The saga of Friday November 8, 2024 travelling between Arusha, Tanzania and Zanzibar, Tanzania
We woke up early to pack and eat breakfast before Hosea, our guide, took us to the airport. Hosea had been an exceptional guide and companion for the week. By the end of our time with him we felt like we had a new family member and the feeling was mutual. Saying goodbye was bittersweet. We hope he will have a chance to visit us in Maryland the next time he travels Stateside.
My throat had been killing me the night before, Chaim’s back was still hurting, and our stomachs were off. We were less than thrilled to have to fly to Zanzibar feeling this way. I put on my best smile and off we went. Arusha International Airport is a quick twenty-minute drive from Pazuri Inn, where we stayed for our last night. It is small, with only three gates. Thankfully, the bathrooms are well kept, which Chaim and I appreciated since we spent most of our waiting time taking turns hanging out there while the boys completed some schoolwork on their iPads.
Zanzibar is a tropical island known for its role in the spice trade. It lies just east of mainland Tanzania and has a predominantly Muslim population. As much as I try to be open minded and believe in the goodness of people, I’m not going to lie. My comfort level plummeted as we passed signs with the last names “Gaddafi” and “Hussein.” It is hard to keep an open mind when those names invoke, for me, past persecution. I tried to remind myself that this island is a popular destination for Israeli tourists. We would be fine.
The flight to Zanzibar was gorgeous. We could see Mount Meru, Mount Kilimanjaro, and the Indian Ocean. As soon as we landed in Zanzibar a wave of humidity and heat smacked us in the face. Customs was a breeze because we had already obtained visas for Tanzania, so we waited about fifteen minutes for our driver. About halfway on our drive north, we were stopped by a police check. This made me less comfortable, but, supposedly, this is normal in Zanzibar because it is a spice island. Preventing smuggling spices and drugs is a 24/7 job.
Our Airbnb, the Villa Frangipani, was tucked away behind the main road, a strategic six-minute walk from Chabad and an eight-minute walk to the beach. The owner greeted us at the gate and welcomed us into an enchanting tropical garden with white pebbled pathways to the villa. She was very proud to share that the property included a Masaai warrior for security purposes. Yep, that’s a thing there. From the outside, the villa courtyard looked like a dream. Inside, we realized the doors had gaps in them and that critters and insects would be part of our family for the next few days. No worries, I could handle that.
Once we settled in, we walked the dirt roads to get in search of the grocery store. On the main road we passed several smaller minimarts. We bought a few snacks at the first one. When I tried buying pineapple or mango at a fruit stand, the young man tried price gouging me. I declined and we continued to the grocery store. On our way back I tried a different fruit stand. He charged me 1,000TZS less than the previous guy so I accepted. I handed him 10,000TNS, which annoyed him because he had to make change. Instead of exact change, he gave me back a 5,000TZS which was in my favor. Our experiences at the smaller markets here lead us to believe that they were not invested in making correct change.
We were committed to walking to Chabad when it was light out, so before Shabbat started. I recalled the walk time as six-minutes away. Unfortunately, the RSVP confirmation from the Chabad gave us a completely different address, which Google Maps said was twenty-minutes away. We defaulted to the Chabad address, thinking that it would be wiser than Google Maps. As we headed out (in what we would later learn was the completely wrong direction), a Maasai warrior appeared out of nowhere to offer us his security. I am certain he was expecting us to tip him. Even after I let him know that we did not have any money on us, he continued to accompany us, saying he would guide us to the correct location. Our new friend told me that he was from Kenya and searching for an IT job. He explained that many Masaai warriors come from the mainland for jobs. However, the Christians among them, including him, are experiencing religious discrimination and have to settle for security jobs while they wait for something else to work out.
The sun disappeared as we walked to where we thought the Chabad house was, making our walk feel much longer than twenty minutes. Our warrior friend took us through barely lit backstreets and across people’s dirt yards. Some of the unpaved roads were full of water and he had to help the kids traverse them. By the time we reached our destination it was pitch black. Worse, it was the completely wrong location. No one from the area knew of any Chabad. There were no signs indicating a Chabad had even been there. Instead, we walked right into an apartment complex that looked dead.
Our Masaai warrior felt terrible about the mix up, but it wasn’t his fault. To his credit he accompanied us all the way back to our villa. Back through random alleys, across people’s yards, over dirt roads, and through some sketchy areas we went. He helped us find the real Chabad, right where Google said it was when searching for Chabad and not the pin Chabad shared, exactly six minutes from our villa in the opposite direction. At first, I felt badly that I didn’t have any money to tip him with, but he knew that from the start so I let that feeling go very quickly.
Zanzibar’s weather from September to November is predictable enough that the Chabad sets up its eating space outside. It’s a beautiful space made of wood (because it doubles as a sukkah) covered in flowers and trees with white canvas walls hanging from floor to rooftop. We showed up just in time for kiddush/blessing on the wine and found our seats at the end of a long table. Almost immediately we realized we were once again the only American tourists and English speakers at the table, except for one younger man who made aliyah/immigrated to Israel a few years before. The food was delectable. A great blend of Israeli and local cuisine. I had as much as I could even with my stomach woes.
That night we found out that the Israir flight from Zanzibar to Israel that we had worked so hard to get was the very last flight of the season. Although our Israir flight from Athens to Israel worked out in the end, the lack of anything more than a confirmation email made me nervous. This new information did nothing to ease my worries about returning to Israel. Nor did the increasing aches and pains I was feeling in my throat and muscles.
