An afternoon at Zanzibar Butterfly Centre.
In correct translations are maybe the most funny thing about living abroad and traveling.
Just down the road was Jozani National forest where we got up and close and personal with these beautiful money's and got a front row seat to a territorial battle.
In the mangroves...Tessa is dropping pods in hopes of growing another tree.
Stopping for groceries...
Our beautiful villa for the week. We spent every morning in the pool while the babies slept.
White Bear and Ezekiel. One of the security guards at the villa.
Omar was a member of the villa staff. He was so darling. He spoke no English but his big, white smile spoke volumes.
Playing at the beach just down the road from our villa. We all could have lazed around in those hammocks all day. This was a rare moment when Bode and Allison weren't fighting. We were ready to throw these two in the ocean by the end of the week!
We did a lot of looking out the windows while Ali drove us around the island. Around every corner was an education.
At the north end of the island in Nungwi was the Mnarni Turtle Conservation. Large sea turtles are rescued from beaches or fishing nets are brought here to this beautiful little lagoon to rehabilitate before being released back to the ocean. While they're getting better you can hop in and swim with them. They were huge and I swear one nipped my on the ankle!
These two had zero intention of joining the turtles...
A pick up football game in a village we drove through.
Fishing is the second largest industry on the spice island. These handmade fishing boats are still used daily to pull in the nets. They use hand tools and spend about 30 days making a boat.
Boat ride to Prison Island.
On the island was a reserve for these huge tortoises. Some of them early 200 years old!
Perusing Stone Town...
Zanzibar was one of the original slave islands. Over 1.5 million Africans were captured and brought to Stone Town where they were chained and made to stay in these unbearable chambers. 50 men, 50! were crammed in these small rooms for 2 or three nights (if they hadn't already succumbed to suffocation) until they were taken to auction. It made me physically sick and nauseous. I had never really allowed myself to consider the horrific things these people were succumbed too before they even arrived in the Western world to be slaves. It is so despicable what humans are capable of doing to other humans.
Habibi our elf made his way to Zanzibar and left Christmas ornaments for the kids to paint and decorate the tree with on the morning of Christmas Eve.
Christmas Eve we read the Christmas story and then failed miserably to decorate gingerbread houses. It was so damn hot that the icing wouldn't set. We seriously sweat 24 hours away for 8 days.
Bode insisted on wrapping this red towel around his waist the entire week. Ole Bodes, always in costume.
Santa found us in Zanzibar. It was a mellow, sweet morning.
We'd spend Christmas dinner at The Rock. We'd walk over before, eat dinner as the tide came in and boat back to short after. It was a beautiful, memorable Christmas dinner.
I love this family so, so much. And feel so, so lucky to see the world with them.
An afternoon at Melia Beach. The water color and clarity in Zanzibar was just nothing short of ridiculous.
The beautiful, clean, blue Nungwi beach.
By trips end we had all been or were well on our way to being sick. But Wade the only one courageous enough, or perhaps sick enough to brave this pharmacy....
Zanzibar…it was to be a simple, relaxing beach holiday over Christmas. It was a bit more complex than we bargained for. For a couple of reasons. One, nothing is ever simple or relaxing with 3 children under the age of 6. I am in a constant state of being surprised by this unaltering fact. Two, Zanzibar is very much Africa. The poverty, political climate and cultural attitudes still have my mind swimming. And three, we rented a gorgeous villa complete with a cook, a maid and three of the most charming, heart winning security guards you could imagine. But it was on the wrong side of the island, requiring travel to the beaches and travel to the nearest grocery store which was an hour away, both resulting in a bit more time in the car than we would have liked. Does it sound like I'm complaining? I hope not, I’m not complaining, I promise. It was a remarkable week. Different than I think any of us were anticipating, a bit more work than any of the adults had geared up for and we’d do a few things differently next time. But it was wonderful. And beautiful.
I think the thing that caught me most off guard in Zanzibar, were the people. I had in my mind, happy, joyful Africans ready to welcome us to their tropical island. A naive and very American thing to think. What I saw was a tired, poor, almost resigning population. An island that seemed almost lacking in hope, or anything resembling ambition. The four of us talked several times about the amount of sitting and idleness there was. Hours and hours a day they would just sit on the side of the road, in their small village, just outside their mud huts. Perhaps living in a small village, where your daily tasks are to tend to the garden, sweep out the hut and boil rice, it leaves a great deal of time left in the day. They aren’t running to and from school pick up, or car pooling to football. They’re not running to the supermarket or gas station or doctors. This I get. And in this I see something refreshingly simple. Those things aren't required to live a good life. I was just so taken aback by the seemingly complete lack of engagement, in anything. Their quality of life, while simple and humble, was not what I would call, good. It has had me thinking and Wade and I talking about it since…what motivates a population? What drives ambition for a better way, a better life? How was Christopher Columbus driven to hop on a boat and sail across the sea in hopes, just hopes of finding a new world? And these people are just resigned to sitting in a mud hut until they die at the appallingly young age of 52? I think it’s naive to say they don’t know better. While they certainly don’t have MacBooks in their huts, every single one of them had a cell phone in hand. And they see the tourists come in to stay at posh resorts and villas. They know ‘better’ exists some where. I still haven’t formulated answers to my queries. But I certainly left feeling more grateful than ever for the access to opportunity. This I think being the Tanzanians greatest disadvantage. But also for the confidence I have in the ability to progress and for hope. Have you ever stopped to pause and consider what an extraordinary blessing hope is? Hope for a better tomorrow, hope that things are going to get better, hope for redemption, hope through our Savior Jesus Christ? It is perhaps THE gift we as humans have that gives us the most life blood. The most optimism, aspiration, belief. Without hope…well, I can’t imagine really. I suppose we’d resign our self to a lot. One might suggest that they don’t need ‘better’, that they are happy with what they’ve got. Perhaps they are. But I don’t understand it. And I don’t really believe it. Perhaps it is the American in me. Hope and progress are as engrained in our culture as liberty and democracy. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness! They were the VERY principles on which our nation was founded. The idea that people could and should progress as far as their abilities could take them. That we could create a system, a government, a life that had not yet been lived. And be successful. But these attributes, these traits transcend far beyond America these days. Hope and progress and the pursuit of happiness are things strived for all over the world. And so, before I throw up my hands let me introduce you to Mohammed…
I met him on a run one morning. I was looking for some peace and quiet, a short respite on my feet. A run through Zanzibar. But no sooner had I come out of our driveway and taken a left did Mohammed ride up next to me on his bike.
“Jumbo!”
“Jumbo.”
“How you doing today Madam?”
“I’m well, and you?”
“I very good! Where you come from Madam?”
And so our conversation went for the next 5-7 minutes. He let me go while I ran a while further into the next village and then he picked me up again on my return trip. I think he wanted to practice his English. And it didn’t take me long until I wanted to know more about Mohammed. I gathered he was around 19 years old and was attending a junior college. He wanted to be a Dr. He lived with just his mom on the side of the road, in a mud hut he pointed out to me. I was literally struck with pride for this young boy I knew nothing about, outside of what he had just told me in the last 13 minutes, in very broken English. He was doing it. He was pursuing happiness, a better way of life. And get this. He was happy. He was smiling. And he wanted to share that with me. So, I can’t help but wonder if it doesn’t all wind itself back down to education. Without education, there is no progress, and it seems cyclical. Without progress, there is no hope. Hope fades, frustration sets in and shortly after that resignation. How to educate the whole of Zanzibar, let alone her mother country Tanzania and beyond her borders, the seemingly black hole that is Africa, remains the next, daunting, seemingly insurmountable task.
And so, yes, Zanzibar was different than we were expecting. But it was a remarkable. It was an education. Me, us, Westerners with college educations and successful careers are still learning, still being educated. Sometimes by those without an inkling of a formal education.
When was the last time you had a hand written, paper ticket??
Beautiful, beautiful Zanzibar.
