I’ve yet to recount any events during the time I have spent out of the USofA because I have allowed the concept of time to dissolve from my bones. I’ve adopted a new sense of appreciation for the world around me, something I never could’ve acquired in United States alone. Simply, because at home there’s a sense that everything must be done in an exact order-a precise fashion. Time runs as a movie reel in constant circular motion; but in this perpetually turning loop, where is the real achievement? For some, the line of credit at the end, the name left behind, that’s everything, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, for me, I want something different but the world I live in constantly demands me to be better, to be quicker. At home, I am always anticipating the next task ahead. Now, I’m living in the space between seconds. I am listening to the world around me. For the first time in my life, I live for the breath of fresh air, the caesura to my symphony. I know, as with all pauses, this is a temporary suspense, and, that in time, I will rush along again. But, in the grandeur of  this moment, I rest steadily.

 In Tanzania, people acknowledge each heartbeat as treasure bleeding from the chest. Life is all “Hakuna Matata” and a life that’s “Pole Pole”. Or, in English, “No Worries” and a life that’s  “Slow Slow”. Such positive ideals flourish through so many people, constituting an atmosphere that would welcome even the most misanthropic individual. I know my claim may seem to be a hyperbole, but really, Tanzanians are truly peaceful. In fact, I owe them my life. 

You see, when I landed in this country, I was lost. I was the north end of a compass drawn in the wrong direction. Even worse, I was a withered compass rose thrown into the ocean, washed up on a foreign land. I had no way out of my situation…

My predicament began when I had neglected to acquire proof of an onward ticket from Tanzania  at least 48 hours before my flight was scheduled to depart from Antananarivo. Therefore, my flight was delayed to the next week, when the price of change was most probable. Unfortunately, my ride was unaware of the precise time I would arrive the next week, November 9th. To make matters worse, I landed in the airport an hour ahead of schedule, 3AM and reaching anyone at that point seemed impossible. 

To extenuate the circumstances to further extremes, the airport was quaint and all employees were quite ready for their morning break. Our flight was the only departure/arrival the airport would see that morning. I was the only US American on this flight and as such, I was the only one who was guaranteed entry sinply due to my little blue, red and white stiched master key. Therefore, everyone, except for me, had acquired their multiple entry visa prior to arrival and could just walk through. Meanwhile, I on the other hand, would have to provide cash payment. I had never gone through this process before, not alone. 

As I am sure you have gathered, I am rather naive to the formalities of international travel and only once I had arrived did I realize I would be unable to acquire the 100.00 USD that I had stashed away in my checked luggage until after I had a visa…See my problem? If so, congrats. If not, you are probably glaring at your screen right now with a narrow brow similar to that of the head of international security who escorted me to her office space.

I respected this stout woman, her eyes were that of the lions in the Ngoro Ngoro. Physically, this woman only stood approximately 5 feet above the earth, but to me, her heart, her mind, reached a height far beyond that. Perhaps she knew how I admired her, this is Africa, I never expected to see an authoritative female. 

‘I can give payment from my Visa card if you show me a place to exchange.’

‘There are no such places in this airport.’ She retorted, seemingly unamused but still understanding nonetheless. 

‘How about outside?’ I stated, with no regard to how criminal I sounded. 

At this point, the woman couldn’t help but scoff. This wasn’t a Jim Carey kind of laugh, not the kind that sets you in the holiday spirit. No, this was the kind of laugh that sounds when that dam that holds back the river of emotions breaks; when your sense of rationale is compromised and you don’t know what else to think; the kind that makes a room shudder. She explained that I should be sent home, and that she couldn’t see how I was traveling on my own, how my first stamp in my passport was Madagascar…

She was telling me things I already knew. She was affirming suppositions about myself I had already woven into finished compositions that my conscience constantly played as rhythm to my ears. 

‘Follow me.’

She led me out to a corner and without even a stamp, I was in Tanzania. I made it. I couldnt celebrate quite yet. My ride hadn’t arrived. Which, for the moment, was reassuring because in the US, I am imfamous for how I disrespectfully keep people waiting.

 She led me to an ATM where I began the process of exchange, I didn’t know the rates but I knew I had a small daily limit so I wasn’t too worried about how much, rather than if the money would dispense. After several failed attempts I became flustered. I was so entirely fed up with myself. I couldn’t even use an ATM?! I knew that if I were to make it through this year, I would need to cultivate a new sense of rationality. I would need to learn how to breathe in and out more slowly, more rhythmically. I would need to slow the rhythm of my heart to the tempo at which my feet were ever so slowly creeping to along the pavement. 

‘CHOOOO’ the money sounded from the machine. Suddenly, I couldn’t help but fall to my knees in reverent adoration to my God. In the wake of all defeat, there was a glimmer of hope and it wasn’t just another bitter grain of salt tossed in the ocean, this was a feeling sweeter than sugar. This was the sensation of the son of God warming every bone, every molecule of my being. Then, there was a sound, a bang that rattled and chilled my bones that were on fire for the Lord only moments ago. I grabbed my money without hesitation, and turned to find that the officer had been standing there the whole time, laughing at every bit of my frustration and scorning at my celebration. 

As we walked back to her office, I was silent and so was she. If my mind wasn’t storming with so many thoughts, I probably could have concocted a song with our heartbeats. But instead, I imagined myself being pulled by the ear like a cat in a cartoon. Or that I was Bugs Bunny and she was Elmer Thud, just waiting to chase me back into my rabbit hole. I joked with myself that our silence was fine because if she had been talking, she would have sounded like the parents in the Peanut cartoons. I know, I know, these things seem immature, but after over 32 hours of little to no sleep, I was delirious. 

I gave her the money and she gave me a stamp. I securely held my passport with one hand as I grabbed my checked bag from the conveyor belt. The head of customs had already neglected his post so without further hestitation, I headed into the darkness.

Quickly, I became engulfed in self-doubt. My ride was nowhere in sight and I had no access to internet. But, I knew I had to tell myself like before, that I wasn’t alone….I wasn’t….I..

‘Excuse me.’

A tall, slender, sandy blond, middle-aged man tapped me on the shoulder. Immediately, I switched from hunchback to shoulders back, and began bubbling over with artificial self-assurance as I met his empathetic gaze. I knew I had to seem strong, I couldn’t let him see that I was hollow inside. He couldn’t be made aware that I was somewhere lost at sea, and that, his English was the wind behind my sails guiding me through the storm, keeping my ship erect in the wake of my defeat. 

‘Where are you headed?’

I….I didn’t know the address, “how could I not know the address?!” I thought. Fortunately, I knew the town.

‘Arusha.’

The man smiled. 

‘We’re going the same way. Where’s your ride?’

Just then, another man approached, claiming he worked for Focus and was my driver. I couldn’t believe him, literally. Something about him put me on edge. I wasn’t going anywhere with this man. The Tanzanian man claimed he knew where I needed to go, I just had to confirm the address. I expressed that I didn’t know the address, only that I was here for three months and would be teaching music at Good Hope. He became defensive, claiming that he knew all of this already, but needed my address. 

I was silent.

I had two options and neither were promising. I pondered. Then, as if a character drawn from a passage of the Old Testament, the white man of Swiss origin began speaking fluently in a tongue that was foreign to me, as if he had never even spoken English. I was perplexed. This was the first time I heard Swahili and this sounded entirely different from songs in The Lion King. 

He pulled me aside and told me my options, to stay or to trust him. The airport was entirely desolate at this point and I knew I didn’t want to stand outside with the other guy. But, I’d always been instructed to mind my own and “never talk to strangers..” I guess, in most instances, that’s true. But, I’ve never been one to do what I am told, or to think in the way of my elders. I live by my gut instinct and my family raised me to be strong and able, so I was capable of defending myself. 

I followed the Swiss to his car and the driver immediately took my bags. I snatched my Uke and my passport holder from him and he noticed I was a bit apprehensive. He resssured me that I could trust them, that they weren’t going to let anything g happen to me or my things. I still wasn’t going to let anyone handle my Uke, my music is everything to me. The driver opened the door for me and I got in. My life was now in the hands of a Swiss and a Tanzanian in a black car riding into the darkness of places in which I never knew light. 

As we drove, I became even more alarmed and stupidly exclaimed that we were on the wrong side of the road. The driver and Swiss man laughed and explained that they drive on the left here. ‘Of course, they were colonized by the British…’ I thought. I decided I should mind my tongue beyond that point and wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.

The two never asked me anything directly, they talked about me being American and being stupid, and I let them, they were right in all they said. Gradually, however, the tone shifted and the Swiss began expressing how bold and courageous I was and how my future was incredible. I pursed my lips to respond, but was interrupted by cursing from the driver as he pulled the car over. 

The car stopped and the men began speaking in Swahili so I didn’t even bother trying to listen, I just looked to the stars in the sky, thinking of how, no matter where I am, the stars that see me will see my family tomorrow and no matter how near or far we are from eachother, we will never be closer to the stars. Which always reassures me. After a few minutes, an officer approached the car window. The driver was furious at this point and leapt from the car seat. The officer took him to the back of the car and made him open the trunk. After several minutes of what seemed to be bickering back and forth, the trunk was closed and the officer went back to his car and drove off. Meanwhile, we sat still, and both the driver and Swiss man breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I couldn’t help but echo them. Before I could ask, the driver began to explain that the officer was corrupt and wanted to search all of the things in the car, and wanted to fine him. The driver explained that he accepted the fine so we would not be asked to give up anything. The Swiss guy laughed and explained that he was relieved because he had “illegal bike parts” and “herbs” stowed away in his bag. Even now, I cannot quite figure out what he meant by that. 

At this point, I didn’t quite know what to think. I wasn’t sure if all officers were like this and if they were anything like the ones in Madagascar, they would be everywhere and surely I would be constantly afraid. 

We reached a hotel called the Meru, named after the mountain within the region. The driver dropped me off and grabbed my things from the back. I asked how much I owed for the ride and their trouble with the officer and he told me to keep my money. The two wished me luck and then they left. Never did I catch their names and never have I been able to properly thank them. Still, I question whether they were even real or if they were angels sent to save me. 

I stumbled into the hotel with my things and immediately thought I had been escorted to heaven. This was the most beautiful hotel. There were marble floors and beautiful mirrors. The wrap around seating was even adorned by a hobo who had stumbled in perhaps only an hour or so before me. I approached the front desk and was confronted by a young, clean-cut man who seemed shocked at my presence. I told him  my story and that I needed to use wifi and would pay anything, even for a room if necessary. The man looked at me for a moment, perplexed. He came from around the desk, gave me a piece of paper with the wifi password and told me to leave my things where they were, and to go sit on the couch and take as long as necessary to find where I needed to be.  

I was so grateful for the kindness I was shown, I connected to the internet and began frantically messaging everyone I could think of on my phone. Unfortunately, the time was only just before 6 AM and reaching anyone was doubtful. 

Moments later, the man from the front desk approached me and asked if I took breakfast. I explained that I do, but was fine. Then, he grabbed me by the arm ever so gently and told me to come on. 

I was led into a glamorous room with a glorious array of food, juices, coffees and teas all spread about. A chef came up to me with a plate and asked what my room number was…

‘I don’t have a room…’ 

‘She doesn’t have a room, but she is a guest trying to find her way..*speaks in Swahili*’

I was amazed at the hospitality of these individuals. I only took granola, even though I had so many options. The woman led me to my seat and asked if I wanted coffee. Of course I naturally said yes and within moments, I was presented with a large pot of coffee. She poured the coffee for me and sat next to me for a moment, she asked me my story and I explained and then, she told me to relax, to take as much time as I needed and began to express how she admired my strength and courage. I couldn’t articulate the proper response, I could only offer a thank you to her, but she was okay with that. She left and I never saw her after that. 

I sat and ate with the most beautiful view of the world. Physically and mentally at this moment. Finally, I knew I was going to be okay and that I could do this. Within hours, I was greeted by my driver and I was eager to tell him of the great experience I had and why I was so eager to begin my journey in what I already found to be one of the greatest places on earth.