We returned to Dar es Salaam, once again, Zanzibar bound. Marjona tried in vain to change her flight so that she could stay a bit longer and be with Mukada for his birthday. Unfortunately, British Air wouldn’t budge, insisting that she would have to buy a new ticket entirely and lose her original flight (and money). Due to our limited number of remaining days and Mukada’s wish to remain close to Dar because his mother was ill, we decided to bag the Zanzibar idea and head to Bagamoyo, a beach town North of Dar, instead.

And this way, Mukada told us, we could go to a fancy wedding planned for Saturday night with him and his friends.

We called Ally and he picked the four of us up. We spent the 1.5 hour drive listening to what had now become part of the thrill of driving with Ally – old light rock tunes. After our excursions with him, we’d all have some horrific song stuck in our heads… Beth’s was Celene Dion’s “I’m Your Lady”, and mine alternated between “Sexual Healing” and a great Michael Bolton track, “I Said I Loved You But I Lied”. After a tour d’ Ally, Marjona typically broke out her IPod to drown us out, somewhat fighting the urge to sing along.

We ended up in a very nice hotel in Bayamoyo. (Beth: This is after we were greeted by an armed soldier at the budget hotel we wanted to stay at – the owners had not paid their taxes so the government had taken control of the property…)  We each had our own cabana, complete with sitting areas, front porches, and best of all: Air Conditioning. The only down side was that despite this being the almighty Indian Ocean, this was NOT the fountain of youth water of Zanzibar we were expecting. So brown and polluted it was, in fact, that none of us took a dip in it the whole time we were there.

Nevertheless, we spent our days idling under umbrellas by the seashore, eating delicious and slightly-out-of-our-budget meals, soaking up the Air Conditioning, and attempting to make a dent in all the alcohol we had bought to save money in Zanzibar (to no avail). Though one evening was spent playing Zilch, drinking-game style (you’ll like this one, Katie), and getting Mukada (the devout Muslim) drunk. Bad, bad American girls.

On the way back with Ally (“…I said I loved you but I lieeeed, cuz this is more than love I feeeeel insiiiiiide”), we began discussing plans for the wedding that night with Mukada. He was convincing us that we’d be fine going, despite our complete lack of anything resembling nice attire and despite us not knowing anyone in the wedding party. We asked him, after many consultations and back and forths between us, “Ok, then, what are YOU wearing?”

“A suit,” he replied.

“WE’RE NOT GOING!” we announced.

But after Mukada worked his many charms, turning up the peer pressure full throttle (this guy was GOOD, he rivaled me in forcing people to do things they didn’t want to do), we acquiesced and went back to the Econo Lodge to try to throw something together.

We emerged all wearing something of someone else’s: Lauren - Marjona’s skirt and shoes, Marjona - Beth’s scarf, and Beth – Lauren’s scarf and Marjona’s earrings. We looked a bit rag-tag (I was not happy to be wearing a skirt, one that made me look like a bit of a hippy, at that), but we thought we’d show up, scope it out, and just leave if we were underdressed.

Mukada showed up in his suit, looking quite debonair, and we took off for the wedding.

We arrived oh, maybe 1.5 hours before everyone else (so much for blending in) and were greeted by a sea of women who all looked like they were either going to prom or the Oscar’s. We almost turned around, but Mukada once again assured us, and we found an inconspicuous table tucked to the side and out of sight (we hoped). And began drinking wine to calm our nerves.

The wedding ended up being a lot of fun, with my “boyfriend” showing up (see Genie with the Bottles), along with more of Mukada’s very likeable friends. (Turns out we did know someone in the wedding party – Saif, one of Mukada’s best friends.)

The dinner was buffet-style, with an amazingly delicious array of food, including CHEESE (praise be to God) and a fantabulous goat curry. We listened to the speeches given for the bride and groom (Latifa from Tanzania, and Frank from Germany), watched each table around the room shoot off the tops of champagne bottles for the toast, and asked my boyfriend, Omar, and Mukada, to translate when the MC spoke in Swahili. Beth and I were still feeling slightly white and out of place and so did not go up to shake the bride and groom’s hands… not wanting to deal with the, “and who the hell are you?” looks of annoyed confusion.

The next morning, I woke up with my second really bad bout of traveler’s stomach, and spent the morning sleeping until Beth brought me some comfort food – a pizza from Pizza Inn. We spent the day catching up on errands (trying to book our Egypt and Buenos Aires tickets, booking my mom’s Rome ticket, harassing Washington Mutual to reverse the block on my online banking, blogging, uploading pictures, and the never-ending task of applying for Beth’s financial aid…), and that night were invited to the wedding “afterparty” back at the Movenpick Hotel. We grabbed some Konyagi, thinking we could buy sodas from the bar and mix our own drinks to save money, and jumped in Saif’s car for a ride to the hotel.

We arrived in jeans, thinking we were just going to the hotel bar, but ended up shooting up the elevator, to the honeymoon suite; the afterparty consisted of Latifa and Frank, and maybe 7 of their closest friends IN their hotel room. Fabulous.

We were all horrified, thinking that we now were REALLY intruding, and Beth and I immediately regretted not shaking their hands at the wedding, thinking that we now looked like ungrateful mooching travelers, who just wanted free food and booze without the hassle of mingling or saying “thank you”. We did our best to ingratiate ourselves, and after a few awkward moments (and Latifa ordering several more rounds of drinks and champagne from room service), we ended up having a great time drinking and talking to a very drunk Frank and Latifa, and friends. We ruminated over the joys of traveling, heard interesting anecdotes about Islamic rules for foreign investment from Frank who works for an investments company, and were told a terrifying story by the newlyweds about a horrible accident they had survived with a bus in which several people had died. Luckily, they managed to crawl out of their overturned car unscathed. We also got some helpful advice on which bus companies not to take.

Shortly after our pleasant evening with our new friends, Marjona sadly had to leave after her five-week sojourn through Africa. The night before she left we went Casino hopping for one more try of luck (no luck), packed our bags for our final night in the Econo Lodge (Marjona loaded down with our African purchases and picture CD’s to bring back to my sister in NYC – Thanks MJ and Kerry!), turned up the AirCon, and fell asleep. Ally picked up Marjona the next morning (“Cuz I’m your laaaaady, and you are my maaaaan….”), and we said ‘kwaheri.’ We were sad and felt a bit lonely; our Katet (anyone a Stephen King fan?) had lost our newest member. We ate our free Econo Lodge breakfast and tea and prepared ourselves for the next leg of our journey… first cheering ourselves up with a quick trip back to Zanzibar.