JL | journal

Having departed from paradise only that morning, the 12 hours in the ‘1st class cabin’ of the cargo ship Spice Islander was twice as close to hell as it already was.

As we arrived at the ship that evening, the loading dock was already flooded by the flesh of men, women and children. Children below our waists were being crushed; old ladies unable to move in any direction were desperately screaming for help; the police with wooden sticks furiously attempting to create some sort of order; and the rest of the people tenaciously resisting those attempts. In short, it was just like in the movies: as if the island was sinking, or aliens coming from right behind, everyone was fighting with their lives to board the last ferry.

The first class had tables, air conditioning which was as good as absent, and a population density of about 8 people per square meter. The floor was covered first with a layer of luggage then another of bodies. It was nearly impossible to move in the cabin. Fighting our way to the bathroom required stepping on things we would usually avoid; returning to our seats after using the bathroom, with our sole still moist, made us feel extra guilty. The benches had small cockroaches crawling around occasionally, which I had to kill and vaporize swiftly before Sandy would notice them. It was a suffering even for the Tanzanian standard.

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The lady at the booth of Sea Express –the most recommended company for the Dar Es Salaam—Zanzibar route– was too uninterested in dealing with me that she somehow ignored my (certainly audible) signals for almost a good minute before looking up. That was enough for me to decide to travel with another company in that sea of competition. For half the price (but also at half the speed), we went with Flying Horse. Trip duration was 3 hours, as written on the board outside the tickets booth, although the sales person insisted that it would only take two, at most two and a half, because the company had just installed a new engine on the ferry. Sure.

The three hour spent inside the 1st class cabin was our most comfortable travel thus far. A/C, wide cushioned sofas, static-free television, and a comprehensible conversation in variously accented English. It was a fitting appetizer for our destination— the other-worldly Zanzibar.
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After the 10-hour torture on the front end of the bus where the steaming heat of the hauling engine penetrates right through our seats, we got off at Rombo, some kilometers before Dar Es Salaam.

Benja, our travel companion, has a sister who lives in Rombo. That day she graduated from the University of Dar Es Salaam, and so we visited her home to congratulate her. At one point she pulled out a very fancy DSLR, which I was quite surprised (as the cost of that camera is quite comparable to the cost of the building they’re living in). Turns out, it was our friend David’s camera. David was kind enough to lend his tool of trade out for this special occasion. David lives in Arusha, so the camera came all the way from there.

At the end of the night, she passed the camera to Stephen* asking him to bring it back to Arusha to David with him. Of course, things went wrong, and the camera, in the mist of transferring vehicles and searching for a place to stay for the night, was left behind in a taxi. By the time, it was too late to have anything done about it.
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From right here.

“If you can’t beat them, join them.”

Good Samaritan - name of the orphanage that we visit every Tuesday and Thursday - has new meanings after reading the following passage from The Tipping Point: (more…)

Everyone’s got a different take on things.

Oh, did I mention that I reached the summit in a pair of Teva’s?

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Today is the day.

Look out for Stephen’s update, as well :-)

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Name . Suzi Suzuki
Age . 20
Size . Petite
Hobby . Bumpy rides