Sleeping with strangers- Budget Travel chronicles
Four years ago I received a call from an old friend, Billy. His voice sounded far off, like he was speaking to me from another dimension. “Grace, mambo?”. He asked. His Swahili always came out funny. “Can you come to Zanzibar? I’m volunteering for a project and we would love to have a female trainer.” He added. He didn’t need to ask twice. I was on a bus to Dar es Saalam the following morning.
It was late when I finally arrived, we had gotten stuck at the border for hours. My knees were cramped, my back on fire, and my feet almost too swollen to fit into my shoes. I missed the last ferry to Zanzibar so Billy gave me the name of a certain hotel he had slept in. I had made friends in the bus and when I asked them for directions, they pointed out how far away from the port that hotel was. The bus conductor said he had a cousin on the bus who could show me an even cheaper place that was closer to the port. The mad part of my brain answered for me and said okay.
I remember getting out of the bus in Dar, walking alongside Matthew, this cousin to the conductor whom I just met and wondering what on earth I was doing. I had my bag on one hand, a heart beating wildly in my chest and the heat surrounding me all on sides. He waved down a tuktuk, said his bag was heavy and could we pass by his house to drop it off? I acquiesced. When we got there, I stayed in the tuktuk, declining the offer to go inside. Instead, I sat inside that little car and contemplated getting out to go somewhere else, anywhere else. But where would I go? It was dark and I had no idea where I was, so I stayed put until he came back.
He gave the driver directions — go here, stop there. We would get out of the tuktuk and get into a hotel, ask the receptionist whether there were any available rooms. The answer was mostly no- it was a Friday night and rooms were hard to come by at that time of the night. The available ones were too expensive. The same answer, hotel after hotel.
“ Ama twende tukalale kwetu? Should we just go and spend the night at our house?” Matthew asked.
The beating in my heart became louder. There was a ringing in my ear, a panic rising in my chest. I swallowed it and whispered ‘yes”, and in my heart, I started praying fervently that I would live to see my mother again.
I don’t remember whether we talked or rode in silence until we arrived at his gate but here’s what I remember: we got out of the tuktuk to be met by a lady called Grace, Matthew’s sister. I can still see her in her loose fitting derah walking out of the house to welcome us. She greeted me with a shy smile and immediately said she was sorry. “ Pole sana,” she said taking my bag from my hands. “Oh my god. She is apologizing in advance for what they will do to me.” I thought to myself. “Kwa nini?” I asked with a feigned calmness. “Kwa safari ndefu,” She responded with grace. It did little to alleviate my fear. I followed them inside. “This is how I die. In a complete stranger’s house in a foreign country because I wanted a cheaper hotel.” I kept thinking to myself.
I remember being introduced to other members of the family, all very welcoming and very polite. I remember being served food and not taking a bite until I’d seen everyone else take a bite of theirs for fear of being poisoned. I remember watching a Nigerian movie with Swahili subtitles, trying so hard to stay awake after 20 hours on the road because I was too scared to go to bed first. I remember how that night, when Grace told me I was sharing a bed with her, I slept with my money and passport under my pillow just in case of any eventuality.
I can’t say for sure how much sleep I got that night, but morning came and Matthew gave me a local sim card and made sure I was all set up before carrying my bag to the ferry station. I will never forget how this stranger made it his mission to ensure I had a roof over my head, food in my belly and a means of communication. I will never forget how he stayed at the port until I got into the ferry to Zanzibar, waving stoically while the ferry hooted goodbye.
As we set off into the Indian Ocean that bright sunny morning, blue waters surrounding us in all directions, I was torn between gratitude for his generosity , shame for my mistrust and shock at my temerity.
So how about this; next time you travel, sleep with a stranger , save that hotel money. Ha ha.
