Dar es Salaam - It started off as a comedy of errors of sorts, which at the time was neither humorous nor fictitious.
I thought I had dodged a bullet when I scraped through the merciful SAA check-in hostess, who suspiciously eyed me up and down, cross-checked my facial features in my 11-year-old ID picture, and allowed me to check in for the flight, despite my surname being misspelt on my tickets.
I was walking briskly, silver toiletry vanity case in tow, through the boarding gates – I was on my way to meet up with my travelling group to Tanzania, where we’d be spending an effective three days and two nights – when I received yet another suspicious look from the security guard at customs scanning my bags.
“Ma’am, what do you have in your bags?” she asked, rhetorically I assume, because she had proceeded to open the case before I could answer.
There she found the unthinkable – my toiletries.
As she unpacked the case, holding 125ml sunscreen bottle, my 150ml body oil, and 125ml bottles of perfume and mosquito repellent, ready to throw them into a mean-looking rubbish bin – she looked into my repentant eyes filled with regret that I had forgotten that one cannot carry on certain consumables – and whispered; “Sisi, rather go check all these with your baggage quickly, otherwise I will have to throw them away,” she said sympathetically.
The travel gods seemed to be warming up to me.
Landing in Tanzania’s Julius Nyerere International Airport, after a comfortable SAA186 flight, I was more than ready for the sandy shores, crystal-clear blue beaches and vibrant city culture I had been day-dreaming about for a week.
Waiting alongside the group for our luggage at the carousel, I watched as bag after bag moved past. My luggage bag came along as expected and I heaved it off the carousel, waiting for my troublesome vanity case. A few minutes later, and with one lone suitcase still journeying around the carousel, it dawned on me that my vanity case was either not on my flight luggage or was lost.
Fortunately, Nothando Mathe from SAA was quick to jump to my rescue. The case was reported as not being on the flight and was located by officials from the airport as being on the next flight, arriving at 8pm that evening.
Arriving at the Tsogo Sun’s Southern Sun hotel, I just wanted to take a bath and forget about the rigmarole of the morning. Alas, no vanity case, no toiletries.
Walking into the plush, thankfully air-conditioned room, my heart leaped for joy when I saw a bottle of Chardonnay sitting chilled on the ice bucket, with a lone glass screaming for me to reach out to it.
Moments later, a call came in. “Hi Miss Mkize, we hear you are missing your case with toiletries. We will be sending up a small vanity kit, as well as a toothbrush and a few essentials.”
“How could they have anticipated I would need exactly that?” I thought to myself. True to his word, less than five minutes later I opened the door for Rajab, the hotel bellboy who had the widest grin and warmest laugh. I felt at ease, I felt at home. He came armed with the works: a robe and slippers, the vanity kit as promised and an array of treats, compliments of the hotel chef – for the pain.
The next day, Adam Fuller, our gracious host and general manager of the hotel, had an even better treat in store – a yacht cruise from the city to the remote island, Sinda.
“Aah yes, I can get used to this being my office for the day,” I thought, sipping champagne and gazing at the never-ending horizon.
Upon reaching the island, the group were treated to a braai on the yacht and a sunset cruise, unforgettable for many.
Another thoughtful treat awaited our return to the hotel – a long piece of beautiful black-and-white cloth with some words I couldn’t understand inscribed on it.
It was only while on our tour of the city with our guide, Major Mbuya, when that I understood the gravity of the message.
I had immediately worn the gift as part of my outfit for our night out, and mid-sentence as he was explaining the history of the city, Mbuya looked down at me and asked: “Do you know what the message behind the khanga (material I was wearing) means?
\[keith.allen\]Of course I didn’t, so he explained.
“The khanga are known as the fabrics that speak. There is a long tradition of what women used to write on the khanga, some to each other. Because Tanzanians are not confrontational people, if a woman didn’t like the other, they would write it on the material. Then, later, it also became a tool to spread religious and political\[keith.allen\] words messages. Your khanga reads: ‘If you obey the Lord, you will be blessed’,” he said, smilingly, almost knowingly.
Little did Mbuya or Fuller know that that very khanga would be a pinnacle moment of the trip for me.
But, I wasn’t out of the mishap-woods just yet. Just as we were about to check out from our memorable stay at the hotel, Rajab came rushing to me as I was about to board the bus to the airport.
“Ma’am! Ma’am! You forgot your ring,” he said half out of breath as he handed me my engagement ring. I was about to wed in a month, and I guess returning to South Africa sans my ring wouldn’t have been a great idea.
Then it hit me, it wasn’t the yacht cruise or elegant dinners that made the trip remarkable for me. It was the hotel staff’s incredible attention to detail and warmth that proved to be moving.
On our flight back from the trip, one last surprise came up.
Turns out, I won a raffle I didn’t even enter and was bumped up from my economy seat to the luxury of business class.
Finally, the travel gods showed themselves to be on my side after all.
Saturday Star