travel

Day 753

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Standing in the queue at the airport, waiting to board the plane to Belfast, listening to people speak in the norn-irish accent brought back a flood of mixed feelings – nostalgia, heart-warming familiarity, sweet self depricating humour, anger at the bullying that Saagar would have suffered in primary school in the same accent, relief at not having to hear that accent too often, a deep sense of loss at the thought of the mimicry that Saagar often did in an exaggerated accent saying “I’ll do yur windies in.”

On the plane it was a refreshing change when the gentleman sitting next to me actually wanted to speak to me. He was warm and friendly and told me all about his job and family and asked me about mine. I decided to pretend that Saagar was alive and I did. The kind man said, ”So, he has a twinkle in his eye for his wee Mum.” I smiled. For a few moments I believed it myself. It felt good.

Nothing is all good or all bad. No one is all good or all bad. We are a miniature version of the macrocosm. Opposite values and contradictions reside in each of us, finding expression at different times in different ways. Being aware of them is all I can do. Observing myself. Learning.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 749

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The heavens have opened with all their might and a heavy tropical downpour has drenched Stone Town to the bone. I stand in the balcony looking at streams of water running down corrugated roofs in parallel right into the street. Down below I watch a father and son holding Superman and Spiderman umbrellas, both completely soaked. Checkered and plain, bright and black circles are floating in the street, not doing much.

There is a real chance that our flight from Zanzibar to Dar-Es-Salaam will be cancelled and hence we might miss the connection to London but well, may be another day in paradise is meant to be. Who knows? Hakuna Matata.

That he was born to me
That he was mine to hold and love,
That he was all cuddles and smiles,
That he was sweeter than sweet, kinder than kind,
That he was the brightest spark in the dark,
That he made me cry and made me laugh,
That he came unto life through my being
That he brought joy to me and so many,
That he far exceeded all expectations,
That he helped many get over their inhibitions,
That he was funny and had time for all,
That he was sensitive beyond call,
That he came through deep pain with dignity,
That he didn’t want to be any trouble to anybody,
That his laughter was infectious,
That his advice was often beyond his years,
That he lived his 20 years to the full,
Even though life was sometimes cruel,
Is enough.

Day 748

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The tin roofs glittered in the sunlight like confetti as our plane approached the island. We are on our way home now, stopping over for one night in Zanzibar, an ancient trading town off the eastern coast of Africa. Although it is a part of Tanzania, it fancies itself to be autonomous. We were asked to fill in immigration forms on landing at the airport but no one looked at them. Stone town is the perfect confluence of Arabic, African, Indian and European cultures. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The architecture and town planning is predominantly Arabic. Narrow streets lined with two storey houses with long narrow rooms disposed round an open courtyard, reached through a narrow corridor are distinguished externally by elaborately carved double ‘Zanzibar’ doors. These wooden doors are particularly ornate and characteristic features of most houses here. They are one of the main themes of the local art work and memorabilia. The motto here seems to be ‘pole-pole’ which translates to ‘slowly-slowly’. But after our week-long quiet time in Fisheagle Point in the north of Tanga, this place seems hectic.
Zanzibar is infamous for being the last bastion of the slave trade and a major centre for the ivory trade, both of which are considered by many never to have properly ceased. It is well known for its seafood, fruit and spice markets. Walking through the market was an onslaught on the olfactory senses. It was a relief to leave as I couldn’t have taken any more surprise odours.
We did the touristy thing of buying a few t-shirts, fridge magnets and other necessary yet unnecessary things. I missed buying a t-shirt for Saagar. I wanted to cry but I didn’t. Earlier in the day, I had read on someone’s plastic wristband -Life is not fair but it is still good.

Watching kids play football in the narrow streets in the evening was uplifting. Loaded up with passion fruit juice! Happy as can be. 🙂

Day 747

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“Hi! How was your holiday?”
“Don’t know yet. Haven’t looked at the pictures.”

It’s great to have the ability to take photographs with phones, tablets and cameras but do they enhance an experience or take away from it? Beyond a point, are they a distraction? Do they really capture in its entirety, the moment, the feeling, the memory?

On the boat ride yesterday, we didn’t have a camera. Yay! The experience of the calm undulating waves, the moisture-laden soothing breeze on the skin, the passing fishy odours, the thin film of brown wood-dust in short stretches, the tapering frothy bluish-white tail of the motor, the pencil thin, perfectly horizontal line demarcating the dark blue of the Indian ocean from the light blue of the African sky, the squelch at the bottom of the boat, the massive phoenix shaped cloud, the mixed sounds of the engine, the turbulence and conversations in Swahili would have been too much for any camera. The only way to carry it home was to close my eyes and soak it all in.

When I feel the squelching of my shoes in the freezing, wet English November, I shall have to stop for a moment and close my eyes.

Day 746

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Remember Me

To the living, I am gone,
To the sorrowful, I will never return,
To the angry, I was cheated,
But to the happy, I am at peace,
And to the faithful, I have never left.
I cannot speak, but I can listen.
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.
So as you stand upon a shore gazing at a beautiful sea
As you look upon a flower and admire it’s simplicity
Remember Me.
Remember me in your heart.
Your thoughts, and your memories,
Of the times we loved,
The times we cried,
The times we fought,
The times we laughed.
For if you always think of me,
I will never have gone.

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free
I’m following the path God has laid you see.
I took His hand when I heard him call
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day
To laugh, to love, to work, to play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way
I found that peace at the close of day.

If my parting has left a void
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss
Oh yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life’s been full, I savoured much
Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and peace to thee
God wanted me now; He set me free.

-By Margaret Mead

I don’t have to remember you my darling. You are a part of me. You are all around me.

You are in the corals that remind me of the heathers of Yorkshire, in the synchronised swimming of hundreds of tiny translucent silver fish, the branched purple candelabra like things sitting at the bottom of the ocean. You are in the sparkle and shimmer of the sun rays dancing on the little sea waves, in the changing moods of the ocean, the jade, emerald and turquoise of the waters, in the peacock-feather colours borrowed by the fish, the white sands and the multiple hopeful shoots underneath the mangroves, in the cool sea-breeze. I don’t have to remember you my darling. You are my joy and peace, in heaven and on earth. I love you. xxx