The thought of escaping the city heat and humidity of Dar es Salaam on the coast of Tanzania by taking a high speed ferry out to Zanzibar appealed to both Dave and me. We bought our tickets and a couple of hours later set foot in the exotic old town area of the popular spice island in the Indian Ocean. Almost immediately, we were swarmed with hoards of hawkers or "papasi" - (Swahili for "ticks") - trying to sell us everything the island has to offer: "Tours? Taxi rides? Suggestions for hotels? Restaurants? Entertainment? Beach resorts? Shuttles? Shopping? A different tour perhaps? Sunglasses? Food? Water? Cashews? Spices? Candy? Directions? None of the above? Ok, then I'll just walk with you wherever you're going..." (and get a commission from the proprietor of wherever I lead you, and hopefully a tip from you as well...)
These "enterprising" exchanges set the tone for the few days we spent in Zanzibar. In retrospect, we probably should have headed to the touristy gorgeous beaches in the northeast part of the island which were supposedly peaceful and less hassle. We didn't.
Instead we checked into a modest but pleasant bed and breakfast hotel in the ancient stone city, dropped off our stuff, and headed back through the narrow winding streets. For the next couple of days, we did our own walking tours, to the consternation of local taxi drivers. We visited two national museums and learned about the history of the island, its role in the spice trade from Indonesia and China, and the story of Princess Salame, who eloped with a German businessman and wrote a brilliant memoir bridging cultural gaps between East and West. We also ate several wonderful meals at various popular restaurants and had interesting conversations with young locals about language and job opportunities and differences between Islam and Christianity. We experienced a brilliant red sunset over the ocean against a backdrop of gentle swaying boats, hot summer air and mosquitoes. We ate grilled fish from vendors on the beach and drank frothy, chilled sugar cane juice with lime (sweetly delicious).
On our third and final day in Zanzibar, we decided to take a tour of one of the spice plantations. I looked forward to seeing how cinnamon, vanilla, and other spices grew. Mr. Mitu, the owner of the company, said we'd stop first at the huge open-air local market to buy ingredients for the lunch we would be served as part of the tour. I had a bad feeling about the location of the market, having visited the day before. I had felt conspicously white, rich, and guilty in the face of poverty. The driver parked the van away from the local action and the 6 or so of us participants on the tour chatted a bit while we waited.
I wasn't going to leave the vehicle but my long legs ached from too much travel in cramped spaces over the past 5 weeks. So I got out to stretch, leaving my bag- containing all my important stuff - on my seat an arm's length away. Normally I wear my passport holder but had tucked it into my bag to appear more discreet. A few minutes later, a strung-out looking guy sauntered over to the few of us chatting outside the van and started singing off-key the "Jambo Bwana" song. The normally upbeat and catchy Tanzanian welcome song in Swahili (whose lyrics I had learned) took on a sinister air. With the age-old trick of creating a diversion in one place to do something else in another, he waved a music CD in my face while he deftly snatched my bag and took off. Though I didn't actually witness the theft - he was slick- I realized immediately that my bag was gone. I frantically looked in all directions hoping for a glimpse of the man but it was too late.
36 years of international travel through 32 countries and I had never so much as misplaced my passport - or been robbed while traveling. I felt stupid and upset to have let down my guard. I was suddenly penniless with no identification, disconnected from the U.S. "mother ship." I wondered how much hassle and time it would take to replace my stolen passport; it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and we had plane reservations to return to California the following Monday. However, I did have the passport number, date, place of issue and a husband to verify my identification (and give me money!). As for my cash, credit cards, driver's license, camera, eyeglasses, spare eyeglasses, sunglasses, cosmetics and other lost items, my only choice was to let go. Mostly I grieved the loss of my travel journal and digital memory cards containing hundreds of irreplaceable photos. I also grieved for a world where people suffer and displace their pain on others.
After filing a report with the Zanzibar police, we sadly headed back to the mainland. By then it was early evening, too late for a visit to the U.S. Embassy in Dar es Salaam. But first thing the following morning, we headed to the embassy and its clean manicured grounds. We were greeted courteously and sympathetically by African employees proudly wearing navy blue uniforms with U.S. flag badges over their shirt pockets. "So sorry, madam," everyone said kindly. "Come this way."
We were screened through airport-like security measures before being ushered to another building with offices behind bullet-proof glass. There we met the U.S. Deputy Consul, a young man named Joel. ( A good sign, I thought, the same name as one of my favorite nephews.) Joel, too, was extremely sympathetic, kind and professional. He understood the appeal and excitement of adventurous travel in developing countries but corroborated something I already knew: that crime often results from poverty, drug abuse, and feelings of hopelessness. The good news was that once I returned with replacement photos taken at a nearby shop, I'd have my new passport within less than 2 hours! I breathed a sigh of immense relief.
At 6 a.m. the next morning, we left for Nairobi on another long bus ride. It was good to be able to travel freely again and in a way, much easier with no valuables! We passed through the towns of Moshi and Arusha where we had begun and ended our Kilimanjaro climb and our safaris and visits to Maasai villages. We reminisced about the wonderful people we had met, the opportunities available to serve others, the amazing scenery and animals. We looked out the windows, read and dozed, still feeling fortunate to travel as extensively as we do.
7 or so hours later, the bus began to make a "flap, flap, flap" sound. The driver pulled over and stopped. I looked at Dave and said, "Sounds like the fan-belt to me!" Sure enough, it was! All of us got off the bus and hung around waiting for a mechanic to arrive. Local kids living nearby seemed entertained. I struck up a conversation with another traveler, a Tanzanian woman living in London who had returned to bring her sick mother to a good hospital in Nairobi; the beautiful henna designs painted on her hands had caught my attention. As we chatted, I mentioned that I had diagnosed the bus's mechanical problem as a broken fan-belt since I recognized the sound, having experienced the same problem years ago with an old car of mine. She laughed and told the bus driver, who approached me and asked if I were a mechanic and knew how to fix the bus! (Ha!)
A few hours later, we were back on the road again, arriving in Nairobi around 3 a.m. the next morning. We were just a block away from the hostel where we had stayed the first night of our arrival in Africa so decided it was a convenient place to spend the night.
Our last couple of days in Nairobi were very pleasant and relaxing. We finally connected with Marta, an inspirational, wonderful woman and grad school friend of our GPC pastor Steve. Marta, though American, has lived in Nairobi for 13 years and has worked in several professional capacities at Day Star University. We spent Sunday with her and 2 of her 3 adopted children. Together we attended a spirited Sunday church service at the Nairobi Chapel and learned about the tremendous growth of Christianity in Africa. We later ate tillapia cooked in spicy coconut sauce at an outdoor cafe run by American ex-pats, specializing in local food as well as good coffee and ice cream. The ambience was friendly and conducive to conversation and friendship. We asked for advice on how to best help "our" orphans in Rwanda and later met Marta's good Rwandan friend Jean Paul, director of World Relief in Kenya (who, I mentioned in an earlier blog, knew our other contacts In Rwanda and was able to offer offer some good suggestions and insights).
Finally it was time to leave Africa - with mixed emotions.
Dave and I had used frequent flyer tickets on different airlines for our trip, so we said goodbye to each other in Nairobi and reconnected later in Los Angeles. Since my plane from Amsterdam to LAX had been delayed, there was just enough time for a big hug and kiss and an exchange of luggage. Dave was driving back to Santa Barbara to work and I was continuing on to Albuquerque to visit my family there for a week. I lacked enough time to check a bag so I grabbed stuff that would fit into a carry-on and ran to catch my next flight.
I finally made it back to Santa Barbara just last night! I'm tired and still processing our African trip while getting ready for our next big adventure in just 2 weeks! We're off to New Zealand and Australia with our friends Cathy and Steve from Salt Lake for another 7 weeks!
So I'll sign off for now and wish you all a happy holiday season! Before we leave, I'll try to post some of my photos that weren't stolen.
Peace on earth, goodwill to all.
Love,
Judy
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