This has been my most recent adventure, and undoubtedly one that will never fade. I made a trip to the Udzungwa Mountains National Park in Mang'ula, Tanzania. I had read about it in a travel book- an overlooked, under-visited tropical rainforest in the heart of southeastern Africa... I had to go. The timing was perfect- my travel mates had decided it was a good idea to separate for a week or so to spend time alone before our transition to travel India. I wasn't partial to either decision, but made my plans with enthusiasm... that's the only way.
I decided to first stop in Mikumi, a town about 300 km from Dar es Salaam which is easily reached within a day. I planned on taking a bus to Morogoro and then grabbing, yes, the infamous daladala to Mikumi town. My reason for this stop over was big game viewing and safari- there's no way that a kid who grew up on the milk of National Geographic and the whispered voice of David Attenborough could, as an adult, visit Africa and not see its wildlife! All of my travellers had done it before, spent a lot of money, and had no interest in doing it again. I went on my own.
The daladala to Mikumi was a highlight- the road passes straight through the heart of this central National Park- and all of its delays, breakdowns, arguments, and backfires put us in the park at the perfect time... dusk. Animals were out eating, grazing, running, and staring our minibus down as we "flew" by at 30 km/hour. I saw everything I could have imagined, from the $3 seat of my broken taxi- elephants with their babies, giraffes with their heads in the trees, baboons, impala dancing in between scrub and grass, gazelle. I was the only one with my face plastered against the splintering plexiglass window- loving every sight! I had not had quite this extensive of a wildlife viewing experience since I made it to this place- the train was beautiful, but biodiverse-less compared to this! Unfortunately, I've learned that the only place to see these animals anymore is in the parks- everywhere else, they have been hunted out. Maybe that's why it's so expensive to visit game reserves and parks here... definitely a bone I'll pick in another posting!
So I arrived at Mikumi town at night- not a huge deal since it's small, quiet and I made my way straight over to a guest house. The owner's name was Mpongi- short, stout, and extremely welcoming. My room was 3,000 shillings ~ $2.50. I threw my stuff in, locked my door, and went and found some straight up Tanzanian bucket food. When i went back, I took a bucket shower... everything seems to come out of buckets here. I had a small bucket, my African fabric towel, and some soap... bathing with a bucket, a small cup, and no lights- perfectly African!
My plan was to wake up at 4:45 and hike myself down the street to a proper hotel, hoping to meet up with early riser tourists and join their Land Rover for a half-day safari. I was looking to pay about $50, which is probably the cheapest you could ever get away with paying for safari here. Just to enter the park with Kilimanjaro costs $600... yeah, that's the bone I have to pick. So getting away with $50 was my ideal. I rolled into the Genesis motel around 5:45 and started throwing out all my Swahili I could muster- most got lost in translation. It's like some foreigner showing up, saying "I look for car-safari- Mikumi. I want others... me, no. Many people, yes. Me, money big! Others, money small. You know if car-to go-today- morning-Mikumi-safari??" Ridiculous- then throw some of my half-assed sign language motions and you've got the right idea. Needless to say, I was lucky to find someone who spoke English. Unfortunately, it didn't work out like I was hoping. He called a few personal friends, since no one from the lodge was going, to see if they'd take me myself. I offered up to $80. A friend showed up alright... in a stationwagon... with no clearance... bald tires... tinted windows.... and absolutely no experience in the park- and it was raining... hard. Just for kicks, I asked if it had 4-wheel drive. It didn't... naturally. My only other option was a half-day solo ride in the hotel's Land Rover for $150. I didn't even bring that much money, and I still had 5 more days and a trip to the mountains! So I declined, went to the local market, got my fill of Uji, and jumped on the next daladala to Mang'ula.
Something happened on that daladala ride that's worth mentioning quickly... which doesn't seem possible with the length of my descriptions, but i'll try my best. I was crammed beyond belief into this minibus- but somehow I managed a seat to myself. I had my huge backpack on my lap right next to the window, anticipating a decent ride to Mang'ula 60 km away. Just when I thought we had reached true daladala carrying capacity, an old woman with her baby shuffled in and stood right next to me. Elderly respect and politeness took over and I offered my seat to the woman, without a thank you... naturally. Politeness often is the first to be squeezed out of the daladala. Anyways, I'm fine. I'm standing there, my face in about 3 different armpits- waiting for my stop. I look down and make faces with the baby, who gets a charge out of the random Mzungu (white person) that must have accidently gotten on board. I had 3 bananas for lunch that I was holding onto. So here's the perfect scenario. The baby gets restless, and the grandma has to readjust. In Africa, the closest person to a baby is automatically chosen to help whatever needs to happen- so there I am, standing, holding this baby by its armpits, and I watch my bananas fall to the ground. I give the baby back and someone in front hands me back my fruit... but only 2 remain- someone has stolen a banana, while I was holding a baby. I only laugh- appreciating the fact that the only thing stolen was an 8 cent banana.
SO- I finally arrive in Mang'ula, and I both realize why I have come and fail to understand how this African park is not overflowing with visitors. It is the most beautiful place I have seen so far on this trip- steep, green, misty tropical mountains stretching past the horizon to my left, right, and center. I walk into the office to setup my hike for the next day- I read in the book that I needed to take a guide/ranger because of the animals. I wanted to get that setup early so I could buy my camping food, find a guest house, and be well rested for my hike the following day. Once again, in Africa, things did not go as planned. There are only a few trails available in this side of the park- all require a ranger- and nothing is cheap. Park Entrance Fee- $20/24 hours. Guide Fee- $10/24 hours. Camping Fee- $30/night. Transportation to trailhead- $10. Now this through me off- especially since I wanted to do a 2-night trip into the park and summit the second highest peak, Mwanihana. This 2 night-trip, where I carry all my own stuff, buy all my own food, and sleep in my own tent in the woods- would have cost me $160. I was shocked, and completely deflated. I told them I hadn't even brought enough money! I begged, pleaded, got angry, and gave the silent treatment for about an hour. Finally- I figured out a plan which they agreed to... a 2 day, 1 night stay- leaving early in the morning so we could do a day hike from the camp in the afternoon. I still had to pay for 2 days of guiding and entrance fee, since I wouldn't be back to headquarters within 24 hours. I said, "This park is supposed to be for the land, the people- access and exposure to Africa's natural history. It should not be about the money." They looked uncomfortable. But I bargained down to $90 and showed up the next morning at 7 am.
The Udzungwa Mountains National Park is listed as a WWF World Biodiversity Hotspot. They have wood elephants, buffalo, leopards, snakes, 70 species of spider, and 3 species of monkeys endimic to these forests... I was in heaven. Within an hour, I had seen the 3 types of monkeys- running, chirping, singing and jumping from limb to limb above my head. I was captured completely- through and through- I felt these mountains in my bones, these trees in my skin. It was so rich, green- alive with more energy than I had ever witnessed. Butterflies, grasshoppers, centipedes, millipedes, spiders... things I have never believed to be of much importance- seemed royal. I stopped frequently, smiling, saying "I can't believe i'm here- i'm actually here." Our camp was nothing special- just the way I liked it. We setup camp, had some mangos for lunch, and my guide Dadi did me a huge favor, and took me half-way up to the Mwanihana trail. Guides are usually not allowed to do this- the park banks on the visitors to stay the extra night an pay the fees. But we got there early, we enjoyed each other's company, and he knew how badly I wanted to spend as much time as possible hiking these hills.
When we had climbed another few miles we reached a patch of grassland that afforded us unrestricted views of the Udzungwa Mountains- 100% pure. Rolling tropical rainforest in every direction, more shades of green than my eyes had ever seen, soft misty clouds drifting from draw to peak. Behind me, the unmistable song of hornbills pierced the moisture-ladden African air as they flew in pairs across a backdrop of grey an green. If a Garden of Eden exists, I can only imagine it looks like this. What a special place, what a treasure on this earth.
I will return, I know of it- Nitarudi apa, ninajua. I can only imagine what other places these feet of mine will travel now that I know places like Udzungwa still exist.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
GLUTEN FREE IN SWAHILI... NGANO HAKUNA!
If anybody who reads this has not heard me say, "Gluten Free is the life for me"- it's high time we spend some more time together. This has become a life slogan, a mantra for health and happiness, my own Hail Mary- if I slip, intentionally or unaware, I am anything but Full of Grace... gas, bloating and diahrrea quickly take its place! Eating is something most take for granted- we have taken a physical necessity, a requirement for life- and turned it into something perfunctory and easy. Especially in the developed world, where grocery stores provide anything, and in mass quantities. Restaurants litter the streets and we become picky with which ones to enter. Don't get me wrong, the convenience and variety available to most people is a blessing of western culture- especially in Boulder and Berkeley, my two hubs of adulthood. Organics, internationals, non-GMOs, fine dining... it's a luxury I have supported and loved. But recognizing this privilege, understanding its place in my life, it's lack of place in most others, and the significance it will have in my future is a seed just breaking my soil's surface, of which I continue to till.
This does not even touch on the idea of ALLERGY! Access is hard enough, but allergy! I can't imagine a life allergic to rice in a place like this- it's everything and everywhere. I never thought myself necessarily "lucky" with the amount of intolerances to food I deal with- but here, I eat like a king... because rice is king- a true kingdom for the gluten free!
STREET FOOD
Just like the hitching debt I owe to my travel crew, they have introduced me to one of the cheapest, sketchiest, and most enjoyable ways to eat in East Africa. And I owe them much more than the money I have saved eating the way we do. We eat in markets and on the side of the road, at trainstations and on the beach. Our food varies very little, but there's always a few questions we ask... in part to make a choice and also to spit out random words and fragments of the kiiswahili we know- and the people, for the most part, love it. We eat "bucket food", so you can imagine the setup:
Usually a group of women, either lined up on the street or with their own little tabletops and thatched roof huts, cooking on charcoal fires in metal pots that probably are older than the women themselves. They make do, and well I might add... screw spending $400 on a calphalon set, I want dinghy, broke-ass aluminum hand-me downs! We walk in and start with "Salaam-a mama, unapika gani?" (Peace mama, what are you cooking) Then they will always fire back, "Karibu! Wali, ugali, mboga, maharage, nyama..." (Welcome! Rice, maize mash, veggies, beans, meat) Our choices then, usually, are between rice and maize mash, and what kind of meat... if there's a choice. Fish and "random" are usually the options. We say what we want, spit out a few more half-phrases which usually make them laugh, and sit down to a meal that costs about 45 cents!
We eat out of rusting bowls and off of communal spoons that get a quick dunk in water (definitely not Evian), and if you get ugali, you get to use your hands... personally, I eat whatever comes with spoons. I can rattle off about 6 different diseases I could easily see in between my grains of rice and kidney beans... Anyone who knows me well, understands this is a far far place outside my previous comfort zone- an evolution, if you will- I have shedded that which does not work, and picked up the necessary adaptions to life on this continent. I barely shared drinks back home- now i'm passing around the pili-pili like it's my job (little hot peppers that everyone shares and squeezes seeds and juice onto their food... third-world Tabasco)! The best part is, I love it- absolutely. It's one of my favorite parts of the day- making my way to the markets and hanging out with the mamas who feed me well. I like to support these entrepeneurs- they are doing something simple but necessary, and in a very special way, provide an insight into daily African culture.
It's not like food in the restaurants is that expensive- you can get a big plate of chicken and rice or fries for about $3.50. I was a little more inclined to do this when I first arrived. I imagined industrial dishwashers, disinfectant and cleanliness in these kitchens- I've worked the restaurants, I have expectations! But my friends quickly explained that cleanliness is in the eye of the beholder- and not in the back of these restaurants. They clean their dishware the same as these women... so why not go to the markets, immerse completely, save money, and let the hesistant white tourists take our spots in restaurants, freeing up a space for me with Mama Jenipha? The laughs I have had and the swahili I have learned place the market high on my "Things You Are Told Not to Do But Must Do Anyways" list.
Here's a list of things I have eaten, so far:
Mozambique- Sting ray, intestines- I think goat but not sure, entire fish
Tanzania- Beef, chicken, goat, fish, stewed bananas
Needless to say, this all comes with rice, beans and veggies- usually a mix of potatos, tomatos, peppers, and leafy greens. It all comes with a "soup"- a tomato-based broth. I can honestly say I have never eaten more beans and rice in my life- it is a blessing that toilet paper in this country costs 25 cents per roll.
UJI
Now this little Tanzanian gem deserves its own section in this litany of gluttonous (not glutenous) adventures. A staple in my diet here- I go to bed just so I can wake up and eat Uji. It is a porridge, made from pounded millet, water and sugar. I'm not sure what kind of millet they use, but it's red in color and has that characteristic nutty sweetness that so many live without tasting... millet and other great grains have been pushed aside by wheat and corn. But it's popular here- i'm not sure how I found out it was millet... that wasn't my first vocabulary word. But we worked through it and I am a better man for the effort. It's not available everywhere, but when you find it you won't be disappointed! It's hot, sweet, and filling- ladled into a cup (kikombe) for you to sit, sip and enjoy. It's not spiced, just sweetened- millet and sugar. If you're lucky, you find someone with a little butter... I had two cups this morning. Once again, you are drinking out of a plastic cup with teeth marks on the rims, probably from the family who once owned them in a foreign country- donated to the third world for tax write-offs and a sense of "contribution". But these people use the shit out of them- they will not give them away... why should they? They still work. They make them money. They still have use.
The other advantage to uji is that it's scalding hot- you cannot suck a cup down, pay your balance and walk away from the cockroaches in 2 minutes. It forces you to sit with others, and often encourages hilarious and valuable conversation. I've met great people while sipping uji- businessmen, housewives, chicken sellers, car washers, masai tribesmen, disabled... the marketplace is a social hub... our "country club" but with free access and absolutely zero health standards! It's a special place.
NIGHT FOOD
I've noticed this mostly in Dar es Salaam, the capital of Tanzania- people eat late... very late. There are street vendors open until midnight, selling anything from meat kababs and grilled bananas to "Zanzibar Mix"- some combination of about 12 different things that look like veggies, matzo and uncooked scrambled eggs... they won't tell you what's in it... kyle loves it... I go for the grilled bananas. But everyone is out- families, guards, singles... it's a late night culture. I have to wonder if it's an Indian influence, which is very large here. Many Indian families call Dar their home, and they bring amazing culture to this port of peace (Dar-es-Salaam means Harbor of Peace). I especially like the guys who walk around carrying their portable pot of chai masala- spicy hot tea that tastes of mulling spices and sugar... a cup is around 2 cents. If you're lucky, you'll happen upon a Tangawizi vendor- ginger. They brew water, ginger and sugar- I could drink about 5 cups... which really only amounts to about 10 cents- but I hold off, not letting the American glutton come out and chug straight from the kettle... people just don't indulge like we do back home over here- whether it's culture, money, or smaller stomachs, I can't be sure. But I do appreciate the difference, and have found I like the outcome.
This does not even touch on the idea of ALLERGY! Access is hard enough, but allergy! I can't imagine a life allergic to rice in a place like this- it's everything and everywhere. I never thought myself necessarily "lucky" with the amount of intolerances to food I deal with- but here, I eat like a king... because rice is king- a true kingdom for the gluten free!
STREET FOOD
Just like the hitching debt I owe to my travel crew, they have introduced me to one of the cheapest, sketchiest, and most enjoyable ways to eat in East Africa. And I owe them much more than the money I have saved eating the way we do. We eat in markets and on the side of the road, at trainstations and on the beach. Our food varies very little, but there's always a few questions we ask... in part to make a choice and also to spit out random words and fragments of the kiiswahili we know- and the people, for the most part, love it. We eat "bucket food", so you can imagine the setup:
Usually a group of women, either lined up on the street or with their own little tabletops and thatched roof huts, cooking on charcoal fires in metal pots that probably are older than the women themselves. They make do, and well I might add... screw spending $400 on a calphalon set, I want dinghy, broke-ass aluminum hand-me downs! We walk in and start with "Salaam-a mama, unapika gani?" (Peace mama, what are you cooking) Then they will always fire back, "Karibu! Wali, ugali, mboga, maharage, nyama..." (Welcome! Rice, maize mash, veggies, beans, meat) Our choices then, usually, are between rice and maize mash, and what kind of meat... if there's a choice. Fish and "random" are usually the options. We say what we want, spit out a few more half-phrases which usually make them laugh, and sit down to a meal that costs about 45 cents!
We eat out of rusting bowls and off of communal spoons that get a quick dunk in water (definitely not Evian), and if you get ugali, you get to use your hands... personally, I eat whatever comes with spoons. I can rattle off about 6 different diseases I could easily see in between my grains of rice and kidney beans... Anyone who knows me well, understands this is a far far place outside my previous comfort zone- an evolution, if you will- I have shedded that which does not work, and picked up the necessary adaptions to life on this continent. I barely shared drinks back home- now i'm passing around the pili-pili like it's my job (little hot peppers that everyone shares and squeezes seeds and juice onto their food... third-world Tabasco)! The best part is, I love it- absolutely. It's one of my favorite parts of the day- making my way to the markets and hanging out with the mamas who feed me well. I like to support these entrepeneurs- they are doing something simple but necessary, and in a very special way, provide an insight into daily African culture.
It's not like food in the restaurants is that expensive- you can get a big plate of chicken and rice or fries for about $3.50. I was a little more inclined to do this when I first arrived. I imagined industrial dishwashers, disinfectant and cleanliness in these kitchens- I've worked the restaurants, I have expectations! But my friends quickly explained that cleanliness is in the eye of the beholder- and not in the back of these restaurants. They clean their dishware the same as these women... so why not go to the markets, immerse completely, save money, and let the hesistant white tourists take our spots in restaurants, freeing up a space for me with Mama Jenipha? The laughs I have had and the swahili I have learned place the market high on my "Things You Are Told Not to Do But Must Do Anyways" list.
Here's a list of things I have eaten, so far:
Mozambique- Sting ray, intestines- I think goat but not sure, entire fish
Tanzania- Beef, chicken, goat, fish, stewed bananas
Needless to say, this all comes with rice, beans and veggies- usually a mix of potatos, tomatos, peppers, and leafy greens. It all comes with a "soup"- a tomato-based broth. I can honestly say I have never eaten more beans and rice in my life- it is a blessing that toilet paper in this country costs 25 cents per roll.
UJI
Now this little Tanzanian gem deserves its own section in this litany of gluttonous (not glutenous) adventures. A staple in my diet here- I go to bed just so I can wake up and eat Uji. It is a porridge, made from pounded millet, water and sugar. I'm not sure what kind of millet they use, but it's red in color and has that characteristic nutty sweetness that so many live without tasting... millet and other great grains have been pushed aside by wheat and corn. But it's popular here- i'm not sure how I found out it was millet... that wasn't my first vocabulary word. But we worked through it and I am a better man for the effort. It's not available everywhere, but when you find it you won't be disappointed! It's hot, sweet, and filling- ladled into a cup (kikombe) for you to sit, sip and enjoy. It's not spiced, just sweetened- millet and sugar. If you're lucky, you find someone with a little butter... I had two cups this morning. Once again, you are drinking out of a plastic cup with teeth marks on the rims, probably from the family who once owned them in a foreign country- donated to the third world for tax write-offs and a sense of "contribution". But these people use the shit out of them- they will not give them away... why should they? They still work. They make them money. They still have use.
The other advantage to uji is that it's scalding hot- you cannot suck a cup down, pay your balance and walk away from the cockroaches in 2 minutes. It forces you to sit with others, and often encourages hilarious and valuable conversation. I've met great people while sipping uji- businessmen, housewives, chicken sellers, car washers, masai tribesmen, disabled... the marketplace is a social hub... our "country club" but with free access and absolutely zero health standards! It's a special place.
NIGHT FOOD
I've noticed this mostly in Dar es Salaam, the capital of Tanzania- people eat late... very late. There are street vendors open until midnight, selling anything from meat kababs and grilled bananas to "Zanzibar Mix"- some combination of about 12 different things that look like veggies, matzo and uncooked scrambled eggs... they won't tell you what's in it... kyle loves it... I go for the grilled bananas. But everyone is out- families, guards, singles... it's a late night culture. I have to wonder if it's an Indian influence, which is very large here. Many Indian families call Dar their home, and they bring amazing culture to this port of peace (Dar-es-Salaam means Harbor of Peace). I especially like the guys who walk around carrying their portable pot of chai masala- spicy hot tea that tastes of mulling spices and sugar... a cup is around 2 cents. If you're lucky, you'll happen upon a Tangawizi vendor- ginger. They brew water, ginger and sugar- I could drink about 5 cups... which really only amounts to about 10 cents- but I hold off, not letting the American glutton come out and chug straight from the kettle... people just don't indulge like we do back home over here- whether it's culture, money, or smaller stomachs, I can't be sure. But I do appreciate the difference, and have found I like the outcome.
DALA DALA DALA DALA
Since traveling is what i'm doing, I figured it was only right to include a detailed section on the way i've been moving about these crazy countries. In all honesty, modes of transportation have been some of the most hectic, dangerous, unreliable and entertaining parts of this trip so far.
DALADALA
As the title of this post, the daladala has become as regular an endeavor as taking a daily dump, and therefore deserves its own section. In Tanzania, this is the Kiiswahili word for minibus- the equivalent of our taxi cab. These are in every regard identical to old VW buses we see cruising the streets of Berkeley, Boulder, and summer outdoor music festivals. However, they have been turned into high-capacity public transportation vehicles without any maintenance or safety precautions...
Imagine: You're standing at a curb in a very hot, crowded city in Africa- the traffic is going the opposite way than you're used to so you haven't really figured out if you should be looking left or right. All of the sudden, 12 broken down soccer mom vans come screeching to a halt, backfiring and rattling, while 15 different guys start screaming at you to get in their dala dala... tugging at your arms and backpack. You figure out that their destination is painted on the front of their jalopy and they do rounds, so you find the one you need and climb in. There are 4 rows of three seats, which should hold 12 people. But wait- they've welded in 4 extra seats in the isle that can flip up... we're at 16. But 4 seats can easily fit more than 3 people... cram another 8 in- add a few babies, and a couple extra who stand, and you've got a full daladala... no seatbelts, no AC... and they will not leave until they've reached carrying capacity. Picture me, smashed in there, loving life! That's public transport... oh yeah, and it costs about 24 cents!
I go in waves with how I feel about these things- I love how cheap they are, and they do make the rounds quickly. I've met some hilarious people in them, and almost everyone wants to help me with my Kiiswahili... Ninajafunsa kiiswahili kidogo kidogo- ninapenda kiiswahili...kugumu lakini nzuri sana (I am learning Swahili little by little, I like it, it's hard but great!) But then sometimes, I think how ridiculous this is- there are students, business men, business women, who are riding around like this- and it doesn't seem to bother them. When the entire door falls off or they breakdown on the side of the road, which happens often, and everyone is late... nobody seems to be at all put off! I have learned to let it roll off my back, and actually enjoy the experience, because this is everyday life. If you have a schedule, forget about it. If you have something important to do, not a chance... too much of this kind of shit goes down every day to make any kind of plans. This touches on some other feelings I have, which will have to come later... time, efficiency, indifference- all part of the package we call Africa. But the daladala never fails to leave me smiling.
HITCHING
Besides daladalas, we have hitched our way across the southeastern reaches of Africa. I would never have done this on my own, and it has been an education that I owe to my travel partners. Some of the best traveling has taken place on the back of rice trucks, tucked under the tarps of flat-bed lorreys, and straddling the bars of pickup trucks. In Malawi, we could find free rides more often than not- people are very willing to help out the stranded traveler. Mozambique cost us more for sure- and Tanzanians like to be compensated for sure. But, when you have no real time table, no place to be, and a genuine liking for places off the beaten path- this is the way to go.
Mtwara to Dar es Salaam, TZ
This is one of the trips that I will never forget, and is worth telling. So we had spent a few days with my friend Sheena (from high school- completely random and altogether perfect reunion) down on the southeastern coast of TZ in a town called Mtwara- beautiful snorkeling, busy fish markets, friendly people... awesome. We decided to head back up to Dar es Salaam to regroup, enjoy the city, and plan our trip to India. We caught a ride to Lindi, a decent sized town on the coast, and a good place to catch the second leg ride up to the capital. No ride came... a risk involved in the venture of not booking a single bus ticket. But the risk is often rewarded, because Lindi proved to be an entertaining town with large markets, funny locals, interesting history, and a good bar with this crazy Indian woman with no teeth who sold us bean balls made in her house... we gave her some of our beer, because I think she's an alcoholic and sells bean balls for beer money... sweet lady.
Anyways, the same people who drove us from Mtwara (really Ndanda, where Sheena works, at a Benedictine hospital up in the hills) had some car trouble and were staying in Lindi, saw us and offered us a ride to Dar... with "car trouble", we should have seen the signs. There was a reliable, safe bus, going to Dar the next morning for about 16 bucks- but they offered a ride for about $9, so naturally, being the cheapest bastards alive, chose the latter... wrong in so many ways. But it has provided the ammunition for this story, so well worth it in my opinion!
We started our 700 km trip up the coast at 9 am... we didn't start moving until bout 11 am- like I said, African time. The comfortable bags of rice we had laid on yesterday was replaced by the contents of someone's entire house, which had evidently been decorated in a lot of rebar. There were about 9 other people crammed in, and the truck bed was covered in rice husks, from the previous load. I was sandwiched on a futon frame, each ass cheek on a separate slat, my friends were scattered around, and we somehow managed to sneak in a dirtbike. We finally started moving.
Within about 15 minutes, we were stopped. This part of Africa has an INSANE amount of road blocks... manned by corrupt cops looking for payoffs and bribes- I can't speak for the rest of Africa, but this is one of my biggest issues with traveling here, not to mention the role of authority (i've already discussed my bribe to the immigration officer... i'll put in a chunk later). We were stopped because there were people in a "Non-passenger" vehicle... every car here carries people, and probably about 90% shouldn't. But, a mere 20,000 Shillings (~$18) and we were on our way... 30 minutes later.
Oh, and it had started to rain.
The entire first third of our trip was on a decent but still rocky dirty road- we paralled a brand new tarmack road that was still in construction phase... even though nothing seemed to be happening. It was the perfect metaphor- here in this part of Africa, it always just seems a little too difficult. There was the new road, but we were driving just next to it, in dirt.
Then we get stopped for round 2. This time, our driver made all of us get out of the truck, walk around the roadblock, through the village and meet him down the road. 2 hours later, we got nervous because our bags were still there... when we walked back up, the truck was stopped, by the cops, because one headlight was out... they wanted $80,000 shillings. Needless to say, there was no place to buy a spare part- so it wasn't about our safety... if we had the money, we could just move on. We waited patiently, got some food, hung with the villagers, and were back on the road by about 5pm. We had gone 250km, maybe. The next 8 hours were spent riding on the top of this semi, in small hammocks we made with the tarp, going about 15 km/hr through Tanzanian jungle on the worst dirt road of my life- we were bruised, tired, hungry, and nostalgic for the bus ticket we ALMOST bought.
To make it even more surreal, we stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and bought about 15 GIANT pineapples... it just seemed like that should happen... the trip was already so bizarre, that it only made sense for us to buy a load of huge pinapples. Like that was a top priority... pineapples. 10 minutes later, we stopped and bought a 150 pound bag of charcoal... naturally.
We got stopped for our third time after our stop for essentials- this time, the police went after us, the Americans with money. They demanded to see our passports, and leafed through it for about 10 minutes, asking all kinds of ridiculous questions- they didn't even know what the TZ visa looked like, and we were IN TZ! The worst part of the whole exchange was the response by our drivers and passengers. When we got targeted, they freaked out! Yelling in our faces, that if there is a problem, they should not be punished- "We will leave you on the side of the road- we will not be punished!" I looked directly at the main antoginist and said you are our friend one minute and will abandon us the next- do not talk to me again. They would have left us for the wolves, after all our waiting. They had no interested in helping us navigate the language barrier, and the police were only looking for one slip up on our passports to hold as ransom. Of course, everything was fine- we left bout 20 minutes later.
Not long after, the driver pulls over at a gas station about 50 km outside of Dar and says we're spending the night- he's tired. Really, he was avoiding a scale, which he knew we were over the limit. So Kyle and Justin slept under the truck, I think just below the pumpkin, enjoying diesel fumed dreams for 5 hours. Tony and I were smashed on some dinghy, torn mattress in the back of the truck- someone else was reclined on the dirtbike, and some didn't sleep.
We pulled into Dar about 7 am, about 20 hours departure. They didn't even drop us off where they said they would. I think i'll be sticking to buses from now on, but in hindsight, it couldn't have more story worthy.
Rovuma River Border Crossing
Here's one more African travel story worth mentioning- because it is so UN-AMERICAN, and therefore, so perfect. To cross into different countries here, you have to stamp out of one, walk through a "no-man's land" unclaimed by either side, and stamp into the next. This was my problem in Malawi- I had not stampied in, and the border patrol took full advantage of my mistake and my distance from where I entered. At this particular border cross between Mozambique and Tanzania, they do things a little differently. It is extremely remote, and we took a pick-up from Palma up to the Rovuma River... jammed. When we got to the border, we waited in line at the immigration office and watched the local villagers butcher a small male elephant. After some weak attempts at bribes that we quickly denied, we headed to the river that separates the two countries. There is no bridge, just boats... dingies.
We are grabbed and coerced into a boat that could barely move- it's pull-start engine just couldn't push the 45 person cargo that quickly. Our trip up the river to the other side took about 15 minutes- we passed buzzards, storks, schools of fish and a huge pod of hippos! When we got to the other side, we haggled prices and finally got back to land- only to climb, once again, into a pick up designed for 5, but holding 30- I was straddling the roll bar, holding on to both avoid falling out of the car and smashing my berries... welcome to Tanzania!
DALADALA
As the title of this post, the daladala has become as regular an endeavor as taking a daily dump, and therefore deserves its own section. In Tanzania, this is the Kiiswahili word for minibus- the equivalent of our taxi cab. These are in every regard identical to old VW buses we see cruising the streets of Berkeley, Boulder, and summer outdoor music festivals. However, they have been turned into high-capacity public transportation vehicles without any maintenance or safety precautions...
Imagine: You're standing at a curb in a very hot, crowded city in Africa- the traffic is going the opposite way than you're used to so you haven't really figured out if you should be looking left or right. All of the sudden, 12 broken down soccer mom vans come screeching to a halt, backfiring and rattling, while 15 different guys start screaming at you to get in their dala dala... tugging at your arms and backpack. You figure out that their destination is painted on the front of their jalopy and they do rounds, so you find the one you need and climb in. There are 4 rows of three seats, which should hold 12 people. But wait- they've welded in 4 extra seats in the isle that can flip up... we're at 16. But 4 seats can easily fit more than 3 people... cram another 8 in- add a few babies, and a couple extra who stand, and you've got a full daladala... no seatbelts, no AC... and they will not leave until they've reached carrying capacity. Picture me, smashed in there, loving life! That's public transport... oh yeah, and it costs about 24 cents!
I go in waves with how I feel about these things- I love how cheap they are, and they do make the rounds quickly. I've met some hilarious people in them, and almost everyone wants to help me with my Kiiswahili... Ninajafunsa kiiswahili kidogo kidogo- ninapenda kiiswahili...kugumu lakini nzuri sana (I am learning Swahili little by little, I like it, it's hard but great!) But then sometimes, I think how ridiculous this is- there are students, business men, business women, who are riding around like this- and it doesn't seem to bother them. When the entire door falls off or they breakdown on the side of the road, which happens often, and everyone is late... nobody seems to be at all put off! I have learned to let it roll off my back, and actually enjoy the experience, because this is everyday life. If you have a schedule, forget about it. If you have something important to do, not a chance... too much of this kind of shit goes down every day to make any kind of plans. This touches on some other feelings I have, which will have to come later... time, efficiency, indifference- all part of the package we call Africa. But the daladala never fails to leave me smiling.
HITCHING
Besides daladalas, we have hitched our way across the southeastern reaches of Africa. I would never have done this on my own, and it has been an education that I owe to my travel partners. Some of the best traveling has taken place on the back of rice trucks, tucked under the tarps of flat-bed lorreys, and straddling the bars of pickup trucks. In Malawi, we could find free rides more often than not- people are very willing to help out the stranded traveler. Mozambique cost us more for sure- and Tanzanians like to be compensated for sure. But, when you have no real time table, no place to be, and a genuine liking for places off the beaten path- this is the way to go.
Mtwara to Dar es Salaam, TZ
This is one of the trips that I will never forget, and is worth telling. So we had spent a few days with my friend Sheena (from high school- completely random and altogether perfect reunion) down on the southeastern coast of TZ in a town called Mtwara- beautiful snorkeling, busy fish markets, friendly people... awesome. We decided to head back up to Dar es Salaam to regroup, enjoy the city, and plan our trip to India. We caught a ride to Lindi, a decent sized town on the coast, and a good place to catch the second leg ride up to the capital. No ride came... a risk involved in the venture of not booking a single bus ticket. But the risk is often rewarded, because Lindi proved to be an entertaining town with large markets, funny locals, interesting history, and a good bar with this crazy Indian woman with no teeth who sold us bean balls made in her house... we gave her some of our beer, because I think she's an alcoholic and sells bean balls for beer money... sweet lady.
Anyways, the same people who drove us from Mtwara (really Ndanda, where Sheena works, at a Benedictine hospital up in the hills) had some car trouble and were staying in Lindi, saw us and offered us a ride to Dar... with "car trouble", we should have seen the signs. There was a reliable, safe bus, going to Dar the next morning for about 16 bucks- but they offered a ride for about $9, so naturally, being the cheapest bastards alive, chose the latter... wrong in so many ways. But it has provided the ammunition for this story, so well worth it in my opinion!
We started our 700 km trip up the coast at 9 am... we didn't start moving until bout 11 am- like I said, African time. The comfortable bags of rice we had laid on yesterday was replaced by the contents of someone's entire house, which had evidently been decorated in a lot of rebar. There were about 9 other people crammed in, and the truck bed was covered in rice husks, from the previous load. I was sandwiched on a futon frame, each ass cheek on a separate slat, my friends were scattered around, and we somehow managed to sneak in a dirtbike. We finally started moving.
Within about 15 minutes, we were stopped. This part of Africa has an INSANE amount of road blocks... manned by corrupt cops looking for payoffs and bribes- I can't speak for the rest of Africa, but this is one of my biggest issues with traveling here, not to mention the role of authority (i've already discussed my bribe to the immigration officer... i'll put in a chunk later). We were stopped because there were people in a "Non-passenger" vehicle... every car here carries people, and probably about 90% shouldn't. But, a mere 20,000 Shillings (~$18) and we were on our way... 30 minutes later.
Oh, and it had started to rain.
The entire first third of our trip was on a decent but still rocky dirty road- we paralled a brand new tarmack road that was still in construction phase... even though nothing seemed to be happening. It was the perfect metaphor- here in this part of Africa, it always just seems a little too difficult. There was the new road, but we were driving just next to it, in dirt.
Then we get stopped for round 2. This time, our driver made all of us get out of the truck, walk around the roadblock, through the village and meet him down the road. 2 hours later, we got nervous because our bags were still there... when we walked back up, the truck was stopped, by the cops, because one headlight was out... they wanted $80,000 shillings. Needless to say, there was no place to buy a spare part- so it wasn't about our safety... if we had the money, we could just move on. We waited patiently, got some food, hung with the villagers, and were back on the road by about 5pm. We had gone 250km, maybe. The next 8 hours were spent riding on the top of this semi, in small hammocks we made with the tarp, going about 15 km/hr through Tanzanian jungle on the worst dirt road of my life- we were bruised, tired, hungry, and nostalgic for the bus ticket we ALMOST bought.
To make it even more surreal, we stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and bought about 15 GIANT pineapples... it just seemed like that should happen... the trip was already so bizarre, that it only made sense for us to buy a load of huge pinapples. Like that was a top priority... pineapples. 10 minutes later, we stopped and bought a 150 pound bag of charcoal... naturally.
We got stopped for our third time after our stop for essentials- this time, the police went after us, the Americans with money. They demanded to see our passports, and leafed through it for about 10 minutes, asking all kinds of ridiculous questions- they didn't even know what the TZ visa looked like, and we were IN TZ! The worst part of the whole exchange was the response by our drivers and passengers. When we got targeted, they freaked out! Yelling in our faces, that if there is a problem, they should not be punished- "We will leave you on the side of the road- we will not be punished!" I looked directly at the main antoginist and said you are our friend one minute and will abandon us the next- do not talk to me again. They would have left us for the wolves, after all our waiting. They had no interested in helping us navigate the language barrier, and the police were only looking for one slip up on our passports to hold as ransom. Of course, everything was fine- we left bout 20 minutes later.
Not long after, the driver pulls over at a gas station about 50 km outside of Dar and says we're spending the night- he's tired. Really, he was avoiding a scale, which he knew we were over the limit. So Kyle and Justin slept under the truck, I think just below the pumpkin, enjoying diesel fumed dreams for 5 hours. Tony and I were smashed on some dinghy, torn mattress in the back of the truck- someone else was reclined on the dirtbike, and some didn't sleep.
We pulled into Dar about 7 am, about 20 hours departure. They didn't even drop us off where they said they would. I think i'll be sticking to buses from now on, but in hindsight, it couldn't have more story worthy.
Rovuma River Border Crossing
Here's one more African travel story worth mentioning- because it is so UN-AMERICAN, and therefore, so perfect. To cross into different countries here, you have to stamp out of one, walk through a "no-man's land" unclaimed by either side, and stamp into the next. This was my problem in Malawi- I had not stampied in, and the border patrol took full advantage of my mistake and my distance from where I entered. At this particular border cross between Mozambique and Tanzania, they do things a little differently. It is extremely remote, and we took a pick-up from Palma up to the Rovuma River... jammed. When we got to the border, we waited in line at the immigration office and watched the local villagers butcher a small male elephant. After some weak attempts at bribes that we quickly denied, we headed to the river that separates the two countries. There is no bridge, just boats... dingies.
We are grabbed and coerced into a boat that could barely move- it's pull-start engine just couldn't push the 45 person cargo that quickly. Our trip up the river to the other side took about 15 minutes- we passed buzzards, storks, schools of fish and a huge pod of hippos! When we got to the other side, we haggled prices and finally got back to land- only to climb, once again, into a pick up designed for 5, but holding 30- I was straddling the roll bar, holding on to both avoid falling out of the car and smashing my berries... welcome to Tanzania!
THE GREENEST CONTINENT
For everyone that knows me, it is only appropriate that I start my online international dialogue regarding the landscape of Africa... the greenest continent... the driest continent... the hottest continent... open and big. If I had to describe the places i've been in one word, it would be that... big. Everything here seems to be on its own scale- the sky is number one. Especially when the land is flat, I have never felt such an immense overhead sky, stretching on forever in all directions. It feels low and heavy, but expansive and never ending at the same time.
From the lounge car window on my train from Dar es Salaam to Mbeya (Tanzania) is where I noticed it first. We went through African grassland savannah- National Geographic worthy. I felt like I was staring at an interactive 70" tv screen with Animal Planet on, but with real sound effects and a muggy breeze. The flat-topped Acacia trees brought me to Africa completely, with shabby bushes and clumps of grasses dotting the horizon. I almost thought I was hallucinating the giraffes I saw, out of habit from seeing them on tv so many times. They just looked so appropriate, as did the elephants and impala! I couldn't believe I was here, really seeing this with my own eyes! A huge deal for the "Treehugging Dirt Worshipper" and the one who was voted "Most Likely to Open his Own Recycling Center" by his high school classmates!
But that's not all East Africa includes- it is not all savannah and wildebeast migrations. I arrived in the dry season, and it's DRY! Everything looks dead burnt- and uninteresting. It doesn't help when you're sweating at a rate of 2 liters an hour! I especially noticed it in Malawi- a very long country known for its lake (aptly named Lake Malawi- where you are almost 100% guaranteed to get Bilarzhia... blood flukes), it's rank as 8th poorest country in the world, and it's AIDS epidemic. Honestly, I couldn't wait to get there! Unfortunately, the world has not been introduced to its people- they would definitely turn the reputation around. More on that later.
Malawi was hot and dry... again, DRY! It is at the tail end of the Rift Valley, stretching all the way from Sudan/Chad/Ethiopia- and the environment has some truly deep-seeded history in our evolutionary past. Randomly scattered across the horizon, as far as I can tell, are free standing rocks- big enough to be considered as hills and small mountains. They give some interesting relief to the flat plains, and look especially attractive at sunset.
Mozambique- in terms of wilderness, this was my favorite country so far on the trip. We drove through BUSH- and African bush is serious hinterland! From the border crossing 200 km west of Cuamba (infamous for theft and lazy, crooked cops- I promise not to revisit this) we drove through the African backcountry. Huge palms, acacia trees, banana trees, mango trees, grasses 10' tall- it is dense, green, thick, and amazing. In the northern areas we traveled, mountains rose out of these forests like icebergs in the North Atlantic- unpredictable, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, some sharp and jagged, others rounded and smooth- and stretching as far in the distance as we could see. Some had waterfalls, others tropical forest, the rest completely empty save rock and stone... again, the nature lover... naturally, in love. I had some amazing pictures- I think someone in Nampula is enjoying those right now...
The more time I've spent here, the more I've learned about the natural landscape- mainly the variety it offers. Africa is definitely a place you cannot judge by its cover- if you come here in the dry season and do not wait for the rains, you will have an unfortunate view of this beautiful land. Similarly, the rainy season can drown even the most skilled naturalist. I have been lucky to see the transition- from dry to wet, lack to abundance, brown to green- this transition makes both seasons that much more bearable... that much more African.
From the lounge car window on my train from Dar es Salaam to Mbeya (Tanzania) is where I noticed it first. We went through African grassland savannah- National Geographic worthy. I felt like I was staring at an interactive 70" tv screen with Animal Planet on, but with real sound effects and a muggy breeze. The flat-topped Acacia trees brought me to Africa completely, with shabby bushes and clumps of grasses dotting the horizon. I almost thought I was hallucinating the giraffes I saw, out of habit from seeing them on tv so many times. They just looked so appropriate, as did the elephants and impala! I couldn't believe I was here, really seeing this with my own eyes! A huge deal for the "Treehugging Dirt Worshipper" and the one who was voted "Most Likely to Open his Own Recycling Center" by his high school classmates!
But that's not all East Africa includes- it is not all savannah and wildebeast migrations. I arrived in the dry season, and it's DRY! Everything looks dead burnt- and uninteresting. It doesn't help when you're sweating at a rate of 2 liters an hour! I especially noticed it in Malawi- a very long country known for its lake (aptly named Lake Malawi- where you are almost 100% guaranteed to get Bilarzhia... blood flukes), it's rank as 8th poorest country in the world, and it's AIDS epidemic. Honestly, I couldn't wait to get there! Unfortunately, the world has not been introduced to its people- they would definitely turn the reputation around. More on that later.
Malawi was hot and dry... again, DRY! It is at the tail end of the Rift Valley, stretching all the way from Sudan/Chad/Ethiopia- and the environment has some truly deep-seeded history in our evolutionary past. Randomly scattered across the horizon, as far as I can tell, are free standing rocks- big enough to be considered as hills and small mountains. They give some interesting relief to the flat plains, and look especially attractive at sunset.
Mozambique- in terms of wilderness, this was my favorite country so far on the trip. We drove through BUSH- and African bush is serious hinterland! From the border crossing 200 km west of Cuamba (infamous for theft and lazy, crooked cops- I promise not to revisit this) we drove through the African backcountry. Huge palms, acacia trees, banana trees, mango trees, grasses 10' tall- it is dense, green, thick, and amazing. In the northern areas we traveled, mountains rose out of these forests like icebergs in the North Atlantic- unpredictable, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, some sharp and jagged, others rounded and smooth- and stretching as far in the distance as we could see. Some had waterfalls, others tropical forest, the rest completely empty save rock and stone... again, the nature lover... naturally, in love. I had some amazing pictures- I think someone in Nampula is enjoying those right now...
The more time I've spent here, the more I've learned about the natural landscape- mainly the variety it offers. Africa is definitely a place you cannot judge by its cover- if you come here in the dry season and do not wait for the rains, you will have an unfortunate view of this beautiful land. Similarly, the rainy season can drown even the most skilled naturalist. I have been lucky to see the transition- from dry to wet, lack to abundance, brown to green- this transition makes both seasons that much more bearable... that much more African.
BLOGGING THROUGH AFRICA
So this is my first stab at setting up a blog, and i'm watching my timer in this African internet cafe hoping it doesn't take too long to figure out. It's disconcerting in a way that the internet is getting so big, and creating such an enigmatic language- who the hell came up with "BLOG" and thought it sounded good? It's great that someone did, though, and I just wish they were sitting next to me showing me the way to do it...
ANYWAYS- here it goes. I'm setting this up similar to my journal- not by dates and times, but by events, thoughts, questions, troubles, and observations. Within a day I became bored of writing what I ate for breakfast, where we went, what got stolen, etc... it was meaningless detail, detracting from a larger picture which offers so much more. So I plan on adding on to this as I go- as my plans develop and my trip unfolds, I will bring as much back to this BLOG as possible. Be Love Only Go! Bring Life Of Gold! I'm reading The Poisonwood Bible, i'm sorry.
Please, write down your words- I will be able to hear your voices through these fiber optics on the other side of the world and smile... depending on what you say. Advice is much appreciated, debate is always stimulating, and love is always welcomed! SAFARI NJEMA... SAFE TRAVELS
ANYWAYS- here it goes. I'm setting this up similar to my journal- not by dates and times, but by events, thoughts, questions, troubles, and observations. Within a day I became bored of writing what I ate for breakfast, where we went, what got stolen, etc... it was meaningless detail, detracting from a larger picture which offers so much more. So I plan on adding on to this as I go- as my plans develop and my trip unfolds, I will bring as much back to this BLOG as possible. Be Love Only Go! Bring Life Of Gold! I'm reading The Poisonwood Bible, i'm sorry.
Please, write down your words- I will be able to hear your voices through these fiber optics on the other side of the world and smile... depending on what you say. Advice is much appreciated, debate is always stimulating, and love is always welcomed! SAFARI NJEMA... SAFE TRAVELS
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)