Island Police

Unfortunately Lars and Kjersti “lost” a very expensive camera. One evening Kjersti asked Lars to bring the camera to dinner at one of the restaurants in Mtoni Marine where they were staying. Lars isn’t usually the shutterbug so he inadvertently forgot it at the table. By the time they realized the mistake, it was long gone. Lars reported it to the hotel management. They “looked” for it for a day and then told Lars he should report it to the Police. They sent Lars to the main police station in Stone Town about 4 miles away.

I missed all this action. But I offered to accompany Lars to the Police Station since my Swahili is better than his. So on Easter Sunday after church we had our taxi driver drop us at the main police station while the others went back to the hotel.

I am so thankful to have learned a few things, if not some Swahili. Handshakes and greetings will open doors and make friends of strangers. I have found that everyone is more inclined to be helpful even in business dealings if you first ask them how their day is going or how business is or how’s the fam. It’s sometimes amazing how a face will just light up because they don’t expect to be greeted by a mzungu. I think I usually get a better price in the market if I start by asking about the person before their product.

So this is how we started in the police station. Lars and I met a one officer outside who then took up into the station reception. There we greeted two gentlemen (watching tv) who told us to wait a bit and in a few minutes we were ushered into another man’s office. After greeting him and a third attempt to explain our problem this police officer switched into English and began to explain how hard it would be to help us. After all it is Easter Sunday. But moreover, this is not the right police station for Mtoni Marine. Technically we should go to another police station. The officer was kind enough to write the name down and we were back out on the street looking for a taxi. This was a bit more of a challenge to bargain for since we didn’t know exactly how far we were going or how rural it would be. I think we bargained for one price and the drive would stay and take us back to the hotel when we finished there.

Our next stop was the island version of Mayberry RFD. We walked in to a counter in front of us and off to the left a staircase up to what I assume were offices. We greeted the two young people behind the counter that looked as if we had disturbed their afternoon nap. Again I started with an explanation of problem in Swahili. The uninterested looks gave me a brief moment of insecurity about my language skills. That was quickly shattered when a voice from the shadows under the stairs asked in English, “Where was the camera taken from?” Lars and I glanced over, our eyes now adjusting from the brightness outside and there were two or three ‘prisoners’ peering through the bars of the holding cell. They were more than eager to assist in the investigation. Lars and I looked at each other and started laughing.

We lowered our voices and tried again to explain that all Lars needed at this point was a copy of a police report to turn into his insurance. One man visiting, who spoke English said he was a pilot and helped explain what we needed, another came and left on his small motorcycle. Eventually we got them to record the incident in their log book. And I asked to take a photo. They obliged. I hoped that would serve as Lars’ report. We were asked to wait a bit. They first said there was not authority present that could make the report – then it changed to we don’t have the right form to fill out.

If you come to Africa without patience you will get it if you stay for any length of time. I had no desire to spend my Easter Sunday afternoon at a Tanzanian police station, but I knew from years of living here, waiting is all part life. After some time the man with the motorcycle returned and explained that all the forms are at the airport (probably 10-12 miles from us) and that none of the police stations have the forms right now. There was some discussion about getting the report in the morning, as opposed to ‘right away’. But if we could put gas in the motorcycle he could get the forms we needed.

When corruption starts, I begin to lose patience. I kept asking Lars if he thought the photo I had taken was enough. He tried phoning Norway but everyone was in church still. Lars reasoned that he was a tourist this weekend and it might be okay to pay a little something in that case. But he wouldn’t do that as a missionary. I wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t do that, but I told him I wouldn’t do it. Eventually the man requesting the ‘little something’ decided he should come with us to the hotel for further investigation. I told Lars, this is the best option. If something needed to be ‘paid’ let the hotel do.

In the end, Lars didn’t pay anything, and he got a police report the next morning. The hotel desk was not very happy with us. We don’t recommend this hotel.

On Holiday with Norwegians

Lars and Kjersti from language school have two cute children: Simon and Leah. Early on they mentioned going to Zanzibar for Easter. Later they invited me to join them. It was after I made the decision that I learned there were two other Norwegian families going too. One was a family with four children ranging from 16 down to about 7. The other had two small children, 3 and 7 months. Both husbands are doctors and all three families are with an organization called Norwegian Lutheran Mission. The larger family is only out for two months and the doctor is a pediatric consultant for the mission in Norway. They younger couple work in a Norwegian hospital about 3 hours south of Arusha and have only been out since January of this year.

More that you care to know about the Norwegians. But I have to say they were very pleasant company. They worked hard to hold conversation in English for me. Lars was the best at it. And they loved to visit, so each night we’d come back after dinner, they’d put the kids to bed and we would have coffee, tea, dessert and conversation until at least 11 in the evening. Sitting listening to them made me think of anything remotely Norwegian I know. I thought of Sven and Ole jokes, only to find those are Swedish! And of lutefisk and lefse. I thought of people I know that have a Norwegian background. I remembered my current favorite movie: Sweetland. But most of it doesn’t transfer. They were wonderful company for a holiday on Zanzibar, and perhaps new friends

Swahili Anglican Pasaka (Easter)

I had heard there was a large church built on the site of the slave market. That was the place we wanted to go for Easter services. Oddly enough this very Muslim town didn’t seem to have any sources for finding services times. We even stopped there after dinner the night before and could only get out of the guard that the gates open to tourists at 8:00 AM.

We decided to shoot for 10:00. Nothing really starts on time certainly there would be more than one service on Easter Sunday. We arrived about 10:15 and were ushered up to the rear balcony of a long narrow church. To the newcomer or tourist the balcony would have appeared full when we got there. People shuffled their plastic chairs around, got more off the stack and eventually the five of us has seats. (Only some of the Norwegians decided to go.)

We arrived with the sermon in full force. I caught a few words, but was more distracted by my surroundings: huge vaulted ceilings with peeling paint, tall narrow stained glass windows, little girls in their Easter best fidgeting. I craned my neck to see the preacher in his bright orange Easter robes. I pulled out my Bible to find a likely passage he was preaching from. I read each resurrection account in the gospels. Following the sermon was the Anglican liturgy. Lars struggled through the visitor copy of the order of service book we were handed upon arrival and I had promised to return to an usher after the service. I was thankful that I had some understanding of the parts of the liturgy having grown up Episcopal. (And attending an Anglican service in English on Palm Sunday.) Turns out we hadn’t missed much of the service.

After the service I looked around the front and saw where the post had been for putting the person up for sale, right in front of the altar. The altar has a mosaic of Christ’s crucifixion. If you stop to think about what freedom Christ has bought for his children, it’s both powerful and profound. I am thankful that He is the God of the nations and brings freedom that is only found in Him.

Finding the Clove Hotel

Here are the directions sent to me by the hotel via email to find the place:

From the Port to Clove is about a ten minute walk.
- If you come out of the gate (at the port) you turn right.
- first street left (before House of Wonders)
- We are in Hurumzistreet
You can ask people. Everybody knows Clove Hotel.

Then bear in mind that most streets in Stone Town are so narrow that cars don’t drive on them, bikes, motorcycles and two-wheel pushcarts are the largest vehicles.

So I get out of the gates and ask a policeman if he knows where the Clove Hotel is. He thinks a moment and starts rambling on in Kiswahili. I catch a few words here and there.

I stop to say to Lars and Kjersti that I am not very sure I will find my hotel. The taxi they have hired is saying to me, “Just get in.” But I know their hotel is the opposite way of mine. I ask if he knows the place, he says he will take them first and then he’ll take me to mine. Stubborn Jan says she’ll find it on her own. (I wasn’t going 4 miles out of the way and back.)

I start wondering along looking for the “first street left” back and forth along the shorefront. I stop to take a couple of photos so I don’t look lost. But if I ask a taxi driver they will want to take me. I know it must be kind of close. I come to a big building that has a sign: museum. Is this the House of Wonders? I stop a couple boys, greet them, slap the wall and say in Swahili, “This is House of Wonders?” The boys look at me and at the sign and say something about it being a museum. I keep going.

Aha! Mabati, (corrugated tin) walling off construction on both sides of the road. The policeman I asked has said something about mabati. I get to the edge of the next big white building. Four or five men call “taxi”. I turn to an older man, greet him in the Tanzanian way for respecting and elder and launch into my Swahili again. “I think I can go on feet, I am looking for Clove Hotel.” This man smiles broadly and says carefully to walk to the end of this parking area, turn right and go straight. I’ll see it. I thank him and away I go. Not more than 10 or 12 yards up that street and I’m there.

Hot, relieved and pretty proud of myself.

Zanzibar Pictures

I spent a little time this morning downloading Zanzibar photos onto my photo site. As always I wish I could convey sound, smell and feel as well as the sites. Those posted today are from the first two days on the island. Enjoy the tour.

Henna Hands

On the spice tour we were shown henna which is used to decorate skin or temporarily die hair. An even more temporary is the ‘lipstick fruit’. That is a lovely brilliant orange-red that can be smeared off almost as easily as it goes on.

As a tourist, I was looking for a nice henna décor job on my hands. What you see is what I got. (The earlier photo showed both hands.) It’s not actually henna. I learned on the tour that if it’s the black and not amber orange color it’s just an ink.



I know from living in East Africa before that it’s usually done for big celebrations. Like a bride will spend hours getting her hands and feet decorated, while her attending party will do some on their hands too, but not as elaborate. This is not traditional African culture. This is Middle Eastern and Indian so some of the Swahili (coastal mixed tribes) have adopted it. Both times on the ferry I saw mysterious black veiled women with exquisite painted hands.


I couldn’t help wondering later when I was hanging out with people my own age is I am too old for this kind of fun. Oh well, I was on vacation, and I didn’t have to be back at work afterwards. I would have loved to draw the designs on someone else. So I bought some henna. You mix the powder with water and lemon juice to help it stay on longer. I’m sure I can find more in Nairobi if I get hooked on doing it.

Trip Overview - so you can slot all the stories into place

20 March - Arrived on Thursday evening: 2.5 hours to Dar, then 2.5 hours on ferry to Stone Town on Sea Bus Fast Ferries. (Hilarious.) Find Clove Hotel on foot, have a nice dinner at Kidude Café
21 March – Spice tour day, eat dinner at street market
22 March – explore Stone Town (shopping), Chinese food with the Norwegians, change to Mtoni Marine
23 March Easter! - Church at Anglican Church of Christ, site of former slave market. Police stations with Lars, dinner at an Italian place
24 March - back I go over sea and land