This morning Esther and I had breakfast on the balcony. It was kind of weird to be served by a housemaid in the setting of this private home. At least, it was a black girl working for a black family, so rather than an issue of colour, we moralists from the West might have to accept that any type of society classification is still very much alive in regions that have just outgrown colonialism. During breakfast I learned quite a bit about local cultural issues that do not necessarily relate to skin colour: Esther’s current housemaid was the third young woman that got pregnant within only a few weeks of employment in Dar Es Salaam, after they had come from one of the many small villages in the countryside. In fact, one of them had already been pregnant when Esther hired her but didn’t say anything until she was in her 7th month. Usually, these women are not being married by the father of their babies and end up as single parent with only very basic education, for whom it is basically impossible to provide for themselves and their children. Most of them have to return to their family in the villages, often having more babies from different men and sometimes even becoming a victim of HIV.
Esther’s current housemaid also didn’t say she was pregnant, until she couldn’t hide it any longer and Esther directly asked her whether she was expecting a child. Since the baby’s father is no longer interested, Esther agreed for her housemaid to have the child and yet stay employed. The baby, however, requires so much attention that it is hard for the young mother to keep up with her housemaid duties (though Esther claims the girl has never been very motivated). Recently her mother came to visit – officially in order to thank Esther for her generosity to keep her daughter – but she came without having the money to pay for her bus ticket to return to her village. Suddenly being stuck with a housemaid, her baby and her mother, all living in Esther’s small apartment and at her expense, Esther didn’t quite know how to handle the situation anymore. She was afraid that she might have to dismiss the housemaid in the end, also because her own children would be sent to the United States for the sake of a better education and then she wouldn’t need help in the household anymore, anyway. Still, it was a tough decision because the young woman would probably never get another chance anywhere else. Neither would her child.

At 9:30 I took a taxi to the Zambian Embassy in order to pick up my passport and the visa for Zambia (19 Euro). Afterwards, I continued to the ferry port. Still remembering the hassle of yesterday, I felt quite uncomfortable at the harbour but one ting you learn when you go on such a trip: No matter how small you feel – never show your weakness. You just have to appear confident, otherwise you’re done. So I assumed my firm walk and went over to the ticket counter of the ferry I planned to take. The ferry port was full of people as most of the ferries leave more or less at the same time and everybody tries to find his way through the crowds. To my surprise there weren’t many white tourists or backpackers around. There were some but I would have expected more. So I started queuing but pretty quickly was addressed by a man who asked me if I was a resident of Tanzania. Obviously, I said no and he told me that tickets for non-residents were sold in the back office and that I should follow him behind the small wooden building. I couldn’t believe this was the proper way to obtain a regular ferry ticket, so I refused. It felt much safer to stand in line and wait for my turn out here where everyone could see me! But he kept insisting and as I couldn’t see an official sign posting what he told me, I decided to ask the woman who had just bought her ticket at the counter in front of me. She was white, blonde and looked like a young backpacker (in other words quite like me). To my surprise, she confirmed that she was a resident of Tanzania. I think I still waited until it was my turn in line but in the end, even the guy at the counter said I would have to come in their back office for my ticket. So I went. They wanted me to take off my luggage and leave it with someone but again I refused. Call me paranoid but you just have to be careful in situation like this!

To this day I am not sure I paid the correct amount for my ferry ticket (35,- US dollars one-way, plus 5000 Tanzanian Shilling ‘tax’). The guy who took my money also took my passport and disappeared with it for a while. I was already getting nervous when he finally returned with my ticket but -ops- accidentally forgot to give me my change. He was gone so fast that I had to run after him to get it. When I finally sat on the ferry, I somehow felt relieved big time. The boat itself was a kind of high-speed catamaran, basically the same kind as the ones going to Helgoland, just a little smaller and probably three times as old. I had a window seat which was great on the one hand because I could look outside. On the other hand, it was a disadvantage because I would have had to ask seven people to get up and let me pass through the very narrow row of seats, if I had wanted to go outside to take any pictures. So I basically stuck to my seat for the entire ride. As soon as we had left Dar Es Salaam and were on open water, the view outside was not that exciting anymore but luckily we were entertained by the movie ‘Speed’ that was shown on numerous TV screens. I was glad I knew the film, otherwise it might have bothered me not to have any sound with it.
After pretty much exactly two hours we arrived at Zanzibar where I was picked up by two members of the Mwanakwerekwe congregation, a Protestant church community just outside Stone Town. Thanks to the partnership my home town congregation of Helgoland entertains with this community, my visit to Zanzibar had been announced to them. Besides, my parents had been here before and are active members of the Helgoland group that supports their friends in Zanzibar, so I was basically considered a VIP with personal bonds and treated accordingly over the coming days. (For those of you who are not familiar with this particular bit of history, you might be surprised to learn that Helgoland and Zanzibar are historically connected through an agreement signed by Germany and the British Empire in 1890 which documented the exchange of German sovereign rights in East Africa against the political affiliation of Helgoland which used to be English since 1807. Believe it or not but there are still some people who think that Germany should have kept Zanzibar and left Helgoland to the British – it is a mystery to me why someone would ever think so...)
Some more facts about Zanzibar before I continue: Zanzibar is an archipelago made up of Zanzibar and Pemba Islands, plus several islets. It is located in the Indian Ocean, about 40 km from the Tanzanian coast and 6 degrees south of the equator. Zanzibar Island (locally known as Unguja, but as Zanzibar internationally) is approximately 97 km long and 32 km wide, occupying a total area of slightly over 1000 sq km. It is characterised by beautiful sandy beaches with fringing coral reefs, and the magic of historic Stone Town – said to be the only functioning ancient town in East Africa. Zanzibar’s local people are an incredible mixture of ethnic backgrounds, indicative of her colourful history (among others, the Assyrians, Egyptians, Indians, Chinese, Persians, Portuguese, Dutch and English have all been here at one time or another). The earliest visitors to Zanzibar were Arab traders who are said to have arrived in the 8th century. Islam remained as the dominant religion, practised by most Zanzibaris, although there are also followers of Christianity and Hinduism. Population is estimated at 800,000, with the largest concentration in the Stone Town area (approx. 100,000 inhabitants). Zanzibaris speak Swahili, a language which is spoken extensively in East Africa. Many believe that the purest form is spoken in Zanzibar as it is the birth place of the language (the name Swahili actually comes from the Arab word sawahil which means ‘coast’). Fishing and agriculture are the main economic activities of local people.
Back to my arrival: After having passed through immigration, Pastor Ntele and Stan, the choirmaster of the congregation’s youth choir, accompanied me to Mwanakwerekwe where I was welcomed at the community house by the church elders. I had to sign their guestbook and was almost touched to tears when I saw all the different Helgoland relics exposed here: starting from a small Helgoland flag and pictures of people of my home congregation, to a photo of the Lord’s Prayer in Helgolandish (= language of Helgoland) which is exposed at the Convent of the Pater Noster in Jerusalem, where 140 ceramic tiles are inscribed with the Lord’s Prayer in different languages (http://198.62.75.5/www1/pater/JPN-helgoland.html). It was so weird and touching to see all these items here, far away from my beloved home and yet appreciated as tokens of true friendship. After a first meeting and lunch together, I was given a couple of hours to take a shower and rest for a while. The congregation had offered me free accommodation at their community guesthouse which I thankfully accepted.
At 5 pm I was invited to attend a rehearsal of the youth choir in the church. The first surprise was when I saw them setting up their instruments: an electric organ and an electric guitar. Then I realised that the music they play has almost nothing in common with the music I know from my own church. This was so much more alive! The singers were all young and so was their music, much more vibrant and less formal than what a choir would perform in a church in Germany. I’m not saying that it was classic gospel but definitely closer to it than any white choir could ever be. These kids were very talented and it was a great experience.
Afterwards, Stan and I went to Stone Town because I wanted to go to an internet cafe and let my parents know that I had arrived in Zanzibar. We took a dalla-dalla which is a very specific type of minibus, similar to the ones in Ethiopa, except that the passenger area of the bus looks like an old coach compartment with benches in U-shape around the loading space, the open end facing the rear of the vehicle for people to climb in. Somehow I like this type of minibus because at least there is some room for luggage, bags and baskets in the middle but they still know how to load the vehicle cram-full with people which doesn’t make it any easier to get in and out. We spent about an hour in town (of which I didn’t see much because it was already dark) before we returned to Mwanakwerekwe and I had dinner with Pastor Ntele’s family. When we finished eating and he asked me to say a last prayer before everyone would go to bed, I was glad I could do it in German, so no one would understand my embarrassment, stammering some random words to thank the Lord for the day. It had been a long time since I had prayed like this and I would have to pray a lot more during my week in Zanzibar. But you know what? I really got to enjoy it.