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!