The Scents Memories are Made of

          While in the midst of selling household items and packing up my belongings, I have begun reflecting over my time spent in Tanzania. What will I miss? What will I remember? I frequently find myself around town experiencing some bit of local culture and trying to commit it to memory so I don’t forget these daily rituals. What are the sounds, the smells, the emotions, the textures, and the tastes, all of those things that are impossible to capture trough the lens of the camera? How will I feel when I begin to forget these things?

          I know that these intense emotions associated with the defining characteristics of this culture will slowly fade from my memory. This is one of the reasons I started this blog; it is a written memory for me, a way to cherish and look back on the time I have spent here. I now feel a certain sense of urgency to categorize and claim as many of these memories as I can. Today I continue by filing away a few of these memories and I invite you to share them with me.

          Upon any re-arrival into Dar after being away, I look out the plane window as I descend upon the small airport on the outskirts of town. The tilted, decrepit homes made out of whatever metal can be found all look the same, with rusted walls and roofs that match the bronze and red of the clay on which they attempt to stand. Property lines do not exist; they are jammed next to one another insinuating no regard to planning or organization. Amidst these homes and the deficit of resources they possess stand the stately, majestic palm trees, swaying in the breeze in their tall, polished form. This view is the first of many reminders that I am once again in the tropics.

          As one walks off of the plane and leaves the processed, circulated air of machines and chemicals, another such reminder seizes the new arrival: the smell of the tropics. The uninformed and inexperienced sojourner has all kinds of imaginative notions about the smell of the tropics: fresh salt water drifting in from the shores, vanilla beans, cloves, oranges, coconuts, and flowers that waft past the nose, hinting of exotic things to come. The reality that is soon realized is harshly different from this fanciful dream. Its intensity overwhelms the ill-adjusted nose, its thickness, volume, and sticky abundance is unmistakable. The pungency of the odor reminds me that this is a place where life happens in a form more natural than most Westerners are accustomed. This is a point where all stages of the life cycle of all living things exist together. In this cycle, things unyieldingly reproduce, spread, and bloom while at the same time its cohabitants fester, spoil, rot, and decay.

          It is the cacophony of rotting fish and slaughtered chickens, stagnant water and fresh flowers, decaying meat and ripe bananas, of filthy, sweaty bodies and even filthier clothes. All in all, it is the scent of death and life, seduction and repulsion, converging from the immediate surroundings. The wind carries it from the fish market, the produce stalls, the endless trash piles, dark alley ways, and open sewage pipes. This is the smell of the tropics, a facet not advertised on lighthearted commercials and sunny postcards. This is the smell I hope to remember, the smell of life in all of all of its abundance.

Blissful Observers

          “Wow.” There has not been another word I’ve uttered so often in one day as the amount of times I gazed in awe and ‘wow’ while on a safari with my cousin Andy last month. For six breathtaking days we traveled through three safari parks in the northern part of Tanzania: Lake Manyara, the Serengeti, and the Ngorongoro Crater.

            The Serengeti National Park spans an astounding 12,000 square miles and held us in its magical spell for three days.  There is not much in this life that is more beautiful than exploring the land of lions and leopards without seeing any other people or vehicles for miles.

           Stopped with the engine off and the roof of the Land Cruiser safari vehicle raised, we stood up doing a slow 360° turn trying to commit it all to memory. The sound of the breeze rustling through the tall, dry savannah grass-grass that was brittle and desirous for a drink from the vast, cloudless, sky. The smell of nature, of cleanliness. A smell devoid of any human recognition, for seldom do we experience such a naturally fresh scent. Seeing the brilliance of heaven displayed on earth. The golden grass bowing in the breeze to its Maker.  The flat-topped acacia tree standing in the foreground whose dark green leaves harmonize brilliantly with its surroundings. The lilac-breasted roller who looks as if she were Monet’s painting come to life. The feeling of being in an intruder in a place that is not your own and peeking into a show unlike one you’ve ever seen. Feeling the hundreds of miles of separation from you and any town, store, or hospital. 

Scary, yet freeing for the mind and the spirit.

          Then, as if waiting for his audience’s rapt attention, there was a brief rustle in the grass before the emergence of star of the hour, the cheetah. He looked at us nonchalantly before continuing his leisurely stroll in search for something far more entertaining than the camera yielding human spectator whose eyes were wide with excitement.

          After a short time the entertainment had retreated back into his camouflaged haven of land and we left in search of more animals of the African savannah. The diesel engine roared to life and we were off. We stood gripping the bars of the roof to help steady us as the vehicle bounced over rocks and holes. The wind blew in our faces and our eyes frantically scanned the landscape for a glimpse of another animal. Often there seemed to be no animals around and then we would suddenly come upon a herd of elephants, giraffes, or gazelles, a pride of lions, or a bloat of hippos in a lake and the awe-struck spectatorship would commence once again.

            The last of our three destinations served as the pinnacle of our trip. The spectacular 5,151 sq. mile Ngorogoro Conservation Area occupies the volcanic highlands between the Great Rift Valley and the Serengeti Plains. The rugged Crater Highlands consist of an elevated range of volcanoes and collapsed volcanoes rising up from the earth. With its stunning ethereal blue-green vistas, the 12 mile wide Ngorogoro Crater is the unarguably perfect ending to a wonderful vacation. A vast, unbroken caldera left behind when an enormous volcano collapsed, created a crater that teems with animals. The deep bluish-purplish color of the crater walls provided a spectacular backdrop to the panorama.

            Animals of all kinds share the Highlands with the local Maasai tribal people, who have grazing rights and are often seen herding their cattle throughout the area. We got to experience these native people when we stopped and visited their boma. We were welcomed with a traditional Maasai music and dance which is based on a call and response format that combines singing with a guttural accompaniment and a dance convulsion that starts in the chest and works its way to the head while the men jump high into the air as if they are on pogo sticks. After the initial welcome we were invited into their homes made of grass, sticks, and a cow manure/water paste to learn about their culture. This was a fascinating opportunity to learn about a people group who live so differently than we can imagine.

            Each day during our journey we would stop at a designated area and enjoy a plentiful picnic lunch while watching birds hop about, mongooses wait anxiously for dropped crumbs, and elephants forage the acacias in the distance. Late in the afternoon, weary from being on alert for so long (oh, how exhausting vacation is!), we would arrive at that night’s accommodation. What luxury we enjoyed as we sipped gin and tonics, played games, relived the day’s events, and were gifted with additional sumptuous views. The nights would end with a cool breeze drifting into our room and filtered through the mosquito nets, hung exotically around our beds. The wind would bring with it sounds of the African nature symphony, lulling us to sleep with anticipation about the adventures that it still had in store.  

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