T.I.A: This is Africa

Dear Walt,
You lied to me. You told me Africa was about talking lions and wise baboons. Did you know Pride Rock doesn't exist? And I haven't seen a single herd throw a baby lion up like a cheerleader. Your childish Disney movies have congested my mind with falsities and it's going to take me a while to get over it.

For 11 weeks I was waiting for the Africa Moment that Disney had promised me. I thought that's what I needed for this trip to no longer feel surreal - to no longer have to remind myself how far I'd traveled. I'd look at a map and trace my journey from San Sebastian to Madrid to Zurich to Nairobi to illustrate how I'd ended up there, but for some reason it wouldn't sink in. The moment I was waiting for was straight out of The Lion King, and I couldn't help but wonder where all the talking baboons and singing giraffes had gone. I was so distracted by cartoon images that I was oblivious to the clues that surrounded me everyday - the "T.I.A. moments", as they are known in traveling circles, that defy all logic and common sense; moments which leave you speechless with confusion, and give you no other option than to say "T.I.A! This is Africa!" and move on with your life. I learned this phrase on my last night in Zanzibar - my last night in Africa. I was out for a drink with some friends at a beach front bar that used the Tusker beer label as their own. Without consulting the menu, half the table ordered the Kenyan beer, only to be shut down by a server who didn't see the irony in them not having the only beer they advertised. We stared at each other blankly for a moment, when someone broke the silence by shouting "T.I.A!" When I asked him what that meant, he explained that saying this is all you can do when things go wrong, and those who forget this crucial phrase risk dying of a mental breakdown. Woah, I thought. I wish I'd known this earlier. I have been putting my well-being at serious risk. And at that point, every T.I.A. moment I had in Africa flashed before my eyes - fictional menus and 3 hour waits, 12 hour bus rides over crater-sized potholes, seat-less toilets and waterless taps. The T.I.A. moments where it's better to laugh than to get upset, and remind yourself that it's all part of the experience. For almost 3 months I had been living through one extended T.I.A. moment and I was too concerned with cartoon characters to realize it. An epiphany if there ever was one! Don't worry, though, I found my Disney Moment. It was while driving through Lake Manyara's red dirt roads, spying on giraffes, zebras, baboons, elephants and buffalo through the open roof of a safari jeep, singing songs from Disney soundtracks. More Jungle Book than Lion King, but exactly what I had been waiting for.

How can I sum up the last 3 months? Challenging, inspiring, frustrating, a growing experience, not to mention an ego booster every time someone commended my bravery/lunacy for traveling Africa alone. Obviously no one told them I slept with the lights on and my valuables under my bed. But just as it's important to appreciate the experiences I've had in Africa - the inspiring, the frustrating and the perplexing - it's also important to know when to leave. As Peter Moore said in the most influential book of my travels, No Shitting in the Toilet: The Travel Guide for When You've Really Lost It, a good sign that it's time to leave is "when you start getting abusive and hostile towards the symbols of everyday aggravation while traveling - the hawkers, street touts..." Well... I've been hostile since Rwanda, so my return was long overdue! With my dad in London on the 19th and Jessie in San Sebastian for her birthday only 2 days later, I decided it was time for my African adventure to come to a close. When I surprised Jessie at the Urban House Hostel in San Sebastian a day before her 20th birthday, our 5 minute tear-filled embrace told me I had made the right decision. So long Africa.

Highs and Lows in Stone Town

I can summarize my 24 hours in Zanzibar's Stone Town as a series of highs and lows. I met some wonderful people, but also a few pests, lingering behind me for essentially my entire visit, offering me city tours, invitations to souvenir shops or just some awkward company. I was ripped off on some purchases, but once I got the hang of bartering I got some excellent deals on spices. And although I had my camera stolen, I had enough good experiences to not let that cloud my impression of the island. So although Zanzibar has its fair share of blemishes, it has plenty of attractive attributes to redeem itself. It's very historic, with old buildings from the slave trade preserved to co-exist with new museums, white sand beaches and sea-front restaurants. The architecture has that Swahili charm that drew me to Lamu - not so much African as Arab. The weather is nice - humid, just the way I like it. The water is blue, the coffee is good, and the night market has great street food and a friendly market vibe I've found on slightly safer streets of Thailand. The Forodhani Gardens were a highlight of my time in Tanzania. They are lined with food stalls, each piled with mounds of skewers of local fish - red snapper, tuna, barracuda, white shark rubbed in local spices for a distinctly Zanzibar flavour. For dessert there is fresh fruit, banana-chocolate pancakes and sugarcane-ginger juice. For my last dinner in East Africa, I was fearless. Bring it on, giardia. Give me everything you've got.

The gardens were a perfect place to meet other travellers. As I sat on the stone benches by the ocean sipping a frosty glass of sugarcane-ginger juice, a rugged British backpacker named Charlie sat down beside me and we shared travel stories. I spent the rest of the night getting to know his travel group that had formed over the last few months - med students, British students on a gap year, a German couple on the Long Way Up to Cairo. We talked about our travels, our lives back home, and divulged some of our deepest secrets - like the fact that Charlie was the lead character in the movie Stardust, starring opposite Claire Danes. It's true. I googled it. So although there were lows, I had enough highs to make this minor detour before I headed to Dar Es Salaam worth while.

Cheating my way to Zanzibar

I felt a bit guilty this morning as I waited to board the Coastal Airlines flight to Zanzibar. "You filthy cheater!" I said to myself. "You are weak! What are you doing flying - you are robbing yourself of the African experience! What happened to embracing discomfort? Hunger? Anger? Penny pinching? Isn't the 12 hours of nausea and filth, with nothing to eat but friend chicken and peanuts, the essence of African travel?" Had I cheated myself out of lifelong memories by opting for a sterile airplane ride? Yes. Yes I had, but to be honest, I've got enough of those that I'm trying to forget. The bus ride from Lamu to Mombasa immediately comes to mind. The rains were so unbelievable that by the time I boarded the bus my belongings and I were drenched. We drove for 2 hours before stopping to do some "minor" repairs. 3 hours later (3 hours of me ignoring a delusional man hanging in the doorway, rubbing his shiny bow tie, telling me he loved me) our "mechanics" gave up and the Tawakal bus company gave us a bus with brakes. BRAKES! Not that we really needed them up to that point. We had been driving through sludge so slowly that passengers were literally walking on and off the bus as we drove. The first 5 hours of that trip were one long, drawn out FML moment. 6 hours later - 4 hours later than expected - I arrived in Mombasa. The moment came back when I took a shower and watched the colour slide off my body and swirl down the drain. Not a tan, apparently. That one scarred me for life, and the thought of putting myself through that kind of filth and agony one more time was more than I could handle.

I felt a bit ashamed of this airplane ride at first, but as our 12-seater took off, I realized that this was an African experience of a different kind. I sat in what was essentially a flying mini-bus. The pilot doubled as a flight attendant, giving us a very brief safety briefing as we taxied down the runway (something along the lines of "your life jacket is under your seat for when we have an accident over the Indian Ocean." And our co-pilot was, in fact, not a pilot at all, but a passenger who wanted a front row seat. Only 10 minutes into the flight, I realized that I was not robbing myself of anything, as there were just as many things to be afraid of in the air as on land! Rather than rolling in a ditch, we could plummet through the air by the force of gravity. Oncoming traffic is still and issue, only in the air there's the added bonus of a surprise collision, as half of our time was spent blindly navigating through clouds. And let's not forget the worst scenario of all - having to pee. Considering I have to pee at least once every hour, 12-hour toilet-less bus rides have really gotten in the way of my hydration routine, as I am forced to go all day without drinking any water. But at least buses have bush-toilet breaks! Up in the air, with no bush to speak of, I was in trouble 15 minutes into the flight. Honestly, that was the longest hour of my life. A near death experience, if you will.

Despite the expected fears that come with any means of African transportation, flying had its benefits. It gave me an alternative to admiring the scenery on land - and this one didn't involved mamas shoving nyama choma (roasted meat) through my window. From the comfort of my air conditioned seat, I had a 180 degree view of Arusha as we took off, saw Mount Kilimanjaro breaking through the clouds, and admired Zanzibar's clear blue water, so clear I could see the sand underneath all the way from the air. The flight alone was breathtaking, never mind Zanzibar itself. But that is a story for another day.

Arusha: Crossroads for the ultimate trifecta of cool

I've been in Arusha, Tanzania for only a matter of days and I'm already liking the vibe this city gives off. To most people I've spoken to, Arusha is just another city. Thanks to Ronnie, my Volunteer Abroad connection, I am able to get to know this city through people who live here. My first night out was an eye-opener to this city's friendly diversity. In honour of Bob Marley Day, we headed to Via Via for a night of rasta fun (although the crowd here made me wonder if they lived every day for Bob.) The Warriors were jamman' on drums, guitars and kitchen sets for an audience of rastas, maasais and mzungus - it was the ultimate trifecta of cool. Rastas jammed, Maasais danced, and although we mzungus weren't too sure what we were doing, by the time the rasta congo line came around we had had enough konyagi to make us feel like we did. In honour of peace, love and Bob, everyone mingled together, sharing drinks and conversation regardless of dress, culture or body odour. It was a beautiful sight - so beautiful that I had a momentary memory lapse and asked myself why I shouldn't just spend the whole summer in Tanzania... but I was instantly reminded when I tried to order food, and the kitchen was out of everything I asked for. After attempting half the menu I asked "What do you have?" "Other things," said my waitress. Oh right. That's why I have to leave.

So I'll just have to enjoy Tanzania while I can - have some good coffee, go on a safari, maybe grow a dread lock or two. It's nice to have a place like the Volunteer Abroad house where I can be comfortable, make new friends and reconnect with old ones - oh, I'm getting nostalgic for my summer in Nepal with Volunteer Abroad. But it's quite the change being with people who are fresh off the boat in Africa, and in that sense I often feel like the odd one out. After spending the last two months with PCVs who've been here almost a year, their hand sanitizer having run out long ago, I quickly became desensitized to the unsanitary realities of Africa in order to fit in. I was once singled out and chastised for being caught with baby wipes and vowed never to draw attention to myself again. But here, I'm surrounded by concerns I forgot I should have. It's always "I can't pee in this dirty toilet" and "I won't swim in that parasite infested lake!" And can you believe that my defense that they can buy bilharzia pills in Uganda for only $5 didn't resonate with anybody!? Is it me?? Have I lost my sense of personal hygiene? Did you know I was once afraid of communal bar soap??? Now I'm just happy if there is soap. I don't know who I am anymore. Africa will do that to you.

Lamu: Where the showers are free and everyone gets around in a fanny pack

Lamu is a magical place - not at all the "real Kenya" I had prepared myself for. Located far North on the coast, on the road to Somalia, Lamu is a place where Arab and African cultures intersect. Women peruse the streets in full body bui-bui, men with kofiah on their heads and fanny packs fastening kikois to their waists. Most importantly, the donkeys own the streets. There is a unique attitude in Lamu in that the people are proud of their town. Rather than "please take me to Canada," people say "Welcome home!" The attitude here is carefree, and I am constantly greeted with funny phrases. "I hope you're enjoying the free showers!" when it rains; "can I give you a lift on my donkey?" when I look tired; and every time I meet someone, their name leaves me speechless.

Kenyans are very creative with their names. Each region of the country takes on a unique approach, often resulting in an eclectic mix of Western culture and tribal traditions. In Luo tradition, the first name is English and is chosen by randomly calling your baby different names until it stops crying - the last one being the baby's "favourite". The second name is Luo and indicates the time and weather conditions when the child was born. The pool of second names to choose from is pretty limited, so parents get very creative with the first. You would not believe the amount of Bill Clintons Onyangos and Fancys I've met. Every time I meet a Fancy I think to myself I can't believe your parents thought that was an option! Luos aren't the only tribe known for creative, if not questionable names. A friend of a friend once taught an Adolf Hitler, arbitrarily named after a "great European leader." No one had the heart to tell him exactly who Adolf was.

And here I am in Lamu, where there exists another unique approach to naming. I get the impression these people adopt new names as it suits them. Abdullah, for example, the manager at Sunset House, renamed himself Abdullah-Bob when he realized that about half the men in Lamu are named Abdullah. I've met a Smile, a Dolphin, and there are plenty of Captains - Captain Slow Motion Donkey stands out the most.

The funny names and fanny packs are a perfect reflection of the lifestyle and mindset in Lamu. Care free. Lighthearted. I'd happily spend the rest of my trip here, but Tanzania is calling.

(Side note: for those of you who are wondering, I never did see Dr. Foxy again. Sigh.)

In Lamu... Finally!

After 5 days of hiding out at Cafe Java in Kampala, I gathered all the courage I could and headed back to Kenya. I had a stressful few days in Rwanda and I needed some time to recover - some time to pretend I was in North America, to make some friends, to have a few laughs. For 5 days I sipped iced lattes, played backgammon over rum and coke with Jack and Ben from London, indulged in jack fruit with Sebastian from Germany and was the center of market photoshoots with Charlie from Maryland. It was 5 days of much needed laughs.

From there, I made my way to the coast. I met up with my friend Beau in Nairobi and we took the night train to Mombasa where we spent a couple of days before making our way to his house in Kilifi. Having Beau around helped ease me back into "real Kenya", where there are no movie theaters, no iced lattes and a hole in the ground constitutes a toilet. Real Kenya - where getting from point A to B means sitting with 20 people in a 14 person matatu - the Kenya I hesitated to return to, but thankfully had someone to hold my hand all the way there, and once I made it it wasn't so bad.

And now, I am writing this from Lamu on the Indian coast of Kenya. I've reunited with some Americans that I met in Kisumu. The 10 of us are staying at the Sunset House on Shella, just a 45 minute walk up the beach from Lamu, through the labyrinth that makes up the town. We have the entire guest house to ourselves - wait, did I say guesthouse? I meant Barbie Dream House. We have a housekeeper Arnold who is super human - he can grocery shop, do the dishes, wash our clothes, make the beds and cook crab all at once. Everyone has their own double or queen sized bed and an ensuite bathroom. We have a kitchen, dining room and two roof top terraces. The Swahili architecture allows for wide open spaces, a steady flow of fresh air and lots of natural light, and the decor is simple - off-white walls, straw roofs, and a few plants to bring life into the room. From the rooftop, you can see nothing but blue water, straw roofs and palm trees; hear nothing but donkeys braying and calls to prayer. This place is breathtaking - this place is paradise. It is so peaceful that I was barely phased by my trip to the local clinic the other day. We went on an obligatory dhow trip on Swahili sailboats representative of the coast. Halfway through, we stopped to explore the Takwa Ruins on Manda Island. Normally, I love decaying brick walls, but along the way I had a violent run in with a sharp and thorny branch. Unable to walk or pull out the thorn buried in my foot, the ruins quickly lost their charm. I made it back to the boat via piggy back ride and headed straight for the clinic. After 3 injections of local anesthetic, one scalpel and two varieties of pliers later, out came a thorn an inch long. I may have screamed loud enough for the whole archipelago to experience my pain, but I didn't shed a single tear. And if you could have seen my doctor, you would wish that you were the one to have stepped on the thorn. Swedish and handsome, this was more of a blessing in disguise. I felt a bit like Keri Russell's character in Waitress, where an unhappily married and pregnant Jenna falls in love with her doctor and the two of them have a romantic affair... my scenario may be missing a few details, but in the words of The Andrew Sisters in their 1938 hit: "I can dream, can't I?" I'm considering one more injury before I leave tomorrow. And let's not forget the souvenir I have to take home! Dr. Foxy put my thorn in a zip-lock bag, gave me some pain killers and sent me on my way. My first day on the archipelago didn't turn out as expected, but I can't think of a single experience that has. So as the old saying goes - Karibu Kenya. Hakuna Matata. Welcome to Kenya. No worries.