The following is a summary of my trip home from Masasi, Mtwara Region, to Songea, Ruvuma region, via the town of Tunduru. It was not a fun or easy journey… in fact, it was perhaps one of the most arduous trips I’ve made in Tanzania. That being said, it was also one of the most unique experiences I’ve had in country, so it’s only fitting that I share it with you guys. Note that, for ease of reading (and to save myself from forming a consistent, coherent narrative), I’ve written this story in “timestamp” format, although, to be fair, most of these times are approximate.
Phase 1 -- Masasi to Tunduru
7:30am: I show up at the Masasi stendi, and hop on my bus. It’s just a small, Chinese-made coaster, but it seems to be in good condition. My ticket is honored, and my seat has been reserved. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.
8:00: At the edge of town, we stop at another bus stand to pick up additional passengers. As is customary in Tanzania, we jam six people in a five-person row. Despite my protests, one of my bags is relocated to the roof of the bus to make room for a huge mama to sit next to me. I am scrunched up against the window, and my left leg is pinned under her right butt cheek. It goes numb in about a minute.
8:30: Only thirty minutes in and we hit construction. The paved road is blocked off, and we’re forced to zigzag our way across the main thoroughfare on a secondary mud track created by passing lorries. It’s like driving through a swamp.
9:30: Our bus has joined a long, fishtailing line of cars, all of whom are stuck behind a slow flatbed. Every now and then our driver attempts to pass a few cars by going on the grass; I really wish he would stop.
10:00: It has begun to rain. Our speed is now halved.
10:30: After a few harrowing bus acrobatics, we manage to pass the flatbed and pull away from the pack. We’ve also managed to pass the construction as well. The road, now dirt, has regained some semblance of a highway, and even the rain has stopped. The driver takes this as a cue to gun the engine and go as fast as he can to make up for lost time.
10:35: We spin out on a sharp turn. I almost have a heart attack.
11:30: We all stop on the side of a road for a bathroom break. Most of us just eliminate quickly and move on, but an mzee (elder) figures this would be a good time to take a load off as well. He decides that trees and bushes are for suckers and commits the act right in the middle of the road, in full view of everyone.
11:38: The conductor yells at the mzee to hurry the hell up since there’s a big, muddy hill coming up and another storm is approaching. The mzee insists he’s not done yet.
11:40: We’ve all been sitting on the bus watching this guy take a crap for the past ten minutes. The conductor gives him one last warning.
11:41: The conductor tosses the man’s bag off the top, yelling at him to catch the next bus as we all drive off. The man comes running after us with his pants down. We don’t stop.
12:30pm: We cross the first of many rivers. The bridge is wooden, one lane wide, and looks like it was built in the 1930s. There’s no actual “road” part to the bridge: we’re forced to cross on two struts that span the length of the scaffolding. I can hear the planks creaking, and when I look out my window, I see nothing but water. I close my eyes and pretend that this isn’t my life right now.
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| The road may suck, but at least the view is pretty. This is Mt. Mkoela. |
1:30: We stop in a village for lunch. I grab a couple ndizi (bananas) and maandazi (Tanzanian donuts) and chill while the conductor and driver check up on the bus.
1:32: I’m approached by a beggar. He is repulsive. He reeks of konyagi (papaya gin) and body odor, and his right hand is mutilated from some sort of accident. To top it off, his forehead and nose are covered with these weird boils, all of which ooze green pus into his eyes and down his cheeks. He asks me for money; I politely decline.
1:35: This guy won’t leave me alone. He follows me all around the village, insisting that I’m holding out on him. I finally decide to be rude and tell him to piss off.
1:36: In an act of crazy vagrant vengeance, the beggar grabs my arm with his good hand and---in one, lightning-quick motion---wipes his face on my shirt. My shirt now has a giant smear of green pus and saliva across it. I am too shocked/horrified/disgusted to properly respond. Luckily, a few villagers see this go down and come after the guy. He runs screaming into the bushes, but not before one of the guys gets a solid hit in with a piece of firewood upside the head.
2:45: After some further journeying, we come to our fifth or so river of the trip. The bridge, unfortunately, has been washed away by the rains. Some of the locals have taken it upon themselves to build an old-school ford, which looks like it came directly out of Oregon Trail. We attempt a crossing.
2:46: Our bus is not good at fording.
2:48: The bus is stuck; we are forced to get off and help push it out of knee-deep water. In the process, my bag falls off the roof. I am forced to run downstream and grab it. Everything inside is soaked, although, luckily, all of my electronics were in my other bag.
3:15: Flat tire. It takes 45 minutes to fix.
4:20: I see the town of Tunduru on a neighboring hill. I get really excited… there’s only one more gully to go.
4:30: On the last uphill, the bus hits a particularly nasty bump and slams into a ditch, snapping the front axle in two. After having my head smacked into the window for the last time, I say “to hell with it” with the rest of the passengers and schlep the last mile or so to get into town.
Phase 2 – An Evening in Tunduru
5:00pm: Hot, sweaty, and exhausted, my shirt still smeared with green face goop and my bag still dripping water, I arrive in Tunduru town. It is like the Wild West---one main strip, lined with stores and saloons and raised porches, all of it exceedingly dusty (even in rainy season). The denizens seem to be of a generally unpleasant disposition, as all of them are glaring at me as I walk down the main avenue. I instantly dislike this place, and I hurry to the bus stand to buy a ticket so I can get out as quickly as possible.
5:05: I am being heckled mercilessly during my short walk to stendi---solicitation from prostitutes, people asking for money, or people telling me to “go home to China” (apparently I’m Chinese here). I guess this is typical Tanzania, but, even so, the harassment in Tunduru seems particularly acute. I try to bust out my best vulgar Kiswahili, but I’m still not good enough to keep up with these guys.
5:10: I make it to stendi and buy my ticket back to Songea for tomorrow morning. It costs a lot more than I thought it would. I come to the discomforting realization that I am now very short on cash, and the nearest bank I can use to get more is back in Masasi. I stuff a contingency 10000/= note in my shoe, but I really, really don’t want to make that trip back to Masasi again. I vow to spend as little of my dwindling reserves as possible in town.
5:20: I decide it’s time to find a guesti (hotel), and, after a bit, I find one of the less rundown ones. It’s in my price range, so it will do.
5:21: The check-in lady shows me my room. There is a used condom on the floor. The sheets also have some weird stains on them. I politely ask her to find me another.
5:22: The check-in lady shows me another room. There are two used condoms on the floor, and the sheets have stains as well---these ones dark brown. Again, I ask to relocate.
5:23: The third room is clean and has a bed, but no mattress. I ask if she has a spare. She doesn’t know. I ask if she has another room. She says no. I guess I’m sleeping on bed boards tonight.
5:30: After dropping off my bags and settling in a bit (i.e. changing my filthy, filthy shirt), I decide it’s time to have a look around town.
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| Beautiful, scenic Tunduru. |
6:30: I’ve come to the conclusion that Tunduru sucks. The entire male population is comprised of truck drivers, prospectors, and coolies, all of whom are more cruel and ruthless in their taunts than a roving pack of 6th grade girls during recess. All the women I see are either barmaids or prostitutes---or both---and they are relentless in their continuous demands for mzungu charity. The sun is hot and the road is dusty, and, aside from the string of gem dealers, there’s nothing really to see here. Still, though, I have to kill some time before dinner, so I go into a gem store.
6:35: I smell him before I see him---that distinct, pungent aroma of konyagi mixed with local-brewed pombe (alcohol) that smells like downtown Songea on a Sunday night. I whip around to find a short, young Muslim guy standing no more than two feet behind me, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. Given his close proximity, I balk a little bit: his teeth are stained brown, a product of too much sweet chai and not enough brushing, and he has perhaps the most prolific and untamed nose hair I’ve ever seen on a person his size. He is also wasted, swaying ever so gently from side to side… like a dust-covered banana leaf in the Tunduru breeze. He initiates conversation:
Him: “You are a long way from home, mzungu!”
Me: “Well, I’m going there tomorrow. I live in Songea.”
Him: “So you’re a teacher!”
Me: “Yeah, at Songea Boys’. You know it?”
Him: “Know it? I went there! Form V and Form VI… I’m a graduate!”
Him: “Know it? I went there! Form V and Form VI… I’m a graduate!”
Me: “Well, that’s certainly interesting. I think I’ll be going now…”
Him: “No, you must stay! Let’s go get dinner. I know a good place.”
Me: “No, really, it’s okay. I’m not even hun---”
Him: “I want to be your friend. Will you be my friend?”
Me: “Uh… sure, I guess, but really, I need to…”
Him: “Great! We are brothers now! Man to man! Let’s go have a drink!”
Me: “Look, uh… whoever you are, I don’t even have money to buy drinks. I spent it all on a bus ticket home.”
Him: “Who cares? I’ll buy you dinner. Come on, let’s go drink! Man to man!”
[At this point, I realize that eating dinner and enduring a conversation with a drunk Tanzanian guy may be better than my original plan---lying on the bed boards in my hotel room in the dark and starving quietly---so I decide to take him up on his offer.]
Me: “Okay, let’s go, then.”
Him: “Excellent! You are now my brother. We are friends for LIFE. Man to man!”
Me: “That’s great. Can we go now?”
Him: “Wait! We need to celebrate this occasion. I need to buy you a gift! Wait one minute.”
6:40: The guy turns to the gem dealer and starts arguing with him in fierce, rapid-pace Kiswahili. I barely understand any of it.
7:00: It’s been twenty minutes. Both parties are still arguing intensely. At long last, the dealer sighs, throws up his hands, mutters what I assume to be a curse, and goes into the back room. He comes back out shortly thereafter with a little baggie filled with gems. My new acquaintance, handing over payment, is elated: “For you, my friend. Man to man!”
7:30: We’re at the bar. My new friend is downing konyagi packets like it’s his job, periodically screaming at the waitresses for more booze. I counter his drunken exuberance by meekly eating my chipsi mayai and sipping my beer.
9:30: The night has devolved into me sitting there and watching my companion drink. There is no conversation, no cultural exchange. Our only form of communication is occasional high-fives or outbursts of “Man to man!” from him. I can barely understand a word of his slurred speech, and, now that I’m no longer hungry, I feel the strong desire to extricate myself from this situation.
10:00: My gracious host, who at this point is so drunk he can barely keep his eyes open, has now turned his interest to the women of the bar. To this end, he is calling the waitresses over with fake beer orders just to see if he can cop a feel. The waitresses are wise to his tricks, and most of them are too fast for his wild, grasping swings at their backsides. One particularly wild swing causes him to lose balance and fall off his chair, causing him to faceplant on the floor. The whole bar laughs, even me.
10:15: One of the prostitutes in the bar has taken an interest in me. She is gross… overweight, missing teeth, you name it. Never mind that she has a baby with her, or---perhaps the clincher---a full-on beard. Like, seriously, she had more facial hair than I did. She smiles and winks at me; I respond by avoiding eye contact and hoping that she’ll go away.
10:20: She sneaks up from behind and leans in to whisper something naughty in my ear. I can feel her bristly goatee tickling the side of my face. I want to vomit. I tell her in polite Kiswahili to “please, never touch me again.”
10:30: I notice that my host is passed out on the table, a small puddle of drool collecting at the base of his mouth. The whole bar is laughing at him. I take this opportunity to leave.
10:45: I arrive back in my hotel room, and, after a cleansing shower, collapse on my bed boards, dreaming of the journey to come.
Phase 3 – Tunduru to Songea, the Home Stretch
4:30am: I can’t sleep. The bed boards aren’t comfortable. The bug net is full of holes and I have spent all night being dive-bombed by mosquitoes. I decide to give up on sleep and head out to stendi early.
5:00: I arrive at the bus stand. There are no buses there. This is a little disconcerting, as my bus is supposed to leave at 6am. However, buses are late all the time in Tanzania, so I’m not too worried.
5:30: The buses heading east to Masasi have arrived. A couple of the private, safari-style 4x4s headed to Songea have pulled in as well and people are getting on. Still no sign of my bus. I check the office where I bought my ticket, but it’s still closed.
6:05: All the Masasi buses have left, and most of the 4x4s have pulled out. My bus still isn’t there, and the office still isn’t open. I realize that I have enough money to either go to Masasi or stay in Tunduru another night, not both. This means that, if I have already missed the last bus to Masasi and my bus to Songea never shows up, I’ll have to spend another 24 hours on the streets of Tunduru---not staying in any hotels and not eating any food---before I return to Masasi, get money, stay the night, return to Tunduru, buy another ticket, stay the night, and then go to Songea. This is NOT acceptable.
6:20: I panic. One way or another, I am getting home to Songea today. I run around to the remaining 4x4 drivers, desperately trying to hash out a deal in which they take me home first and I pay them when I arrive (otherwise known as the time-tested “look-at-my-skin-color” dodge). They all refuse.
6:30: The clerk at the ticket office finally arrives. I ask him where the hell the bus is. He informs me that, during the rainy season, they don’t even bother with buses on the Songea-Tunduru road; the only type of car that can possibly make it is a 4x4. He says that the bus company splits the profits with the private cars, and so my ticket should work with them. I tell him that I have already tried using my bus ticket with all the cars here, and none of the drivers have accepted it. His response: “Hm… too bad. I guess you missed the correct one.”
6:31: This is not okay. I am furious. I go off on the guy---demanding another car this instant, telling him he’s an irresponsible putz, asking him how I could have possibly known about this situation, informing him that he has disgraced the people of Tanzania with his incompetence, threatening police involvement, vowing that my mzungu friends are coming to beat his ass, doubting his manhood, etc.
6:35: After a couple of minutes, he concedes and agrees to set me up with one of the remaining cars in the bus stand. At this point, the only car left is a pickup, which is almost entirely full. There is only room in the back; i.e., the cargo bed. Right now, I’m thankful for anything, so I hop in.
6:36: The clerk asks 5000/= for his services. I tell him to go **** himself. One of the mamas in the back with me covers her child’s ears.
6:40: We’re on our merry way. The initial part of the road just passes through Tunduru suburbs, so it’s not so bad. My awkward position in the back (by the way, there’s at least ten of us back here plus luggage) is uncomfortable, but bearable for now.
7:30: The folks in the back start singing to pass the time. This makes sleeping in the back of a pickup even harder than it is normally.
8:30: The car breaks down the first of twelve times during our trip. How do I know? I kept a tally on the back of my left hand the entire ride.
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| This scene would repeat itself many times throughout the course of the day. |
9:30: We stop for chai in a village. I have my first jackfruit ever. It’s delicious… it baffles me how we don’t have more of these available in the States. The downside is that my face and hands are sticky for the rest of the trip. Still worth it.
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| I get bored during the stops, so I take pictures of the kids. |
11:00: The scenery is growing increasingly wild… villages are farther apart, and those that do exist are nothing more than a few thatch-roofed huts with a fire pit at the center. The road has essentially become two deep ruts in the ground, so deep that the front end of our car has begun to constantly scrape along the middle protrusion, as if we are riding on the median. We periodically have to stop the car and scrape the mud buildup off the hood and grill, which only serves to slow things down further.
11:30: We pass an abandoned bus. Its entire front end is encased in mud. It looks as if it has been left for weeks. I take this as a sign.
12:30: All semblance of a road is lost. We’re essentially traveling down a giant slip’n’slide, the only traction coming from the trash, gravel, and other crap previous lorry drivers have thrown down to increase their grip. I have no idea why lorry drivers would even take this road in the first place.
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| Fig. 1: Mud. |
1:00: We blow our first shock. The driver tries to fix it, but can’t. We continue on with our rear left wheel periodically scraping against the body of the car.
1:30: We blow our second shock, our front left wheel. The pickup now lists significantly to the left. The driver has to constantly correct his bearing to ensure we move in a straight line.
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| Fixin' shocks. |
2:00: While we stop for more engine maintenance (Breakdown #4), our radiator cap explodes, covering the driver and the entire front of the car (while sprinkling us in the back) with dirty, hot water. We send a couple kids to go get replacement water. They come back with a big bucket of mud. The driver doesn’t care and fills the radiator up. That can’t be good for it.
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| Before finding children to do the work for us. |
2:30: At the top of a hill, we see a bus coming our way, ostensibly from Namtumbo (the next town over from Songea). We wait for it to attempt the hill before we make our descent. I watch the bus as it guns the engine, almost makes it to the top, fails, slides back down uncontrollably, and lodges its rear wheels into a ditch. Well, they aren’t going anywhere fast… chances are they’ll be spending the night on the road until a lorry comes by. We shout a sympathetic “pole!” as we drive past.
3:00: The road has become a graveyard of derelict vehicles, all of which seem to be at least partially embedded in silt. The majority of these seem to be buses and lorries, which doesn’t surprise me because they’re big and unwieldy. Still disconcerting, though.
4:00: We pass a sign: “NOW ENTERING THE SELOUS-NIASSA GAME RESERVE”
6:00: Dear God, there is NOTHING out here. I haven’t seen another person---or any signs of development---for the past three hours. At this point, the road is straight-up nonexistent: I believe that some pioneering soul must have taken a steam shovel to it back in the 80s, and no one has ever touched it again. It’s like driving on a goat path, only with more mud and a lot more hills.
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| Hills and dirt. |
6:05: We pass another car graveyard. This one consists almost entirely of 4x4s like ours. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
6:15: Each hill---and there are many---has become a trial of herculean proportions, testing every bit of our strength, endurance, and willpower. A successful attempt sends us careening over the top, our pickup’s tires suddenly catching and the torque of the engine catapulting us so that we slide uncontrollably down the other side. A failed attempt results in our shamefully sliding down to the beginning of the hill, sometimes into a ditch (which we first have to get out of before attempting the hill again).
6:30: We approach a particularly tall hill. I have a bad feeling about this.
6:31: We floor it to get to the top, and we almost make it. Just before we reach the crest, however, the tires get stuck, and the car begins to slide.
6:31: We are sliding backwards. Fast. From my view in the cargo bed, I can see that we are rapidly approaching a large depression with a number of trees and pointy rocks at the bottom. I feel fear.
6:31: We’re going at least 20mph. There’s no way we’re stopping in time. We are going over a cliff. Everyone else in the car is panicking. This is it. I’m going to die out here.
6:32: Our rear wheels go over the edge. I bail out.
6:32: By some miracle of God, our front wheels catch, and, combined with the friction from the undercarriage and the front part of the rear wheels, the driver is somehow able to stop the car. All the Tanzanians laugh at me for my cowardice. I tell them that I'm sorry I lack their lust for danger.
6:50: Night has fallen in the wilderness. Using nothing but flashlights, the car engine, and a lot of manpower, we are somehow able to get the car back on the road. I spend the whole time scared I’m going to be eaten by lions.
9:00: We leave the Selous-Niassa Game Reserve and are well on our way to Namtumbo. We have blown both our other shocks, so at least the car seems a bit more level. Our engine has started smoking, and our rear bumper has fallen off (we stowed it in the back with the rest of the passengers), but we are still moving, albeit slowly. We also blew a tire, but luckily we had a spare.
10:00: We arrive in Namtumbo. Some of the passengers get off, meaning I get a seat inside the car. Yay!
12:00am: We blow another tire. For whatever stupid reason, we didn’t get another spare in Namtumbo. Our pickup once again lists heavily to the left.
2:20: I see the big “Karibu Songea” placard outside my school. I’m so happy I could cry.
2:30: We arrive in Songea town after nineteen long, painful hours. Our pickup, caked in mud and still smoking profusely from the engine, is effectively totaled---four blown shocks, two broken headlights, two flat tires, one warped wheel, a cracked windshield, a snapped-off rear bumper, plus unknown engine damage… yeah, it’s not probably going to be making that trip again for a little while. I thank the drivers, hop off at the main bus stand, grab a quick meal (save for the jackfruit, I hadn’t eaten all day), and head home.
3:00: I arrive back at my house. I am so relieved to finally be back home.
3:01: The first thing I see as I open my door is a large wheel a cheese that I forgot to throw out before I initially left for Morogoro. It’s been almost five weeks. There are weevils and ants everywhere. Half the block has turned into an unrecognizable sludge. The image---and the smell---still haunt my dreams.
Afterword
As I’ve learned from my counterparts back at school, I actually made pretty good time as far as typical experiences on the road go. Given that I was traveling in the late rainy season (i.e. during the long, gentle rains), the average car ride between Songea and Tunduru usually takes around two days, or three if you’re riding in a lorry. This means, in effect, that you simply have to tough it out and sleep in the car for a night or two. The dry season (June-November) is a completely different story: apparently the road conditions improve significantly, and regular buses are able to make the trip in as little as 8-9 hours. And for the truly suicidal, there’s the early rainy season (December-February, during the short, fierce rains), which can take as long as 4-5 days in a 4x4 due to mudslides, flash flooding, and a whole bunch of other unpleasant natural phenomena. Don’t think I’ll be trying that one.
But yeah, regardless, this was quite an experience. My curiosity is sated, my classes have started, and I’m happy to be back to the old Songea grind. For the next few months, at least, most of my adventures will be of the professional, educational kind, and, to be honest, I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Damn, Paul. This was scary.
ReplyDeleteDude, how have you never had jackfruit? That is my only takeaway from this tale of woe.
ReplyDeleteI love it
ReplyDelete