lages. Stopping briefly at the palace ruins, we overheard the children singing presumably religious songs. The children were separated – boys and girls – and dressed in matching black and white traditional wear. They were arranged by ages and sung all together. Standing outside the palace ruins and downwind from the miniature fish market, it was an exceptional sight. The kids stole glances at the tourist passersby, and smiled though it seemed as if they should not. There is something about children that is precious – maybe innocence, maybe potential, maybe hope. It is beauty among ruins.Further from town into the farming village, people went about their day. We drove onto the spice farm – I use the word farm loosely. It is a farm in the more natural sense of the word..more like a fertile piece of land. I think the plants are grown in sections, purposefully, but it looks more like a free-growing land. There are no clear plots, but trails and a road going throughout it. (If I were lost, I probably would not know that I could survive off every bit of land there. And it would be easy to get lost.)
The tour guides took us plant by plant and let us smell the leaves, fruit, bark that yield common spices. Nutmeg, my personal favorite, was the most surprising. It is the pit of an inedible (too potent?) fruit. The pit is surrounded by waxy, red, claw-like webs which are removed (and used locally) before selling. In fresh form, it is not so brown and porous. And it smells amazing, like fall incarnate. Also, nutmeg is used as an alcohol substitute – fermented in teas, who knew? Cinnamon, the aroma of Christmas, is actually the bark of a cinnamon plant. As it dries, the ends curl and this is what we call a cinnamon stick! The leaves are dried and used to make ground cinnamon. (Here, they also use the root for medicinal purposes– it smells of menthol, IcyHot.)
Oh, did I mention that it was raining on this walking tour of the great, fertile, African outdoors. The red clay, very similar to Georgia’s dirt, slipped underfoot as we managed not to fall. “Pole pole” – Slowly, we were cautioned by our guides (and more stringently by Dr. Lewis). We stopped under local shelter to wait out the heavier falls. But we made it through wit
h only mud stains on our pants and turmeric stains on our fingers. The scent of cloves and cinnamon and ginger follow us through the villages to our next destination.Villages we passed with now familiar sights of children and vendors and homelife. Added to this is rural life. More children playing. More animals – donkeys, cows. More space. More verdure. Less (but still prevalent) western influence. More ‘hakuna matata.’ More sense of ‘making it.’ We finally make it through the bumpy, twisty roads to Kendwa – our villa on the beach.
We spent the afternoon lunching, beaching, chatting with beach locals, dining. Tomorrow we relax more before the real rush begins.
This place, the natural beauty, is perfection. The contrast and symmetries of life, the attitude toward life, the simplicity is calming. There is a feeling of “wanting to help” because there are improvements to quality of life to be made. But at the same time, there is the question of how. How can we say that we have a better life to share? How can we say we can implement a lasting, impactful change without being disrespectful? How do you help people
who are content? (How do I express this without sounding cynical or condescending?)Thoughts:
- The only women working at out hotel are those offering henna and massages to women on the beach.
- The Indian Ocean is a-mazing. The temperature is perfect, the water clear, the sand soft white. The Atlantic may not cut it anymore!
- The sunsets – oooo – I am such a sucker for sunsets.
- Did I mention the super laid back atmosphere?
No comments:
Post a Comment