On pretending we are 20 years old in Zanzibar

3/4/11

Written Paje Beach, Zanzibar

Note: I can finally see the blog again. Yeah! I will try to get some more pictures up soon. This one is stolen from the hostel website

We are in Zanzibar. Specifically, on the Southeast edge of the island, about an hour drive from Stonetown. (Stonetown is the town in Zanizbar. It is filled with white colonial buildings and narrow pedestrian streets. It was the center of trade with a beautiful port. Walking through the back streets felt a little like walking through the suqs of Marrakesh, but much more calm.) We are staying in a hostel in a little “banda” with sand floors. This week we are rediscovering our 20s.

We visited Stonetown on our first day here in our seemingly perpetual quest for cash. Never in my life has my bank account been this full, yet my wallet this empty. Also, the clothes we wore in Ethiopia are totally impractical here. It is hot. Deadly, miserably, unrelentingly hot. A tee shirt is too much. My pair of too big, goofy, long shorts that worked hiking around Ethiopia (all those pockets!) feels like a down parka here. In Stonetown, I bought a little dress, and I mean little, and as far as I can tell I will be wearing it every day for the next week. Andrew started out our stay wearing shorts and a teeshirt. Too hot. In Stonetown he bought himself light white button up shirts. So next he tried shorts and one of those. Still too hot. Then he took to walking around with the shirt unbuttoned which reminded me of Don Johnson. Now he has given up on that entirely and just walks around without a shirt. All the men here do. I am jealous.

So, back to our shopping trip in Stonetown. We took the “shared” taxi that pops by the hotels on this side of the island and goes to Stonetown in the morning. It took about an hour and was a lovely drive. We were stopped 3 times at checkpoints; we still don’t know what they were looking for. We shared the taxi with a German couple who lives in Addis, so we got to chat about Ethiopian tourism for a bit. The taxi dropped us off on the main tourist shopping street. This is the street with the formal stores. They have price tags on their items (thus no haggling) and some even take credit card. A few, blissfully, had air-conditioning. Walking down this street we were approached over and over again by touts. One explained to Andrew that he could take us to where the locals shop, out of this tourist trap. Andrew said ‘maybe later‘. The tout followed us for awhile. I explained to Andrew, really, we didn’t want to shop where the locals shop. Local women are Muslim. They are totally covered. They had head scarves. I wanted clothes made for slutty western women. I wanted a little dress and light sleeveless shirts. We wanted sunscreen for gosh sake. Plus, we want to pay with a credit card, so for today, we are going full tourist. Every few minutes a man would come up to try to sell us a CD of local Zanzibari music. We would say no, then he would start singing from the CD. I have never had that many strange men sing to me in one day. Slightly less nice side note: We found Andrew’s shirts in an established tourist shop. They sold a lot of junk that said Zanzibar on it, but they had his shirts, they had his size and they took his credit card. This was lovely. When we walked out a man wanted to sell us a CD, we said no, he sang, we said still no. They he said, “why are you not supporting the local people. Why are you only shopping there.” I thought “fair enough, we are not exactly going local.” Then he said, “you are only buying from Indians.” My sympathy was gone at that point. Sorry bud.

We walked along the water front and got fruit slushies made from local fruit. In fact, I had never before seen the fruit they used for the slushy. It was cold and not too sweet and delicious. While I was buying the slushy another tout was chatting up Andrew (poor Andrew, such a friendly face he has) Then man offered, and Andrew turned down the following, in the following order; a boat ride, a CD, a tour of Stonetown, marijuana.

Did I mention that it is hot here? During our visit to Stonetown, I stood still, in the shade and felt the sweat drip down my back and into my underwear. I keep thinking about the descriptions of the still heat of Macomb county in To Kill A Mockingbird. It seems like a strange image to get stuck in my head, but I keep flashing on it over and over. Something about the damp heat and how slow it makes people. After lunch I got a little faint from the heat. It wasn’t dehydration, I felt like all I did was drink and pee all day, it was just hot.

After we got some clothes and some money (never enough of both) we had to get back to our hostel on the other side of the island. We walked to the bus station which was alive with activity. We looked for the “dala dala” (local open air bus-taxi thing) going our way. No luck at first. Andrew asked a bunch of folks and they all pointed in the same general direction to an empty parking place. It was too hot to wait in the sun, so we stood under a tree and waited. A woman came by with a little girl baby. I admired and cooed at the baby. The mother seemed bemused that this bright red (did I mention it is hot) sweaty formerly white lady wanted to talk to her baby. Then something strange happened. A large man walked up to me and said, “Madam, where are you going?” This put me on full suspicious mode. In Ethiopia, conversations that started like that never ended easily. I called for Andrew. Andrew told the guy where we were going. (OK full disclosure, I had forgotten the Swahili names of the two bus lines we were looking for, so I needed Andrew with his excellent language stills to help me out) The guy walked us to the bus. It had just shown up. The guy knew where we were going. He had heard Andrew asking, He also noticed when the bus showed up, so he came to get us. He did not expect a tip, he did not expect anything. He was just being friendly. It is slowly dawning on us that people are just friendly here. They all say hi walking down the street. To us they say, “Jambo” which means hi. Then they leave us alone. (unless we look lost)

This is where the adventure, and fun, really started. The “bus” is the back of a truck like vehicle which has open sides, but a roof and benches around the sides. It was empty, but one other woman was waiting to board. Something to know about Andrew: He is deeply polite. It is important to him. He is conscious of where he is in a crowd. He never blocks paths. He offers total strangers his hand if they are climbing. Often, these are nice qualities. Normally, it makes him easy to travel with. Alas, it has some very negative side effects. In this case, I watched as Andrew tried to enter the dala dala quickly so that he would not make the other passenger wait. Then I watched as he slammed his head into the roof of the dala dala and stagger down to the back of the bus. The whole vehicle shook with the impact. I don’t remember if he swore. The other woman got in and then I got in and found him. These are the moments it sucks to be bald. He had taken off a layer of skin and then had two medium sized abrasions on his head. Poor thing. We got settled, Andrew ignored the pain, and we waited for the bus to leave. Before it could go though, the top of the bus had to be loaded with potatoes. 4 men heaved these people sized sacks of potatoes onto the top of the bus. First they placed it onto the back of this older man with very few teeth. Then they all groaned a bit and heaved it onto his head. They he pushed up with another groan, jumping, and they all pushed until the sack was on top. Then the man who had put all the potatoes on his head looked at us very proud. The next time they got a huge sack up we clapped, and he looked even more proud. For the third bag he offered to let Andrew do the heaving. Andrew turned him down. Slowly the bus filled with a few other passengers. A mom with a 2 year old came on. We made faces at the kid and he examined us intently. Finally, the bus took off. Because the bus was open, we got a breeze, which was lovely. Because the bus was open we also got lungs’ full of noxious exhaust. I would like to export to Zanzibar the idea of smog check. We drove for awhile and then picked up more passengers. There was another kid, and he really wasn’t so sure about these white people talking to him. Then more passengers until the bus was really full. Then they let on even more passengers. This time there was another mom with another kid about one and half year old. They sat next to us. I said hi to the kid. The kid did not say hi back The mom looked at me very suspiciously. I was settling in when the kid reached over and took my hat. He held it a bit. Then he tried to put it on his head. I helped him, but he didn’t like actually having the hat on his head (it covered his whole skull) Then I took it back. Without looking at me, or acknowledging I existed he reached over and took the hat again. He just held it for awhile. No one thought this was strange. Eventually I got worried he was going to let the hat go and it would fly out the window. So Andrew reached over asked if he could have the hat back and took it from the kid. The kid didn’t seem to care in the slightest. By this time the bus was really full. Was pressed up against people and my clothes were wet with sweat. The bus stopped again, and even more people came on. I didn’t think it was possible. It was two moms with two kids. They climbed on, kids first. Everyone helped the first little guy (maybe 2 years old) climb over the packages and into the back of the bus. Then a man reached out his arms and took the kid onto his lap. The mom sat near-ish by. It did not look like they knew each other. The mom never talked to the man holding her baby. The baby seemed thrilled to be on this guy’s lap. I watched has the man kissed the kid behind the ears (the perfect place for kissing babies, but maybe a little strange if it is a stranger’s baby). Then one by one all the kids fell asleep. We drove for about an hour more. Occasionally I got worried about the kids’ lungs with all the exhaust in the air. Then I would get worried about my lungs.

Finally, we got to our destination and Andrew and I exited, accident free. We walked to our hostel. That is when I noticed something a little concerning. Andrew looked liked he was wearing eye make up. I thought it was the soot from the bus. I asked him to go wash it off, please, it made me a little nervous. He tried. It didn’t wash off. I looked more closely. He had a whole Jonny Depp and Jack Sparrow thing going on. That is when it hit me. He had whacked his head so hard he was bruising around his eyes. He got ice from the bar for his head. He admitted he felt a bit out of it. As it happens a soon-to-be dentist and soon-to-be doctor were at the bar. They poked at him a bit and said he should be fine.

Now, when someone has a concussion you are not supposed to let them go to sleep. Conveniently, there was an all night party at our hostel, so we didn’t have to worry about going to sleep any time soon. I will admit that I went with him to the showers and waited for him to get out OK. And I kept my eye on him all night. He mostly seemed OK, but he was way more chatty then usual. We ate dinner with a French couple. We were talking about our day and Andrew said, “I hit my head on the dala dala” The man was another soon-to-be doctor. We discussed the whack and the bruises a bit and he said he thought Andrew was going to be A-OK. Then, not 5 minutes later, Andrew says, “I hit my head on the dala dala.” Sigh. Maybe he really did hit his head harder then I thought.

The hostel where we are staying has this all night party every Wednesday. It is THE social event of mid week around here. It started small with a BBQ and some extra tourists. About midnight, though, is when things really got going. The whole place filled with locals. Young locals. Drunk locals. The women were NOT in proper Islamic dress. There was some serious dirty dancing going on. It was loud. The guests mostly stayed up on the terrace, fairly out of the party. This deck is on stilts and it catches the breeze, so we like it up there. Walking to get a drink (at this point we had moved from Mojitos to water) was precarious. I haven’t been approached by so many men like that in years. Men taking my hand, asking my name, getting very close to me and asking where I was from. Walking to the bathroom I had a chorus of “hello, hello, come here.” I forgot what it was like. By the way, one excellent way to get a man to leave you alone at a bar is to order water. Eventually (3 am ish) I wanted to dance, but I didn’t dare go on the dance floor alone (I had to fend off men just to go pee, I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I actually was dancing single. Oh and Mr “I hit my head on the dala dala“ was not up for dancing with me) I grabbed one of the soon to be doctors and asked if he would be my escort. We danced a bit. I looked over and there was a masai guy dancing with his buddies. I don’t know why that surprised and amused me, but it did. Then I got just a little worried I was blocking our dear soon-to-be doctor’s game, so I bowed out. Also, it was a little later then 3 am, but it was still hot and even hotter on the dance floor. A little after 4 am, the guests at the hostel all seemed to call it quits. We marched off to bed. The party also seemed to be winding down. I felt like I did freshman year in University when we would have parties at our dorm. At first it would be fun to live where the party was. Then it was just be annoying and loud. Finally, by the end of the evening I was left exhausted with a disgusting bathroom. I watched a drunk woman use it and I am pretty sure she peed standing up (umm, if that is too much information, sorry). Do you have any idea how long it has been since I was sharing a bathroom with a mass of drunk people? It was not the best part of college and it was not the best part of our Wednesday night either. This place does have class though. By the time I woke up Thursday morning that bathroom was cleaned, toilet paper replaced and there was even soap again. That made it all more bearable.

We were kind of excited about the idea of an all night party. We never do that. I can barely stay out past 11. This is a week for pretending we are 23, so we went for it. Alas, I am not 23, I am 33. I have a 33 year old liver and the sleeping needs of an 8 month old. I woke up on Thursday HOT, grumpy, hung over (and I barely drank anything, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore) and exhausted. I should, out of fairness to everyone around me, again admit that I was grumpy. Miserably grumpy. It didn’t help that it was a particularly bright hot day. The electricity went out for most of the day. I got grumpy worrying the electricity would be out at night and the fan, the one thing that makes it almost possible to sleep here, almost, would be out. There was no cold beer. No ice. The ocean is warm. I was the last person to get in a shower before the water stopped. (Andrew was out of luck. Sun screen + sweat + bug repellent + sweat is not sexy (Andrew says: Hey!). I have requested that he not touch me. He has agreed. He doesn’t want to touch me either. We are too hot for touching. All W had to do was ship all the youth of America to the tropics if he wanted them to remain virgins) Showering is a little over rated. Even if I do it after the sun has mostly gone down I am still covered in sweat again before I get all my clothes on.

Almost all the guests were on their way to bed before 9pm. I slept pretty darn well and we were up at 5am to go swim with dolphins. I woke up still grumpy. I was still grumpy on the drive to the dolphin spot and even for awhile in the boat. Then we saw our first set of dolphins and all the grumpiness left me. It just slipped off me as I jumped in the water to follow them. They swam away, so we climbed back into the boat to follow them. That is when I noticed the sea green color of the water and the palm trees with the sun behind them. I noticed I wasn’t hot. We found some more dolphins and jumped into the water again. Our guide was yelling, “go go go. Look down, look down.” There they were. Not very close to me, but there. Swimming. I tried to follow. They are fast buggers when they want to be. We went back into the boat and did it all over again. At this point I noticed I had a huge smile on my face, and I wasn’t even trying to be pleasant. We watched as two dolphins surface together right next to our boat. Again we jumped in. Some of the other guests got pretty close. My luck wasn’t so good, but I didn’t really care. By the end of this adventure the skin on my belly was raw from hauling myself up and over the side of the boat. We ended the trip by snorkeling. Whole schools of fish surrounded me at one point. I got pretty good at diving down to see the little fish in the reef. The other guests were able to ID the fish they saw. I can just say I saw colorful ones. (Tanzanian shiny figh? Zanzibarian stripy fish? Who cares what you name them)

We were back at our hostel by 9:15 am in time for breakfast. I am hoping (and I am sure Andrew is praying) that my good mood stays though the heat of the day. Let’s go tempt that by walking along the beach to lunch.