Condor bird

Monday morning. As usual I am at the airport to welcome the new guests. They all got out of the plain and are on a bus, except for one lady who is missing her luggage. But after I while she also gets on the bus and I am about to leave (9:00) when the responsible of Condor calls me: the plane cannot leave, upon take off in Mombasa a bird has flown in one of the motors and now the plane must be repaired. It will take a couple of hours, so all guests must go back to the hotels they come from.

As I know the Condor-man doesn’t speak German and I also know he is a bit lazy, I decide to stay at the airport to assist him. Otherwise, once back in Germany, the people will complain: there was noooooooooooooooo rep and there was noooooooooooooooo information.
I wish I had never done so!!!


It took about an hour to get the airport pass to get into the airport, to the departure hall. I follow the Condor-man and explain the people what happened and that they will have to go back to the hotel but that they have to wait a bit.
Than I wanted to go to the plane to inform the 95 passengers that departed in Mombasa. But they don’t allow me to go to the plane.
So I wait in the departure hall with about 110 passengers.



In the meantime it was clear that the plane would not leave the same day, so it means a delay of 24 hours.
The Condor-man had gone to the immigration office: as also the passengers from Mombasa will have to stay for 24 hrs in Zanzibar, they need to pay the entry visa. They don’t need to pay themselves, it will be paid by Condor. But Immigration wants cash money, no bank transfer or cheque. And of course the Condor-man cannot find in a short way about 3000 USD. And negotiating takes time.

The passengers have checked in at 8:00 and the plane landed with 95 passengers at 8:00. Only at 11:00 a first group – the Thomas Cook package guests – can leave the airport. And from this moment many things go wrong. The Condor-man cannot organise; he already asked me if I knew some hotels where we can send the passengers to. And he also cannot count…


I had 56 guests who were to go back to the Neptune hotel, he wanted to put them on 2 minibuses of 24 seats each. So when 8 of them are still waiting for a “seat”, Condor-man realises he needs another solution. All passengers get out of the minibuses and get onto a huge coach.  One group is ready to leave. Fortunately I had my departure list, otherwise nobody would have ever known who and how many people had already left.
Then the people from Mombasa came out: they all have to go to the Karafuu hotel. Except for the guests who have booked Business class or premium economy. 3 minibuses are filled… and they can leave. Filled? I don’t really know: nobody had counted them and I am sure that some seats were still available.
Than the crew comes out of the airport, they all go on another minibuss to the Serena Inn hotel, a city hotel in Stone Town.

Than another mini-bus is filled with Business class & Premium economy class guests, they also go to Serena inn.

At the end there are 30 people remaining… yes, I had noticed some people were missing: the once who were still waiting in the departure hall.  So they also are taken out.
The 2 mini-buses from Serena had to come back, to pick them up and bring them to Karafuu.


At 13:00 all passengers are on the way to or arrived in a hotel.  And I receive a phone call from Neptune, the hotel where my guests have gone back to: Condor-man just had forgotten to call them to book the rooms. And the hotel will not allow them before they received a written confirmation Condor will pay for this overnight.

According to Condor-man, the flight will leave with a delay of exactly 24 hrs, so guests need to be picked at 6:00 am.

I go to our office and around 14:30 I walk to the Serena Inn hotel to see if everything is ok.  I still find 16 guests of whom 3 little children waiting at the reception. Condor-man just had send some guests to Serena Inn without counting them and without considering the available rooms.
So the guests who have booked Business Class now were brought to a 3* hotel somewhere else in Stone Town.

In the afternoon I call Condor-man just to check again on the departure time, but I can’t reach him. Also my colleague Hamisi cant reach him and even not his own staff. So I just accept it will be 9:00 tomorrow.

This means wake up call at 5:00, breakfast at 5:30 and departure at 6:00 as normal.
But at 4:30 Condor-man calls me: why did you change the pick up times??
me: I didn’t change any pick-up time and you could not be reached the whole afternoon yesterday.
His battery was empty…
“Guests must leave at 5:00 because the flight already goes at 8:00…”
I jump out of my bed, call all the rooms to ask to come down immediately without having breakfast as the plane will leave one hour earlier.
At 5:30 they are all gone, I run to the restaurant to inform that they can cancel the breakfast. I walk back to my room to get a shower and have a nap when suddenly my phone rings: there has been a mistake. The plane is not leaving at 8:00 am but at 8:00 pm.  Suddenly I had the feeling my knees were from rubber.

I run down again to the restaurant: please don’t cancel the breakfast, the guests are coming back. To the reception: please don’t clear the rooms, the guests are coming back.
At 6:15 they are all back: some of them could have lynched me, although I was not responsible at all for this situation. But they don’t understand this…

Fortunately at 10:00 I had to leave to continue the jobs I couldn’t do on Monday. Like talking with the woman who’s suitcase didn’t arrive. She was crying that she wanted to go home, as what could she do here without her clothes. I tried to comfort her: your suitcase will be here in 2 days… But she didn’t want to believe it.

In the afternoon I need to go to Karafuu. And there I meet the approx 130 guests that were waiting to go home. Also some of them were angry with me. And asking questions I couldn’t answer: is our connection flight booked? Is my train ticket still valid? Is?... I don’t know!

This hotel has served diner at 18:00 so they could leave at 19:00 as in the mean time the departure flight had changed again. I asked some guests to send me an SMS after they had checked in, so I could be sure they were leaving.
Around 22:30 two messages: we are on the plain.
I fell asleep immediately.

I t took 2 days though before all the stress had gone…

Askari (part 2)

We are still at the Mapenzi hotel with their not too savvy askaris.

Sunday, April 15th, 21:30.

• The hotel is about to close to renovate the pool.

• Isabelle, an employee of the Mapenzi hotel, is about to go back to Italy.

• Deborah and I are goint to Mapenzi, to have a last drink with her and to say goodbye.

Barrier, askari1: "Jambo!"

Me: "Jambo!"

Askari: "Why are you here?"

Me: "We come to swim."

Again a satisfactory answer, the barrier opens. And Deborah can’t hold her laughing: "How do you do that?"

300 m further, wooden gate, other askari: "Why are you here?"

Me: "We go swimming."

Askari2: "No, that's not possible."

Me: "Oh yes, it is only tomorrow that the pool will be drained, today we still can swim."

Askari2: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah", and the gate opens.

If we step inside het hotel, the pool is already empty ...

The question is: what if some terrorists are at the gate and say they come to swim? Will they be allowed inside as easy as us?

I am worried ...

Forgotten

“Are you married ?” Very common question here.

My default answer : “no, I forgot.”

Ali Baba, the owner of the rental car I am using for my job: “But how can you forget something like that”.

Me: “You know, I was young, working, busy,… I just forgot to think about it.”

“Oh my goodness, how can you forget this when you are young. But you still have time, you still can got married… because, who will take care of you when you get old? It’s still a while, but anyway. How old are you now? 33? 34?”

“I’m 44!”

“44?! Ooooh. Yes, you really forgot to marry!”

Driving license

Finally I have my driving license. No, it’s not like I have been driving for 23 years without driving license. But I have a Zanzibar driving license now, given by the “Revolutionary Government of Zanzibar”.

Upon my arrival, I had obtained (read: bought) a “Foreigners Driving Permit”. With this paper ànd with my Belgian Driving License (not the International one) I was allowed to drive.

But the police stops me very regularly, asking for my driving license, so I give them the paper of their “revolutionary government”. But this has expired now and it was not renewable.

So on Friday me and Geroleen went to a grey office somewhere in Stone Town where I had to fill a form with my personal data, dates on my driving license and the date I did the last test.

To make everything easy, I filled 28/10/2013, date on which I renewed my first Belgian driving license and applied for the International one. I didn’t do a test on that date, but who can check it?

“No expiry date?” the official asks me.

"No, no expiry date: as long as I live, I can drive. At least in Belgium…"

“Than it’s okay, go to the office at the other side to pay”.  We go around the building to pay and turn back to the grey office with piles of old documents.

The bundle with copy of my driving license, copy of my work permit and residence permit and compiled forms disappears in a black briefcase of a veiled lady near the man.

You can come back on Monday.

Monday morning, after the airport service. “You will need a lot of patience today”, Geroleen says. And today I don’t have: 40 guests arrived and I need to see them, and the times are already fixed.

We go back to the grey office: the veiled lady takes out my papers of her black briefcase.

What??? Nothing has been done? It just has been there for the whole weekend??

We need to go to the building of transport, an enormous hangar with cars, motorbikes, trucks and dala dala’s and somewhere in a corner 6 little offices near each other. And a lot of people queuing up in front of these offices.

Decided Geroleen goes to office nr. 5, knocks and enters. I follow her. E short conversation and we go out: “We need to go to office nr. 2, than office nr. 4 and than return to office nr. 5” she says.

We queue up at office nr. 2. Lots of people are waiting here and it is not intend to go in as there is a window. Suddenly the door opens, a lady steps out, talks to Geroleen who gives her my paperwork and goes in again. After a couple of minutes and after having paid 11.500 Tsh, she gets my papers back.

We continue to office nr. 4: also here they put some stamps and crosses on a new document and we can go.

Up to office nr. 5

Also this man wants to be sure there is no expiry date on my Belgian driving license but all the rest is ok.

Little time later we are outside. Geroleen is very surprised: “How did you do this?”

Me: "eh??"

She: “Yes, you didn’t have to do any test and did you notice how fast they compiled all your documents? The lady from office nr. 2 came even outside to assist you. This is not normal”.

I have no explanation. Unless it is again my uniform. I have noted several times that my “tulip sleeves” inspire to respect me.

It is not finished yet, we need to go to a new-looking building near the airport, other side of the city.

Also here Geroleen steps very decided into an office, without considering the people who are waiting outside.

We have to go back, pay first 25.000 Tsh and than return for a picture.

This will be taken in an office with a veiled lady.

I need to sit on a stool in front of this lady. But between her and me there is a desk, a camera, a flashlight and an umbrella.

Look into the lens!

Click!

There seems to be a problem. She asks the boy who sneaked in with me to turn of the flashlight. The camera cliks again.

Now she wants the light to be turned on again. Another photo, and one more.

She talks with the man in the office nearby.

Yes, I need to take a seat there for another picture.

The man takes a pictures but says my blouse is too pale, so the contrast with my face is not big enough and on the picture you can only see 2 eyes.

I suggest hem to loose my hare so it will form a dark frame around my face but no no, don’t touch your hair.. Ehi, Muslims…

He also turns of the light and takes a new picture. This time my blouse is clearly visible against the light blue background. But my face is too dark.

It is clear that these camera’s (and the computer software) are set up for black faces, that’s why they also use the strong flashlight. But once they turn of the flashlight, even my pale face is too dark. And these people are not able to change the settings.

He asks me to choose: the picture with 2 eyes or the picture with the black face and blouse. I choose the blouse.

We go on to the next office.

The man starts to discuss with Geroleen concerning the dark picture. “We can’t help it”, Geroleen explains, “it is because of your camera’s”. 

Okay, and the man turns on his machine.

After about 5 minutes waiting this machines spits out my driving license: a plastic card with my details and dark face printed on it.

Yeah! My Zanzibarian driving license.

Next time the police stops me, I will show them this little gadget and trouble if they dare to ask me some questions…

Askari

The Askari, guards at the entrance of each hotel, continue to bother me /to give me laughing, it depends on how you see it.
The Mapenzi hotel is leader for these situations. Very often they change their guards, so every time I have to explain who I am and what I am doing.
About a month ago, after a long ride during which I had been listening to a Flemish podcast, I arrive at the gate.
There is a new askari:
He: Jambo!
I: Jambo!
He: Jina lako ni gani?
I: In English? 
The man begins to write "inenglish ".
Hey no, my name is not "in English" but Ilse.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah ...

This week, Tuesday morning, I come to the gate, another new one.
He: Jambo!
I: Jambo!
He: Yes?
I: Yes!
He: I need to know eh how eh what...
I: I know what you need to know. My name. That is Ilse. And also the company I work for, that is Thomas Cook.
He: Thanks!; and he moves to open the gate. Suddenly he comes back: Why are you here?
I am getting nerved: "To swim!"
Apparently it is a satisfactory answer as he opens the gate. I could not suppress a smile.

When I leave the hotel, I must sign the log book. All data (date, time, name, company ...) are entered correctly but at "Purpose of visit" is effectively written: Swimming.
I correct and change it in " visiting the guests".

Wednesday, normal visiting time in this hotel, the askari is there again.
He greets me and asks "To swim, just like yesterday?"
I explode with laughter ...

Emergency First Response

In preparation of the Rescue Diver course, I had to get some kind of first aid certificate, Emergency First Response.

Appointment is on Saturday morning in the Water Sports Centre.

The instructor waits me and introduces himself: I am Abdul Karim, but you can call me Abdul. And what's your name?

I'm Ilse.

Ah, du kommst aus Deutschland!

No, I'm not from Germany.

But Ilse is a German name.

Could be, but do all the people named Abdulkarim from Zanzibar?

He hesitates before he says "eeh, yes!" . But, despite his answer, he understands.

And with this tension the lesson starts. It starts with a movie, as always with PADI courses.

This is followed by a quiz, I answer correctly on about all the questions.

Follows the practice. Abdul begins to explain again what I actually just have seen in the movie, but sometimes in he uses his own interpretation. If I ask a questions, he is annoyed. He is the teacher, I am the student, I just have to accept what he says, no questions. It's that simple.

Actually I am not surprised about his behaviour. I have experienced the opposite in Kenya: when I was teaching, no one dared to ask me a question spontaneously, I had to push to my listeners to speak and to be critical. So I keep myself to the most urgent and important questions ...

Practice. Mouth to mouth breathing and chest compressions. To exercise this, Abdul has brought a doll along, or at least the upper body of a first aid doll.

I ask him what her name is. He looks around and then suddenly says "little Anne".

Hmm, I have my doubts: Little Anne has no breasts. I make him aware of, "It can not be a  woman, she has no breasts."

In his eyes I see again that irritation: no questions!

The bag of pop says "little Anne", breasts or no breasts, her name is “little Anne”.

The lips of little Anne get disinfected for mouth-to-mouth breathing and for the chest compression I have to put my hands between the non-breast of Anne. These things can not practiced on living persons.

The last part of the course consists of a few other First Aid tricks: staunching of a bleeding wound, splinting a broken leg or arm, saving someone from suffocation death by choking. Practical exercise this time is don on living people: ourselves.

And especially the latter - choking -  is again sensitive. You have to push up the diaphragm.

Abdul is Muslim, and he cannot touch me, being a woman. So he explains me the exercise first in a theoretical way, than I apply the practice on him.

At the end of the day I get my certificate. But I do wonder what will happen if something happens to me, and I start asking questions to my "saviour" ... would he dare to touch me?

Dove

As usual, I was in a hurry to go from one hotel to the other. Fortunately, the hotels ly in "my street", a long, straight, wide road. Here I can smoothly drive 70Km per hour.

But as always when you're in a hurry - Murphy's Law, right? – there were some obstacles: some goats, a dala dala.

Fortunately there was no oncoming traffic, so I  can overtake the dala dala: I accelerate and... suddenly I see in the middle of the road a dove. I think quickly:  will I braking? Will I dodge more? Or maybe she will fly when she sees me coming?

I opt for the last solution but slightly dodge anyway. I pass the dala dala but I don’t see the pigeon fly.

When I look in my mirror, I see the pigeon on the pavement waving with her wing. A sense of guilt overwhelms me.

Suddenly a boy of about nine years comes from the roadside and runs to the doves.

My guilt fades ... Tonight one family will have meat for dinner...