Chapter Three - in which we enter the labyrinthine streets of Stone Town

My apologies for not being back to the computer to continue this tale, I could tell tales of high water, winds that have come forth from the depths of Hell, a problem of telephonic nature and its inability to couple with the modem. I could go on but I won't as I have to tell you how this vast packing case, which currently resides in my back porch, balanced precariously on a wooden pallet. Its not the thing that one can susbscribe to on the internet, for instance:

'...add your email address in the box below to subscribe to be sent a mystery parcel each month. An undisclosed sum will be taken from your debit/credit card until you send us a stop subscription notification (in triplicate to the address below)...'

I had spent the last week of my holiday, earlier this year, in Tanzania on the island of Zanzibar. It sounds exquisitely exotic and for the most of it, it is. Imagine a pale white beach where the sand is made up of crushed coral and breaks up into tiny undulations under your feet as you walk towards the blue sea, clear enough to see the dangerous black spined sea urchins. Although when you get really close to them, with a diving mask and flippers, and dive down towards them the black colouring has a hint of purple and white to the central part of it, but before you can look to close the need for oxygen takes up your thoughts and I rise up out of the water like a breaching whale with less hydrodynamic lines. It is certainly different to Hastings where you have to hopscotch over cobbles to get to the opaque sloshing liquid that is called the English Channel. But the above description, at the beginning of the paragraph, only describes a small beach on the north west tip of the island. By the way, palm trees sway in the breeze and reggae is pumped out through sand drenched speakers. But I digress, I really want to tell you about my last night on Zanzibar in Stone Town before I flew out.

You know you get these ideas after having one too many drinks. My poison was called a Mudslide and varying quantities of kahlua, Baileys, cream, vodka, milk, ice cubes and a squirt of chocolate sauce, the type you put over ice cream. It was like eating a chocolate nut sundae but with the added hit of hidden alcohol. The place was the Sunset Bar balcony of the Africa House Hotel. An ex-colonial club turned into a hotel with carpets on the ceiling and the walls and these brass knobbed chests with intricate wooden designs on them. They smelt of a hint of wax polish and a tinge of mixed spices from the central town market.

I had just seen the visible dhow sail across the view with the last entrails of the sinking sun slip past the horizon. Storm clouds were on congregating towards the north, like actors to eager to get on the stage and not waiting for their cue. It hadn't rained for the whole week I had been there and I wanted to wait for the smell of the first drops of rain on the hot beaten soil. That odour still catches me unawares and reminds me of a many great things. But even this thought was becoming further from my mind. This space was becoming void and simultaneously filling with the thought of these chests. I had to have one. I had to have a richly illustrated wooden rectangle of design.

I walked with a hint of panic and haste down the central staircase in the hotel and out through the main door, guarded by the cannons on their plinths.

"Good evening Sir, be safe", the early nightwatch man told me.

Up the road opposite the entrance to the hotel until I met the main road. The usual night time traffic of taxis with beaten up corners and mopeds. I turned left and follow the main canyon of shops; my running gait was struggling with the constant harrasment of "CDs, Marry Jo Hannah, Money, Trips to see the Turtles" and run towards the tourist shops and the main post office. The Memories of Zanzibar, the Shadows of Zanzibar and others. I was looking for a slight giant of a man who walked with a stoop. His name was David, I once gave him the Tanzanian equivalent of twelve US dollars for an anti-malarial medication. If anyone knew where I would be able to find one of these chests, then he was my man. Now just to find him, with my left foot I enter the darker streets off the main tourist route...

Chapter 4 after the New Year's Day celebrations, sorry Hannah and Ash

Chapter Two - In which we meet our main character

"To me Dave, and then lower it a bit down your side. And Geoff you can gonna have to push it harder than that, even my aunt could push harder than that and she's got gout in her right big toe."

Neil was giving the orders from inside the back porch. He had shaggy black hair, quite a thin figure and wore a tee shirt and jeans despite the obvious nip in the air. Dave was under the palleted, rectangle of a box, the bearded face wheezed a bit with the weight and grew a rosy red with the added exertion. Geoff had the back end and was trying quite hard, but as noted by Neil, his pushing skills were not the best. He had to manoeuvre the bottom end of the crate through the edges of the door frame. It looked like it would have to be a paint job on the door jambs after they had been. I thought that my best place was in the kitchen with...
tschik, tschik
...a boiling kettle and arranging the biscuits on a plate after their efforts.

The crate was placed in the back porch with its backside, well not excatly its backside as they don't have them. I mean can you imagine the crate farting like a cart horse. Well don't. The back end of the packing crate was against the only window in the back porch. Geoff called to me and asked for another signature and then handed over a crowbar and an envelope.

"According to the instructions that I have been given, I need to give you this crowbar and this envelope. 'You are to open the envelope and read the instructions here within the envelope'", reading from his clipboard. "Its a bit particular but I have to make sure that I do this to the letter otherwise the insurance doesn't cover me or the other two."

"Sounds a bit like that film with those furballs, you know the ones Neil. Bugger it, its on the tip of my tongue. They made two films, the first one was the better one, come on, the one where you can't feed it after midnight."

"Mrffgh" Neil's mouth is full of slightly soggy crumbs.

"that's it, I knew you would know. You always have the mind for the useful stuff. Nice cup o' tea, mate. Good luck with the unpacking. Night." And with that Dave puts the cup on the 'fridge and walks out towards the van. Neil follows whilst trying to excavate a crumb from out of one his teeth with his finger. A wave and then he is gone into the night.

"Remember the instructions, 'cos you have signed for it now, it's not my fault, now." Then Geoff disappears into the night, it seems that the fog has come down in what seems a matter of minutes.

I pour some slightly tepid water over a teabag in the mug, the liquid turns from colourless to brown to a lighter paler brown as I tip some milk into it. I stir the tea and spoon the bag out, sit down at the table in the kitchen and start to stare at the...
tschik, tschik
...envelope. It is an A4 envelope with a slight definite cylindrical bulge at the bottom of it. I tear at the top and hook my finger under the flap and pull. Turning the envelope upside down, a candle falls out and a single piece of A4 slides out.

'Please, sorry for the delay in your order. We have run out of the pre-paid item, so please accept this item as a replacement.

It is known as a Zanzibarian Cupboard. It is made from the door taken from a Zanzibar home and the cupboard is made around the size of the door with an assortment of drawers of varying sizes.

Before you can fully enjoy this wonderful piece of furniture from the Indian Ocean, you will need to follow the instructions shown below:

Light the enclosed candle for a full minute, no more or less.

Stand the candle up in a darkened room, whilst you open the crate up with the supplied crowbar. If you have not been supplied with a crow bar, contact the courier. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT use any other domestic or industrial crowbar. Keep the lumber from the packing, do not burn or recycle.

When you have only the cupboard resting on the supplied pallet, do not, I repeat, DO NOT clean the mud of the door. But open the door and pull the drawers out of the internal cupboard frame, carefully.

Take the candle from the darkened room and rub the unburnt end on to the drawer sides. This will help will the ease of the running of the drawers.

Thank you for taking the time to read the instructions and complying with them. Please enjoy this product.'

No more instructions and nothing on the back of the sheet. Not even a name of the packing person.


Chapter Three and Four tomorrow - as I will be away from a computer for a day - in which you find out where the Zanzibar came from (yes alright, Zanzibar) and then what happens when you open the first drawer (nah-night)

Chapter One - Setting the scene

I had to walk the dog for a while, well just to get out of the house. So sorry for the delay in relating this; at present, I have a wet and slightly smelly dog at my feet, a Christmas tree fully decorated with wrapped presents underneath and a small case of an item being sent to the wrong address...
tschik, tschik
...See there it goes again. Just as you think it has gone, it reminds you that it is there. A bit like the beating of a heart in that tale by Edgar Allan, is that with an a or an e, Poe. I'll explain it in a minute and you'll see why I had to take the dog out. So here goes, apologies in advance for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, if you do find them or you just want to add anything to the comments (click on the comment button below) or just laugh hysterically at my predicament.

Friday afternoon, this week, just as it was getting dark I get a phone call on the mobile. The number was another mobile and not one that I remembered or one that was logged on the SIM card.

"Afternoon mate. Are you Mister Elliott, Mister Peter Elliott"
"Yes"
"Right, I've got a parcel for you, a bit of a big 'un, I need a signature and somewhere to put it"
"Er, okay, yes, " frantically trying to think what I may have ordered from Amazon or PlayUSA. "Can you give me about five minutes?"
"Yep, no worries. We'll shift it around to the back door"

I was down at the bottom of the back field with a spade in my hands at the damp end of a drainage ditch. So five minutes to run up the hill and open the back door and I am sure I haven't ordered anything for at least a couple of weeks.

The boots were starting to slip in the mud as I am nearing the half-way point and now a slight burning sensation in the back of my calves...
tschik, tschik
...slightly red in the face and out of breath. I reach the door, get the keys out of my pocket and unlock the top lock and pull down on the slightly bent brass handle. I hear the pounding of a wagging tail hitting the fridge, the dog has got out into the back porch. Combine this with the footsteps of the courier behind me on the damp brick path. I had to get control . I put my hands on my thighs, bent my knees and breathed in and out deeply.

"You alright mate, you better look after yourself otherwise you'll end up like that bloke with the belt around his chest. He seems to be bleeding everywhere. Well not exactly blood, but you get my point. More bloody government stealth advertising. Can you sign there?"

He hands over a black plastic oversized hymn book with an LCD screen with an attached plastic stylus. A blinking cursor showed me where to scribble, a spinning satellite in the atmosphere awaits to bounce the transaction back to the impatient , coffee-drinking office worker.

The delivery from signage should take twenty minutes, since it is classed as a type 1 Very Large Parcel,. It gives Janice, in the office, time to refill the chipped mug and a chance to fill in the last five boxes on the moderate sodoku grid on the glowing screen before sending the last pick up details to Geoff, the courier. Little did I know that I would get to know Geoff as well as Neil and Dave very well by the end of the afternoon. (Nah-night)