TANZANIA . TROPICAL ISLAND FROLICKING

Mood status: Bogan beach babe

Location: White sandy beaches of Zanzibar, Tanzania

THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY! We have finally landed in Zanzibar after 2 long days of driving, half a day out on the sea, and 3 weeks of anticipation. Zanzibar, for those who haven’t heard of it, is a tropical island famous for its flawlessly white beaches and the slave trade that took place here hundreds of years ago. I’m happy to report that for the first time in 20 days, we actually get to sleep in a bed.

Exploring Stonetown on our first day here entailed a historical tour through the narrow winding streets of the beautiful city, and then onto a spice tour to learn and sample the renown Tanzanian condiments. The tour guy, aka Spice Boy, had transformed us into creatures of the forest by the time we were ready to leave.

Cocktails were downed on the rooftop of an amazing bar that night, as were a few puffs of candy-flavoured tobacco from a shisha. It was a peaceful night with the best kind of small talk and reflection, and I had much welcomed time to really “smell the flowers”.

I took a look at myself. In my right hand: a beer. My left hand: a shisha pipe and a hideously large henna tattoo*. My bottom half: the world’s most comfortable McHammer pants made by the locals. My hair: a messy bun. My face: zero makeup. Everything that wasn’t me was exactly what I was at that very moment, and it was so liberating. 

Photo strategically cropped.

I can’t say much about what I’ve done since although 2 days have passed. The first day I literally sat at the beach bar for about 15 hours, enjoying the company of others, drinking cocktails and dominating people at games of pool (fail safe way to get free drinks). Every now and then I’d take a dip in the crystal clear water. And then I did the same the next day.

I’ve eaten so much the past 3 weeks which is completely the opposite of what I thought I would be doing here in Africa. Without a doubt, I’ll be coming back a whole lot bigger and a whole lot blacker.. booyah!

*Once you start you can’t stop. Had a lady add to my already massive tribal-looking tattoo today with some more delicate strokes. I wonder how this is going to go down when I go for interviews when I return!

MALAWI . WEIRD OCCURRENCES

Mood status: Beached as

Location: Chitimba Beach, Malawi

Yet another “beachfront” camping site on Lake Malawi for a slice of technology-free heaven, except of course for the wretched gadgets that us white people (“mzunga”) bring in.

Last night was the first night that all of us “hit the piss” believe it or not, and we did it in unfashionable style. Each of us had to pick up a $3.50 outfit from the markets for a tour-mate whose name was picked out of a hat. Fate and a little bit of bad luck would have me looking the homosexual love child of Ronald McDonald and Noddy.

This morning was amazingly exhausting. This village walk was the best by far, mainly because we got to interact with the children at the local school, and boy were there SWARMS of them! I nearly got bowled over handing out candy to them, but all the cuts and bruises (which there are many) are overlooked because they are so damn cute. They all want to hold your hand and their smile can melt an iceberg of a heart.

The village hospital is almost inhumane. They really just have so little here, and while the images are flashed all over the big screen about poverty here in Africa, it doesn’t do reality justice. They don’t even have a qualified doctor to treat the 40,000 or so patients. Nothing is sterile. Maternity beds don’t even have mattresses on them. The expectant mothers come to the ward 2 weeks early with their cooking pots and literally wait, cook and live outside under a tree until they’re ready to give birth. And forget about any type of emergency service, complications during birth are only attentioned after a 4-hour hellish ride to the nearest “proper” hospital. People bleed out in seconds.

The village walk took us to the first witch doctor I’ve ever met in my life. I don’t even really know what to say, and excuse my French, but it was the biggest mind-fuck I’ve ever experienced. For about $1.50 you go into his hut unaccompanied, watch him do his ritual dance and then get your fortune read. I know this is completely insensitive, but the witch doctor kept doing this… what I can only describe as a creepy high-pitched shrill… during my reading and it was just fucked. So fucked. I wanted to laugh so hard but I just couldn’t.

Tomorrow we’re heading into Tanzania and ultimately through to Zanzibar, a tropical island just off the coast. But before we get there, there are a few long drives ahead which means that I’ll have to get through a library of books and listen to Labrinthe for the 12349862395^th time on my iPod as he loops around.. ugh. 

MALAWI . TWO CENTS WORTH

Mood status: Taking 5 minutes to even identify what mood I’m in. Is there such thing as a ‘nothing’ mood?

Location: 2^nd row window seat on my dear truck somewhere in Malawi

Kande (pronounced Kan-dee) Beach was about the sun, surf and sand and not prostitutes and psychedelics as its name might have advocated. Spending the last 2 days at Lake Malawi, which quite frankly resembles a beach more than a lake, was so relaxing and completely un-African. We spent hours snorkeling, jumping off some pants-shitting cliffs on Kande island and spent many lazy hours allowing the African sun to lather us in melanoma. So the western nature of it all means that this would be a good time to reflect on the more cultural things I’ve done over the past 2 weeks my blog has somehow managed to neglect.

I find myself staring out the window of the truck a lot, partly because there’s literally nothing better to do and partly because you can take in so much. The either brick, straw, wood and aluminium clustered houses are aptly termed as popcorn cities, due to the quick time it takes for some of these communities to pop up in the most barren of places.

If it’s not an elephant or zebra strolling on the side of the road, there are beautiful children screaming and waving and running as the truck passes by. The funniest and most heart-melting thing we saw was 2 cheeky young boys smiling from ear to ear as we passed and dancing like the Brazilian dancing baby internet sensation – YouTube it.

Did my mum have relations in Africa? I gained 40 new African siblings who insisted that I was their “sister”. Celebrations of discovering a long-lost sister however were always marred by the conversation-stopping topic of how much cash I had – and more importantly how much I was willing to spend. My brothers’ shops were adorned with the most colourful jewellery, clothing and hand-paintings, as well as skillfully crafted wood carvings of.. anything and everything. My bartering skills are pretty down pat now – and my technique of not settling for anything more than half price has served me well.

The weather is… strange. During the days it’s hot and the wind is dry. The nights can sometimes be excruciatingly cold. But then every now and then you get a day that’s cold and windy but can bring on sweaty nights. For the main part, it’s notoriously hot. With no dirty business to it, this morning I awoke sprawled in my tent with my pajama pants down around my ankles. Such is the heat.

Some of these communities are among the poorest in the world but as cliché as this sounds, are also among some of the happiest I’ve ever met. But as humanity would have it, they are not without problems and while their problems are “simple”, they’re devastating. The lack of clean water and sanitation is a cold-blooded killer in many of the towns and not surprisingly many live under the poverty line. Where I am seems worlds apart from where I’ve come from. I’m not too sure whether I feel angry, saddened or worse, pity. I just know that it’s not fair and in the famous words of Pauline Hanson (God forbid I ever quote this woman again), “I just don’t like it”.

I’m not too sure what this trip is doing to me, but I feel like I’m slowly turning into a left-wing hippy that can do without checking Facebook after dinner every night. I don’t know if it’s the lack of my own luxuries combined with a culture that kinda “makes sense” in its 3^rd worldly state, but I’m tackling materialism and consumerism head on right now. That being said, it’s all happening in my head because the MacBook Air I’m staring at this very moment would be suggesting otherwise.

ZAMBIA . FILTH

Mood status: Amazonian

Location: Bus en route to Maoun, Zambia

I need to blog about dirt.

For those who know me well, I’m probably what you would call a clean freak but the bodily kind. I don’t mind general dust and dirt on things but just not on my body. And a very small part of me going on this one-month camping odyssey around Africa was to cure this crippling disease that prevents me from enjoying many wonderful things in life. I can hear my uni girls laughing even all the way from Africa, ‘cause you girls know what I’m talking about!

Well.. I. Am. Filthy!

My fingernails are never clean. My feet are dirtier than some of the soles of my shoes back in Australia. There is a beehive in my hair. I haven’t even shaved my legs since I’ve gotten here. And now before you all judge, everyone is equally as festy, if not worse (some have been on tour for 3 weeks already). I have to admit, I still take 2 showers a day and so I do manage to regain some hygiene, but I get paid out about it so much. One of the girls even yelled out to me, “going for your 3^rd shower Catherine?”, when I was heading to the toilet to pee.

In all fairness, a shower here so far has been like standing under a broken drainpipe. You don’t ever really get clean.

But you know what? In a weird kind of way, I think I have embraced the dirt, and could it be, that I am cure?