It has been a while since I wrote, hasn't it? Not since Christmas.
Clara and I took a bus to Das Es Salaam and then the boat to Zanzibar. For those of you who think that the journey is the destination, I can report that the bus was 28 hours going (36 back), and that the boat caused some illness in some quarters, but that in both cases a sort of hibernation stasis allowed it to pass easily enough. I read recently about 36,000 year-old bacteria that was rehydrated and sprung back into action. It was like that.
We took diving courses on Zanzibar at a place that was really best experienced underwater. We found this really nice dive shop online and went there. It turns out that it was at this super touristy strip. Big all-inclusives where people had to wear wristbands and this kind of thing. The word was that the government has sold the entire eastern shore of the island to the Italian mafia, something that I've recently learned governments are capable of doing. Sure enough, there were lots of Italian-speakers there, including these young Maasai guys who come over from the mainland to sell baubles.
Clara and I had lunch with one of them. I mentioned, as a pack of Italian men strode out of the ocean, water dripping from hair all over their bodies except their heads -- and I mean all over their bodies seeing as how they like those speedos and all -- that Italian men are a lot like Massai men: proud. The young guy having lunch with us didn't see the resemblance. We were talking in a combination of Swahili and Italian, and so we were having trouble getting the concept of pride across. I said that everywhere Italian guys go, they are always the same. Also, everywhere you see a Maasai guy he is always wearing the red wraps and the jewelry and all that flair up in their hair. In both cases it is only their sheer unselfconsciousness that keeps them from being totally ridiculous. It doesn't occur to them to change. The Maasai guy totally agreed with this. "No, we don't want to change." After a reflective pause he added, "the Americans here all want to be rastas."
But you didn't finish the letter! Which means you didn't explain the pictures!!The graduating film makers and their awesome teacher, all looking beautiful. And the sad, sad picture of the woman trying to salvage her carrots...
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