Tanzania - Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar

The day-long journey in a second-class bus from Arusha was, except the view, rather uneventful. My entertainment was the endless stream of people walking and riding bicycles along the busy, pot-hole-laden, two-lane, trans-African highway. Carrying impressive bundles either on their heads or strapped to the frame, they would who casually veer off the narrow road, being cued only by the horn of our bus that often came within inches of taking their lives. Since there are no shoulders on the Tanzanian roads, this is a dance that is done throughout the country, and a misstep is not without consequence, as I would learn the following week while talking with some volunteer doctors.

My arrival to Dar Es Salaam wasn't as grand as I hoped it might be. Stepping off the bus, I was soon swallowed up by the chaos and deposited deep in the center of the city to rest at a dingy hotel ironically named the "Safari Inn." The sheer lack of charm and maintenance of the city was an impressive sight in itself. Dar would only served as a place of transit for me, as it does for many (if not all) travelers. I did, however, manage to take care of the usual business: bank and internet. I also miraculously found a US/Africa electrical-adapter to replace the one I left back in Arusha (What a disaster it would have been to not be able to charge my cellphone and camera!).

After three trips to the port, I finally got a straight answer as to the departure time and cost of the "fast" ferry to Zanzibar (of which there are many, but locals set up makeshift ticket booths to pawn off tickets fort the slower ferries).

I was relieved to escape the hustle-bustle of Dar as I boarded the ferry, which punctually glided out of the harbor, into the Indian Ocean. I found myself newly excited, to be venturing to a place with a name that, for reasons I cannot specifically recall, carries an air of fabled mystery: Zanzibar.

Approaching the island, I imagined myself being transported back in time as I embraced the timeless image of several sailing "dhows" and fishermen paddling dugout canoes. This romantic image was reinforce by the fact Zanzibar had no electricity (I learned this two weeks previously, as the damaged power line from the mainland cut off power to the entire island with the most optimistic saying "three months" before it might be restored). I was abruptly jarred back to the present as the ferry docked: I could see a new throng of touts, identical to the one I just left behind in Dar, awaiting me beyond the port gates.

"'ello-my-frien'! ... Mista-Mista! ... where-are-you-from! ... come-with-me" ... look at this ... look at that...

I couldn't be bothered, so I slipped through crowd into a taxi, telling the driver to take me to Stonetown. As we drove off – moving slower than a walking pace, horn wailing incessantly - another man jumped in the taxi, greeting me with the ever familiar "ello-my-frien'!" I rolled my eyes and ignored him. He made a few more unsuccessful attempts to pull me into conversation and, sensing my frustration, spoke more candidly in surprisingly clear English, "I go with you to hotel only to receive commission and I leave you alone."

"Poa", I told him with confidence (this means "cool" in Swahili).

"Hacuna matata," he replied contently ("no problem." Of course, this is the very extent of any conversation I could have in Swahili).

We had only gone couple of blocks, but I guessed we were already in Stonetown as the streets became narrower and narrower, most barely wide enough to even walk down. By now I realized that the taxi ride was unnecessary, so I paid him the equivalent of $3 and set off on foot. The other man, now my new "guide" named Ali ("but call me 'Spata' because everyone here is named 'Ali'"), took the lead and asked me where I was going. I showed him on the map - a place other travelers had recommended. He pointed the other direction and, after a minute of walking through a labyrinth of streets, I could tell I had no idea where I was. Now suspicious, I was about to turn back, but just then my guide pointed to the hotel I was looking for.

Without the burden of luggage and an unwanted guide, I was able to walk the streets with more ease. Within seconds I was lost, but not without hope: walking among young boys kicking soccer balls, women and girls covered head to toe in traditional Muslim garments, and mini-scooters zipping by with total disregard to the pedestrian.

Stonetown is a small area, but it must consist of a hundred miles of narrow, seemingly forgotten streets. I speculated that the streets meandered with no rhyme or reason, but the fact I kept passing by the same places made me think the pattern was just something I wasn't equipped to understand; but when I had to, I could get where I needed to go, not unlike a lab-rat.

I soon heard, as I had in Dar, the haunting melody of the afternoon prayer echoing down the pathways from the speakers of some mosque I could not see. At this time the streets would quiet, but not completely. At first, I wondered how they powered the speakers, but by dusk I soon learned that everyone who could afford it had electricity. By dusk, the buzz of generators drowned out any chance of savoring the calm and timelessness offered by the sunset.

The island of Zanzibar has several small beach towns with white-sanded beaches blending into turquoise waters. Not being much of a beach person, I did my obligatory half-hour in the water and the sun. Instead, I was much happier to board a minibus for a tour of the island's spice plantations, for which Zanzibar was famous - along with slave trade. We saw and tasted many spices and fruits, but I could tell that most the places were just for tourism. Zanzibar's main industry is tourism, so spices aren't produce en mass anymore, not even the beloved Zanzibari clove.

Though the lack of regular electricity made the beer warm, the fresh-fish was excellent! But island life in general was making me a bit stir-crazy. I was anxious to be on the move again, having only spent three days in Zanzibar.

Returning to Dar, I was prepared for and expected the worst, but, to my relief, received minimal attention. Perhaps they could read the confidence of experience on my face as I made my way back into the chaos. I did my best to show that knew what I was doing, that I was on a mission. Besides, in my mind I was already on my next leg of the journey: get to Malawi where two friends would be expecting me the following week.