Monsoon

The short rainy season has begun, more or less. Two days ago the
clouds broke on Kilimanjaro to reveal loads of fresh snow on Kibo and
Mawenzi, two of the three volcanoes that make up the massif. It was a
thrilling sight, a brief throwback to Hemingway's time, when the peak
was perpetually covered. It's still very dry and dusty in Moshi, though. The strong northeast winds kick up huge clouds of dust, which
finds it's way into the room and covers everything in a layer of
grit. Last night I went to pick up clients at the airport. Just
venturing beyond the hotel walls gave the eerie effect of stepping
into a snowstorm, the wind whipping up thick dust clouds and making
the driver, Salim, look like an apparition across the road.
Using these same winds at this time of year, traders for centuries
sailed from the Arabian peninsula to the coast and islands of what is
now Tanzania. They plied their wares and refilled their little wooden
boats, sailing back in the spring when the wind shifted. Over time,
routes became established that supplied slaves, gold, ivory and wood
to India and Asia, and returned spices, glassware, and textiles to the
blossoming city-state of Zanzibar.
This Arab influence shaped the region-its religion, architecture,
language, and food. People here still move around in little wooden
sailing boats with downwind sails. Both K and I had a couple weeks off,
so we left Moshi with a vague plan to explore the coast and islands,
to see where the trade winds brought us.
A long, hot bus ride brought us through the coastal plain to the port
town of Tanga, and a smaller bus took us further south. A tiny baby
was quickly deposited on K's lap for the trip. The little creature held tightly onto my
finger the whole way. A man in front of us was inebriated, much to the disgust of
other passengers in this
Muslim region. Soon the drunk was deposited in a village, the baby
was reclaimed, and we were dropped by the roadside, a short walk from
the funky seaside resort called Peponi, where we pitched our tent on
the beach for a few days. We swam and ate delicious fish masala and
sailed in their wooden dhow out to beautiful islets to snorkel. I met
some folks in the village and checked out their outrigger canoes and
handsome woven fish traps.
We booked passage on a cargo ship for the five hour journey to Pemba,
the forgotten half of the Zanzibar archipelago. A very Islamic, very
conservative island, it sees very few tourists, despite its stunning
beaches and fantastic coral reef.
On our first night in Pemba we watched from the roof of the guesthouse
as thousands of "flying foxes", huge fruit bats endemic to the island,
came out to feed.
We journeyed to the north to explore a fabled beach and dive with
Swahili Divers. We camped nearby in a stunning cove called Verani, an attempt at a
resort that was apparently abandoned to a group of teenage boys. The toilets and
showers didn't work, but the boys caught and cooked delicious white
snapper with coconut rice. The sunset was sublime, there were
fireflies on the beach and the night sky was beyond description.
Returning south through fragrant forests that once supplied 90% of the
world's cloves, we discovered that the ferry to Zanzibar was a no-show.
Our extra day in the little port of Mkoani turned out to be a
nice bonus. We found a friendly boat captain, Said, to deliver us to the
deserted island of Kwata. If you saw his boat on a beach in the US,
you might call it a shipwreck. But it proved to be skookum, and when
he returned for us in the evening he came in his wooden sailing boat
similiar to a dhow, known as a mashua. He let me have the tiller and
we coasted down a stretch of island, listening to the birds in the
palm trees and watching the sun go down on the water.
The ferry that did arrive was a fancy high-speed catamaran with A/C
and reclining seats, but still a crazy crush of people and chickens.
Before boarding we sampled some great street food- sugar cane juice,
grilled squid, dried clams on a stick. I was sorry to leave Pemba...