A Valentine's Day to Remember

When I was a child growing up in Oregon, the saying "When it rains, it pours" never made much sense to me.  I didn't even own an umbrella until I left for college, and my mother, who had grown up in Ohio, insisted I take one with me.  Once I arrived in the Midwest, I learned all about thunderstorms and torrential downpours that rendered windshield wipers useless. Still, the rains we have been having off and on for over a week now amaze me with their ferocity.  The black clouds roll in from the ocean, and water pours down like thousands of miniature waterfalls.  Everything and everyone is instantly soaked, and the streets run with muddy streams full of debris.

For Valentine's Day, John planned to take me downtown to an ultra-nice restaurant as a treat.  First though, I wanted to visit the one air-conditioned "supermarket" I know about because I wanted to find a comb for wazungu hair.  I had looked at all the street vendors who sold hair products and accessories and had asked at many of the Asian shops as well with no success at all.  But, I thought there was a slight chance that Shamshu's would have one--after all they offer Betty Crocker cake mixes for sale.  So, we walked from the daladala stop to the big Darajani market and behind the fish market, past piles of octopus for sale, and finally reached the store. It, however, was closed for 4:00 prayers, so we waited until the men poured back out of the mosque and the store reopened.  I was relieved that there was an acceptable comb for my ultra-straight hair, even though it was not at all fine-toothed.  Who would have thought that in a city of as many as 400,000 one would have such a hard time finding a western type comb?

A nice pile of octopi and some fish on the side

As we returned from the little alleys to the main street, we saw a massive black curtain of clouds coming swiftly in from the coast, so we walked as quickly as we could toward the nearest taxi area.  Just as we got to the first taxi, it began to pour, so we jumped inside and John asked the driver to take us to Amore Mio, a trendy place right on the beach where they serve all sorts of ice cream concoctions. It was only after we were on our way that I saw that the cab was totally beat up and barely holding together.  The rain was pouring in both side windows, and, worse yet, in through the back window and down my back.  Soon, I was completely soaked and sitting in my own private pond.  John was just hoping that the cab would hold together until we got to our destination.

When we arrived at Amore Mio, I jumped out and got to the covered veranda as quickly as I could.  Then, I saw that no one was there and water was standing on all of the tables and benches.  After a minute or so, a visibly stunned waitress appeared to ask what we wanted, and when John said we wanted menus, she disappeared and returned with two men who literally squeegeed off a table,  two small benches, and a square of floor for us. I was not feeling the least bit romantic or thrilled about being wet, but I had to admit, the situation was unexpected and unique, two things I love in any surprise or gift.  So, I settled down and ordered a coffee shake, while John got a dish of chocolate ice cream.  By the time we had finished with our Valentine's special, the rain had stopped, and we were able to walk to another taxi area to get a ride home--in a nice, dry car this time.

The children were wild with delight to see us because I had hinted that Valentine's Day was very special.  I gave each of the girls a big Valentine's card and a Little Golden Book, and Shehe another Hot Wheel's car (That's one toy he cannot instantly destroy). Then, I surprised the three dadas by giving each of them a semi-gaudy enameled and glass-jeweled brooch I had also bought at the store where I found my comb.  They, too, were delighted, but I realized by the order in which they chose their brooches--oldest going first--that I should have gone all out blazing gaudy in my choices.  Apparently, one can never have too much gold or glitter on Zanzibar.

As we peeled off our clothes for another cold shower at bedtime, I thought about the fact that not once since we arrived on this island have I felt truly dry.  Our clothes are so damp with sweat that by day's end it's a struggle to get them off.  When the dadas bring back our washed clothes, things are still quite damp, and I have to hang shirts, underwear, and socks on hangers so the fan can help dry them better.  When I take clothes out of my drawer in the morning, everything feels moist and clammy.  There is no true dry here, so getting drenched on Valentine's Day was just a more intense Zanzibar experience than usual.