Administrator's Note: This was originally a post in the Tanzania forum from kimosabi which I copied here to kimosabi's blog as it is a good post for a blog.
-Ron
I leave Nyeri town in Kenya where i reside early wednesday morning, My intention being to stay overnight in Arusha Tanzania. The 400 kms plus journey began in what are now commonly called Nissan shuttles,Semi luxurious omni buses that accomodate only 10 passengers.
I am asleep for most of the150km journey to Nairobi the capital city of Kenya. Now that vehicles in Kenya travel at a maximum speed of 80kms Many of the passengers can afford to take a wink or two. Two and a quarter hours later we are in the city and i take my lunch.
I board another shuttle to the border town of Namanga. The fare is 300kshs. We Leave at 2pm and head west towards the Athi plains. soon we leave behind Kajiado town and are headed for the small town of Bisra. Many of the passengers who are not used to seing wildlife stay awake to catch site of the variety of animals grazing gracefully on the plains of Kajiado. But one or two maasais on board snore all through. I have fond memories of Bisra town since when there was a severe drought last year, i used to see scores of Ostriches roaming the town wresttling cabbages out of the hands of traders. But now they are no more. They have returned to their natural habitat.
We hit the border town of Namanga at 5.30pm. I embark and head to the immigration desk for stamping of my passport on both sides of the border. Hordes of illegal money changers pester me to let them change my money into Tanzanian currency but i resist them and head towards the speed taxis of Tanzania. I have my own plans of changing currency since the black marketeers are known to give people fake currency.
The speed taxi, with a maximum carrying capacity of 7 passengers, finally leaves at 6.30pm for the 100km journey to Arusha. Darkness soon envelops us and occasionally i see through the headlight beams of our car a dikdik here, a rabbit there and sometimes the tall legs of the reticulated girraffe. We are in the middle of a game park and the vehicles passing through haveto have good headlights and the driver an even better eyesight else you may find youselfs passing under the belly of an elephant. W e also encounter shukaclad Maasais going to God knows where in the middle of the park.
The breath of fresh mountain air and some distant lights tell me that we are nearing Arusha, the quiet serene town on the slopes of mt. Meru. I get out of the vehicle and ignore pleas by some taxi drivers' to woo me into their vehicles. I majestically walk to my favourite hotel, Arusha By Night knowing only too well that Tanzania is a relatively crime free country. In my pockets are 2500000 Tshs. One dollar is equal to 1330 Tshs according to the current exchange rate.
I book a room for Tshs.12000. This is a selfcontained affair with a tv set hot shower and breakfast. I drop downstairs and take my supper within the hotel. The only thing you have to remember is to say 'naomba' ( i beg) before you ask for anything, and they are very particular about it and will feel offended if you begin your sentences otherwise. And so after supper i 'omba bia mbili za tusker' (beg for 2 tusker beers though am paying for them). Tusker and pilsner brands, my favourite in Kenya are found in TZ, as Tanzania is fondly reffered.
I take a hot shower before hitting the sack and make sure that i have set my mobile phone alarm to wake me up at 4.45am. 4.45 0n the dot and am woken by the shrill alarm that is my phone. I take another hot shower and am off the gate, doing without my breakfast since they dont prepare early.
I head off towards the booking offices of Dar Express Bus company, my favourite, without a worry in the world. I pay the fare of 16000 Tshs for the luxury bus, 4000 Tshs above what normal buses charge.
We depart exactly as scheduled, 5.15 am. Buses here depart on time and there are traffic cops along the way to see to it. Occasionally they will stop the bus and you will hear them say,' naomba nione cheti chako cha usafiri' ( I beg to see your buses' timetable) . Even the cops here are courteous and must 'beg to arrest you' if you are on the wrong side of the law.
Towards dawn we can see from a distant Kilimanjaro international airport. We head south to the town of Moshi, on the footsteps of the famous mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. We pass Moshi without a stop. The beautiful steward in a smart red uniform switches the onboard PA and tells us that her name is Fatma, and the driver's name is Mr. Joseph. That our journey from Arusha to Dar es salaam via korogwe is expected to take 6 hours, with a 15 minute stopover at Mombo for refreshments and those who want to use the loos. She then passes around bottles of mineral water, sodas and sweets which are on the house. She then switches the onboard dvd for entertainment with Nigerian movies, occasionary intertwined by gospel music.
Soon we are at Njia panda where every vehicle above 5 tons tare weight has got to go through a weighbridge. This is to make sure vehicles are not overloaded. Many drivers do not overload in Tanzania since doing so will result in the extra luggage being offloaded and spending precious time runiing round trying to pay the impossed fines. This can only be done in Moshi, 60 kms away. No wonder roads in Tz are pothole free.
We head for the Savanna along a range of mountains that strectch as far as the eye can see towards Mombo and Lushoto. The mountains are a site to behold and evry now and then we see shiny ironsheets perched high up the slopes of the ranges, signifying an Ujamaa village. I can't help but to wonder how they ever got to take those sheets there. I don't undersstand why they cant build on the plains below, full of sisal plantations. But then there are many things i dont understand about Tanzanians. Like why though there are more than a hundred tribes, all Tanzanians speak in swahil;i and feel offended when we Kenyans sapeak our different dialects; like why they only start learning English when they get to secondary school (Remember the saying you cannot teach an old dog new tricks? Most university fellows here can only speak a smuttering of English and the others move away if you do).
We arrive at Mombo and as scheduled we take the 15 minute break and are soon on our way towards Segera, a small town on the junction of Tanga/moshi/Chalinze. The town is famed for the juicy oranges sold here. They are now in season and m,any passengers are only too willing to purchase at a 1000 Tshs for a bag containing more than 50 of them.
We continue downwards heading towards Chalinze 180 kms away. The road is smooth and not much traffic and you can sometimes see why the driver is getting the urge to push the pedal down, the speedo needle sometimes hitting 120 kph. Its up and down through fields of corn that has been harvested. But you can see and smell the poverty that hounds these peasant farmers. Their houses are a poor eyesore of mud walls, grass thatched roofs and grass thatched doors. But in the middle of the poverty they are still proud of the ruling party CCM that has continued to dog their lives since independence. You know that by seing the numerous green tattered flags that are the symbol of the party.
We are nearing river Wami when we encounter a big traffic jam. As far as the eye can see traffic is not moving either way. Something must be wrong down there. the que must be more than 3kms. our side. Like evrybody else i get out to have some fresh air and await the traffic to unclog. Some people decide to walk ahead and see whats wrong though the heat is too much, like above 30 degrees celtius. Reluctantly i follow the crowd from a distance and come to the edge of the valley. On the opposite side of the river i can see some commotion but its still far enough for the naked eye to fathom. I decide i wont go further and sit by the shade of a tree. Am joined by a mzungu family who have been curious enough to also leave their vehicles and take a peek. Fortunately they have binoculars and they each take aturn to peer. I edge near them and enquire inb perfect english what is wrong on the other side. They take a look of surprise knowing how rare it is to hear someone speak english in Tz. They invite me to take a look in the bino and all i can see is what looks like a huge truck cutting across the road. aatherre are many people jostling there and you cant really make out what is wrong.
I return the binos and resign to fate. A group of hungry emaciated children come near us from a house across the road. They are seven in number and they all look like they are from the asme mother and father. Their noses arefilled with mucus. The eldest must be ten or eleven. If you lined them staight, they wouldn't make a very steep gradient. They say some 'habari' to the mzungus, whom i have come to l;earn are German, and the mzungus murmur some 'jambo'. The one i assume is the wife reaches for her carrybag and comes out with some bisquits qnd a bottle of water and hands them to the kids who run off excitedly to dissapear behind the grss thatched door. Moments later they are out and you can see tears on the faces of the young ones. They must have missed the goodies. The people around are touched and those whose vehicles are near reach out and come with whatever goodies they can and so the kids faces brighten ever more. They must be wishing chrismas comes as often.
Slowly the vehicles begin to move and i go back looking for my bus. I enter and we edge slowly until we cross the narrow one vehicle only bridge of river Wami. We climb slowly over the bumps laid on the winding hill until we come to the place that must be the cause of all this. At first i see nothing except a white woman squatting on the ground with her hands on her cheeks. It is then i look under the wheels of the monster trailer that i see what must have been a Landrover completely smashed against a shoulder bolder by the rear tyres of the trailer. I take a better look and see two white bodies being loaded into an ambulance. Another young white woman lies down in a shade being administered first aid. What a horrific scene. This is not the first time i have come across a truck that has backrolled down the hill and it sets me wondering whether whoever was responsible did the right thing in electing speed bumps across the road. They are only effective for the vehicles going downhill but are a disaster for the upward bound vehicles since they end up slowing them effectively making them loose the much needed power to tackle the hill.
Amidst this scene of death, i see little boys with buckets under the truck harvesting the now leaking fuel oblivious of the dangers. It gets me thinking about a similar incident in a small town in Kenya called Banana hill some years back. A petrol tanker had backrolled and ended resting in a ditch emptying its fuel cargo. Fortunately the driver who was alone was unhurt. Villagers soon converged with any container they could find and soon there was a free for all. The driver warned them of the grave dangers but some were heard to tell the others to ignore the driver since he may have been injured upstairs (head). They advised him to leave them alone and instead seek medical attention. Soon it became dark and two enterprising fellows decide to steal the battery. One went under the truck with spanners to try to loosen the terminals. He was finding it difficult doing so in the dark and his colleague decide to make light for him so he could see better. Without a thought, he struck a matchstick and the ball of fire that followed claimed eight lives including the two.
We pass the gorry sight and it sets me thinking; are fate and destiny relative? I remember the woman with her hands on her cheeks. Alone with nobody to hold her shoulder. Is it because the Tanzanians around her dont know a word of english to comfort her? Was she one of the lucky victims or was she a relative, colleague, or friend. The people on that ill fated landrover had most probably planned their journey. They must have left on time. Drove at the right speed. To meet with the backrolling truck at the exact spot. The driver must have seen the truck rolling back and must have decided to swerve the vehicle to avoid the oncoming monster. But the monster driver must have wrestled his truck to the right direction, for the victims to meet with fate. These things i dont understand. I say a slilent prayer to my God, for i have travelled this same route many times before, in the hands of drivers i hardly know, whether they are even qualified, and i have come out unscathed.
My reverie is disturbed by the sight of palmtrees, and i realise we have reached Mlandizi, the coastal belt that we will go through till we reach Dar, as Dar es salaam is called here.
We come to a stop at Ubungo bus terminus, exactly 7 hours since we left Arusha. We are late because of the accident i presume. From here we must take a daladala (matatu) to town, some 10kms away. For buses are not allowed in the central business district.
I am tired by the time i get to my hotel room. My hotel's name is Manyangwe and i pay 15000Tshs for the same comfort as i had in the Arusha hotel. I take a shower before having a siesta. I wake up just before sunset and since the veranda of my room faces the west, i enjoy the golden sun as it sets in beautiful Tanzania.
I peer down at a kiosk vending ciggarettes and read in hand written bold letters the following note pinned there, 'kwa sababu ambazo mimi sijui, bei ya sigara sasa ni Tshs 60'.(for reasons which i do not know, the price of cigarrettes is now Tshs 60). It must have been there since the last country budget was read in June. How i hope those concerned will one day tell the illiterate peasants why they increase prices in a langauge they will understand.
Night falls and i dissappear into the night loolking for a good meal. How i wish my city of Nairobi would be asd crime free as good Dar.
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