What To Do When You Find Yourself Stranded in the Middle of Nowhere…and Other Stories

It is hard to believe that I have already been in Zanzibar three weeks. I think back to the first day I arrived here, how confused and lethargic I was after traveling for two days, and how my first week here felt like an eternity as I adjusted to my new surroundings. I can now admit that while I was not in love with Stone Town at first, it has really grown on me these past few weeks. The sense of community here is palpable; many people have gone out of their way to help me, while expecting nothing in return. Just yesterday, my apartment’s water supply was cut. I called Manuela, who was out of town for the weekend, and within about half an hour our neighbor was waiting outside our door with two heavy bins of water that he had hauled up the stairs to give to me. When I tried to pay him for his trouble, he politely refused. That same day, as I was struggling to punch in the code for our prepaid electricity, a young girl came over to help me. It is this sense of compassion among members of the local community that I admire most and it has definitely assuaged any feelings of doubt that I initially had when I first arrived here.

In my first weeks here, I also found it difficult to connect with other foreigners, as most of the individuals I met were visiting Stone Town on holiday. I was longing to find a community of long-term expats who were here for study or work rather than vacation. Fortunately, as I have learned this past week, the long-term expat community here is incredibly close and friendly, and I have been introduced to so many interesting individuals doing research, working at the  Ministry and NGOs, and studying in Zanzibar. Several weeks ago, I was looking forward to moving to Dar and now I find myself wanting to stay in Zanzibar much longer.

I wish I could say that in the last three weeks I have become an expert at getting around, but unfortunately that has not been the case. Last Friday, I decided to take a dala dala to an area called Mbweni to attend a yoga class. While it would have been more prudent to take a taxi, considering I had never been to Mbweni before and was unsure about the precise location of the class, I decided to take a dala dala going in the general direction of where I needed to be (general is italicized here on purpose, and it will soon become apparent why). As long as I made it to Mbweni I figured, I would be able to ask around and get directions to the ruins where the class was going to be held.

I walked to the bus stop and jumped on the bus headed towards Mbweni, which, as usual, was packed with people. The bus took off and I told the man collecting money that I wanted to be dropped off at Mbweni ruins, but he looked at me with confusion and turned away. I asked the woman sitting next to me if she could tell me when we were getting close. She responded with a smile and a giggle which I interpreted as a “yes” but easily could have been a polite way of telling me she had no idea what I had just asked. Based on a small dot on my map labeled ¨Mbweni ruins,¨I estimated my transit time to be around 15 minutes. However, 15 minutes went by and the bus had not stopped. I looked at the woman next to me, my expression conveying a combination of confusion and slight panic, but she looked perfectly content. If I missed my stop I would be heading all the way to the southern tip of Zanzibar, and would most likely be stuck there as practically no dala dalas operate after 6pm.

Finally after what felt like ages, the bus abruptly pulled over and everyone stared at me, a silent albeit obvious signal that it was my time to get off the bus. I stood on the side of the road for a minute, trying to get my bearings. It became clear after about two minutes that I was nowhere near where I needed to be and had no idea how to get where I needed to be. Determined to make it to the yoga class, I began walking up and down the road, looking for someone to ask directions. I went into one shop and asked the woman in Swahili where the ruins were. She stared at me as if I just said something in gibberish, and replies ¨bruins?¨I proceeded to ask several other people I met on the road, including a police officer, and received the same confused stare. After about 45 minutes of wandering aimlessly down the same stretch of road, I decided to throw in the towel and return to Stone Town, that is, if I could find some way of getting back. Fortunately, I was able to flag down a taxi right at 4:58, two minutes before the yoga class was about to start. I decided to test my luck once again and see if he knew where the ruins were located. To my amazement, he knew exactly what I was referring to and I managed to make it to the ruins right as the class was starting. Jo, the yoga instructor, was extremely welcoming despite my tardiness and the class was a nice treat for my rather disastrous travel experience.

While it was a bit of a nightmare at the time, this was a good lesson in the importance of planning ahead and learning to improvise in uncertain situations. I would have saved a lot of time (and sanity) if I had just taken a taxi, but thinking I could navigate the public transportation system, I took a chance and it didn’t quite pay off. I imagine that this will not be the last time I find myself stranded somewhere in Tanzania, so I might as well learn from my experience. And if nothing else, at least everyone on that road knows who I am now (bibi “bruins”- the bruins girl).

Hopefully I will have a chance to post some pictures of my recent trips to Prison Island and the spice farm, so stay tuned for those.