Beauty

Zanzibar.  

To me, the word alone has always been synonymous with “exotic” and “mysterious” and “really really really far away.”  But to actually see it, to be there, to feel it under my feet and sense it with every fiber of my being… it seems less far, but by no means less exotic or mysterious.  Truly, Zanzibar exceeded my expectations in every possible way!

My first impression of Zanzibar from the boat, especially old Stonetown, the capital city, was that this is a place stuck in time.  From a distance, it is how I’ve always pictured Old San Juan or Havana (perhaps very inaccurately, since I’ve never seen either), with bright buildings lining the coast, blue water made bluer in contrast with the white sand beaches.  Within in minutes of disembarking from the Kilimanjaro II, my host, Sr. Claudia had greeted me like family and launched into a tour of Stonetown.  My first few hours took me to the House of Wonder, the former home of the Omani Sultan in Zanzibar, St. Joseph’s Cathedral, the oldest church in East Africa, and the Anglican Cathedral, which was built on the remains of the slave market after slave trade was illegalized.  We wound our way through labyrinthine streets as Sister told me about the culture and history of Zanzibar.  The population of Zanzibar is something like 98% Muslim, and you can see the Arab influence in almost everything, from architecture to cuisine to the people themselves (who, apparently are NOT called Zanzibarbarians;  Gonzo, you have led me astray).  All of it was beautiful to me.

One of the biggest surprises to me is that the entire island is made out of coral.  Yes, there is earth to grow things, and white sand beaches, but life on Zanzibar has been chiseled out of an ancient and massive hunk of coral.  Walking along a path at the compound where I was staying, Sr. Claudia warned me to watch my step, because what I had taken for rocks littering the path were actually hunks of coral poking up above the dirt. 

The ruins of palaces of sultans in ages past, the soaring palm trees dotting the landscape, the coral cliffs dropping down to white sand or azure water, the infinite number of stars arranged in unfamiliar constellations, the scars of the slave trade still born by the land- Zanzibar is a place of Beauty.  Some of it is happy and some of it is sad, but all of it is Beauty nonetheless.

The Coast with the Most

I often mock the priests who complain about the "cold" Nairobi winters, bundled up in winter jackets in 70 degree weather.  However, that doesn't mean I wasn't thrilled to emerge from the plane in Dar Es Salaam to 90 degree sunshine!  This time of year is also winter in Dar, so I decided right off the bat that A) Dar's winter is probably one of the best in the world and B) I sure as heck never want to be there for their summer.

Fr. Kamanzi and I were picked up from the airport by Fr. Cyprian and Fr. Severini and were whisked away to the parish at Tabata, our home base for the week.  The church is gorgeous, a triumph of the missionary zeal of the Apostles of Jesus.  When the parish was first established, there was nothing in Tabata but bush and sand.  I am amazed by the clear vision possessed by the first Apostle of Jesus who went there.  He knew then that the parish would be a pillar of the future community and that people would be drawn to the area by the presence of the parish community.  Now, less than 2 decades later, the church is filled beyond its 1500 capacity every Sunday for all three of its liturgies, and the schools and other programs associated with it are flourishing.

Dar Es Salaam is practically the capital of Tanzania.  It is the biggest port in East Africa, has the largest population of any Tanzanian city, and hosts most of the diplomatic presence in Tanzania.  The only thing it doesn't have, it seems, is the title of "Capital", which belongs to Dodoma about 4 hours inland.  Sort of like New York City to NY's Albany, except, you know, NYC is a whole heck of a lot bigger and Dodoma is a whole heck of a lot smaller.

On our first night in Dar, the good Fathers took us to dinner at the beautiful Sea Cliff Hotel.  Once we got through the awful awful awful traffic of center city, we were able to enjoy the luxurious mansions lining the shore of the Indian Ocean.  Our table at dinner was on a deck thrust out over the brink of a cliff.  I spent almost the entire meal staring mesmerized at the crystal clear water, illuminated by the restaurant floodlights.  It was a beautiful place, unfortunately one that could not possibly be captured on film, so you are just going to have to take my word for it.

Dar & Z'bar

I am appalled at myself for how little I have been updating this blog!  APPALLED!  I have resolved to changed my slothful ways and really blog the heck out of my experiences in coastal Tanzania.  What will undoubtedly follow will be a barrage of non-sequential ramblings about whatever random stuff caught my fancy during the past week.

I can tell you right now there is going to be a ton more stuff about Zanzibar than about Dar Es Salaam, so I would like to formally apologize to the good people of Dar and assure them that the slight is not intentional.  I will also mention that perhaps if most of my time in the city had not been spent sitting in the interminable traffic jam that plagues the region, maybe I would have more exciting things to talk about.  But no hard feelings, ok Dar?  We're cool, right?

A Jaunt through Africa (from the pen of Cathy P)

Traveling in Africa is not for the squeamish. In some ways, it beats any amusement park ride I have ever claimed to be thrilling. We are blessed to be in the care of Wanjalla, driver extraordinaire. Wanjalla is a quiet man with a quick smile and a willingness to do whatever he can to make our trip awesome. Except drive slowly. Although I am not so sure that if he drove with the care of the average American driver we would ever get anywhere; I have seen only one stop sign (photographed it for proof that such a thing exists in Africa) and the handful of traffic lights that I have seen, mainly in the bigger cities like Arusha and Nairobi, are unilaterally ignored. Lines that divide the road into lanes are for decoration and passing is ok at anytime...Everyone anticipates that the other drivers will edge into the ridiculous queue that is winding its way through the streets of town. While I have been given the front passenger seat so that I can see everything on my trip through Africa, I have the hot seat for the traffic experience as well. Wanjallah maneuvers the car with the precision of a surgeon. He can squeeze into spots and cut through jams with the dexterity of a dancer. And when we are behind a slow moving (or the occasional not-so-slow-moving-but-in-front-of-us-anyway) vehicle, he swerves into the lane for oncoming traffic, and quickly slips back into the lane so that our time is not wasted, our speed not diminished or my view compromised. And that, in its self, may sound unnerving. But while Wanjallah may be the best at it, it is the way Everyone In Africa Drives! So as we careen from site to site and town to town, through the thick crawling masses in towns or the infrequently traveled wide open expanses, so are all of the others on the road! Whether the road is tarmac, dirt or more holes than road surface, swerving, speeding, breaking, passing are constant components of exciting travel in Africa.

Welcome to the Family

I can't believe that Mom and I have already been in Africa for 11 days!  Time passes so quickly here.  It has been really cool getting to share this experience with Mom.  I feel very much at home when I am at Mazzoldi House in Kenya or at the Novitiate in Tengeru, and I am welcomed like family.  But I remember very clearly the feeling of tense excitement and anxious anticipation that permeated my first trip to Africa back in 2010.  Our trip has been following almost the exact same program (with some very notable exceptions- more later!) that Dave and I followed when we were here together 2 years ago.

It has been incredibly touching to witness Mom seeing landmarks for the first time that she has dreamed of seeing since she was in high school.  The Great Rift Valley, orphaned elephants being fed at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, adult elephants parading across the floor of Ngorongoro Crater, the clouds obscuring the unseen Kilimanjaro- all have reduced Mom to tears.  But I think my favorite part has been introducing her to all of the AJs here, and having them greet her with such enthusiasm and joy.  Everyone simply calls her "Mom," and I know that title carries with it a deep sentiment of love.  Family connections are very important in African culture, so I think it means as much to these people to meet my mother as it does to my mother to meet these people.

Into Africa (from the pen of Cathy P.)

I have wanted to come to Africa for as long as I can remember. I remember a cousin telling me that one of our ancestors, Ludwig Von Wissmann, was an explorer of the “Dark Continent”; the details escape me. However, the allure of Africa most likely stems from that childhood memory. I discovered the writings of Isak Dinesen when I was in high school and her autobiographical book, Out of Africa, cemented the desire to visit this country. So you can imagine my thrill to discover that Mazzoldi House, the offices of the Apostles of Jesus in Kenya, are literally around the block from Karen Blixen’s house; the centerpiece of her stories in Out of Africa. Originally the house was part of a two thousand acre estate when Karen moved to Kenya with her new husband Baron Blixen. They acquired an additional four thousand acres and began a coffee plantation that became an abject failure. The property that the house and museum are on is maintained in its original form. When Karen Blixen, divorced from her husband decided to leave Africa and move back to Denmark, she auctioned off the furnishings of the house. However, she wrote down the names of the people to whom she auctioned the furnishings; consequently, when Kenya purchased the property as a museum, they were able to trace the furnishings and recollect original pieces. The many skin rugs that adorn the floors of the house, however were never recovered as they had all been given as gifts to the King of Denmark.

It is surreal to visit a place that you are familiar with from a book; whether fiction or non-fiction, books read the same – whether the place is Monticello or Rivendell, it becomes equally alive in your imagination. So, to see the table made out of millstone where Karen did her business dealings with the locals, to sit and gaze on her beloved Ngong Hills, to hear stories about her relationship with Denys Finch-Hatton carries with it the feeling of a waking dream. Something that had lived in my imagination was solid and beautiful and vibrant – And that is Africa to me now.

I owe you an apology

Beloved reader, I am sorry to have been neglecting you so!  Internet has been slightly more dodgy than usual over here, and we have been cramming our days so full of adventure that I have hardly had any time to blog.
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And mom and I have been watching Lord Peter every time there's been a lag in activity (generally right before we go to sleep.)

I am going to let her share some of her experience of Africa before I regale you with the details of mine.  Without further ado...