Black Berry Jam and Nature is Not G-Rated

October 20^th: Tuesday

I got up early again in order to catch the daladala into town and make my 9:00 ferry. Janet very kindly made me whole wheat toast with blackberry jam. Little slice of home. Dan walked me to the road at 6:00 and I hopped on the daladala around 6:30. As we made our ponderous progress into town we continued to add more and more passengers until we were cramped like clowns in a Volkswagen and I was sweating like I was in a sauna. After a certain point our forward progress began to diminish to a few feet every couple of minutes. The pedestrians streamed past us. Finally as it neared 8:00 I elbowed my way out. I needed to find a taxi. My check in time was 8:30. As soon as I got out the traffic demons seeing that I had given up decided to let traffic start moving. Soon my daladala was out of sight. Great. I crossed the street and found a group of taxis but no drivers. Finally I found the drivers. I haggled for a bit and got into the passenger side with another driver who spoke no English. Thankfully I know “fast” in Swahili so I just sat back and cried “Haraka! Haraka!” I seemed to found the most passive and defensive African driver in all of Africa.

When we had finally arrived at the ferry it was two minutes tell 9:00. So much for checking in early. I was ushered through several gates and by several rotund ferry workers. During this time I noticed that my ticket said check-in-time 9:00, departure9:30. Oh. I sat around tell around 9:30 when I noticed a lot of the other whites were leaving. I decided to follow. I wandered down to the docks where I gave my ticket to a bored looking Indian fellow and boarded a speedy looking boat full of tourists. I guess it’s a bit too much work for the ferry workers to alert the passengers when their ferry is ready. It’s just so much to ask.

I ended up falling asleep on the trip over. I woke to see a sparkling green coastline and white stone buildings sitting atop the blue ocean. Kinda beautiful. We tourists piled of the boat and we proceeded to go through customs. I tried repeatedly to contact Daniel my supposed guide for the spice tour I planned to go on that day. He finally texted me that he was in a meeting. I tried to text him back that I was waiting at the dock but I don’t seem to be able to send texts Tanzanian phones. Go figure. I pushed my way through the hub of taxi drivers at the gates of the dock. After nearly 40 minutes of confusion, failed texts messages, many a missed call, and one point where my phone refused to do anything despite the four little bars in the corner. Finally Daniel got a hold of me to tell me that his friend Said (pronounced “say-eed) was meeting me.

Said was a slimly built Muslim, around thirty. He took me to lunch, which was part of the package. Spiced rice and chicken. The best African meal I have ever had. Then we went on the spice tour. While I don’t think Said ever smiled while he was with me he did like to talk. We talked about Islam, Zanzibar, his family, the drought, his career etc… We arrived at our destination. A slightly wooded area a thirty minute drive out of Stone town. There we met Levi our guide and Nike our spice boy. Levi is not Levi’s real name but that’s what I call him because he was wearing blue jeans and a blue shirt that said “Levi” on it. Plus I can’t remember his real name. We wandered around and Levi with the help of Nike showed me an astounding variety of spices in a staggering array of plants. Beware though, this spice tour was not rated G. some more inappropriate highlights which of course I remember. Ginger is a Viagra for men. Likewise nutmeg is a Viagra for women. Also Levi declared that the henna plant root was “very dangerous” and “bad” since if consumed it could cause abortions. Cool. The finale consisted of Nike (again not his real name, he wore a Nike cap at jaunty angle), the spice boy, climbed a massive palm tree and cut down three unripe coconuts which we drank the milk out of. Delicious.

Said and I talked again on the ride back to Stone Town where he helped me find some cheap lodgings for the night. At 16,000 Tsh ($12) a night the Annex of Abdullah fit the bill. I said good bye to Said. And took a much needed shower. Then I went out and explore Stone Town. After wandering through a thoroughly confusing set of streets I finally found the ocean. Hoping I could find my way back I went and checked out the House of Wonders, or the National History Museum. A massive and beautiful building it now houses several exhibits of the islands past, including a full sized dou (sp? Rhythms with “ow”), cloths from the royal palace, and the first president’s car, a tropical turquoise beast complete with tail fins.

After that I plunged into the labyrinth of Stone Town. With narrow streets, hardly wide enough for a motorcycle and high 3-4 story buildings it is easy and fun to get lost. The buildings are painted white and are in various states of decay. A mixture of Arabs, Indians, and Africans wander its streets. 95% of Zanzibar is Muslim and there are mosques everywhere all painted white with sea green trim making them look like giant cakes.

To save money I don’t eat out that night. Instead I rely on my supply of digestives and g-nuts. Before going to bed I take a look at my foot. I had developed a blister under several calluses on the way off Kili. However it has been hurting in the last few days. I think it may be infected but I can’t see anything since it is covered by the callous. The pain now is so much that I can’t sleep without pain medication. I take my knife to it. Pus and blood run out. I think it’s infected. I track down a pharmacy and ask for band aids. The women pulls out what looks like a roll of gauze. Ok. Only 200 Tsh. I get back to my room and discover the gaze is a net like think with more holes than my mosquito net. Never mind. My room thankfully has a fan. I fall asleep early that night to the sound of the city alive around me. Street vendors calling. Kids laughing. Men talking on street corners.