Across Africa

A man arrived at the border post of Kenya from a neighbouring country. He came riding a bicycle.Behind him was a sack laden with something.

The customs official on duty duly stopped him and asked him what it was that he was carrying on the sack. 'Sand.' The fellow informed him. 'Lets take a look,' said the officer and proceeded to empty the whole bag.

Sure enough the bag was full of sand but the officer was not convinced. He locked the fellow for the night as the sand sample was sent to Nairobi for a lab analysis. The next day, the answer came back. The sample they had presented was indeed sand! The fellow was let free.

The next day, the fellow appeared again with his bicycle and bag of sand. The officer did his drill and emptied the bag. Sand again! Evry day the fellow would arrive, and every day the officer would empty the bag and let off the guy after finding sand. 

Over time the officer retired. One day he was visiting Nairobi when he decided to enter a bar and cool off. There sitted on a corner sipping his beer was the bicycle fellow.  He approached him and asked him if he could remember him.

'Sure. The custom fellow ain't you? Sit down and have a beer on me.'

The ex officer sat down and asked, 'Tell me you were smuggling something weren't you?' 'Of course,' replied the fellow.

'It does't matter now, but tell me, What was it that you were smuggling?'

'Bicycles, the fellow intoned!

I have just arrived in Dar es salaam. I go to my favourite guest house and book my room. I pay 20000 Tshs which is enough for two nights, the minimum duration i can stay.

Tommorow involves some vigorous buying of the goods that i intend to resell in my home country of Kenya. I decide having a little fun is okay for the soul. Therefore i phone my friend Kim. He has been in Dar es salaam for much longer and knows the right joints. He works here.

Kim tells me that he will be in the bar downstairs in about an hour, enough time to take a much needed bath and relax a bit. I do that and reminiscence on the days happenings on my journey to. Not much to write home about. Three trucks lying in the bush; thats normal. Police escort for buses; Thats abnormal. Apparently there have been isolated hijackings of some passenger vehicles and the commisioner of police is unhappy about the escalating crime, and he doesn't want to take chances.

Am a bit worried though. If crime rates were to climb in Tanzania.....? I also noted today that the gentle citizens are mumbling and are unhappy with the way things are going. Just before we entered the bus park, while being held at the traffic lights, an incident happened that got me worried.

The windows of the bus were open, to stem out the heat that seemed to suffocate us. On the left side of the road was this cripple who sat on a dilapidated mat. He even looked blind to me. He was begging for coins. A few of them were visible inside his pitious bowl. Someone in our bus felt pity and threw him a meagre 500 Tshs note, but the wind swept it off track afew yards behind us. Some young man happened to pass by and saw the note that was meant for the old man. He knew it was supposed to be given to him, but he picked it up, put it in his pocket and removed a 100 Tshs coin from his pocket and approached the beggar and dropped the coin in his bowl. To our dismay, and within earshot, he told us that the f.......(unprintable words about the old man's mother) was well fed while the young man was hungry, and so the old geezer didn't need the money. We all felt like getting out and wringing the neck of the ***. I wished Zinedine Zindane was out there to give him a head butt.

The change in peoples attitude is so out of custom, but i think i know why. All over Dar, the streets are devoid of hawkers. Even the guy who used to vend ciggarettes outside of my guest house in a small kiosk is gone. His small kiosk long demolished.

Apparently, the authorities had agreed with the hawkers on a time frame when the streets of Dar would be rid of hawking. They left but nobody knows where to or what they eat. The streets might be cleaner but the consequences may change the whole view of Tanzania. I understand there were no street fights with the vendors, unlike my city of Nairobi where they are engaged in evryday running battles with the police, sometimes with losses of life.

But i had never seen a problem with the hawkers here. You see they had very good arrangements with the authorities and during weekends, one of the streets would be closed to traffic and anybody could sell whatever they wanted for the two days. It was my favourite market, since i got real good bargains on so many varieties of goods. Now i don't know where to get then.

After i had embarked from my bus, i took the speed taxi to town and just before i boarded, i experienced another brawl. This time it was a woman who was moving around selling earlings held in a nylon paperbag. The guys in green, One of them actually wrestled her hand to try and push her towards a truck they use to transport hawkers they have arrested. Some iddle mob was disgusted and shouted to the officer to let the woman go. One heavily built youth, on learning the officer would not relent, rushed and wrenched the hand of the woman free before the other askaris would come to the aid of the officer, and the woman ran away free. I felt terribly proud of the young man.

Kim's chrill phone call wakes me up from my reverie. I join him downstairs and find him in a group of three men and one girl, all Kenyans. We sip each a beer while doing some chitty chat in our native language, which is so offensive to the kiswahili speaking Tanzanians.

We decide to explore the town. We first head off to Concorde, where a one man guitar plays some favourite old English and swahili tunes. Its welcomingly cool inside here because of the air conditioner. Beer here is expensive at 1300 Tshs per bottle.

We decide to go to some place they call Jolly. We hike a cab and pay Tshs 2000 for the approximately 3 or 4 km journey.

We are greeted by the site of near half naked girls on the parking lot, all jostling for our attentions oblivious of the one lady who has accompanied us. This sure must be the devils abode, from the look of things. We get sitted and order some beer. No soon has it landed than a group of local girls come calling on our table. They are four in all and i decide they must be very good with numbers considering we are five men and one girl.

They request us to buy them water. Apparently, unlike our sisters in Kenya who will ask you to buy them a beer upfront, the Tanzans only request for water. Another thing. Unlike in Kenya where water in hotels is free, Water in TZ is bought over the counter and is not freely available in jugs at strategic points.

We oblige since it's not expensive anyway. Soon they ask what we would like from them in return and someone in our group jokingly asks them what is the going price. The parrot in them leans over and begins a staggering quotation of 40000 Tshs. He tells him he will think about it. One of us suggests that the only way to put them off would be to start talking in our language, which we diligently do. We hear them asking one another from what possible country we may have come from. Some of them suggest Zambia, Malawi, Comoros and even Kenya. We offer them the truth, that we are actually from Kenya, and they move away very fast and spread a word round that the group over there is from Kenya, effectively putting off any further advances. I learn later that they say Kenyans buy cheap. Which is all to well, knowing the times we live in and the possible consequences of that short escapade.

Iam soon innebriated and time seems to fly. I look at my watch and its midnight. The soft Rumba music, the unceasing talk about our experiences has worn the night thin. Iam also tired from the daylong travel and i tell my friends its time we left Jolly. We take a cab and they drop me back at my hotel. I hit the sack immediately, since tommorow will be a short day. Not with all the shopping i have to do.

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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