Saturday, June 22

On Lake Malawi:  MV Songea

    By now, we had grown accustomed to the "No Hurry in Africa" pace, but the next few days would be the most challenging travel we'd encounter on our trip. 

    We arrive at the ferry dock at 11:00 a.m. as we'd been instructed, .  The boat had not yet arrived.  We left our bags in the Port Manager's office and went for lunch.  When we checked back after the lunch, the boat had in fact arrived and we were told to come back around 3:00 to clear immigration.  Today was the day that Senegal would play the World Cup quarter finals.  During lunch, we watched a bizarre pre-game ritual.  A truck drove up with a bunch of guys in the back; they jumped out and started to dance around a local soccer field, many of them waving carvings of machine guns over their heads.  While the guns were not particularly realistic looking, we were startled for a minute or two.  We ran into Paul, a Chinese-Canadian, right before lunch.  Korea had also played today, and had won its match.  As Paul walked into town, he was greeted by cheers of "Go Korea."  At first, he was a little miffed, but then decided being the only Asian in town, that he would accept their congratulations on behalf of Asian people everywhere. 

    We returned to the dock around three and spent the next couple of hours watching guys carry huge bags of grain off the boat.  Four of them had to lift the bag to put it on one guy's back who carried it, usually barefoot, to the dock.  Around 6:00 p.m. three other travelers showed up.  Apparently, they'd been told, we're not sure by whom, that we would not board until 8:00 p.m.  Sure enough, we boarded at right around 8:00, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the skinny, metal benches.  Around 10:00 p.m., when we still had not left the dock, we pulled out our sleeping bags, and curled up, not particularly successfully, on the benches.  Around 2:00 a.m., we heard the engines starting.  We knew that the crossing would take about four hours, but what we didn't know was that apparently they don't like to arrive in the dark, so they wait until 2:00 to leave.  At daybreak we heard people stirring, so we went outside (past some of the smelliest restrooms ever) to admire the sunrise and watch the approach to Tanzania.  Just as I realized that the only lifeboat was a dugout canoe, Randy pointed out that we were quickly approaching land and that there was no dock.  We could see where a dock had been, but missing more than half of its planks and being mostly underwater, it looked like some time since it had been used.  Much to our surprise, the captain just drove the ferry (a fairly big one) onto the beach, just like a canoe. 

Highpoint of the day:  Lunch in Nkhata Bay -- tuna sandwiches and pizza

Sunday, June 23

Mbamba Bay, Tanzania:  Satellite Guest House

    They drop a ladder over the side of the boat to let the Tanzanian immigration official on board.  After he inspects our passports, they let us off the boat one-by-one.  We're asked to open our bags on the beach so the customs official can inspect them.  I go first.  As he opens my bag, he comes very close to me and whispers very softly, "Where are you from?"   I tell him I'm from the U.S.  Then he asks, again in a whisper, "Do you have a gun?"  I say no.  Then he asks about other weapons.  I wonder:  if I hadn't been from the States, would he have been so suspicious. 

    By now, we've bonded with the three other travelers:  Reg and Elise, a French couple, and Steve, an English guy.  Our next stop is the police station to purchase visas.  Luckily we had purchased multi-entry visas because we knew we'd leave and come back again.  Here, the visa pricing system seemed somewhat capricious.  While Reg and Elise paid less than the $50 required by U.S. and Canadian citizens, the police chief wanted Steve to pay 50 pounds, over $75.  We finally convinced him that was too much, and he agreed to $50.  Next, we needed to change money.  Because there was no bank in this town, the police chief escorted Reg, Elise, and Steve to a storefront to change money on the black market.

    Our plan had been to proceed directly to Songea, the next decent-sized town.  After much questioning and a good deal of misinformation, we determined that there was, in fact, no transport out of Mbamba Bay until the next day.  We settle into a guesthouse and go for a walk around town.  That took about 15 minutes, and it was still before 8:00 a.m.  It was going to be a long day.  After surveying the restaurant options, we settled on the Los Angeles Restaurant for breakfast.  We went through the typical African ritual of ordering off the menu only to be told we're out of this, we don't have that, and eventually settling on whatever it is that they have that day.  The waitress, though, is very friendly (despite wearing an Osama Bin Laden T-shirt, which makes me a little uncomfortable) and wants to know if we'll be back for lunch, so she can be sure to have enough food for us. 

    After breakfast, we buy our bus tickets for the next day at 7:00 a.m.  Randy notes that the bus is parked in the bus station and comments that for sure we'll be able to get out of town the next morning.  Famous last words.  We manage to occupy ourselves for the rest of the day:  a nap, a local soccer game, back to the Los Angeles for dinner.  The town, like many small towns, has a very odd cast of characters.  The first one that we meet is a guy who tells us that he'd been living in Malawi working as a tailor.  He apparently lost his passport and came back to Tanzania to get a new one.  He shows us a variety of documentation relating to his efforts to get a new passport as well as a variety of photos of his travels in Zimbabwe and South Africa.  While the story was interesting once, he manages to corner me, at least four or five times during the day, to re-tell the story and show me the pictures.  Then there was the old woman who came up to our table when Randy, Steve, and I were having a beer after dinner.  She holds her hand out, presumably to shake hands, and Steve moves to take her hand.  She grabs both of his hands in hers and kisses them.  She does the same with Randy.  When I go to shake her hand, though, she slaps me across the face.  A couple of local guys came and escorted her away, hands spinning next to their ears --  the international sign for crazy. 

Bargain of the day:  our room, about $1.20

Monday, June 24
Songea, Tanzania

    We arrive in Songea with enough time to buy tickets for the next morning's 6:00 a.m. bus to Tunduru, grab a bite to eat, and go to sleep in our bus station guesthouse.

High point of the day:  Lunch in Mbinga, fresh samosas

Tuesday, June 25
Tunduru, Tanzania

    We board the bus, and the five of us sit across the back seat.  The road is still not paved, but at least we're not quite as close to the ground today.  In most of the towns that we go through, it looks like watching the bus go by is one of the more exciting daily activities, but watching the bus go by with a load of mzungu (white people) in the backseat was enough to bring everyone out for a look.  Sitting in the window seat, I watched as kids lined up to see the bus, and when their eyes finally reached the back, most of their mouths dropped open.  Then they'd call to their friends and family to come have a look, and soon we'd have the whole town out looking at us.  I'd wave at them; they'd wave at me; they'd yell things in Swahili; I'd smile and wave some more; I'd give them the thumbs up, very common in Tanzania, and they'd all break up laughing.  We repeat this cycle until the bus moves on.

    In one small town, I see a father holding up a baby, maybe a year or a year and a half old, and pointing at us while talking to the baby.  I wave, and he comes over.  While I couldn't understand a thing he said, I'm certain it was the first time that the baby had seen a mzungu.  At least this one did not start to cry. 

    We arrive in Tunduru mid-afternoon and are mobbed at the bus station.  Apparently a Landrover is about to leave for Masasi (our next destination), and they try to convince to take it.  We consider it for a minute until we find out that it's expected to arrive at about 2:00 a.m.  We decide to spend the night and move on in the morning.  We scout around for a while to find a guesthouse.  We finally settle on one, and Steve manages to arrange to have some water boiled for washing and shaving -- a nice treat. We head down to the market and then for a walk around town, and attract a large following.  About 40 or 50 kids are behind us. One of the more popular games here is chasing a hoop with a stick.  Reg teaches some of the kids to use the hoops to play frisbee, which is a big hit with the older kids.

Swahili word of the day:  maji ya moto (hot water)

Wednesday is the last day of our odyssey. We're in good spirits, but very ready to be done with the hard travel and spend a few days in one place. The night before, we found out that a Landrover would be going as far as Masasi, leaving the next morning at 6:00 a.m.  At 5:45 a.m., the Landrover comes to get us at our guesthouse.  We are very impressed with the promptness.  We load our luggage and the five of us climb in.  In the back of my mind, I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, we'll be the only ones in this vehicle.  Why don't I learn?  A trip that has started off very efficiently goes downhill quickly.  First, the car won't start.  A bad sign.  When it finally gets running, we drive to the bus station parking lot, a mere 50 feet from our guesthouse, and park.  Here, we wait for the vehicle to fill before we can leave.   There is a heated exchange between the Landrover "conductor" who is sitting on the roof of the vehicle and a nearby bus conductor -- although it is not entirely clear, it appears that the bus conductor has accused the Landrover conductor of poaching passengers.  African vehicles only run when they are full, so not only is he concerned about losing fares, but he also knows that we're not going anywhere until that Landrover is packed to the gills.  We take on some more passengers:  Now there are three in the front seat, four of us in the backseat, and about a half dozen in the back.  Around 7:00, we leave the parking lot.  Not too bad, I think, assuming that we're under way.  We fill up at the gas station and stop to buy rope to tie the luggage on the roof.  Okay, I think, now we're really leaving.  Not quite yet.  First we have to drive to every guesthouse in town to make sure we haven't missed any more possible fares.  Finally, at 7:30 a.m., we leave town.

All goes well until after the lunch break.  First the brake line breaks.  Randy is very concerned and convinced that without the proper tools the car cannot be repaired.  Much to his surprise, the Tanzanians are not only able to fix it without the necessary tools, they do so in less than an hour.  An hour or two later, the engine starts to sputter.  (Randy, to his credit, noticed the problem some time before we actually had to stop.  The downside, though, of traveling with a mechanic, is that he points out everything that could possibly go wrong.  Did you see the bald tires?  Did you notice the tires are put on backward?  Did you notice that the driver has to pump the brakes to stop?  I, of course, don't notice any of it.  Sometimes ignorance is bliss.)   We stop, and the guys give the vehicle a quick and dirty tune up, but it still won't start.  The guys then push the car forward and back a couple of times, and finally manage to pop the clutch.  We all jump in, and we're moving again. 

    In Masasi, Reg and Lil decide to stay a couple of days. Randy, Steve and I continue on in a very new, very clean, and relatively uncrowded bus.  As if this isn't enough luxury, within an hour or so of traveling, we hit paved road!!  Our butts have never been so happy.  Now I am convinced that we will actually make it to the coast today. We entertain ourselves with countless games of 20 questions. We stop in Mingoyo; we know we are reaching the coast because in addition to the usual fruit, samosas, and hard boiled eggs being sold through the bus windows, the vendors are selling boiled shrimp.  Yum!  The sunset is beautiful, and we can start to smell the sea.  Not too much longer until we reach Mtwara.

    We arrive after dark to a crowded, hectic bus depot.  Exhausted, we take a cab to the first guesthouse listed in the Lonely Planet, the Nandope Hotel.  I get out to investigate the room situation and I'm handed a list of rules -- about 10 of them ranging from no visitors in the room to curfew to having to pay for the room in advance.  We ask for a double and a single, and we're told that in order to stay in a double room, we must produce a marriage certificate; if we can't, we'll have to take two singles.  We're so tired and just want to stop moving, but we're so annoyed that we move on to the next on the list:  another Lutheran mission, which turns out to be great.  We love the Lutherans!  We get settled in and walk down the street looking for a cold beer and something to eat.  While we managed to find really cold beer at the Blantyre, the restaurant was out of food.  By that point, though, we didn't really care.  We were just happy to be in one place for a while.

Low point of the day:  Drunk guy in the seat in front of us on the bus vomiting on himself

For more photos of our odyssey across the south, check out Reg and Elise's website.

Copyright © Mimi Samuel 2002
Questions or comments:  e-mail me