April 3, 2010
I wake up refreshed. I am glad for the soft bed but the quality of sleep is different somehow. The streets are noisy already and there no lions to look forward to. I will be glad for a cup of coffee but that is all.
The day passes by quickly in coffee shops and craft markets bargaining over Maasai necklaces, bracelets and masks which I am surprised to know are made in the neighbouring Mozambique. I am debating between buying something for Siraji or waiting until I get back to Moshi tomorrow. Arusha with all its coffee shops and peppy vibe feels unfamiliar and I yearn for familiarity which Moshi will provide although it will be tinged with painful memories.
April 4, 2010
I am in a daladala heading to Moshi for my last night with Siraji, who has secured a room for us at Hotel Kindoroko. This was not in my original plan but I want to stay in Moshi on my last day instead of in Arusha, because Siraji is unable to travel.
Tomorrow I will be on a flight home. Every kilometer away from Arusha is like an end of a chapter. A feeling of being uprooted and tossed about settles in. The daladala driver is talking non-stop into his phone and I stare at the countryside without really seeing anything. My mind is in a whirl. I do not want this journey to end. I want it to go on and not end in Moshi thirty minutes later. There has to be a way to keep traveling without really arriving anywhere. My knowledge of fauna has tripled merely passing through the national parks in the northern circuit; imagine how much more I can learn if I simply kept on the move.
With these thoughts I have arrived at Hotel Kindoroko where Siraji is waiting for me. I am very pleased to see him. We stay indoors most of the afternoon, talking and recounting the safari. Siraji is happy because I am happy. His body is a familiar refuge. It is nice being in his arms.
“Tonight we will dance,” Siraji says to me gently pulling at my earlobes. “We will go with my friend Festo to a dance bar. You will learn Bongo Flava, our favourite. It is a special treat for you, my baby.”
“I can’t dance to save my life, but why not. It’s a nice way to say goodbye. Oh Siraji, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here…forever.”
***
Festo, Siraji’s friend is short and light skinned with eternally dancing eyes and he speaks enough for three. He is on time. The bar is slowly filling up as we make our way in. Here the true Tanzanian spirit takes wings. Young men and women full of energy and pep are dancing with glasses in their hands. .My eyes are on Siraji. He belongs here, to this town, this bar. He belongs in Africa with his friend Festo The walls, chairs and tables are part of him. I am the alien. There can be nothing more to Siraji and me than a platonic friendship. I will never belong here among the beer- swigging locals. I will always be the mzungu, no matter how many trips I make to this country or how much beer I drink. I am only glad that Bongo Flava makes a decent bar dancer of me. It is the closest to cultural integration as I can get here.
Siraji is very protective of me. His eyes flash in anger when someone tries to rub shoulders with me, which is happening often because I am mzungu. His arms stay protectively around me. He has become quite the celebrity here because local men envy his role as the “boyfriend” of a tourist. I am content for that label to stay.
April 5, 2010
In another hour I will leave for the airport. My first trip into Africa is coming to an end. It is true what is said of Africa being addictive. In two weeks I have become addicted to everything here – from food to men and habits, weather, rains and greenery. The roar of lions, Maasai men, African beer and drumbeats all have become a part of my life here. I have become addicted to being called mzungu, the constant hopping over puddles in the streets, the noise of daladala and boda bodas.
With a heavy heart, I sip the weak hotel coffee and munch on toast while staring at Mt Kilimanjaro where all this began. Somewhere on its slopes I tasted success which has changed me as a person. I will miss the sight of this mountain from the hotel terrace and the clouds hovering over it. I will miss Moshi and Jenna.
The magic of Tanzania will continue to envelop me long after I have gone but it will be only that – a memory of some of the best things I have encountered. This is the country that gave me the courage to accept my faults and shortcomings and patience and courage to hold off a rape attempt.
I want to cry although I don’t understand why and what about. I never find out why.
There is a thing about goodbyes…
That melts your heart and moistens your eyes
Memories, like night, unto itself retreats
Like a roar and a drumbeat…
[…] visit to Kenya, I decided to spend some time with the Masaais – although I had done that in Tanzania few years ago. The idea was to get to know as much as I could about them, take candid shots and […]