Baby Lion is apparently a Maasai magnet! I acquired yet another today .
I didn’t plan to have any adventures today, honestly! I watched a moody dawn from a seaweed-strewn beach, slept a little and planned to spend most of the day working from the co-working space I’m currently staying at.
I have to say, as someone who’s always avoided staying in hostels, this has proved a happy medium. The private room is basic but has all you could need and the compound (guarded by a Maasai, but not one of mine ) has super fast WiFi, a communal kitchen and plenty of outdoor chill/ workplaces. It was also like £20 a night, including breakfast.
When I‘d asked what time breakfast was, my host told me any time up until lunch (!) so, as I’ve still had very little sleep for days now, after watching sunrise I had a nap, essentially had brunch (pictured) whilst doing some work and then took *another* nap until mid afternoon.
I’d told my Maasai friends from yesterday that I’d meet them at the beach at 4pm but I was delayed by the fact that, when I passed the local primary school on the way to the beach, I was swarmed by more small children (I appear to be a magnet to small children and dogs as well as Maasai on this trip).
One little girl immediately took hold of my hand and we had a basic conversation. As the others surrounded me I tried to explain that I was heading to the beach now in broken Swahili (“Sasa mimi beachi”)but they had other plans: they would NOT let me pass until I had lifted each and every one of them high into the air.
When I finally reached the beach, my Maasai friends were sitting with a French lady they’d met and we passed some time all together before she returned to her husband. I got to practise a little French and learn there’s a Tunisian version of chapati that has a filling.
A man passed selling coconuts and the Maasai who hadn’t gifted me the necklace yesterday insisted on buying me one, as he said I had to try Tanzanian coconuts I have to say, it was delicious.
He and I then attempted to swim, whilst the other one watched our bags, but it became hilarious as the water is only like calf deep, and waist deep at best. So even though we went a mile or so out most of the time we could walk with our hands He told me he’d taught himself to swim when he’d arrived in Zanzibar a few months previously and I really admire his bravery – the Maasai, having not grown up around large bodies of water, mostly can’t swim and the majority won’t even try. He’d mastered a kind of doggy paddle.
We did get to see the sun begin to set from the sea, which is as warm as bath water, but I have to say that as far as beaches go, so far Zanzibar pales in comparison to Diani beach, Kenya.
That said, I do really like the vibe in Jambiani.
We waded ashore at twilight; the whole beach was filled with local men and children playing football, and locals chilling or farming seaweed.
Another Maasai approached, and then joined us. We sat for several hours, as the moon rose, learning even more about our worlds.
They then asked if I would like to join them for dinner. The new addition warned me that it’s a local place and I said I actually prefer local places, but I’d need to either go home first or see where this place was and then return, as I’d only brought out a small amount of money (2000 tzs – something like 60p, for water). They told me no, it wouldn’t cost even that much and if it did for some reason cost more they’d pay the rest. I thanked them but said no, I could easily go get more money and they all unanimously told me that I now have three Black brothers and we are family, so we will eat together.
I’ll confess at this point that, having read all the stories about sex tourism and how muzungu (whites) are prime targets for men who start to romance them and then get her to pay for drinks/ dinner/ whatever I’d been suspicious that the necklace and coconut were some sort of elaborate plan to get me buying them dinner and sending money to their families.
But after tonight I’m inclined to concede that I was wrong; they genuinely haven’t given any indication they want more than my company and have simply said they want to gift me these things because they are learning from me and I have a kind heart.
We walked together along a moonlit beach and then cut into the village. And Jambiani’s village is the real deal, relatively untouched by tourism. Think dirt roads and stalls selling fruits, sodas and random items.
Fortunately, I’d chosen to wear a dera (long local dress) my Kenyan friend had gifted me the previous year over my bikini, as it helped me blend in as much as a girl with skin as white as me can blend in; more importantly it helped me respect the local culture. My hair was wild from the sea and I had no makeup on but YOLO, right?
The Maasai were super sweet, making sure I was again escorted from in front and behind and that I was walking in the least rocky places so I wouldn’t trip.
Eventually, after venturing deep into the village, they told me we’d reached the restaurant.
It was the most local ‘local restaurant’ I’ve been to. And, what’s more, it was Maasai.
In fact, they informed me that that whole area of the village is just for Maasai, who come to the coast to earn money so that they can care for their cattle until the seasons change and they can move them.
A handful of Maasai men sat on plastic chairs and tables under a single lightbulb. The kitchen was the only part not exposed to the open air, the walls and floor were bare concrete and there was no menu, or signage.
On our way, one of my group had bought some fruit from a stall for us to have for dessert, and when we arrived the youngest Maasai at the restaurant was given money to buy us milk to drink (the youngest Maasai in any room always has to run the errands). The other diners had jugs of water, so I suspect the milk was for my benefit.
We washed our hands from a water fountain outside (there were additional barrels of water with taps on them outside that the kitchen staff were using to wash the dishes) and then were each given a plate of food.
Given my allergies, for me this really was life on the edge but it all worked out remarkably well.
On my plate was a large dome of rice and some kachumbari (tomato and onion – so I had to dodge the latter and thankfully it wasn’t mixed in with the tomato and was also on the edge of my plate). We were also each given a bowl containing a red liquid and a piece of meat on the bone. I watched the others break down the rice with a spoon and pour over the liquid and meat and did the same.
I have to say, the whole thing was delicious and incredibly filling. And also Sam safe.
The rice and juice you eat with the spoon; the meat you hold and chew like corn on the cob.
The milk was perhaps the best milk I have tasted, and we were given wooden skewers to eat our mango dessert (they’d cut it up on a plate for us); these doubled as tooth picks.
As the only female at this table of three Maasai men, I was definitely given preferential treatment: the first plate of food; the biggest cup of milk; the sweetest pieces of mango.
They told me they wanted me to feel special and I definitely did.
They also paid for me and when I reached for the small amount of money I had brought I was admonished.
After dinner, they escorted me through the village, whilst storm clouds gathered over head and the first drops of warm rain fell.
My Maasai entourage delivered me within sight of the gate of my accommodation, gave me hug and a hand shake good bye and wished me sweet dreams.
Tomorrow, I’m teaching them the Macarena !
I’m transported to where you are every time! I can even taste the sweet mango
Ah, thank you! That mango was SO good and that night has to be one of my favourite experiences of all time.