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| Who's next? |
Hey dude, the very name of the place evokes a beach, a splash, a football flying across the sand. We'd arrived at 3pm, were strolling the alleyways by 4. The skies: pale grey and powder blue, sultry. I sweated gently as I swatted away the trinket sellers and the tourist guides who would not leave us alone, whilst Henry smiled at their conversations and greeted them in Swahili. In my sullen head, as we meandered past the spice stalls and silk: emails about Christmas schedules, gift arrangements, the startling absence of wi-fi here, the hour by hour logistics of the looked-forward-to-family visits on our return.
We were at the harbour wall now. The sun was setting, boys leaping, laughing, into the blue below. Enough, I thought, enough of this in-tray in my head. I pulled off my shirt, emptied my pockets, and vaulted the wall.
An hour later, still dripping, a beer in my hand ... the in-tray was filling up again. It would take more than even nine weeks' travel, I was learning, to transform this 44 year old Detail Man into a Dude.
Even on Zanzibar.
John
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