Zanzibar Part One
Trip Start
Jun 19, 2007
1
9
14
Trip End
Aug 18, 2007
Nungwi,
Tanzania
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Kilimanjaro. In the late afternoon most of the cloud cover was burned away by
the sun and 'Kili' showed her snow capped peak popping out from lower clouds
at her base. I felt so blessed because there were clouds just above and just
below the peak. I sat on the rooftop of my hotel very content that Sunday
afternoon listening to an African preacher absolutely light up his sermon to
a lively congregation while rays of sunlight broke through the clouds and lit
up the tallest mountain in Africa
1
.The next day I was off again on yet another early morning bus. Following the
directions given to me by Chris I detoured from the standard Dar Es Salaam
route and found myself in the coastal town of Tanga waiting for any kind of
transport to the village of Pangani. The plan was to then take a dhow from
Pangani to Zanzibar.
Sitting in the bus park in Tanga I observed the people. Bus parks are not
nice places in Africa. They are home to hawkers, beggars and thieves. I sat
in that bus park, on a curb, for over two hours waiting for transport.
The hawkers are amazing to watch. They sell anything and everything by
shoving it in your face, and their wares seem so random. A kid was walking
around with used water bottles filled with some orange liquid; a man was
holding two shirts on hangars; one guy had an un-boxed phone that looked like
any phone you might see in an office; another kid had a wooden board with
various items clipped to: calculators, pens, ID covers, small toys
2
. A youngman selling newspapers jammed one in my face and the huge headline read:
'Sodomy in Church: Victim Reveals Inside Story'. I suddenly didn't miss
current events much. A bit later an old man walked up to me with a weight
scale you might have in your house under his arm. He stuck it in my face and
I wasn't sure if he wanted to weigh me or sell me the damn thing.
Beggars love the bus park, too. They seemed to have some sort of system
worked out to make sure one of them was working me, the white guy, at all
times. The first beggar had what looked like a birth defect leaving his left
hand little more than a stump. He would just stand in front of me prominently
displaying his stump and asking me for money. I gave him nothing and as soon
as he moved on he was replaced by a boy on crutches missing a foot
3
. When Igave the boy nothing he left and a man with boils on his face appeared with
hands out. It was as if the local beggars' guild had some sort of rule in
place: At no time should more than one beggar ply his trade on a mzungu.
I finally got fed up with the place when an obvious pickpocket seated himself
next to me. I pretended to be looking away and could see his hand inching
closer to my zippered front pants pocket. With no transport to Pangani in
sight, I got up and took a taxi to a nearby hotel and spent the night in
Tanga.
After a bumpy ride to Pangani the next day I was disappointed to find out
there were no dhows headed to Zanzibar until midnight. It was about ten in
the morning and there was nothing in Pangani, not even a restaurant
4
. Facedwith the dreary option of sitting in Pangani for fourteen hours I decided to
hire a motor boat for the trip out to Zanzibar.
They charged me a hundred bucks for the four and half hour trip. This sounds
quite expensive, but when you factor in the outrageous price of gas over
here, it's really not that bad of a deal. The ordinary ferry costs around
thirty dollars anyway so it was really only costing me seventy more than I
would have paid, and I was heading right to the northern tip of the island to
a place I wanted to visit.
The motor boat we took was basically a big canoe. The trip from Pangani to
the town of Nungwi was a fifty kilometer straight shot across the Indian
ocean and sounded simple enough
5
. But taking a big canoe into the open oceanwas quite a ride. Everything started off well enough. It was overcast and not
too hot. There was bit of sea spray coming into the boat but no big deal,
really. The three crewman: Captain Hussein, Ali and Jamala were competent. A
school of dolphins started playing next to the boat and I really enjoyed
watching them jump out of the water. But all the while the swells became
steadily bigger and the clouds got darker.
Probably about half way to Zanzibar I was drenched from head to toe with sea
water and rain. The swells had become quite big for such a small boat and
nearly every swell we crested would lead to an enormous crush of water
slamming into the boat as we dipped bow first into the water. The water in
the ocean was quite warm so I didn't mind so much, except for the fact that
everything I owned was getting soaked
6
. In addition to the sea water it alsostarted raining heavily. I did have the foresight to put my digital equipment
in plastic bags and by some miracle it all survived. Nearly everything else
was sopping wet.
Right around dusk we arrived on the sandy white beaches of Zanzibar and I
jumped off my big canoe into paradise. The beach was perfect and there were
people lounging about in hammocks and seated at a bar restaurant that looked
like it was straight out of a brochure for Club Med. I must have looked
ridiculous sloshing up to the place, like I had just come from a shipwreck.
I bid my farewell to the Captain and crew and checked into the hotel we had
pulled up at called Kendwa Rocks. It was a bit more expensive than I usually
pay but it was my birthday and I figured I deserved a treat
7
. That evening Ifeasted on prawns and rice and drank a couple of beers before turning in
exhausted but satisfied. I had made it to Zanzibar and life should get a lot
easier, or so I thought.
Kendwa beach, where I had been dropped off, wasn't the place I actually
wanted to stay while in that area. Kendwa was a bit pricier and more of a
honeymooners getaway. So the next morning I checked out and asked how I could
get to the town of Nungwi which better suited my budget. The staff told me I
could just walk a couple of kilometers down the beach and I'd get there. 'It
takes twenty minutes.' she said. Sounded simple enough.
I began my march down the beach passing several huge resorts before coming to
a more desolate area
8
. I noticed the tide was fairly high but I didn't mindgetting my feet wet. As I moved along, the water got higher and higher and
there were only cliffs to my right so I had no choice but to get hit by some
water. The surf was rolling in once and as it hit me I slipped and went shin
first into some coral. It was difficult to keep my balance carrying all my
gear but I managed to keep my camera bag out of the water. I pulled my self
up with a yelp of pain and noticed that my right pant leg had a huge tear in
it. And then I saw the blood.
When I got to slightly more solid ground I opened up the tear in my pants and
saw a big, deep cut on my shin pooling with blood. I was now about half way
between where I had come and where I was going so I decided to press on
ahead
9
.When I got to Nungwi one of the locals saw that my leg was bleeding and
offered to help. My priority had shifted from finding a place to sleep to
finding a hospital, so I accepted his help and he lead me to the town
hospital called a dispensary. It was a smallish concrete building.
While sitting in the waiting room at the dispensary watching my blood drip on
the floor a young African woman sitting next to me asked me what happened. I
told her I had walked from Kendwa beach to here and she said, 'Oh, that way
is very dangerous. There are many robbers there. They will come with a big
knife. You are lucky.'
I felt such a surge of anger at the hotel staff for happily misinforming me
to go that way. Not only did I have to practically swim part of the way with
all my gear, but I could have been mugged or worse. I felt terribly American
then; I wanted to sue somebody.
The African Doctor finally treated me and after a long time diagnosing the
problem and calculating the cost, he told me he would need to clean, stitch
and dress the cut. 'How much?, I asked.
'One hundred dollars.', he said.
That seems to be the catch all amount of money for anything here.
'Ok, ok. Just fix my leg please.'
We moved to another room where I stripped off my torn pants, sat on a bed and
hiked my wounded leg on a chair. I was watching very closely how all this
would be done, not wanting to put myself at risk for HIV. He gave me a shot
of local anesthesia and started to pull out the stitch kit. Both were in
hermetically sealed packages, which was a relief. Before taking out the
needle he showed me the packaging and said, 'It's sealed. You people are
often worried about that.' I assumed the 'You people' was referring to
either whites or foreigners. He didn't mean offense when he said it.
While he was stitching me I looked away and noticed the room we were in was
stained with splattered blood. I tried not to think about what had caused the
splatterings while he tugged at the flesh on my leg. When I finally looked
down at my leg I was pleased to see that the doctor had expertly stitched me
up. He then dressed my wound, put me on antibiotics and sent me on my way.
I hobbled back towards the beach and found a place to sleep. Laying on my bed
resting for awhile I felt a little depressed thinking about all things I
can't do now. I'm on a picture perfect beautiful beach and I can't swim
because of this cut on my leg. I'm taking antibiotics for the next five days
to stave off infection so alcohol is out, too. It could be worse, I could be
in Pangani still, the village with no restaurant.
A bit later, walking out of my bungalow and past a group of young people in
the communal area I hear 'Brett?' in a British accent.
I turn and see the seven British volunteers that had given me a lift all the
way back in Rwanda. They were staying in the bungalow next door. It's really
amazing how this sort of thing always seems to happen on a long trip. It was
a pleasant surprise and we shared travel stories since we had parted. Seeing
them cheered me up.
When I got back to the bungalow, after buying some medicine, the Brits were
out on the beach playing with a rugby football. I went inside and pulled out
the Frisbee and tossed it to them. I couldn't play much with the hurt leg,
but it felt good to see them enjoying themselves. Later on they invited me to
go out drinking with them but I told them about the antibiotics. The day
ended with me turning in early to rest.
So here I sit in an Internet cafe in Nungwi at the northern tip of Zanzibar.
I got a good night's sleep last night and I'm diligently taking my
antibiotics and trying to get well before moving on. I'll probably stay here
a couple of more days. The stitches need to come out in four days and I'll see
about doing that in Stone Town or Dar Es Salaam. I feel pretty good and see the
hurt leg as a possible blessing in disguise. Perhaps I needed to slow down a bit.
I'm only halfway through this trip and I feel like it's taken five years off my
life.
Also, I really appreciated all the birthday e-mails from everyone. Thank you all.
This is one birthday I won't forget.
Zanzibar Part Two is next...
