The sound of Muslim prayers echoed from the speakers. The smell of smoke from the meat stands filled our apartment. Spices lined the streets. Fresh orange juice lingered on our tongues. Exotic smells became familiar. We were not ready to come home and rented a place in Marrakesh, Morocco after we left Zanzibar.
We made our way to Zanzibar island tired and dirty. On the way, we passed tiny dhow boats that looked as though they were going to sink under the weight of the fishermen and their passengers.
My family went their separate ways and Zoe, Loc, and I hit the roads of Tanzania. It was raw and wild. If you moved outside of the paved roads of the northern safari circuit, you’ll see the real Tanzania—thirsty but full of life.
The time eventually came to leave Kalagala. My family had made plans to travel to Kenya to embark upon a safari that would show more of life in Africa. I’d always wanted to come here, to see an elephant—I’ve been collecting statues of them since I was a kid. Traveling around East Africa was always a dream, and it would help me to gradually put her death behind me.
Many years ago, in the wake of my mother’s death, I traveled to Africa for the first time. Uganda. Being in Kalagala was like living in another world. The soil was a deep and rusty red that stuck to our skin. The dust in the air always left a film on everything and no matter how hard we scrubbed, nothing came clean.
We can pick and choose the memories that define our life and piece them together like a puzzle.
