2012 Kilimanjaro Marathon Here I Come!

So you are asking yourself WHAT IS HE UP TO THIS TIME? Well will be running the Kilimanjaro Marathon on February 26th, 2012 for charity and need your support.  Your next question IS HE NUTS?

Logo for the Race Next Year

The jury is out on that one as I do eat Marmite and the mountain's name does seem to suggest that it can kill man (Kili-Man...).  But I have done 5 marathons before and health permitting this will be my 6th and perhaps the most special one. I was one of the founding members of the Montserrat Running Club, which organizes an annual Volcano Half Marathon (www.volcanorunner.com) on the tiny volcano-devastated island in the Caribbean in support of various charities on the island. Sadly I was not able to make the 3rd edition on November 26th, 2011. 

WHY IS HE DOING IT – DOESN’T HE HAVE A DAY JOB?

Finishing & Giant Free Beers!!

It will curtail my social life a bit in early 2012, but as you all know, I relocated to Zanzibar in Tanzania about 4 months ago to work as a VSO (Voluntary Services Organisation - www.cuso-vso.org) teacher at a Hospitality and Tourism Institute.  In order to send volunteers such as myself overseas and support its work in developing countries, VSO Canada depends heavily donations from the public.  For this particular event we will be raising monies for VSOs education programmes in Tanzania and Zanzibar, something very close to my heart.  

IS HE THE ONLY CRAZY ONE DOING THIS?

Nope.  I will be joined in by a team of other volunteers and supporters and I have been appointed coordinator and team leader for the group. Me-Team Leader! Wow, now you know they are also nuts. 

WHAT DOES HE REALLY WANT FROM ME?

Mt. Kilimanjaro

Open your wallets and please make a donation to this worthy cause through my personalized RUN FOR THE WORLD fundraising webpage that has been set up by VSO.  The link to this webpage can be found at http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=3217800&langPref=en-CA All you need is your VISA, MasterCard, American Express credit card or a Paypal account and all donations made through the website will go directly to VSO. I have set a lofty target of raising US$10,000 for VSOs Education efforts, so any donation small or large would be appreciated.  Also, as some of you know I will be 40 on December 29th this year.  So in lieu if any extravagant Xmas/Birthday presents and parties, you can donate to this worthy cause instead.  Still though, a new Blackberry Torch would also be nice!!

You can continue to follow my build up to participation in the race on this blog at http://trininomad.blogspot.com/ and also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=672160432&ref=tn_tnmn  

A Bit of Montserrat (and Marmite) Makes a Visit

My Farewell Rum Shop Tour in Montserrat - Red Theme

As much as I am loving the African experience, I do miss living in the Caribbean and Canada (except bloody Arctic-type winters in Ottawa).  In particular, I miss being on The Big Smoke - Montserrat - the tiny British Overseas Territory in the Caribbean with 4,600 inhabitants, an active volcano, 10 days of celebrations for St. Patrick’s Day, and a crime rate so low, that the Her Majesty’s Prison is commonly referred to as the “Three Seasons Hotel”.  I spent 5 of the last 6 years of life there painting the town red (black and white) every weekend and sometimes during the week; organising rambunctious Rum Shop bus tours for charity; playing Sparrow's (and sometimes even singing) music in every bar; most importantly supporting the beer economy by keeping the price of Amstel and Heineken up.  By the way, Montserratians are apparently per capita, the highest consumers of Heineken in the world.  The flour boat may not come for weeks and thus no bread, and the volcano might be erupting for 6 months in a row covering the island in grey snow, and these cause far less panic and frenzy than when the boat loaded with the Heineken from St. Maarten cannot dock at the port because of rough seas.

My Montserrat/UK Care Package Arrives

I was also gainfully employed while there, being responsible for marketing the island overseas, or as one of my friends in the business termed it, the most difficult job in the world. I had to grapple with very limited room stock and infrastructure; a tiny airport with a 600 metre runway (think 9-seater planes with one pilot); an intermittent ferry service from Antigua which usually had more buckets of KFC than it had passengers; frequent volcanic explosions; and constantly having to battle with the colonialist mentality of a plethora of bureaucrats and consultants from the “mother country” that did not know their ass from their elbows as we say in Trinidad. That being said, I really loved the people, and working and living there.  I am especially proud of being one of the founders of the Montserrat Running Club, which organises an annual Volcano Half Marathon (www.volcanorunner.com) in support of various charities on the island.  Now in its 3rd year, the next half marathon actually takes place this Saturday November 26th, and I won't be there to help manage or run the race (or drink the cold Guinness).  Last year I famously collapsed over the finish line and had to use the cold Guinness that was waiting there for me to ice my legs, rather than drink it.  I eventually got into the ambulance that nearly collided with a water truck on the way to the hospital, where I ended up being treated by Dr. Bootun.  She is a lovable, well spoken certifiably mad woman on the island, who occasionally dons a stethoscope, sneaks into the wards, and dishes out diagnoses to unsuspecting patients.  She once broke into the Montserrat Cultural Centre, built by former Beatles producer Sir George Martin, and threw her own one-woman concert, and then chopped and made off the bottom of part of the velvet stage curtains.  The manager of the Centre was confused as to how part of the curtain went missing, until someone pointed out that  Dr. Bootun was wearing a beautiful velvet dress on the streets that week.

With Jean-Jacque and Pat at Zanzibar Coffee House

Anyway I am digressing about the main point of this story.  Last week a bit of Montserrat came to Zanzibar via none other than the king of liming himself, Dave Campbell.  Dave and his lovely Montserratian wife Trish were living in Montserrat for a couple years while I was there and moved back to the UK just before I had left.  Both of them were in Montserrat for a wedding last month (the former manager of the Cultural Centre was tying the knot…hopefully not in a velvet dress) and Dave was given a 2011 Montserrat Volcano Half Marathon t-shirt by my friend Henry to bring for me, since he mentioned that he would be coming my way in November.  Dave was going to be in Botswana for a few weeks, and decided to do a side trip with one of his best friends (another Dave who is a Judge in Botswana) to Zanzibar.  A few days before he arrived, I hurriedly sent him an email asking if he could also bring me some good dark chocolate (a rarity here) and of all things, a bottle of Marmite!  Not sure how many of you have experienced the "pleasures" of eating this pungent, salty, yeast-extract, that looks like Nutella but is a far cry from it.

Modeling my Montserrat Shirt with Dave in Front my House

I got introduced to Marmite while at University in the UK - served on crackers with crisps at 4 am after a night out.  You either love it or hate it. And I happen to love it. But then again I also love salted cod, smoked herring, pickled herring, Solomon Gundy (smoked herring pate from Jamaica and sometimes referred to as West Indian caviar) and canned sardines, so that would kinda explain the fixation with Marmite.  When Botswana Dave met me for the first time he said "so you're the Marmite guy" - in other words, so you’re the nutter with the Marmite festish. For those of you who are not au fait with Marmite, it is vegetarian, a by-product from making beer (and as you know I am a big supporter of the beer economy), is loaded with B vitamins, and importantly, can be applied to skin to prevent malaria mosquitoes from coming near you...mind you no one else might come near you but that’s another story.  Aside from a few rainy days and the fact that hot water from a running tap and air conditioning seems to have eluded them for most of their stay, Dave and Dave had a really good trip.  I got them addicted to Zanzibar Coffee House, and I got my Montserrat fix and caught up on all the Jus Wonderins’ (news) from Montserrat from Dave, so much so that the other Dave pleaded at dinner one night for us to declare a moratorium on mentioning the word Montserrat. We honestly tried....but that would only last a few minutes and somehow we would manage to weave something about Montserrat back into the conversation.  I guess at the end of the trip Botswana Dave realised that Montserrat is a really special place and when it gets under your skin it is hard to shed and get rid of....kinda like me and Marmite during mosquito season.

What Do Daladalas, the Dalai Lama, and Dead Rats Have in Common? Bienvenue a Dar!

The Calm Before the Storm - Heading to Posta

So I had been here for a couple months and still had not been on a Daladala (local “buses”) either in Dar or Zanzibar.  All of this changed in the last few weeks as I had the “pleasure” of travelling on both.  First  in Dar about 3 weeks ago when attending VSOs In Country Training (ICT) for a week, with the newly arriving volunteers.  I had arrived at the end of July “out of cycle” and so had missed the ICT then, including all the “pleasures” such as learning to take a Daladala, staying at the Econo Lodge or dodging rats and roaches on the streets of Dar.  The newly arriving group of 15 persons was mainly Canadian, British and Dutch, mostly couples and quite keen to get to know Dar…the sort of keenness one displays when arriving in an exotic locale.  Encountering a dead rat on the pavement close to Econo Lodge within the first few hours of arrival, just as the rigor mortis was setting in, was surprisingly taken fairly stoically by the newbies – including a very British “Owh” (must have been the jet lag).

Hanging Out the Door - Jam Session

For the first day of actual training we had the pleasure of taking an air conditioned bus to the VSO office and everyone was a pleased as punch (if this was the Caribbean and I was ten years younger there would have been some actual punch on that bus).  This temporary bit of luxuriousness soon evaporated upon entering the VSO compound.  While the bus was at the gate waiting for the security guard to open it, just outside my window I noticed an Indian crow had dissected a dead rat and had it sprawled across a branch on the beautiful flamboyant tree, and was hungrily picking at its legs.  Lots of thoughts rushed through my mind – how come I could never dissect like that in Biology class; was this part of the ICT training welcome; if that crow was West Indian might there have been some pepper sauce and ketchup on the branch as well; why is there a crow eradication programme in Tanzania (for another blog) as they seem to be doing a darn good vermin control job; was the crow also staying at the Econo Lodge and had the pitiful breakfast we had every morning and thus had to resort to drastic culinary measures to supplement his calorie intake; and finally, should I alert the others.  It was early in the morning and my stomach was still adjusting to the greasy coffee and spartan breakfast at the Econo Lodge (2 slices of white dry toast, a dab of butter and jam, a piece of watermelon smaller than my palm and if you are early, a banana so small it must have been bred for pygmies), so I stayed quiet.  Vanessa (Greek-Canadian volunteer and my liming buddy for the next week) did notice crow’s le petit dejeuner de rat,  and we had a good laugh about it later on – more on her later.

Amen! - Wer're off the Daladala 

Day 2 was D-Day…we had to walk to Posta - the bus stop, and take the famous Daladala to the VSO office.  In total 18 of us were going to attempt to learn the art of pushing, weaving and fighting our way onto a mauve striped bus, designed for about 25 passengers, but which easily carries 50 to 60 persons.  Instructions were issued by Robert and Claire (our ICT leaders who were also volunteers and patient as Job with our lot) and I given the unenviable task of trying to cordon off the entrance to the bus with my body and then push all our people on board.  I guess I was chosen because I looked like I had done this before or because I was West Indian – where lines and orderly queues are not one of the English traits that we adopted under hundreds of years of colonial rule.  When we got to Posta it is not so bad.  There appeared to be a few people milling about by the roadside and everyone looked calm… and then bus came, and all of a sudden people appeared from nowhere.  The passengers exiting were being crushed against the hordes of people boarding.  

My Water Bottle Had No Chance

Me cordon off what entrance? This was like rushing a PTSC bus on San Fernando Wharf when I was in High School…chivalry was dead and each man (and woman) for himself was the policy then and so it was now.  Some people were even climbing through the window to get in, and while all this mayhem was taking place, the passengers already on the bus were looking at us killing themselves with laughter….if you read their minds I am sure they were saying “Look at those poor Mzungus (white people)…like they don’t they have taxi money or what?”.   Miraculously we all got on the same bus – all 18 of us.  Most of us had to stand – more contorted than a Cirque de Soleil performer, packed liked sardines and inhaling a scent of what I can only describe as Eau de Toilet, coincidentally, the same fragrance as the towels at the Econo Lodge.  The ride was fun though…and just when you thought the bus could not pick up any more passengers, they would stop and another 6 or 7 persons would board.  So this is what is must feel like in a WASA fete in Trinidad or Soca Monarch Finals (well if I ever went to those).  I was packed in so tightly that you could tell how much coins the person standing behind you had in their pocket – well I hope that was a roll of coins.  The water bottle in my knapsack pocket crumbled under the pressure and looked like it had just come back from space.  But for 300 Tanzanian Shillings (about 20 cents US$), and the free jam session, it was worth the experience.   The icing on the cake though with this whole jokey experience, was that some people had apparently confused the word Daladala with Dalai Lama, and thus their Facebook update later that day read something like “I rode the Dalai Lama in Dar all the way to VSO Office this morning….it was hot and sweaty but so worth the price….can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”

Dar es Salaam Skyline from the Red Onion Rooftop Bar

The rest of the ICT training went well,  and here’s a summary of the highlights of the rest of the week.  We took the Daladala a few more times (although some of us cheated and paid for taxis sometimes).  We faked a birthday for Margaret at the Badminton Club and got free wine and lots of attention. Vanessa had a roach run over her foot in front of the Econo Lodge and then someone tickled her heel in the lobby and she screamed like Little Richard and jumped into Margaret’s arms – guess she did not see the “No Immoral Turpitude in This Hotel” sign at the lobby at the Econo Lodge (no alcohol is permitted either). Vanessa tore her trousers before the cocktail lime at the Canadian High Commission compound’s social club (guess she really didn’t see that immoral turpitude sign) and had to cover it with a scarf so we called her a gypsy (well to be honest I did).  I accidentally spilled beer on the High Commissioner’s feet (it was bad Peter’s fault) so he bypassed Peter and I during his “hi, how are you” rounds.  We had a couple more memorable nights at the Badminton Club and also at the rooftop of the Red Onion Bar, where we once sat calmly while literally a rat race going on behind the outdoor AC units – where are those damn crows when you need them.  Or, by the way the actual ICT classroom training was very good as well.

Zanzibar's Daladala - What Can I Say? Nice Roads Eh!

Last Sunday I did my second Daladala trip. This time it was from Stone Town to Jambiani where I live.  I had spent the night in Stone Town after attending our VSO Zanzibar Volunteers Meeting at Chwaka Bay Resort.  The free lunch buffet was excellent, the free beers were cold and the pool was nice and warm.  Or, and the actual meeting was very good as well.  Anyway, after a day of mostly lazing around imbibing,  and a rowdy bus ride back to Stone Town, I met up with a VSO Canadian group that were in Tanzania for a few weeks to interview myself and other Canadian volunteers for VSOs 50th anniversary celebrations in December.  After an excellent night out on the town with them, I struggled to the Darajani Market the next morning to catch the Daladala.  Unlike Dar, I did not have to fight my way into the bus, as it was virtually empty and was parked for an hour waiting to fill up.  I thought to myself – this ain’t so bad.  But it was.  Whereas in Dar where the vehicle was an actual bus, this Daladala was more like a large pick-up truck with a roof, and a line of vinyl covered seats around the periphery of the tray (think taxi BVI).  Standing was not an option and as it went along its way, it kept picking up more and more people and cargo, and I had to fight to keep the few inches of space that I occupied.  This Daladala I estimated had space for about 15 people.  At one point I counted 36.  Not to mention we had a wardrobe on the roof, ten boxes of groceries, 3 bicycles, 2 x 4 planks and steel rods for someone’s house, bundles of firewood, containers of petrol and of course there was that famous Eau de Toilet parfum scent.  A drive that normally takes us 1 hour with the school jeep, took about 3.5 hours, including the waiting period at the stand.  Again, it was an interesting experience and cost a mere 2000 Shillings (about US$1.30) compared to US$50 for a taxi.  Also, the contortion practice I received on the Dar es Salaam Daladalas amply prepared me for the trip. For when I came off the Daladala in Jambiani, the natural curvature of my spine returned immediately and I did not look like the Humpback of Notre Dame – a position which I assumed continuously for almost 2 hours.  So now I can tick off “Ride the Daladalas” off my “Need to Experience in Africa” list.  Up next – drinking homemade Konyagi (gin made from papaya), which I am pretty sure does not come with tonic water!

Fire in Stone Town but Tepid Food

Artwork from the Hotel Balcony

Why do fireworks and undue excitement seem to follow me whenever I decide to travel.  If it is not fireworks in the hotel room or actually catching a flight after showing up at Pearson Airport 15 minutes before the flight departs, it is always another thing.  I overnighted in Stone Town a couple weekends ago, to catch my ferry Sunday morning to Dar Es Salaam, the  chaotic litter-strewn capital of Tanzania, where I had In Country Training with my employers VSO (I came out of cycle so now doing it). Buying the ferry ticket on the Saturday in Stone Town was an ordeal enough.  In the Caribbean lines and queues are usually general guidelines of where one should stand and are usually chaotic.  In Zanzibar, “Qs” only exist in the alphabet -  they take bold-faceness to a whole different level - cutting in front of you blatantly or going to the back office to bypass the queue.  To top it all off a "Tanty Merle " liked woman came and pushed me aside with her buxomness, not even apologizing and proceeded to buy her ticket and leave without even a murmured assante (thank you).

Beautiful Stone Town 

After that experience I decided to treat myself to a nice dinner at the Arab -themed Monsoon Restaurant.  The service and ambience was excellent and the food was well presented but taste wise it was not a hit.  I ordered the peppercorn encrusted calamari in a tomato sauce with spicy rice.  What I ended up with was plain battered fried calamari without any sight of peppercorns (and we are in the black pepper capital of the world) or tomato sauce, a tamarind paste that was so sour you could wash and season fish with it, something that was supposed to be curried chickpeas but tasted more like a curried-channa sweet porridge, a cold stale flatbread, something that looked like cooked pumpkin, but turned out to be cooked ripe papaya mash with cilantro and garlic, and a spiced rice without any salt. As if this wasn't bad enough there were also blobs of sautéed spinach and something like an eggplant ratatouille.  The last two items weren't bad taste-wise, but I grew up on food similar to what was on the plate and I could make them much better with my one good eye closed. To top it all off, to get to the washroom the restaurant (he’s single – so dump him on the terrace) you had to go inside, take off your shoes and walk through a Morroccan styled lounge where they was live Taureg music band performing in the middle of the room, with many people eating on the ground on cushions on the fringes. Excuse me as I interrupt your dinner and live entertainment but I have to pee – sorry was that your feet I stepped on.  Not what any diner wants to hear in a nice restaurant.

Fire in Stone Town

After grudgingly having to pay for that meal I decided to go for a night cap at rooftop bar at the African House close to my hotel - at least I know not to order food there and just stick to drinks.  Approaching the corner to turn into Africa House I see a crowd blocking the narrow street in what is the worst section of what is known as Suicide Alley, with lots of activity and sounds - what now? Turns out the building in front of Africa House had a fire on the 3rd floor, which also houses a Chinese Restaurant.  Clean the pork fat in your grease trap people!! The fanciful Dhow Palace Hotel which is close by was running a water hose across the street to help put out the fire – at least they knew that the firemen who would surely arrive when the fire is either put out or the entire building has burnt down.  I decided this was not a scene to be missed – we West Indians love fire (not you Anna) – so I ducked under the hose and headed to the African House - why should a fire stop me from drowning my sorrows.  I get there only to realize there is even a bigger crowd there as the hotel had been evacuated and several Chinese people walking around frantically.  Doing the Japanese thing (which by the way is now becoming the Chinese thing) I pull out my Blackberry and start taking pictures furiously of the fire and the crowd.  I missed the best shot though of the man in one of the windows of the building where the fire was burning, sticking his head out the window doing his best Occah Seepaul impression (the former Speaker of the House of Trinidad who refused to vacate her post and a temporary state of emergency had to be declared to get her out)  - refusing to leave.  Maybe he had faith in the no-show firemen.  They did arrive a few minutes later but could not seem to find the hydrant – sorry this is Stone Town there are no hydrants.  They did find a pipe where they attached their hose and me being a bit wiser than most of the crowd, quickly retreated to the far corner of the street and watched comically as all most of the curious onlookers got sprayed with water coming through the building and the fire was being put out. This was too much for one night....I chuckled all the way back to the hotel. I thought to myself, I haven’t even reached Dar as yet and the fireworks had already started.  And I still had the Econo Lodge (and they do take the Econo seriously) to look forward to for a week. Well that’s another story for another blog post.

51 Types of Cassava Including a Mzungu Variety

Jack Fruit or Cowwar

Last weekend Elsa (our Danish Chiropractic volunteer) and I decided to do a spice tour.  With Mwalim (one of my students) as our taxi driver and Said our knowledgeable tour guide, we headed to the government farms about 15km from Stone Town.  Said is also a herbalist and teacher and spoke perfect English.  Initially I thought he looked like a seriously conservative Muslim in his kofia (hat) and kanzu (long flowing gown).  But a couple of jokes about his nutmeg concoctions to make sperm swim more heartily, and he and I quickly became chums.

Nutmeg Presented in Banana Base

The first stop was a farm which had 26 varieties of sweet potato and 51 types of cassava growing – including a variety called Mzungu, which is Swahili for white person.  This variety had bright red stems – the colour that Mzungus generally turn when they stay in the sun too long.  Cassava and sweet potato leaves are also cooked and eaten here, which is unheard of in the Caribbean.  You use the young leaves at the top and cook as if you were preparing spinach, and sometimes nuts are ground and added to the dish. I am thinking some good salt fish would work as well – hard to find here – might have to substitute dried octopus.  By the way there are also 26 types of bananas grown here including an amazing red skinned variety which you rarely find in the Caribbean these days.

Cloves - An Opened Flower

From the farm we visited other smaller farms and saw bongo (a tart large seed passion fruit type fruit), jack fruit (cowwar), black pepper (grows on a vine), cloves (an unopened flower), cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric root, sour cherries, papaya, some sort of red cherries which are very rare, tangerines, cocoa, coffee, cilantro, lemon grass (fever grass), sapodilla (nesberry), sorrel, and tons of nutmeg.  One of the highlights was stopping in the nearby village to use the washroom and there was a little hut with two women cooking.  Said introduced me to them and they were frying these tiny finger sized fish whole.  Of course I had to sample them – it is the Trinidadian equivalent to fry-dry.  It was super – lots of geera (cumin) and you eat it in one go – head and bones and all.

Fish Fry - Was Yummy

After the spice tour we retreated to Zanzibar coffee house for my usual cappuccino and passion fruit tort.  From there headed to Archipelago for our lunch and on our way we made an amazing discovery.  In one of the winding streets we smelt freshly baked bread and following our noses, we found this amazing old bakery. It looked like something from the 14th century – wood fired stone ovens and hundreds of loaves of fresh bread coming out.  Of course we sampled the bread and bought some hot loaves – 3 loaves for 900 shillings or 60 cents US$.  Another week another super adventure in spicy Zanzibar.  Next week I am off to Dar es Salaam on the mainland for ICT training at VSO (my employers) headquarters.  Looking forward to meeting some of the new volunteers but not so much the Econo Lodge hotel where I will have to stay.  Hope there will be not electrical fireworks this time and leg restricting pillars in front the toilet, as I have not yet mastered the little practiced art of sitting sideways on a toilet seat to poo!

A Braai, $5 Shiraz & Prisoner #46664 - Amazing Cape Town

V&A Waterfront with Table Mountain in Background

Last week our school was closed, so after several frustrating Skype calls to Air Canada, I was able to secure a ticket on South African Airlines to Cape Town from my diminishing Aeroplan Miles.  I left home the same day that a ferry sank between Unguja (main island and commonly referred to as Zanzibar) to Pemba, the other island that makes up Zanzibar.  The ferry was overloaded with passengers and cargo (TIA – This is Africa), and over 200 persons drowned and many are still missing, making international news headlines.  Of course my overseas fan club members who knew I was travelling that day, heard Zanzibar and ferry sinking and there was Panic! At the Disco (great Vegas-based band by the way).  Facebook posts, and the fact that most of them did not have my new cell number, made it worse.  While my whereabouts and safety were being contemplated thousands of miles away, I was comfortably flying to Dar (8 minutes) on a Fly540 jet with 2 other passengers, to overnight and catch my flight to Cape Town the next day. Seeing a Safety Suggestion Box at the airport in Dar between two gates on the tarmac was somewhat unnerving – this is like having a surgical suggestion box in an operating theatre. Stayed at the Transit Motel close to Dar airport (AC, some TV, hot water, free WiFi, free breakfast, cheap beer, and terrible fried chicken) for a mere US$18). As a resident here I basically get about half price off on everything – hotels, flights, ferry ticket, not beer though.  Although like the airport suggestion box, the entrance to the hotel from the airport main road did not instill confidence – it looked like a backstreet in Mogadishu – no wonder the beer was so cheap.  I had to be up at 4 am though so could not do much damage to those cheap cold Serengetis.

The Braai at Michelle and Luche's

Next morning I was flying for the first time on South African Airways (SAA) and was very impressed.  On the first leg of 3.5 hours to Johannesburg (JoBurg) they served up minced meat, sautéed spinach, omelet, fresh fruit, yogurt, Ceres juices (best juice in the world), free booze – all at 7am in the morning in economy.  SAA makes business class on American Airlines and Air Canada look like McDonalds.  Wait not true – McDonalds’ coffee is actually better.  Couple small complaints though - they could have circled the airport before landing in JoBurg so we could see the end of Midnight in Paris - Woody Allen’s latest offering.  If it was an Indian Airways flight the pilot would have had no choice, as one of my friends experienced many years ago over New Delhi. Also they need to work on their in-flight magazine – it reads like the transcript of a Paris Hilton/Nicole Ritchie conversation. JoBurg airport is super nice - give yourself ample time though to get from the international to domestic terminal.  You don't need to fill out any immigration forms – a first ever for me.  Went to buy a bottle of water and had only large US$ bills and no Rands (local currency) and the person behind me asked if I was visiting and offered to pay for it.  That sort of friendliness I found throughout the week in Cape Town.  On the short 1.5 hour leg from JoBurg to Cape Town we got fed again (reminds me of Air Jamaica and BWIA in the old days although nothing beats the food on Kingfisher Airlines) and arrived in Cape Town early afternoon.  Checked into the Westin close to the immaculate and touristy V&A Waterfront and left my iPad with the front desk to get it charged (a power surge destroyed the charger a few weeks ago – I desperately need bush bath for my electronics).  My friends Michelle and Luche (and their lovely daughter), whom I met on my India trip last year, picked me up late afternoon for a braai at their place.  They love wine and I love wine so we became good friends.  Now about this braai thing – it means grilled meat so it is basically a barbeque lime and a national pastime in South Africa.  But guess what, because the weather is always windy and sometimes cold – they were “braaiing” inside the house – they had a fireplace on one end of the living room and a braai fireplace on the other end.  Had some great food and wine with them, caught up on life, got good advice on what to do and not do.  Unfortunately, they were both travelling for work during the week so I only saw them this one time.  Baie dankie for the braaii Michelle and Luche! 

The Kids Singing to Me in the Township

During the week I did most of the highlights in Cape Town – after first picking up a light jacket (it was cold and windy).   I visited District 6 and the museum – an area which razed in the 1960s and 60,000 blacks and coloureds evicted to make way for white settlements (which never materialised).  By the way to differentiate between blacks and coloureds the pencil test was sometimes used, whereby a pencil was stuck through the persons hair and if it fell out they were considered coloured. I wonder what they did for bald people.  Visited a couple townships (slum areas), which makes Laventille and the Beetham Estate in Trinidad look like Rodeo Drive and a far cry from the pristine V&A Waterfront area. This part of the tour made me feel like I was watching a not-so-funny episode of Good Times with no JJ (my age is showing now).  But while it was a bit depressing to see the substandard conditions in which hundreds of thousands of people lived in Africa’s largest slum Khayelitsha, there were some bright spots.  I was sung to by undernourished kindergarten-aged kids being cared for at a community centre, and saw women being taught pottery, screen printing and weaving skills to improve their livelihoods.  Perhaps the most optimistic of the lot was Vicky and her husband who set up South Africa’s smallest hotel in the middle of a slum.  It is cute and quaint and gets many overseas visitors including a British MP.  I guess not all of them stay in 5 Star hotels and do expense claims for 3 laptops and a flat for their misters and mistresses.  One suggestion though – they should rename Khayelitsha  “Coca Cola” – the same way I always suggested that the ferry from Antigua to Montserrat be renamed the “KFC Express”.  Coke logos were everywhere – on every business, on the streets, and even on the schools – the tour guide said that the Ministry of Education is sometimes confused for the Coca Cola offices. 

Mandela's Cell at Robben Island

The two highlights of my trip (there would have been three if I had not gotten a bit inebriated during a night on the town and forgot to wake up for my pre-booked winelands tour) were Robben Island where Mandela was imprisoned and taking the cable car up Table Mountain. Home to the 3rd largest penguin colony in the world and 125 species of birds, Robben Island is a World Heritage Site and one of Cape Town’s most popular attractions.  Our bus tour guide from the ferry port was quite the character – a sarcastic former courier for the Pan African Congress with a polished and eloquent English accent, with funny anecdotes on everything under the sun.  He gave Obama the tour on his visit at the request of his friend Mr. Mandela.  Robben Island was a former leper colony before it was converted to a prison after WWII, with its most famous guest being prisoner #46664 (the 466th prisoner arriving in 1964).  A former political prisoner gave us a tour and it was quite emotional to see Mandela’s cell.  Hard to believe that after all those years of inhumane treatment and incarceration he was able to keep his dignity and sanity and start the process of leading South Africa on the path or racial harmony and equality.  Mind you all is not perfect today and there is a long way to go in terms improving the socio-economic conditions of non-whites and the ANC needs to get their act together.  But when one reflects that were it a different man that came out of prison, maybe one cut from the same cloth as a Chavez or a Mugabe, the country would be a train wreck today, and thus you have to be even more impressed with the man that is fondly referred to as Madiba. 

My Favourite Time of Day

A visit by cable car to the top Table Mountain – the flat topped mountain that frames Cape Town – is a must.  The cable ride is a bit scary but knowing it is a piece of Swiss engineering (as opposed to Italian) provides some comfort. The view from the top is spectacular and a photographer’s dream.  I enjoyed the view chomping on some tasty stewed ostrich and sipping on a Castle Lager while fending off some aggressive crows.  I also did the Two Oceans Aquarium – with 2,000 other annoying school kids and did not even get to stick head in the nemo fish tank.  After nearly pushing a few of them into the shark tank and hightailing it out of these, I needed me some good Shiraz. So I made my daily (sometimes bi-daily) trip to Pick and Pay (I kept asking people for Pick and Carry) in the V&A Mall to pick up some wine and some food.  The wine is really, really good in Cape Town and cheap.  I was spending about US$5-$7 and getting stuff that you pay US$20 for in LCBO in Canada or worse yet US$40 in Montserrat.  Like a good bottle of wine though, all good things had to come to an end and after 6 days in one of the best cities in the world, it was time to go home back to sleepy Zanzibar.  It wasn’t so bad though as I had two meals to look forward to on SAA and another overnight stay in downtown “Mogadishu”.

Beach or Tarmac Running - Trying be Like Bolt

My 2nd Marathon, Toronto 2007-Posing with Rosie

After a couple months of intermittent running, mainly because of the 30 or so going away limes (parties) that I had in four countries in June and July, and the usual relocation issues that come with moving to a new continent, I finally got back into a regular running routine two weeks ago.  For the past couple weeks I have clocked a fairly impressive 50 miles – not bad for an old guy.  It is quite the experience running here, and there are some parallels with running in Montserrat, my previous place of abode for 5 years.  I took up long distance running in Montserrat - it was either that or drinking yourself silly every day.  It also helped that my good friend and work colleague at the time, Rosemarie Thomas (another Trini) is a seasoned marathoner - who can fall of a bar stool after half a drink.  She encouraged me to run rather than regularly falling of bar furniture (thanks Rosie!).

Anyway back to running in Zanzibar.  Timing is everything.  I never been a morning person (don’t talk to me before I have done the three S’s and had my cup of tea with some cereal and undergone some music therapy), so early runs have generally evaded me.  Late afternoon runs have always been my thing.  Running in the afternoon does cut into one’s happy hour time and it is much warmer - but like the sex life of a married couple after 1 year, you have to have set a time and make a rigid schedule. Although in the case of my running, I do it several times a month and I frequently alter my pace and route.

At Low Tide the Beach is Amazing to Run On

So armed with my IPOD, GPS watch, sun-block and my Running Room Canada-emblazoned hat, I have been hitting the beach or the main road at least 5 times a week.  The beach is much more fun – very picturesque, lots of eye candy, and very shady in the late afternoons, as we are on the east coast.  I usually get into a nice steady rhythm after 15 minutes - something I was never able to actually do in Montserrat because of the mountainous terrain (and the constant shouts of “Ishwar you need a beer?”  from passing cars).  But like running in Montserrat, I do get a lot of attention.  I have to answer to at least 50 “Jambos” (hello in Kiswahili), the occasional “mzungu” (white person – really now – don’t you all have a word for brown people?), or they call me Ali Baba (the nickname of Alastair – one of the Directors of the school and also an avid runner).  I also get offers to go snorkeling, fishing or diving from the entrepreneurial locals (must be the Canada hat).  This is diminishing a bit as they have now figured that I live here.  The most fun part are the young kids who sometimes come running with me – usually they want a sprint and man they are fast –speedier than Bolt coming out of the blocks in 100 metre final or on the last leg of a 4 x 100 metre relay (good going  by the way on the new world record today Jamaica!).  They leave me way behind on the sprints - but we long distance runners are built for stamina, and eventually they fall away and say their goodbyes.  I do run into a few other runners – mostly visitors,  and we do the obligatory nod of the head or slight wave of the hand, acknowledging the usual runner’s thought of “why the hell are we doing this again?”

At High Tide I  Have to Hit the Road

The thing with the beach is that one week the tide is low in the afternoons – great for running, and then the other week it is very high – great for drowning. Not really, but you get the picture. This is when I switch to the main road.  Thankfully we have excellent roads here – a major road construction/paving project a few years ago have left us with long (and more importantly straight and flat) stretches of beautiful tarmac.  On either side there are nice shoulders, which are a runner’s or cyclist’s dream.  And since the road sees very little hydrocarbon burning vehicular traffic (the traffic is more pedestrians, bicycles, oxen carts, herd of cows) – they have remained in stellar condition.  The two drawbacks though are that the few drivers on the road drive like Jenson Button on crack, and the second is getting fluids for hydration during my run.  I run against the traffic therefore – keeping my good eye on the oncoming vehicles.  In terms of the hydration issue, I do have a Nike running fanny pack to hold a bottle of water, but it is uncomfortable. And I feel that wearing it will make me look like one of those people in an airport with the money belt and the passport holder around their necks.  When running on the beach, I leave a small bottle of water in the yard so I can quickly run in and take a drink.  In Montserrat, I would just run into Garrymoore’s bar in Salem or John’s bar at Forgarthy Hill, grab a Ting or a Gatorade, run out and pay later.  No such luck here.  I therefore have to come up with a hydration strategy for the road running soon, as I need to lengthen my runs since I plan to do the Kilimanjaro Marathon next February on the Tanzanian mainland.  Think I need to find me a new John’s or Garymoore’s real soon.

Sultans, Suicide Alley & Serengetis

Good Example of Famous Stone Town Doors 

This past weekend I stayed overnight in Stone Town, the old part of Zanzibar City (the capital of Zanzibar), which is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  For over 2000 years, merchant ships from Arabia, Persia (Iran), India and Portugal traded with Zanzibar.  The Sultan of Oman took over from the Portuguese at the end of the 17th century and by 1840, Stone Town had become so important as a trading town (particularly for the slave trade) that it became the seat of the Sultan. In 1890 Zanzibar became a protectorate of Britain, and this lasted until independence in 1963, when the last Sultan was expelled.  A revolution shortly afterwards in 1964 led to the massacre (genocide) of thousands of Arabs and Indians, with thousands of others having to flee overseas (shades of Idi Amin's Uganda).  The Islands joined the mainland to form United Republic of Tanzania in 1964, and has remained relatively peaceful and a semi-autonomous part of this federation since - although VSO does recommend that its volunteers leave the island for about an month during election time.

The weekend started off with the usually shopping for the school – fruits and vegetables, dry goods, fish, bottled water – in the bustling market area of Stone Town.  Learning from my mistake two weeks ago, I did not eat or drink in public (Ramadan finishes the end of the month inshallah) – instead, sneaking off to the Zanzibar Coffee House, with its shrouded entrance for coffee and my usual passion fruit tort.  Then it was off to Zantel to get my Blackberry service hooked up - but alas it does not work with my phone (maybe I shouldn't have bought this phone in Ebay).  I shall miss the Blackberry Messenger service immensely – so if anyone wants to get me a 40th birthday present in December a Blackberry Torch (unlocked) would do just fine.  Or a return ticket to Toronto – economy class is good  but exit row please and not on Ethiopian Airlines. After changing some US$ into Tanzanian Shillings (US$1 = TZN 1,617) - shop around for rates as they vary from one Bureau de Change to another - and shopping around for material for the students' new school uniforms, Pat (who runs the school)  and I went to the Zanzibar Coffee House (my second trip of the day) for some more refreshments - had the minced meat crepe this time which was good.

Local Artist At Work at the Back of My Hotel

I then got a quick tour of Stone Town from Pat, including a stop at the Radha Café, where they make great chappatis, samosas and spring rolls (4 samosas with a curried onion and a coconut relish sauce will run you about US$1.50).  Then checked in at the nearby Shangani Hotel in the Suicide Alley area - when you see the narrow streets and the crazy drivers (and wandering tourists) you will understand the nomenclature.  The rooms cost US$25  - the cheapest I have probably ever paid for a hotel room not counting my one time ever staying in a hostel in Brussels when I was a student in the UK (Brussels is bad as it is without having to slum it in hostels).  Breakfast was included, there was AC, good Cable TV (woo hoo!!), hot water and it was clean. It was actually an excellent deal - notwithstanding the creaky bed (not what you think!) and wardrobe doors, the 3 flights of stairs and the construction nearby.

I then headed for the rooftop bar at Africa House nearby, an old colonial outpost and expat hangout, for some cold Serengeti  beers (don’t drink Safari it is vile although Kilimanjaro is good) and the amazing sunset.  The place was packed with Italian and English tourists, and English Premiership Football blared on the televisions, while more appropriate Buddha Bar music piped in the background.  After watching Arsenal get mauled (give up Wenger), and one too many “buono seras” and “ciaos”, I moseyed to my hotel, trying hard for not to make Suicide Alley live up to its name on my Saturday night-on-the-town. And what a crazy night it turned out to be - a quiet dinner at a nearby restaurant (well except for the two cats fighting each other on the nearby table) and a couple more Serengetis and I was ready for some dodos (sleep - not the extinct bird).  Well first I had to get my US$25 worth of all 75 cable TV channels - watched cricket, football, something which I figure was the Arab version of The X Factor (there was no camel humping talent), some fish tagging on the Discovery Channel, some Nollywood shows (Nigerian equivalent of Bollywood), good old CNN and BBC, watched the Pope lose his skullcap in Spain during a freak storm, and for good measure, threw in some viewing of millions of people doing their Haj in Saudi Arabia.  One month without TV can do that to a person.

Beit El-Ajaib Museum - Former Sultan Palace

Slept in Sunday morning and after a breakfast of oily looking weak coffee and some fried eggs with jaundiced looking yolks (still no way near as white as yolks in New Delhi), did a walking tour of Stone Town and made another trip to Radha House (better coffee - more samosas).  Did some walking around – bought some postcards from Mrs. Patel (they are everywhere) from Memories Souvenir shop, and took some photos of the famed Stone Town doors.  After Pat and our driver picked me up after midday, we went shopping for plants for the school (I found a bird pepper tree in the nursery and promptly stole a handful of them) and to the Mtoni Marine Hotel to check on some of our students who work there and to also have a late lunch.  We passed on the philandering-named Tiger Woods Pizza and settled for another cheater-named choice in the Mr. Lance “I Never Doped-It's My Large Lungs ” Armstrong Pizza (hopefully there was no EPO, nandrolone in it).  It was quite good - next time I am going for the Ruud Gullit Pizza - god knows what will be in there.  On my way back to sleepy Jambiani I thought, it wasn’t a Vegas jaunt, or one of my feverish Toronto weekend getaways from my days in Cayman, when the last thing I would be interested in is watching some white South African tag a dark fish on TV (or maybe he killed it - maybe it was a new sport - apartheid fishing?). But it was great.  Old age does mellow one out a bit!

About JTTI and its Amazing Founders & Students

With some of my 2nd Year Students

It is amazing how much we take for granted our easy access to more or less free education in the Caribbean and North America.  Unlike here, where it is more of a privilege and a function of family priorities (boys favoured over girls), economics (most families are living hand to mouth and thus kids are taken out of school to work and support the families) and the ability to access the very limited amount of places for secondary and post secondary education.  Recognizing this fact, and also that many of the jobs in the tourism sector in Jambiani, Zanzibar were not taken up by locals but from persons from the mainland and elsewhere, Patricia Elias (Victoria, British Columbia native via Sri Lanka, England and elsewhere) and her husband Alastair set up the Jambiani Tourism Training Institute (JTTI).  This was sponsored by their NGO Hands Across Borders Society (HABS) and you can read all about their amazing story and financial and personal sacrifices to have the school  and a wellness clinic established on the HABS website. Students do not pay any fees to gain entrance but must show a commitment to learning. It provides free training to 350-500 students per year, 25 of which are enrolled in 2 year Tourism and Hospitality Diploma programme, and includes a wide range of courses, such as food & beverage service and production, food safety, HIV/AIDS, housekeeping, local tour guide, business & management as well as specific skill development in English, Maths, Keyboarding and IT. HABS operates by attracting volunteer teachers like myself, as well as donations from the public and also small grants from agencies such as the World Bank and CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency).  CIDA recently posted a short video on the school with an interview with Pat which you can view at CIDA Video on JTTI . It is such a pleasure teaching students who have this huge appetite for knowledge and learning.  And who, despite having to fast all day for Ramadan, cycle one hour to school, work the night shift before class the next day, or have to live in a room that goats are herded in, all show up more or less on time every day for class, neatly dressed and  cheerful.  When I do not give them Math homework after class- they plead for it - that alone makes it all worthwhile.    

The Congo Comes to Stone Town

Marie France and I outside the Livingston Cafe in Stone Town

On Saturdays we usually go into Stone Town (the de facto capital and about 60 km away on excellent recently paved roads) to do the food and supplies shopping for the school.  Just before we set out, I was chomping on a guava in the garden of the school, when this Indian guy shows up and introduces himself as Vivek.  He wanted to borrow a laptop or a USB cable to download his pictures, because his memory card on his camera was full.  Turns out he is a helicopter pilot with the UN peacekeeping force in Goma in the Congo.  I lent my USB cable and told him to throw it over the wall of the school when he was done as we had to leave . 

Stone Town is a 1 hour drive unless you take a Dala Dala (public "buses") which will take more like 3-4 hours, seriously test the strength of your anti-perspirant, and you may have firewood, chickens and a bunch of bananas in your lap and a baby to burp.  On the way saw some indigenous red colobus monkeys (indigenous to Zanzibar) and Umu (one of our ex-students) taught me some basic Kiswahili which I wrote on a piece of paper and laundered it by mistake (so now my blue khakis is covered in white paper fuzz balls).  While shopping in the public market I bought an orange and started eating it, forgetting it was Ramadan (month of fasting for Muslims) and got scolded for eating in public.  There was no way I was giving up this orange - so I hid between two vehicles and finished it off.  Sine then suggested that we go to the Zanzibar Coffee House for a latte, which turned out to be one of the best I've ever had and also the passion fruit tort. From there we walked a bit through Stone Town and headed for Archipelago - a popular restaurant on the waterfront where I was supposed to meet my good friend Marie France Guimond, who is currently working in the Congo with IRC.  When I got there, much to my horror it was closed and with no cell phone or way to contact her, I hung around the corner (trying not to look like a Jean and Dinah) for about 45 minutes (avoiding all sorts of souvenir sellers, boat rides and some offers which I am certain is still illegal in Texas).

Marie-France and I did our MA in International Affairs at Carleton University in Ottawa together and we had not seen each other in a couple years.  She did show up and we went to the Livingston Café nearby and had a drink and spent the next two hours catching up. I told her the story of helicopter pilot soon after on our way back to catch our ride home, we ran into him and one of his colleagues. Marie France sometimes hitches rides with the UN helicopters so who knows, she might invited out for some chappati and a tikka masala all the way in the Congo.  On my way back home I thought- I just moved to the other side of the world, I’ve been here barely one week and already I am meeting up with friends and making new ones.  Won’t be long now before I teach them about “liming” and “Sparrow” and of course “Jean and Dinah”!!

Dreamy & Friendly....

Local Women Mostly Sea Weed Farmers on the Beach

My first impressions of Jambiani……..dreamy and definitely friendly.  When I got to the Institute last Saturday, Sine gave me a tour of the school and the other facilities – the Wellness Centre (where I can get free chiropractic care from Alastair who runs the school with his wife Pat), the house that I will be living in, the makeshift fitness centre, the kitchen and store rooms and the grounds (laden with coconut trees which I have a plan for already).  All the buildings have Makuti (thatched) roofs –although the thatch rests on top of a hard roof in some cases.  Famished and jet lagged we decided to go out for an early dinner  at the Blue Oyster Hotel which is a stone throw away down the beach.  I had a great anchovies and sun dried tomatoes pizza and Sine dined on the curried Octopus which was really good, and we washed it all down with bottles of Serengeti beer (better than Kilimanjaro) .  From there we took a brisk 40 minute walk down the beach to a Beach Festival that was taking place – which had included a dhow boat race earlier in the afternoon and football matches.   There were lots of visitors and locals there enjoying music that ranged from East African to Reggae to Hip Hop and lots of  Rihanna (she seems to be a big favourite around here – I plan to acquaint them with some Sparrow soon).  I got introduced to quite a few people and everyone was incredibly friendly ….something which I have noticed wherever I have been over the past week.    One of our security guards was also at the Festival when he should have been watching the school.  He is a Masai and but with that kind of behavior I swear he could pass for a West Indian.  Just after midnight we walked back to school all along the beach and the skies were so clear that you saw tons of stars and even the Milky Way star constellation was clearly visible.  Very dreamy I thought.  Maybe that inspired me to sleep until 1230 pm the next day.  I got up in a haste and met up Sine for brunch at Kiddos Restaurant run by Lisa and Kiddo (German/local couple) located about 15 minutes down the beach.  It is a great place with good food and three cute rooms for rental.  Lisa was gracious enough to lend me an plug converter (as mine had gotten fried in the July 4th fireworks display at Econo “Hotel” in Dar).  So finally I could charge my Blackberry, IPAD, ITouch, Skype Phone, English Phone, Electric Toothbrush, Camera and my Laptop. Did I walk with too much stuff for this dreamy friendly place?

Habari Africa – the Journey Begins

After 2 consecutive overnight flights (thanks BA for the tasteless, stingy meals by the way) I arrived in Dar Es Salaam (commonly known as Dar) last Friday.  I was whisked to my hotel, Econo Hotel by my friendly driver,  with its charming green toilet paper and electricity outlets that can create a 4th of July fireworks show (and fried US$75 worth of chargers) and then to the VSO Office to meet the staff and volunteers and to get a briefing .  Lunch was at a little local place and consisted of cooked cassava leaves with grounded nuts (really good), some beans, rice, a stew of an unrecognizable vegetable and fried fish slices that could have done with some green seasoning (thank god they had pepper sauce).  Later that evening I got together with 4 other volunteers and had dinner and drinks at the Badminton Club near to the hotel.  Interesting place – open courtyard seating, large screen showing old Indian movies and videos, a superb cheap Indian menu, a playground for kids and of course a badminton court – an indoor glass walled one, which was your eating entertainment.   Saturday morning I took the ferry from Dar to Zanzibar....it was chaotic but the ferry was large and nice and there were two other Philipino volunteers on the boat as well.  Sine (Zeena) who is a German lecturer here and will be my housemate, met me at the port and got me through immigration quickly. We then drove around Zanzibar City (of which the famous Stone Town is a part of) as we had to pick up the shopping for the restaurant.   We then drove about 1.5 hours to the Jambiani Tourism Training Institute where I am working, which is in this quaint village made of stone houses and right on the beach.  The compound is great with incredible villa-type buildings with thatched roofs right on a huge stretch of white sand beach with turquoise water.  There are lots of nice villas, small hotels and bars (yeah!!) and restaurants within walking distance.  This will certainly be an adventure!!