Road to Kenya

If there is one place in the world I have been that I wish to never return to, it is the Dar es Salaam bus station. The ferry from Zanzibar back to Dar got us in about 8 hours late, so we couldn’t buy our bus tickets in advance. We wanted to take an early bus to the Kenyan border, so we set our alarm for 5 am and hoped we could get a seat at the bus station. The traffic outside off the station, even at 5:30 in the morning, is a whirling dusty madhouse of honking drivers and shouting pedestrians, all shoving their way through a vast street with no clear lanes nor traffic signals. In the taxi I sweated profusely and cringed with stomach pains brought on by diarrhea.

Inside the station, the touts were on us the moment we stepped out of the cab. They grabbed at our backpacks – “Let me help you, my friend” – but we knew better. We politely refused any help, clutched our bags, and pushed forward to the dizzying assortment of buses. The station was basically a massive walled-in parking lot with hundreds of dusty buses and vans parked at every angle, with no clear organization. This was going to be a twelve-hour bus ride and we were ready to pay for the luxury bus, with AC and bathroom. The touts were relentless, several shouting at once, pulling us in different directions. One guy said “Here! The Dar Express, leaving now to Arusha.” Another shouted, “No, that bus goes to Moshi. Kilimanjaro Express goes straight to Arusha. Wait here, it will come in 10 minutes.” “No, that bus is full. I give you better price. Dar Express, nicest bus.”

At one point I lost sight of TK as I was mashed in the dense crowd. My backpack was stuck and I could feel that it wasn’t just smushed between people, but purposely held in place while something was pulled out of a side pocket. I was more concerned about losing TK, and my knees literally started shaking. I felt like a child lost in the supermarket, on the verge of tears. It didn’t help that everyone pressed against me seemed to be a foot taller than me. (East Africans are much taller than southern Africans.)

Luckily we found each other before I started sobbing, and we hastily boarded the Dar Express – we had read it was the nicest. But they lied about something crucial: there was no bathroom on this bus. I had diarrhea and I just committed to a twelve-hour bus ride with no bathroom. (They also lied about it being a direct bus and having AC.) While I suppressed a panic attack, TK ventured back outside, in search of a nicer bus. He found one but it was full. And so began the worst bus ride of my life.

I’ll spare you the details and just give the good news: all that was stolen from my backpack was a case containing two decks of playing cards.

After a night in Arusha, we took an eight-hour bus ride to Nairobi. It was a great relief to catch our bus on the road instead of a bus station. 

May I use this photo to brag about what amazingly good packers we are?
This is all we brought on our two month journey, and it includes our tent, sleeping bags, laptop, and camera.

Zanzibar

Zanzibar offered a welcome change of pace after Dar es Salaam.

In Stone Town we wandered among Arabs, Africans, and tourists through a maze of stone alleyways. The island is almost 100 percent Muslim and it seemed like every woman was tall, thin and beautiful, draped in colorful silk sarongs or burkas. Men were more casual, sometimes wearing a Muslim cap (what are they called?) with western clothes. Rooftop restaurants served curry dishes that paid tribute to Zanzibar’s distinction as one of the Spice Islands. The mournful call to player sounded five times a day, and we bumped into countless mosques. Western influence seems to have degraded the magical charm Zanzibar is known for, but it was still an amazing place. Unfortunately very expensive, though. We climbed six flights of winding stairs to our little room in the cheapest hostel available: 50 bucks for two twin beds, a tiny fan, and a cold shower down the hall, adorned with dead bugs.

Sultan's palace, turned museum

Every night crowds gathered in a crowded plaza on the waterfront for a pretty incredible market of street food. About a hundred tables showcased freshly made (and cheap!) snacks. Most popular were grilled skewers of meat, lobster, shrimp, chicken hearts, squid, and octopus. There was also shwarma and something called Zanzibar pizza, which involves meat, egg and mayonnaise and tastes surprisingly similar to a baja gordita from Taco Bell. TK had several of these, of course. Stalks of sugar cane were fed through a grinder to make a sweet drink. After one or two “nice” dinners (how could I pass up Ethiopian), we got real and went for the street food every night.

On New Year’s Eve we befriended two Americans on the roof of our hostel and found a bar/restaurant/hookah lounge that looked somewhat lively. Muslims aren’t exactly wild partiers. This beach-front bar was full of people at least, and bottles of overpriced champagne. The DJ wouldn’t interrupt the music (Tina Turner – “What’s love got to do with it”) for a midnight countdown, but we celebrated on our own. A little later a dance party materialized and it was just my kind of dance party: Bee Gees, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and a group of nerdy guys eager to dance badly with me. They were like Arabic Steve Urkels, with wide dorky smiles, pants belted above the navel, and flailing dance moves. And they were shorter than me. TK mostly lingered by the bar and laughed at me.

The next day we moved across the island to the eastern side, where you go to sit on the beach and do not much else.

Jack fruit tree at the spice plantation

On our last day we did what all tourists do in Zanzibar, and went on a spice tour. It was surprisingly cool. We visited a spice plantation, which was basically a food forest where every plant produced a spice or fruit. They were using all the permaculture techniques we’ve been involved in: diverse crops, companion planting, mulching, composting. Chickens roamed freely to control weeds. As we walked, the guides cut us a variety of samples: black, red, green, and white peppercorns, ginger, coffee, chocolate, jack fruit, lychee, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, red and yellow curry, and turmeric.

At the end of the tour they took us to a cave where slaves were once hidden, and then to the nicest beach we’ve seen in Africa. Tropical beaches don’t jump to mind when I picture Muslim Africa, and it seemed discordant even to those living there. Some men wore their Muslim caps into the ocean, and a few burka-clad women sat on the sand.  The beach was pretty empty though, even though it was very close to Stone Town and a beautiful sunny day. I felt whorish again, in a bikini, but there was a whole group of us heathen tourists, so I used the other white girls as a shield from the leers of young men sitting in the shade, and slipped into the ocean.

Next stop: Kenya.

Dar es not quite Salaam

We kicked off our latest travel adventure with a new and exhilarating experience: we stayed at the Hyatt. TK’s folks booked us a couple nights for his birthday, and – I know this sounds bratty – it was the highlight of our two days in Dar es Salaam. We arrived at night and awkwardly plodded up the plush red carpet, into the chandeliered lobby where our scraggly clothes and dirty backpacks raised some eyebrows. But we got over feeling out of place and relished our chance to recharge in luxury before two months of camping and hostels. After a night of room service, bubble bath, and cable tv, we ventured out into the city. The first thing we noticed was the heat. Sweltering, exhausting heat. The second realization was that I was inappropriately dressed. In my meticulous efforts to pack lightly, I considered only the weather and our activities. I forgot that we’d be travelling through Muslim areas where women cover their shoulders and knees at the least and everything but their eyes at the most. I felt like a whore walking the streets in a little summer dress.

We thought that slinking into the National Museum would be a nice escape from the heat and stares, and a good introduction to the country. Alas, the two-room building was hotter inside than out and the exhibits were pretty dinky.  Sweat dripped from our noses onto the glass cases of Swahili artifacts, and the pitifully translated descriptions failed to captivate us. We crossed the street to the botanical garden, which was basically a plaza of hedges and benches where we sat and warded off a series of touts offering safari deals. Where could we go to cool down? None of the nearby cafes, restaurants, or shops had air conditioning. It was noon. The Hyatt lured us back. Its powerful AC blasted us before we were even inside and once in it was hard to leave again.

I didn't feel safe using my camera outside of the hotel,
so this is my only picture of Dar.

We waited until late afternoon to give Dar a second chance. (I adjusted my outfit, even though it felt preposterous to wear a cardigan in such heat). We strolled down a street of wall-to-wall mosques, temples, and churches. It was interesting to see the pictoral jumble of Muslim half-moons, swastikas, stars of david, Krishnas, and Jesuses. We braved the chaotic Kariakoo Market, reminiscent of Mercado Cuatro, for those of you who know Asuncion. Salesmen beckoned us to peruse their cluttered stalls, stacked with everything from shoes and stolen cell phones to fly-covered meat or kitchen tables. Others were mobile, balancing boards of sunglasses, socks, and combs – “Buy two, one free. Very special price for you, my friends.” We didn’t need any of that so we squeezed through the crowds and into a dark restaurant/bar. A chalkboard menu listed twenty Swahili words we didn’t recognize. Through some charade-like gestures we managed to order “what that guy’s having” and shared a pretty tasty plate of traditional chicken, rice, and spinach. After a beer we elbowed our way into a taxi. The driver jerked the car through a messy intersection of people, carts, donkeys and motorbikes. We realized he was drunk. “Ah, Americans,” he slurred. “Children of Barack Obama!” We buckled up and gripped our seats while he sped us back to the Hyatt.

It’s difficult to discern how dangerous a city really is, but certain places just make me uneasy and Dar is one of them. Maybe it was the general pushiness of people. Everywhere we went people insisted on helping us (to find a place, to help with our bags, etc.) and then demanded money in return. We always had to talk down cab drivers from overcharging us with muzungu (white person) prices. We decided not to explore the city’s nightlife and instead enjoyed a second night of room service at the lovely, clean, predictable Hyatt.

The next morning we took a ferry to Zanzibar. A dozen different agencies sell tickets for the ferry, so a dozen different guys scrambled to pull us to their respective offices, each promising the best prices and special VIP seats. They shouted over each other and interrupted us when we tried to speak to another guy or even to each other. Another exasperated muzungu couple approached us for help, and together we sifted through the scams and rip-offs until we eventually got a fair price. The four of us waited together for five hours until the ferry actually left. The couple, from Denmark, also had an unfavorable impression of Dar es Salaam (“Haven of Peace”), but with more reason: right off the plane they got mugged in a taxi. The driver picked up some buddies and they drove the couple to an ATM, told them to take out money and hand it over or they’d kill them.

So we were all eager to leave the hot, cramped waiting area, board the ferry, and watch Dar disappear from sight.

Christmas in Paradise

The whole team at the Christmas party. I love that one person, and one person only, dressed in traditional Swazi wear.

Our last day at Guba was by far the most fun. Swazis take almost a month off for summer (which coincides with Christmas), and Guba celebrated the end of a good year with a party at the rock lodge. We packed two trucks, somewhat miraculously, with meat, greens from the farm, booze, all the staff members, day laborers, volunteers, dogs and baby.





The rock lodge resembles a treehouse built onto the side of a mountain, with incredible views of the Ezulwini valley below.

We scattered to explore the different rooms, ledges, and crevices, inevitably convening around the crates of beer and cider. As we expected, about half of the group declined to drink at all and the rest were drunk by lunch time.

Enjoying the sun with Gabsile and Lilly

David and Wawa, happy to find a room with beds to nap on.

Cooked up beef, pork, chicken and boerewors on the braii down below.

As if seeing our co-workers drunk wasn't entertaining enough, we also played Twister.

All in all, a lovely last hurrah with a great team.

Our makeshift stockings

The next day we moved out of our tool shed and felt a bit glum about being homeless and unemployed. Luckily a neighbor asked us to house-sit while he took his family to England for the holiday. So we only meandered aimlessly for a few days before moving into his nice big house with four sweet dogs. Lewis & Ruby and several other Peace Corps friends came over for a very civilized Christmas.

Christmas dinner

Then on TK’s birthday we boarded a plane to Tanzania!

Swazi Update

Here's a quick recap on October & November:

Hung out with Lewis & Ruby, who finished their school library.

Ruby, at her finest, teaching to sew

Ru & Lew's new garden

Beka made a quick visit to Swaziland.

I made a quick visit to Austin to see these two get married J. It was beautiful.

Spent my birthday at Mkhaya, a fancy game reserve, where we walked with black rhinos and woke to nyalas strolling by our open-air hut.

Thanksgiving at Kerry’s with TK’s famboli. His parents visited for 10 days. We took a nice trip to St. Lucia, South Africa, where we biked with zebras, ate seafood, and saw hippos.

Mozambique

Nothing like taking a week-long vacation two weeks after starting a new job. We joined Lewis & Ruby and three of their Peace Corps buddies for a relaxing beach trip in Tofo, Mozambique. Unlike Swaziland, Tofo was warm and sunny the entire time, fresh seafood was everywhere, and the people spoke Portuguese! (I like to pretend I speak Portuguese because it’s so close to Spanish.)

The party bus left before dawn and dropped us in Tofo
late afternoon.

We rented a house overlooking the sea, and it was perfect. 

The first of several amazing meals on the deck. (Sorry, Ruby, I didn't take many pics to choose from!)

Witnessed an awesome wedding while we were sipping beers: the whole wedding party jumped out the back of
two pick-ups, they got married on the beach, sang and danced back to the trucks, and drove off

A local cook invited us to his house for a private dinner. Lovely end to a lovely trip.

Guba

Back in Swaziland, we moved into our “house” and started our “job.” I use quotations because our house is actually a tool shed and our job doesn’t pay. But since we enjoy the work and we have no rent, bills, insurance, debt, or taxes to worry about, I think it’s a pretty good gig.

Our teeny tiny "house"

The nursery

Guba is a nonprofit started 5 years ago by an English couple. They offer free permaculture training to low-income Swazis, to empower them to rise out of poverty by growing their own food and living sustainably. Every year they select thirty participants who spend a week each month at Guba, learning how to garden, compost, mulch, filter gray water, raise chickens, etc. Then Guba staff members visit every homestead every month to support their progress. It’s the most intensive, hands-on permaculture training I’ve seen and it seems to be very effective. 

We arrived at Guba just in time to attend the graduation ceremony of their first group of participants. Everyone was joyful. There were hours of speeches and songs, mostly in SiSwati, but it was clear without translation that the trainees were grateful and proud. We walked there from the bus with one graduate who told us in English that this was the best thing that ever happened to her. She said there are no words to describe what a positive impact Guba has had on her family.

Part of the Guba team

Building the new training center

So we felt great about who we were working for, but then we started and didn’t know what our role was. Training doesn’t start again until January, and everyone’s main focus now is construction: building a new training center, a new kitchen, and volunteer accommodations.

The Volunteer Accommodations - you think it'll be ready by the time we leave?

Now we’ve got an idea of how this place runs and we basically choose to work on whatever projects interest us, or start something new. My main project has been planting a food forest. A food forest is like a regular forest, with a canopy, understory, vines, etc., but everything in it is edible – fruit and nut trees, berry bushes, grape vines, and perennial vegetables on the ground. It’s a permaculturist’s heaven; a consistent source of free, diverse food that requires almost no maintenance and makes a positive impact on the environment instead of a negative one. It improves soil quality, invites birds and small animals, provides shade, etc., etc. Guba has a large area of land set aside for this, so they asked me to research available trees and come up with a design that considers each tree’s needs regarding sun and wind exposure, water, soil quality, and spacing.  So far I’ve designed and planted one section of the forest. On a typical day I spend a few hours inside, researching and designing, then a few hours planting trees in the soil.

We quickly realized that TK gets antsy if he spends more than 10 minutes on a computer, and Microsoft Excel makes him crazy. So he works almost entirely outdoors, mostly planting and taking care of the animals. He’s in charge of the experimental chicken coop, which has four separated fields planted at intervals with different grains and vegetables. The idea is to learn which plants can coexist with chickens and how big they need to grow first to adequately feed the chickens without being trampled or ravaged by them.

TK's latest idea is to build a solar dryer for drying fruit.

Lewis and Ruby pay us a visit and we make it as white trash as possible:
sipping beers mid-afternoon, sitting on tires outside our trailer :)

So that’s what we’ve been up to the past couple months. It’s nice to have regular work hours again, but also the flexibility to take time off whenever we want. For things like Mozambique!