And into Tanzania I go ….
This fuel attendant, Jackson, wanted some contact info …. ‘You don’t have a phone? You don’t have a home? You don’t know?’, ‘No, but I have email and a fancy blog.’ So I gave him this and he was happy, thinking maybe one day he may come to Canada, and I will be happy to oblige.
I’ve been having allergies lately, staying in many old homes and such, but then tonight I wondered about my camel back (water) and since I haven’t cleaned it since Cape Town so many months ago, I thought maybe this was the source and sure enough, I don’t know but I think I could smell some mold. So the only thing I had with me to clean since my tea tree oil had run out long ago was a bottle of coke overnight so I did, I’ll let me know how it works out for us tomorrow.
I stopped in Iringa, and was pleasantly surprised by the vibe here. No one has hassled me for anything, and the people are mellow and courteous.
IringaTanzaniaChantingStreetSound&Music
I had my zipper for my courier bag fixed for $1, and a hole in my boots fixed and polished for also $1.
These men take recycling of tyres on a whole new level. They make shoes, sandals, tie straps, and all kinds of things with old tyres.
Here is the man’s shoe repair shop, just below the balcony of my room. Anyway I stayed for an extra day here in Iringa for it’s just so pleasant, and normal. I don’t know why the font changed, I hear the sound and cherish the word before a picture I idolize like my own one … and here is this …
Excerpt from journal …. Day 373 Iringa, Tanzania …. People are so affectionate with one another, often boys are arm and arm, or men holding hands while talking to each other, the women and children working their hair and dancing …. It’s strange often to be the white guy, besides the Albino, a rare site to see in every different country I’ve seen them in, black through and through, but a pale white and exactly in their mutual similarities in terms of a common look like a ‘Down Syndrome person’, it’s the look in their eyes, the common features of a ‘being’ similar but different, so striking to witness a lost civilization before one’s naked eyes …. And then I found this below after inquiring the web ….
NAIROBI, Kenya — The mistaken belief that albino body parts have magical powers has driven thousands of Africa’s albinos into hiding, fearful of losing their lives and limbs to unscrupulous dealers who can make up to $75,000 selling a complete dismembered set.
Mary Owido, who lacks pigment that gives color to skin, eyes and hair, says she is only comfortable when at work or at home with her husband and children.
“Wherever I go people start talking about me, saying that my legs and hands can fetch a fortune in Tanzania,” said Owido, 36, a mother of six. “This kind of talk scares me. I am afraid of going out alone.”
Since 2007, 44 albinos have been killed in Tanzania and 14 others have been slain in Burundi, sparking widespread fear among albinos in East Africa.
At least 10,000 have been displaced or gone into hiding since the killings began, according to a report released this week by the International Federation for the Red Cross and Crescent societies.
East Africa’s latest albino murder happened in Tanzania’s Mwanza region in late October, when albino hunters beheaded 10-year-old Gasper Elikana and chopped off his leg, the report said. The killing left Elikana’s father, who tried to defend his son, seriously injured.
Albinism is a hereditary condition, but occurs only when both parents have albinism genes. All six of Owido’s children have normal skin color.
African albinos endure insults, discrimination and segregation throughout their lives. They also have a high risk of contracting skin cancer in a region where many jobs are outdoors.
Owido, a high school teacher in the western Kenyan town of Ahero, says she was forced to transfer from a better teaching job on the Kenya-Tanzania border town of Isebania in 2008 after an albino girl she knew was murdered and her body parts chopped off.
I’ve seen a lot of wrecks in Tanzania …
Today was almost the end …. Excerpt from journal …. IRINGA TO MOROGORO … DAY 374 The trip was almost finished today, and the bike and me by a truck that pulled out onto the road from the side quite unexpectedly. We skidded for 20 feet before realizing I wasn’t going to stop in time. Even going off the road wasn’t an option; it happened so close to me that there was no choice but to brake hard. So I turned the front wheel to swing the rear around and continued to slide sideways for the last 10 feet, expecting to lay the bike down on its side before impact, but I managed to stop much to my surprise, before the bike flipped to the other side causing me to slam my shoulder and helmet onto the side of the truck. I then immediately rode to the side of the road thinking the driver hadn’t seen or heard me yet, and still had a chance to run me over. Then I got off the bike, threw my gloves to the ground and calmly went over to the driver who still hadn’t moved the truck and was sitting in his cab stunned like a deer in the headlights, ‘You weren’t looking!’ He was claiming some sort of excuse that didn’t make sense while apologizing, something about pushing a car but there was only his truck and my bike on the road so …. ‘Yeah’, I said, but didn’t want to talk, so he drove away saying ‘Sorry, sorry’ … ‘Yeah’. A crowd of kids were watching me cursing to myself while smoking a cigarette, all of them in disbelief at what they had seen, or who they were seeing now. After I calmed down, I bowed with my hands together and said to the children, ‘Asante, you are all angels’, to which they replied nothing, still in awe. Then I rode away thinking how did I do that maneuver without thinking, without knowing what to do to save my own life? It was akin to the day Rebecca my friend, and the mother of our daughter Sadie, whispered in my ear she was pregnant. I felt so proud, so strong, so able. Later still I thought, if the truck had pulled out a second later, I and the bike would have been most certainly only a tattoo on death’s arm with the caption, ‘RIP Tanzania’. Wow what a day. I saw Zebra and Giraffe for the first time in Africa, riding through a National Park road, and then into Morogoro, I drove through the center and out of town just looking, then started going up toward the mountain, when a moto taxi hanging out in the shade gesticulated with his hands and head, ‘What do you look for?’. I drew a picture of a house with my finger and lay my head down on my throttle glove/hand while riding by in that moment, he pointed in his direction so I stopped and turned round and listened to him give me directions in Swahili. A nice hotel in a neighbourhood in the hills, with a pizza place somewhere nearby that I have yet to find. At one point while skidding it was as though my mind leapt forward, and my eyes magnified to the side of the truck, and for that millisecond I could feel the hardness of the many ton truck, as my brain as far as I can understand, was calculating the distance to impact in some sort of bionic emergency mode I have never experienced before today. Asante.
The truck can be seen driving away in the picture below ….
The skid mark; it carried on behind me not in the photo, what you can see is when I swung the rear end over cause the skid mark gets thicker ….
Lot’s of Baboon’s on this part of the road. They look at me so indignantly, like a domestic cat when you call it like a dog, they just look at you like you’re stupid.
I woke up with my right shoulder sore and stiff, thinking I must have slept on it funny, and then remembered after a minute, that I was happy to be sore and not dead. Scroll back to the Iringa section if you want to hear the religious chanting, street sound and some music I was listening to, with a small interruption from the front desk.
Leaving in the morning I was speaking with this man (who’s card I don’t have with me as it’s in my room), anyway we got to talking and he is a doctor doing research on water. So I told him that I’ve been drinking tap water since Costa Rica, courtesy of my ‘Golden Egg’ from Stephen Verdon, the CEO of AquaSmarter, and anyway this man who’s name I will enter once I get his card, well he was very curious, and a little dubious, so I gave him an egg so he can judge for himself. I also gave him Stephen’s website and said he could contact him himself, for they already have huge eggs doing there work in various countries in Africa already.
Riding into Dar Es Salaam was hot, crowded and busy, and since it was Friday, I could not apply for a visa for Kenya until Monday so I headed for the ferry service to Zanzibar to see about going there for the weekend. So I zigzagged through the frozen traffic like all the other bikes until I got to the harbour, only to be attacked by the throngs of people soliciting tickets and such. One man who had some authority over the others, whisked me away into his office after I asked him to tell everyone else to back away from the bike and stop crowding me. From there he was offering me any kind of service and prices, and from this discussion I learned it was difficult and costly to take my bike to the island of spices, one being that they would have to carry my bike aboard. No thanks, not unless I have to. Then he suggested hotels and a bike to rent until I said I had had enough of talking and just wanted a place to crash for the night, and to think over my options. He sent me to a church hostel down the road, that was affordable and well secured for the bike.
Inside the room I turned on the TV and saw this frozen image ….
Later I decided I would catch a ferry to Zanzibar the following day as there were no rooms available for the hostel. They agreed to keep my bike there, and I paid the main security man $10 to watch the bike over the weekend. I stored some of my stuff behind reception and made a reservation for a couple of days upon my return to Dar Es Salaam, and then headed to the ferry, and the man who I first spoke with, Ally. I knew he was a hustler, and I know he tried his best to get more out of me, but he also knew I wasn’t a fool so we agreed on the price of the ferry return, plus he convinced me I would be happy to book a room he was offering which I really didn’t want to do until I arrived in Zanzibar myself to look around. Though in the end I conceded to his calm persistence, for after all, he set me up in a good place just down the road the night before. So all said and done, and after I used the calculator to confirm he was trying to get a little extra out of me still, we agreed on the price and off I went to line up for the ferry.
It doesn’t look chaotic in the picture above, because ten minutes later after they yelled for the people to start handing in their tickets, it was a free for all and I was stuck in a mass of people carrying everything including a kitchen sink, animals, food, children and all budding in line. Even I had to jump into the cheating action because there is no stopping these people. I was thinking at the time, ‘Ally you bastard you cheated me!’, as it turns out I was boarding the ‘Cattle boat’ on a Saturday morning to Zanzibar.
People and goods were thrown around everywhere, with no order whatsoever. It was really crazy, but I found a room that was unoccupied, like first class or something, and when I went to enter someone stopped me to look at my ticket saying, ‘How much did you pay for your ticket?’. I answered in a I don’t give a shit manner, ‘I don’t remember’, and he opened the curtain and let me inside. It was so weird, the whole boat was packed and there was no room to even walk on the deck with all the bodies lying every where, and yet this room was empty. Eventually though, more people came into the room, the gate keeper in charge of choosing his alliances or friends.
And into the port of Zanzibar …. getting off the boat was even worse then getting on. Everyone carrying huge supplies and pushing their way gently off the boat without complaining, with me squished in and really wanting my personal space. By the time I got outside we were faced with a huge crowd just outside the gate offering all kinds of services, and name cards held above their heads. ‘Hey wait a minute that’s my name’. So I walked past the young man holding my name above his head and gave him a look with my eyes to follow me and I kept walking to get out of the gate crowd. He wasn’t sure, but watched me until I looked back again and said come here with my eyes. Maybe I was over reacting to the whole situation, but having left my bike behind in a city I had been in for twelve hours, bought tickets for a ferry that should have been less than what I had paid considering I was on the cattle boat, a room I had paid for and never seen, well I wasn’t over reacting. When the young man came over I said, ‘Who sent you?’ ‘Ally, from the ‘Fungiru Hotel”. ‘Oh… okay, let’s go then’. He led me through some tiny dirty streets until we reached the Hotel, and just as Ally had said, it was new and clean, but not in the super posh area which I did not want to stay in. I was greeted nicely, ‘Mr. Markus we’ve been expecting you’, and taken to my room for a cool shower.
A long story short, after showering I went to another hotel to inquire about food and drink since my hotel did not have this, except for breakfast, which I knew in advance. In fact the owner of my hotel, also named Ally, suggested I go to Mer(something). Anyway I had forgotten the name so the reception guy said ‘Go with our electrician, he will take you to a cheaper place than Mercury’s', so I did. We walked and walked and I thought what the hell am I doing following this guy for, and in the end we got to a local bar that had no food and only two people in it. So I bought the electrician a couple of beers before walking back to his hotel/job, and from there I went to Mercury’s for a comfortable drink and food with a TV to watch some World Cup, although pricey. In fact, Africa is not cheap, and when I mentioned to a woman at the bar with the electrician, she said, ‘You think it is expensive?’. After which I humbly replied, ‘I understand your point’.
The next day I went on a tour of the Spice Farms, with about twenty other people. It was nice, but the same as all the tours; you pay to be followed by locals trying anything they can to get any money out of you. I understand, and it makes sense that tourists are brought into their villages at an initial price, and then expected to tip for their kindness and offerings, but for me it is exactly what I don’t want to do, since most of my time is spent with the people on the road as it is, not like most of the other tourists who are on a short vacation traveling by planes and taxis.
I was often wandering away from the group, and the kids quietly soliciting with handmade grass woven rings, necklaces, bracelets or casual conversations. Anyway I found these, thinking they were tributes to people who had passed away.
But later finding out from our guide that they were scarecrows to protect the rice.
A very nice peaceful lunch ….
This young man told us of the slave caves, where people were forced into the caves at the end of their work days, and released the next morning to work for the traders.
In the evening I went back to Mercury’s for the England Germany match, meeting to British brothers, Paul and Greg, who escorted one of Paul’s son and two friends up Kilimanjaro, thinking they had better not go alone. They were right, one kid almost drowned in a hotel pool who didn’t know how to swim well, and Paul’s son Alex, contrary to the terrible advice of the two guides, had severe altitude sickness and fell unconscious eventually. A terrible story of guides who were experienced in guiding but not knowing the obvious signs of altitude sickness. Unbelievable story, really crazy. In the end, he was saved from having a stroke, but the story is long and too lengthy to explain just now. (Actually Paul, if you want to write about it and place the story here you are welcome. Just send it to my email and I will copy and paste) Anyway, we had a nice night, and Alex is fine again. I also met another man, Joe, from Germany, who has been riding his bicycle down West Africa and up to Tanzania for the past two years. He is tired mentally and physically, and heading back to Germany in two weeks. It was nice to talk with him, and although his feat in my opinion is much more severe and daunting than mine, we can relate more easily with each other than most other tourists. I’m sorry I didn’t get a picture of Joe or Paul and Greg, but sometimes the timing just isn’t right.
The next morning I was relieved to find out I was taking the speedy passenger ferry back to Dar Es Salaam.
Though once aboard and traveling at a fast speed, the crew were handing out the plastic bags. The ferry had arrived late, and so I think the captain decided to make up some time because this boat was rocking and rolling and slamming down on the ocean swells. Everyone aboard was getting sick, the children wailing with an unknown agony, people lying on the deck like they were dying, it was really awful and I was wishing to be back on the Cattle boat, even though I don’t suffer from sea sickness and had no problem with that, I was terrified that the hull would smash open upon impact. It was like being on a roller coaster for two hours. Sometimes I would laugh out loud and other times say, ‘Jesus Murphy!’. One lady screamed something in Swahili like, ‘Oh my God no!’. And another lady asked to go out the sealed doors at the front of the vessel and they obliged without a warning. It’s unbelievable really, there is no liability to be concerned about, which I kind of like to be honest. Anyway I was watching her sick and standing at the front of this vessel going up and down dramatically thinking she’s going to go over and then at one point I couldn’t see her anymore and so I got up holding onto anything I could to look through the windows until I saw her sitting up against the door, eyes closed. I didn’t have the heart to take a picture of the people all sick, so just these images instead.
After saying good-bye to Paul and Greg, I headed back to the hotel to see if my bike and all it’s belongings were still there. First I stopped by Ally’s shop to thank him for understanding my taste without knowing me, and thwarted off the tons of solicitors with a smile on my face back to find my bike without being even touched. The main security guy came out to say, ‘Is everything okay?. Yes thank you very much’.
Later I went to the Kenyan embassy to apply for a visa, found a Tanzania sticker for the bike, bought some oil for a change, and a bunch of other stuff over the next two days before once again riding north.
I also haven’t had the heart to take a picture of an Albino person, which I had mentioned early in this section of Tanzania, though I took this picture from a TV.
Excerpt from journal …. The ferry ride to Zanzibar was crowded and the process of departing claustrophobic, and to be honest, I am most unhappy with the tourist places, and most satisfied with the places that are not. Now I am already disappointed to see the pyramids. Also I feel terrible about leaving my bike behind, like I betrayed my friend or lover.
This was sent to me from a woman I met in Port St. John’s at the Jungle Monkey. Her name is Yogi for short, Yogashini, and she has a calm, patient, thoughtful way about her …
A boat docked in a tiny Goan village. A tourist from Mumbai (Mumbaite) complimented the Goan fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
“Not very long,” answered the fisherman.
“But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the Mumbaite.
The Goan fisherman explained that his small catch was Sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The Mumbaite asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
“I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, play guitar, sing a few songs… I have a full life.”
The Mumbaite interrupted, “I have an MBA from IIM-A, and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat.”
“And after that?” asked the Goan.
“With the extra money The larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants
and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Panjim, or even Mumbai. From there you can direct your huge new enterprise.”
“How long would that take?” asked the Goan.
“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the Mumbaite.
“And after that?”
“Afterwards? Well my Friend, That’s when it gets really interesting,” chuckled the Mumbaite, “When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!”
“Millions? Really? And after that?” asked the Goan.
“After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, Sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings doing what you like with your buddies.”
“With all due respect sir, but that’s exactly what I am doing now. So what’s the point wasting 25 Years?” asked the Goan. And the moral of the story is? Know where you’re going in life. You may already be there.
Life in the present world is indeed a rat race. Many who have good qualifications too do not know where they are going in life.
And here is an excerpt from an entry back in South Africa I met to enter …. Excerpt from journal DAY 329 AmphitheatreBackPackers Drakensberg… I got something the Afrikaans call , ‘Bang Babbelaas’. I thought I was having a heart attack, breathing, hollowness in my arms, weak, faint, then cold shivers before Ilsa the co-owner of the ABP asked, ‘Are you okay? No I answered. Malaria? she asked before answering her own question, No, we don’t have malaria in South Africa. What are the symptoms? Oh silly dear she said, you have Bang Babbelaas’. So she gave me two power aids and two pills to relax me. I was up late the night before with Josh, we listening to music and talking about our lives as though we had known each other since childhood. The following morning it was too hot to keep sleeping in my tent so I woke up and had two coffee’s and then the symptoms of an anxiety attack came without me ever having one before. My blood sugar levels were low, and combined with the strong coffee I was drinking (and I don’t normally drink coffee), my body started freaking out. Ilsa has had many before, and was really comforting and made me relax before I lay down for a nap. After getting through that, I had dinner and went to sleep at 8:30pm.
