APOLOGIES

Please forgive me for my terrible slackness over the past few weeks. I realise I haven’t written for a while but am working to rectify this as soon as possible. I have been on a rollercoaster ride lately. Not literally of course (I’m scared of heights..) but metaphorically and emotionally. So please bear with me a little while longer and you will be rewarded with something monumental. Well, maybe… but there will be a post. At some point.

Home is where the heart is

Since the day I left Africa I have dreamt of returning. I fell in love, but this was more than a holiday romance – for 3 months I had eaten, drunk, laughed and cried with the people of Longido. I’d had adventures, learnt a lot about the Maasai culture and also about myself. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my friends, honorary family and Issiah, the little cattle herder I learnt to love as if he were my own son.

Until now I had been too sensible for my own good, telling myself that I couldn’t justify the expense or time off. But still I kept checking the flight prices and dreaming. And then a couple of weeks ago, I threw all caution to the wind and booked a flight to Nairobi. So this time next week I will (if the snow clears for long enough for Gatwick to open its runway) be en route to where I left my heart over a year ago.

If you have been lucky enough to visit somewhere that evokes such an emotional pull, you will understand what I’m trying to say. Although my home is, and always will be Essex – where I was born and grew up – I also did a lot of growing up in Tanzania and know it will always be very special to me.

‘Tis the season to be jolly

Or, if the high street is to be believed, ‘tis the season to max out your credit card buying gifts for all and sundry; socks that Grandad will never wear, Baileys for a tee-total Mum and countless gifts that will be eagerly ripped open before being forgotten and left to gather dust in the corner until 25th December comes around once more. However, in the run up to the festive season this year the world and I seem to be in tune.

Newspapers are full of soft news stories explaining how to make your own mulled wine/Christmas stockings/mince pies etc. More and more people are cottoning onto the idea of Secret Santa, wherein each person gives and receives only one present. Hopefully the nation will learn that there's no need for all the stress we put on ourselves, and actually enjoy December.

I have always adhered to the idea of the ‘austerity Christmas.’ Partly down to my upbringing where we were taught that material things are, well… immaterial and partly due my poor student status and, some might say, general Scrooge-ness. So this year I am pleased that the whole country is with me. Hackneyed it may be, Christmas isn’t about how much we spend or how grand the gestures, it’s the fact that we all get time off work to spend with our loved ones, fight over what to watch on TV, hear tales of the baby Jesus (who is definitely real by the way) and finally realise there’s a reason we don’t get together more than once a year…

Merry Christmas!

Cloud gazing

I’m a sucker for a good view. I love a vista me. Give me a landscape of rolling hills, jagged mountain tops, or an unbroken horizon and I’m struck dumb – sometimes for several minutes. A bit of scenery is good for the soul. And I have discovered something; you don’t need to go to the other side of the world for some very special views.

On my morning commute I often see beautiful cloud formations, for it is in the morning light that the flatness of the Essex marshes really comes to life. As the sun peeks over the horizon we early commuters are treated to a fantastic show, each day different to the one before. The endless sky stretched out over the fields to the north sea provides the perfect canvas upon which nature can create works of art to make even the grumpiest early bird appreciate the sky; sweeping swathes of pink, delicate brush strokes of white on a deep blue background, ethereal haze and an almost limitless colour palette means that no two skies are ever the same.

So although I gripe and moan about catching the 07.30 train into London, each day I am rewarded with a fresh view to placate me. But not today… today the Essex skies are a blanket of pure white. It is November and already we have a thick blanket of snow on the ground. It doesn’t bode well for the months ahead. Luckily I can comfort myself with the thought of my upcoming visit to Tanzania, and equatorial temperatures. If I close my eyes I can feel the sun already…

The art of believing in yourself (extract from article written for Tiny Buddah website)

From an early age I was always top of the class at school and it was assumed that I would go and have a high flying business career. I didn't ever stop to think in what field, I just had a vague vision of my future self sitting in an office. I even won the 'most likely to make a million pounds' award at school! But it hasn't worked out that way. Perhaps because I’m so stubborn and don't like to do what's expected of me - I like to surprise people.

When I see people younger than me doing seemingly brilliant jobs my first reaction is ‘wow, look how successful they are, why can’t that be me?’ But then I remind myself that they would probably be jealous of my life in other ways, for things that I don’t even think are note-worthy. For example, travelling alone was not a problem for me, but some people I’ve spoken to are amazed that I could do so and see it as brave. Whether you have travelled, got a degree, climbed a mountain, or bought a house, had children, learnt mandarin etc… we have all done things that seem amazing to others. Whatever you have done, you can be proud of your achievements.

After a few years of adult life and working in jobs that weren’t going anywhere, I’ve discovered that what really makes me happy is helping other people. I'm not being sanctimonious, it's just the truth. Some people want a Mercedes, or a mansion, but I know that those things wouldn't make me happy. I am now planning on training as a primary school teacher so I can make a difference in my own small way, and allow me time to continue volunteering. We all have to figure out what's going to make us happy and find a way to do it. It’s that simple!

A snapshot of Stone Town, Zanzibar

Steeped in history, Pemba is the name of the larger of the 2 islands
that make up what most people think of as ‘Zanzibar.’ I arrived in the
capital, Stone Town, more than a little disorientated after a long
sleepless flight and surreal ferry journey (seated next to a young boy
with a LIVE chicken in a plastic bag)! The heat was stifling. The sun
coupled with the bright colours of the women’s clothing dazzled me as
I took my first steps on African soil. Ever since I had gazed across
the strait of Gibraltar while on holiday as a child, I had dreamt of
coming to this ancient and enticing land.

I had pre-booked a room at the Flamingo Hotel (flamingoguesthouse.com/
$10 per person per night for very basic en suite, £8 for shared
bathroom facilities) which is a popular haunt for budget travellers.
Basic, clean…ish and with breakfast on the roof included in the price,
it was just the ticket. After dumping my bag in my room and changing
into cool white and modest clothing (this is primarily Muslim town), I
headed out into the heat of the afternoon. Despite my tiredness I was
keen to explore this Unesco World Heritage Site.

Diving straight into market, I found myself well and truly in at the
deep end of everything I had imagined Africa to be. The smell in the
air was a fantastic blend of spices and exotic fruit. Stalls selling
everything from shawls to sardines surrounded me. My pale skin singled
me out as an easy target for shopkeepers, artists and tour operators,
not to mention some less savoury characters. I would soon become
accustomed to the constant calls of ‘mzungu, mzungu’ but for now it
was disarming to be stared at for being exotic.

Stone Town is a photographer’s heaven. Around every corner there is a
scene begging to be captured. The architecture is unique, mixing
traditional African with Arabic influences. This was a major hub of
the slave trade, where several million African people were held before
being transported to Asia and the Middle East. At St. Monica’s Church,
which was built on the site of the old slave market, you are able to
do a tour of the church, monument and the eerie slave chambers.

For the delicious food I headed to Forodhani Gardens where each
evening countless stalls piled high with exotic seafood, local kebabs,
traditional chai and more can be found for just a few dollars. If
you’re feeling flush, Africa House is the perfect place to go for a
sundowner (www.theafricahouse-zanzibar.com/). I was lucky enough to be there in July for the Zanzibar International Film Festival(http://www.ziff.or.tz/) which showcases local, national and
international film makers in the fantastically atmospheric Old Fort.
Easily accessible by taxi or dalla-dalla (local mini bus) are
countless beautiful beaches, and Jozani Forest where you can see the
approachable red colobus monkeys endemic to Zanzibar.

The world works in mysterious ways…

I struggled to wake myself from my dream this morning. It was unusually vivid, featuring a friend from Tanzania who had, in the dream, moved to England. I was surprised at how realistic the dream was. I have never dreamed of him before, and as I distractedly get ready for work, couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to mean something. I checked my diary and was both astounded and yet somehow not surprised to see that one year ago to the day, I had said goodbye to my friend, and to Tanzania. After not having been in touch for months, I was happy if not shocked when I got into work to see that I had received an e-mail from the man himself (on an unrelated topic). It served to remind me that the world does indeed work in mysterious ways – or else maybe it’s just my mind that is weird!

In other news, I am elated to be able to apologise for the pessimistic last post and to report that my Retired Greyhound Trust donation wedding gift went down a storm. Everything is once again right in the world; my friend and his bride are happy to have received a thoughtful gift, my conscience is appeased and the greyhounds are, I’m sure, grateful to be kept in chew toys and fake rabbits for the coming months.