A Leaving Tanzania Playlist: Best of Infinite Zehbras

In the same way that my first post of this adventure was about music, so too will I end it in the same way. Music has been an inextricable part of my semester, which I mostly have Neil to thank, because he brought a speaker, like the wise, gap-year-taking elder he is. 

Over the course of the semester I’ve dumped every song I’ve heard for the first time, thought about, or listened to in a big playlist called “infinite zebras”, which I made during my first week in Tarangire, when I realized that I’d need to take some time alone with my headphones if I was going to have a good semester. 

I’ve always loved the way that music can be so defined by the context in which you first hear it or listen to it over and over again, by the people who introduce it to you or the people who sing along the loudest when you play it. I love the way that music’s role in our life can change, even over the course of a few months, and how songs associated with meaningful people or experiences can shapeshift over time until you hear it through a kaleidoscope of memories and loved ones. This semester has certainly changed lots of music for me in a way that is often hard to express, and in this post I hope to tell a few of these stories about the songs that have defined, and been defined by, this time.  

The music I listened to at the beginning of the semester is dominated by the use of music as an escape.  I spent more time than I ever have listening to music in a moving car that I wasn’t driving, that beautiful sweet spot of “this time is technically productive and necessary but I am doing nothing” that just begs for main-character music and staring out the window. 

As time went on, music became something deeply intertwined with my friendships here, music we all shared or listened to together while cooking or playing games. All we ever really wanted to do as a group was lay on the floor and listen to music loudly, and some of my sweetest memories are of this, splayed out on living room floors, beds, lounge chairs at the beach, passing a phone around, sharing the music that felt most right for the moment. 

I gained so much new music from these moments and from random links in my Whatsapp chats, from friends with similar but adjacent music tastes who were always happy to share music that reminded us of each other. Always, this group has used music as a way to share love. 

The most notable music of this semester falls into two categories. The first category is music that was new to me, introduced by one friend or another, songs that I heard and instantly catalogued such that they will always remind me of the person and the place where I was. 

The first is Houston by Jean Dawson, an artist that Ryan and Griffin love. I first heard this song sitting at a choma at Griffin’s house, tearing goat from the bone with my teeth, staring up at purple-brown Mt. Meru, knowing as soon as I heard it that it had that it factor I love in a song, a meaning-soaked chord progression, an unexpected structure, a hook I wanted to hear again and again. When I said I liked it, the boys told a long story about a Jean Dawson concert and introduced me to their own introductory Jean Dawson song, called Napster, which has quickly become one of my favorite finds from the semester. This artist will always remind me of the boys, the early days of our friendship, our long hike, the time spent drinking beer in Griffin’s front yard.

I haven’t cried much this semester, but one time it was pretty much just because of the song Speyside by Bon Iver, which I listened to on repeat in my bed in homestay, feeling ridiculously far from home and, weirdly enough, missing Chile with a fiery passion. This song will forever be linked to that room with its two twin beds and purple mosquito net, looking at pictures of a place far away while I was within a different one. Looking back at this moment now, I feel that that was a wee baby lying in that bed who had no idea what was to come, something I often feel about my past self and even in that moment was thinking about the person I was in Chile. I get it, though, those feelings I had, and the song is a part of this time forever.

One day, walking to the office from our accommodation, Ryan, Txuxa, and Olivia entered into a long discussion about the best Gigi Perez song, an artist I had never heard of. When they learned that, they decided to put their favorite songs head-to-head and make me decide. Ryan sat me down on the couch, put his over-ear headphones on my head, and started Sailor Song. Within moments I knew this was something special, and proceeded to not listen to a single other song for about a week straight. In the depths of my strep throat day, and on the long drive before that, all I wanted to do was listen to Gigi Perez and run around. I adore this song. It’s certainly got that it factor. And, obviously, it won the head-to-head. This song will always remind me of those three, the first time I heard it, sitting in the office in a bubble of sound surrounded by chaos, and game drives. 

Sitting at our local bar in Ngaramtoni, we somehow got onto the topic of our favorite Fleetwood Mac songs. Ava B., someone who I have adored from afar this semester, put on the song That’s Alright, a song I had never heard before and instantly fell in love with. I forgot about it until we were playing cards in Mazumbai and Neil put it on, reminding me that it is a stone-cold classic. This song sparked another intense session of listening on repeat, for the entire drive down the mountain from Mazumbai, the night after we all tried moonshine and got, for a variety of reasons, very nauseous on the drive. I’ll always associate this song with those lush green hills and my friend Ava, the most resilient among us, who embodies this song quite well, I think.

One thing Ryan and his music taste have instilled in me is the need to dig deeper into artists I kind of know, like Atta Boy, The Greeting Committee, and Ritt Momney. This last in particular has yielded many songs I adore, including Paper News, which I listened to during many, many game drives, and often played in the houses we all shared. I like the pace of this song, the way it builds and is insanely sing-able. This one will remind me of safari cars, our many accommodations, and my friendship with Ryan. 

These next two came into my life the same night, during one of our late listening sessions, this one in Ushongo. We were sitting in a perfect spot, lying down on comfortable chairs a few feet from the water, watching boats blink in the distance, trading songs that perfectly fit the moment. Ryan played both of these, I think, Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain and Figure in the Field by the Brazen Youth, two songs which are both odysseys with killer endings, some of my favorite kinds. I’ll always think of this night, flanked by friends sprawled on elevated surfaces, every time I play this song driving fast at home, or on other nights that look like that one. (A side note from the future: Sun Bleached Flies is the only song I listened to during the long night hiking to the summit of Kilimanjaro, and rather than having it ruined by that intensely unpleasant experience, the song is forever tinged by the view of the sun rising behind Kili’s other peak, and the sense of pride I hold close for having made it. A song with two Tanzania memories, forever). 

This same week in Ushongo I started making my recap video of the semester, a process that made me infinitely more nostalgic and sad to leave. The song I picked, Note To Self by Jim E-Stack, strikes just the right tone for the semester, and the video is a blast. I have perhaps listened to the song too many times to listen to it for fun many more times in my life, but I anticipate watching the video often, the highlights of these months whipping by with this soundtrack. I’m glad I found it. 

I’ve listened to a lot of Bon Iver this semester, and when we returned to Arusha and I started digging into my Independent Study Project, I went on a deep dive and found a fabulous album made in conjunction with the Eau Claire Memorial Jazz group. My favorite of the songs, a cover of Satisfied Mind, I listened to while cleaning a kitchen and making fries while watching a torrential rain shower thunder across the backyard. This song is one of those songs that I consider an “ideology” song, one which changes how you think about a topic and would make just as beautiful a poem. This song is also one that can’t be worn out, that has to be saved for moments like the one in which I first heard it, when the world seems to slow to allow for careful consideration. A special song, no doubt. (Another side note: I played a different song from this album while playing pond hockey at home in late December. My one native Wisconsin friend–and the best at hockey among us–skated over to me immediately and said “Eau Claire Memorial Jazz!!!!!”. It was cute. Go Wisconsin.)

As is clear at this point in the list, I am very quick to find a song I love and listen to it on repeat for a long time. Last year, I listened to my most-listened-to song 87 times, with most of those listens on a single drive from Halifax to Providence. This year, the song I listen to most will no doubt be this cover of the Spacey Jane song Booster Seat by the artist Asha Jeffries. Neil introduced me to Booster Seat during one of our late-night song rounds in Ushongo, and I thought it had something special but it hadn’t quite grabbed me. This cover is perfect, with an incredible build and melancholy undertone. I listened to it, without exaggeration, for three straight days, for about eight hours a day, while I finished writing my Independent Study Project. I found it perfect for this purpose, mostly understated with a build that got me hype enough to keep going before fading back out. I adore this song.

The second category is songs that I already knew, but have been irreversibly shaped by a moment, or moments, in which I heard them here. Sometimes a song that meant one thing can switch completely, or something so outrageous can happen while listening that it will never be tied to anything else. 

The first is Jersey Giant by Evan Honer and Julia DiGrazia, a song that has been played during nearly every group cooking excursion or card game. It’s one of those songs that gets everyone singing along, a song you can’t help not singing when you hear it. The first time I knew this song would be shaped by this place, though, was the same day I heard Jean Dawson for the first time, sitting at the choma with the boys. This song will always make me think of Meru, but mostly singing in the kitchen and sharing big laughs. 

Feathered Indians by Tyler Childers falls into this category, too, one that was often played while we sat on a stoop waiting for friends or shared a cocktail in the backyard. Another sing-a-long, for sure, one which will also always remind me of when I first heard it, in a basement in Cambridge with Otis, my friend Sophie, and their friend Charlie during my gap year, but now these memories have filtered in, too. A song I suspect will have a long half-life in my life, a tapestry of experiences coloring how I hear it. And boy, do I love to hear this song. 

The next two fall into the same category of “no specific memory but they’ll still always remind me of this place”. The first is The Weekend-Funk Wav remix, which played at every pre-game, during every moment we put on glitter or got ready to leave the house. Try not to dance while listening to this song, it’s impossible. The second is Fallingwater by Maggie Rogers. I listened to an inordinate amount of Maggie Rogers this summer, and thought it was impossible that her music would ever remind me of anything else besides the island, but this song has a new set of memories attached to it now. Another song that played in lots of settings, around the dinner table, over cards, in safari cars. Another song that’ll always remind me of this crew.

Our first day in Zanzibar, giddy with the excitement of being in a new place, Neil, Olivia, and I held an impromptu dance party in our room’s beautiful blue bathroom overlooking rooftops and palm trees, the light blue water at the edge of the city. We watched a rainstorm roll in and we danced, speaker sounds echoing around the tiled bathroom. I had a song in my head I wanted to play so badly, and knew only that Eleanor likes it and that it has a French name. After some frantic scrolling I found it, and it was perfect. It was a sweet moment among many sweet moments that week, and this song, Nous étions deux by La Femme, will always make me smile as a result.

The next song has two very distinct memories associated with it, from a week in which I (surprise!) listened to nothing else. The first time I was reintroduced to this song, Hold My Liquor by Kanye West, was the first night we lay on the floor listening to music, and I had completely forgotten what magic it has. Later that week, just Neil, Ryan, and I went to The Hub, cramming onto a motorcycle and dancing our hearts out. A night that Ryan and I made enemies and Neil was off in his own universe, a night with lots of side conversations in the bathroom and choma eaten in the rain. At the end of the night Ryan wanted to run home, and Neil and I obliged him. I immediately felt anxious and responsible for the decision, and after Neil and I pikipiki-ed home, I struggled to relax until Ryan got back. He was fine, and returned back maybe forty-five minutes later, but even when he did it took a while for me to cool down, and to do so I listened to this song for about an hour straight, laying coffin-straight in bed, spiraling out about nothing? Everything? A pretty good song for that. The next day we left to go bush pig hunting, a weird adventure that was a bit of a bust. We rented a daladala to get there, and had a long, winding journey on bad roads, during which time we got lost for a long while after dark. Hungry and grumpy, I locked in again to this song, watching the sun go down and journaling about everything that had felt hard being surrounded by fifteen people and only fifteen people for two months. I’ll always recall that night after The Hub, the daladala ride, and the floor-laying when I hear this song. 

Supercut by Lorde is a ridiculously good song, and one that has a tendency to get stuck in the heads of everyone in a group if one person starts humming it. When Sam, Ryan and I were sharing a bungalow, one of us was basically always humming it and wanting to listen to it, so usually while someone showered they played it and we all benefited. We listened to it a lot that week, and my favorite moment was when Ryan was on aux while Sam and I sat off to the side of our neighborhood bar and chatted as the boys played pool. He put it on and we both cheered, and I thought, “surely this is how I’ll remember being 21: too-sweet mojitos, a lot of talking into the night, and the song Supercut, right?”. I adore this song, and I adore Sam, who really adores this song. I vow to listen to more Lorde. 

Last but not least, one of our last nights in Ushongo when we cooked for John and Happy, with Ryan on aux, he played the song Hands Down by The Greeting Committee. This song, too, is one you can’t help but dance along to when you hear it. This moment wasn’t necessarily ripe for dancing– it was late, we had been cooking for a long time and we were all vaguely stressed and hot after a long day of work and trash-sorting. Around me there was chaos, Dee the cat underfoot, frying chicken on the ground, friends rolling out tortillas on the counter and trying not to eat each other. But when this song came on, despite all of it, we danced. If there’s one thing we did this semester, we danced. 

Best of infinite zehbras (on Spotify): 

Houston- Jean Dawson

Napster- Jean Dawson

Speyside- Bon Iver

Sailor Song- Gigi Perez

That’s Alright- Fleetwood Mac

Paper News- Ritt Momney

Sun Bleached Flies- Ethel Cain

Figure in the Field- the Brazen Youth

Note to Self- Jim E-Stack

Satisfied Mind- Bon Iver, Eau Claire Memorial Jazz 

Booster Seat- Asha Jeffries

Jersey Giant- Evan Honer, Julia DiGrazia

Feathered Indians- Tyler Childers

The Weekend- Funk Wav remix 

Fallingwater- Maggie Rogers

Nous Etions Deux- La Femme

Hold My Liquor- Kanye West

Super Cut- Lorde

Hands Down- The Greeting Committee