Infinite Tanzania PART 2

ARUSHA

Our small Lodge was nestled into one of the foot-hills of Mount Meru's lower slope. The air here was so clean and fresh that for a moment, I felt like I had lost my sense of smell. 

"I quit smoking by climbing to the top of Meru and back"- Joshua said as he blew cigarette smoke through his nostrils.

 "That's why I smoke, because I know Meru is there, and I can quit anytime."

Interesting.  But seriously, I would push open the doors every morning, just before the sun rose, and inhale the fullest, deepest and coldest breath of mountain air.

  It felt like that was all I needed to complete the day. Moutain air, and maybe a bottle of Kilimanjaro water (which once fell as rain or snow on the mountain's cap, was filtered, bottled and then changed my life). 

Our first day in Arusha we arranged to visit a local village to meet and speak with the people and to explore the natural beauty of Mount Meru's foot-hills.  I expected this to be a cultural journey; to really see how the people in this area endure, in spite of the booming tourism industry and the large influx of foreigners on the safari circuits.

 I wanted to inspect every aspect of their lives, talk with them, hear their stories and share mine. Was it really that ludicrous that I felt connected, almost like a prodigal daughter, kidnapped and now returned? 

The Lodge organized a guide for us,  he was 52 year old Penyal and he would show us around his village and make sure we made it back safely and within reasonable time. 

He was happy to meet us, explaining that he had never EVER seen black tourists staying at Karama Lodge, and for all the years that he had been doing guided tours of his village, he had never taken black people there before.

 "Karibu sana!!" He cheered, "Welcome home" and he hugged us close to him. 

We set off to Ngeresi, the small village surrounding the Temi waterfall. 

We drove slowly and steadily upward, until our line of sight was almost parallel to the mighty Meru. 

We passed children returning home from school, young women toting fire wood, balanced firmly on scarves atop their heads. 

 

I waved at some new friends as we passed, some waving back, others staring, trying to figure out if we, the strange, black mzungus, were in fact a figment of their imagination.

 "Naomba kupiga picha?" I asked a little girl who was posed with a peace sign as soon as she saw my camera. "Ndiyo" she said and her smile widened. This photograph is a treasure and I am happy to share it with you. 

We arrived at the village-chief's (now called "village chairman's") house and received an extremely warm welcome from his daughter Margaret and his son Selah. 

We introduced ourselves, drank a cup of delicious home-grown tea and set off on our walk through the village. Selah walked with us, describing his village and lifestyle in poetic, rhymthic English. I literally fell in love with everything around me.

Every shade of green was represented in its fullest vibrancy.

 Sweet potatoes, carrots, coffee, bananas, beans, peas, corn, coconuts, papaw, pumpkins, mangoes and oranges were not even half of the lush produce growing on the slopes of this small village. Selah showed us wild rosemary, lemongrass, thyme, basil and marijuana. Wild... as in uncultivated, growing and thriving freely in it's natural environment.

I asked to see the local school which was recently constructed, but due to low funding, remained unfinished and packed to full capacity. 

We introduced ourselves to the Principal who was quick to point out the inadequacies of the classrooms, mainly that one room alone housed 90 teenagers and that they are working toward constructing another, but the $1400USD expense was currently out of their reach. 

We were invited to visit the class, where the children were nervous and excited to meet us. 

The teacher relished in the idea of lost Africans returning home, trying to find their origins and discover their roots. He challenged the class to guess, based on our physical attributes, which tribe we would be from, had we been from Tanzania. 

The children giggled and whispered their answers. One boy raised his hand and asked why is it we dressed like mzungus (white people) and spoke like them, still our skin was black like Africans. Seizing a teachable moment, I recalled the story of the "Maafa" (hopefully in a way they never heard before), which is swahili for the great devastation of the Black Holocaust, where millions of African men, women, children, animals, literature, culture and technologies were stolen away across the sea only to be invalidated, exploited and lost...for a time.  

Countless seasons later, as sons and daughters of survivors, we had returned to Africa in search of knowledge and understanding. 

Most likely our ancestors were from the West, but it is quite possible they could be from the East. The class suggested that I was Chagga and my husband, Maasai. 

They pointed out one girl who they joked was my sister. She was a quiet, timeless beauty who reached out and hugged me. One of the many unforgettable moments.

Next stop on our walk through the village was to visit a traditional Warusha home/ Maasai Boma. These round houses with thatched roofs are originally made from mud and cow-dung and provide shared shelter for a wife, her children and her cows. 

This particular home however was slightly "modernized" with a shingled roof and painted exterior  walls. The woman of the house graciously invited us inside so we could see what her home was like and learn how she and her family lived.

We returned to Selah's home for an amazing vegetarian lunch (thanks Margaret!), and to talk with the chief about all that we had seen. We made a small donation to the village, mainly to help with the completion of the school buildings, since from what we could see, this was a thriving happy place where there was definitely an abundance of food and opportunities for industry. 

And now... the Temi Waterfall. "We may have to walk a little faster, the waterfall is about an hour and a half walk up the side of the mountain and we must keep time" Selah said.

 I tried to act like I wasn't phased, but was. he. serious?

 Quickening my pace, we walked through scenic and fragrant gardens, along banana-lined paths and across cultivated slopes. Little children in school uniforms stopped to stare at us or ask questions about who we were, while women with their head-loads would step kindly out of our way."Samahani" they would say, which in swahili means sorry. I found this ironic, since we were the ones that were more than likely an inconvenience to them.  And then I heard the sound of rushing water... long before I saw it.

The Temi Waterfall stood some 85 ft above a small pool of clear, fresh water. 

It was tumbling down with a peaceful force that kept me captivated. A small black and white cow grazed alone by the lush banks of the pool, perhaps annoyed that we had disturbed him and hoping we wouldn't stay too long. I took a seat on a smooth stone and looked up at the falls. An occasional spray of mist would touch my skin and I'd feel inspired to take a plunge. By now the sun was behind the mountain and the vibrant landscape appeared shadowed and sleepy. Together we traced our steps back through the village and set off, in a daze, back to the lodge. This was Africa.  The most beautiful place I had ever seen. And in that moment I understood. There was no way that the European could have seen Africa and left her alone. Even now, after 500 years of their ravaging, she is still a mystical, amazing, dreamland. To have known her then..... I can only imagine.

NGORONGORO CRATER

$600 USD, give or take, will grant you  and a loved one a private safari tour into Ngorongoro Crater, the proclaimed 8th world wonder. 

The name Ngorongoro is an adaptation of the sound that the  Maasai cow bells make. The Maasai people are/were the native settlers in and around the crater before the Europeans came. Now, by German and British decree, they have been barred from settling in the crater which is now a public attraction, bringing millions of tourist dollars to the government each year.

As a result, many of the Maasai have moved to the crater rim, or sadly, into developments and towns where it is almost impossible to continue their nomadic, pastoral lifestyle. Oftentimes as a result, much of their cultural lineage, traditions and language is lost. 

The crater itself was formed by a volcanic eruption which caused the top of a mountain, rumored to be as tall as Kilimanjaro to blow off.  The eruption, which took place some 3 million years ago, not only covered the Serengeti in ash, but made a depression in the earth that spans roughly 8, 000 squared kilometers and is home to countless species of birds and animals.  And of course, on our visit, the entire cast of the Lion King stepped out to meet us in finest form. 

We started our descent into the crater at about 10am and were met by some idle Zebras who neither acknowledged, nor even seem to notice that a huge Safari 4x4 was passing within inches of their congregation.

Maasai cows walked steadily toward familiar grazing grounds and wildebeests grunted and reared their legs. 

Tired cheetahs lay panting atop a small mound, still playing with whatever meal they had tackled before we came.

It would take them about 3 days to digest and hunt again.

 Several other safari jeeps were kicking up dust in the crater,  but the animals were eerily acclimated to their presence and did not seem in the least bit annoyed. 

 Lionesses relaxed next to one of the crater's lakes, and hippos floated like muddy buoys, undisturbed by egrets perched on their backs. Our 4x4 bobbed and jerked through the roughly charted trails, zipping by the famous acacia trees and scattering flocks of colorful birds. Our driver made his best efforts to explain what everything was and to give us a brief history of all that we were seeing.

 

He graciously stopped at intervals to allow me to take some of my most memorable photographs.

One of which is the elusive 

Black Rhino, a solitary animal that almost NEVER shows itself to tourists in the crater. I kept my eyes peeled for the mighty Tembo which is swhahili for elephant. 

Unfortunately, due to the season and climate, they had already migrated out of the crater, possibly into the shady areas around neighboring Lake Manyara. Maybe next time. 

We sat back and enjoyed the scenic drive past the salt lakes, buffalo, gazelle and flamingo.  There are few that I know can say they visited Africa, let alone a world wonder in the continent that birthed humanity. I will definitely be back to Tanzania!

Infinite Tanzania PART 1

Oh boy, I knew it would come to this eventually. I would have to share my thoughts and experiences of Tanzania and put into eloquent script all the things I saw, heard, smelled and tasted. I would have to open my mind and heart and pour out all the stories and feelings that I would much rather lock in there forever! Not because they are not worth sharing (they are the only things in the WHOLE WORLD that are worth sharing), and not because I have forgotten, or overlooked, or floated by in a trance and therefore cannot recollect or reproduce them for you to enjoy. None of that. As a matter of fact, my first trip to Africa turned out to be so deeply personal, so unbelievably moving and soulful that it flushes my cheeks and brings butterflies to my stomach to share with you the depthless love that I now hold for my Mother Land. Imagine being blind and deaf for 25 years; never knowing the blue of the sky or sea, never hearing the songs of a rich and proud, cultural legacy, and more importantly, never seeing yourself.

 Imagine that the only definitions you have for your own beauty are those given to you by the hopeless, money-hungry media and by those who have blatantly and secretly tormented you, stolen from you and left you to die.

 Imagine, as a blind, deaf African (only a fraction of what you once were and can be), your definition of yourself is wretched, hungry, poor and incompetent; in need of help and service.  It's on tv, so it must be true.  

And then, on July 23rd 2009, the birthday of Ras Tafari Makonnen you touch down on East African soil and you can see and hear for the first time, after spending 25 years in soundless, darkness. It's majestic; a lush, happy place, home to colorfully adorned women and the smells of cardamom and fennel lingering in the air. You feel foolish and embarrassed by your misguided expectations. 

 Then a light shines on you, illuminating your entire soul, and it's the sun, like you have never seen it before. 

Big, round, orange and HOT, like something that exploded in the sky, a mere mile from where you stand. This particular sun only shines on Africa and you are here, feeling it energize you.

I am writing this to share my Africa with you; my Tanzania. Don't be surprised to know that it is NOTHING like what you have seen or heard on television.

 "[It is] a country whose...children, women and men refuse to die from ignorance, hunger and thirst"(Thomas Sankara) but smile in the face of adversity, are courageous, elegant, kind and BEAUTIFUL.

The first thing I suggest for making this trip, (it helps for any trip actually), is to formulate some kind of tentative itinerary. 

This will keep your trip focused and manageable, after all, there is PLENTY to see in Tanzania, and if you want to get in some city, safari and sea, this will require plenty of travelling.

 Above is the one I drew up, which organized our trip by dates and activities. We spent 10 days in Tanzania altogether with the first 3 days in Dar Es Salaam, the second 3 in Arusha which is the Safari center of the country and the last 4 in Zanzibar, one of the 3 islands that make up the Zanzibar Archipelago (2 nights on the beach, and 2 in the infamous Stone Town.)

DAR ES SALAAM

Meaning "House of Peace" in Arabic, this bustling, fast-paced and dusty city is anything but peaceful. Typical of any large town, it is packed with people, cars, buildings, restaurants and shops. We were constantly on the move in Dar, partly because there is a lot of history and a lot to see, and partly because standing still and looking lost is not the smartest or safest way to handle your business here.

 We stayed at the lovely Harbour View Suites hotel, which over looked the Dar Es Salaam harbor and port and provided some of the most spectacular views of the sunrise in the city. The place was clean and the staff was pleasant. A perfect place to start and end a long day of walking around town. Samora Ave seems to be where the action is, and lucky for us, that is where our hotel was located.

 Everything is for sale on Samora Ave. (Shout out to Alcove Indian Restaurant. May I suggest the chili mushrooms! HEAVEN).

 You can purchase anything from a used cellphone case to a pair of perfectly and locally beaded leather sandals. Women sashay on the avenue, balancing home grown fruits and vegetables on their heads and young men make kissing noises to alert you of their sale of maji (water), loose cigarettes and peanuts. But it is the Kangas that are the true treasure.

 Kanga in swahili refers to the incredible, luxurious and colorful fabrics that African women wear about their heads and bodies. They are woven from sturdy cotton and screen-dyed with the most inspiring patterns. Many of them have quotes written in swahili that run around the hem or waist depending on how you choose to wear it. As with many things in Dar Es Salaam, you bargain the merchant down until the both of you come to an agreeable price. Although this can be fun and interactive, is it really worth it to argue over a couple thousand Tanzanian shillings, which amount to about 1 or 2 USD; money you can surely spare?

 Give him what he asks for, as long as it's within reason, and be comforted that you helped the economy.

We were sure to visit the Karikou market on Saturday morning.

 Barrels of rice, beans and peas were spread out along the sidewalk and alley ways.

 Men and women beckoning you to buy their delectable, fresh vegetables, fruits and meats. "Brother, sister, karibu!" They would say, and hold up some produce for you to inspect. The tomatoes were plump and juicy, the greens: hydrated and firm.

 Layers upon layers of delicious colors! This isn't the Africa I read about! Why is there so much fresh food here? So many delicious choices and so many happy, fed people?? "Oh Africa... if they have lied about you, they have lied about everything!"

These questions played over in my mind as we walked to Nyerere Road in search of the Scandinavia Bus Terminal. It is here that we would purchase tickets for our 9 hour bus ride to Arusha the following day. 

ARUSHA

After an early but slow start, (the bus broke down, and this added another hour or so to our trip), we were finally en route to Arusha from Dar Es Salaam. 

Literally, this trip is by far the most scenic and inspiring 9 hours of my life. 

 As we drove North and further inland, we passed mountains, acres and acres of ruby red earth and acres still of cultivated farmland. 

Children playing, men laughing and women pounding cassava to make dough are some of the sights I captured during this journey. The air was brisk and smelled of damp, sweet, fertile earth. An occasional waft of cinnamon or a slowly simmering stew would find its way into the bus, bringing a smile to everyone's face. Just as I was mentally and emotionally drifting off into those green, rolling African hills, 

and absorbing the smells and the feel of the cool, misty breeze on my cheeks... BAM. The girl in the seat ahead of me, closed...the....window!!!!!

 Certainly she couldn't be serious!

 Being my annoying, gracious self, and not wanting to appear selfish, and inconsiderate of her feelings, I left the window closed. About 4 minutes had passed before we drove by the Nguru mountains. Grabbing my camera, I threw courtesy to the wind- literally - and flung open the giant, heavy window. A mighty gush came flying through, bringing with it the smell of spice and earth that I was silently reveling in. I breathed deep, mesmerized by the beauty. 

Thinking back on this moment, despite it's infinite incredibility, I felt angry and betrayed; like a child who comes face to face with her birth mother after 25 years of not even knowing that she was adopted. I still have no idea what I expected of Africa. Who did I think she would be? I was moved almost to tears as a little boy smiled and waved at the passing bus. I longed to know his name. Dusty and cheerful, he ran back inside his home and just like that, would never be a part of my life. 

Our journey continued. We passed small rivers, small towns, small farms, small markets and small gatherings of people. Then out of nowhere... THE MIGHTY KILIMANJARO with Kibo (the peak) piercing the sky. All I could do was stare at the snowcapped wonder and be thankful for the moment. We were nearing the end of our journey around dusk. Mount Meru was softly wrapped in a blanket of pink and orange, with low-lying, fire-lighted clouds framing its lush, green face. 

Just when my senses were overwhelmed with allure, we arrived at Karama lodge and Spa, which would be our home-base for the next 3 days. (Shout out to Chef Peter Mukusyo, who was so gracious and creative in handling our vegan dietary requests)...

Infinite Destination Wedding, Barbados

The idea of a destination wedding- (more often than not) beachside, perhaps barefoot with breezes blowing- is a desirable and magical concept. It is definitely worth it to leave the stresses and boredom of the cities and suburbs where you live, and exchange vows with sand between your toes (or the soft grass of a perfectly manicured Caribbean garden), with the gentle afternoon sun caressing your skin. This in itself is nothing short of an incredible dream come true. July 11th, 2009, on the small island of Barbados (my home and now second true love), I exchanged vows with the man I love. This is my blessing and I am happy to share my thoughts with you...

But first, imagine a backdrop of glistening ocean and a lightly-layered gown billowing in the soft sea-breezes. The smiling Caribbean sun is casting the face of my loved one in a perfect glow.

Imagine the fragrant green of a South Coast cliff-side and the rolling of water with its rhythmic collision of waves against rock. Imagine cloads floating East-bound... lingering... long enough for a calming shade, then fleeting and settling all fears of rain. Now, let me interlock my arm in my father's and approach HIM.

He has been waiting and I am a perfect glory to behold. Let me not forget to SMILE!!

This is my day and it has come at long last. There has been no other moment in my whole life such as this! I take his hand , look him in the eyes.

There is no need to fight the tears. This is my sincerest time, and today, everything is as it should be. (However, let me try not to smudge the mascara!) Now, listen to him.

His heart is open and his vows are true.

I squeeze his hands to let him know that I receive these words with absolute trust and absolute love. Smiling gently, I express the promises of friendship, laughter, honesty, understanding and happiness. Everyone here is a witness that our love is everlasting. How handsome he looks today!

Now ... the kiss... and the love song begins...

Infinite Paris

Paris in Springtime promised infinite beauty, culture (however relative), art, architecture, romance, poetry, satisfaction and bliss. Paris in the spring of 2009 for my friend Alison and I, fell a hair short of our delusional, fancified demands and left us feeling slightly under-whelmed, like children who watch entirely too much television. We went wide-eyed and open, suitcases bursting at the seams with our chic and most glamourous. Our intentions were to leave a mark on Paris, soak in some fashion inspiration, be a tourist for a day or 2 and knock back a few bottles of moderately priced Bordeau in the interim. 

Delusion #1: I am a strict vegan, devoted to an organic, natural lifestyle who went to Paris expecting that this would be normal, or dare I say, even heard of. 

Delusion #2: I, like many English speaking foreigners, felt that a trip to Paris with a repertoire of about 15 french words and maybe 4 phrases would never be offensive and annoying to the French, but would actually be met, at best, with interest, at worst, with apathy. 

Delusion #3: Paris is that fairy-tale that jumps out at you from the pages of couture magazines, where the waif-thin women are impeccably styled, the men, chic and chivalrous, and the architecture reminiscent of a fabulous and forgotten time. 

Allow me to share Paris, as I experienced it. I expected to find an overt, and forceful grandeur; a tyrannical beauty that would slap me upside the head and point out all the reasons I did not fit in. Instead, I was met with a quaint and hidden luster that refused to acknowledge, let alone embody, a tourist's stereotypical expectations. And rightfully so. It was only after I returned home, and looked through my photos that I found all of the details that had eluded me. 

The meticulously chiseled elements of Notre Dame's architecture, framed by the softness of pink cherry blossoms is breathtaking. A field of tulips blooming in Luxembourg gardens, may not necessarily be worth a mention to most people, but  for some strange reason, these were the biggest tulips I had ever seen.

 It's definitely the small things., and it is this amazing combination of small things (and one specific famous, big thing) that makes Paris what it is. It's an invitation to fall in love. 

To walk along the River Seine hand in hand, stopping only for a passionate, public kiss... every 10 or so seconds along the way. It's the lingering tangy-sweet of a "vin rouge" at a small cafe in the open night air. It's the flirtatious smile of a handsome stranger on the other side of the Metro platform, seconds before he boards a train to obscurity. It's the french fries (extra salt and ketchup sil vous plait), a black currant sorbet in the unexpected April heat, and the strange, fleeting desire to smoke a cigarette, if only for an out-of-body thrill. 

And then you see it, and reality comes rushing back. The Tour Eiffel. Imposing, unnecessary, fantastic. I wanted to love it right away, but that would make me a groupie; the girl who went

 to Paris and loved the Eiffel Tower. Where was the originality in that?

I tried to capture fragments and perspectives, something that would make this experience different from everyone else's. 

But however I carved it up, I was impressed, and I would have to get over that. Shapes, angles, curves, patterns, symmetry, precision. It really was a glory... real talk! It was in that moment that I exhaled and thought, wow, I'm really standing

under the Eiffel Tower. THE Eiffel Tower. And then that instant of groupie-love fizzled when I saw the line of people waiting to go to the top. I contemplated it for a second, I will admit, but then I came to my senses. There was no way I would come to Paris and let a 2 hour queue deter me from climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The view, as you could imagine, was awesome, even on that partly foggy day, so naturally I returned to see the light show and experience the Tower by night. There are no words. The Eiffel Tower at night is just that, The Eiffel Tower At Night. There is nothing that compares, there is nothing that describes, there is no other way to know what that means, other than to be there, feeling your eyes widen and that involuntary smile come to your face. I suggest you wear a beret to add to the whole experience. It just seems right. :)

The Musee du Louvre, the Ancient Egyptian Obelisk of Luxor, the Arc du Triomphe, the Opera, the Pantheon, Avenue Champs d'Elysees and all the other must-sees

 were definitely covered, as they should be, on this trip. 

But as I said before, it was the little things that I found to be more impressive. A peep into an open doorway that revealed sunlight resting on spring blossoms, the relief in finding a place on a map that eluded you for hours (and several miles on foot), a sweet vegan treat in a vegetarian restaurant that you were told did not exist, a sparkly Chanel lipgloss, a new friend. 

These small moments cast in shadow the undesirable elements and are now my fondest memories of Paris. Would I tell a friend to visit? Or more importantly, would I return? Absolutely.