Zanzibar

Abeid Amani Karume International Airport. Zanzibar 10/12/2021 02:00

“I wish I could speak their gibberish”

I thought, as two luggage porters jabbered in Swahili about our predicament.

We’d been traveling thirty-six hours and our airport transfer no showed. Paranoia was slowly creeping in.

The larger of the two porters pulled me aside and said,

“Hakuna Matata my Rafiki. I’ll take care of you.”

How patronizing! These porters think I’m some stupid American who knows nothing of Africa besides Lion King references.

“Hakuna Matata” is a Swahili for “No Worries.” “Rafiki” means ‘Friend”. “Simba” means Lion. The inspiration for Pride Rock came from the Serengeti. The Lion King was based entirely on Swahili culture.

I am, in fact, a stupid American.

Lolo and I were so exhausted that we trusted the system. We hailed a taxi. I told her to roll the windows down, and positioned myself behind the driver’s seat in case I have to strangle the cab driver.

Little did I know we were perfectly safe. Zanzibarians are god fearing pacifists. The Tanzanian government does not tolerate fuckery of any kind when it comes to tourists because tourism is such a large chunk of their GDP.

Zanzibar is an island in the Indian Ocean. Twenty miles off the coast of mainland Tanzania. It is best known for being the birthplace the greatest frontman ever:

Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

Despite sporting the most offensive mustache of all time, Julius Nyerere is responsible for present day Zanzibar. In the 1970’s, he merged Tanganyika and Zanzibar creating Tan–Zan–ia, as it were. Today, he remains national hero. An equatorial George Washington.

Our pilgrimage to Tanzania was inspired by Anthony Bourdain.

Bourdain became a personal hero of mine after endorsing the Diaz Brothers, which forced my parents, to accept their legitimacy. We retraced Bourdain’s steps on our Honeymoon. Stopping first in Zanzibar, then the Ngorongoro Crater and then Serengeti.

Zanzibar was the most uneventful part of the trip. We sent postcards. Swam in the Indian ocean. Adjusted to the time change. Toured the Freddie Mercury museum. Explored Stone Town, ducking exposed power lines and eating where Bourdain did: Jaw’s corner and Fordhani Gardens.

We took a spice farm tour and learned how little we knew about spices.

On the way back from the farm tour, we drove past a town called “Bupupupu”.

“Bupupupu” was home to a railway station. Trains make the noise “Bupupupu.,” Hence the name lol.

Two days later we were on a bush plane to mainland Tanzania. My bladder failed me midflight and I had to pull the old Trucker Gatorade bottle trick. This made Lolo thoroughly question her decision to say “I do.”

After landing, we were subjected to a battery of COVID-19 tests.

In 2020, two countries didn’t recognize COVID-19:

North Korea and Tanzania.

Tanzania didn’t recognize COVID-19 because the President John Magufuli denied it existed.

Ironically, President John Magufuli denied it existed until he died of…..you guessed it….. COVID-19.

Magufuli’s fatal lapse in judgement decimated Tanzanian tourism. Camps and safari companies were forced to slash prices to encourage action.

This paired with a well timed entrance and exit with Dogecoin, afforded us the opportunity to finance the trip.

But as I look back on the experience, we couldn’t afford not to take the trip.

My ego had become embroiled in petty drama. Pointless feuding with Italian competition.

I had to go from provoking Goombas to provoking Pumba.

I had to go from attacking foul guineas to photographing Guinea Fowl.*

The Italians weren’t my only issue. I was addicted to my umbilical phone.

If you’ve ever looked, guilty eyed, at your screen time on a Sunday morning, you too know the feeling. You might even think Steve Jobs is just a hop, skip and a jump away from Pablo Escobar.

I needed to disconnect to reconnect.

*I can make these jokes, I’m Italian.