On Saturday, January 9, 2021, 03:48:04 p.m. CST, Roland Francis <roland.fran...@gmail.com> wrote: ExMuslim and feminist activist Zara Kay, the founder of Faithless Hijabi, was arrested in Tanzania on December 28th, where she was held in police custody without a clear indication of charges for 32 hours. -------------------------------------------------
Roland, Since you too have picked up an infatuation with Dar es Salaam, let me point out that while it remains a haven, there are many worlds within. Some are religious, some not and some are karmIc. I wrote this for another forum but I will share it here for you and all those interested. Mervyn ---- Well, I was returning from wading/fishing near the Mexican border recently and saw this sting ray left on the dock. It looked like something had taken a large bite out of it, then it got washed up, dried and finally a fisherman picked it out of the beach area as he did not want anyone stamping on it. Note the sting folks. I am told that when your next door neighbour has a mango tree close to the property line and all the mangoes fall into his compound while all the leaves fall into your compound - all you have to do is insert the sting of a ray into the mango tree and you will never have to rake leaves again. https://www.flickr.com/photos/45002663@N00/50396168342/in/photolist-2jMkx5b The dried sting ray reminded me of a time long, long ago in Tanzania, when I would go out spearfishing at Mbudya Island. We would shoot a few fish/lobsters, bring them back to the island and give them to the barman to cook. The barman would then supply us with endless cold beers and the cooked fish would get served whenever we were ready. On days when the catch was very good, we would send a gift of a cooked fish or lobster to the smartest looking woman lying on the sand. This way, we sort of struck up many a friendship. Well, one day I had gone thru a few beers when someone came up to me and asked if I could take him and his group spearfishing. I said ok, I would take them but shoot only one fish so that they could experience it - and then come out spearfishing with us the next weekend. Just a few feet from the shore, I saw a fully grown, 20 inch blue spotted sting ray in the sand. When rays rest on the ocean floor, they flap their "wings" and the sand falls on their bodies camouflaging them perfectly. I took a deep breath, dived, shot the ray and surfaced. The ray was pinned to the sand but flapping in a circle, struggling. The next step was to dive again, cut off its tail and bring it to the surface. Well, the stars said it would not go exactly as planned from now on. I dived and as I was cutting off the tail, the ray stung me. The barb/sting pierced through my leather glove and into the back of my right wrist. I surfaced, removed my glove, looked at the one inch incision and it seemed clean - with no sting or sheath of sting in my wrist. My arm, however, from my elbows forward, immediately began to feel numb. So I swam to the shore and checked my wrist again. I could clearly see into the incision. I tried to press the now throbbing wrist to see if I could extract anything from the wound but there seemed nothing. I walked to the happy guy who had driven us to the ferry point on the mainland and told him to be serious for a moment. Then I told him what had happened. Well, we packed our bags and tried to calculate the time it would take to get me to hospital. The rough estimates were that it would take 30 minutes for the shuttle to arrive. Another 30 minutes to get to the mainland and if I was lucky, 45 minutes to get to a hospital in Dar es Salaam. The driver supplied me with the best pain killer known to Tanzanians, distilled papaya and we started on our return trip. When we got to the mainland, I had no feelings from my elbow down. My arm felt like it weighed 40 tons and the ball and socket joint in my right shoulder was threatening to separate. The pain killer, on the other hand, was inspiring me to sing songs in Gujarati, a language which I am only familiar with the numbers and curse words! Then the car I got into, appeared to have stopped moving but everything around the car was whizzing by like in a tornado. When we got to the entrance to town, I was surprised to see that the driver did not turn right to go to the university hospital. I asked why and he said that if there was an antidote, the best bet was that we would find it at the Aga Khan Hospital. We drove up to the Aga Khan hospital where I at last found the courage to look at my wrist. At first look, the back had swollen up like a ripe tomato. With tears in my eyes, I took another look and the colour of my skin - in the sunlight - looked cherry pink. My finger nails, if I was processing the sight correctly was, yes, apple blossom white. I stepped out of the car and the cool seashore breeze felt soothing on my face and like a bush fire on the skin of my entire arm. The flesh of my wrist felt like the 4th of July. I could feel explosions and flashes going on inside. I hobbled the 40 ft it took to get into the hospital, was put on a stretcher and wheeled away to the emergency ward doctor. Karma, being what it is, dictated that the emergency ward doctor was an ex-girlfriend - whom I had broken up with for no good reason. Mervyn
