Zanzibar to Timbuktu - Theodore Dalrymple - [EPUB][N27]seeders: 1
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Description Zanzibar to Timbuktu by Theodore Dalrymple Language: English | Format: EPUB | ASIN: B009GFS8JU Page count: 287 | Date Published: September 24, 2012 | Publisher: Monday Books  Nonfiction, Travel, Africa CONTENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR PRAISE FOR THEODORE DALRYMPLE PREFACE ONE ZANZIBAR TWO TANZANIA THREE BURUNDI AND RWANDA FOUR ZAIRE FIVE DOWN THE ZAIRE SIX KINSHASA AND CONGO BRAZZAVILLE SEVEN GABON EIGHT EQUATORIAL GUINEA NINE CAMEROON TEN NIGERIA ELEVEN NIGER TWELVE MALI EPILOGUE ALSO BY THEODORE DALRYMPLE MORE FROM MONDAY BOOKS Excerpt: The first taxi I hailed in Zanzibar broke down after a hundred yards. It was dusk and the sky glowed carmine through the canopy of palms. The driver, aided by a passing bicyclist and two small boys, was confident of effecting the necessary repairs before nightfall. But the ancient British vehicle had given up the ghost, and my fare was subcontracted to a passing pickup truck of later model. I was taken to the Bwawani Hotel, where it was assumed all respectable visitors stayed. The hotel was built on the orders and design of Sheikh Karume, great leader of the Zanzibari Revolution, who had a vision of a New Zanzibar, a modern, efficient, socialist, totally rational state. Bwawani means In a Pond. Actually, Sheikh Karume had it built in a swamp. Mould had eaten holes in the deep pile carpets, and damp separated the wallpaper from the concrete walls. When the door to my room was opened there was an overpowering musty exhalation, as though it were an ancient underground family vault and not an hotel room at all. I half-expected to find Vincent Price inside. The porter – charming, courteous and friendly, as are all Zanzibaris – smilingly demonstrated the use of the lavatory cistern to me. In the absence of the handle, all I had to do was to poke my forefinger down a small aperture and fish about for a time… He called for the insect-sprayer. (The attack rate of malaria in Zanzibar is ferocious.) He arrived, grinning broadly and carrying one of the old-fashioned hand sprays that I remembered my father using twenty-five years ago to rid the roses of aphids. To the smell of must was now added that of a choking insecticide. Sharing Widget |