That's How We Dhow It.

I had fun yesterday. Why, you might ask? Well, it is because I went sailing in a dhow. A dhow is a traditional coastal Tanzanian boat used for fishing and for transport of people and goods to and from Zanzibar, which is about 3 to 4 hours from Bagamoyo with a good wind. The dhow we went out on was probably identical to the ships that have sailed the waters of the Indian Ocean for past couple of centuries. The only modern conveniences on our boat were the nylon ropes, the plastic water containers and the bucket used to bail out the steady flow of seawater from the bottom of the boat. Everything else on this boat was old school--like 1800's old school.

We decided to head out on a dhow earlier in the week, because as inhabitants of Bagamoyo, it would be disgraceful to never have ridden in one. I texted a co-worker asked him if he could hook us up. My friend seems to know everything and everybody you would ever need to know in Bagamoyo, so within 30 minutes, he had deposited a semi-high dhow captain on my doorstep. He casually said, “[Insert name here] is a dhow captain. He will take you out. He said 80 dollars, but you can deal with him. Good-bye.” Ummm...okay. Luckily, the bargaining went well. Usually the process starts off with him offering a price anywhere from 2 to 5 times the “correct” price, and then you spend the next five to ten minutes talking about how poor he is and why he thinks I crap 200 dollars worth of gold bullion after every meal. Not this time though. I said firmly, “We are not paying 80 dollars. We will pay you 50,000 TZ shillings. You know that is good money.” He stared at me glassy-eyed and slowly said, “Okay”. Great. It is wonderful bargaining with a high-on, he was so happy. I should have offered him ten thousand and Snickers bar (sadly, I had no Snickers bar). We then spent the next ten minutes agreeing to meet him in three hours, at 1 PM.

To my “surprise” he showed up an hour early, but was content to hang out with our guard on the swing. When 1 rolled around we headed down to the fish market to where all the dhows were parked. As they didn’t have a dingy to pick us up (how rude!!),so we swam out to the boat. After getting dragged aboard, we met the crew of this love boat. It was four young gentlemen: the captain, a dude wearing only spandex shorts, a red-shirted dude, and a guy I named “the hashish guy” (who appeared to have just walked out of a opium den and/or hash house). Awesome. So they then proceeded to run around the boat moving sandbags, pulling on ropes and shouting while trying to get the sail up and get the boat moving. It took so long and looked so disorganized that I could have sworn they were on something. They finally hoisted the sail and off we went. To reward themselves for a job well done, the red-shirted dude (with soon to be matching red-eyes) and Mr. Hashish decided to fire one up—or three--over the next two hours. I didn’t think it was possible to hot box a dhow, but they gave it their best effort. I figured that they functioned moderately well when baked to high heaven, as I am sure that they didn’t spend their money on their wardrobe or going to the opera. Reassuringly, shore was only a mile away if we capsized, so we relaxed into the ride.

The trip was pleasant and uneventful. I was trying to imagine what the shoreline would have looked like over 130 years ago when Morton Stanley was coming over from Zanzibar on his quest to find Dr. David Livingstone. It was hard to do, not because the coast has been developed, but because nearly all the trees along the coast have been cut down (likely for firewood). Ahh well, it was nice to be out on the ocean, smelling the breeze and enjoying the views.

After making a big loop around the area, we pulled back into port in one piece. Even though I hadn’t raised I finger during the entire trip, I was ready for a nap. We thanked the crew, jumped off the boat into the ocean and swam back to shore. Overall, not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.