Matemwe

The thing about African names is that I don’t have to think too hard for a title… Their names satisfy my caprice… Matemwe. The place is as exotic as its name...
A gigantic stretch of extremely white sand followed by a layer of sea-weed making the color of the water darker, then turquoise blue water, then further away some rocks, and after the rocks, the waves, and then the blue of the ocean…and all seemingly endless…
Opposite the beach is the small fishing village with palm and coconut trees and small white houses.
In the morning, the women in their colorful clothes go knee deep in the sea to collect sea weed, and in the evenings, as the tide takes over, the children, the locals and the tourists jump into the warm ocean for a swim. A short boat-ride away from Matemwe is a small island with tremendous coral reefs and fish… totally worth snorkeling.

The Dala-Dala experience

As forewarned, we were packed like sardines, the journey was much longer than what could have been, it was dusty enough to have a layer or two of dust accumulated in my t-shirt and I developed a cramp on my legs since my upper body was swayed to one side and my legs were pushed to the other side making me absolutely immobile. But I was fine with all this.
The thing that shook me was a woman that entered the dala-dala with a live rooster and held it by its legs tied with a piece of cloth. She sat just two seats away from me and the eyes of the rooster and more importantly its beak faced directly one of my knees. Thankfully, the rooster was extremely calm and I tried to match it with my composure, except for once, when the woman specially manhandled it. The rooster shrieked and I jumped out of my seat. Cramps gone. I looked around and to my surprise, no one was making fun of me. People in the dala-dala started shouting loudly in Swahili, and rooster, as though a simple non-living object, was passed from hand to hand (avoiding mine of course) to the front of this African bus… to my deep relief.

Djembo, Tanzania!

The inefficiency of India was evaded thanks to the corruption of Tanzania. Two weeks prior to my departure, I had been preoccupied about the small leaflet signed by the doctor of the casualty department certifying that I had been yellow fever vaccinated. At the airport in Dar-Es-Salaam, on asking me where my yellow book was, I was led to an officer who handed me a brand new yellow book, amidst my cries that I did not want to get shot twice, to whom I literally paid fifty USD under the table. They told me “they were doing me a favor.” My book is nicely packed inside my bag now, where it states that I have been vaccinated for the yellow fever on 20th September, 2009, six days subsequent to my arrival in Tanzania.

First things first, I had to clarify with the first person I met, my taxi driver who drove me to town, an issue which prioritized my mind. “I’m sorry. I have a silly question and I hope you can help me. Does Hakuna Matata mean something in Swahili?”

Yes, it does mean ‘no problem’.

Dusty roads, men and their six packs and well defined biceps, women with their beautiful lips and eyes and faces in general moving in grace with their splendid behinds dancing to imaginary beats, all in overly colorful clothes, gruff voices, Swahili, touts, the over apparent poverty that reigns, the disparity in which you see that most shops and restaurants are owned by either Indians, Pakistanis or people from Middle Eastern origins or Foreigners, whereas most Africans are either employees or on the streets, fewer than what should be seem to be owning a commercial property, the “Mambo!” and its response “Poa!”, the thumbs up, the smiles, the “Do you want to book Safari?” as soon as you reach….

….I am in Africa!

Diagonally opposite to where I was born, it took me a long time coming back…

Dar Es Salaam can at best be described as a rudimentary city where you can get what you need…. but, at a price! I had not foreseen Tanzania to be so expensive, and I’ll probably have to re-plan my budget. It took me two days to get away from Dar Es Salaam, away to the much more serene, much more beautiful Zanzibar. With its small alleyways, the beautiful colored Indian Ocean, its cafés, shops, the Firodhani Park which has quickly become my favorite sunset spot, and its people, Zanzibar and Stone Town have not failed to capture my wonder.

Day before yesterday in Firodhani Park, Ahmed came and sat next to me. He started talking to me, saying he wanted to practice his English since he is training to become a guide. He obviously did not lose an opportunity to make a commission out of me as he directed me to a hotel in Matemwe (I will be leaving for Matemwe tomorrow), but I did not mind because he took me to the local places to catch the Barcelona vs. Inter Milan match. The first place he took me was in Stone Town, in the middle of the street where locals gather to watch football matches on a TV usually hanging in the wall, but unfortunately, the TV on that day was missing. We finally ended up watching the match in a local bar, with men in their white kaftans or jump suits; these men seemed to shout at each other but then momentarily diffused the tension by breaking into loud burst of laughter, they chewed on tobacco twigs, dwelled in cigarette smoke and strong spicy coffee. The TV was a small 14 inch screen hanging on top in a wall with French commentary that nobody understood. The big chief of the clan of course made a late entry, but to no one’s protest, took a chair and seated himself right in front of the screen. Later, he turned back, looked at me with stern eyes and in perfect English asked me “Do you want coffee?”… when I replied in the affirmative, he took out a thermos, a very teeny tiny white cup, filled it with coffee and handed it to me… it is the strongest and spiciest coffee I had ever tasted. It was wonderful! The match of course, was a drag…

Tomorrow I will hopefully experience the dalla-dalla to go to Matemwe…

Wanderlust Snippets – Spiti Valley

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I reached Delhi.
I entered a coffee day and waited for my bus to Manali. I observed the people. Boys with a body showing that they go to the gym, but not quite there as yet, similar haircuts, clean shaved. Girls with a mix of ethnic and western clothes. They all have similar manners. We all look the same. The future of India. Stereotypes.

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New Manali – a place to run away from immediately. Beautiful surroundings, but typical crowded Indian hill station.
Old Manali is hippy refuge. Good laid back cafés and one can have nice walks, but I could probably only stay here for a couple of days.

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Coup de foudre à Kaza! A few guesthouses and a few cafés, but you visit a town where people live. It does not cater to tourist needs, but it caters to needs for the tourist who is willing to keep it basic and still be astounded by its imposing mountains.
A maze of small streets with white Tibetan houses in the middle of nowhere. A valley surrounded by dry brown mountains, clear blue sky, and wonderful sunshine. The Buddhist flags flitter with the wind. When I walk, I can only hear my footsteps. Here, under a tree, the songs of the birds and nothing else. Rosy cheeked Tibetan children smile as they walk past me. Wanderlust.

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Sometimes, words are unnecessary. Life speaks. Maybe in true nature, there is only kindness and truth and the rest is a manifestation to deal with humankind and avoid boredom.

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A solitary walk amidst mountains. 14 kms from Kaza, stands the astounding Ki Gompa where I was welcomed by three monks. One of them didn’t wish me hello, didn’t look at me and said “You have a cold and you’re eating an apple. The apple will make your cough worse”, he didn’t raise his head and went on to work on strengthening the breaks of his bicycle – my favorite monk. They invited me to lunch. I got a thali of dhal and rice. I sat on the floor and ate in the open sun, opposite the main temple. On the way back, I could not endure the sun, and so I hitched a ride back from a biker. My mouth is dry, my lips are cracking, I have a cold, my body aches, and yet, I feel wonder-full.

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Surrounded by mountains, I sat on the window sill of my room in the monastery and read a book facing an apple orchard!

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I roamed around the labyrinth of tiny white houses infested Tabo. At dead ends, I sometime stumbled upon a stack of mint scented plants, an old run down stitching machine, logs of wood, a greenhouse, or the Tabo monastery. Then, I sat on a step, smiled at people passing by and ate two chocolate cookies.

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On a jeep full of cylinders with a family from Poh village who have never visited the Dankar Gompa. We gave them a free lift to Kaza and they showered us with delicious apricots. On our way, villagers waived their hands at the driver and shouted reminders at him not to forget their cylinder refills on his return from Kaza!!

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