Darajani Market

The alarm goes off at 6:30, for the first time in a week. The sky hasn't even tinged with dawn, and I'm pushing back the mosquito net into the warm still air. Apparently the power went out in the middle of the night, the fan rested in the mangrove beam ceiling above.

A few minutes later, Matteus stretches in the next bed. We gather a few things, camera gear mainly, and head out for the Darajani Market.

Streets of Stone Town are narrow, and crooked. Cobbled, and cornered. Mysterious, and marvelous. Earlier in the week with walked with the purpose of getting lost. Each turn a delight, a suprise, and a gift. We hadn't even needed the city tour guides to find the famous Jaws Corner. We stumbled upon it, while waiting for me to change lenses.  Wide was wonderful for the wooden doors.

I had come around the corner after said lens change to find Matteus, and Anneliese (a Belgium gal we had met on the spice tour earlier that day), standing under red and blue triangular flags in a courtyard. These political flags for the CUF opposition party were strung from a center pole, a living palm tree, actually. Half way up the tree was a sign that said "make free international calls here", with an old telephone mounted above it. I photographed it immediately and then challenged Matteus to climb it, given he'd successfully climbed the mast of the dhow two nights before.

He climbs it with gusto, and picks up the phone, spiral cord hanging from his free hand:  "Hi mom, I need more money." Men look up from sipping coffee, playing dominos, and chatting to smile at him. Some take a photo of him on their phones. In the flurry of the busy late day activity, Matteus and I made enough of a scene to attract attention. The good kind. The kind that brings chatter, laughter, and coffee with the locals--or at least former locals.

Babu, as everyone knows him, now lives in Calgary. He's back for a bit with his friends (The one who lives in Dubai we'd see again in the market afternoon, and take coffee with him.). Selma, the owner of our Bed and Breakfast calls these Zanzibari's JuneJulys. "They come back June July bringing money. They aren't part of the tourist influx this high season, but they are around." Thus, in his JuneJuly spirit Babu (who's name is Ally) buys us coffee, opens his arms for hugs, and his heart for the love of his home town. We sat there at Jaw's corner for some time taking a second cup of coffee, and the exhuberance of wandering, human connection, and the open heartedness of real travel.

But this morning, our last in Zanzibar, we walked with purpose--to get to the market as Zanzibaris were setting up, and get back before breakfast, at our lovely Kiponda B and B, was over. I often feel that you really see the workings of a town, a city, in the morning hours before shops open. Secondary school children in matching Muslim head scarfs and uniforms proceed to schools. Goods are being loaded into carts and cars and flat bed wheelbarrows. Sacks of rice in the nook of a bicycle frame. Mornings are a moment of quiet movement.

We arrive to the back side of the red roofed market, and enter by a greens salesman. The cilantro is so fresh, I can smell it. To my left meat hooks hang above empty stalls; to my right, a row of troughed and titled stalls--also empty. At the end of those fish stalls, the fish trading platform-- my favorite part of any local market in any seaside town. I'm flashed with memories of Tokoyo's fish market and the morning auction as fisherman brought in their enormous tuna catch. Here, yellow jerry cans, blue buckets, woven baskets on the back of bicycles, and even plastic bags held today's catch for auction.  A man in a kofia calls numbers in Swahili. Men and women nod and toss crumpled bills to him in exchange for octopus, red snapper, tuna, sword fish, king fish. I gawk, and really wish I knew more Swahili, not to trade or buy fish, but to get an insider's photo. I'd use the fish eye lens. I almost want to be the fish--one eye up on the circle of humans bidding on me. I do know the word for octopus. Pweza. Pweza mchuzi wanaze (octopus in coconut sauce) was my favorite meal. I'm totally suckered in by the eight arms of the abundance of octopus as I walk around and point, and smile. Mattues suggests the collective noun for octopus is ARMy! Men man the booths, no filling up with purchased fish, sharpen knives, and cut fish steaks on a wood hunk of tree ring.

The meat is a bloody mess. Hooves and hides hang on the curb. Ribs and racks of beef arrive by truck load. It's heavy lifting. Crimson red and pale flesh over dark skinned shoulders. Bones break with cleavers and when blood spatters nearer to me than I'd like, I move quickly away, back out to the street.

Two men push bicycles with huge baskets of fresh bread. Umoja, I ask him for one. Matteus and I tear through the crust to the warmish squishy insides.

I follow Matteus through the narrower stalls inside now--spices, baskets, and fruit. He buys a bit more cinnamon for those famous Hager twists, some more black pepper, and with the bargin we throw in a small bar of the ylangylang scented soap. On the spice tour we learned that ylang ylang is the flower of Channel #1. We weave around for fruit, and I buy a chermoya. That's how I first learned the name, but it's also known as a custard apple, soursop, or guanabana. Latin genus (Annona sp.) It looks like a bright green grenande, but rounder. The seller is sweet to cut it for us, and its sweeter meat inside is a joy. I spit the black slippery seeds in the compost bin. I wipe my lips and finger tips with the hunk of bread I've saved.

The snack ties us over. We cross the street to see sacks and stacks of root veggies-- potatoes, onions, garlic. They are too bulky and heavy to be set in stalls in the covered market. A shoe seller begins to lay out his shiny soles. In Moshi, Matteus had noted how many shoe sellers were barefoot themselves. Girls and boys pick up trash in the morning beside their school along the open market area. It's a small dent in the massive amount of micro-trash here, mostly platic. Perhaps there are not pockets in the kanga or ketenge women wear, nor in the long white robe for Muslim men. In reality there is very little infrastructure for trash collection. Later in Kigoma, I'd see trash pits smoldering, even in school yards.

Matteus checks his watch, and we begin to wander back to our place. When we cross the threshold of the large wooden carved door we have to turn sideways to pass through. Three flights up the uneven rises of the stairs, we join other travelers on the rooftop cafe for our final breakfast in Zanzibar.

Chumbe Island Coral Park and Conservation Connections

July 16. This is an important date in the dreams of two women.

July 16, 1960 is a day Jane Goodall writes she "shall remember all my life. It was when I first set foot on the shingle and sand beach of Chimpaneze Land--that is, Gombe National Park. I was twenty-six years old."

July 16, 2016 is a day I also shall remember. It was the day I set foot on the white sands of Zanzibar Island, and then an hour later, via boat, on the small island of Chumbe.
Chumbe Island Coral Park is one of Jane Goodall's favorite places in Tanzania. She's visited many times, and when looking at her photo, and thank you note in the education/visitor center classroom, I knew I was one step closer.

One step further along the path of my career and my disposition towards environmental education and conservation/ sustainability. I was so giddy, to put my money where my mouth is, and spend two nights on this dreamy model of sustainability. All proceeds support environmental education and both marine and forest conservation, including research.

In the space of the main building, orginally built in 1906, was the visitor center. The open air German engineered design hosted a welcome area, kitchen, dining nooks, classroom, and main hall. Six guests gathered on the green sofas for an introduction to our stay. It was a bit like summer camp--the turtle shaped chalk board listed our activities and the times--snorkleing at 11:30, followed by lunch, then rest, then a forest walk at 3, then dinner, and then a crab walk at 8:30. As I listened to the education manager and the hospitality director outline the days, I also made note of the low coffee table. It was covered with field guides; neatly splayed books on birds of East Africa, mac-like-laminated-guides to corals, sponges, fish, and mollusks of the Western Indian Ocean; Small booklet of a specialized flora and fauna of Chumbe; special field guides compliled by a German family of all the underwater life they've documented in colored photographs in the 12 years of visits to the island (with scientific, German, English, and Kiswahili common names). I would paw through the books daily making notes of the worlds I new little about, and this island was designed to conserve. I was in heaven.

We followed Ulli, the Austrian education manager, to our bungalow #6. Each of the 7 bungalows is named for a marine critter, and we ended up in KASA--turtle. The poured concrete green smooth floor had a tile design of a green sea turtle! Kasa Kasa. Ulli explained the unique design of our accomondations--the reverse clam shell shaped thatched roof that collected rain from both short and long rain events to the filtration systems at the side of the bungalow. There, the rain water passes through layers of sand and gravel. The entire "foundation", if you will, was a sistern. Water is then pumped with a hand pump by the maintence staff to be used (in the showers and sinks) and futher filtered for drinking water (removing the tanins of the coconut palm frond roofs). The toilet is composting.  Zanzibar is known as the spice island, and hanging beside the toilet paper was a small wreath of cloves and cardamon. Of course, with specially designed ventilation systems, the composting toilet didn't smell. Ulli went on to explain the partnership with a women's cooperative for the organic soaps and shampoos provided, and reminded us that conventional (my word choice) products can harm the environment. In fact, we were cautioned about sunscreen in our packing list--and a printed note about laundry was hung in the bathroom, asking us not to do any. Solar pannels on the roof provided power for small LED lights above sitting spaces, the stairs, and the bathroom. The electrical cords were wrapped in coconut twine. In the loft, our bed--drapped in a billowing mosquito net, and larger than the tent we shared on Kili so we could share without a problem.

We quickly changed into swim gear to go snorkling! A quick briefing about what to expect, and how to help preserve the coral, and we flip flopped our fins into the little boat. The waters were an unbelievable color. 50 shades of blue. The entire west side of Chumbe Island is a marine coral park--special bouys ask boats to stay away, and fishing is not allowed. As a result, the coral was the finest I've ever seen. Brain, Mushroom, Knob, Staghorn (in many colors--blue my favorite), Grape. And then the fish! Orbicular bat fish swimming so close we could have touched them; Moorish Idols with the long white whisp; trumpet fish (and you know I tada-ed into my snorkel like a kazoo when they passed!); blue spotted ribbon tail sting ray; zebra humbugs; chocolate dipped; wrasse with yellow spots; powder blue surgeon fish; blue star fish;  more more more!

I loved the bouyancy, and free floating spirit of snorkeling here. It was so peaceful, and plus, I was practicing a new trick. Matteus taught me to dive below the surface of the water, and forcely blow out the snorkel; I hadn't done that before. Past snorkleing experiences were in choppier waters, that left me tired and disoriented, often with poor quality gear, and less bright and alive life below the surface!

In fact, days later I would snorkel again off a wooden dhow sailing boat in Nungwi, the northern  tip of Zanzibar and that experience was more typical.

Our first drop into the waters, in an coral area that was known as Kendwa Coral Gardens, I could quickly tell the coral was disturbed. Further away from our beach front, we did find better coral and fish, but it was a fabulous reminder of conservation efforts like Chumbe Island Coral Park and the quality of those experiences.

After an hour or so, we returned back on Chumbe. We were treated to a marvelous lunch. The place began to feel, to me like Islandwood-- a school in the woods environmental education center on Bainbridge Island, near Seattle, with not only a similar mission, but also with exceptional food. The buffet was set up with warm dishes in clay pots on small coal fires. Dinners light by candlelight. My first taste of the octopus coconut curry, and this became the go-to dish for the rest of my days in Zanzibar. Pewza mchuzi wanaze. Mzuri sana.

In a post food coma, I wandered to a shade bed to take a nap. I missed the scheduled 3 pm forest walk. When I woke, I wandered around the area between my bungalow and the visitor center. I sat on the launch jetty stairs with Hussein and talked in Kiswahili and English about education, and environment. I was asking about, and dreaming of whales, and then he points out two black tipped reef sharks, swimming in the shallows near us. I walked down three more stairs to be closer and saw them brake the surface, black tips from dorsal fin and tail. I was beaming. So good.

Before dinner I caught back up with Matteus. He'd wandered the coral rag forest, checking out the adaptive strategies of the unique forest that exists on such thin soils. The entire island is fosilized coral that emerged from the ocean when the water levels dropped some billion years ago. Enormous clam shells frozen in time and rock, so to speak, line the trails on the East side of the island. Trees store water in their stems, and avoid significant evapotranspiration with waxy leaves. Thin shallow roots help take advantage of both short and long rains. In a tidal lagoon pool in the middle of the island mangrove forests grow.  Sally light foot crabs scurry around the knees of the magroves. Conservation of mangrove forests is another area of study here--they protect the coast lines from erosion, but humans, of course, in an effort to build, develop, and access the beaches on the main Zanzibar island (and other mangrove ecosystems wordwide) have removed them. The forest is now home to an introduced collection of dikdik, a small antelope. Five were brought to Chumbe in the 1990's for protection, and now there are seven. On the paths at dusk we spot moving shells. Hermit crabs! They criss- cross the sandy paths, leaving little tracks I traced with my finger when I crouched down to observe them more closely. At night, the forest also hosts a protected species of crab--the coconut crab. With a carapace like a lobster, they need no shell, and wouldn't fit into anyone elses anyway. They are huge--measuring up to 60 cm across. We could hear them skittereing in the leaf littler before we saw them. Two varieties--a red and a blue. So strong, they can crack a coconut shell.

After some warm spiced tea, we read by solar lantern, and then drifted off to sleep. Nearly a full moon, and moonlight shadows. Crashing waves a lullaby, the music of the ocean.

The morning music was made by the pigeons. Like doves, cooing. Long long da dut da da; long long da dut da da; long long da dut da da. It reminded me of the intro to Paul Simon's African skies. Try it. Sing along. Long Long, da dut da da; Long Long da dut da da; Long long da dut da du; Long long da dut da du. Joseph's face was as black as the night, and the pale yellow moon shown in his eyes. His path was marked by the stars in the southern hemisphere, and he walked the length of his days under African skies.

The skies swirled with welcomed clouds. From the top of the 133 stairs on the 1906 stacked square light house, I feel closer to the them. The wind whips through my salted curls. It chills my wet skin and rash guard after another day of snorkeling. It brings change. Be the change you wish to see in the world--Ghandi said. There is a quote in my classroom by Jane Goodall that reads: Every choice you make has an impact on the environment. What you do makes a difference, and you need to decide what kind of difference you want to make.

Today, July 21, I begin the next leg of my path, my adventure in Tanzania. My traveling companion and dear friend Matteus left already for home, and I leave this Zanzibar for Gombe. From the East coast shores to the Western banks of Lake Tanganyika.  Go West, young woman, go west. A familiar journey for me, as I seek (and maybe bring) change,  conservation, education, and inspiration.

Ngorogoro Crater Conservation Area

What's the difference between a crater and a caldera, Anold, our guide and driver, asked?  My short answer, remembering Valles Caldera in new Mexico and Crater Lake in southern Oregon, is something to do with water. Close, he says. Life, he says. Crater has no life, caldera does. So, really, Ngorogoro is miss named. The caldera is 360 square kilometers, with walls 400-610m steep.

We drop gear for camp and take lunch at the only public camping option on the rim: Simba Camp 2.  An enormous ficus tree stands and in the middle of the camp grounds, and at least seven zebras are grazing. I get within metres from the new foals and almost get kicked taking a picture of them.

In a six seater land Rover type jeep, we drive down the dusty road, past the Ethiopian Candelabra cactus and my first sightings of Superb starlings, to the crater floor. Trees are hung with Weaver bird nests, the dry grasses a contrast to stream side greens.  Immediately, gazelles leap by the herds of wildebeests. I'm in awe. Matteus cracks a joke: what do you call a heard of wildebeests? A paper of gnus!

The light is luscious. Zebras, wildebeests, Thompson's gazelles, Grant's gazelles, cape buffalo. A golden jackal sneaks around like an fox. Later we see a black backed jackal, who wore a spotted cape. A spotted hyena was snacking on a leg of something. The pack were playing in the water's edge. Flamingos in the distance, at the edge of the salt pool.

I ask Anold to stop when I see a large bird beside the jeep. "Horny bastard!" I swear that's what he said. Matteus heard the same thing. But when I look up again at him, he's got the leather covered Birds of East Africa opened to the picture of the Kori Bustard. Oh. When the ostrich strides by, I keep thinking of the feathers on the ritualised Maasai boys we saw near Kartuga. Boys in all black, with ghost white patterns on their faces, ostrich feathers tucked at their brow. The pink skin on the neck and legs of ostrich like goose bumps.  Thighs so strong, you know this bird, no matter how big, can out run anything in this crater.

The safari guides are on CB radio, communicating details of wildlife to see. The crackle of Kiswahili is soft, and unclear. Could even be in code. We head towards some mounds, rolling hills with sandy coloured grasses. The huddle of Jeeps makes it clear we've joined this pack on purpose.

I'm not lying when I tell you I was surprised. I really didn't think we'd see them at all. Two male lions, in the shade of the rear bumper of one Jeep, and a male and female mating pair, just beside us on the road.

We watched them all closely for at a long while. The male mounted the female three times. Anold told us they will go at it every fifteen minutes. If there are no results of a pregnancy within a week, she'll be available again. We also watched him move and mark his territory. The two nearby males just napped. Like cats like naps.

Total we'd see 8 lions. Four more females, in three separate groups. One nala perched on a hill top near the bathrooms. "You mean I can get out of the car?!" I asked. "Go quickly." I'd say.

But the day went quickly, and Jeeps must leave the crater floor by six pm. They lock the gate on the accent road, and demand a fee of you are late. The accent road is recently paved, and we reach the rim with time to spare.

At dinner we share stories of wows and wonders with other travelers. The two expat women from Turkey and Canada who were teaching English in Dubai were fun. We sat near them at long cement topped tables under the picnic shelter. Each tour group laying out their own Maasai blanket table cloth to mark the space. Hundreds of us dined like summer camp, or a Harry Potter feast. We pulled on hats, and jackets, sipped tea to warm up in the cool night. By 8:30, in the cloudy darkness, I crawled into the tent to dream.

Lake Manyara National Park

The list from the late day light safari of Lake Manyara National Park is a naturalist's dream.

The broad leaves of tropical road side plants wear a thin patina of red dust. I've seen it in many countries. Yet, here, there are acacia towering over, and bulbous baobab trees in the landscape. From my view point standing in the jeep, I feel like I can see forever. I also feel the East African wind in my hair, as I hold on the to the thinly padded bumper like a kid on a roller coaster.

Although, I'm not allowed to scream. Or make much noise when we spot the animals we are here to observe.

Here's the list:
Birds:
Hamerkop, grey headed King Fisher, great white egret, pelican, crowned lapwing, plover, yellow billed storks, Egyptian goose, grey heron, crowned cranes, black winged stilt, tropical Boubou, red billed hornbill, helmeted Guinea fowl, giant kingfisher, unknown juvenile owl

Primates:
Baboons, blue monkeys, red vervet monkeys

Wildebeest, elephants, zebras, warthog, cape Buffalo

Sure, I have photos. But here's one I couldn't quite capture; watching two scenes, one on either side of the dirt road, a tennis match volleying for my attention. One side: four elephants chomp chomping away, so close I could hear them burp, and so real I could monitor the shadows in their wrinkles. The other side: a tree full of chattering baboons.

Observing here in Tanzania, I'm beginning to feel like my hero, Jane Goodall. These dreams do come true.

Travel is fatal to bigotry

"Travel is fatal to bigotry, prejudice, and narrow-mindedness. Broad, wholesome, and charitable views cannot be acquired by vegetating in one tiny corner of the globe."--Mark Twain 

"Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.” 
– Maya Angelou 

Action. Compassion. Adventure

I have a penchant for being a peripatetic. I like to roam and explore, mingle with culture and climates, photograph and write of my journeys.  I visited Turkey in 2007. Last night the Ataturk Airport in Istabul was attacked. My heart hurts. This world is becoming more hateful. I will not join that. Instead, I work towards compassion. Embarking on this next adventure is rooted in compassion for the earth, power of the people, and education as the key. I'm following the footsteps of a hero: Jane Goodall. 

Just this week, I began an online course she's offering called Growing Compassionate Leaders: Empowering Youth Through Service in Education. Roots and Shoots, her environmental education program, began 25 years ago in Kigoma, Tanzania. This morning I finally skyped with my Roots and Shoots contact there to finalize plans for my own service with the program. I am looking forward to my continued learning, new friendships, and our shared experiences. 

The Penultimate Continent

I love the word penultimate. It packs such punch, sounds so erudite, and yet, the definition is so simple: Second to last.

So, watch out world.

I'm flying to my penultimate continent. Here are all 7 in the order of my travels.

1. Europe: being I was born there, Germany, France, Iceland, Norway, Turkey
2. North America: home, and I've traveled a fair bit of it North from Anchorage and Churchill, Canada and south down to Tulum Mexico. East from Maine to West in Hawaii.
3. Asia: Nepal, Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Japan
4. South America: Peru, Ecuador, and Central America's Costa Rica.
5. Australia: where country and continent are one
6. Africa: Tanzania and Rwanda
7. Antarctica: a snowy future dream

Reading list

For me, any adventure begins in the library. I am known to get all the juvenile literature books on a particular country and devour them in the months before I leave. This lets me flip through colorful pages of photos, learning about food, culture, textiles, government systems, wildlife, etc. It helps me know what to expect, and what to hope to photograph.

Most of what we in the US know about the continent of Africa, the dark continent, is generated through the world of West Africa--music, dance, kente cloth, etc. East Africa is less know to us for culture, and more for wildlife--big game.

Search children's books for Tanzania you get Jane Goodall's biography. Jane I know a bit about. I got to drive her around in my old Subaru in the summer of 2000 for Seattle's Bumbershoot festival. There will be much more writing about my connection with her and my trip to follow her footsteps.

So this is my collection of learning:

Jane. check. (She signed both those books to me!) Chimps. check. We are all completely beside ourselves was the 2016 Seattle Reads book. While fiction, there was plenty of collateral chimp knowledge gained.  Kili. check. Gorillas. check. I even had a chat with authors Bill and Amy; they are Yale profs and patients of my dad.  Rising from Ashes--a documentary movie about the Rwandan National Cycling team. The film left me in hopeful tears.

Despite this reading list, I feel less prepared for the cultural encounters. Which leaves me open to adventure.

Karibu.

Gearing up for the penultimate continent

I'm laying out the gear for another international adventure. 

It was helpful to "build a body"--an old technique I used with students in the field to make sure they had all the gear they needed head to toe. 

I even weighed my gear and recorded it on my pack list--cool tools to use on my new computer.

Gifts, first aid, trekking poles, snacks, reading material off the sides. 

Camera gear is another whole situation. 

Stay tuned.