Bwaise Slum Tour

 

Bwaise Slums, Kampala, Uganda (Feb. 22)

Salim, our guide for the slum tour and the founder of Volunteers for Sustainable Development, grew up in the Bwaise slums and started the organization when he was only 18. He has been doing slum tours for the past two years in order to fund the work his organization does in rescuing abandoned or orphaned children and sending them to school. He picked us up from our hostel in the morning and we took a boda boda (motorcycle) to Bwaise.

At first glance on the main street, Bwaise doesn't look so bad and reminds me of a typical village in Tanzania. However, as you wander off the main street and into the maze of houses that can only be covered on foot, a different picture appears.

The first thing we did was visit the different wells where the people gather cooking and drinking water. There are government taps, but the water from them is much too expensive for the majority of Bwaise residents. Many of them can't even afford to boil the well water in order to sanitize it. The smaller wells consisted of pits with a pipe coming out of the ground that feeds water into it. The wells need to be cleaned once a week as they get dirty and filled with garbage. The largest well was a bit more sophisticated with several pipes, a fence around where the water comes from, and a regular cleaning schedule. Gathered under the taps are women of all ages (some were as young as 3) with old water bottles or plastic containers collecting water.

Next, we visited the private-run schools where the lucky children are able to attend. The nearest state-run school was too far so many of the children are not able to go to school since they can not afford the private school fees. Many of the children rely on sponsors to get the opportunity to go to school. Salim was able to go to school until he was 14 years old thanks to the generosity of a neighbour who supported him. The schools themselves were basic cement or wooden buildings with hand-made learning aids hanging on the walls.

I always find it a strange experience to visit schools in Africa and despite my love for children, I don't particularly enjoy it. They generally take you through to each classroom, where the children all stand up looking wide-eyed and as if they are preparing for the greatest interview of their lives. The teachers yell at the children to say something in English or sing a song for you. There just seems to be this scramble to impress you like if they say the right thing then you will solve all of their problems for them. Their relationship to Mzungus seems to be one where they see all white people as benefactors and, it seems, somehow above them. "Look, Mzungu! Welcome the Mzungu!" Are common things you hear. But if this is what the children are learning, how can they be expected to be empowered to take responsibility for their own future. It seems like everyone has the same idea that the Africans need to be saved, but the truth is while they can use some help, they need to save themselves. Outsiders will never really be able to solve their problems for them and I think instilling that idea in young children is dangerous for the future of a country.

After some time at the schools, we passed by a shack slightly bigger than a washroom stall where a man was living. It was made entirely of scraps of plastic and wood that he had found in the garbage. Apparently, someone had donated the land to him so that he could have somewhere to live. The most shocking part for me, however, was the fact that he was a government street cleaner; he brought his uniform vest to show us. This was one of the lucky people who actually had a job and this is how he was living. What does that say for others?

 

 

The next stop was the sex workers district, which didn't look extraordinary but just had some women sitting on wooden stools in front of their shacks. Salim told us that all of the women sitting on the stools were sex workers. We were shown one of the rooms which was crammed with dirty looking beds that were separated by stained sheets. Condom wrappers were littering the ground (Salim's organization donates condoms for them to use because HIV is rampant). Next to one of the women were two small naked, crying children one of whom went into the room and was crawling on the beds. That I think was the hardest for me: seeing the innocent children amoung all of this.

But most of the women don't have any other options to support their familes. Salim said the area is filled with women with women standing by the sides of the streets at night. One sexual encounter costs 500 Ush (20 cents) and 1,000 Ush for a young girl. For an extra 500 Ush, men can have sex without a condom.

Due to the poverty in this area, the attitude of men is that it is cheaper to abandon your pregnant girlfriend and pay for sex than pay to support a family. They just can't afford to stay. This creates a cycle of single mother's needing to prostitute themselves to support their familes and the popularity of this option is likely part of the reason why the price is so low. There are also many young girls who enter the sex trade in order to pay for school. They go to school in the mornings and then go to the streets at night. It is no wonder than AIDS is such a major issue here.

Many of the children that Salim rescues and supports in his orphanage are children of sex workers that were abandoned in garbages, ditches, etc. One very frail and sad looking child they told us they had rescued from a toilet where his mother had abandoned him.

After the tour, I sat down with Salim for a drink to talk about his organization. He explained to me the biggest issue in Bwaise was education because without English, they would never be able to get any real job. It makes you realize how lucky we are to grow up in a place where even the language that we happen to speak gives us so many more opportunities globally. Salim's goal is to open his own school where they can use the money from sponsors more efficiently than paying to send the children to the private schools. However, his main goal right now is to obtain sponsors for the children of school age to ensure that they get the education they need. It's amazing when you see where he grew up and what he has been through to see that he is now dedicating his life to helping others.

They always need volunteers at the schools, especially English speaking ones, because it is so expensive for them to obtain qualified teachers and I think he still has a few children looking for sponsors as well. I will post a link to the facebook page that I am helping him to make up if anyone wants more information.

Cayenne

Kampala, Uganda (Feb. 22)

I thought it would be just another casual Friday night out in Kampala, but February 22 will now forever be the day I got open-fist-sucker-punched in the face by a gigatic black man.

I was really starting to like Uganda. The country has so many different levels and I have had so many different amazing experiences here. Kampala is very modern and a nice break from Tanzania; I have been eating a lot of pizza. I have also met so many awesome people at my hostel in Kampala and have been having a good time just relaxing and hanging out with them.

Being a Friday night, we decided to go out to a place called Cayenne that we hadn't been to yet. When we arrived at the door, they searched our bags and told me that I would have to check my camera at the door. At that point I got a very bad feeling, especially since I was borrowing a friend's camera. This very large black man dressed in a suit came over and introduced himself as the manager and explained to me that they were having issues with the paparazzi and that if I just kept the ticket it would be fine. I still felt weird about it, but apparently it is pretty common and we had driven so far to get there, so I took the ticket and went in.

After some dancing and a few expensive drinks, my friend Alex suggested that we go and check out the pool. I know of only one way to check out a pool, so with my clothes on, I jumped in. I was swimming for about a minute when the manager returned and ordered me out of the pool. I immediately got out and walked over to him. On the left side of the pool, he pulled away some bushes to reveal a small sign lurking in the shadows that read, "No Swimming, fine 100,000 Ush". I had no intention of paying 100,000 Ush ($40) for jumping in the pool, especially when their sign was so carefully hidden, and I told him that. I decided that this would be a good point to leave the bar so I grabbed my bag and camera ticket and headed for the door. The girl was just about to hand me my camera when the manager stepped between us and said, "Do not give her the camera. She owes 100,000 shillings". I reached under his arm, grabbed the camera, tossed it to Alex and yelled at him to run. He, realizing there was a very small likelihood of him getting past the various check points, and that there would still be the problem of my getting away, decided not to do so.

Now the manager began to get very angry and was holding me and screaming at me that he was going to call the police if I didn't pay the fine. I yelled back that I would really like for him to call the police. I do remember my hearing going out and an intense feeling of whiplash, but I was so angry that I didn't really realize what had happened. The manager said he was not going to call the police and that they wouldn't believe me and began with repeated threats that he would gouge my eyes out. Finally, Alex pulled me away and looked me in the eyes and said, "Do you realize what just happened? That man just punched you in the face." Suddenly, the instability of this man was absurdly clear and it occured to me that calling in a potentially corrupt police force would likely not result in a favourable outcome.

So that is the night I paid $40 to jump in a pool.

Fear

 

Jinja, Uganda (Feb. 20-21)
I never thought of myself as a brave person. As a child, it took me forever to go on a roller coaster and I have always had a great fear of drowing, needles, bugs, and snakes amoung other things. Just a month ago when I was at the hot springs it took me a good two minutes to jump on the swing that drops you into the water. But in my time travelling I have learned a lot about fear and my relationship to it. I find myself, weekly, doing things I never imagined I would do. It is a life changing moment when you have something that terrifies you to your core and you just look fear in the eye and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

When I was a kid I spent one summer at water sports camp where one of the activities we did was kayaking. Before we kayaked, the rule was that you had to tip your boat once to practice getting out in that position. I think I was the only one who got away with not doing it because I flat out refused. Being trapped under water is my greatest fear and there was no way I was doing that. I am not sure when I booked my trip to go white water rafting that I fully considered that it could potentially be my greatest fear manifested. I was taken back to that moment in time as a sat in the rafting boat on the Nile and our guide explained that we would now practice what to do when the boat flips. I actually felt like I might throw up as we counted down to the flip, but that paled in comparison to what was ahead.

Flying over rapids and down waterfalls, our boat flipped twice. Both times, in my panic, I gasped and sucked in a bunch of water and therefore came to the surface choking up water as I flew around in the white, crashing waves. I am not sure where I got the strength to continue on but somehow I finished the day: Eight rapids in total.

At the end, we jumped out of the boat and let the current of the Nile float us down to the bus, which was the perfect way to wind down after a terrifying day.

Three days before I went to Jinja, I spent almost a full sleepless night playing out the jump in my head and becoming more and more nervous. I don't know if it was from my experiences rafting the day before or just my change in mentality, but somehow I climbed the stairs and jumped towards the Nile with nothing but a harness and a bungee around my ankles with barely a thought in my head. It was like I was on autopilot and didn't really believe or think about actually doing it until that moment when I tipped off the platform towards the river. It was an amazing rush.




After travelling on my own to Africa, bungee jumping, white water rafting, staying in a room filled with giant cockroaches, getting blood taken in a dirty room with needles all over the floor, rocketing down the pot-hole-filled streets on a boda boda (motorcycle) with three other people and no helmet, and responding to a feeling that our boda driver might be driving us somewhere sketchy by quietly grabbing my swiss army knife and sticking it in my bra "just in case", I somehow feel like I'm not the same person I was when I sat on that plane three months ago in Dar Es Salaam shaking with fear.

On the Road Again

Kampala, Uganda (Feb.12-13)
 
My original plan was to go to visit my friend Kristina in a village near Dodoma. I checked out of the Pop Inn and took a cab to the Dar bus station. This time, as I drove into the bus station, it was just like the first time: maybe worse. They were banging on the windows and one guy actally jumped into the front seat of the car. I started screaming at him in English and Swahili to get out of the car, but he refused. I definitely over-reacted, but I just felt so angry and violated. When the cab stopped, I handed him the money and quickly jumped out, forgetting my guide book in my haste. Someone handed it to me and I sped off towards the buses. It didn't take me very long to realize that my guide book was not the only thing I left in that cab. By the time I realized it, my phone was long gone, along with my plans to go to Dodoma.

The man who had jumped in the cab was still following me around and asking me where I wanted to go. Without knowing what to do or where I was going, I stormed out of the bus station in a blind rage and began walking down the road. A few minutes down, I spotted a hotel restaurant and went in for a drink. That was the first time I legitimately just wanted to be home. I was all alone, with no phone and all this after I had just lost my camera.

After about 20 minutes on the patio, I managed to talk myself down. I would need a new SIM card in Uganda anyways, my phone wasn't very valuable, and I only had a few days left on my Tanzanian Visa anyways; I needed to get out. Since it would cost me at least another 10,000Tsh each way to get to the Pop Inn and back in the morning, I reasoned that if I could find a nearby hotel that I could walk to then I should be allowed to spend around 30,000Tsh. Luckily, I was able to find just that, and I learned that there are very few things that can not be fixed by an air-conditioned room with no cockroaches (I averaged two giant cockroaches a day at Pop Inn) and a hot shower.

At 6:00 AM the next morning I was on the bus to Kampala. It was a typical African bus ride with men running around with boxes full of water and food on their heads, banging on the windows. Even when you are wide awake and looking straight at them, they still think that the banging will somehow increase their chances of a sale.

When we stopped for our washroom break, I laughed to think about my first washroom break in Africa when I refused to go because there were no sinks. We just pulled over to the side of the road in the middle of a field and people just stepped off the bus and squatted. Being the only Mzungu on the bus, I didn't feel like showing them my naked butt would make them stare at me less, so I began rationing my water in the usual balance between having to pee and dehydration.

At around 11:00 PM, we pulled into a parking lot and I realized that we were stopping there for the night. Apparently, in Tanzania, they are not allowed to drive the buses on the road at night (It always weirds me out a bit when I learn things you can't do here because they always seem so arbitrary). I had 700 Ush left, which was just enough for a small water and one use of the washroom. I have no idea what the hotel situation was, but I didn't really have an option: I was sleeping on the bus. I covered myself in bug spray, although I knew getting bitten was inevitable, then I stuffed my large bag between the seats beside me, locked my two backpacks together and put the strap through my ankle, wrapped my purse straps around me and tucked it under my arm, and snuggled under my kanga for a few hours of sleep. I probably slept a minute.

At 6:00 AM we were back on the road towards Uganda. I started talking to this Kenyan named Alex who eventually started asking me about my religion. When I revealed that I had grown up Catholic but that I was now agnostic, he just couldn't understand. He just kept saying, "but I don't understand, how do you not have a religion?" Finally, I just told him to drop it and we just agreed to disagree.

He moved back to the seat with his friend and another man got on the bus and joined me. Immediately after sitting, he turned to me and said, "Have you been saved?" "Yes. I am definitely Catholic", was the only logical response. I realized just how prudent this was when he later revealed to me that he was a minister. I feel a bit guilty that I took away his opportunity to save my soul though.

I clearly had not budgeted for a two day trip so I didn't really have money to eat. One thing people don't realize though, when they react in shock that I am a woman travelling alone, is how much more willing people are to help you in that position. Alex bought me a samosa and the minister shared his Sanene, which are these bugs similar to grasshoppers that are deep fried and covered in spices. They tasted like what dog food smells like and were the consistency of really over-cooked fish. I always say I will try anything once. Once was enough.

Getting the Visa at the border was even less complicated than Tanzania and after $50 US and a stamp I was in. We had to walk across the border and wait while they searched the bus. I had to go to the washroom, but was afraid that it would be another paid toilet since I had no money left. I was more excited than anyone should ever be to find a pile of rocks with a makeshift bambo fence proped around it. A free washroom where no one can see my butt: Score.

After a mood-lifting conversation about some Somali terrorist attacks that happened a few years previous in Uganda, we headed to Kampala. 

Mafia

Mafia Island (Feb. 7 - 9)
I had a vague plan to go to Mafia to see the Whale Sharks, but in my usual style it wasn't well thought out and I can say without any doubt that I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I left that disgusting YMCA hotel room in Dar that morning.

A Swiss guy I met on the ferry from Zanzibar to Dar decided last minute to join me and I think he was shocked and maybe a bit disgusted by my haphazard travel-style of making plans along the way through texting friends and asking locals in broken Swahili.

I had come to the conclusion through Thorn Tree and a lot of texts to friends, all of which seemed to contradict eachother, that the boat left at around 10AM and I decided to follow the vague dala instructions from the person I actually knew. After a lot of questions and maybe a little luck, we found ourselves on a dala headed for a village called Nyamisati. I spent the entire ride speaking to this woman and another guy in Swahili and was feeling pretty confident in my progress with the language. I learned that she was a Mafia resident with two children who had been visiting her mother in Dar. I also determined that there was no way we would be arriving in Nyamisati by 10AM, but that there was another boat that left at 12PM and the man I was talking to was the captain of the boat. I think I may have been a bit overconfident in my Swahili abilities.

When we finally arrived in Nyamisati, we discovered that in fact the bus had left at 8AM and there wouldn't likely be another bus until that time the next morning. A very friendly man escorted us to the hotel which had no running water or power, but looked much better than the other one which appeared to be somewhat like a mud wall shower stall where people just lay out on the ground. Apparently a bunch of years earlier some Westerners had lived in Nyamisati for a while to conduct Malaria research and when they left their house was turned into a hotel. I am not entirely sure what we would have done if this hadn't occured, but the fact that this town was specifically studied for Malaria wasn't very comforting considering I was no longer taking my Malaria meds.

There are two bars in Nyamisati and one other restaurant. They are the only buildings in the village that get lights, there is one central hose which has the only running water for the town, and their fridges are boxes with giant blocks of ice that are brought in on the boats every morning. The nicest restaurant was kind of like a tree house and while we were eating I watched a sick baby sitting in the kitchen throwing up into a woman's hand. We had a full day to kill so luckily the cold beer lasted.

Despite the local's assurances that these were excellent conditions for Nyamisati, the mosquitos were insane and the heat was worse (apparently during high tide you can't even open your mouth without mosquitos flying in). I covered myself in bug spray, but they buzzed in my ears and bit me through my pants and any other tiny area that didn't have spray. Sleeping in that heat without a fan was destined for failure. I probably slept three hours and the bed was soaked with sweat when I woke up. I thought that was disgusting enough, but sadly it was entirely overshadowed in the light of day. When I woke up and looked around, I noticed something weird in the corner of my bed, right next to my head. On closer examination I concluded that, yes, it was a small pile of poop. This poop was not there when I went to sleep.

On our way to the dock, the owner of the hotel thanked us and urged us to return soon. I assured him that I would return with enthusiasm during high tide.

As expected, the boat was an hour and a half late. It was an old wooden fishing boat and we had to wait on the docks for them to unload the prawns, octopus, and giant fish before we could board.

In order to get onto the boat, you had to climb down these steep stone steps ending in a cliff where you had to jump down a step at about chest height. This is not a generally easy feat with a large, heavy backpack on but we were blessed with an additional challenge: Tanzanians. In a manner that they chose to conduct themselves in upon every entrance and exit of the boat, they proceeded to punch and push eachother in a desperate and savage battle that seemed much more fitting in a battle for the last life boat on the Titanic than for an entrance to a boat where everyone gets seats.

We made it onto the boat alive and then proceeded to watch about ten guys carry on this massive industrial freezer which was about three times the size of a regular deep freezer. They carried it down the cliff and pushed it up the entrance ramp and it miraculously arrived unscathed, on deck, with the passengers.

After four hours of rocking violently on the ocean waves, we arrived at Mafia. The boat anchored about 100M off shore and a small boat started heading towards us. It was the sadest looking little wooden dingy that appeared to be leaking severely. We tossed over our bags and hopped over the side of the boat into the dingy, praying that we wouldn't go straight through into the water.

We arrived at the beach and jumped out, happy to be back on solid ground, and wandered into town to find a hotel. That village of Mafia had three hotels, so that didn't turn out to be a difficult decision.

Granted, I was only in one part of the island so I can't speak for it in its entirety, but I can't think of any reason to visit Mafia other than the whale sharks. Other than the two expensive resorts, the food was all local so there were no vegetables to be found. I made the unfortunate mistake of taking a chance and ordering something called Mchemsho, which turned out to be cooked green bananas and this horrible and dry looking meat that was all cooked together in this black soup.

Also, the beaches on Mafia are tiny, covered in seaweed and dead fish, and the water looks like lake Ontario. The power on Mafia is shared between both sides of the island so you have electricity and water about half the time. Bucket showers were a necessity and computer time had to be planned meticulously.

We booked our whale shark trip for the next day and went to lunch where I had yet another lovely encounter with poop when a bird crapped on my arm. Despite several phone calls and plans to meet up with Carlos, the man organizing the whale sharks expedition, we woke up the next morning still never having met him and unable to get a hold of him. We located another man who Sebastien had been talking to about the whale sharks and he happened to know the boat driver who was supposed to be taking us. So that is how we managed to find our boat and get out in search of whale sharks.

It was a beautiful day for sailing, but the enjoyment wore off after three hours on the water when we realized that it was not a beautiful day for whale sharks. We returned to shore disappointed and unsure what the next plan of action should be.

I was determined not to leave Mafia without seeing them, especially after all of the effort to get there, so I tried contacting Carlos to see if we could work out a deal. Yet again, he made several plans to call us and/or meet up which never came to fruition and eventually stopped answering his phone. By the next morning when he still was not answering, we decided to head to the Whale Shark Lodge to try and hunt him down ourselves. We asked multiple people to send Carlos to meet with us, but each time continued sitting on the couch and waiting.

After about 15 minutes when we were starting to wonder whether the elusive Carlos even truly existed, a large African man finally entered the room and introdcued himself as Carlos. We worked out a deal to head out in the afternoon with another boat of people that was going.

I love sailing, but this time on the water I was not just sitting there enjoying the experience. Both of us were standing on the sides of the boat desperately looking out for any signs of a whale shark. Finally, one of the captains said he saw one and we headed to an area with two or three other boats. We put on our gear and they told us to jump. I couldn't see anything so I just kept swimming and trying to follow the crowd of people. I couldn't see anything and wasn't entirely sure if anyone else had. Finally, my boat waved me over and I went and got on. As we headed away, I saw Sebastien in the water and mouthed "Did you see anything?". He smiled and nodded. We kept driving and I could see a big dark shadow next to the boat. "JUMP", they yelled. So I did.

I let out a huge gasp. There it was. This massive whale shark. I had never seen anything that big so close up, let alone swimming in the water with it. It was all dark and covered in white spots with beady yellow eyes on either side of it's head. There were groups of fish swimming next to them the whole time; I'm not sure why.

We stayed there for about half an hour just jumping back in the boat and catching up to them again. At one point, one of them was swimming around in circles and we actually had to swim out of the way or it seemed we would suffer the same fate as Jonah.

4 AM came early the next morning. We were amoung the first ones to the dock, but that didn't make it any easier to get to the boat. When they finally called to start loading, everyone just ran. The first boat looked like it might sink and the "organizer" kept saying it was full so I figured I would let it go and wait for the next one. However, as he stood there yelling, people just kept running past him and jumping on the boat.

The second one was no better, but out of a misplaced sense of justice I felt like I needed to be on it since we were the first ones there. With my large backpack on my back, my purse around my shoulder, my small backpack in the front, and my skirt in hand we ran into the water. Entrance from the front of the boat would have been futile so the only option left was the side. In crotch deep water, I finally gave up on trying to keep my skirt dry and began tossing my stuff into the boat. Amoung all of this commotion, someone had haphazardly placed some sort of giant metal piece of machinery onto the boat. With the vigorous crashing on the waves, the metal piece loosened and went crashing down towards Sebastien's foot. Luckily, he was able to get away without breaking his foot, but in the commotion my purse went flying. That, as far as I can determine, is when I lost my camera.

I managed to pull myself over the side of the dingy and we headed to the fishing boat for the journey back. The usual scenario played out as everyone boarded the boat, but I learned my lesson and waited for the dust to settle. We were the last to board, just after the women with babies. The babies were tossed up in pretty much the same manner as the luggage. Not long after we boarded came someone with a bunch of bags made out of weaved leaves. After they were loaded on, I started hearing clucking and eventually the crowing of a rooster. "Are there seriously chickens in there?" Sebastien just looked at me and said, "Does that really surprise you?" It shouldn't, but every so often I have this moment: I am sitting on this sketchy fishing boat with no safety features of any kind, watching people punch eachother to board, and listening to the roosters cock-a-doodle-dooing under the seat and I just wonder if this can actually be real life.

When we arrived in Mafia, I just stayed seated and could do nothing but laugh as, yet again, the savage battle raged on. All around the luggage hold people were screaming at the bag guy and eachother in their haste to get their bags. We patiently waited for people to clear out before we got our bags and hopped on a dala to head back to Dar.

Sitting on the dala, was when I discovered my missing camera. Normally, I think this would have ignited complete panic and furry in me, but somehow it just didn't come. I was upset, but shockingly calm; what could I do? It was clearly long gone. And somehow that crazy experience was worth it.

 

Zanzibar

Stone Town, Zanzibar (Jan. 21 - Feb. 7)

Stone Town feels like a completely different world from what I was used to on mainland Tanzania. Where the mainland is all bare minimum, one storey buildings made of cement or mud with a roof of metal or palm leaf; Stone Town is this romantic coast town with narrow roads winding through Arabian style buildings with intricately carved wooden doors and balconies that make you feel like you walked onto the set of Casa Blanca. That being said, as can be expected such beauty attracts a large crowd of tourists. Stone Town is filled with air conditioned buildings, western-style washrooms, fancy restaurants, souvenir shops, and the prices that follow.

I actually spent far longer in Stone Town than I ever anticipated staying because I really didn't enjoy the city. Granted, it was beautiful, but there was something really cold about it. I think having so many tourists has somehow tainted the locals and created this really extreme separation between tourists and locals. To begin with, you are physically separated from the local areas by the elabortely winding streets that resemble the pattern of elephant skin and which contain no street names. Even with a map it is nearly impossible to keep track of where you are and once you lose your spot, there are no street signs to enable you to find it again. No one seems to know the names of streets and if anyone offers to help you, you can be sure they are a tour guide and are hoping to make some money out of it. While trying to find Luk Man (amazing local restaurant) one guy followed me to the restaurant despite the fact that I was ignoring him and then stood beside me while I ate asking me if I was going to give him money. There is this really unfortunate environment there where everytime someone helps you with anything, you are trying to figure out how they are making money at it. This even happens in Moshi, but anytime you are looking for something someone will offer to take you there and then they will overcharge you because they know your Good Samaritan will ask for a commission. One time, I came out of the post office with my backpack on and someone who I assumed was a cab driver came and asked me if I needed a cab. He escorted me the three feet around the corner that I would have gone anyways and took me to the first cab waiting there. When I arrived at my destination, the cab driver said that he had told him that i would give him (my cab driver) money to give to him after. I think that guilt trip normally works on Westerners.

I spent my birthday with some UK girls I made on the ferry from Dar. We went snorkeling at prison island, had a picnic on the beautiful and deserted beach, walked around with giant turtles in the turtle sanctuary, floated on our backs in the calm salty water, and then had dinner at a beach side restaurant where we smoked a hookah and were serenaded by two of the waiters that have a reggae band.

Our visit to the slave market was probably the most interesting part of Stone Town. The market area was turned into a church when the British shut it down, but the bunkers where they kept them are still there. It was eerie being down there and knowing how many people must have died in there. It is this big cement chamber and the place where they were is about waist height and right through the middle is a canal where there used to be water. The only access to fresh air was these three tiny slits of windows. The church itsef is a monument to the atrocities and part of the original whipping post still remains in front of the altar. After surviving three days in the bunkers, the slaves would be brought out and whipped in front of potential buyers to prove their strength. Those who didn't pass the test were killed or put back into the stuffy, disease filled bunkers. Strong slaves were sold for a hefty price. At the back of the church where a baptismal sink now stands is where the children that were too young to be of any use were slaughtered. Its hard to believe it is possible that such a place actually existed.

We spent one night in Kendwa for the full moon party, which was this amazing beach party right beside the ocean. Two of the girls fell asleep and someone came and stole everything. One girl even had her shoes stolen and had to walk home barefoot. I am constantly shocked at the extent of what people will steal in Tanzania.

We spent one day shopping in the stalls and met this Masaii man who offerred my parents 25 cows to marry me. I think I got a better price for my marriage proposal at the hot springs, but it was flattering none the less. When I laughed, he asked me how many cows it took to marry a Mzungu (white person). When I responded that he just had to get one to love him, he stared at me in complete shock: "YOU MEAN ITS FREE?! WOW I'M GONNA DO THAT". Any white girls looking to marry a Masaii man the 25 cows offer still stands.

We spent 3 days relaxing in Nungwi, which is a beautiful beach town. Our hotel was right on the beach so we basically did nothing but sit on the beach and read or swim in the waves. Just before we left I got sick (the details of which I won't disclose on the internet, but it wasn't fun). Being in this sketchy little local hospital and feeling as bad as I did wasn't exactly my ideal situation to be practicing my Swahili, but I was very glad I knew it.