The family invited me to stay with them for the remainder of my stay in Ushango. In retrospect I think I'd have been the better for the experience, but at the time I'd already paid my for my tent for all 4 days and the awkward silence that marked the majority of our interaction between 'Karibus' and 'Asante Saunas' heightened the insecurity and intimidation I felt in the face of our cultural divide. I was also still leery of any unaccountable offers of generosity from my experience with the city touts. I paid for dinner, which Baker seemed embarrassed to tell me was 1600 Tsh instead of the 1200 he had originally conjectured ($1.30 instead of $1); the price apparently have gone up when the cook learned that I was white. I asked Baker where I might find chapattis for breakfast in the morning. He told me that I would have chapattis with his family in the morning. 'This time' he told me, 'No pay. You eat here.' The idea made me a bit nervous, but we agreed to the time and I returned to Divers where I grabbed a beer (which cost more than my entire seafood dinner) and a book.
I was embarrassed when after only a few minutes of reading, I looked up and realized that Richard, who was sitting with Sam just two tables down (in an almost empty bar), had been very audibly beckoning me for the last 20 seconds or so. By this time in the night (nearly 830) I was rather tired and not only had I failed to notice the pair when I sat down, but my brain simply was not responding to my newly adopted nick name, especially when not when uttered without the African emphasis of projection coming from the front of the mouth. I was immediately forgiven my rudeness, aided I think by a number of anteceding drinks, and the rest of the evening was inhabited by good conversation. (This section of the blog has been moved to my blog for sensitive materials)
Breakfast at Baker's was very good. It was just me and him and his friend eating though, not the whole family as I originally imagined. I guess the girls don't eat with the men in this culture. I remember this being the case in the Masai community we worked with when I went to Kenya with the Bethel mission team in 2006. Breakfast was delicious and filling, very characteristic of chapattis, though a bit sandy. I was offered an exquisite juice concoction made from an almost sour tasting fruit, the name of which I've forgotten. After breakfast I snorkeled. I didn't want to pay the $50 to go out on the boat to the good snorkeling so I just went out during low tide. I saw a few fish and some other sea stuff for which I haven’t the knowledge to name. The tide was a bit too low when I went out and I was more crawling across the ocean floor with my hands and feet than swimming, holding my midsection aloft while submerging my masked face into the underwater world upon which I was so awkwardly imposing myself. This crawling with my head underwater was not ideal and I was paranoid of disturbing the fragile life formations around me, especially such a life formation as had specially adapted to discourage being disturbed via mechanisms of punitive retribution. The formation of the sea floor was such that sand-bottom channels, 2-3 feet deep and a little less wide, made a labyrinth of twisting, arching canyons cutting through seaweed-topped tables of sand and coral. Crawling through these canyons limited severely the capacity of my vision to ascertain my surroundings. I was especially alarmed whenever I found myself in proximity of a sea urchin (I think that is what they are called). These immobile creatures call to mind some terribly destructive atomic force that one might find illustrated in a Japanese anime cartoon. The particular kind that I encountered were solid black, bodies the size and shape of a softball, with great 15inch-long needles protruding from it from every direction. I don't know whether these menacing looking objects have any toxic properties to speak of but I dare say I'd have been as comfortable swimming amongst underwater mines.
I saw Sam swimming just in front of the resort. He was imploring the attention of Richard who was reading a book on in one of the hammocks. Once attention was achieved, Sam proceeded to lie still in the water. Richard explained to me that he had been giving Sam swimming lessons and at the moment Sam was showing off his mastery of the floating technique. I baulked that someone having grown up so near the ocean had yet to learn to swim. I recalled a line from Life of Pi that said something about those living nearest the ocean think most peculiarly of people who choose to swim in it. I wanted to ask Sam some questions about the area and proceeded to join him in his exercise.
(Sensitive Part)
Sam was more than willing to divulge information about himself and the area. He wanted me to know that in fact he actually did smoke.
"I am a Rasta! Of course I smoke!" There were in fact a number of things that Richard didn't know about Sam, like his girl friend in Dar Salem, the trips he often made about the country, much the company he kept, the jobs he worked. Richard was in fact led to believe only the things that Sam conjectured were most conducive to stimulating Richard's favor and support. Many aspects of this affected personship, like marijuana abstention, were eventually found to be unnecessary, but once established could not be revoked lest the character inconsistency be offensive. Later I went with Sam and Baker to a shop down the road where Sam purchased some weed and we smoked it behind the shop with the chickens.
(End Sensitive Part)
Later still we went to the Turtle hatching. Everyone in the area, tourists and locals alike, maybe 100 people total, came to see the well-advertised turtle hatching. Environmentalists had started a program earlier in the year in which sea turtle nests from a nearby sandbar were relocated to the mainland where they would hatch. The reason offered for this transportation was that global warming had rapidly contributed the ongoing disappearance of the sandbar and that turtles now born on the sandbar, upon returning to the exact place of birth in 50 years to continue the cycle of existence, would find their future nesting place underwater. Events for the hatchings were held in order to garner cooperation for the local (i.e. please don't steal and eat/sell our eggs) and support from the tourists (money, please). Myself, I was rather impressed that they had so accurately predicted the date and time of the hatching. I guess Sea turtles are pretty consistent creatures. Sam showed up rather drunk and was eager to display his recently acquired knowledge of environmental sciences by challenging some of the practices of the event leaders. A white lady walked up to him, rebuked him, and told him if he didn't settle down he would have to leave. Sam left rather offended. I don't know what he had said in Swahili but I was disinclined to believe it had really earned him such a reproach and I was uncomfortable whenever the lady came near me. The hatchlings were small and awkward and as cute as might have been expected and surprisingly quick once in the water. I noticed one white family with small children amongst the throng of observers. The children were chatting excitedly in Swahili, the two youngest were not wearing any clothes.
On the way back from the hatching Baker introduced me to his friend John. That night we all smoked and drank and talked, except Baker and John who wouldn't drink because they were Muslim.
The next morning I packed and paid my bills. Baker and John helped me get some andazi for the road. I gave them my Buddha book which they received with expressive gratitude and upon their request we all took photos together with the camera on my US phone. Baker and John refused the gift of money I offered them but they accepted some non-monetary tokens of our friendship. After a final dip in the Indian Ocean I hopped on my bicycle and rode into the sunset, thus ending my time in Ushango and the content of this blog.
Baker and John
Me, Baker, and his Witch-doctor grandmother
The witchdoctor and her menacing grin
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