Since I moved from Stone Town to Paje on Zanzibar, I need to combine my updates as I am without a computer (just trusty blackberry).

As I celebrated Boxing Day in Zanzibar, I was reminded of the following:
CNN International sucks. I mean do we really need to see,”Planet in Peril” on holiday. I think not. If I’m wasting away in Tanzania, tell me the gorillas and wildebeests are going to be extinct and the snow caps on Mt. Kili are disappearing after I get home.

When ordering your entree and dessert at the same time, make sure to specify which one you want first because spiced ice cream before samosas just means you will then need another round of gelato.

When I started traveling in 1996 to places like France (give me a break I was 22), I would tell people I was Canadian and I would even recite their National Anthem and list the provinces and try to say things like eh at the end of my sentences. That is no longer necessary. Now I’ve got a secret weapon. I’m from Chicago. Guess who else is from Chicago? (Before you answer that please think twice). The one and only Barack Obama. So much for the Canadian flag. Americans just need to plaster Obama 08 on their suitcases and backpacks. “Hey where are you from?” My response, Chicago, which instantly garners a BARACK OBAMA.

You are all probably wondering why the title of my post. Let me share with you an email I sent to my mother yesterday and it will definitely clear things up (Jack and Jill -yes those are their names- did receive equally alarming emails).

From me to Joyce via email…

“Omg mom I might really die. On other side of island. Beautiful white beaches sort of what u think of Indian Ocean.

But no room at the inn

I’m at boutique hotel and may have mentioned I was on a budget so I am literally staying in a hut. No bathroom no windows but it does have a mosquito net which I will also be throwing mine over since I see many holes and not the ones so I can breathe.

It is 35$ a night however. It is clean and this place is nice but omg can I survive? I’m not sure. I can’t piss in the sand all night. I think if u saw pics u would say it is gorgeous so not sure how to explain the rest except that I am a city girl and don’t camp and this isn’t really camping I mean its a wood hut on stilts. 2 days here and I’m off. I just found out that flights are cxld for rest of week. It’s africa what can I do. I guess ill have to take ferry back to Dar and fly out of there what an ordeal that will be. I think i might have jill or jack book me some tour to get me out of here.

Arusha is apparently fine. I’m not even in a town here. And I was a snob and didn’t want to take 2 hour hot bus here so I paid 60$ and now I have like 50$ left and there is no atm and no one takes credit cards. If I get out of here, it will make a good blog story otherwise ill let the sharks eat me and take my chances.

I mean I don’t need fancy but I do need a bathroom and electricity.
Don’t worry.”

Joyce back to me overnight…

“Kelly, Dad wants you to stay at better places, don’t worry about the money. We are sitting here talking and I said I probably won’t recognize you in another week (I sent her a email with self-portrait of me in my mosquito net and hut. Clearly cause for concern). Love to you, ps I never liked camping either, Mom”

Thought I would share.

I did make it through the night but I had to pee so bad that as soon as I deemed it light enough to crawl out of my patched hut which the birds had been gnawing on since 430 am I ventured to a public toilet. I will be skipping the public shower aka the janitors closet.

After I get back to reality, I promise to pass on my other African observations. I had to keep a journal of those during my current crisis.

KG

I am beginning to think the show CHEERS is slightly based on my life.  I mean Woody did come up with a fabulous song for me and everybody does indeed know my name at least at the Serena Inn on Zanzibar.  I didn’t quite get it at first but after the friendly greeter, all the front desk folks, 3 people at the restaurant and the coffee guy all knew me by name I started to get a bit worried so I asked.  Apparently, I’m quite the inquisitive one.  The front desk people know me because I am always looking for a converter or a dinner reservation or a spa appointment.  In my defense, the only reason the pool staff know me is my massage therapist went searching for me after I was 15 minutes late.  Bathroom duty called and I couldn’t quite get back to my room and settled on the lobby bathroom.  It seems she didn’t think to look for me there.  I understand her angst in finding me as she would not get paid if I did not show but a bad dinner is a bad dinner. 

It’s sort of a riot every time I turn around someone is saying, “JAMBO Kelly” to me.  “You look SMART Kelly.”  “Where are you going today Kelly?”  My favorite is definitely, “JAMBO Kelly Hakuna Matata Kelly.” (Ha ha I just learned the Lion King speaks Swahili).  It means no worries for those of you not brave enough to sit through the classic children’s movie. 

I had a few additional laughs yesterday that I have provided you below: 

Did I mention it’s hot here?  I was in search for some nice cold water. 

Me to the bartender:  Do you have any cold water?

Bartender:  Yes we do of course.  What size?

Me:  What size do you have?

Bartender:  Small, medium and big liter

Me:  I’ll have the small

Bartender:  (without even hesitating) We don’t have small.

Me:  Why did you ask me if you don’t have small.  Oh forget about it just give the me the large I don’t want to have to come back here again.

After a hour and  a half walk through the town, I must have forgotten where I was because….

I walk immediately to the restaurant to have breakfast.  It did not even occur to me I was wearing running shorts because I had a long sleeve shirt on to avoid the sun.  To me that is my uniform.

I was promptly seated by the waitstaff.  When I walked over to the scrumptious mouth watering scrambled eggs and french toast I was excited to devour, a manager came up to me and took me aside and asked me to leave.  It seems I was not in appropriate attire for women.  I said I was sorry and thought that only applied to dinner (since my hotel book said that).  I glimpsed around the room and saw there were several women in tank tops and pajama like outfits and then it dawned on me…..I WAS NOT WITH A MAN.  Instead of fighting a losing battle, I retreated to my room showered and went back to breakfast donned in a full shirt and a skirt that covered my legs.  When in Rome…

It’s very hard to keep in mind my western ways don’t work on this side of the planet.  I cough it up to a proper learning experience and another example of how one must embrace the culture of others. 

Hakuna Matata