The water flows in a continuous motion, from the sea, to the Nile, to Lake Victoria, to many other bodies of water that fueled the vast animal kingdom that is Africa. From where I’m standing, the same water drops some 130 plus meters over a plateau in a gorge that is the Zambezi River. The same water will go to another land mark that represents the wonder of nature.
I was at the Victoria Falls four days ago, but tonight, at 9PM, the water looks more intense, more terrifying and more sublime in the moonlight.
As one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Victoria Falls is vast, stretching from Zambia to Zimbabwe. In the dry season, the water flow looks like a veil, over the long stretch of Plateau. However, in the wet season, now, water drops magnificently down the gorge, while mist raises up from bottom, making you soaking wet. The droplets of water falling down on the observers rival that of the thunderstorm in Dar. Within minutes, you are soaking wet, but the sun is so intense within minutes you are dry again once outside of the mist.
The famous explorer David Livingstone found, stayed and died of malaria in this place, and therefore the town is named after him. Livingstone, the Victoria Falls town in the Zambia side. The city is quite like Lusaka in terms of the level of westernization. Many Shoprite and Spar markets, and despite being a famous tourist destination, the annoyance in the streets is quite negligible.
I stayed five days in Livingstone. Known for its adventures, I thought there would be many things to do, like Baños in Ecuador. However, Africa is not Ecuador, rafting costs 150, Bungee costs 160, many others cost even more. I didn’t do everything I wanted to do, but I had quite a few good days with the little money I got, and became friends with some really good people.
The Angel’s Pool. It’s more famous counter part, the Devil’s Pool, is the area right above the Victoria Falls by Livingstone island where people can swim during the dry season when the current isn’t as strong. However, this is the wet season, swimming there probably require a barrel, so it can possibly break your fall when the current sweep you down the gorge. Going through the upper Zambezi in any of those places are actually prohibited, but that doesn’t mean the “guides” won’t take you there.
Normally, you pay alot, then people take you to Devil’s Pool on a boat. That is the legal way. It’s boring and not adventurous. The adventurous way is after a few hours of admiring the fall at the park, you go up the river and one of the people waving at you will take you walking, swimming, and crawling through rocks, currents and other obstacles to the Angel’s Pool for really cheap, depending on your negotiation skills.
Probably the sketchiest thing I have done since coming to Africa, I enjoyed every moment of it. It’s the ultimate adventure in Vic Falls. No harness, no straps, just you versus nature. Your prize for winning is standing over the actual fall and being able to admire it’s beauty from so close. Then you get to jump into Angel’s Pool.
The next day, some locals took us to a place down the gorge. There is a river beach, an area where the current circulates, but never gets too strong to sweep you away. Most of all the scenery is splendid. The sand was hot no one could stand on top of it for more than 5 seconds. The water was the perfect temperature because it was constantly flowing.
No one knows the way there except the two locals we know. Even after we got there, still no one knew. We traveled through dirt roads and thatched roof village huts. Some good songs were played in the car and everyone sang. I even had to zipzap down a bunch of switchbacks to get down to the secret spot in my flip-flops.
We stayed there long just chilling. Afterwards, we drove back in the late afternoon singing. It was a good day. Especially it was free. That evening we bought chicken and beef and sausage because we wanted to barbeque before everybody start leaving the next day.
The search for charcoal was quite a journey but we obtained everything from spices to spiced rum.
The barbeque was quite a success. The food was superb and everyone had fun. I knocked out early, while some went out. One of the British got mugged at 3AM at night, when he lagged behind, which put a dent on a good day.
The next day no one did much, except we went to a high tea which the price had hiked to twice as much as what some of our friends told us. The high tea is an all you can eat cake and tea. It is quite British and it is in a 5 star hotel located in the Mosi ao Tunya national park. So occasionally you can see giraffes and zebras. I haven’t seen hotel that nice, well, since ever. I also don’t know why people would stay in such places when they go to Africa.
Everyone’s last day came and so it was also one of the British’s birthday. However, I had to go the doctor to take a piece of tree out. The hospital was quite an experience. First, the doctor wrote an essay on a paper just about my predicaments. Then after an hour of writing, he took me to a room and started filling up a needle of anisthetixa. I said it’s just an infected tree piece in my foot, I can handle the pain but he numbed me anyways.
It took 1 second for him to cut out the tree in my foot. Didn’t clean the wound, didn’t even give a bandage. I could have done it with a dirty fork for the same result. At last he prescribed me some painkillers but he prescribed it to the place I’m staying instead of my name.
We drank for Ben’s birthday. Then we were off getting wet watching the lunar rainbow at the fall. There was no power for most of the day, so some of the gas stations were out of business. Taxis ride on the E line. We had to push our taxi in the end because he ran out of gas. Getting splashed wet at the fall, I thought I had a pretty good few days despite not doing rafting, Bungee or any of the activities that cost alot.
In Africa, you miss the last place you have been. I have said that many times, but this time, I’m going back to the first place I have been. Hooping on the cheap plane ride back to Johannesburg, the airport was surprisingly awesome and they even serve food on the one and half hour plane ride. The plane slowly descended and goodbye Zambia.
Month: February 2016
Zamtrification
The pestering of “taxi! Taxi!” and “you looking for a safari?” are nonexistent in Lusaka. Getting off the minibus station was easy and effortless. A few “Chinese! China! Japan!” are easily countered with a more sarcastically voiced and high pitched “Somalia!!”. I figured that Somalia is totally the place no African wants to go this side of the continent right now, subjecting them to the wrong nation will help them understand how it makes others feel.
There are lots of schools in Lusaka. Not just schools, but large malls, shopping centers, and fast food restaurants sprawl all over the city. The malls are state of the art Westfield like malls, along with air condition and all the western brand stores. Each mall even has their own movie theater. This place is very different than Tanzania.
However, the money that went to the building the malls should be used to improve the sidewalks. Well, there is no sidewalks in Lusaka. People just walk in the various kind of dirty path along the well paved road. The traffic is pretty bad, and people can’t drive. That is normal for Africa, but having no sidewalk means each local has a story of their own of seeing pedestrians getting hit by a minibus while walking on the street. When it rains, sidewalks become lakes and rivers and walking become pretty difficult.
The malls, the streets and the shipping places make me think if gentrification. Very popular concept in the slums of America. Let’s build nice buildings the locals can’t afford to make the area look good is the slogan. Fancy malls and restaurants attract well to do people to come and spend money but the money never goes to the people who struggle to live there.
I didn’t stay too long in Lusaka, so I can’t personally confirm my thinking, but people wise, they are much nicer and much more polite.
English is common on the streets, because the different tribes all speak different tongues and English unite the difference.
I have two goals in Lusaka: relax and hopefully get my Moçambique visa. One of them I failed. The embassy asked me all the same documents everyone else asked and I don’t have flights there, and I don’t have hotel reservations, so I guess Pretoria will be my last try. I tried to explain my situation and giving that everyone in Africa takes the bus, I don’t know why “this is Africa” isn’t a valid excuse for getting my visa.
Some Ethiopian who went to Harvard did tell me that American passport will get you through any borders. A very stupid statement for someone who went to Harvard. I take his advise with a grain of salt, because he did also say that he had an injection for malaria. However, some other conversations did lead me to believe that I could get a visa to Moçambique easily by paying slightly more money at the border.
I had some interesting conversation about Donald Trump at the bars with locals. They say Trump will win, but the fourth Reich won’t happen because as a president he will not be allowed to do what he wants. It is the beauty of democracy. They listed their own presidential election as an example. Their president won on racism against the Chinese. However, the first international meeting he conducted was with the Chinese. This is the problem, if a bad candidate was elected instead a better one, we as a country still lose even if we won’t become a racist fourth Reich. I think their thinking is changing as Pope Francis said Donald Trump is not a Christian. I’m laughing.
The relaxing in Lusaka was achieved properly. I watched Deadpool in a state of the art movie theater all by myself, for only 4 dollars worth of Kwacha. I can even bring food in. Then I drank coffee and watched champions league. There are many interesting people to talk to, and a lot of farmers and other men of occupations of the European origin. They were born in Zambia and worked in Zambia. You don’t see that alot in Tanzania.
Even the villages are different here. Better build villages can be seen in the plain. The land is vast, on the high way all you can see is land. Land stretch so far that you think you can observe the curvature of earth. Land stretch so fat the puffy clouds connect with the land at the horizon. Among these lands, thatch roofs huts are scattered here and there. They are the Zambian villages.
I don’t know why thatched huts, but there are many, and it gives a very Caribbean vibe. The Lusaka weather is very much like Arusha due to higher altitude, but every where else is scorching hot.
I went to the bus station to purchase my tickets and I lied my through the crowds selling me their buses until I found the one I was looking for. I told someone I’m going to Somalia and he told me I shouldn’t go there, its dangerous. I kind of felt bad about how much of a dick I was being, but the I’m going to Congo and Somalia lines get people off my back as efficient as deeds get rid of mosquitoes.
Talk about mosquitoes, there seem to be pools at every property in Zambia. That is both good and bad. You can swim and chill, but the mosquitoes lay eggs in the water and there are quite as few of when the scorching sun goes down. Compare to Tanzania, the mosquito nets seem to be an necessity, but things could be worse.
I wanted to stay more, but time is getting thin, the time I allocated myself for south Africa and Moçambique is being compressed even more. I hate the fact that I have a return ticket that I can’t change, but I’m not made of money, it was the most economical way.
With all that in mind, I actually boarded a really comfortable bus and off I went to Victoria Falls.
The Locomoto to the Copperbelt
The Chinese built the Tazara line, from Dar es Salaam all the way to Kapiri Mposhi in Zambia and back. Why? Because they used the railway to carry all the copper from the famous copper mines in the Copperbelt of Zambia to a port in the Coast. The train station has banners that read in Chinese, the passenger trains themselves have equipments in Chinese, such as the water pressure gauge in the bathroom. The train is single rail, and quite magnificently, goes through Savannah and mountain terrains. How the fuck did people laid down so many rails in the middle of no where will forever be beyond me.
I thought I wasn’t going to be on the Friday train, but I managed to get on anyway. I read somewhere, that I should book the first class train. The train breaks down, the compartments are dirty, this and that. I cherish that stuff, I wasn’t expecting beautiful maids massaging my feet in the morning on my lush king size bed in my train compartment while eating lobster for breakfast anyways.
Of course I didn’t get first class, but I got a second class sleeper train. It turned out to be awesome. The train is clean, even thou as the trip went on it did deteriorate a bit, but nothing as exaggerated as the stuff I read online, probably written by safari goers who are used to their shit taken care by their money.
The second class carrier is right next to booze carrier, which is a plus. Also, I had Africans, three Tanzanians and one Zambian bunk mates. I would probably be stuck by some Finnish kid not even 20 if I was in the first class trains. I saw a bunch of Finnish, or maybe Norwegians, or maybe Germans waiting in the first class lounge before I went on the train. They looked so pale that I wondered how did the African sun not tanned them. I was glad that I had African bunk mates and get to hang out with locals. Also in our compartment is a Korean guy who quit his job and traveled through Russia, Europe, eastern Europe, mid East, and now on his way to Malawi. Pretty hard core, I can dig that. We don’t have a bad group at all.
One Tanzanian is going back to his home town Mlimba. He was more talkative than others. He is a private driver for some British big shot in Dar now, but he wants to start some business back home. It is his first vacation in a while. The Zambian is going back to his home town, but he lives in Tanzania now. The others weren’t around for much.
Eventually, everyone except Korean and myself departed out compartment by noon of the second day. Two people for a whole compartment isn’t bad at all.
The scenery on the train is beautiful. Savannah plains, mountains, national parks, and villages. Kids would line outside watching the train approach. I don’t know if we have the express train or the ordinary train or if the passenger compartments are new. All I know it’s that the ride has been wonderful. Alot of space, to sleep, to sit, to walk. The second class is really cheap too, cheaper than the hour and half ferry ride to Zanzibar. The train takes me from the biggest city from one country to almost the biggest city in the other.
I threw away the guidebook that someone gave me a while ago because guidebooks lead you astray. It makes people paranoid about danger that isn’t there and doesn’t show you many of the pristine stops Africa has to offer.
Dar has fake taxi driver that robs you they said. Because some dumbasses decided to fly to Dar es Salaam at 2AM at night. One of my favorite story is actually this girl who had nothing to do in Dar and asked a taxi driver what to do. Then the driver showed her all the cool places. That should have been a story on a guidebook, but some dumbshits flew to Dar at 2AM and then got robbed.
Africa is a place where you can observe infinity. The cloud feels infinite. The landscape, the trees, the grass, the bushes, stretch so far you can’t imagine where it will end. The beach in Zanzibar feels like it’ll go on forever as well. Even time feels slow. The train ride proves that. I can stare outside the window out day.
At Mbeya, the waiting became infinite too. Mbeya is the last big city until the train reaches Zambia. From the train station, it seems like a lovely town surrounded by the Ngozi mountain. The scenery is beautiful and weather ambient. I wished I could get off and checked the city out, but I have allocated too short of my time for my Africa trip. The following stupid things occurred. Our train needed to wait for the Zambia to Dar train so they can switch track. An hour passed, the train came and our train started to wait for them to depart so we can depart. There is so much stupid in this I don’t know how to form it into words. Another hour passed. No one moved. I don’t really mind the train not moving, because I have a place to sleep, and there is food, I can lay here for days. It is just so stupid I have to point it out. It wouldn’t surprise me the trains are waiting for more passengers like a dala dala.
There is a train from Lusaka to Livingstone on Monday night, so I do prefer to make it to that train, but if I don’t, its not the end of the world.
Three hours later, the train finally departed and I drifted into sleep soon after. Knock on the door woke me up, and we were at the border. Tanzanian immigration checked me out, then thirty minutes later, Zambia border checked me in. I got a single entry visa for 50 dollars, which is sort of illegal because American passport holders aren’t supposed to be able to get single entry visas. I was just glad to save 30 dollars on visa, and hopefully on my way out I don’t have to pay for it.
Zambians started to get on the train since the border crossing, and they are extremely loud, at 5AM in the morning. The time zone changed from eastern Africa time to southern Africa time and I gained an hour, but still I kept getting woken up in the middle of the night by people talking loud in the corridor.
The train barely traveled at night and I wonder why. It looks like the “2 days” journey is going to take 3 days, but I didn’t mind. It is colder in the Zambia, and it rains alot. I got ripped off a bit changing the schillings to kwachas on the train, but I have no where else to exchange so the “convenience fee” had to be paid.
Since the Zambian crossing, there are alot more people crowding in the corridor, walking around, and talking. It seemed like more people are on the train, but there is still just three people in my six bed compartment.
Zambia has 70+ tribes and adding all the immigrants, there is also 70+ languages spoken in different regions. I have no time to learn all that stuff from Bimba to Chichewa, so I’m not going to try this time. The local people also talk in slangs so my dictionary approach isn’t going to work either.
Soon, I was the only one in my compartment. It got quite boring, but my books kept me occupied. Zambia is raining here and there, and the speed of the train really picked up now we are in open plain now. I wanted it slow down, because I don’t want to get to Kapiri Mposhi at night. There is no bus to Lusaka.
I went to get some beer, and a guy sitting at the train bar asked me to buy him a beer, because, pointing to my wallet, he said I have money to. Haha. I told him that since I’m the visitor, him, the host should be the one buying me a beer. After finally understood what I meant, he brushed at me with a hell no. I wouldn’t let that go so easily, so I asked him so that’s how he felt when I asked him to buy me a beer. No answer. I hate this beggar mentality, it sets their country back.
I drank more beer and ate train food. The food cart played fast 6 on the screen and I watched it. The train picked up speed late in the evening, to my horror. The locomotives roared and the smell of diesel filled the dining car. The train was shaking, and more rains plastered the window while trees zoomed by. By my calculation, at that speed, we are going to arrive at 1AM. I turned out to be right. My prayer for a breakdown was unanswered, I was awoken at 1230AM to get my things packed. Of course my things were packed, so at a bit past 1, I went in and sat at the station.
A lot people were sleeping at the station that night since buses don’t come until 530AM due to the no night driving rule for buses. Nothing really happened, I just talked to some guy who seemed a bit retarded because his English isn’t good, but he’s funny though. He was going to the mining area, because he works there he said. Maybe rocks had fallen on his head. Then he went off to the only other foreigners in the train station, two white girls, and told one of them he loves her and wants to marry her in a comedic way.
I took a little 2 hour nap because I couldn’t hold out and nothing happened. I woke up at 6AM to the shouting of “Lusaka!” “Lusaka!” by the mini bus driver. I asked for the price, he said 55kwacha (k), I knew he was bullshitting me because that just adds up to 5 dollars exactly. We literally stood outside the minibus and argued price for 15 minutes. He was only willing to go down to k40. I was a sucker, I took the bus anyways. I didn’t want to wait till 8AM for the next one. It seemed some others were paying k40 too, but sitting there all squeezed in by others, I knew I was a sucker either way.
For the ride, the driver’s feet never left the pedal and he past so many cars. In the traffic section going into Lusaka, he literally went on the side walk to pass other cars while honkering at people walking. I guess I paid the money for that experience, even thou we arrived at a further bus terminal, the minibus terminal.
Beach boys and Putos Massais
Zanzibar, a giant archipelago of which the “zan” in Tanzania is actually named after, is the most touristy place in Tanzania. The island has a town of Muslim and Arabic flavor and its streets so twisted and narrow, people get lost even with a map, picturesque beaches, dolphins, and windy beaches made for kite surfing Paradise. Just like highland and Savannah Tanzania, every location has it’s own geographic signature. These traits, but mostly the beach, attracts those who are looking for vacation. I thought about skipping this island, but thought the ocean would do me wonders. The ferry was nice, nice seats, on time, movies on flat screens, and air condition. The wavy ocean made people queasy, but that didn’t affect me. The shake and ramble seemed like a mother’s carese of her baby compared to the Galapagos lancha.
The island was hot, but not unbearable. The city looks old and historic. White walls with peeling paints stood firm in the background of the giant Karibu sign at the ferry dock.
Immigrant and health officer checked my yellow fever certificate, passport, and I even got a separate passport stamp. I might as well went to different country. The Indian ocean has the color of turquoise, but Stone Town is no place for a swim. Without trash trucks or appropriate plans, they dump their shit in the ocean, literally.
Tourist are everywhere as taxi drivers try to lead people around for a fee. The buildings all squeeze together, and the streets turn and twist that they are more alleyways than streets.
I will be spending, possibly, my last two days in Stone Town to get my Moçambique visa, so I left as soon as I came and took a dala dala to the Paje area, the eastern beaches of Zanzibar. I was told that the east beaches are more quiet than the northern part, where its more touristy. The north of Paje, Bwejuu, is even quieter. I was told it’s 30 per night to stay there, which I mistake as 30000 tsh. It was 30 dollars which was why I stayed for only one night, and I wish people stop using dollars instead of tsh. People should try to promote their own national currency for once.
As soon as I arrived I jumped in the ocean because once the tide retreats the ocean isn’t swimmable. The island is guarded by reefs, so waves don’t pass through and water only begins to saturate on the beach on high tides. The sand is white and almost snow like, but the wind is strong, so the tiny sand particles blow in your face and cover your feet as you walk.
I jumped in the ocean only to be greeted by hundreds of tiny blue jelly fishes ten minutes later. One slap right across my face and left a streak of stinging red. I asked a local about it and he told me it started happening couple days ago. The sand is white, and where the high tide ends are filled with pretty shells and dead blue jelly fishes washed ashore. I walked around the beach and checked out the tide retreating before going to get food and beer.
It was Friday, and I went to Paje that night. Only four people were in Bwejuu as far as I could tell. About fifty plus people were in Paje. They have party every night playing the shittiest trance music on the beach. People dressed as Massai but already lost what their tribe stood for partied with tourists, shitty music played till the morning. It’s not Cancun, but it tried to be. In a way, I rather talk to touts on the streets.
The next morning I moved to Paje, because its cheaper to stay there. People come here to kiteboard. In the morning, at least 50 Kites filled the horizon, in the reef area. The wind pattern traverses instead of moving perpendicular to the beach in the low tide morning. People brave the reefs to have favorable wind. Some people are standing on the beach with their instructor learning how to feel the wind. It looked real boring, but more importantly it is expensive. Every touristy thing is expensive in Tanzania. Some local even told me its more expensive because Tanzania is a poor country like it actually made any economical sense.
I relaxed on the beach and explored the nearby area with a friend, then went to a seafood barbecue, and went to bed early because I was not going to another shitty trance fest again.
The next day I walked to the blue lagoon to find snorkeling. It was quite a walk, it took the whole day for the round trip. I got there, the place is named after the hotel by the area. The tide rolled high and I swam around for a hour and only saw the fish and stepped on a sea urchin. At least it was a good swim practice as the tide pushes back inland while I tried to move outward to the reefs. Much to my suspicion, you need low tide to snorkel there, but tidal dependencies made the fishes that live among the reefs there questionable. I always thought high tight would occasionally bring the eagle rays and more marvelous creature to the area, but it’s Africa. They fish so much, there isn’t any fishes around because the reefs are broken.
I went back and drank beer and just chilled through the night. It turned out to be quite fun. I had many just chill and drank beer days in Africa, and they make me think maybe I should just go home. That’s exactly what I do on the daily anyways.
It was the Superbowl that night, at 230AM in the morning. I tried to follow the feeds, but slow internet bored me sleep. When I woke up, Broncos won and I was sad Cam didn’t pull through. When I checked the scores and read the news, it seemed like a bizarre game. Cam dropped the ball, quite literally, a few times, and the team did too. I guess you don’t need offense in the NFL.
That morning I decided to head north, for better beaches, against my better judgment. I began to like Paje, mostly because I can comfortably do nothing. It felt at home. There is a cool bar, a cheap place to sleep, friendly people. The beach brings that kind of feelings. I wanted to move on.
I went to Nungwi, the north, the touristy place. I regretted going so early. I sat in the back of a converted truck and got there for cheap. The beach is more blue and picturesque but it didn’t make the place better. In Nungwi you can see the sunset, because it is at the northern tip of the island. The sunset was beautiful, the beach was more fun to swim in, but there doesn’t seem to have the camaraderie among others I felt in Paje and else where. People go there for their couple vacations.
People selling you tours and Massais selling you other shit talk to you from time to time. The fee isn’t unreasonable, but I’m not eager to book anything. My train to Zambia leaves next Tuesday, which gives me a lot of days to do nothing. If I choose to spend some flying money I can go to Mafia island which I think is a really good idea, but the 20 minutes flight is quite expensive.
People come here and really stay here. It’s chill, it can be cheap, and for cold climate Europeans, there is the beach literally 10 steps away. It is the Montañita effect. People come here and they party hard, and they go to full moon parties and they eventually forget to leave. Even the hotel owners forget how much you owe. Some girls get an African “boyfriend” and stay till they absolutely has to leave. They told me that Massais here are even worse than the ones else where. They are basically male prostitutes. The other group of “annoyance” are the “beach boys”. Teenagers who sell you tours on the beach. Massais and beach boys hate each other, I don’t know the reason because they provide completely different services. I don’t really find both annoy except the few who called me china with a specific high tone that just makes me what to use the n word.
What is worse is the children. In Paje, they come to you, ask for food, ask for water. Then with confidence, ” You buy me football, tomorrow, at 10AM”. Ask you to take photo and then ask for money, just like the London mime. The children are developing the beggar mentality, and it makes me wonder what will make of them growing up. I’m not someone with much emotions, but the children made me feel sad. Africa can be a sad place, if the children are like this now, where is the future?
I do have hope, for every child playing with their water bottle car on the beach asking me for free stuff, there are others going to school. Some of them will pull through and make this continent a better place. I don’t really blame Tanzanians for all this. It is the others my who shaped them. Tanzanians don’t need to kill lions to feel they have a bigger dick. They are not the ones who kill their animals. The Massais were once a proud tribe people. There weren’t any beach boys. The tourist made it this way. The outsiders put them through changes they weren’t ready for. The outsiders shaped Africa, and in a way made things worse. In Nungwi, the locals even try to cheat money from other locals, not just mzungus. It is sad.
The people in Nungwi are much better nourished than Stone Town and Paje. There are fish, and more food. Teenagers work out on the beach and do acrobatics and bboy. In Stone Town, drug addicts stroll the streets asking tourists money for “food”. I had some octopus that reminded me of tripas, and no they don’t want the free food, just some money for ” food” please.
Fishing is big here, so big that I saw people carrying tiny baby sharks not even a foot long back ashore. It is sad. One beach boy asked me if I like to do a snorkel or this tour or that tour. I asked him about deep sea fishing. You can even do that for a price. He proceeded to show me pictures of people posing with giant catches. Then he talked about fishing by the mnemba island, which is where the snorkel he is trying to sell. I told him fishing by mnemba is going to kill their snorkel business, but he just said OK. People in Zanzibar tend to say OK when they don’t understand, so I told him of mzungus keep killing lions in game reserves, then there will be no more safaris for people to sell. He seemed to understand then.
The best part about Nungwi, and it actually can overshadow all the bad parts, is the stretch of beach outside of Cholo’s bar. It is active. People do acrobats here. Every evening people play volleyball. Swim, beer, volleyball, and couple flips make a beach interesting. I miss the serenity of Paje, and how I can just drink beer and relax all day long. However, I like how I can put in a couple hours of volleyball in more.
The weather in the morning hasn’t been so wonderful. It was cloudy, with a scatter of rain. However, the evening, with its fiery sunset, is wonderful. I made some local friends doing flips on the beach even thou I absolutely can’t get any bounce on the sand like they do. Day one the skill level was average, but the second day, the tricks for complicated and more entertaining. Between all the eating shit and bail outs I play volleyball couple steps away.
Two days was all it needed, and all the touts along that beach know me. I talked to them and fed them elaborate lies for fun, and soon they just greet me and there was no selling anymore.
One of the girls that stayed there for months told me to try to eat at this place. It has the price of local food, but the food is cooked well. I walked 20 minutes and had food there. Price of local food? More like price of mid higher end Dar. The food? One of my chicken was undercooked, I might get salmonella. There is another place near the local market that is actually better, and cheaper. It doesn’t matter how long they have been here, it doesn’t mean they know everything.
So far, I have seen so few Americans in Tanzania, I actually miss meeting Americans. One girl who goes to Yale in Arusha. The Texan Californians on Kilimanjaro. A guy from Baltimore and two girls from Frisco in Paje to hear my Superbowl talks. And how about people from south America? Zero.
I talked with guy one day just chilling on the beach. He was probably bored and I definitely was. He said his dad married another woman in Germany and lives there. He studied to be a physician in Germany and worked in Kenya. Then he came back to Zanzibar because his mother lives here. He works as a receptionist now, but he got an offer coming as a physician in Stone Town. He then proceeded to show me box moving game on his phone. He said it took him 3 hours to figure it out and wanted to see if I can solve it. Fifteen minutes passed and I kept trying two combinations that didn’t work. That got him bragging and talking shit. “A girl did it”. ” Even n*ggas like me solved it”. For someone educated in Germany, he is still pretty racist and misogynist. I played stupid ass phone games since I was a kid. The shit talking got me bit fired up and being pissed off is the fuel to my engine. Within two minutes, I realized I just needed to combine my two previous approaches and solved the box puzzle. I showed him the congratulation sign, but he wanted me to show him how I did it. I showed him and it made me think he never solved it but tricked me to do it for him. We parted way soon after, but between the touts and random encounters, I was never alone in Africa.
I can’t decide if I like Tanzanians or not. I have some really interesting conversation with many, and then I see people with absolutely zero dignity walking. How can I respect them if they don’t respect themselves. I see rude people. “Chino! Japanese! Korean! Ogaliwa!”. Some of them just yell it out nonstop. I didn’t mind much when central and South Americans called me chino, they don’t see Asians often and they are just intrigued. However, these Tanzanians, they saw plenty. From my observation a lot of Asians go to Zanzibar, so they know. They are just a bunch of African racist and they would sure like it when if I use the n word on them. I mean for a race where slavery and racism had been common, they didn’t seem to mind much to categorize others they don’t know with stereotypes. The less rude ones just say my friend.
At the same time, I did get a bit of laugh out of calling Tanzanians who just fucking can not stop calling me china, Japanese, or Korean, racists.
” Konichiwa Japanese! You looking to snorkel?”. “I’m not Japanese bro”. ” Chino! Korea!”. “Guess again”. ” Konchiwa!!”. ” I don’t want to talk to y’all, y’all fucking racists”. It stuns them and I get a bit of laugh out of it. A proven method to deal with savages who lie is to talk over them. The louder it is the more authority you have. It is completely against the rules of civil debate, but everyone does it and it works in Africa.
Nungwi WiFi was shit. At least back now,e I was staying, they pretend they did pay for the WiFi, but they haven’t paid shit. So I succumbed and got a phone card. 5000 tsh, for 3GB of internet. That’s a dollar for a gig, cheap as shit. Didn’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. Oh, actually I know. They nano cut my sim card with a butcher knife and the card is forever stuck in my phone. Just the thing I tried to avoid.
Life is good on the beach, volleyball, acrobatics, and snorkeling. I went to a dive shop and found a map where I learned there some reefs. All the reefs are easy to get to early in the morning when its low tide. Most of the reefs are broken because of the fishing and boat activities around Zanzibar. I still saw some stuff I hadn’t seen before. Sitting on the beach drinking beers at night after a long day of doing stuff. No wonder people stay here forever.
I saw a bad piece of news on a Thursday morning. They changed the train schedule to Zambia to Friday, not Tuesday. I cut my beach vacation short and took the ferry back.
Traveling in Africa is different. Every new place I go, I wish I stayed at the old place. I want to go back to the oxygen depleted peak of Kilimanjaro, pitch a tent and just sleep there everyday in my down jacket. In Dar, I wanted to go back to Nungwi. I got used to snorkeling and doing nothing. It was good. Dar is the only place I never want to go back.
Every time its something new. It is not the dystopic landscape that puts me back its the every day faces lack of emotion and smile that set me back this time.
I finally got through to Tazara on the phone. I can’t get on the first class sleeper train, but second class will do. I’m not big on luxury especially when luxury is quite relative speaking here. I can not wait to get out of Dar.
MS You Gon’ Be Late
Bus to Dar was to leave at 7AM, and conventional wisdom told me I should head out at 730AM. Well, the time I did that I almost miss the bus, good thing I caught it on the street on my way to the bus station. The bus was empty, even thou it’s filled with seats. Five seats per row in a small bus. I had space for my backpack and more space after that. I figured no one from the mountain villages are keen to go to Dar on a Thursday.
The view on the way back was as great as the way to Lushoto. The bus hauled and we got down the mountain quickly, almost too quickly. I didn’t care it might turn over and we all fall down the cliff, I wanted to make my ferry.
The bus kept going, and with open to window, I got to see more of what I missed last time. Everything is not strange anymore, everything seemed under control, I was going to make the ferry and I will triumph over Africa for one day.
The bus stopped for 30 minutes so the drivers and staff can get food, but we are still on time, even with Dar traffic calculated into consideration. Then the bus stopped another 15 minutes so people can put cargo underneath. Another 15 minutes at another village so the cargo space is filled to the brim. No extra passengers, but the bus became just as heavy and in turn slow. It is one of the most wobbly bus I have been on since Puebla, now I know why. All the weight in the cargo had dampened the suspensions that they probably stopped working. Someone threw up on the way down the mountains.
I didn’t mind the wobbling, wind was blowing in my face in the morning coolness, the bus is somewhat still on time, even thou I might have to get a taxi instead of dala dala to the ferry.
We passed by huts made of criss crossed branches so fragile wind might snap them. In between the branches, spaces are filled red clays made from the red dirt on the ground. There was no sense of architectural integrity, actually, for every hut standing there is one destroyed right next to it.
Savages see a bird and they worship it because it can fly. Non savages see a bird and made airplane so they can fly, but can non savages survive with so little?
More palm trees, more green that stretches into infinity and stops become less frequent because the bus is too heavy. Other buses are passing us. Soon the time they told me we were going to arrived passed. We only covered half the distance.
Maybe we’ll get there at the latest possible moment and then I’ll get the motor taxi there. Optimism is not rewarded sometimes. Two hours later I finally succumbed and lost my hope of making the ferry. With that failure all the shortcomings of the bus became magnified. It was hit, I’m sweating. The shaking roof is scattering black particles and dirt on my shirt and skin. A family of roaches that hid in the window pane decided to go for a stroll because it was too hot.
I arrived at Ubungo past the departure of the last ferry, but the bus station is rather empty. I maneuvered through the bus stop with a dexterity that I completely lacked the last time, got on a dala dala and headed out to town center.
There are many sections of Dar, and given it another chance to shine, I went to the Muslim section. They have good food.
The food was indeed good. Open space barbeque with all kinds of marinated chicken and skewer. However, in a certain area of the section, selling alcohol is prohibited. After a day of being late, not able to get some beer is torture. Absolute torture. The area is dominated by Indian residents too, with goods being sold for slightly more expensive than everywhere else. The buildings are still ran down, like a town in a post apocalyptic movie. Nothing really changed, but I did. I had the serenity to accept the things as they are and became better at survival.
Navigating through the streets was easy, what’s even easier was recognizing the lies of the taxi drivers and street touts.
“The ferry is far, you need a taxi”. ” The ferry only leaves at 12:30PM now, this one is cheaper”. “The slow ferry is only half an hour slower”.
Lies are the weapon of savages. They lie because they have nothing better to offer than your gullibility. I’m a master of lies.
“I’m not staying, I’m going to Moçambique tomorrow morning”. ” I already have the ticket”. “I live and work here, I know”.
Ate, and got my ticket, I stayed the night on the MS You Missed Your Ferry that is called Dar, and prepared for landing the next day.
Lesson of the day? Same lesson two weeks ago, don’t trust the bus.
Brief day in Lushoto
It was early in the morning and the clouds surrounding Moshi have yet to wake up. Africa is an interesting place. You can see the moon and the sun both in the sky at the same time. Walking down the main street of Moshi to the bus station, I can see Mwenzi in the distance. Left to it would be Kibo, the top of Mount Kilimanjaro.
I got on the bus and it left 30 minutes later than advertised because it had to fill up with passengers. There was some kind of argument at the door of the bus but it was resolved quickly. I learned the best way to respond to the touts is to say I already have the tickets. Works every damn time, even when I didn’t. A lady took my backpack’s seat so it had to sit on my lap instead. From observation, man kind of very politely just give you some space so your backpack sits on your lap comfortably. But, ladies, they don’t, they just look at it like oh no, I’m sitting next to a dude with a backpack. Then comes the constant hip swaying of trying to get more space.
I didn’t mind much. Out on the highway, Kibo became extremely visible and watching Kilimanjaro disappear out of sight was my final good bye to this phenomenal mountain. It’s glaciated tops are almost gone, a huge contrast to the paintings everyone tried to sell me.
Kwaheri Mawenzi (goodbye the tallest mountain)
Kilimanjaro was gone and instead the scenery became pineapple farms that stretch to infinity and then the Pare Mountains. Green and more green appeared as more smaller mountains appeared. Palm trees started to accompany the pineapple farms as we traveled more south. I didn’t get to experience this on my way to Arusha because I was on a bus with tinted windows and people who won’t open the windows. This time I get to appreciate the great African outdoors.
The lady next to me left, and my knee got 20 minutes of freedom until an even fatter lady decided to sit down.
She asked me how I was doing, I said poa kabisa. Kabisa is a funny words, it means completely, but it also sounds like cabeza. So it makes me think of good head. She asked something else, but I told her I couldn’t hear her over the sound of the luggage shelf threatening to fall down. She was fat, sitting next to her is harder for me than sitting next to Devin who likes to spread his leg into my side of chair space because he hates buses.
Bus came to the next stop and she bought a lot of oranges. She asked me if I wanted one and I kindly declined because I’m forcing myself not to pee at the moment. She tried to open the windows to throw her trash out but she couldn’t. I didn’t help her litter in her own country neither. After a while, she realized there are a ton of open seats and sitting next to me wasn’t as fun as she thought to be, so she moved. My backpack got its seat back.
I didn’t know the bus goes through the long route in the Usambara mountains to reach lushoto. It went through Soni and another small town before reaching lushoto.
Good, I saw the Soni waterfall from afar. Wasn’t too impressive, what’s impressive is the village people who use it to watch their clothes.
Bus got in lushoto and I got off. First thing I hear is some asshole calling me Japanese. Where are the manners. Some other dude started telling me about places I could stay and the tourist information center while the asshole was objecting him. The other dude was pretty nice and he wasn’t really trying to tout me, and where he was telling me to go are places I already planned to go anyways.
The asshole on the other hand was getting annoying.
Dude: “Make sure to check out the tourist information office, its free”
Asshole: “Nothing here is free man”
True, but.
Dude: “This place is right around the corner where you can stay”
It’s the place I was gonna stay anyways.
Asshole: “I got another place 17000 for a double”
“Do I look I need a double?”
That kind of shut him up and I really didn’t gave a fuck where he was leading to.
The other dude told me to visit the information center again and he left, didn’t ask for tip or anything.
After I was settled, I left for Irente Village because its on the edge of the cliffs and offers a nice view. Another really nice person came to me and asked me to go check out the tourist information center. I said OK and he politely said goodbye.
I started to think tourist information center means safari here in the mountain and they are just doing the same thing as they do in Arusha but with a different word.
“You looking for a safari?”
“You looking for tourist information center?”
Turned out I was half correct. Most of them approached me are from COCAFA, community Care and friendship association. They are a nonprofit that helps the community with orphanage, HIV health and whatever else. The people asking me are their local “guides” who you can pay to do day trips in the mountains. The proceeds go to their cause. That’s why they didn’t give me the creepy vibe even thou they were touting me.
I went off to Irente Village. A pretty scenic and pretty easy, but long walk through the villages. The scenery reminds me of Squamish. There are cows grazing in the opens followed by tons of dragonflies. Brick houses that contains more clay than bricks stood along the red dirt road. Inside the clay houses the smoke from cooking drifted out as the kids are walking back from school. I followed some cows and these cows knew where they are going without a shepherd.
I walked pole pole but arrived at the Irente Village nonetheless. Kids were staring at me as more cows are grazing at the village’s makeshift soccer field. Dragon flies are everywhere, probably attracted to the cow dungs. I went through some walk path and arrived at the cliff. A nice view of the valley below where I can see the highway. The stretch of greens. Then the nearby mountains. A phenomenal view, but what is more phenomenal is the peacefulness on this mountain.
No one really bothered me, everyone just said hello with occasional kids asking me where I came from. The real Africa, yet its also unreal. Then some teenager who seemed to just finish his soccer game had to ask me if I have 500 for him. At least he left when I told him no.
I walked back to Lushoto, and proceeded to walk to the Magamba rainforest, but I don’t like forested hikes and it was getting late so I went back half way. Everything in lushoto is peaceful, I went to get some beer at the bus stop, a place I normally hate. No touts. No chinos. Just bunch of people crowded over a TV watching a soccer match. However, bugs bite me at weird places. I was wearing jeans all day with repellent, but I was bitten on the thighs. There are also more bugs here than other places I have been.
While I was drinking my beers outside the lobby of the place I was staying in. An immigration officer approached me.
“Can I see your passport?”
“Why? Can I see your badge?”
He showed me his badge but I told him he hasn’t answer my why question yet.
“To do my job”
“Why?”
He got a bit pissed, but that convinced me he’s for real, a fake immigration officer doesn’t get pissed like he did.
I gave him my passport, a bit surprised I was checked in the middle of the mountains. He asked me why I’m such a hardass, I told him I never seen a badge before, so I had to make sure I’m not handing my life source to a stranger who might run away with it. We shook hands and it was over, just a strange story.
I kind of like this place, its more genuine. However, it gets a bit boring, and beer is hard to find. The prices aren’t exactly cheap either. I wanted to stay and do many day trips here, but it seemed most people are going to Zanzibar.
I thought I must leave this peaceful, but buggy land of forests, villages and mountains, with much regret of course. I wish I never spent that extra day in Moshi, and that wasted power outage day in Arusha came back to haunt me too.
With my decision made, I aimed for the 7AM bus to Ubungo, the place of my nightmares, and hoped I can catch the last ferry to Zanzibar.
A Quick Stop in the Smoke
Moshi, meaning smoke in Swahili, is named after the ever present cloud looming over the Kilimanjaro mountain. Most tourists go there for the climb. Having already done the climb, I didn’t really have to go there. The altitude is alot lower than Arusha, making the place very hot and I do everything to avoid real African weather.
However, someone forgot his stove in my room and I went there to break up my bus rides and check out the nearby excursions. In Moshi no one really bothers you. The touting has a shelf life of 5 minutes. “You looking for a safari? Kilimanjaro?” “Hapana, already did it” “Congratulations” “Asante Sana” and everything is over.
Let’s rewind a little bit, this happened before I left Arusha. On my way to the buses, one of the first touts that talked to me saw me and started talking to me. This time about music. He kept talking until I got on the bus, then he even went on the bus. At the last second, his true intention showed. “Come on bro, buy the bracelet so I can eat breakfast” “Nope, come on, you follow me all this way but you already know I’m not buying shit” “For breakfast man”. He isn’t starving. Things turned 180 real quick. ” All the others would help out man, you ain’t like them, you are selfish”. That is exactly the problem, all the others rather give you money than have you starve so that you start helping yourself. I’m talking about a perfectly physically capable person here, who speaks better English than most, who spends all his time being a douche on the street. The best was yet to come. “That’s not hip hop culture man”. Like he knows. ” I don’t remember Eninem, Dr. Dre, 50 begging for handouts on the street like you”. 50 is big in Tanzania, I swear.
He was kind of getting angry from the sound of it. I hoped he was. Call me the devil but his suffering made me happy.
Finally he got out the dala dala as the vehicle picked up more passengers, without a word. With more passengers the vehicle finally started moving forward instead of just circling around for people. I grown to like dala dala more now despite the deathtrap nature of the vehicle. The shear amount of people it carries make it unstable, but being among all the passengers make it safe if any impacts is going to happen. Human airbags do wonders. Dala dalas have the least amount of wait time and on top of that, most amount of air flow. I can’t stand the heat of closed window vehicles. What I hate more is sitting in the bus for an hour without moving, waiting for passengers to fill up.
Slowly I arrived in Moshi, and dropped my bags off. The heat was unbearable. Arusha gets hot too, but never humid. The humidity is unbearable. Kilimanjaro is in the background but it’s always covered in the cloud. From personal experience, 6AM is the time you take the pictures.
Alot of Arabic buildings on the main street, and alot of mosques too. I remember I almost went to see a mosque in Calgary, good thing I didn’t.
There is also a coca cola clocktower in the city center round about. There is another roundabout with a statue about Uhuru, which means freedom and on the other side, about conserving water.
Unfortunately, the guy Nir who forgot his stove had already gone to a day trip in Marangu when I arrived. Having not much to do, I went on one of my own.
To maji moto I set off. Maji moto, fire water, is a cold spring near the town of Boma Ngombe, which is very close to moshi. I took a bus there even thou I should have took the dala dala but at the time I was awfully stupid. The bus lagged and I hated it.
After arriving in Boma, I negotiated with Boda Boda drivers to the spring, but they all giving me the Muzungu price. 20 thousand, 50 thousand, and I just sat there and said 3 thousand one way. Finally one person with the motorcycle quoted me 10 thousand for there and back and he’ll wait for me. I’m sure it’s mzungu price too, but guess what, time is money, I can’t afford to bullshit with them any longer.
I hopped on the motorcycle and we went on a very long journey on a real bumpy road. The view was as fine as it gets as dust and wind blew in my face. I loved the ride. It felt free, and it felt wild. The scenery was sublime. Greens, deserts, and the village Rudungai in the middle of the journey made the area felt more occupied. The road is terrible and I had no helmet. The driver put on his helmet in a large stretch of road because of police, and I thought to myself, um, where is mine?
Dude got a really nice bike, with great suspension and I enjoyed the ride alot. I love taking risks, but most of the time I put my life in my own hands, not in the hands of a Tanzanian motorcycle rider.
The way to maji moto was longer than I thought, but the dude, despite being very young, rode well and we got there very easily.
The spring water bubbles from underground and the area is filled with palms despite being surrounded by desert. Most parts of the spring is shallow up to the torso and kids are diving in the water from a swing. I saw some people from Arusha that I knew and they told me they were there because I told them about maji moto haha.
I got myself a bit wet, but my true purpose was to get the catfish to clean up my feet. Walking on the mountain wearing boots and rewearing the same four pairs of socks made my feet filthy. Washing didn’t work that well, but I know from the cenotes that catfishes will do the trick.
I laid in the water and the little fishes cleaned everything up, so much so I lost a shade of brown in my feet. At the same time, some land turtles swam by and a large lizard did too. I really wished I arrived earlier so I can stay longer.
The ride back was as good as the way there. However, the dust made my semi wet shirt dirty. The motorcycle taxi slowly creped up to be my favorite transportation in Tanzania. My hands and face were also dusty so I needed a shower asap. On the way back, some other biker locked eye with my dude and of course he did what I would, they raced. I was lowkey worried, but nothing happened, and I got to Boma faster.
I went on a dala dala and got to Moshi way faster than the bus. I was a bit lazy so I decided to stay another day in Moshi and go check out Lake Chala as a similar day trip. Moshi is so close to Kilimanjaro that the area is way more interesting than Arusha. A lot of day trips can be done in the area, but like Chiapas, it is a pain in the ass without a car. Actually, in Africa, you need a land cruiser.
Going to maji moto was a hassle, and going to the lake will be a bigger one. You can also go to waterfalls in Marangu or look for colobus monkeys in the forest. Waterfalls mean nothing to me, springs have became a common occurrence. The more places you go the more places look the same. The savannahs of these national parks have the same landscape as the back drop of a tiny village, except lions and rhinos roam about. The cenotes are underground maji motos without turtles.
Ate some really good Indian food and drank beer before I went to sleep, intending to wake up early for the lake. I had learned Safari beer is the local favorite, and everyone else’s favorite, and it was rightfully so.
That night, it was so hot despite the small fan churning, that I couldn’t sleep till 4AM. So of course I woke up late and didn’t get to go to the Lake. The Chala lake is almost 4 hours away and I have limited knowledge about how to get there. I think dala dala to Mwika and then motorcycle to the lake. It was going to take forever, so I didn’t do it.
Instead, I bought the tickets to lushoto for next day and beers. I have learned from my various excursions that drinking beer and relax is always better than my single person, next to impossible one day excursions. It does make for great story thou.
I hung out with two Germans I met back in Arusha. They work at an orphanage in Tanzania and come couple times a year. Great guys, and there are a group of Israelis and one of them owns the stove. They try to do everything cheap, but spend alot buying paintings, patches and snacks off the street. Just because Jason and Sundi don’t do the dishes doesn’t make them bad people. The same goes for the Israelis, they are really cool people, but just do inconvenient things sometimes. One of them, David, put all his shit on a lower bunk bed while he slept on top. The air from the fan doesn’t reach the top, and what he did caused himself and I a really shitty sleep.
The Israelis have their own traveling support group and they all meet up wherever they go. Two girls from the group wanted to join me to go to the Usambara mountain. We all got the bus tickets together because they seemed to think I know what I’m doing even thou all I say is I’ll copy the routes from the tourist information center.
The Israeli went to the bus to Nairobi, but came back an hour after. Their bus broke down on the way to Moshi. I never buy bus that isn’t originating from the place I’m taking off, its Africa, anything can happen. Like I said, value is everything, not the price. All I heard was them asking the reception for a deal on the room, I mean it’s 6 dollars a night.
Then the Germans left for home too. They bought a shit ton of coffee to make some money for the orphanage and told me that they’ll show me all the good beers if I ever visit Germany.
I went to sleep early and with everyone gone, I went to sleep with no problem. The fan sends the wind to the lower bunk just perfectly. The bed was no longer used to hold another man’s axe spray. Next day I woke up early, went to get breakfast. Breakfast wasn’t ready and didn’t look it was going to be ready either. The same company owns both the Arusha joint and Moshi joint, yet the one in Arusha is so much better.
I knocked on the girls door, they talked among themselves in Hebrew and went silent. Well, I never had patience for people who lag, especially people I just met. I hoped that they won’t waste their bus tickets and went out for the bus to Lushoto alone.
Random Shiz and Stories 