genuinely empowered and modern. Mind you, I’m sure that’s only because the conservative fundamentalists were behind locked doors at home, but the women I did encounter on the streets, same as everywhere else, seemed to be the kindest and the hardest working of the bunch, by far. By far. How they tolerate the oafs that surround them is beyond me.
Crowded town but not for tourists sake. At any time of the day the streets are full of people coming and going. Coming from where? Going to where? Do any of you have to work? Streets full of people driving erratically or strolling slowing. What they lack in their sloth like pace on their feet they compensate for once they’re inside a vehicle. Sidewalks full of people who have laid out anything under the sun that you could ever want or need but it was geared for locals, not tourists. And lots of drinking. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I simply haven’t seen civilization in ages, but African men like their beer. 10am, noon, after noon, whenever. Most places that sell beer are usually pretty full. I’ve been told the drinking & driving statistics here are pretty high. Ya think?
So blah, blah, blah, always try to be in shortly after dark because it really does get nasty but this makes for lonely, quiet nights. I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone in ages so poor English speaker who decides to make my acquaintance anytime soon. Poor, poor sucker.
It wasn’t nearly as cold in Moshi but it was cloudy. Lots of rooftops to take in the view of Kili but cloudy skies mean no view. Not having luck with views.
Had made a plan to visit a nearby town to see what had been mentioned as a pretty nice walk through some small villages that led to a waterfall. Sorted out the local minibus to take and set out early in the morning. Was so obscenely harassed as I stood waiting for the bus that my head almost exploded. I don’t know about you, but unfortunately, I have that horribly frustrating reaction of when I get really mad, I can start to cry. Pisses me off to no end because, believe me, you are NOT defeating me. I just want to drive the closest sharp(ish) object so far into your heart that I can actually feel the satisfaction I would get from it just by thinking about it. Pure rage. So I left. I couldn’t do it. I honestly think I was on the verge of hurting someone and I could feel tears behind my sunglasses. So I went back to my guesthouse, did some laundry, gave it some time, and tried again. Much better handled the second time around. Not sure there was any less harassment, but I was in better control of my rage.
Minibus was full beyond capacity, but I’m used to that, no biggie. I counted 18 in what should have sat 11. Not too bad. But then we started to drive. And we keep stopping. People on laps, standing in between the seats, being pushed in by the guy who was taking the money, all in all, I couldn’t even turn my head side to side. Not so great considering I had a guy’s crotch less than two inches from my nose. I think he was as uncomfortable as I was, well, maybe not AS uncomfortable, but yeah, I figured that after that trip, I qualify as a porn star should I ever feel the need to change careers. Wow.
Again, wildly attacked as soon as I stepped off the bus but bee-lined it out of their reach and breathed in some clean foothills air. It’s so funny because as soon as you’re maybe 10 metres away from where the buses stop, they all seemed to be turned back by some sort of invisible tout force field. Just…need…to…make…it…across…the…line… Ahhhhhh… I’m free.
Managed to find the right way all by myself, despite the directional retardation, and just like before, the further I got from minibus central, the nicer the people became. Down a directly vertical and very slippery mud path to the bottom of a waterfall where guides were waiting to take me to the base of the waterfall through the river. Umm… no thanks. Hung around for a bit, felt a little awkward, then made my way back. It was pretty, but yeah, it was a waterfall. As before, it was the walk and the people that made the trip worthwhile.
Another harrowing trip back to Moshi but I noticed that it wasn’t nearly as cloudy by late afternoon. Made for a rooftop patio across the street from my guest house and found apparently every single white person in town. Even though I sometimes really miss so many things about home and need to reconnect with the white girl in me, I tend to avoid most of the touristy hotspots and try to rub elbows with the locals when I can. So as I hung my head over the side of an incredible patio, the clouds slid down and the snow covered top of Mount Kilimanjaro was in perfect, clear view. Even though I couldn’t share in the bonding experiences of making that climb as it seemed everyone else was doing, I was equally in awe and felt very fortunate just to have seen the top of that magnificent mountain. Maybe one day, I can come back and make that seven day journey to the top of Africa… maybe one day…
The perfect ending to my busy couple of days in Moshi town.
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