tanzania

When we got off the train from Zambia, we stayed in Dar es Salaam only one night, just long enough to meet our friend Kyle, an American who studied abroad with us in South Africa in 2007 and has been living in Uganda this year. We were very excited to meet him in Tanzania and go to Zanzibar together. Of course after 48 hours on a train without showering, we get to the YWCA in Dar and there is no water. Awesome. TIA. (The water thankfully came back on only a few hours later.)

The next day we caught the ferry to Zanzibar, an island off the coast of Tanzania. Zanzibar is actually the name of the entire archipelago but most people just call the main island Zanzibar, so that’s what I’ll do here. I’m not sure when or why it started, but for years I’ve had this fantasy about Zanzibar, so I couldn’t believe that I was actually going there. Apparently Anna and Kyle had had a terrible night of sleeplessness amidst mosquitoes the night before so they promptly passed out for the entire 3 hour ferry ride while I, who had slept blissfully ignorant of their misfortune, was left to my own devices. I ended up making friends with an Australian named Tom (seeing other white people is always a curiosity) who was traveling with two friends who were also fast asleep. The foundation of our friendship was based on the quality of the toilet on the ferry. When everyone awoke we made introductions and I realized that these three Australians, Tom, Guy, and Mary, were about to change our lives completely. Maybe that’s a bit of a strong statement, but they did change our travel plans a bit, and our lives for the next week or two. I guess it’s good that we travel without too much of a schedule because then when we make friends we are able to change our plans!

Usually when I get to a new place, I like to get to our hostel and put our stuff down before exploring. Sounds normal, right? Wrong. With these Aussies, we got off the ferry and went straight to the nearest bar, backpacks and all. This particular bar was a shrine to Freddie Mercury, who was born on Zanzibar. Lest you ever dream of forgetting that fact, there were approximately 18 million framed photos of him on the walls. There we met a local guy named Cholo who quickly became our new best friend.

We spent our first few days in Zanzibar on the northern part of the island in a town called Kendwa where we spent a few days on the beach. I mean, calling this place a beach is a bit like calling Bill Gates rich. It was extraordinary. The sand was white, the ocean crystal clear turquoise. Words and even pictures can’t really do it justice.

kendwa beach

After a few beach days, we went back to Stone Town with its labyrinthine alleys and interesting mixture of Arabic, Indian, and African architecture. This was the Zanzibar of my imagination, and it did not disappoint. One day we walked around for six hours, just exploring and getting lost on purpose.

the old fort in Stone Town

Every night in Stone Town we ate at the fish market – basically different stalls set up in one large square where we would pick octopus, calamari, and all different types of fish freshly caught and they would grill it right in front of us. I’ve never heard of so many types of fish. Definitely the best food I’ve ever had.

choosing what to eat

octopus = kosher?

We’ve also picked up an obsession with samosas along our travels. I mean, I’ve always liked Indian food, but this is getting a little ridiculous. If you could hear us speak about samosas, you’d think we were talking about beer – we speak in terms like, “Okay, I’ll get this round, you get the next.”

Kyle had to leave to go back to the mainland to catch a flight to India. I mean, our lives are pretty awesome when we can just decide to pick up and go to India for five weeks. I hope you’re having fun, Kyle, and eating lots of samosas. I’ll make it there someday, if only for the food. In the meantime, Anna and I stayed on Zanzibar with Tom, Guy, and Mary.

At night, Cholo took us to some local bars which were definitely nowhere near being in my Lonely Planet guide book. How do I even begin to try to describe clubbing in Zanzibar? After getting accustomed to the epilepsy-inducing strobe lights, I was able to observe the scene. Since it’s a Muslim society, women don’t go out, so the clubs are mostly men with a few prostitutes here and there. Needless to say, we stuck out a little bit. The guys all dance together because there are no women to dance with. There is nothing funnier than seeing a guy come up to Tom, take his hands, and start dancing with him. Except maybe the older man with gray hair and pants pulled halfway up his stomach who pointed at Guy, screamed, “CHALLENGE!,” and proceeded to shake his hips in what could only be the start of a dance-off. Tom and Guy were gallant enough to keep an eye on me, Anna, and Mary at all times, and had become fluent in our dance floor signals such as the “I’m surrounded, please help me” ear tug.

We took off for Pemba, the “other” Zanzibar island, for a few days. Pemba and Zanzibar could not be more different. While Zanzibar has dry, white sandy beaches, Pemba has green, lush jungle. Pemba is also much more strictly Muslim, so we had to dress conservatively, abstain from alcohol, and watch our behavior in general. Our hotel even had a rule that to share a room with someone of the opposite sex, you had to show a marriage certificate. People on Pemba speak less English as well so we had to practice some Swahili and miming. (They speak Swahili and Arabic.) We stayed in a town called Chake-Chake but spent our days exploring the whole island which is much smaller than Zanzibar. One day we took a small boat out to a tiny island called Misali Island and spent the day snorkeling. We were the only humans on the island and it was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. I think it was my favorite day on all our travels so far.

me on Misali Islandplaying with kids on Pemba

Anna and I eventually parted ways with our Australian friends and went back to Dar es Salaam for a few days. We were supposed to go check out a school and orphanage a few hours outside of Dar, but our contact failed to meet us when we had planned – at 4 in the morning at the bus station. We were not very happy that we had woken up so early and she hadn’t shown up or even called us to cancel. But, as they say here, hakuna matata. (They actually say that here. In all seriousness. It’s awesome.) We had a nice few days exploring Dar. As long as you’re dressed modestly (skirt to the ground), it’s a lovely city. We had heard horror stories about Dar from other female travelers but we really enjoyed the place.

From Dar we caught a bus to Moshi, a town at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. We honestly just wanted to see the mountain so we only stayed there for two days, but we really liked the town and I could have stayed longer. Kilimanjaro is absolutely majestic – I’ll climb it someday – and we were actually so enthralled with it that we forgot to take even one picture. Oops. We met two American friends, Sarah and Jamie, whom we had met earlier in our travels, and they showed us around Moshi because they had lived there for a couple of months. In the late afternoon all the local women gathered together to play netball – kind of like basketball but you can’t dribble – so that was fun to watch. I was kind of mad that only the men can play soccer and the women have to play netball, but it’s a culture thing. I’m a mzungu (literally “foreigner,” but it has come to mean “white person”).

It’s bizarre how everywhere I go, people think I’m a different nationality. In Kendwa, there were Italian tourists who thought I was also Italian. (I think the fact that my bathing suit covered my entire butt should have been a giveaway that I was not one of them.) On Pemba, everyone thought I was Indian. If someone was trying to get my attention, they yelled, “girl from India!” Elsewhere people have mistaken me for Spanish, Egyptian, Mexican, Greek, Albanian (that was a weird one), even South African. I don’t know what to make of it. Africans absolutely LOVE Obama, so once they get over the fact that I’m not Pakistani/English/Argentinian/whatever, conversations often go like this:
“Where are you from?”
“America.”
“OBAMALAND!!!!!!!”
It has come to the point where someone will ask where we’re from, and we could answer by saying “Obama.” It’s annoying, but definitely a better reaction than being an American abroad during Bush’s presidency. People seem to think I personally know the presidents. Two years ago, I got a lot of “You should tell Bush to fix such-and-such,” to the point where sometimes I would pretend to be Canadian, whereas now I get a lot of “How’s Obama doing? You tell him hi for me.” God forbid you critique anything Obama has done (or failed to do). To Africans, Obama is one of their own, and is worshipped like a god.