African meanderings - Part 4

Over the next few weeks, we relaxed, swam, drank many cold beers, scuba-dived, water-skied and drank more beer! We explored Dar es Salaam and its surrounds and took in the sights. The best food we had there were the fantastic curries at “The City Hotel”. All vegetarian, totally delicious, addictive and as much you could eat for 4 shillings! We ate there often!

We flew over to Zanzibar Island and as we stepped off the plane, we were hit with the pungent smell of cloves, for which is it renowned. Dr David Livingstone called the island “the most beautiful place on earth”. Most of his journeys began and ended here.

John (L) and me outside an old Arab door on Zanzibar. © Duncan Smith

We stayed in the Zanzibar Hotel, in Stone Town, dating back to the 1800’s. It was the first hotel on the island, and when we walked in, we stepped back 100 years in time. Any moment we expected Henry M Stanley to appear at the bar, whilst waiting for Dr Livingstone himself. Nothing appeared to have been touched for years.

We spent two days exploring its wonders and its tragedies. From here many slaves were caged before being taken to far off shores, and hell.

The first night we slept in two rough beds in a tiny, dark, room. We were lucky to have air-conditioning as Zanzibar air is heavy with heat and humidity. It rattled and thumped all night.

Stone Town, Zanzibar

Around midnight, and many beers inside me, I need to visit the toilet. We had an en-suite. I opened the door to be met with a very loud and incessant buzzing noise! It was a few seconds before I realized that every mosquito in Zanzibar had taken up residence in there. In unison, they all seemed to yell “Dinner!” It was the fastest pee I’d ever had, and I quickly shut the door. I must have disturbed John as he woke with the same urge. I kept quiet about my discovery, as I thought it only fair that he’d find out for himself. “BLOODY HELL!”, he yelled. I smiled quietly to myself.

Helen’s house she built on her island of Sinda. © Duncan Smith

Occasionally we ventured over to Helen’s island, Sinda, and stayed for days in the house she’d built there. It sat on a petrified coral terrace overlooking a pristine, white sandy beach. It was simply furnished with an open lounge/kitchen and three small bedrooms leading off from it. In the middle of the lounge was a scrubbed wooden table with a medley of rickety chairs. There were a few odd, patched armchairs and two settees. Faded paintings hung from the walls, behind which lurked pale geckos. They would scrabble over the walls and ceilings at night with uncanny ease, to gorge on unsuspecting insects they found. Outside, a wide-open veranda gave respite from the heat, and a cooling breeze curled itself up over us from the sea. A motley selection of old chairs and tables there sufficed. A panoramic window, on one side of the house, took up the whole of it, framing a turquoise sea cosseting the beach just metres away.

Swimming around the “Mwewe” at anchor on Sinda Island. © Duncan Smith

Behind the house was a long-drop toilet, consisting of a rough screen of banana leaves carefully platted together. A three-meter hole had been dug straight down, and wooden boards laid over it to make a floor. Into this, a large hole had been sawn. The toilet itself was made of four pieces of angle-iron, for the legs, and a plastic seat topped it off. Perfect!

During the day, we lazed on the soft, flour-like sand and swam among brilliant multi-coloured fish that called the ancient coral gardens their home. The sky here seemed to be an extra shade of deep blue, and you felt you could almost write your name on it.

John “Hemingway” Brown and Helen on the way to her island Sinda. © Duncan Smith

One of Helen’s oldest friends, she called “Hemingway”, used to pop over to the island frequently to stay for a few days and keep an eye on it. He was a retired ship’s Captain and always took us over to the island in his boat, called “Mwewe”.

One day while there, we were all having an afternoon siesta after morning walks around the island, Hemingway went outside to go to the toilet. A few moments later, a crash and him shouting “Oh God, help me, help me!” Thinking he had been bitten by a snake, or worse, we all rushed around the house to find him. It was far worse. Termites must have been snacking on the wooden floor of the toilet for months. When he sat down the whole lot caved in, Hemingway and all. We found him at the bottom of the long-drop, legs up one side and his body the other. He was sitting in many years of poos, urine and toilet paper, and we couldn’t help but laugh, poor man. “Well just don’t stand there laughing you buggers” he yelled. “Give me a hand and get me out”. We all felt that as he got himself in, he could jolly well get himself out! He eventually did, and spent many minutes in the sea, to the delight of hungry fish.

The sound of crickets at night was loud and insistent, almost smothering our evening conversations. We drank cold beers and put the world to rights, as moths danced around our heads, bouncing off the smokey glass of our hurricane lamps.

To be continued in Part 5. Look forward to seeing you there :)

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