Tanzania: Spice Island Paradise & Masai Mountain Magic

Zanzibar.


The name itself whispers of delights unknown.


When we stepped off the rockin' 2 1/2 hour ferry-ride from Dar es Salaam, trying our best to retain our breakfasts...and went through the little passport control queue on the island, the man stamping our passports said "welcome to paradise". I figured he was just being friendly and charming - everyone likes to promote their home as a good and praiseworthy place. But...after a few days in Zanzibar, I fully concurred.


What's required for a place to qualify as "paradise"?...my list might include things like warm, but moderate temperatures, sun, blue sky, soft white sand, "ethereal blue-green waters" (that one's a direct quote from the Lonely Planet), friendly people, good food, including lots of coconut curries, exotic spices, fun fruit, chocolate pancakes, fruit smoothies.... check, check, check...


As lovely places go, Zanzibar was right up there with the loveliest of lovely.

We started by exploring the charming old "Stone Town" with it's meandering narrow streets, wafting aromas of well-spiced curries and zesty orange vendor carts. We had the unanticipated good fortune of arriving on the final day of the Zanzibar International Film Festival and watched the festival's winning film under a full-moon sky in an open air historical auditorium. It was all very lovely and magical - until the disc the movie was on started seizing up - gently reminding us that we were still in Africa where half the charm is that things don't often work.

Portrait of a Little Girl in Stonetown

Portrait of a Little Boy in Stonetown

Carving on typical Swahili wooden door

Market Colour

We risked being rather touristy and joined a group "Spice Tour". They take you on a tour of various areas where spices are grown and harvested on the island, let you taste, smell & feel the plants, give you samples of scrumptious tropical fruit and feed you an excellent Zanzibar Pilau lunch. We were okay with being touristy tourists for the day.

Cloves: Zanzibar's main export.

Care to guess? - Cardamom. Pretty, no?

A Rambutan (close relative of the Lychee).

It wins my prize as the funnest fruit.

Our spice tour ended at a lovely spot on the beach. And this is how we felt:


There's something so delicious about one's first barefoot steps in the sand, digging one's toes into the sand when it's been a long time. Deep soul satisfying. (And feels nice on the callouses too).


So we decided to leave town and head to the other side of the island for more beach, and the Lonely Planet's promised "ethereal blue-green waters" of Jambiani Beach.

We forgot to ask when boarding the dala-dala (mini-bus/truck) whether the estimated 3 1/2 hours journey was a direct trip or if it included breakdowns, 1 flat tire, or 2 flat tires. Again...loving reminders from dear sweet dysfunctional mamma africa.

Flat Tire #1: A quick change and we were back on the road.

Flat Tire #2: Oops, we only had 1 spare...umm...
eventually another fully loaded dalla-dalla will come
along and ALL of us can squeeze in to the crevasses
between the other people on the bus - no problem!

The end that justified the means.

How significant amounts of R&R time should always be spent:
sipping smooth fruity vitamin-rich goodness.

Wherever we ate or slept in Zanzibar, we always found very gregarious dread-locked rasta hosts who wanted to make sure we had everything we needed to be happy. This included things like invitations to stay with them forever in their little shacks behind the beach... That I turned down. However, I was rather charmed when after waiting exceptionally long for my mango smoothy in this tree-house restaurant I found out the waiter ran all the way into town to get me a mango. I told him he should have just told me they were out, but he said, "I just wanted your dreams to come true". Forget roses! - Mangoes...melt my heart every time.

The stairway to....?...heaven?? (notice how it's not very far away).

Well, the children of Ethiopia were awfully cute, but they have some serious competition from these Zanzibar schoolgirls.

I'm still not sure why I ever left Zanzibar, but somehow I was able to tear myself away with the knowledge that there's more good world out there to explore. (My inner nomad keeps me moving.) We bussed up to northern Tanzania to the city of Arusha, the home of the Masai people, and the area of Africa's tallest mountain: Kilimanjaro.

Mount Meru behind the maize fields.

Time kept me from joining my friends for an ambitious climb up Kili, and we spent our few remaining days together enjoying some day trips outside of Arusha. Again, we took the risk of being kitchy tourists and signed ourselves up for a couple of "cultural tourism trips". We had fears of awkward artificial poses with costumed "authentic tribal people" and forced dance presentations.

We ended up being very pleasantly surprised and impressed with our down-to-earth local Masai guides who took us on the crammed public mini-buses out to their home villages, where we walked in the hills, enjoyed the scenery, chatted about their culture and peered into a few homes.

Typical Masai Home

Proceeds from our reasonably priced tour went to community projects: a school rehabilitation, environmental awareness projects and water sources like this.


But just to be slightly the kitchy tourists we did let them dress Gabby up for a photo op.



A glimpse into yet another beautiful world.

Ethiopia: History, Mystery & Macchiatos

Over a month ago, I returned from my last "escape" from Sudan and enjoyed exploring a little more of Africa as I rested.

Here's Part 1 of my travels (Ethiopia) in photos:

Gonder: little town with fantastic fruit smoothies and a castle known as the "Camelot of Africa". I was thinking "Lord of the Rings" myself (Gonder, and a place called Shire too - didn't see any hobbits, but here's a painting of a saint that looks an awful lot like Gandalf)

Here's another old building, some history...looks like your standard "historic site", tourist point of interest....

...Until...you realize that this is a church built in the 1200's, not by brick and mortar, or stone blocks, or some other conventional form of construction. But rather, chipped and chiselled - by hand, by some impressively persistent villagers - out of a giant cliff of rock.

And wait, there's not 1 of them, but 11.

Because, who doesn't look at a large cliff of rock like the one below, and think: "alright, neighbours, let's get our chisels out and chip out a large church - Oh yes, and when we're finished, let's do 10 more." (Evidently, King Lalibela did.)


Lalibella: beautiful little village in the highlands, known for its 11 mysterious rock-hewn churches.

In this one you can see the still-attached "mother rock" that it was chipped from.


Here you see an entire cross-shaped church cut out of the rock around it.



I kept asking myself: "why? how?" and responding with, "amazing!"


So, how did they do it? The villages chipped away during the day, and at night, angels continued the work. I'm inclined to believe it. I'm pretty sure after carpel tunnel syndrome set in, and the chisel-weary villagers neared the end of each day, they started saying, "don't worry - let's call it a day - the angels will take care of the rest."


Pondering the mystery. Seeking the transcendent light.


Excellent travel companion, Gabrielle - joined me from Canada as my fellow explorer.


Pilgrims, priests and villagers continue to utilize these ancient churches, keeping them alive and active places of worship to this day.


Slightly anachronistic sunglasses, but they not only help with the flash photography, but also look way cool.



Where pilgrims and visiting nuns & priests sleep when they come to visit the churches. (We opted for a more "all-inclusive" option.)

The villagers of Lalibella were very friendly and hospitable. We made many small friends while in Ethiopia, and often had an entourage. Once we got passed the "hello, give me money" part of the conversation, the relationships were much more fulfilling.



Outside of the village: a day hike up to a monastary in the mountains.

Highlands view.

Children driving the plow in the mountains.


Ethiopia is famous for its coffee. And justifiably so. I'm not a coffee drinker. But I became one for the duration of my Ethiopia visit - otherwise I would have missed out on so much. Fresh roasted beans, smoking and wafted before you at your table, then ground with a mortar and pestle, and boiled in a clay pot for sipping at great strength and very sweet from a tiny cup, is the essential "coffee ceremony experience".


Clay coffee pots in Africa's biggest market in Addis Ababa.


In addition to the traditional coffee ceremony, every single cafe or restarant, no matter how dingy and homely, no matter how deep its hole in the wall, is bound to have a sleek, hissing cappacino machine in the back, and within moments of sitting down, you can be sipping a frothy macchiato with a cocoa dusting shaped into the image of a palm tree, or heart, or the word "enjoy", served in a stylin ceramic mug. The Italians occupied Ethiopia briefly (though, importantly, they never managed to colonize). They left behind a lovely cafe tradition, nice leather shoes and a spaggetti section on nearly every menu.


Tej, Ethiopian Honey Wine, with travel companions after a day magical adventures: fantastical history, lovely people, delicious platters of food on fermented bread that doubles as a napkin, good coffee and beautiful sites.

My New Hobby: Chicken Farming

It's late, I'm desperately behind in my work, I'm tired, stressed, and at serious risk of being grumpy tomorrow...BUT - it's the first of September, and in honour of a long-standing tradition, I am determined to make a small effort to give a mini update on one small piece of my life. Since I can't tackle it all just now, I'm going to stick with a few pictures, and an update on a new hobby I've recently taken up. Yes: chicken farming.

A few months ago one of our staff gave me a rooster as a gift (flown in from one of our field locations in a box). I decided I'd rather like to keep him instead of eating him, and that I should really get a hen. One week later, a family currently living in Kenya, with plans of coming to work in Juba, asked if they could send ahead their last remaining hen as they packed up their home (the others were all eaten by a black mamba - she was the lone survivor). And thus...I embarked on an exciting new adventure in rearing livestock.

Romeo: my first rooster.

Lady Loki: my first hen.

Initial accommodation arrangements were rather unsatisfactory.

I constructed this myself. It was the best dog-proof
structure/obstacle I could create in a hurry.

Introducing the chickens to their new home.

Realizing my inadequate skills in construction, I recruited the assistance of one of our logisticians, who happens to be an architect by training. Soon he was making sketches & out with a hammer. I helped pound nails under his careful tutelage. A vast improvement. Thanks CL - I still owe you some eggs! Notice Rocky (the dog) and his keen interest in the whole event. Luckily, the new structure is not only aesthetically pleasing, but also impenetrable.

Making sure the chickens are comfortable.
Encouraging Lady Loki to start laying eggs.

Romeo: a portrait of a handsome rooster.


Lady Loki: what lovely whiskers & chin flaps you have.

The happy couple in their new home.
(Actually, I sensed there was some tension and inter-cultural
strain in the relationship. Lady Loki is about twice Romeo's size,
and he's Sudanese while she's Kenyan. They seem to have
worked out all the kinks in the relationship now.)

The happy chicken farmer.
Very very proud and pleased with the first egg.
I promptly showed it off to all the neighbours. (It took Lady
Loki 2 + months to "settle in" and start laying eggs. She was
growing dangerously near to the point of meeting a soup pot.)

There were 11 happy days of collecting eggs each day (just as gratifying as an Easter egg hunt - every day!) And then there were omelettes, scrambled, crepes... Mmmm...

But tragically, Lady Loki has since stopped laying eggs again. Despite some serious chicken psychoanalysis, I've yet to get to the root of the problem. I believe it's based in suppressed memories of when all her co-hens were massacred by a black mamba followed by the trauma of flying from Kenya to Sudan. We're trying to work through it.

Now it is really and truly time for bed, but if I decide to rebel against the madness & steal some time to write in the next few weeks, you can look forward to the following updates: Adventures in Ethiopia & Tanzania, More Juba Fun, and What will Kendrah do next in Life.