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Seerose
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DAR
ES SALAAM TO TANGA - PART TWO
PLEASE NOTE: DUE TO THE FACT THAT THIS IS A VERY
LONG ARTICLE, WE HAVE BROKEN IT UP INTO THREE PARTS.
READ PART 1 & PART
3
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When the public address system came to life, summonsing
the men to worship, Mahommed took off . By now we'd
become accustomed to the calls to prayer, as we'd
heard them many times throughout Africa but this
was the first time we'd had the privilege of being
amongst the men when they locked and bolted up their
shops and hurried to the Mosques. Thoughtfully the
prayers are broadcast over a public address system
for the benefit of those who have customers in their
shops and cannot leave them unattended.
We passed a Mosque and I glanced through the door.
I realised I'd committed a faux pas when I noticed
that the Moslem women drew up their shawls, averted
their faces and hurried by. After that I was careful
to keep my eyes downcast.
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A small dhow at sunset.
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Seerose at anchor off the old 'Stone
Town'. |
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It
was very hot and we were thirsty so we made our
way back to a restuarant named "The House of Spices"
which we'd passed just before Mahommed left us for
Mosque. He'd told us it was owned by a South African.
We climbed the three flights of stairs to the top
floor and seated ourselves at a table with excellent
views of the Island. We were served by the owner's
son Damian, who struck up a friendship with Ern.
Apparently they also owned a second restuarant viz,
"Ze Pizza".
Back at the yacht at dusk, we noticed someone paddling
towards us in a canoe. He pulled up alongside and
we invited him aboard. He introduced himself as
Abuie and spoke reasonably good English. He told
us the canoe was his most prized possession and
that and he paddled each morning and evening to
keep fit. The next time we saw him he was a very
sad young man as his canoe had disappeared. Apparently
he'd been for his customary evening paddle, then
pulled it up the beach as usual. He wasn't certain
whether it had been stolen or taken out with the
tide. Having recently been through a similar experience,
we understood exactly how he felt.
At sundown we heard loud music coming from the shore.
It was still light enough to see that a large crowd
had gathered in the square on the waterfront and
we wondered what on earth they were up to now. It
proved to be our introduction to that wonderful
eastern custom known as "eating on the street".
The entire neighbourhood gets together each evening
to socialise whilst enjoying inexpensive meals from
the food markets. |
The Anglican Church built over
the whipping post site. |
The
following day Mahommed took us to the Anglican
Church constructed over the site of the original
slave market. Our guide drew our attention
to two circles of pink marble which symbolised
the blood of the slaves. One was embedded
in the alter slab and the other in the floor
in front of the alter - marking the spot where
the original whipping post once stood.
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We
descended to the dungeons by way of a flight of
slippery, slimy, stone steps and were shown two
dungeons - one for women and children, the other
for men. I cannot recall how many people were imprisoned
together at one time but it was evident they were
cruelly overcrowded. To limit their body effluent
they were only given sufficient food and water to
keep them alive. Moreover, there was a furrow of
water flowing strongly through the dungeons and
because they were constantly thirsty the incessant
sound of the running water drove them close to insanity.
They were whipped and viciously beaten by the slavetraders
during the auctions, to enable prospective buyers
to assess their strength and value. Those who cried
out immediately were sold for the equivalent of
a modern day shilling and their value increased
in accordance with the amount of pain they could
tolerate.
Once sold they were shackled together and marched
to the dhows. If the young, old, feeble and infirm
collapsed or dropped the pace they were clubbed
to death, then cut loose and left. This discouraged
others from malingering in the hopes of being abandoned,
thus earning themselves a chance to escape.
The hulls of the dhows were fitted with "shelves"
constructed from floor boards, each two feet apart,
one shelf above the other. The slaves were lain
side by side upon these and shackled together. Their
food and water was rationed and they were left lying
in their own body waste for the duration of their
journey. As this was governed by the monsoons, many
of them never made it. I was embarrased to find
myself sobbing and observed that Bob too had tears
on his cheeks!
Regrettably we had to cut our visit short as Bob
and I were booked to fly home to South Africa on
business. We set off in what we now accepted to
be the customary fabulous sailing conditions at
around midday on 12 March. Consequently we were
rather put out when the wind swung at midafternoon
and we had to beat back and forth for the rest of
the trip. We only reached Dar at 01h30 the following
morning and left for our flight back to Durban four
days later. Liz prolonged her stay for a further
ten days and then left the yacht permanently.
It was delightful to return to the peace and tranquility
of the yacht after a busy three weeks at home. That
evening we celebrated a combined welcome back and
farewell dinner with Lowell and Bea who were leaving
the following morning.
After returning from the States their plans were
to sail to Durban, spend a couple of months exploring
the area and visiting some South African safari
parks, then continue on to Cape Town. Being aware
of our treacherous coastline, Lowell discussed his
proposed journey with Bob who advised him not to
sail South during the winter months because of the
perpetual SW fronts which move up the coast at that
time of the year. There is no large-scale Admiralty
chart available for Linga Linga, Inhambane so Bob
gave Lowell the waypoints for entry just in case
he needed a place to shelter in the advent of a
big blow.
When Lowell arrived back in Africa he decided to
take a chance and leave a little early as he was
travelling in tandem with another yacht and it's
skipper had a deadline to meet. It was fortutious
that he had the waypoints for Inhambane as it transpired
that the other yacht snapped it's boom in a big
blow and both yachts took shelter in the bay at
Linga Linga. Ever the entrepreneur, Mike sold them
a hardwood tree which the locals shaped to fit inside
the boom. Ah ................. the spirit of Africa!!
Months later we picked "Wanago" up on the Yachtie
Net and were delighted to hear that Lowell's surgery
was a complete success.
We had a burning desire to return to Zanzibar as
there was still much to see and do. On arrival we
hailed a dugout and went ashore. As we hit the beach
Mahommed materialised from nowhere! We told him
we wanted to do a Spice Tour so he rubbed his genie
lamp and poof ! ......"Doctor" Sulieman appeared.
To the accompaniment of "Pole' Pole' Mama" we were
loaded onto the back of a pick-up truck and driven
into the hills.
We trailed after the "Doctor" as he plucked leaves
and flowers from trees and bushes and educated us
on their medicinal value. Some he crushed, then
invited us to smell their perfume on his hands.
Now we realised why we were able to pick up the
fragrant scent of the island from miles offshore.
There appeared to be a natural cure for every conceivable
illness but it was obvious that Mother Nature favoured
the ladies as she even provided them with lipstick.
He led us to a tree which grows nowhere else in
the world and picked off a piece of fruit. Breaking
it open he instructed me to dip my finger into the
fruit then rub it on my lips. Voila! - free lipstick.
(I might add that it stuck like crazy and took days
to wear off.
Our next stop was a cave and while we explored it
the good doctor explained that after the abolition
of slavery the wiley traders had used it to conceal
their captives. He showed us where they'd tunnelled
through the earth and down to the sea making it
possible for them to transport their human "cargo"
to the waiting dhows ...... unobserved in the dead
of night.
We finally waved farewell to Zanzibar on 24 July
and set sail for Tanga, the most northern port of
Tanzania.
We spent the entire night dodging flying objects
in the Saloon. The sea was bubbling like a witch's
cauldron creating a most uncommon sensation. I felt
like Alice in Wonderland in a teacup afloat in a
pot of vigourously boiling water! Bob explained
that this was caused by the wind backing up the
current in the channel between the island of Pemba
and the mainland.
Our problems were exacerbated by the fact that we
were sailing through minefields of fishing dhows.
These guys extinguish their lights to conserve fuel.
It's a dangerous game to play as the crew tend to
snooze when the fish aren't active. They shift the
onus on other vessels to avoid them and there were
times when I figured it would teach them a lesson
if they landed up with our 20 tons of steel up their
rear ends!! Every half-hour I flashed the deck lights
to let them know that we were there and chuckled
spitefully when the entire sea lit up like a Xmas
tree.
When it grew light we noticed hundreds of coral
outcrops all the way along the coast and perceived
it be a popular diving area. However, for the duration
of our stay we never saw any of these activities
taking place. Perhaps the potential had not yet
been discovered as it was so far off the beaten
track.
We dropped anchor at Tanga at 10h30 and found it
to be another beautiful, safe harbour with a pretty
shoreline. A long flight of steps led to an unpretentious
building, perched above the beach. We were relieved
to discover that there was a ferry service and correctly
deduced that this was par for the course in all
East African countries north of Mocambique. Godwin
the ferryman pulled up alongside and offered to
take us ashore so Bob asked Ern to go up to the
club to find out what facilities were available. |
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The vessels in the small craft harbour were of infinite
variety, comprising gracious Dhows, Chinese junks and
many more of every conceivable size and shape. Most were
owned by foreigners and used for tourist charter
Two of the crew from a Chinese Junk came alongside in
their tender. Apparently the youngster, who spoke perfect
English, was the PRO and the old man, who hailed from
Lamu in Kenya was the sail trimmer and rigger. The youngster
proudly intimated that Lamu was renowned for producing
the best sailors in the world and it was obvious that
he admired and deeply respected the old man. He chatted
on, telling us that their skipper was German, their Chef
was Chinese and their Cabin Boy was Tanzanian and that
the crew aboard all the vessels in the harbour were also
a hotch-potch of nationalities.
They offered us a lift ashore, and for the duration of
our short stay they ensured that we never had a problem
with transport to or from the jetty. On one occasion they
even rowed us ashore when their outboard was unavailable!
The following morning six officials from Customs, Immigration
and Health came aboard to effect clearance procedures.
They were courteous, efficient, cheerful and honest and
showed genuine interest in us, the yacht and our journey
thus far. We were charged $3US for a three month VISA
and given a legitimate receipt without having to ask for
it. They demanded nothing for themselves and Bob had the
rare pleasure of offering them refreshments and cigarettes
and tipping them of his own accord.
We'd planned to go ashore after they left but decided
to delay our visit as there appeared to be a massive parade
with thousands of cheering spectators passing along the
waterfront. We later discovered that it was our new President,
Nelson Mandela, in a cavalcade through the streets. Later
when we met fellow South Africans at the yacht club, they
told us we could have attended a cocktail party given
in his honour. He had published a request to meet any
South Africans who happened to be in the area. This function
apparently took place in the building where we'd seen
the South African flag flying.
After the fuss died down and the streets had cleared,
we cadged a lift ashore and made our way to the Embassy
Hotel where we treated ourselves to a slap up grill. Next
stop was the bank, then the Pharmacy, then the Mall and
finally the market where we stocked up on fresh produce
and a gigantic watermelon.
Having obtained permission we moved around to the Yacht
Club the following day. Clearing the harbour we entered
the first bay to the North and found ourselves tucked
behind a headland where an elevated face-brick clubhouse
overlooked the yachts at anchor below. Once again the
customary mansions ringed the headland but here they all
appeared to be occupied, as tenders were made fast at
the bottom of each flight of steps leading down to the
water.
On going ashore towards evening we were delighted to find
that there was every facility a cruising yachtie could
wish for. In addition to the ferry service there were
excellent ablution blocks, a chandlery, laundry service,
telephones, fax machines, taxis to the city and a modern
shopping centre close by. Moreover, in this part of Africa
yacht clubs double as country clubs, and consequently
the tremendous bar and restuarant was well patronised,
affording visiting yachties the opportunity to meet the
local folk.
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The view from the yacht club.
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Rori
Meiring, Secretary to the South African High Commissioner
introduced himself to us and treated us like royalty
for the duration of our stay. He also introduced
us to the South African Security guys who were travelling
with our President and it was good to converse with
fellow countrymen (in some of the eleven official
languages of our country!) They agonised over our
President who was apparently a security nightmare.
He persistently ignored their carefully planned
precautions by moving amongst the crowd, shaking
hands with the men and hugging and kissing the women
and children. |
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The following morning Lowell and Bea North, who were anchored
alongside us on Yacht "Wanago", called on VHF and invited
us for sundowners that evening, afterwhich we all went
ashore together for dinner. It transpired that they were
leaving for the States shortly with a stopover in London.
Lowell needed to undergo surgery to his shoulder and they
intended leaving their yacht in Dar during their absence.
They weren't familiar with London so we were delighted
to be able to recommend a good, well-situated and reasonably
priced hotel.
Throughout our stay we went ashore every evening and enjoyed
many giggles listening to the fabrications of some of
the "master blasters". These people frequent yacht clubs
throughout the world and the tales they relate make one
want to flop down into the nearest chair.
We figured it was only a seven hour passage to Zanzibar
so we set sail at sun-up on 7 June, arriving in time for
lunch ashore. A few dugouts lay on the beach just beyond
the waterline so Bob grabbed Ern's infamous "Nacala conch"
and let rip with a few tuneless blows. A head popped up
behind one of the dugouts. Bob blew again and we all joined
in with frantic waves and yells. The head became a body
and the body started dragging the dugout towards the waterline.
Jumps for joy and shouts of triumph from the yacht.
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Zanzibar town from the anchorage with the "House
of Wonders" towards the right. |
The Fishermen's Restuarant is situated on the wharf and
a fresh catch was being carried in as we arrived. By the
time we were seated Bob and Ern were salivating, as they'd
each picked out a crab the size of a serving platter.
I ordered a fruit salad which was so large I suspect it
could have fed everyone in the restaurant. I can't remember
what Liz ordered but the entire feast only cost $9US.
We wandered into a scuba dive shop close by and discovered
that it was run by a bunch of young South African ex-pats.
South Africa has many Moslem citizens but we knew little
about them and their culture as at the time it was illegal
for us to fraternize across the colour line in our country.
These perceptive young people realised this and spontaneously
educated us on mode of conduct and appropriate dress to
spare us possible embarrassment. Fortunately it transpired
that we were suitably attired so we set off to explore
the "maze" of stone town.
We found Zanzibar to be an extraordinary island with a
surprise around every corner and breathtakingly beautiful
beaches and reefs. The local Government was in the midst
of a massive restoration programme to the ancient buildings
constructed with coralitic stone centuries before. Many
of the men are magnificent cabinet makers and we had the
privilege of watching them at work carving replicas of
the massive ancient brass-studded doors that adorn every
doorway. It was fascinating to learn that the purpose
of these carvings, which were introduced centuries ago,
was to enable the occupants to advertise their trade or
occupation. A fisherman had fish carvings on his door,
a farmer had vegetables or flowers, and so forth.
They had recently launched an aggressive marketing campaign
to boost their tourist industry and we met tourists from
every corner of the world. I must say though that it was
incongruous to hear loud disco music emanating from an
ancient building!
For years I'd combed antique shops the world over to find
an ancient padlock for our wine cellar so I was over the
moon when I stumbled upon one in a locksmith shop. It
was in a huge box of used padlocks of yesteryear, all
of which had been repaired for resale. Mine had a modern
locking-mechanism skilfully concealed inside it's ancient
casing and the lock functions perfectly!
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A typical street in "Stone Town".
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We
then tried to get ourselves out of the maze and
even my Captain, who has the sense of direction
of a homing pigeon, was lost! Fortunately we were
commandeered by Mahommed, who appointed himself
our guide. In keeping with quaint eastern custom
he adressed me as "Mama" and whenever there were
steps or uneven surfaces to be negotiated he would
take my arm and, singing to the tune of the ever-popular
African song "Pole' Pole' Sa Sa" (carefully, carefully
- slowly, slowly), he substituted the words "Pole',
Pole' Mama".
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READ PART 1 & PART
3
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