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Published: September 1st 2013
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Stone Town reminded me a little of Morocco or Turkey or even India. There wasn’t a lot that screamed hey, you’re in Africa now. It has those winding ramshackle little streets that are as alluring when you’re in a good mood as they are sinister and claustrophobic when you’re lost after dark. My hostel was so deep within them, I never managed to find it first attempt.
That first night I wandered down to the street food market on the waterfront and ate everything they had going. This was partly motivated by hunger, part overexcitement and part the feeling that if I’m going to be in Africa for six months I might as well attempt to inoculate myself against as many pathogens as possible right from day one. The sun going down over the water was gorgeous, local kids were running and jumping from the end of their pier, I was high on a mixture of sleep deprivation and cheap barbequed seafood.
One of the hard as nails Africa veteran NGO workers I met later informed me that the lobster they sell here isn’t real lobster, just some sort of white fish dyed red with spices. Whatever it was
it was fucking tasty and about $2, so I couldn’t care less really. I was also delighted to drink sugar cane juice with lime and ginger for the first time in years, because it tastes like my previous adventures in other tropical parts of the world.
I didn’t do a lot in Stone Town except eat and wander around hopelessly lost. I’m not sure what other options there are, really. I stayed two nights then moved on to one of the beaches. I went there by Dala Dala, which is a kind of bus with no walls, or brakes, or apparent upper limit on number of passengers. They are however insanely cheap… I paid TSH 4000 for a trip across the island (haggled down from 10000, with the local price probably around 2500).
My destination was Paje, a beach on the east coast of the island picked almost at random. I don’t have a guidebook, but I recognised the name and had heard vaguely positive things. The Dala Dala continued to stop along the way, accumulating passengers until there were people hanging off the doors. After about an hour, an authoritative looking man in uniform stepped into the
Sunrise (just to mix it up a bit)
Me at the other girl in my room got up at 6am for this. middle of the road and tried to flag us down. The diver seemed to briefly consider whether just running him over might be an option. The policeman marched over and addressed our driver. I only know 5 words of Swaheli, but I recognised the universal language of a bollocking. He seemed to have taken exception to there being 35 people in our minivan, half of whom were standing or sitting on other passengers. A heated and theatrical exchange followed, during which people seemed to be arguing over who was going to have to get off. To their credit, no one at any point appeared to suggest it should be me or other nervous looking foreign girl who should have to disembark. In the end the matter was settled to everyone’s satisfaction with a small bribe. The policeman and the driver were immediately best mates again. The van wobbled back into motion, stopping to pick up yet more passengers as soon as we were round the next bend.
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Samuel David
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Good one..keep them coming.