December 28, 2009 – December 31, 2009
Brandon’s parents came to town for Christmas. Even if you can’t watch the snow fall while sitting around a Christmas tree, there are plenty of rousing alternatives on Africa’s east coast. We found one on a trip to Mafia Island.
The southernmost of three islands (including Pemba & Zanzibar), Mafia is the largest of the small archipelago off the coast of Tanzania, and it is a stunning Indian Ocean beauty. To get there we boarded a tiny, ten passenger plane and flew thirty minutes to the single airstrip on the island. We thought we had booked transportation to our lodging, but finding none, we paid the only person with a car to take us to our hotel. The roads could barely be called as much, and the further we drove, the further we questioned whether it was possible we were even headed in the right direction.
As if a mirage, the beautiful Mafia Island Lodge’s thatched roofs appeared out of nowhere, a welcome reprieve to our wavering trust. We were greeted with a warm welcome and fresh coconut drinks. It is no exaggeration to say we felt like we had found paradise. That is until we were asked about food preferences. To my response, “Anything but seafood,” I was told, “You came to the wrong place.”
After dinner we made our way to our cabanas in anticipation of the following morning’s whale shark adventure. After a quick breakfast, we piled into a van that we all knew would not get us to our destination. There were tubes running from the engine into liquid-filled buckets in the cab. The vehicle continued to break down every couple minutes, at which time the driver would repeat his mechanical resuscitation, aggressively shaking the bottles of mystery liquids, experimentally rearranging the tubes, and banging a few things under the hood. Amazingly it worked a few times, but by the third breakdown, tactics and hope had disintegrated, and the driver called in another vehicle to take us the rest of the way to the fishing village from which we would embark.
We expected the boat ride to be long, but only made it a few hundred yards from shore before we stopped and were told to jump in. We were doubtful anything so big could be swimming so close to shore, but they were there only feet below the surface.
Encountering whale sharks is breathtaking. The massive, spotted creatures with gaping mouths seem completely undisturbed by the presence of wide-eyed, awkward moving humans who must appear to fall from the sky and then try desperately to keep up with them as they swim around vacuuming up plankton. It is awe-inspiring to swim with such magnificent creatures, and I wish everyone could get a chance to experience it.
After chasing the world’s largest fish around, we climbed back into the boat and began our return trip to the hotel. The only camera we had had that could take pictures underwater were cannon disposables, so we couldn’t know what memories we had captured on film. Sadly, they all turned out to be blurry, but although the sharing of it is difficult without photos, the experience was unforgettable.
The following day we took a fishing trip on a dhow. As we made our way into the open water, Mary Jo inquired what kind of fish were already in the boat. She was sure they were our bait, but the captain informed her that the bucket of fish was her lunch. We trolled around for a while and eventually stopped on a small island of white sand where we cooked the fish on skewers over an open fire. They were served with rice and fruit, and, had I been someone who ate fish, I have no doubt it was one of the most wonderful meals in the world. After lunch Randy hooked what appeared to be a massive fish, but after fighting it for a few minutes, the fish broke free. If it knew the opponent it had escaped, it would consider itself a master of elusion. Randy still longs for a rematch with or even a glimpse of the leviathan that got away.
After one more night in the lovely hotel overlooking the Mafia Island beach and Indian Ocean, we packed our things and attempted to board our plane for the return trip to Dar. Before getting on, however, the lone security guard charged with managing the airport searched my bag and was astonished to find a compact mirror. He turned it over carefully in his hand, examining it as if it were at once lethal and confounding.
“You cannot have this,” he unequivocally declared.
“What? Why not?” I asked in surprise.
He raised the mirror over his head and pantomimed a series of events that suggested I would contort my face in a manifestation of the devil himself, smash the mirror against something or someone, and then use the glass shards to decapitate the pilot.
His acting was so moving that I was surprised I had not thought of such a scenario myself. I simply replied, “But I would never do that!” He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders in agreement, and capitulated, “Okay, you can take it.”
If that wasn’t strange enough, as we awaited takeoff with a few other people on the plane, we noticed that the pilot had left his door open. We began taxiing to the strip, and still it remained open. A few of us looked at one another wondering if he knew it was open. None of us said a thing. How could he not know that his door was ajar after all? But what were his intentions? Was he planning on shutting it, or did he prefer the breeze? Was he getting ready to jump? Should we prop the main cabin door and get ourselves ready to bail?
The props roared and the plane picked up speed. We got to the end of the runway, rose off the tarmac, and – to our unspeakable relief – he slammed it shut.
We had the best Christmas adventure and hope to go back to Mafia Island!
