Zany Zanzibar
Michelle and I fly into Nairobi at 5:30am and hang out at the Java House watching CNN coverage of New Orleans. We contemplate sleeping but there’s no sleeping in the hard plastic seats. Our flight to Zanzibar takes us over the top of Kili and we get some great photos through the plane window. Michelle is shocked at the barren summit and the sheets of ice. She questions why she’s climbing the mountain in two weeks. Looking down on the mountain feels strange to me, like I’m looking at home. I’ve spent time there, I think, like it’s my old stomping grounds. We get to Zanzibar at 9:45am. It’s Saturday and we arrive on a plane loaded with white people. Only white people. All the planes coming to Zanzibar are full of white people from all parts of Europe and Australia.
Michelle and I are both anticipating a week of relaxation, where we can let our guard down and not worry about Africans leeching off of us because we’re white. Oh, boy, are we mistaken.
A visa to enter Tanzania costs $50USD. We get our visas at the tiny airport and exchange our money into Tanzania shillings. Knowing we’ll be spending about $10/night, I’ve budgeted approximately $100 for our seven-day stay; $60 for six nights and $40 for food/souvenirs. I’ve become accustomed to living off very small amounts of money, watching what’s spent on food and buying only essentials.
The minute we step outside the airport doors, a crowd of men rush at us asking if we want a taxi. We’ve already decided that instead of spending $10 USD on a taxi to town, we’ll spend about 20 cents and take a dalla dalla. The dalla dalla is the bus system on Zanzibar island and gets it's name from "Dollar, Dollar," which is what it costs to take the taxis to other parts of the island. A dalla dalla is a truck with a covered back, fitted with a ledge for sitting around the perimeter. As we look for the dalla dalla stand, men get in our faces and won’t back away. Even when we say no, they follow closely, bending to put their faces in our line of sight.
We enter a small office at the front of the airport, labeled TOURIST INFORMATION, where an air conditioner spits out humid air. The guy points to the covered dalla dalla stand across the street. We pull our bags in the direction as a taxi driver in a striped shirt latches onto me and another, seemingly crazy guy, latches onto Michelle. We’re having difficulty pulling/carrying our luggage across the dirt parking lot and seeing where we’re going, so it’s rather annoying to have these two men on us. The guide book warns about men who get a kickback from certain hotels, so we are aware their advice may not be in our best interest. We tell them we know where we’re staying and do not need their help, but they do not back down, only insist on knowing where we’re staying. Michelle and I have studied the city map in the guide book and feel if we head toward town we can easily find our way to the Annex Malindi Guest House, the first place we’ve decided to check out. The annoying taxi driver finally leaves us because his taxi is at the airport, but the crazy man is still with us, climbing into the dalla dalla.
“We do not want your assistance,” I tell him rudely in front of the other passengers. “So if you’re getting on here and going to town because of us, we don’t want your assistance.” He assures me he is going to town for his own business. Right.
People crowd into the back of the bus until we're smashed against each other. A woman on my left in a burka presses into me every time the bus brakes. Because I’m against the cab of the truck, the entire line of people on my side lean forward as we brake and their total weight presses me into the cab. When we stop to pick up passengers, I lean forward into the open center space to relieve the pressure. This seems to piss the woman off. Well, I’m pissed at her and the others, who seem to do this intentionally. We also get no direction or advice from the conductor of the bus, who rides in the back and takes money. When we ask about the best place to get off, everyone is vague or acts as though they don’t understand English. Finally, Michelle and I just pick a place and pull our luggage down from the roof. The tall, crazy guy climbs out, too, and tries to assist us with our luggage. We refuse his help.
But where are we? It seems town is back a certain way and we’re not quite sure how to find it. The guy keeps saying, “this way, follow me,” and while we don’t want to, because he’ll want money for his guidance, we follow him slightly. We walk along sandy alleys then come upon a main road, congested with traffic and market stalls, tiny shack stores and gas stations. None of the pavement is smooth, as though the entire island is unpaved, and dragging the luggage is a chore. There’s noise and people staring, trying to sell us things, cars honking and the crazy guy towering over us. At one point, Michelle turns and walks away from the main road to get rid of the guy. We end up on quieter city streets, but he’s still with us.
There’s a small police station sitting under huge, spreading trees and surrounded by green lawn. When we approach the building, the crazy guy drops back for a block, watching us from a distance. We sit on a bench under the roof’s edge and ask a man if he knows where Annex Malindi is. He attempts to give us directions but consults with the police woman behind the counter. We tell them the crazy guy is following us and won’t leave us alone. They point us toward town and we again set out with our heavy luggage. The crazy guy soon rejoins us.
At one point, we turn into the maze of streets that make up Stone Town, with the stone buildings and houses creating twisting paths of narrow streets. Michelle is so exasperated, she walks up to a man relaxing outside a store. She’s seeking refuge and assistance. When he stands up, his striped shirt seems familiar. Then I see his face and we both realize it’s the taxi driver from the airport, the one who wouldn’t leave us alone! How can it be that with the thousands of people in town, we had to approach this guy for help? We quickly retreat.
This time we follow the crazy guy's directions. The streets are so narrow and there's no way to see ahead, to know where we are. He leads us straight to the Malindi Guest House, where two men run out to greet us and take us inside. Everyone on Zanzibar is anxious to get the attention and business of whites. The rate is $15 per night, which is higher than we had anticipated. They offer to show us Annex Malindi, which is just around the corner and only $10 per night. After vieiwing both places, we choose Annex Malindi and settle into our rooms.
The guest house is in a stone Swahili building, which means it has mangrove poles as ceiling braces throughout. China bowls are inset into the walls in the fashion of Swahili culture. The walls are thick and the ceilings exceedingly high. The staircase leading to the three upper levels is narrow and the steps are deep and uneven. Typical Swahili style also provides a courtyard in the center of the building which is open to the sky. On the roof are tables and chairs where we will eat our free breakfast each morning. The Indian Ocean is only a few blocks away.
Keys in Africa are huge, like the large keys in old horror movies. They're used in houses and hotels and even on my office door at TICH. Annex Malindi leaves the keys dangling in unused rooms, so are able to go from room to room and pick the one that suits us best. My room is in the corner with two shuttered windows. As with most buildings in East Africa, there are no screens or glass in the windows. Two beds line the walls, both with mosquito nets. A chair sits next to the door, at the bottom of the deep step into the room. A ceiling fan helps to keep the mosquitos from alighting and to keep the room feeling somewhat fresh in the humidity.
At Annex Malindi, the bath is communal. Each floor has two baths. These are large rooms with a shower head in the corner, a toilet and a sink. Part of the wall is tiled, but the floor is raw cement throughout. One bath has a switch for heating shower water. There is no soap, no towels and often no toilet paper. Travelers in Africa should always carry these basics. I have the travel toilet paper roll, but no soap and no towel. I improvise and use shampoo for soap. Luckily, the weather is warm so a towel is not needed, but I shower in my bathing suit, so I can move from the bath to my room without showing too much, and then use a t-shirt to dry off. Living in Africa, I’ve learned to get by periodically without electricity, to spend a week or more without water and to not bathe or wash my hair regularly. Since electricity is sketchy, I do not invest in a blow dryer while in Africa. Just comb through my wet hair and allow it to dry naturally. I grow used to not putting on makeup in the mornings. It’s a freeing way to live, as long as everyone else is also unable to bathe and shampoo, too.
After resting, Michelle and I walk to the main harbor in Stone Town where vendors set up nightly barbecues. Walking the path through the city’s main “square,” means walking past table after table piled high with seafood. Each table has a hot grill waiting, a jiko with hot oil for frying chips and a crew to make sure your food is prepared and served promptly. Crew members call out to those walking by and those taking a peek, competing with the crew at the next table for customers.
Shark, Barracuda, shrimp, lobster, squid, red and white snapper, tuna, mackeral and other fishes are cut into pieces and skewered. Crab claws are stacked next to Octopus tentacles. The food is beautiful and especially alluring lit by kerosene lamps placed on the tables. Each skewer, which contains about eight to ten pieces fish, costs 1000 shillings, which is $1 USD. Though sometimes they’ll drop the price to 800 shillings when negotiating. Two skewers of fish and chips costs about 2,500 shillings, or $2.50 USD. And it’s delicious. Set amongst the tables of food are sugar can juicers. The men run foot-long pieces of sugar cane through the press about four or five times, until the cane is dry and splintered. They add a slice of lime to the glass. It tastes almost like lemonade but isn’t overly sweet. One glass costs 200 shillings, or about 20 US cents.
We pass through the crowd and are amazed at how many white people there are. Still not used to seeing white faces, Michelle and I find them exotic and interesting. Beyond the tables of seafood are rows of booths where vendors sell cloth, jewelry, shawls, original oil paintings (Tinga Tinga) and batik (cloth hand-painted with African scenes). These vendors are aggressive and sometimes desperate, so we walk through and avoid making eye contact.
During the day, all these booths and tables of food disappear. The harbor park is a grassy expanse with a central, round pavilion. Facing the harbor at the grassy edge is the House of Wonders, a massive, restored building that once housed the sultan of Zanzibar. Now a museum, the building is devoted to the maritime history of Zanzibar and explores the Swahili culture found here and along Kenya’s coast.
Michelle and I are both anticipating a week of relaxation, where we can let our guard down and not worry about Africans leeching off of us because we’re white. Oh, boy, are we mistaken.
A visa to enter Tanzania costs $50USD. We get our visas at the tiny airport and exchange our money into Tanzania shillings. Knowing we’ll be spending about $10/night, I’ve budgeted approximately $100 for our seven-day stay; $60 for six nights and $40 for food/souvenirs. I’ve become accustomed to living off very small amounts of money, watching what’s spent on food and buying only essentials.
The minute we step outside the airport doors, a crowd of men rush at us asking if we want a taxi. We’ve already decided that instead of spending $10 USD on a taxi to town, we’ll spend about 20 cents and take a dalla dalla. The dalla dalla is the bus system on Zanzibar island and gets it's name from "Dollar, Dollar," which is what it costs to take the taxis to other parts of the island. A dalla dalla is a truck with a covered back, fitted with a ledge for sitting around the perimeter. As we look for the dalla dalla stand, men get in our faces and won’t back away. Even when we say no, they follow closely, bending to put their faces in our line of sight.
We enter a small office at the front of the airport, labeled TOURIST INFORMATION, where an air conditioner spits out humid air. The guy points to the covered dalla dalla stand across the street. We pull our bags in the direction as a taxi driver in a striped shirt latches onto me and another, seemingly crazy guy, latches onto Michelle. We’re having difficulty pulling/carrying our luggage across the dirt parking lot and seeing where we’re going, so it’s rather annoying to have these two men on us. The guide book warns about men who get a kickback from certain hotels, so we are aware their advice may not be in our best interest. We tell them we know where we’re staying and do not need their help, but they do not back down, only insist on knowing where we’re staying. Michelle and I have studied the city map in the guide book and feel if we head toward town we can easily find our way to the Annex Malindi Guest House, the first place we’ve decided to check out. The annoying taxi driver finally leaves us because his taxi is at the airport, but the crazy man is still with us, climbing into the dalla dalla.
“We do not want your assistance,” I tell him rudely in front of the other passengers. “So if you’re getting on here and going to town because of us, we don’t want your assistance.” He assures me he is going to town for his own business. Right.
People crowd into the back of the bus until we're smashed against each other. A woman on my left in a burka presses into me every time the bus brakes. Because I’m against the cab of the truck, the entire line of people on my side lean forward as we brake and their total weight presses me into the cab. When we stop to pick up passengers, I lean forward into the open center space to relieve the pressure. This seems to piss the woman off. Well, I’m pissed at her and the others, who seem to do this intentionally. We also get no direction or advice from the conductor of the bus, who rides in the back and takes money. When we ask about the best place to get off, everyone is vague or acts as though they don’t understand English. Finally, Michelle and I just pick a place and pull our luggage down from the roof. The tall, crazy guy climbs out, too, and tries to assist us with our luggage. We refuse his help.
But where are we? It seems town is back a certain way and we’re not quite sure how to find it. The guy keeps saying, “this way, follow me,” and while we don’t want to, because he’ll want money for his guidance, we follow him slightly. We walk along sandy alleys then come upon a main road, congested with traffic and market stalls, tiny shack stores and gas stations. None of the pavement is smooth, as though the entire island is unpaved, and dragging the luggage is a chore. There’s noise and people staring, trying to sell us things, cars honking and the crazy guy towering over us. At one point, Michelle turns and walks away from the main road to get rid of the guy. We end up on quieter city streets, but he’s still with us.
There’s a small police station sitting under huge, spreading trees and surrounded by green lawn. When we approach the building, the crazy guy drops back for a block, watching us from a distance. We sit on a bench under the roof’s edge and ask a man if he knows where Annex Malindi is. He attempts to give us directions but consults with the police woman behind the counter. We tell them the crazy guy is following us and won’t leave us alone. They point us toward town and we again set out with our heavy luggage. The crazy guy soon rejoins us.
At one point, we turn into the maze of streets that make up Stone Town, with the stone buildings and houses creating twisting paths of narrow streets. Michelle is so exasperated, she walks up to a man relaxing outside a store. She’s seeking refuge and assistance. When he stands up, his striped shirt seems familiar. Then I see his face and we both realize it’s the taxi driver from the airport, the one who wouldn’t leave us alone! How can it be that with the thousands of people in town, we had to approach this guy for help? We quickly retreat.
This time we follow the crazy guy's directions. The streets are so narrow and there's no way to see ahead, to know where we are. He leads us straight to the Malindi Guest House, where two men run out to greet us and take us inside. Everyone on Zanzibar is anxious to get the attention and business of whites. The rate is $15 per night, which is higher than we had anticipated. They offer to show us Annex Malindi, which is just around the corner and only $10 per night. After vieiwing both places, we choose Annex Malindi and settle into our rooms.
The guest house is in a stone Swahili building, which means it has mangrove poles as ceiling braces throughout. China bowls are inset into the walls in the fashion of Swahili culture. The walls are thick and the ceilings exceedingly high. The staircase leading to the three upper levels is narrow and the steps are deep and uneven. Typical Swahili style also provides a courtyard in the center of the building which is open to the sky. On the roof are tables and chairs where we will eat our free breakfast each morning. The Indian Ocean is only a few blocks away.
Keys in Africa are huge, like the large keys in old horror movies. They're used in houses and hotels and even on my office door at TICH. Annex Malindi leaves the keys dangling in unused rooms, so are able to go from room to room and pick the one that suits us best. My room is in the corner with two shuttered windows. As with most buildings in East Africa, there are no screens or glass in the windows. Two beds line the walls, both with mosquito nets. A chair sits next to the door, at the bottom of the deep step into the room. A ceiling fan helps to keep the mosquitos from alighting and to keep the room feeling somewhat fresh in the humidity.
At Annex Malindi, the bath is communal. Each floor has two baths. These are large rooms with a shower head in the corner, a toilet and a sink. Part of the wall is tiled, but the floor is raw cement throughout. One bath has a switch for heating shower water. There is no soap, no towels and often no toilet paper. Travelers in Africa should always carry these basics. I have the travel toilet paper roll, but no soap and no towel. I improvise and use shampoo for soap. Luckily, the weather is warm so a towel is not needed, but I shower in my bathing suit, so I can move from the bath to my room without showing too much, and then use a t-shirt to dry off. Living in Africa, I’ve learned to get by periodically without electricity, to spend a week or more without water and to not bathe or wash my hair regularly. Since electricity is sketchy, I do not invest in a blow dryer while in Africa. Just comb through my wet hair and allow it to dry naturally. I grow used to not putting on makeup in the mornings. It’s a freeing way to live, as long as everyone else is also unable to bathe and shampoo, too.
After resting, Michelle and I walk to the main harbor in Stone Town where vendors set up nightly barbecues. Walking the path through the city’s main “square,” means walking past table after table piled high with seafood. Each table has a hot grill waiting, a jiko with hot oil for frying chips and a crew to make sure your food is prepared and served promptly. Crew members call out to those walking by and those taking a peek, competing with the crew at the next table for customers.
Shark, Barracuda, shrimp, lobster, squid, red and white snapper, tuna, mackeral and other fishes are cut into pieces and skewered. Crab claws are stacked next to Octopus tentacles. The food is beautiful and especially alluring lit by kerosene lamps placed on the tables. Each skewer, which contains about eight to ten pieces fish, costs 1000 shillings, which is $1 USD. Though sometimes they’ll drop the price to 800 shillings when negotiating. Two skewers of fish and chips costs about 2,500 shillings, or $2.50 USD. And it’s delicious. Set amongst the tables of food are sugar can juicers. The men run foot-long pieces of sugar cane through the press about four or five times, until the cane is dry and splintered. They add a slice of lime to the glass. It tastes almost like lemonade but isn’t overly sweet. One glass costs 200 shillings, or about 20 US cents.
We pass through the crowd and are amazed at how many white people there are. Still not used to seeing white faces, Michelle and I find them exotic and interesting. Beyond the tables of seafood are rows of booths where vendors sell cloth, jewelry, shawls, original oil paintings (Tinga Tinga) and batik (cloth hand-painted with African scenes). These vendors are aggressive and sometimes desperate, so we walk through and avoid making eye contact.
During the day, all these booths and tables of food disappear. The harbor park is a grassy expanse with a central, round pavilion. Facing the harbor at the grassy edge is the House of Wonders, a massive, restored building that once housed the sultan of Zanzibar. Now a museum, the building is devoted to the maritime history of Zanzibar and explores the Swahili culture found here and along Kenya’s coast.
posted by Cindi at 11:23 AM
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