Shanel Murray’s Blog

By Jeanne Waples a.k.a. mama

There is a t-shirt that you can buy in my home town. It says, “If It’s Tourist Season, Why Can’t We Shoot Them?”. I’ve always wanted one, because it is a pretty accurate expression of the way I feel about the varmints. There’s no doubt about it; they are an invasive species - definitely weeds of the wost sort. They’re loud, they travel in herds and ruin hiking for the locals; they they wear the wrong clothes; and they don’t know the customs (if they do, they ignore them). I always have the feeling that they look down on the quaint local folk and think that their money entitles them to anything.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been a tourist myself, from time to time. In fact, my daughter and I just got back from a vacation in the (admitting it publicly makes me cringe…) Bahamas. And it isn’t as though I’ve never done anything gauche or insensitive in a foreign country, because of course, I have, if only unwittingly. But remember the aphorism, “The customer is always right,”? Now I’m not saying that this doctrine excuses ‘Ugly American’ (or ‘Ugly French’ or Ugly Indonesian’) behavior or that strangers in a strange land shouldn’t try to learn about and understand the places they visit. And I’m not saying that anyone should have to accept demeaning treatment just because their customers are rich. It’s just that people who make their living exploiting and/or catering to tourists should make an effort to be pleasant, helpful, and knowledgeable, because it is in their own best interest to do so. For many places, tourism is not just the goose that lays the golden egg, it’s the goose that lays the only egg.

A few days ago, mama and I decided to take a vacation to Freeport Bahamas. The purpose was for us to catch up on things. I wanted to hear all about her recent trip and ensuing adventures in Bali, and she wanted (for some reason) to hear endless ramblings about my boring life. We stayed at the all-inclusive Sheraton at Lucaya resort for three days and four nights. How anyone can stay in Freeport longer than four days is beyond me. After the first two days, water logged fingers and toes-I started to get ants in my pants, and I think mama did as well.

This small port island includes the usual run in the mill activities like scuba diving, snorkeling, jet skiing, parasailing, kayaking etc… most of which we had completed by our third day and were hungry for something more interesting to do. Staying at an all-inclusive resort would have been fine, expect that in Freeport, there is absolutely nothing else to do. While there, we experienced the good, the bad and the bloody ugly.

The location of the Sheraton is great. Beachfront is always a major plus in my eyes because I love being near the water. I regret not brining my camera (in efforts to travel light) because I missed so many photo opportunities. Typical at many resorts, the bars, restaurants, shopping and gambling were conveniently situated. If we were they type, which neither of us are, we could have easily stayed on the beach all day frying in the sun and guzzling margaritas like champions.

I was extremely disappointed by the services and attitudes of locals in the hotel, restaurants and tourism arena. Rude would be an understatement. Our first night there, on the way from dinner, I literally got the shit screamed out of me by two local men, for not saying hello. This kind of pissed me off. Actually it really pissed me off. I thought I was there to catch up with mama, not to entertain breakfast invitations from drunken locals. What the hell!!!

To keep ourselves out of trouble and avoid any more unwanted invitations, we decided to sign up for the nature cave tour. After paying for our cave tour, and getting on the bus, the driver literally told us that the next tour guide, who was supposed to take us into the caves and provide some sort of historical reference may or may not show up because it was Sunday.

Mama loudly responded “well…he better!” I had to hold her back from getting up and rough handling him like some sort of farm animal. Can’t we all just get along? We were then told how to get to the caves by ourselves and warned not to try and take pictures while walking down the stairs, like most stupid tourists do. I guess it was our lucky day because the guide showed up, and took us on a glorified 15 second tour of a kinda cave with a few sleeping bats in it. Not thorough at all. During this tour and others, the guides seemed uninterested, moody, and bothered by our mere presence. Many times, they actually decided to just ignore us completely.

Overall mama and I obviously did not enjoy it too much, but maybe it will receive higher ratings from those with families and small children. This is not by any stretch a place for travelers who may be more seasoned or who expect to learn or experience the authenticity of a Caribbean island. This is a resort island that caters to tourists. The food, drinks, and activities were way over priced-virtually not bang for the buck! The Sheraton hotel rooms were shabby and a little tacky-(eekk!!) As far as all-inclusive resorts are concerned, this is not the type of place I would go back to or recommend to friends. Mama and I would have been better off exploring on our own, or hiring a personal guide.

Next post will be from mama. She has some things to say about grand Bahama Island as well.

I remember being warned before I went to Tanzania by friends.  Especially elder women who were the mothers and grandmothers of my friends.    

“Be careful of Voodoo,” one would say.  “Don’t go outside the house during spirit hour” would say another.  People began lighting candles, incense and praying.  Genuinely concerned that I would fall prey to voodoo while in Africa.   

I thought this was so ridiculous, or so I tried to convince myself.  The truth is that growing up, there were many “old wives tales” and other “spiritual” experiences that were attributed to voodoo or some sort of witch craft.  Something you sensed but was never spoken about.  Voodoo was an indescribable feeling that surfaced in awkward silences, uncomfortable stares and bodily tensions that are exchanged.  This is how you know.    

On so many occasions while in Tanzania, especially at night, I would unknowingly veer off a trail, to let someone else pass by.  I never saw anyone, but I would hear foot steps and rustling leaves approach and then pass by.   I never even realized that no one was there until after the fact.

There are so many “cultural,” “spiritual” stories that refer to voodoo and those in the spirit world.  Before I left Tanzania, I was warned about “spirit hour”.  Supposedly, spirit hour is between 3-4 a.m. when bad spirits are out and about.  Usually they are outside the house, unable to enter unless invited.  Of course I did not believe in this tale. During many sleepless nights while in Tanzania, I found myself on the verge of taking a stroll in the garden, but I would always look at the clock first.  If it was between 3-4, I could not bring myself to go.  There were times I would not even get up to pee during “spirit hour”. 

On another occasion, I was driving down a dark and dusty road with two other people in the car.  A man who looked like he might be homeless was standing on the side of the road.  Everyone in the car became very tense and began praying.  Instead of slowing down, we began to drive faster and faster.  I almost felt like we were driving at warp speed but in slow motion.    The man walked into the middle of the road, and looked at us.  I remember nothing except his eyes glaring into me.  Then me, checking all the mirrors to see where the man had gone.  He literally disappeared.  I opened my mouth to ask but quickly changed my mind.  Based on the tension and stale silence.  I knew. 

Unfortunately, “spirit hour” and thoughts of voodoo were emphasized even as I returned from my African excursion by my own father.  My father who I took care of during his final days, and whom also suffered from dementia, often spoke of obeah.  Obeah is the name used by many Caribbean’s when referring to those who practice Voodoo.  Often he would wake up in the middle of the night, falling out of bed, screaming, and crying that obeah man was coming for him.   I would try to calm my father down by telling him that there was no obeah.  With each and every nightmare my father had, I would look at the clock.  If the time happened to be between 3-4a.m. my heart would begin to beat to the rhythmic chorus of African Djembes drums that did not exist. I would grab the nearest bible, admittedly afraid that bad spirits would some how get hold of us.  I didn’t know exactly what they would do, but I knew it would not be good.  I still claim that I do not believe in this phenomenon. 

Although I continue to make such claims, at the same time, I wonder how they could not be real.  How else would I explain short breezes blowing in the middle of a still room, or hearing whispers and breath on the back of my neck when no one is around? 

I have always been curious about subtle things that no one else seemed to take notice of.  In this case, the subtleties were in the way certain people smiled, or what I saw in their eyes.  At times, these “subtleties” made me feel a little uncomfortable.  It was as if people were keeping a secret that I was not allowed to know.  In hindsight, I knew what the mystery behind smiles, and deep glances, were about the unspeakable.   While in Tanzania, a great many strange things happened.  Some of which I did not remember until this very moment. 

Voodoo is often done in the dark of night in subtle ways that manifest after the fact.  It can be described as the essence of something mysterious happening, in which you are afraid to even whisper about.  You become submerged and helpless.  A rising feeling informs you that something dark is about to happen or has already happened, even if it is disguised in erotic passion and strange rituals that take place under the cloak of night. 

Ever been in a situation where you want something really badly, but you are too embarrassed to ask for it?  Well…I know the feeling very well.  What I don’t know is how to respond when you are finally given the “gift” or that “something” that you have always wanted.  Whether you have earned it, or it has somehow landed in your lap like a big fat miracle.  How does one avoid the ungraceful acceptance dance that often ensues…

The other day, a friend who I have not seen in several years gave me a buzz.  I was pleasantly surprised.  Although I have thought of her often, it has been four years since I last saw her and I have had no communication with her for at least two of the four years.  She has been on another continent exploring the life she felt like she missed out on.  

I had lunch with her the other day and decided to give her a gift.  Nothing new, nothing that was really a big deal.  I will only say the gift was something I knew she wanted before she left four years ago, and was too embarrassed to ask for.  Of course like a true friend and selfish human being, I did not relinquish this gift because I was not ready to let it go at the time.

“Oh, no… I can’t take that from you”.  “Of course you can, don’t be silly!”  “But…I now how much it means to you…”

This little dance went on for waaaay longer than it should have.  Typical of me, I lost my patience, became VERY annoyed and a little pissy!    After giving her the evil eye, and exhaling, I demanded that she take the damn thing.  I knew she wanted it  

After the dreadful moment was over, but I wondered…  

Why my friend was not able to graciously accept my gift.  Was she embarrassed, or guilty?  Maybe she felt undeserving?  Either way, after all the fuss, it may be a long while before I can give another gift.  Feeling like I had to convince her to accept almost made me begin to feel like I was somehow at fault.