EdUKaid

Hurrah! Have just successfully scoffed three mangoes without feeling the need to be sick!

When I was unfortunate enough to contract malaria a week ago, I developed a severe disliking of mangoes, which comprised a significant proportion of the breakfast served at Kendwa Rocks beach resort, North Zanzibar. I won’t go into detail, but basically a particularly rocky Dhow ride on a stomach full of mango didn’t bode well. In fact for three days I didn’t particularly feel I could stomach a lot of things. Instead I began to develop cravings for particularly sweet foods. And when chocolate cake with ice cream WASN’T available I found comfort in andazi, my breakfast of choice from home stay.

In fact a lack of breakfast stuff at Mottisfont prompted me to hunter gather six of the doughnut-esque sweets this morning:

“Mambo. Naomba andazi sita. Shillingapi?”

The shopping trip was a triumph; I even mustered up the courage to pop in next door to buy a half kilo of sugar, which was served to me in a newspaper cone rather like some seaside treat. Back home I used to be amazed by how much sugar my friend George would pile into his tea. But here in Mikindani it’s like I’ve discovered a whole new drink! Chai with no milk and heaps of sugar. AND you can dunk your andazi in it and feel like a particularly piggy.

But why all this talk of breakfast? I guess for the simple reason that it’s really quite important. Last night, while I was sat enjoying my first refreshing Safari since getting over malaria, the head teacher of King David School, whom I was sat next to, told me that one of the first thing he teaches a language class of complete beginners is how to buy food. And it made perfect sense. How can you possibly survive in a foreign country on an empty stomach? Pointing may be all well and fine for foods readily available on display, but what about defining quantities of rice, how many pieces of fruit you want, or what it is you want off the menu?

A trip to Mikindani’s two main markets earlier with Alex really helped to emphasize this. In Dar es-Salaam and Zanzibar, which both thrive off tourism, it was easy to slip into English. But in deepest darkest Mikindani you have to really work at it; and it makes the whole process so much more rewarding. Our shopping bag contained the bare minimum of stuff: fish; onions; potatoes; tomatoes; rice; mangoes; bananas; pineapple; chickpeas (at least, the Tanzanian equivalent). I rarely do the shopping in England so this was like a novelty to me!

When we got back we sheepishly approached Halima and asked her how to prepare this unidentified fish we’d bought on a whim. Without further ado she was disrobing it of all the unnecessary gunk, washing it, whacking it on the hob with chopped garlic and a squeeze of lemon, then it was into the frying pan with vegetable oil for about 15 minutes until it looked and tasted completely differently from the dubious goop we’d bought home wrapped in two bits of newspaper. Mixed in with some egg-fried rice: glorious! (This was also my first attempt at cooking egg-fried rice, so an extra bonus)

Zanzibar was exhausting: all that lying around on the beach in your swimming trunks, weighed down by the latest Khaled Hosseini or Ian McEwan and stuffed full of wonderful food. I’ve gibbered on enough about food already. All I’ll say is that Monsoon’s in Stone Town is a must: relaxed atmosphere, designed in stylish Indian décor, and a sumptuous menu which doesn’t cost a lot either. Then of course there’s all the street food at the back of the  Forodhani Gardens, where you can sample the coarse flavours of Zanzibar’s oceans, covered in flies and served with a healthy amount of hassle from drinks vendors, easily dismissed with a wave of your water bottle.

The real romance of Stone Town is the labyrinth of winding streets, combining a fascinating history of cultures, language and religions (Mosques, Churches and Hindu Temples are within walking distance of one another). The Palace of Wonders is pretty sparse on artifacts and your head will feel as if it’s about to explode if you take the time to read everything. But you learn a daft amount of stuff: like how traditional Zanzibarian architecture comprises lime, and that using cement for modern buildings has got the wind up many traditionalists; that many Sultans were the sons of concubine slaves, as Islam deems them legitimate; that the Swahili language grew largely as part of the slave trade amongst the caravans crossing Tanzania with Ivory, spices etc. I’ve probably got a number of facts wrong, but that’s the general effect of museums: an instant overload of information, then once you’re out the door your mind turns to mush in the glaring sun.

The holiday was unexpected, and left me in a tight spot financially. But this is all part of the “learning curb”, and I prefer to consider the positive side of things. Having seen the more tourist-catered, beach holiday side of Tanzania; I’m now able to appreciate how basic the standard of living in Mikindani is much more. Plus, you can’t beat spending Christmas Day in a reggae club in Stone Town, or darting in to the sea on New Years Eve.

Tom Learner, volunteer teacher