diving off Zanzibar

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Today was supposed to be a pool day at Mtoni Marine, my resort on Zanzibar’s west coast. But because it keeps raining on and off, I am instead sitting in the open-air sports bar called Mcheza Bar, watching soccer, listening to a mixture of Coolio rap songs and bad disco music, and watching an orange cat (one of several inhabiting the resort) wonder around looking for food. Every once in a while a mule will walk by on the beach a few steps down. I just had a pineapple and avocado pizza, which was delicious, along with a coke. I’m not sure why, but there is a shortage of Coke Light (diet Coke), so I have been drinking the real thing.

I arrived Friday evening, after a 20-minute ride in a 12-seater plane. I had the chance to sit in the co-pilot seat, which was one of the coolest things I have done. Actually, this was the second time I sat in the cockpit on an African flight, the first being on a flight home from South Africa back in 2001. But this one was much cooler because I actually got to see the ground and watch the pilot play with all of the gadgets during the flight. On the flight back from South Africa, the pilots were actually reading the paper and drinking coffee because they were on autopilot.

My trip was set up by a tiny travel agent in Dar. They put me at a resort on the west coast so I would be close to Stone Town. The rooms are clean and air conditioned, but very simple. My bed is as hard as a rock, but the shower is hot. When I arrived, the guy who carried my luggage showed me everything there was to show in my room. “Now let me show you this, this is soap for face. Now let me show you this, this is soap for body in shower. Now let me show you this. This is safe for your things.”

There is a sports/sushi bar on the resort and a regular restaurant that serves a lot of seafood, an infinity pool, a little spa, and a little gift shop. There is also a concierge who would be happy to send you in a car to whatever tourist site you might want to see, but prices are double for me on many excursions since I am alone. For my package, I got 2 nights at the resort, flights, airport transfers, and a foot massage all for $260, which is quite a steal for anywhere you might travel. That was even the more expensive “single” rate. Little did I know that being here alone would be made very apparent all weekend.

It started Friday night with a romantic dinner by candlelight on the beach—alone. I didn’t mind too much, especially when a different cat came to ask for a piece of my fish. There was even a 3-piece band playing Swahili songs to keep me entertained. They played for the lesbian couple next to me (which was interesting since homosexuality is illegal here—didn’t think it would be much of a vacation destination for them), and then came to play for me, alone. But the servers were cute, as they memorized my name, talked to me about Obama (who is loved by so many people here), and even gave me a port wine nightcap.

Saturday was my adventure day. I went scuba diving with a place called One Ocean. I was a little wary of diving alone, or with people I don’t know, but the place was a PADI 5-star dive shop run by foreigners. The boat was an old wooden thing with a lot of character, but it was very sturdy. There were about 10 people on the boat, 3 guides, and 3 boatmen. And there were several women on the dive, which is quite unusual. I am so used to being one of two or even the only woman on a dive.

Because I have advanced certification, I was partnered with a woman from Connecticut, of all places, so that we could dive deeper. She and her infectious disease doctor boyfriend live in Seoul at the moment. He travels around Africa and Asia doing work for some vaccine institute, and she follows him and works on webpage-building business. They were a really nice couple, and she turned out to be a good dive buddy. Our guide was a Finnish woman who has a biology degree but works for the Finnish Embassy. Diving is her weekend hobby.

The dive was good, but not phenomenal, as I had hoped. We did two of them, one at a place called Bewa North, and the other at Bewa South. We saw lots of starfish, nudi fish, clown fish, a few stingrays, a lobster, and an amazing leaf fish that really does look like a wavy green leaf. The water was pretty clear on the first dive, but not as much on the second. In the middle during our surface interval, we munched on fresh fruit, samosas, chapatti, and other battered and fried veggies. The weather was beautiful until the end of the ride back to the shore, when it started to drizzle, and the color of the water was beautiful. It was a big success overall, and I felt proud having pushed myself to pursue the whole adventure on my own.

After lunch at the hotel sports bar and a very hot shower, I ventured back into Stone Town to do some shopping and check out the scene. That section of town is very old and has a big Muslim influence in the architecture. Tiny streets wind in between white concrete buildings, which have shops tucked into the rooms on the bottom floors. I made my way through the streets, looking in every art gallery I came across for a big painting for our living room wall. At one point, a thin young man dressed in a green polo shirt asked me if I wanted to see the spice market. Although I wanted to, I figured I didn’t have enough time because I told the taxi driver who was waiting for me that I would be a couple of hours. But then the man started following me shop to shop, pointing out sights along the way and directing me to better art galleries. Somewhere along the line I realized what was happening—he was playing tour guide with the hope that I would pay him at the end.

He eventually led me to a very old stone palace with a little art and crafts market set up inside the fortress walls. It was there that I finally found the painting I was looking for, after having looking at the work of probably 20 other vendors. Everyone watched as I asked the vendor to take the large painting off the wall of the tiny shop and hold it up outside under the dwindling sunlight. And I let the “tour guide” hold my bags while I took photos of the palace. I gave him 5000 TSZ at the end and a ride in my taxi to his next destination down the road, and he seemed content. He also gave me his business card, which was obviously designed by him and printed on a home printer.

Zanzibar, at least what I saw of it, is a very conservative Muslim society. The few women that are out and about are mostly dressed in full chadors and hijab, some of them revealing nothing but their eyes. I am all for religious freedom of women who want to wear the hijab, but seeing women with heavy black coverings in the sweltering heat with only their eyes visible breaks my heart. I don’t think Muslim women are downtrodden or helpless—there are plenty of examples of them who consider themselves feminists and are fighting for women’s rights while still covering themselves. But when a woman’s identity is erased by covering her entire face…. What is the benefit of that, other than to dissuade men from looking at them—something that grown men should be able to control anyway.

One of the funniest things I saw on Zanzibar was a woman with a hijab riding on the back of a motorbike, presumably with her husband or brother. She had a helmet over the hijab. The random mule wandering around was also amusing.

Sunday was supposed to be my pool day, lying by the infinity overlooking the (somewhat muddy) beach and watching the boats go by. But it was raining on and off, so I only had about ½ an hour there. I did have a foot massage, however, which was part of my weekend package. It felt nice, especially after the rigorous day I had on Saturday. A Tanzanian woman owns the little spa at the hotel, called Mrenda Spa. It was no more than a little bungalow decked out in everything pink. A large framed photo of the owner was prominently displayed out on the porch where I had my massage, which I thought was especially funny given that she was there that day. I was served “spice tea” and had the scent of rose oil wafting through my nose. It was very relaxing. I tried to have my eyebrows waxed or threaded as well, but the woman ended up just plucking them instead. It’s funny how little things get lost in translation.

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