From Lute Wa Lutengano…

Last week I was honored with an invitation to visit the Isles, the exotic Spice Islands which form part of the United Republic of Tanzania. Most likely I will accept the invitation. It will, however, not be the first time I am visiting the isles.

I have already been there several times. Simply put; this time it will be definitely be more user friendly and more pleasurable. First I will not be paying for my return flight or boat ride. Secondly accommodation will be at a very luxurious establishment whose rooms average at around US$ 400, more than half a million shillings, for bed and breakfast only. And I will not have the privilege of footing that as well.

The Zanzibar friends, who are inviting me, are dedicated to ensuring that I will have a blissful sojourn in the land of Sultans and cloves.

As explained earlier I have already been to Zanzibar on several occasions. This is not counting the many times I simply make a brief stop over at its Airport on my way to and from Dar es Salaam. The many clove-oil-soap bars from the airport gift shop in my house are testimony to these many times.

I have however, indicated to my hosts that I would prefer to fly to and from the isles in light of my last experience during a trip there. Then our return portion was over the cold, actually, chillingly cold, waters of the Indian Ocean.

I vividly recall that trip. I had been requested to prepare a tourism marketing programme for the Zanzibar Tourist Board. In the company of the Marketing Director of the then Tanzania Tourist Corporation, Macha and a prominent Italian travel guru and magazine promoter, Rovagnati, we smoothly flew to the isles.

After a successful two day stint there we felt there was need to travel back to Dar es Salaam in style. We therefore hired a boat from the then famous Dar es Salaam – based Seafaris. We were going to sail back to Dar in the semi-luxurious sea vessel.

The boat arrived a day earlier from Dar to collect us. We made all the necessary preparations for an opulent return trip. That included stocking some prawn cocktails, lobster snacks and sandwiches for our bites and for cocktail drinks we had some whiskies, brandies, gins and wines as well as a generous amount of chilled beers.

Our boat hit the Indian Ocean on a sunny morning with the Captain, Omar, promising us a leisurely and joyous trip. True the trip was amazing. The blue ocean was calm and the sun combined with some cool fresh breeze soothed our bodies. I vowed that one day if I get into money I will make sure I spend the better part of my life sailing on these calm waters.

My mind was still juggling around these romantic ambitions when suddenly the weather seemed to change. The sun disappeared behind some ugly clouds and the cool breeze turned into a hideous tropical storm. Our luxury boat was suddenly being tossed up and down by three-storey waves. The boat’s roof was soon after blown off. The cold ocean waves and the tropical rain
began drenching our now freezing bodies. I lay my body on top of the engine cover to preserve some warmth as my colleagues were busy throwing up.

Our Captain, Omar, was far from assuring as he kept mumbling something to the effect that he had never encountered something like this in his many years of sailing. Why, I wondered, had God destined me, the son of Benaland where the Ruhuji and Mtitafu river waters are the only streams meant for toddlers games, to die here in these shark infested waters.

Rovagnati, the Italian colleague was muttering some Latino prayers while Macha lay helpless on the boat floor as I tried to literally gather some Dutch courage by gulping down my throat a whole bottle of whisky. We must have lain in this state for almost four or so hours when darkness embraced the now calm waters. Our boat was now rudderless, the rains were still drenching us and our bodies freezing when we saw some boat lights and heard some shouts. A rescue team had been mounted by the Seafaris following our failure to arrive on time in Dar es Salaam.

As I was shoulder-lifted to the shores of Kunduchi Beach Hotel, I swore that never again will I entertain sailing for fun.