Book Title:

Juma's Safari

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Adam Guillain

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Juma’s Safari

Blurb

Juma loves to stargaze into the African skies. He lives in Zanzibar, a peaceful island close to Tanzanian mainland. There’s nothing Juma likes more than to go fishing with his father and swim with the dolphins in the turquoise-blue waters of the Indian Ocean. With so much beauty in his world, what more could a twelve year-old boy want?

But things are about to change. The wazungu are coming. With their digital cameras and mobile phones they seem like creatures from another planet. When they get sick, helicopters drop from the sky to fly them to the best hospitals in East Africa. Juma's father warned him to stay away from them. But what could he do? His sister was sick. He couldn’t just sit there. And if he got lost? Well, there were always the stars.

Juma’s Safari is a young boy’s adventure through the spectacular landscape of Tanzania. From a tropical island to the highest mountain in Africa and the spectacular plains of the Ngorongoro Crater, Juma travels in search of his dream.

Chapter One

Night Fishing

Not so many starry nights ago, when the moon was thicker than a sliver but smaller than a dish, a tall, skinny boy lay flat out in the middle of the school playground staring into the African sky. Away from the tall palm and mango trees that surrounded the village, there was nothing to distract his eye from the natural splendour of the Milky Way as it lit up the skies over Muyuni. While most children his age were already asleep, the boy was still in his kanzu and kofia, the long shirt and hat he wore every afternoon when he went to the mosque to study. Now he was twelve, he wanted to wear Islamic clothes like his father whenever he could. The clothes made him feel special. And tonight was special, because after weeks of broken promises, his father had finally decided that the tides and timing were perfect for taking him night fishing.

Amongst all the millions of tiny stars sprinkled before his eager eyes, the boy was trying to find a small, easily recognisable constellation that could represent his little family. To find one for his extended family was impossible. He had so many aunts, uncles and cousins the Milky Way wasn’t big enough, but if he could find just four stars, one for himself, one each for his mother and father, and another for his little sister, Zawadi, that would be just perfect! His father had told him that he always looked to the stars when he was at sea. They stopped him from feeling lost and alone. The boy had been thinking about his father’s words and had decided to spend some time getting to know the galaxy. He wanted to find a constellation that he could look at if ever he got lost and wanted to find his way home.

As he gazed into the heavens, he was trying to block out the sound of the mosquitoes buzzing around his head when his eye was caught by a dazzling shooting star. He was following the blaze of its fading trail when he heard the deep, melodic tone of his father’s voice calling for him through the forest.
‘Juma.’
‘Over here Baba!’ Juma called.
He sat up to see the silhouette of his tall father striding towards him carrying a lantern and bag. Juma could tell by his outline that he was wearing the old kanzu and kofia he wore for work. He jumped up and ran to greet him.
‘Shikamoo,’ Juma beamed.
‘Marahaba,’ replied his father, returning Juma’s respectful choice of greeting.
Juma was proud of his father. ‘Like father, like son,’ the villagers would say. ‘One day,’ Juma might reply, ‘But I’m not as big as my Baba yet.’

Juma’s father was a kind, gentle man, with the strength of a lion. Juma hated to argue with him, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Juma was wilful. Once he’d decided he didn’t like something that was it. The problem was, his father always wanted Juma to finish everything he started. This didn’t always go down well with Juma. Things that started out seeming like good ideas often turned into activities he couldn’t bear. Like the English lessons with old Bwana Mitini that Juma had once begged for and was now so desperate to stop. Bwana Mitini was the best English speaker in the village. Juma liked him, but found him too tough a taskmaster. It was especially hard to concentrate during Bwana Mitini’s lessons because they directly followed his Koran studies at the mosque. ‘It was your idea, Juma,’ his father would say. ‘Now, see it through. You’ll thank me in the end.’

There were other things too. Like the tree house that he’d begun building two years ago. It drove Juma’s parents to distraction that the wood and nails were left strewn around the backyard. And then there was the boat that was to take him around the world. That was at least half-finished, but dumped in the bushes by the outside toilet.

‘You never finish anything you start,’ his frustrated father would moan.
Tonight, Juma and his father crossed the dirt track that ran through Muyuni and set off towards the coast. Everyone Juma knew lived on his side of the forest, behind the school and the mosque, where the land was rich and fertile. The ground between the track and the coast was coral based, difficult to farm and treacherous on the feet. Juma had to be careful not to cut himself on the sharp rocks. The only people who passed through here were hunters and fisherman.
‘Look!’ cried Juma, pointing with glee to a movement high in the trees. ‘A bushbaby!’

Juma loved these furry little creatures with the long tails and big, black eyes. They slept all day, storing up energy to bounce around on their long hind legs at night, eating almost anything they could get their paws around. Juma was fascinated by the animals of the forest. He was always chasing the sound of chattering monkeys and darting geckos. Zanzibar was full of reptiles, but if he kept a mindful eye out for the snakes, there was nothing here that could really hurt him. In quieter moments, Juma would search the undergrowth for tandu, small, black centipedes that curled up into tight little balls at the slightest touch. But his real interest was lions. Sadly for Juma, there were none on Zanzibar. It was Juma’s ambition to visit the Tanzanian mainland to see them. ‘We’ll go there one day,’ his father would say. But that day never seemed to come.

Juma and his father splashed their way through a shallow, freshwater river.
‘Your Mama has made you some mandazi,’ said Juma’s father, raising a blue plastic bag full of donuts. Juma’s mother made these delicious treats from maize flour, sugar and spices – they were his favourite! But Juma’s father could not return the sparkling delight he glimpsed in his son’s eyes.
‘Zawadi is sick,’ he murmured. ‘Your Mama is taking her to Stone Town to see the doctor first thing tomorrow morning. We think she may have malaria.’

The name ‘Zawadi’ meant ‘gift’ in Swahili. To Juma and his family, Zawadi had been a beautiful gift. Juma thanked Allah again for his sister and prayed that she would soon be well. His mother was taking her to the capital where they had a hospital as well as tap water and electricity. Juma and his father went to Stone Town at the weekends to sell fish and buy beans and rice. These trips were the highlight of Juma’s week.

‘She will get better, won’t she Baba?’ Juma asked, nervously looking up to his father. He loved his little sister.
‘Mungu akipenda, son. If Allah wishes,’ said his father, turning his head away to hide his tears. Juma had heard this phrase a million times before. Allah surely didn’t mean any harm to come to her?

Onwards through the forest they journeyed. Juma had to run to keep up with his father’s brisk walk and longer stride. Past the small hut that belonged to village chief – the man they called the Shehe - under the branches of the orange trees and onwards through the glade. From high in the canopies of the forest a troop of monkeys screeched in delight as they swung by and threw fruit down at them.
‘Pests!’ his father cried, stopping to throw a rock at them. ‘All they do is destroy our crops.’ Juma laughed. He thought the monkeys were funny.
Usually you could hear the sea from the forest, especially at high tide, but tonight it was so calm that all they could hear was the sound of squawking monkeys. When they finally emerged from the forest they raced each other down to the lapping waves. Sometimes Juma’s father would contrive an accidental fall to make Juma laugh and let him win, but tonight both of them stopped before the sight of the moon glistening in the star-studded sky.
‘Allah be praised!’ exclaimed Juma’s father. ‘What a beautiful sight.’
And it was. They sat down in silence on the soft sand to gaze at the stars, mirrored without blemish in the still warm waters of the Indian Ocean.

Juma had been to Muyuni beach with his father on countless occasions. Early in the morning at low tide they would often come down to poke around in the rock pools for octopus and crabs. On those weekend evenings when they knew that the moon would look more like a banana than a mango - they would take a lantern and net. When he was really young, Juma would watch his father wade in until the water reached his thighs. There he would stand still, holding the lantern an inch above the surface.
‘They think it’s the moon,’ he would whisper to his son. ‘Watch.’ Sure enough, the silvery fish would see the light and swim through the phosphorescent waters towards it. It was a very peaceful sight, watching his father gently scooping the dazzled fish into his net. Juma too had learnt the skill, for there had been a time when all he’d wanted was to be a fisherman.

As Juma looked out across the channel between the Muyuni coast and Uzi Island, he could see a gentle splashing of fins and the smooth, curvy back of a large, sliver-grey mammal.
‘Dolphins!’ Juma cried. ‘Let’s go swimming.’
His father smiled. He knew how much his son loved them.
‘Get the paddles,’ he told Juma. ‘We won’t take the sail or the net tonight.’
There wasn’t much time. If they didn’t see the dolphins by the light of the moon, they wouldn’t be seeing them at all. In a few hours the receding tide would make the waters too shallow. Juma ran back up to the edge of the forest where his father hid his ngalawa under a pile of brambles. Many moons ago he’d watched his father carve this boat out of a mango tree. Tonight, as they’d done a thousand times before, they pulled the ngalawa down to the water’s edge, pushed it out into the sea and clambered in. Juma paddled from the helm while his father rowed and steered from the rear.

Looking down from the boat into the shimmering water, there was still enough light to see the backs of the small colourful fish darting all around them. But as they sailed beyond the shallow waters, all Juma could see was his own reflection. Finally, about a mile out, Juma’s father whispered, ‘This is far enough.’ Talking now risked scaring the dolphins away. ‘Let’s get in,’ his father mimed, letting his fingers and actions do all the talking that was required. Juma and his father dropped their kofias into the boat and slipped out of their clothes. Quietly, they slid themselves into the lukewarm waters to wait. And sure enough, the dolphins came.

Juma put his head under the water to listen out for the sound of the dolphin’s sonic code. The distant click of their song seemed to be all around him and yet he could see nothing. He pulled his face up to breathe and flinched as a fountain of water exploded out of the ocean only a few metres away. The sound of his father’s laughter bellowed out across the water.
‘It’s a young male,’ his Baba whispered, regaining his composure. ‘I think he wants to play with you.’
The young dolphin surfaced to show Juma his long, smiley snout. He clicked loudly and then waved his tail into the air as he dived. Juma put his head under the water and floated like a star on the ocean surface. He could feel the shadows moving beneath him but they were too far away for him to be certain of their shape. There was more clicking now. It sounded as if the whole family had arrived. This was brilliant! One of the dolphins brushed the side of his foot. The contact was only fleeting, but to Juma it was as meaningful as a goodnight hug from his mother. When the salty water began to sting his eyes, Juma pulled his head out from under the water to find the dolphins were dancing all around them.
‘Ndio!’ cried Juma, punching his hands into the air in delight.
The display was as spectacular as any either of them had ever seen before. Diving deep, the dolphins were taking it in turns to speed to the surface and propel themselves out of the water in ever-increasing feats of daredevilry. The queuing performers circled their audience, gradually getting closer and closer until Juma and his father were literally in each other’s arms. But treading water was hard work and Juma was feeling tired. The dolphins too seemed to know that their time together was drawing to an end. Against the setting moon, Juma and his father swam back to the boat as the dolphins moved on. Pulling himself up into the ngalawa Juma felt both exhilarated and exhausted. They dried themselves down on an old kikoi Juma’s father kept at the back of the boat and got dressed. Attaching bait to their fishing rods, they cast them out.
‘Time for some mandazi and tea,’ shivered Juma’s Baba, opening the blue plastic bag and taking out a flask. Juma knew the second it was opened that his Mama had made them his favourite hot drink.
‘Lemongrass,’ he smiled gleefully, sensing the smell and taking a lid-full of piping hot sweet tea.
Father and son sat back and gazed up at the constellations as they savoured their midnight snack.
‘I’ve got it!’ cried Juma, breaking the silence. He was pointing into the skies at the four stars he’d been searching for.
‘Ah,’ his father sighed knowingly.
The four stars were like a wonky square, small but twinkly. Now that Juma had found them he set his mind on how he was going to remember where they were. He discovered that if he closed his eyes for a moment he could always find them again by looking first to a line of three very bright stars - he imagined these were the jewelled belt of a rich sultan - and then casting his eyes a few degrees north.
‘Juma’s constellation’,’ smiled his father. Juma and his father felt peaceful and contented in the gently rocking boat.

The peace was broken when Juma’s father got his first bite of the evening.
‘Hongera, Baba,’ Juma would usually say, ‘You win again.’
But tonight, Juma was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to comment as he father hauled aboard a rather large squid. Instead, Juma peered out across the ocean towards the Tanzanian mainland where the bright lights of Dar es Salaam beckoned. ‘We’ll go there one day,’ his father would say. But that day never seemed to come. As he threw the dregs of his tea overboard, Juma thought he could still see the dolphins, gliding gracefully away towards the city lights. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought that they might be calling him to follow.

Copyright © 2003 Adam Guillain