Tanzania - Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar

The day-long journey in a second-class bus from Arusha was, except the view, rather uneventful. My entertainment was the endless stream of people walking and riding bicycles along the busy, pot-hole-laden, two-lane, trans-African highway. Carrying impressive bundles either on their heads or strapped to the frame, they would who casually veer off the narrow road, being cued only by the horn of our bus that often came within inches of taking their lives. Since there are no shoulders on the Tanzanian roads, this is a dance that is done throughout the country, and a misstep is not without consequence, as I would learn the following week while talking with some volunteer doctors.

My arrival to Dar Es Salaam wasn't as grand as I hoped it might be. Stepping off the bus, I was soon swallowed up by the chaos and deposited deep in the center of the city to rest at a dingy hotel ironically named the "Safari Inn." The sheer lack of charm and maintenance of the city was an impressive sight in itself. Dar would only served as a place of transit for me, as it does for many (if not all) travelers. I did, however, manage to take care of the usual business: bank and internet. I also miraculously found a US/Africa electrical-adapter to replace the one I left back in Arusha (What a disaster it would have been to not be able to charge my cellphone and camera!).

After three trips to the port, I finally got a straight answer as to the departure time and cost of the "fast" ferry to Zanzibar (of which there are many, but locals set up makeshift ticket booths to pawn off tickets fort the slower ferries).

I was relieved to escape the hustle-bustle of Dar as I boarded the ferry, which punctually glided out of the harbor, into the Indian Ocean. I found myself newly excited, to be venturing to a place with a name that, for reasons I cannot specifically recall, carries an air of fabled mystery: Zanzibar.

Approaching the island, I imagined myself being transported back in time as I embraced the timeless image of several sailing "dhows" and fishermen paddling dugout canoes. This romantic image was reinforce by the fact Zanzibar had no electricity (I learned this two weeks previously, as the damaged power line from the mainland cut off power to the entire island with the most optimistic saying "three months" before it might be restored). I was abruptly jarred back to the present as the ferry docked: I could see a new throng of touts, identical to the one I just left behind in Dar, awaiting me beyond the port gates.

"'ello-my-frien'! ... Mista-Mista! ... where-are-you-from! ... come-with-me" ... look at this ... look at that...

I couldn't be bothered, so I slipped through crowd into a taxi, telling the driver to take me to Stonetown. As we drove off – moving slower than a walking pace, horn wailing incessantly - another man jumped in the taxi, greeting me with the ever familiar "ello-my-frien'!" I rolled my eyes and ignored him. He made a few more unsuccessful attempts to pull me into conversation and, sensing my frustration, spoke more candidly in surprisingly clear English, "I go with you to hotel only to receive commission and I leave you alone."

"Poa", I told him with confidence (this means "cool" in Swahili).

"Hacuna matata," he replied contently ("no problem." Of course, this is the very extent of any conversation I could have in Swahili).

We had only gone couple of blocks, but I guessed we were already in Stonetown as the streets became narrower and narrower, most barely wide enough to even walk down. By now I realized that the taxi ride was unnecessary, so I paid him the equivalent of $3 and set off on foot. The other man, now my new "guide" named Ali ("but call me 'Spata' because everyone here is named 'Ali'"), took the lead and asked me where I was going. I showed him on the map - a place other travelers had recommended. He pointed the other direction and, after a minute of walking through a labyrinth of streets, I could tell I had no idea where I was. Now suspicious, I was about to turn back, but just then my guide pointed to the hotel I was looking for.

Without the burden of luggage and an unwanted guide, I was able to walk the streets with more ease. Within seconds I was lost, but not without hope: walking among young boys kicking soccer balls, women and girls covered head to toe in traditional Muslim garments, and mini-scooters zipping by with total disregard to the pedestrian.

Stonetown is a small area, but it must consist of a hundred miles of narrow, seemingly forgotten streets. I speculated that the streets meandered with no rhyme or reason, but the fact I kept passing by the same places made me think the pattern was just something I wasn't equipped to understand; but when I had to, I could get where I needed to go, not unlike a lab-rat.

I soon heard, as I had in Dar, the haunting melody of the afternoon prayer echoing down the pathways from the speakers of some mosque I could not see. At this time the streets would quiet, but not completely. At first, I wondered how they powered the speakers, but by dusk I soon learned that everyone who could afford it had electricity. By dusk, the buzz of generators drowned out any chance of savoring the calm and timelessness offered by the sunset.

The island of Zanzibar has several small beach towns with white-sanded beaches blending into turquoise waters. Not being much of a beach person, I did my obligatory half-hour in the water and the sun. Instead, I was much happier to board a minibus for a tour of the island's spice plantations, for which Zanzibar was famous - along with slave trade. We saw and tasted many spices and fruits, but I could tell that most the places were just for tourism. Zanzibar's main industry is tourism, so spices aren't produce en mass anymore, not even the beloved Zanzibari clove.

Though the lack of regular electricity made the beer warm, the fresh-fish was excellent! But island life in general was making me a bit stir-crazy. I was anxious to be on the move again, having only spent three days in Zanzibar.

Returning to Dar, I was prepared for and expected the worst, but, to my relief, received minimal attention. Perhaps they could read the confidence of experience on my face as I made my way back into the chaos. I did my best to show that knew what I was doing, that I was on a mission. Besides, in my mind I was already on my next leg of the journey: get to Malawi where two friends would be expecting me the following week.

Tanzania - Arusha and safari

It's difficult to do anything in northern Tanzania without spending a little time in Arusha. And it's difficult to get anything done in Arusha. So one must prepare for a bit of difficulty.

But there are some who have faith in Arusha, such as foreign nations as Arusha has become a hub of international activities for East Africa. For example, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda is being held in Arusha. If anyone anted to follow up on justice as it applies to the real-life "Hotel Rwanda" story, check out www.ictr.org

I also learned why there were no hotels available in Arusha when I arrived: because a very large business and political summit was underway, called The Sullivan Summit. Though I was oblivious, this was big-time for Tanzania, mostly because it drew some big names from America. According to the Arusha Times the names included "Reverend Jesse Jackson, Kelenna Azubuike of the 'Golden State Warriors' basketball team, actor Lou Gossett Jr. (of the film credit 'A Good Man in Africa), a team from Black Entertainment Television (B.E.T.), Frank Ski of CBS Radio, TJ Holmes of CNN Television" and and I'm also told that Chris Rock made a surprise appearance.

The reason I heard about Chris Rock was from overhearing chatter that he broke the news of Obama's clinching the Democratic nomination. A few days later, back in Arusha, I was sitting at a restaurant while a crowd of Tanzanian (black) men were watching Hillary Clinton on an Al-Jezeera broadcast. Everyone, including myself, watched intently. The words coming out of her mouth were measured, and when she declared her support for Barack Obama, people broke out in cheers. It was amazing. I even got a bit of a lump in my throat. For reasons beyond the obvious, Africans like Obama. It also helps that his grandmother lives but a few hours north in Kenya.

As I was saying, Arusha for tourists is difficult. This is because there are so many tourists, which draw many hustlers, who flock to the incoming bus terminal for their chance to get a commission from a hotel or a safari company. Being the "slow" season, the odds weren't in my favor.

Having shaken several touts, I walked briskly towards a recommended hotel. When I found out that they were full I had to eat crow and ask the tout who'd followed me, despite my impatience with him, for help. He pointed across the street and there I found my bed for the night. Somehow in the time it took to walk from hotel A to hotel B I was suckered in to booking a safari. Well not entirely, but I was on my way and in one hour I will have followed the text-book wrong-way to book a safari. But much to my pleasant surprise, all worked out.

Though the vehicle that showed to pick me was on time, it had a different company's name. And the people who joined me were of different nationalities than I was told. And their itineraries were a little different than mine. But by 9am we were on our way: a Canadian couple, a Norwegian couple, a cook, a driver and myself, rambling down the road towards Lake Manyara in a noisy diesel Land Rover. Our trip was a three-day, two-night camping safari. We were all anxious to share our concern and relief as the trip materialized.

I'll spare you every detail as there are many books and movies that describe African wilderness much better than I, but I will say it's grand and impressive. Especially having now seen four of "the big five" in Ngorongo Crater, Tarangeri National Park and Lake Manyara National Park. So that's lions, elephants, rhinos, cheetahs but no leopards (I think that's "the big five"). Add giraffes, zebras, water buffaloes, wilderbeasts and a myriad of other animals we've all seen in National Geographic and that was our safari. It seemed so strange to be able to drive around and see these animals in their natural habitat. Then again, all the safari cruisers made it seem less natural, though the animals didn't seem to mind, and in the end I didn't either.

There wasn't enough time for the Serengeti, and for the price I was paying I didn't want to push my luck. In fact, the third national park took some arm-twisting to get. Even to the last day, when our driver and Land Rover where no where to be found, we had to keep reminding the safari operators that they had to fulfill their end of the bargain ... and a bargain it was! … Let me back up.

Having booked a too-cheap-to-be-true safari I knew I was in for a ride. But the two other couples (from two other companies) had similar situations. The driver and cook were from another company and the vehicle was from yet another. Being the slow season it took FIVE companies to get this safari underway. Granted, it was all last-minute, but FIVE companies? This worked to our advantage as we played each company off each other and got the full tour in the end. Thank goodness for cellphones (the Norwegian couple had just bought one for Tanzania), as we were able to call the agents back in Arusha, even from our "remote bush camp", and keep everything on track. So on that last day, they were going to have us take a local bus back to Arusha, but we made them send the guide back and show us Tarangeri. An African adventure indeed!

Back in Arusha, I booked the next bus to make my long-awaited arrival to the Dar Es Salaam, followed by a time-traveling excursion to Zanzibar. But that'll have to be the next chapter as I need to get moving again.

Tanzania - Lang'ata

A lot has happened in the past couple weeks since I left you hanging in Moshi. I am well and continue to enjoy my travels, though I've returned to my old habit of moving at a fast pace. I now have a couple spare hours to catch up on emails, so I'll send a couple "chapters" your way.

When I last wrote, I had just accepted an invitation to visit the small village of Lang'ata, a place that is not on any map, and I only learned of an hour before. But I was guided by an American Peace Corps volunteer named Ethan who I had just recently befriended.

We soon hopped in a "dala dala" (the minibuses that zip around like flies and pack people in like sardines - notoriously dangerous). Quickly I was reminded of my language deficiency as the toddler next to/on me kept grabbing the hair on my arm, repeating something like "wei-wei paka, wei-wei paka." Fortunately Ethan, sitting behind me and fluent in Swahili, understood and when I asked him what this child wants he smiled, "he's calling you a cat". I guess the child hadn't seen too many blond people so closely. So I jokingly told Ethan to tell the child I'm actually a lion and eat small children with no manners. He repeated this and the adults nearby laughed.

The child let me alone for a while until he announced he had to go to the bathroom. Evidently they'd been traveling a while and the child, who often wanted to get out of the minibus, had used the bathroom excuse before.

His mother, calling his bluff, told him to go ahead. I was oblivious to all this and would have moved the child off my knee had I understood, but I soon understood as my pant leg was getting wet and the child turned to me and grinned - I could not tell if he was embarrassed or proud. I assumed the latter. And so began the adventure into rural Tanzania.

My pant leg as dry by the time we pried ourselves out of the dala dala, and we were now covered head to toe in orange dust as the other passengers opted for dusty air instead of suffocation. I was amazed by how quickly we had transitioned from the lush Sub-Equatorial forests to a low, dry desert. I felt somewhat comforted as many of the thorny trees resembled the Mesquites and Acacias of Arizona. But I was soon reminded how far away from home I was as we had moved from the foothills of Kilimanjaro to a distance where I could now see an unobstructed view of its massiveness directly to the north.

Lang'ata is a small fishing town along the shores of the Nyumba na Mungu resivoir south of Moshi. Most houses are made of mud bricks, while some are concrete. Nothing elaborate, nothing wasted. With occasional water and sporadic electricity, the residents fill tanks when there's water and plug in refrigerators when there's electricity. Ethan's house was newly constructed for the purpose of housing teachers should the volunteer program continue. Again, a basic construction, with a basic furniture collection, but lacking any furnishings (like a kitchen). The bathroom consisted of a small sink, a tank of water, the floor of a shower basin and a long-drop toilet (in other words, a hole in the floor).

After unloading my pack, Ethan said we'd have a walk through the town, which would be a great introduction to a minimally adulterated, authentic Tanzanian culture.

With several tribes forming the community, the people of Lang'ata were cheerful and welcoming. Women wear traditional clothing and have traded the colorful baskets they were known for carrying on their heads for colorful plastic buckets. Men wear a mix of traditional and western clothing. Many men/boys wore T-shirts from the States (for some reason many T-shirts had prints of the rappers Eminem and 50cent - I guessed that they're either popular in Tanzania, or so unpopular in the US that leftovers got sent abroad). And it seemed everyone over the age of 10 wears sandals.

As we walked through the meandering trails along the houses that make up the dusty village, friends of Ethan would greet us and invite us in to their houses. Ethan explained that he'd been teased for being rude when he first arrived because he'd would not stop and greet people, so we stopped often. However, greeting people is more than a cordial exchange of words. I soon learned that the custom was for guests remove their shoes, enter the home, exchange a script of pleasantries and sit in the living room while the host (most often hostess) brought us a drink - a Pepsi or tea. My Swahili hadn't improved much beyond four or five words, but many of the people had studied English in school, remembering enough to make a basic conversation - I'd just resolved to tell everyone that I'm from California because everyone knows California ("California? Yes. Yes. Arnold Swarch-negar. Ha! ha!", is far more pleasant than anything they might know of current/former political icons from Texas or Arizona!).

Even the Maasai family (traditionally the nomadic, cattle herding tribe famous for their walking sticks, colorful robes and jumping) on the outskirts of town, brought out some piping hot milk and some stools for us to sit on while we joked about the English they knew and the Swahili and Maasai I didn't. They also got a pretty big kick out of the view-finder on my digital camera.

Ethan's situation was pretty good. He was well respected as a teacher and as a community member. I asked him a lot of questions about his life there and as he explained the in's and out's of the community, I learned that things are much more complicated than can be understood in a couple days.

But I did gather a few impressions and ideas: This town was not only home to a fishing village, but also home to a primary and secondary school, which were rather large (but not large enough) for the size of the community. As part of the Tanzanian public school system, children came from all corners of the country to study there. Many boarded, and some stayed with distant relatives or friends of family, which is a customary way of raising children: passing them on to someone who can better provide. The school in Lang'ata was not an especially renowned school. In fact, it was just above dirt poor, requiring children to buy their own desks (some brought buckets, while most sat on the floor), providing only a dozen text books for a hundred students and feeding them the most basic of basic foods.

It was explained that the Tanzanian Ministry of Education explicitly wanted quantity over quality in education. That said, only a few students, no matter how bright, actually had a chance for a good education and most end up trying to finish the equivalent of high school into their late teens and early twenties. Making things even more challenging, all materials are in English. This is meant to help the students, as English is also a compulsory course, but not all can understand English well enough. So classes end up being taught in Swahili and the exams are in English. A successful class is one with 25% passing. Ethan, who teaches math and physics, had high hopes of reversing that number, but has come to realize that he may not make much (statistical) change at all. Without a doubt, he his helping the community, especially the students because he teaches well. Other (Tanzanian) teachers teach through fear, as corporal punishment is common in classrooms. That is, teachers are still permitted to beat students with sticks.

While Ethan said it took him a while to accept that this is the way things are done, he has never thought of using corporal punishment, and has stopped other teachers in extreme situations. Being the first foreigner to work in Lang'ata , Ethan has certainly set a precedent, and hopefully the school will continue to draw talented help.

After a few days I decided to resume my journey. Departing the village as much smoother than my arrival as a Tanzanian Peace Corps official and her driver stopped by one morning to give Ethan a bicycle. They offered to take me back to the main road at Mwanga, but from there were headed the opposite direction to Dar Es Salaam. Zipping down the dusty road in an air-conditioned Land Cruiser, I also experienced a small example of the opposite extreme in lifestyles found Tanzania.

http://wikitravel.org/en/Swahili_phrasebook

Tanzania - Moshi

I was still undecided even when the plane landed--whether to get off the plane to start my trip in the north of Tanzania, or to continue to my official destination. I was a little concerned that if I didn't stay on the plane that the flight attendants might notice, and report this to the airline, and maybe cancel my return flight home. But at the the last minute, I decided to take a chance and get off at Kilimanjaro Int'l Airport in Tanzania instead of continue through to Dar Es Salaam. I'm glad I did because it was already 8pm, which would have meant I would have arrived in the large city of Dar later than 10pm, with no place to stay yet.

Then I had to make another decision: which town to go to, Arusha or Moshi (the airport is between the two). Fortunately, I found myself chatting with this American lady who works in Tanzania part of the year. As we got off the plane and walked across the tarmac in the dark she recommended Moshi because she heard Arusha was completely booked due to some conference.

I paid the required $100 for a 1 year visa and wandered into lobby of the small airport to be greeted by a wall of people holding signs with names of hotels and safari companies greeting their clients. It seemed I was the only one without a pre-arranged ride, so I had to settle for an overpriced taxi to the quiet town of Moshi, a half-hour away.

After a bit of a wander, I found a nice clean single room in a modest hotel and made myself go to sleep, though my body was very much awake, especially after the cold shower!

Nothing too crazy happening yet, though I still have to get used to looking right to cross the street, as they drive on the other side of the road.

Looking back, the roughly 24 hours in transit went surprisingly well, with minimal wait time (In fact, I had to run across the Atlanta airport, catch the train to another terminal and have them open the doors to plane as I was the last one to board). In the Amsterdam airport I had enough time to spend $5.00 on a cup of coffee and $8.00 on a small juice-smoothie (the devalued dollar makes Euro prices quite expensive!). News that Obama clinched the Democratic nomination was already on the headlines in Europe and is news here and Kenya (My little radio picked up a Nairobi station in English).

From the air I could see Germany, Venice, the coast of Italy and some snow-capped mountains, the Mediterranean, the vastness of the Sahara in Lybia and Sudan, the Nile, lush land in Kenya, then it got dark so I couldn't see Kilimanjaro as we arrived. It's cloudy to day, but I'm told that Mount Kilimanjaro is just over there, in the backdrop of Moshi.

After a walk around town, I find Moshi to be a pleasant place, but nothing spectacular. The buildings are all a rather stoic, modern masonry construction with equally dull color. But the people seem lively and friendly, smiling at me and saying something like "mambo" I just smile back in give a thumbs-up. It's quite a humbling position to be in, without language, though I'm picking up the essentials: "asante" is "thank you" and "see-a-ta-gee" seems to work for "no" (I can't believe the stupid Lonely Plantet phrase book I bought doesn't have those three essential words, "no" and "thank you" - but I could book a safari if I needed. !)

I checked out the local open-air market as it was opening. A familiar scene: bags of grains and legumes, piles of fruits and vegetables, squawking chickens, the smell of spices and meat lingering in the air. There are a lot of vehicles passing through town, as it looks like this is one of the main routes from Tanzania towards Kenya. I'm told that this is one of the launching points for treks up Kilimanjaro, but I haven't seen many tourists. I've ruled out the hike as being way out of my price range (at least $1200 for permits and guides, not including the burden of getting all the gear here). So I'm resolved to being more of a traveler and less of a tourist, but not either exclusively.

I just met a Peace Corps volunteer while eating breakfast at at cafe. I picked his brain about the Swahili language and places to see. He, Ethan from California/Oregon, later invited me to check out his village a few hours away. Since I don't have any plans, I think I'll take him up on it instead of paying $700 to safari the Serengeti. But that also cancels out the possibility of Kenya. Strangely, the prospect of no running water and sporadic electricity actually appeals to me. Then again, this is just Day 1.