Tanzania

December 31st – January 1st

Mikadi Beach, Dar es Salaam

So it is a new year. I brought it in on the beach, with the skyline of Dar es Salaam glowing in the distance and bursting with fireworks. We lit a bonfire in the sand where the tide had already retreated.  Farther out, a nearly full, but waning moon glowed across the water.  It had taken me a grueling thirty-five hours on a decrepit bus to arrive from Zambia. During the ride, I had alternated between sleep, tortured wakefulness, fear of flying off the road, and a suffocated hope that someone would open a window. The best part of the ride was at sunset, when we were just a few hours outside of the city. Against the pink and purple highlights of the sky, I saw giraffes grazing on trees at the side of the road and elephants moving across a green field.

On the first day of the year, I laze around the beach camp, reading my book, swimming in the pool, and chatting with my friend Emmy who has flown from America to visit. It is nice to have company again, a witness to my triumphs and grievances of Africa.

Against the blues and whites of the ocean landscape, Maasai tribesmen, dressed in robes of scarlet, shell necklaces, and leather sandals move across the sand with their walking sticks in hand. Many of them serve as guards in the cities after migrating from Northern Tanzania, where they live in the areas surrounding and within the national parks.  They are a semi-nomadic tribe of cattle herders that arrived in Tanzania about two hundred years ago.  As my last stop in Africa, I am glad to be once again among a culture that seems rich and deep, less tainted by western ideals, and willing to join tradition with development. I buy phone credit from one of the Maasai. He doesn’t speak English; he is dressed traditionally; and he owns a Samsung.

January 2nd – January 5th

Zanzibar

Stonetown is a labyrinth of stone buildings, coated with dirt and moss. The blues and greens of the wooden-slatted windows are paint-chipped and paled by the sun, and their colors bleed down the side of the walls. Peaking inside their doors one can see everything from workers welding metal to women frying chipati on cook-stoves that are fired by coal. The city feels weathered by the elements, by the rush and toll of workers, and the treaded paths of tourists. Even our hotel room feels like an antique with its wooden canopy beds with painted carvings on the headboards.

Arabic resounds throughout the streets, from phone ringtones, the radio, and the minuet at the mosque. Many women are fully covered in long black dresses, with only their eyes showing from the slit in their hijab. The men are dressed less traditionally, no longer wearing robes, but preserving the small round cap. Passing by them are western tourists in shorts, tank tops and mini-skirts. The souvenir shops are full of wood-carved figurines, bright painting of the Massai, spectrums of scarves, beaded jewelry, and boxes shaped like Africa.

The locals are excessively friendly, - to the point of irritation. “Jambo,” they call out as you pass. I am surprised by how often it sounds genuine. Although some men use it deviously for sales or harassment, most say it with pride that visitors want to come and see their beautiful country. The markets are fairly calm in comparison to others in Africa I have visited.

Indian food and culture pepper the landscape and ambience of the island. Zanzibar is one of the leading producers of spices in the world. I toured a demonstration plot, where a variety of fruits and spices grew. I smelled the sharp smokiness of clove bark, stained my fingers with the vibrant scent of cumin, and tasted the sweetness of star fruit and cardamom seeds. I have traveled to so many places and seen so many things, but during the spice tour my senses of smell, taste and touch were able to explore.

January 8th and 9th

Tarangire National Park and Ngorongoro Crater (Serengeti)

I can’t imagine ever going to a zoo again. The animals themselves were amazing, but against the canvas of one of the most beautiful natural wonders in the world, it was surreal.  The Ngorongoro Crater was created by a volcano that exploded then collapsed inward, creating a caldera about seventy kilometers in circumference. The landscape holds every shade of green, blue and purple that exists, and within the crater bowl rhinos, zebras and wildebeests, lions and elephants dot the plains.

Visiting the crater, I felt as if a children’s book had come alive around me, like any moment something impossible could happen – an animal would lead me to a secret cave of treasures or a pterodactyl would come screeching over the mountain top. All around there was the story’s whisper in the hills, the colors, the scent of fresh air and the light sprinkle of rain on my skin. The place seemed magical.

The animals were free and proud. Lions snuggled each other’s faces, rolled over and cuddled their bodies close, and batted at each other playfully. Zebras and wildebeest, known for their symbiotic relationship (the latter have poor eyesight and rely on Zebras during the day but then protect them during the night with their acute hearing) grazed among each other in mixed herds.

In that crater there was an unspoken language, an intelligence beyond human’s.

I saw a pride of lions attempt a hunt. They gathered in a strategic formation, the first one in the middle, then a few moments later another circled around on the left, and finally a third came to the right side of a herd of wildebeests. Their ears were tucked back; they slinked slowly forward in the grass and hunkered down in their positions. The wildebeests froze and watched them as the minutes ticked by in silence. Finally, deciding they could not make the kill, the lions turned and rejoined the pride.

When I was nine years old, I visited the Columbus zoo for my birthday.  I complained the entire time and both my parents and I agreed I should never return. I had sensed the groggy lifelessness of the animals and was saddened. The animals may be safe, but their life is without the joy, vibrancy, energy that emanates from them in their natural habitat. Zoos protect their lives, but they also kill their spirit. Conservation areas do both.