Zanzibar!

"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love."--Ernest Hemingway

A crab...and a coconut crab.  Sorry, I couldn't help it.

"Shawn and I almost got divorced at the airport," Rachelle told me once we'd arrived at the beach house.

I know, I know.  I shouldn't gossip, but this is a good story, so I've modified their names.

Rachelle and Shawn were happily married with four darling children under the age of six.  They lived in Africa too, so we arranged to meet them in Zanzibar for a vacation extravaganza.  For fun we invited my parents and Eric's sister Lo Lo to join in the chaos (seven kids!).  But back to Rachelle's story...

It was nearly midnight when they were checking in for their flights.  For those of you who haven't traveled internationally with small children at midnight, let me tell you, it is miserable.  There isn't any contraption that enables you to safely transport four passed-out kids and their luggage through the airport and immigration.

At the ticket counter Rachelle found out that Shawn made a huge mistake when he booked the tickets. She was on the midnight flight with the three boys, and he was scheduled to travel with their little girl on another day.  That's when  Rachelle, who is nearly unflappable, lost her mind. Fortunately the ticket agent, sensing an emergency, was able to squeeze the entire family on the same flight that night.  Thanks be to God.

Zanzibar Red Colobus Monkey

Oddly enough our family managed to scrape up some drama as well.

We arrived at the Lusaka airport, checked in, and waited to board our plane.  When the gate agent asked for our tickets and passports, he also demanded our yellow fever vaccination cards.  We totally had those--only they were at home, and it was too late to get them.

"I'm sorry.  Tanzania won't let people in who are from countries with yellow fever."

"Ah, but we are Americans," I pleaded, "and we've been vaccinated, I promise!"

"How long have you been in Zambia?" he asked.

"3 years..." I said.

"Absolutely not."

Alex and Isaac were devastated.  The next flight out wasn't for a few days.

But, again, I've lived here for three years.  I know that when a door closes, a window can be pried open for a few hundred dollars.

"These are good for 10 years," the gate agent told us and handed us our duplicate yellow fever cards.

But we made it to Zanzibar, and the island didn't disappoint us.  Most residents are Muslim, and we arrived at the very end of Ramadan.  The streets were packed with men and women buying food and fancy clothing for Eid al-Fitr, the big party celebrating the end of fasting.

Mr. Clean selling stuff at the market 

When Auntie Lo Lo arrived, she looked frazzled.  She'd made it all the way from Oregon to Zanzibar, but her luggage was lost somewhere in between.  "Don't worry, we'll deliver your bags to your lodge," the airline assured her.  Lo Lo rolled her eyes.

Let the record show that Eric and I told her the bags would come...and come they did.  Sure, some of her valuables were missing, but at least she had a change of underwear and her toothbrush.

One-stop shopping at the market

We snorkeled. We toured spice farms.  We played in the soft white sand.   It was all fun-and-games until my mother's elbow swelled up to the size of a soft ball.  Zanzibar is exotic, but not the place to be if your body goes into septic shock.  

Shawn, the same guy who nearly abandoned his wife and three boys at the airport, called his surgeon father.  "Get some Tetracycline, and she should feel better in a day."

Small problem:  there are no pharmacies in rural Zanzibar.   We asked the cook at our house to ask around the village for the antibiotics.  Sure enough, within the hour, there was a guy with a bag of prescription drugs.  My mom got what she needed, and as I write this post, she is alive and well.

Spice tour finds

Obligatory cow-on-city-street photo

"Nice racks, beautiful butt & smoking hot legs." Thanks Tennessee for your inappropriate shirts.

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Carved door frame in Stone Town

On our last day, we took a soap-making class in Stone Town.  Again, great fun until Oliver creamed his shorts. Thankfully the shop had a small bathroom, so he and I scurried off to clean up.

Best soap ever.

The bathroom had a toilet, but lacked running water, soap, and a garbage bin. This may be TMI*...but let's just say that I wasn't going to be taking his undies home with us, so I folded them and hid them under the sink. Yes, I feel a little bad about this, but you'd probably do the same thing.

I then sent Eric on a mission to find some antibiotics.  Fortunately Stone Town has a pharmacy.

Imagine.  Oliver can't swallow a pill, so we needed to crush the meds, mix with juice, pour into a syringe, and shoot the concoction down his gullet.  The problem was my hands were far from clean, and with the lack of soap and water I was hesitant to mix the drugs. 

Then I remembered something:  We were taking a soap-making class!  I plunged my hand into the soap mixture, scrubbed furiously and rinsed with bottled water.  

As I write this post, Oliver, too, is alive and well.  

But, in closing, I'd like to reflect on why Ernest Hemingway would say to only travel with people you love.  It's obvious:   It's because nobody has to die.  The end.

Mama collecting seaweed

*Too much information