Zanzibar Zen

I am on the balcony of my room in Z hotel, arrived 30 minutes ago, had a shower, slipped into a bathrobe, made Tanzanian tea and am listening to the sound of the waves of Indian Ocean and the breeze in the palm branches that I can touch over the railing. It is dark now and there are fires on the white sand beach below me, people enjoying their time here. Non-intrusive music coming from the restaurant, light chatter. The sound of the waves dominates.

I am alone. Boris had a family emergency and is on his way to Canada after spending the afternoon with me touring Stone Town. It is strange. He has been by my side over the past two weeks and now I miss him. Had everything gone as planned he would have told me that he needs time to unpack, sort his things out and that he would come and join me for tea later, once everything was organized. My bags are sitting on the bench beside the bed, opened to get what I need now, the clothes from today lying around, scattered together with my wallet, sun glasses, camera, ... In thirty minutes I have made this place my own. And now, I am taking deep breaths and telling myself 'you can do it'. I can have great four days on my own, do what I feel like doing, be aware that next week I will be back to work, picking up Jan and Ena from school, managing our time and our errands that we have so intricately set up for ourselves. Busy. Now is the time to relax and enjoy this piece of paradise, the third one on this journey, utterly different than the first two, and here for me to discover. No guides, no friends with their own agendas and habits, all totally up to me.

I have switched to bed, there is an iPod station next to it, I am playing Zaz, looking up.. It is a canopy bed, mosquito net wrapped around the posts, to the right is a huge floor to ceiling glass door to the balcony. The sound of waves still dominates in my ears. I am going to unpack, then go to eat, I am starving.

I wake up at sunrise, here that means 6 am. We are few degrees south of Equator, it figures. First thing I do is wrap myself in the sheet and go to the balcony. Starting to soak it in. Life has stopped and I am letting my senses feast on the colours, sounds and scents around me. Zen. I am synching into it.

 

Then I put on my beach dress and go down to the beach to take pictures. I stay for two hours. I walk up and down the beach and chat with the locals. They want to know about Canada, they ask practical questions, how much is the rent, what is the weather like... It is always men and they all have some business to do. Come to my art shop... do you want a sunset cruise, or a spice tour... Yes, I want everything, but not now. I will come by later.

The first boat I see is called Kilimanjaro and it has Che's face on its flag.

 

Kilimanjaro is following me... The best part of me is still there. I cannot get Freddrick out of my mind. How he seemed quiet and ordinary in the beginning. Bigger than the mountain at the end. Not ever did I see him angry, nor did Reggie,... I asked. Yet, around him, the well oiled machine never paused to ask 'what next'. One look, one sentence, often a captivating smile or a joke in Swahili or Chaga language and his crew was on their way. Never questioning. I noticed he lets Reggie and Nicas make decisions around the food. When do we eat, when do porters eat, when do we have tea or wash ourselves so we are clean when we enter the dinning tent. He does not talk much but he has a way of finding things out. He is curious about my separation. Who lives where, what does my husband (I keep correcting him, ex-husband, but it does not stick) do, does he like mountains, where are the kids now, with him?, with him?. He won't ask but I can feel his question, 'why'. Because I was not happy for many years. Sometimes life does not turn out the way we expected it. And that is ok. Last year was harder than climbing Kili (he laughs) but now I am happy. Nime furahi. He laughs again and says, 'good'. Never big words. Then I attack his privacy and he lets me. 'Are you happy with your wife?' ... Laugh again, 'yes'. 'Good', I say. I am crying now, sitting at the breakfast table, Indian Ocean and Kilimanjaro boat in front of me. We find goodness in people in the most unexpected places.

I make the sweet Zanzibar fruit disappear in a matter of seconds. Then I get up for my dose of fresh Tanzanian coffee, black. Amos shows up right away. My short jeans skirt met him last night as I was climbing the stairs to get dinner. Unlike Freddrick, Amos is direct. 'Are you married, I am also separated, time for you to get a boyfriend now, maybe a Tanzanian one.' I laugh,... like Freddrick, I just wave my head, no... and don't say much. Like Freddrick, I let people arrive to the understanding why what they want is sometimes not possible, no need to spell it out.

Not many people swim in the paradise water, mostly only the locals. They swim to the boats and enjoy it. I am going with them as soon as I savor this amazing coffee. I don't speak to Westerners around me - Italians, British, German. I won't be hanging at the pool. Beach is my world.

I go in. Not the Caribbean bathtub but warmer than Adriatic. I am guessing 25C. The smell is not as salty but I taste it right away. I swim away from the beach. Strong strokes, I don't want to stop. I feel like the Kilimanjaro boat. I can go anywhere. Then I dive in, it is not deep, I easily reach the bottom. I hang there for a long time. Then I swim back. All my little Kilimanjaro scratches and bruises burn and heal. Then I go to my sunbed and let the resting begin.

Again, my eyes closed, I think of Kilimanjaro, go over My Kilimanjaro Journey day by day.
Next to me a German guy is fixing his hair, looking himself in the mirror. I divert my eyes, I will not judge. I get up, buy 1.5L water bottle. I can hear Frederick... sip, sip... sip, sip... So I do. Then I swim again. And dive, dive, dive. The world is different down there. Back on Kili I said there were two worlds, one above the clouds with most of Kili in it, and the other below. I forgot this third one. The weightless one. No distraction, just happiness. I think of Boris, he would have loved to be here and dive in, then lounge on the sunbed all day long. His words come to me - 'take this time for yourself and do only what YOU want'. What about other people? 'Ignore them, the ones who matter will come to you'. He is in Amsterdam now. Long stop-over. I wonder if he decided to wait at the airport or to go out and feel the heart of Amsterdam. As Zach said it, 'you have just enough time to visit the coffee shop'. I hope Boris' world settles back into happiness. I am reading the book he gave me, Awareness, Anthony de Mello. We were born happy and are happy but don't see it from the walls of fake life that we have built around ourselves.

My inner Kili clock is kicking in as the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. I am hungry. I don't feel like eating alone among tourists at the hotel bar, so I walk around trying to figure out my way behind the wall of Western fantasy, into the local village. I stop at the souvenir shop just few meters from my sunbed and meet Kanu. I buy postcards and ask him if there is a place to eat nearby. He checks his watch, 'wait for me for two minutes, I am heading there myself'. The place is mere two minutes away, on the small street behind the hotel. It looks scruffy and there is an abundance of flies but I like what I see. Few people share two tables and there is only one meal on the menu, fried fish in veggie sauce, rice, Tanzanian spinach (tastes more like kale) and beans. I skip beans, had enough of them this morning. It looks delicious and the portion is big. First, we wash our hands at the canister, then we dig in. I learn that Kanu is from Arusha, he is Christian, he explains that while Muslims are a 95% majority in Zanzibar, overall, 90% of Tanzanians are Christian. As long as you get along, I say, then I tell him about Bosnia and my own mix of traditions, and why I chose Canada to be my home. After the meal, we wash hands again, no napkins here, and walk back. We talk about poverty around here. Then he asks me where I am staying. He cracks up as I say, Z. 'You stay at the best hotel around here and you eat local food!' Yes, I say. Then I think to myself how irrelevant money is to the weight of the events that make up our life. And yes, I am overpaying this hotel.

The sun is strong and I hide on the library terrace, writing postcards. Then I return Kanu his pen, he shows me the mailbox, everything is so close here. Come again, he says. I will come every day. Then I go back, stop by the dive center and meet David. I will take a refresher in the pool tomorrow, and go diving the day after. Just like that, after a thirteen (I don't tell David it has been that long) year break. Meca will be proud of me. I have butterflies but I know I will love it. Then I write my blog for a couple of hours, and it is almost sunset. I get a cocktail to go with the time of the day, soak in the beach and the sea in the late afternoon sun, take few pictures, then go for a sunset swim.
What a great day!