Freaks of Nature

You know how when you see two individuals exploring the insides of each others mouths with their tongues and you’re prompted to say, “Get a room.”? Well, I would like to revise that exclamation to “Get a PRIVATE room.” This became apparent to me last night when co-habitating with five other travelers in a room of three bunk beds at a hostel in Tofo.

To begin with, I was slightly delirious, almost feverish as a result of an ill-dinner decision. I was twisting and turning on the bottom bunk, attempting to escape abdominal pains and enter the soothing realm of sleep.The next bunk was but an arms stretch from my own, and its renter had arrived after my initial dabblings with slumber. I could hear a couple conversing in Italian as other sleepers rustled under their mosquito nets. Their conversation dwindled as the last house light disappeared, leaving the room in solid blackness. I was coming in and out of consciousness, my almost-sleep each time interrupted by the strident wire slappings of my neighbor’s bed. Had I decided to uncoil my right arm, my fingers might have encountered some bare Italian flesh. Probably disturbed by the iron orchestra of a well used bunk-cot, my roomies opted to move their nocturnal extracurricular activities to the hallway. As it was, I fell back asleep.

On the other side of the corridor was a room where my friend was dwelling. She had not actually fallen asleep yet and wanted to use the ladies room before hitting the hay. Unfortunately, the threshold to the loo was blocked by two rather naked backpackersexpelled from the sack, getting it on in the hostel hallway.To make matters more annoying, my poor insomniized friend was freaked out by the sex crazed Europeans who remained camped out in the open space, spying on my sleepy friend who had prevented the two from orgasmizing one another.

This had not irritated me as much as their rambunctious activities at the crack of dawn. You know what I look like, so you know I am not invisible. Thus, you know, as I know, that these emboldened butt heads saw me sleeping at 6:30 am, when they decided to traipse around our tight quarters in their panties, exchanging loud greetings in Italian. Had I not been on my death bed, I would have risen to strangle the cackling females, but they packed their bags before I gained enough energy.

We are all aware that, while abroad, we are tempted to behave in ways we might not when home. It is like when you are dreaming and you know that you are sleeping, so you are free to manipulate the elements. Still, a little consciousness of one’s environment never hurt.

A few weeks ago I was at a night club in Zanzibar. It was a weekday at the only discothèque in the city. I had gone out with some friends to hear the usual Tanzanian favorites. It was a club that had a dance floor surrounded by lounge couches that were in the shadows or the spot lit dance floor. It was still early, midnight, and there were few dancers taking advantage of the open space. Most of the club goers were seated on the abundant sofas, swaying their heads to the felicitous rhythms.My friends and I had been shaking our skeletons, and needed a break. At this point a European couple entered the light, next to a local group of ladies. At first I did not pay much attention to their embarrassing attempts to stay on beat. Poor babies. Probably, since it wasn’t exactly the beat that they were trying to stay on, Now, I am not sure how much Konyagi the two had consumed, but clearly the couple was three, perhaps four or five, sheets to the wind. They did not ever notice, or expose their care for, the 20-30 onlookers who could not help but stare at the two underdressed visitors who most likely were trying to make-out whilst swallowing each others heads whole. Dressed in khakis and a fanny pack, the blonde girl squeezed her lover’s arse, who in my opinion looked as if he could have been her brother. But don’t all white people look the same, anyway? She was backing it up to Taarab (which, by the way, is a no no) while he placed her hands inside her shirt, cupping the spaces where a bra would have been had she been wearing one. They continued to sloppily and nastily smear their tongues across the other’s cheek, grabbing every slab of flesh in palms reach while the audience lacked works in Swahili, English or any other lingua to explain the wrongness of it all. I mean, sheesh, what did they think this was, Brazil? (Just playing…)There are certain things you just don’t do in Zanzibar. And then there are certain things you just don’t do in public. I was so embarrassed for them, and yet I could not stop laughing. I am pretty sure half the club was cracking up and then Sean Paul came on and the party people rose from their seats to cover the over exposed strangers with their own moving bodies.