Jambo, Bwana Sea Urchin

Prior to Africa, I was constantly singing this song. It really helped me get the basics of the language down and it annoyed my family, and I get a kick out of pestering them.



But, after Africa, I cringe a little when I hear it.

Summer 2013, nineteen years-old, in Zanzibar studying abroad with kids and professors from my university. We had just finished a walking tour around Zanzibar and Jay, my Theology professor, promised us we could go to the beach.

And promise he did. We went two hours out of Stone Town to the slave caves that were used when the Eastern African slave trade was around. After our quick tour, our bus driver brought us to a secluded beach. We had to trek through a field of seven-foot-high grass and small trees then scale down a rock stairway. I say scale down because if you casually stepped down, you were basically kneeling and in order to climb back up, you had to throw yourself onto the step and jump.

But after the endeavors, we had a beach to ourselves.

We hurried out, celebrated, stripped to our swim suits, and dove in.

My friend Michael and I were a little ambitious. We ran through the water and dove in once the water was up to our waist, and we swam. When we reached a point where we could touch the ground, I let out a scream.

"Something bit me!" Michael then put his foot down and yelled the same thing and brought his foot up and a long needle was sticking out.

We didn't know what it was, but we hollered to two other girls to stop heading this way, but we were too slow. They stepped on them too. The girls, Michael, and I hurry to shore and fall onto the sand. I told Jill, my Psychology professor, that something bit me. The moment she saw my foot, she panicked.

"Those are sea urchin stings!"

Then, cut to my friend Tessa being carried out of the ocean with blood dripping down her feet. Sea urchins everywhere. She had 20-something stings in her toes. I had runner up, 13 in the soft, sensitive part of my foot. Everyone else, 4 or 5 stings.


It was like some bad war movie.

If you don't know what a sea urchin is, there's a picture of one on the right. Now if you don't know about how to treat sea urchin pricks, don't pee on them. That's a rumor. What else do you need to do? Pick out the spines.

Our bus driver vanished and came back with some native men that had thorns from bushes about seven inches long, unripe papaya, and machetes. What were the machetes for? To cut the papaya. What were the papaya for? To pull out the spines like vinegar to a splinter. What were the thorns for? To open a wound so the men could pick out the spines.

I wish I took a picture of my foot, but it basically looked like black spots with purple rings around it, with some occasional blood.

These guys where here to pick those black things out. With the thorns. So they dug into my foot, they ripped it open with blunt thorns from bushes, and these little things were deep into my foot. Needless to say, I no longer fear getting a tattoo because this was the worst pain I ever experienced, so much so, I broke a papaya with my hand.

Tessa had the most spines, but my pain was the worst because it was literally on that tender middle part of my foot. Michael and Eric sang Backstreet Boys songs to me, Sahara pet my head, Lauren held my hand, but nothing helped. Even reciting poetry didn't, and I usually do that when I get shots.

I was crying with these two African strangers digging into my feet. They kept repeating "pole sana" which translates to something like "I'm sorry for your pain" or "I'm sorry for this experience" but I did not care at the moment. I needed some distractions.

"Sing? Can you sing for me?" I asked, thinking some local African music would calm me down.

And guess what this man began to sing. You guessed it. Jambo. Jambo Bwana. Full circle. I was so excited I knew the song! And the men both laughed and got a kick that this stupid white girl that stepped on a sea urchin knew the song. The time flew by quicker once we started singing, and those men and I bonded.

After everyone got their spines picked out, they ran to the beach and played. Tessa and I couldn't, but we enjoyed watching everyone. The men that helped us even played with everyone else, splashing water, jumping rope, and playing soccer.

It was a great bonding moment, but so incredibly painful. I don't think I will experience anything as unpleasant unless I birth a child.

It hurt for the rest of the tip and all the way until October, but the black spots eventually went away and now all that remains is a good story.

But subtle theme: wear water shoes.

Always wear water shoes.

Danielle