Arriving to Life in the Slow Lane

I can say with certainty that running up the escalator in your stocking feet is not something that should be on anyone's to-do list. I know this because that's exactly what I ended up doing on Saturday morning. I had such a short layover in Seattle that I got it into my head I must being going through US Customs before boarding in Victoria, like some of my previous trips.

I was wrong.

Between construction at the airport and what felt like eleventy billion flights arriving within 30 minutes of each other, my short connection time got even shorter. Which meant I spent my time in line guilting the people in front of me for security into letting me cut before running up two flights of escalators and across a SEA-TAC terminal in the aforementioned stocking feet.

Those little ridges on the escalator HURT!

On the upside, I learned that US Customs now has an app called "Mobile Passport" which means I pretty much skipped 90% of the customs queue. Highly recommend getting it if you're flying to the States, have a smart phone, and are eligible for it (US citizens, US permanent resident, or Canadian citizen).

Sunrise over the North Sea

I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived at Kilimanjaro to find a renovated immigration area. Part of the renovation included ropes to help create lines of people instead of the traditional clusterf*** they had employed for so many decades. Of course, the ropes only went back far enough for about 20 people so getting to the nicely roped off areas was still a free-for-all.

Despite these improvements, I still failed to get out in under an hour. At the rate they are improving the airport, I expect to get through customs in less than 30 mins by 2035.

On the upside, I walked out to find both Paulo and Anande waiting for me. It was a nice treat to catch up with Anande as Paulo drove. Once we turned off the paved road, the rest of the drive was like this.

I arrived to find that Frida had cooked me chipsi mayai (French fry omelette) for a pre-bed snack, and I devoured it before falling asleep for 10 wonderful, uninterrupted hours.

I spent a restful Monday recovering from jetlag by reading my Le Carré novel on the patio while Frida cooked and cleaned. She also decided to lead a one woman assault with a can of "Off!" against two flies that left the place stinking of the stuff for an hour. She was very proud when they final dropped dead, although I hadn't the heart to tel her that I think it's because she drowned them and not from the magic properties of the bug spray.

My view for much of Monday

I was visited by Big Mama and Wee Jimmy, two wild dogs that call our compound home during the day. Big Mama has been a fixture on the campus for a few years. She's part of a pack of wild dogs that roam the area, but our compound is her space and she chases off any other dogs who dare enter. Or she did until Wee Jimmy showed up shortly before my last visit. He was a very young puppy of questionable intelligence, and I think she tolerated him more because he was just too stupid to realise she was trying to chase him away.

In the two years since, Big Mama appears to have mellow and is friendlier. Where she would once move the minute you got within 10 meters of her, she happily trotted to the patio to give me a quick sniff before heading on her way. Wee Jimmy, on the other hand, tried to say hello and ended up running into the patio wall. Like I said, not the smartest dog in the village.

I headed to the library early Tuesday morning for my first day there. I'll talk more about that in a later post, but I was pleasantly surprised when one of the patrons smiled at me and said "I remember you." It was Amret who I used as my guinea pig for RACHEL-Pi training!

After a full day of work at the library and a quick meeting with Anande to discuss our focus for the grant writing, I ended today how I imagine I'm going to be ending a lot of my days: siting on the patio, eating my fresh fruit dessert, drinking tea, and watching the sunset on Mt. Meru.

Anticipate seeing a lot of these sunset pictures.

Island Hopping to Pemba

Pemba had been on my list of places I'd like to visit in Tanzania since my last trip here, but it's not an easy destination to get to. I even contemplated including it when I was drafting up some tentative travel plans before leaving Canada this time, but getting there was either long or expensive. If it hadn't been for a poster in my Tanga hotel showing a $65US price to fly from Tanga to Pemba, I would never have gone.

What a mistake that would have been.

The plane ride over was worth every penny, for starters.

There's a dhow (traditional wooden boat) hanging out by this sand bank.
I wouldn't mind hanging out with them.

My first view of Pemba Island was actually the smaller islands on what
I guess you could call 'the outer bank' before the sea floor drops away.

I arrived at the airport on the east side of the island and caught a taxi to the capital city of Chake Chake. The city is built on a hill above Chake Chake Bay and I could walk from one end to the other in about 20 minutes. Two other wazungu got off the plane in Pemba, but they were picked up by a resort car. After that, I saw one white person my entire trip and he was a Peace Corp volunteer, not a tourist.

The view from my first hotel. It was closed my second night so I had to move to another one.

Pemba is beautiful but very poor. While both Zanzibar and Pemba feel that they are forgotten by the mainland government, Pemba is also forgotten by the semi-autonomous Zanzibari government. Unemployment is high and salaries, even for government jobs, are below what they are worth elsewhere. Politics is a big topic in Pemba, and I was a willing participant. "What do you think of CCM?" I'd ask feigning innocence, then I'd sit back and let them ramble.

I booked a guide, Nassor, for a full day tour of the island for Friday. We started by heading out the peninsula Ras Mkumbuu to the Qanbalu Ruins. The ruins are believed to be Africa's oldest Muslim town and a large portion of the Friday mosque remains.

The mihrab wall (the niche that points towards Mecca) from the outside.
The round structure is where the Iman would stand to call people to prayer.

After we were done checking out the ruins, we walked back to Nassor's car which was parked by the hut used by the anti-smuggling police. They were sitting down to breakfast and invited us to join them for some chai (tea), tuna, and cassava. Sometimes the best parts of travel are the parts you could never plan.

Have breakfast here? Well, if you insist!

We drove up to Wete, the second largest city, where I saw Pemba's Flying Foxes, fruit bats which are endemic to the island of Pemba. I've received a few odd looks over the years when I say this but I think bats are beautiful so I was delighted that we spied some in a tree.

Washing day near Wete

When we returned to Chake Chake, I headed to a little hut I had discovered earlier for some mishkaki na chipsi (beef skewers and chips). It was run by the delightful Hatim (at least, I think it was. My swahili is limited, and so is his English.) They were elated when I returned a second night in a row, although Kilo - their friend who spoke very decent English - wasn't there so the conversation was a bit more a struggle without someone to translate. As I was leaving, they asked if they'd see me the next day. In Swahili, I explained that I was going to Unguja (Zanzibar) the next morning, but that I hoped to return to Pemba some day and spend more time there. Hatim nodded, smiled, and then said in English, "I know you will be back." I hope you're right, Hatim.

Hatim's wife, Hatim, and the cook. If you ever go to Pemba, I'll give you directions.
You will not find friendlier service in Chake Chake.

The boat to Zanzibar leaves from Mtoani at the south end of the island but there isn't a hotel there (well, there is but none of the reviews sounded too positive), so I was up before the sun for one last car ride with Nassor. After he dropped me off, I walked the length of the pier while people swam in the water on one side and fishermen prepped their boats as they returned from a night of fishing on the other. 

The fishing dhows winding down after a night of fishing

I boarded the ferry (which was also a cargo ship), found someone sitting in my seat who refused to move, ended up sitting a few rows over after climbing over a sleeping family on the floor, moved my bags so someone else could also store their chickens there, and settled in for the five hour ferry ride to Stone Town.

The First 72 Hours in Arusha

After 32 hours of travel, I arrived in Arusha weary and sore, but really no worse for wear. The flights were uneventful save for one of my fellow passengers on the Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro flight who was decked out in full safari gear. I had joked about buying a cotton/linen khaki dress so I could be a proper mzungu* for the safari, but this woman actually did it. Along with the dress, she had on a green safari vest, saddle shoes with a faux crocodile skin leather (at least I hope if was faux), and a pith helmet.

A PITH HELMET! FOR THE PLANE RIDE!

It took all I had not to ask her what year she thought it was, and what were the British Army going to do about the damn Mau Mau rebels? Pip pip, tally-ho. I wish there had been a way to snap a photo without being incredibly obvious because this is one of those stories where I know people won’t believe me. And I can’t really blame them. I saw it and I’m still not convinced I believe me.

At least I had no complaints about the in-flight entertainment.

I was happy to discover that the Tanzania Immigration bureaucracy is just as alive and kicking as it was when I left in 2007. (For those who don’t know my 2007 story, a short synapsis: was told I could renew my visa at the office in Arusha, returned another day to renew and was told by the same person I had to leave the country to renew the visa, returned yet another day and was told “I can renew your visa” as the officer started at my chest.)

The immigration offices have gone high tech since I was last here, but don’t mistake high tech for better. Instead of one long line, I paid for my visa at one window, had my passport stamped with the visa and a picture taken at a second window, then had my visa signed, my finger prints scanned and another picture taken at a third window. Somewhere, Kafka is absolutely gleeful about the state of Tanzania immigration. He’s rubbing his hands together in delight and muttering something about a dung beetle stuck in lineups.

But pole pole. T.I.A.

Just over an hour later, I cleared customs – I wish I was joking – and met Paulo outside the arrivals door. I still had an hour drive to get to Arusha! The biggest change I noticed during the drive was how many more lights there were. Not street lights, of course, why would you install street lights when the cars have headlights? But floodlights on the side of buildings we passed and light-up signs for businesses. Where once there were Coca-Cola sponsored hand-painted business signs, now there were Coca-Cola sponsored lighted signs. Oh, Coca-Cola. Somethings don’t change.

The view from my window at 10pm.
How quiet and peaceful the town looks.

Arusha is as it always was: busy, noisy, crowded, hot, dusty, stinky, and absolutely lovely. Ask me about Arusha and I will do nothing but complain about the place. Speak ill of Arusha to me and I will end you. I love this stupid place. Except maybe the touts, I could do without them. When I headed out to lunch on my first day, I made the mistake of going to Via-Via. An hour doing odd jobs (if getting some local currency can be called an odd job) on Sokoine Rd and only 1 tout. Five minutes to walk up Boma Rd to Via Via and I got four different touts. The Swahili word for tout is papasi which means ‘tick’. They could not have used a more apt word.

It's tradition (I've done it twice) that I take a picture of my first beer.

The streets are full of all sort of traffic including pedestrians. With more potholes in the sidewalks than the street, it is easier to walk with the traffic. Note, I said easier, not safer. Safety in general is not a big concern in Tanzania. If you're silly enough to do something like fall off of a building roof that has no safety rails, then you probably deserved it. If you're silly enough to get hit by a car...

His buddy is holding the ladder. That makes this
incredibly safe by Tanzanian standards.

I had an email from Anande and Anne, and it looks like they might have a spot for me after all. They’re coming into town today so we’ve arranged to meet. I’m hopeful that I can get out to Ngongongare by the weekend. As much as I hate love Arusha, I love the countryside even more.

I am partial to this view, however.

Even if someone did block out half of Mt. Meru with apartment buildings.

*mzungu = white person; it evolved from the term for ‘one who can’t stay still’ to mean ‘traveller’. Seeing as most travellers are white, that’s the meaning it now has.