Back home

The travel back started with a mirror image of the day I arrived. Unplanned events with a taxi driver. Three months ago Dora helped a friend of hers get some extra income. Now that I knew the prices I could negotiate a better price for the taxi. 30,000 shillings, less than half of what I paid when I came. However, the best deal doesn't help when the taxi driver doesn't show up and my biggest night mare came true. I called him twice. Once five minutes before he was supposed to show up and he sounded sleepy. The second time I called him at 5:10 (he was supposed to be at the hotel at 5:00). I told him he had to be there in five minutes, otherwise I'd take a different taxi. He said OK, but wasn't there and I was lucky another taxi stopped by and gave me a reasonable price. 40,000. With me now needing to have to go to the airport desperately he could have asked for more. I didn't show it, though and that may have influenced his decision.

The taxi didn't look promising (the engine turned off when he stopped to ask me if I needed a ride). The driver also slowed down to a crawl every time there was oncoming traffic, blinded by the light. Fortunately, the ride took only 40 minutes, as he had said, so I was still there with plenty of time.

We had a short hopover to Mombasa/Kenya. Unfortunately, there we had to exit the plane and re-enter. At least it gave me the chance to buy some overpriced water. The dudes at the Kili airport were just as stupid as in Europe and took all the liquids, including a sealed juice bottle. Sigh. I gave my juice to some workers, emptied the water and still managed to sneak in a 300ml bottle of some carbonated lime drink. They did catch the juice in my Aluminum bottle as well, so next time it's time for a lead bottle, I guess.

Now I am back. It's weird. When I left the area looked like this.





Here is another display of fall colours:



Now all the leaves are gone, but it's not as cold as I had expected. In fact I am not sure why people ran around with bulky jackets, but maybe I was just longing for some cold after three months of no cooling off.






Here is a shot from approximately the same angle as the previous one:















And here is some proof there is snow in the mountains...

Time to say good-bye

I brought in Cookies and Juice for the people at KIDT. It was a nice farewell. I wanted to demonstrate the biogas, too. But yesterday Vicky from COMPACT was unavailable. She was the main person for my thesis here and was needed in attendance. And today the biogas storage tank was empty... Joys of technology. I think sometimes the storage tank is empty in the morning because Mfinanga puts a weight on top. Oh well.

I quit early and went to the town Machame in the afternoon. I didn't know what to expect other than it's one of the routes up to Kili. Turned out there is a hospital and I ran into a Nebraskan. We had lunch together. Everybody calls him doctor, pastor or teacher, and as he pointed out "I am neither." He has been there for four years and is doing administrative and organisational things. He initially came for three weeks, then got infected with the "Africa bug" We'll see if I am next in line...

After lunch I walked up to the Kili Nationalpark gate (four kilometres). I had a quick look and went back. Half way back down I realized school was out as tons of kids came up the mountain. There was a lot of greeting, waving and smiling to be done until I was through. One (non-school) kid ran after me for a couple of hundred metres. His mom (or some other relative) was coming the other way, up the hill and laughing her head off. When we met she picked him up and prevented him from going further. Still, everybody was laughing. The kids wear school uniforms here, btw. The sweaters are either dark blue or held in the Tanza flag colors (black, blue, yellow green).

I then got in a bus. Mamma mia, that dude was screaming down the mountain like there was no tomorrow and for a while I thought there isn't. Then a guy entered that I knew from KIDT. What are the chances to run into him with all those dala-dalas and some 20km away from Moshi? We had a good chat. Then the driver overshot his stop completely. I felt sorry for him. But then the stop came and he explained to me that I have to change to a different dala-dala, free of another charge. That never happened before and I don't know what the reasoning was for that. At any rate, the other dala-dala was emptier, more modern (not that I care for A/C, which fortunately was switched off, but had an overhead luggage net) and the driver was driving reasonably well.

All in all a nice afternoon to cap off the stay here. I will enjoy a nice dinner and some football on TV tonight and hope that the stopover in Mombasa will be alright (apparently yesterday several people were killed there in the post election unrest, including a member of parliament and two German tourists).

Kwa Heri.

The yesterday after tomorrow

What did I write yesterday? "The last day. I can't believe it!"

Yup, better don't believe it! I am waiting on the day when someone can explain to me how many days each month has. Could we agree on 31? Then my calculation of leaving the next to last day in January would have yielded 30 and would have been right on target. Instead, I used 30 as a base and came out with a scheduled departure of Jan 29... I checked my plane ticket this morning and it clearly shows I am leaving on the 30th, not on the 29th. Ooops.

It's nice, of course, to have an extra day! I am not complaining, except for the fact that I have to contact the taxi dude.

Waiting on a sunny day

Sunday, Jan 28

Finally another rainy day here. It was about time. I took the opportunity to go for a run. I had two 'conversations' on the way. The first one I am not really sure what it was all about. Two Massai warriors were trying to tell me something. I think one said something about dala-dala, so they may just have suggested I take the bus. I must have looked rather tired or awkwardly running...

15 minutes later – I was already on my way back – I heard someone say "Good morning." I looked up and saw an old woman, slightly hunched over, on the other side of the road. She asked "Why are you running?" That's a good one! I replied "For exercise." She was laughing at the answer: "Ha Ha Ha." Since we were going opposite directions that was the end of the conversation. But it brought me full circle to the beginning, when I was describing how former professional runner Dieter Baumann had similar experiences in Kenya.

People do things with a purpose here and I enjoy it. I have often tried to do the same in the US and use my bicycle to run (or bike) errands. That saves me from having to go for exercise. I did a tremendous amount of walking while in Africa, but couldn't really run most of the time, as it was too hot during the day. I took buses and taxis only for the absolute minimum necessary. I will have one final taxi ride to the airport ahead of me. For a long time I thought I would either stay in the hotel next to the runway or maybe try to find some private accommodation. But one seemed too expensive and the other too inconvenient. I now found a taxi driver who will give me a ride for 30,000; the minimum, according to a German who had been here for a while. I had to do some negotiating for that one.

And more negotiating today when I bought a football shirt. It's really funny – all the shops seem to be local and single shops. But somehow they are just one gigantic chain, I guess. I went to one shop. They didn't have the shirt, so I walked on to the next. They didn't have it, either, but one guy told me to wait and off he went. Then the guy from the first shop came over also and told me to wait. Next were two other guys that all of a sudden dashed off in two different directions. They came back a couple of minutes later, almost colliding with each other. The next thing was hilarious, as they were fighting for position in front of me (only guys three and four; I never saw one and two come back). They started yelling at each other – not even handing me the shirts, so I could inspect. I told them "Easy" and they calmed down somewhat. I liked the shirt from guy #2 better and asked for the price. "25,000." Oh, the same shirt was offered in the Mzungu store, generally more expensive, for 15,000. Fortunately, I also knew that the shirt sold for 8,000 in Arusha. So I said 8,000. He went down to the 10,000, while another guy now kept yelling 15,000. Hmm, strange; the guy who has the shirt said 10,000 and some other dude tries to convince me to pay 15,000? I repeated "8,000" and the guy shook his head. So I tried to hand it back to him and he wouldn't take it! I finally just hung it over his shoulder and walked away. This usually does the trick when they do want to sell it. And yes, he came after me and said. "Give me money." I double-checked. Yes, 8,000.

In the evening I went to watch the football Africa Cup of Nations on TV again (without wearing the football shirt..). The games are really fun to watch. There is less tactics, much more technical brilliance and sloppy defending than in Euro soccer, which leads to high scoring games. Yesterday Cameroon won 5:1, today Angola clobbered Senegal 3:1. My favourite player is from the Cameroon team. It's not his hairdo, his looks or his skills I notice. But come on, you gotta love a guy called BIKEY!!!

I managed to stay healthy for the three months here, but now in my final days I am apparently getting sick. Not that I have any symptoms like fever or anything. But today I packed! Two days ahead of time. Very suspicious for a last minute guy like me. Of course I am only 75% done, as I still need a quarter of my things. All I know, hoewever, is that it's not normal.

Tomorrow is the last time I will head to KIDT. I bought some cookies and juice and will hopefully be able to demo the biogas, if the system is ready.

The last day. I can't believe it!

White men can run

I had a field visit at Camartec today. It's fairly easy to get there: Take a Dala-Dala from Arusha to Tengeru (about 20min), then take another Dala-Dala (about 5km over unpaved, rough roads). Well, as I got off in Tengeru I noticed the Dala-Dala was completely empty (remember, they only leave when they are full). Since I wasn't sure how frequented this route was I decided to walk and hop on the Dala-Dala when it drives by. But after one kilometer I had enough and started running. The darn Dala-Dala never passed me and I got to the Camartec office reasonably early.

My trip was as always planned very well in theory, with C'tec having visited all the sites already to make appointments (something I tried to prevent, as I thought they may tell them what to answer). Well, I didn't need to worry, as they assembled a list on the fly. I actually got to alter it during the trip a bit. My prof had also promised some money for this trip, as they wanted quite a lot. I was really interested in visiting sites that were dormant, to find out why people are not using them anymore. This should help in coming up with strategies for the future. Of course the guy insisted that all their plants are working. But nothing that a little money couldn't fix and so I promised him good cold cash if he suddenly remembers where the non-functioning plants are. That jogged his memory :)


At one plant he pointed out that "in this area we have 20 plants and one or two are not working. The others are fine." And at the same time admitting that he had trouble finding those one or two places as "I haven't been here in 15 years." Hmmm. Follow up is a problem and I'll add this to my thesis...

Leakage was actually a problem, as seen in the picture. But most of those plants had been around for 15 years or more. Actually a pretty good track record. I doubt it is representative, though...

Later in Arusha I went to the market, looking for something my mom had requested. I couldn't find that, but I got a real treat instead. The vendors had most of their stuff on blankets, straight on the ground. They were next to the street. I came across an intersection that was almost deadlocked by four or five cars. I say almost because one guy backed up and was apparently trying to untie the deadlock like the Gordic knot. A loud bang, some honking, angry shouting. Then the 'hit' taxi driver got out to inspect the damage on his vehicle. It's beyond me how he managed to find the "new" dent among the 2,000 old ones and why this one really mattered that much. At the same time another taxi tried to get through and with the space being tight decided to roll over the "stand" of the Mango lady. Fortunately, she spotted the problem and quickly rescued here yummy fruit from becoming unusable juice.

Yesterday was also memorable. Mfinanga didn't show for our 10:00 meeting, so I decided to head to Arusha myself. But he managed to board the same bus eventually, having arrived some 45min later. Phew. Two "wazungu" from Germany also boarded. The woman had been doing an internship for her studies in Morongoro, working in a place for disabled children. She really enjoyed it. Pretty cool. Then we started and all of a sudden voices got louder and an older men and two younger ones were in a pushing and shoving contest. Eventually, the old man got off, fairly angry. But the other two kept wrestling and shouting. The bus finally stopped and while I thought the one guy was trying to prevent the other from getting off (with the aggressive conductors here fighting for customers it wouldn't have surprised me), it was actually the other way round. That dude was holding on to the door so the conductor couldn't open it and throw him out. Eventually, there was some more wrestling and one passenger hitting the conductor, as it got too close for her comfort. The dude was finally thrown off under much laughter from the "audience." It is moments like that when I regret not having taken a full language class.

With all those experiences today I was feeling a bit blue at times. Once, when I checked out of Monjes Guesthouse. After all this was my third stay with them and they all remembered me. Also, later on the way home, when I came by Mt. Meru, for the last time this trip. I had to think back about the great experience I had walking up there and the mountain was as beautiful as ever. A few days ago I was looking forward to coming back, but right now I am not so sure. Things aren't strange anymore as they were in the beginning and I feel like I am blending in pretty well. Now just someone tell those taxi drivers I do not need a car to cross the street...

Living on a prayer

I read a scary paragraph today in a paper called "The Citizen". It contained the sentence: "...with nearly 90% of the people unable to get a single meal a day." This would reduce the Tanzanian population to about 10% fairly soon.

All joking aside, the report is fairly grim and says that 90% of Tanzanians have only $2 for food per day. How much do you get for $2 here? For example, a loaf of bread and about ten bananas, having enough left over to get a cup of tea somewhere. As I mentioned earlier, this area is somewhat richer and doesn't feel the pinch as much. There are quite a number of overweight people, actually. But my trip, especially the train part, has brought me through some poorer areas, where there is not as much food and things are grimmer.

The 300 stooges

(Train trip from Mwanza to Dar on Jan 1st, 2008)

I had checked in the morning to see if there was an opening in First class, to no avail. The reporting time was 17:00. I spent the day getting some shopping done for the trip and also visited the fish market that I had noticed when I first arrived. It looked far, somewhat at another shore of the lake, but ended up only a twenty-minute walk. For hygienic reasons my diet is a little restricted right now. I cut out milk products (too many power outages) and meat (not sure about how they handle it - probably not EU standards, while on the other hand I am sure it is mostly very fresh; picture a chicken walking into a restaurant and it'll end up on the "plat du jour" in no time). I decided to keep fish (samaki) in the diet, but after seeing the fish market, I may get second thoughts, too.

Fish was piled up some 3-4 feet high. Workers were handling it while standing on it - some barefoot, some with shoes. Vultures and other pesky birds everywhere, not to forget about all the flies hanging out. One guy was loading a trailer. Oops, there went one fish past the trailer, right into the dirt. With all that keep in mind the fish here is eaten with the skin (and, as mentioned before, with eyeballs), so yes, I was a bit concerned with people standing on the fish). Talked to a nice fellow and he assured me that that fish is mostly sold to Uganda and the northern parts of South Africa (huh? Would that be North South Africa???). Alrighty then....

Since January first is a holiday most restaurants and shops were closed, but fortunately the pizza place was open. So I went there for the third time and filled up my stomach. At 17:00 I headed over to the train station. Tons of people there, but nowhere to report. The ticket booths were closed. People kept telling me about a black board where the names would be listed (including if I got my upgrade to first class), but I couldn't find it. There was no train either, which I figured was a bad sign for a 18:00pm departure. Soon the news made the round that there was some problem and the departure wouldn't be until 21:30.

Eventually I found the list. It wasn't posted until maybe 20:00 or so. I didn't make the upgrade to first class. Oh well. There were no lights in the train, but at some point I decided to just board and go to bed. One guy was already there, but I still got the chance to claim a bed on the lowest level. I am always afraid of falling out of an high altitude bed. Just like in a Euro-sleeper, there were three bunk beds on top of each other, on each side, for a total of six. Eventually the others came too, carefully making sure to shine their flash lights always straight into my eyes, just to ensure that I wouldn't go to sleep before the party ended (or started?). Finally - I think around 23:00 - we started moving.

I woke up to a nice sunrise while lying in my comfy (?) bed. We were in Shinyanga. It is hard to belive that the train must have taken about seven hours to cover a distance that took the bus maybe three or four. Because my luggage, albeit locked, was sitting underneath my bed, I felt a bit uncomfortable going to breakfast, although once we got moving again I figured at least nobody could jump in and take the bag and jump out. The breakfast car was two cars up. They served sausage, omelette and bread, together with tea. The tea was pre-sweetened and the plate of food included a big hump of salt. My brother would be in heaven, but I am not too fond of either and learned to order my teas "bila sukari." However, this time it was already stirred in. Sigh.

I spent most of the rest of the day on my bed, sometimes falling asleep, sometimes reading, but mostly just watching Tanzania fly by. It was just fascinating to see the different landscapes and I am glad I was sitting in a comfortable train and not in a bus, where half of my concentration is wasted on not getting bus sick. In Tabora we could get off and have lunch. It didn't matter that we were already five or so hours behind schedule. If there was to be a two-hour break it was going to be a two-hour break. I had met a nice fella during breakfast and we went to lunch together. I had of course again thoughts (first, second and thirds) about my luggage. In the end I had to trust the guy who was staying back. I have learned that most Tanzanians are very trustworthy, and especially when you travel together with them. Since I cut out the meat my lunch was rice and beans. There was plenty of it and I can't believe they only charged TZS800!

After stocking up on water our journey finally continued. I skipped dinner, as I had bought a loaf of bread in Mwanza. At something like 2:00 or maybe 3:00 in the morning we were in Dodoma. Since I had slept a bit during day time and went to bed ridiculously early I got out for a bit to stretch. When the train started again I was watching the stars in the night sky. It may sound boring but I was super happy by a simple pleasure like that.

In Dodoma a few guys had gotten off and a few on. I started talking to one "newcomer", but of course my Swahili only gets me so far. He asked me if I spoke French. Man, I can't tell you what a welcome change that was!!! He was from Congo and a really nice guy. We chatted a lot. We stood side by side on the window and watched the locals try to sell all their goodies at all those tiny little villages along the way. Depending on the region there was an abundance of supply in onions or coconuts or bananas or pineapples. There were kids, some not older than four or five, selling stuff (I have now idea how they would be able to reach up to the window, as even teenagers had to really make themselves long to get the money and give the food - sometimes the customers just throw the money out the window and the salesperson has to find it in the dirt). At one stop a guy made a last minute decision (even by my standards) to buy bananas when the train was already rolling! The lady who had them started running, got to the window but had no energy left to lift the yellow fruit up, so had to abandon her efforts under the laughter of about everyone else around her (she was smiling, too). And one of the very little ones, who managed to sell all his bananas in one scoop, ran like madman, celebrating like a football player who just scored the decisive goal in a final, showing his money to some of his peers, then ran off.

Paul from Congo and I were watching all this together and it was just so entertaining. Between the stops we would look at the pretty country side, sometimes interrupted by our conversation in French. At one stop I noticed he threw two plastic bottles out the window, right where a child was standing. She picked up the two bottles he tossed. I remembered that some people liked to collect those and got out my empty one. Paul directed me to throw it to the other kid that had appeared (he was so small I didn't even think he would know what to do with a plastic bottle). He picked it up happily. Then I saw more and more people throw bottles and more and more kids appear. They still ran (many barefoot on uneven, unpaved and rocky ground, I may add) as the train was already moving.

Then Paul told me we had to get of in Morongoro to catch buses. A freight train wreck was blocking the tracks. Paul, Peter - a friend of Paul - and I set down at a "cafe". When the first buses arrived, most passengers started to run, scrambling for position and fighting to get in line. Police was at the scene quickly to keep somewhat of an order! It was surreal. I am glad that Peter and Paul stayed relaxed. We kept sitting in the shade, while most passengers now had to wait in the baking sun. The boarding process took forever and not all buses had arrived yet. We watched as the police kept shuffling "line cutters" out of the queues. Even local TV decided it was worth a story! It was fun to watch several hundred stooges make fools of themselves. Then a bus parked somewhere else and we decided to go for that one. There was already a line, but we managed to get in, albeit with a lot of work. Other people kept pushing in from the side. Fortunately this turned out to be a bus that also had many police officers already boarded. I had noticed them in the train earlier, and they kept things somewhat at bay, though I am not sure that even we cut some people off, simply by trying to prevent others in cutting and following police orders on how to get into the bus.

Once inside I had to fight through towards the end of the bus with my overly wide backpack. People started putting baskets filled with chicken everywhere in the aisle. I sure hope they remembered which baskets were theirs, for the chickens all sounded and looked the same! I felt like I had just managed to fight through the front row of a Metallica concert. I was soaked in sweat, but as I sat I had a big grin on my face, seeing all the pushing and shoving and the chickens and roosters in baskets, some trying to hop out. After all what I just had witnessed was super comical and something not pat of any main stream tourist program.

We finally left, after a four-hour wait and with three hours left to Dar. The train wouldn't have been slower. There was a moment when everybody got up and looked to the right. Aha, checking out the freight train wreckage. I was amazed, btw, that our train didn't derail. Frequently it was bouncing up and down so much I thought we were going over speed bumps!

All the police personal on the bus didn't help and we got weighed along the route. Fortunately we passed - thank goodness those chickens were all malnourished.

The traffic in Dar was like LA. Sometimes we stood for minutes w/o moving. Maybe the train would have been even faster in the end...

Game drive without play time

After enough people had told me about how incredible those driving safaris are and not wanting to spend the extra money for the activity safaris (still not sure why a mountain bike safari, which involves less gas, is supposed to be more expensive...) Sylvie and I headed west to see some big animals.

While seeing an elephant from a few metres away or a lion lying in the grass (is that where they got their name from???) is certainly impressive, the overall experience was a bit mixed. It's not black and white like a zebra – I can't say I hated the experience. But I really thought there would be a stop sometimes to step out of the car and enjoy the views. Instead, I think I spent more hours in a car in two days than in all of 2007...

That made it a bit of a drag for me. So for me the wildlife moment that stands out is still Meru, when we saw a giraffe while walking down the hill. Even if it was farther away (maybe 70-80 metres) it was ultimately a much more down-to-earth feeling than an elephant five metres away, observed within a can of steel. Even the canoe tour on Lake Duluti that Sylvie and I did the day before was more relaxing and enjoyable for me, without seeing any of the big five wildlife. The big five is five of those must-see animals during a safari. I don't even know which ones they are – I assume lions, elephants and leopards are among them. It seems a bit of a trophy thing and I guess I just enjoy more the whole experience.

And of course at least in that regard the Ngorongoro crater was cool. It offered stunning views from above and inside. The drive back up was beautiful through the tropical rain forest. On the top we (finally!!!) stopped at a vista point and saw the rain clouds to the right, the little forest in the foreground to the left and the wide open meadows behind. The number of zebras and buffaloes are mind-boggling.

But maybe my highlight was the lunch break at a little pond, stepping out and watching the birds and trees. While the latter were somewhat calm, the birds were very aggressive, stealing the lunches (including Sylvies's) out of the tourists' hands! We all retreated to the car and fortunately I am quick eater and got to spend some more time outside. I was almost mad when they all wanted to continue...

I think another big minus was our tour guide, who talked about five sentences in two days ("Here is a variety of birds," and the obvious "This is the crater," among them). I got more valuable info from Sylvie than from him.

We went with this company b/c the roaming Aussies had told us about it. They warned us about the pitfalls with the company but overall still had a great time, a great cook and very good driver and tour guide, who explained everything very well. So we decided to bank on that. The cook was OK and on the plus side we didn't have any leftovers, but the breakfast and second lunch was hardly enough for me and I was glad I brought some cookies. And the driver drove well, but his second duty, tour guide, left to be desired, to put it politely.

On the bright side it was substantially cheaper than some of the other companies that LP recommended, so it's OK. Shidolya (or however they are spelled) has a lousy office that will just lie about anything – something that I hadn't encountered here in this form. I'll pick one example: If you pay with travellers's checks they make you sign them but then try to pass them on to the Ngorongoro park officials. And then they refuse to cash them, because they are already signed, which makes sense. We knew this from the Aussies. So initially we refused to sign them in the office. Then the guy came back after supposedly talking to his manager and said "No problem, we pay cash at the entrance." Of course when we got to the gate they paid with TC and a 15-minute standoff ensued.

Oh, and this is the traffic jam in the park – another reason why I am not too fond of the experience. There is a lot of dust and pollution created.

Went for a short run this morning, which felt really nice after sitting for two days straight. There is a nice loop close to the Moshi airport. Tons of school kids were already out, walking or running to school. Isn't that a little early? Actually saw a local running, too. I followed him for a while (with a growing gap; I could have held his pace at five in the afternoon but not at 6:30 in the morning!), but then he made a sharp turn. I decided to continue straight, which "landed" me on the runway. Ooops.

The big poopers

My translator Mr. Mfinanga is a really nice guy and very helpful. But sometimes he does give me a little mini-crisis. When we are about to leave or something needs to be done it is not uncommon that he vanishes into thin air. The KIDT campus isn't all that big and I never know how he manages to disappear – it is almost like David Copperfield is at work. Well, maybe next time I will check the women's bathroom, too.

Anyway, yesterday evening we came back from Himo and I had to run to an internet cafe. I needed to check my email in order to figure out today's program. I didn't get the email from one of the guys in Arusha, so I went to tell Mfinanga we can go ahead to Marangu tomorrow. Well, he was nowhere to be found! I had already told him we should meet at 8am at my hotel if the Arusha plan doesn't work out. But the next morning I didn't see him, either. So went by myself, which actually worked out well.

I went to see one of the biggest (it may actually be *the* biggest) biogas plants in all of Tanzania. I talked to a guy who, together with other Tanzanians, went to Rwanda after the 94 genocide. They helped get biogas running and transferred the knowledge to Rwandans. Since within Tanzania people/companies are less likely to transfer knowledge to others (out of fear of losing market share) Rwanda has now passed Tanzania with biogas projects, according to this guy (Robert). He also invited me to see their projects in South Western Tanzania. He said his company would pay for the airline ticket! I am not sure if I have the time and the flight would be from Dar es Salaam. But to Dar I want to go anyway, so maybe I can combine it into a screwed-up four day trip. I may even get to see Lake Tanganyika (world's longest lake at 670km). It sounds tempting even though I generally don't like unnecessary flying for environmental reasons (at this point there is no way to get there and back by bus). I am also not particularly thrilled about flying with an airline I never heard of, but at least "Precision Air" sounds like they will get you on target.

I also finally got to see the HEM Project office in Himo. This is where COMPACT used top have their office, but they moved to Moshi about a month or so before I came. Frankly, I am glad I am in Moshi rather than Himo. It's pretty small and doesn't look like there is a whole lot to do, except for going up to Marangu.

Underground Lake

After hopes of a night game drive were dashed due to timing, Sylvie and I settled for a nice canoe tour on Lake Duluti (Underground lake). Despite its name there was plenty of water above ground, but it is true that the lake went downhill whichever way you went, so paddling was easy. We saw lots of birds and something that Sylvie said was some kind of water lizard. I don't know, to me it looked like a kind of creature from a science fiction movie. It was at least 20 metres long – well, I am guessing here as parts of the body were underwater. It was quite amazing, though.
Today we are heading off for a more leisurely, typical drive safari. The more action oriented ones (canoeing, walking, biking) turned out to be even pricier. Tanzania is not a good country if you want to save money....
One funny note on the trial yesterday. The witness made it really hard on the judge, but when he was released he did wish him a happy New Year (January 18!). He also said to use his testimony, but not his previous statements (you know, lack of food).
After some babbling the judge said something to the affect that the next witness will be sworn in, but that nobody should worry that they will actually pose any questions. By then, everybody was tired and this being a Friday, where usually trials are not held, wanted to go home.

Chimes of Freedom

My friend Sylvie, who has been on major wildlife safaris since last year, has arrived in Arusha and we ran into the Aussie couple I met in Dar es Salaam a week ago. They had attended the Rwanda war crimes tribunal. I had heard about those and today seemed a good day to go. It was a highly interesting to see the judges, defense and prosecution. I swear, the one observer looked just like John Grisham...

The witness was someone who had spent a lot of time in prison already. I can't really describe the feeling when someone tells a court: "Yes, I have killed." It's haunting. But the witness is hoping that the instigator of the crimes will be convicted (forgot the name, but some kind of priest, of all people). The defense is trying the opposite and the witness was doing everything to derail them. Simple Yes/No questions would draw a long response that was either claiming he already answered the question before or that his previous statements given in courts in Rwanda were incomplete due to lack of food. In fact, at some point he told the defense that he (a Mzungu, as was the judge, btw) had forgotten something, despite all the food he gets to eat...

The defense lawyer seemed as bit disorganized and some of his questions I didn't know how we wanted to prove anything. But the prosecutor was not much better. At some point he mentioned something about witnesses being contacted on the 28th of May, 2007. The, only moments later, he tried to repeat the statement. Even I could still remember the date, but he didn't. So he was looking through his notes for a good dozen seconds before finally continuing. The judge asked him if there was anything new, not quite clear why the statement was repeated. The prosecutor tried to explain it a third time, prompting the judge to stop him with an impatiently "Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes!"


The language was a mix. The prosecutor spoke French, the defense and judge english, the witness in his native language. We were seated behind a glass window, seeing everyone but the witness (he was hidden by curtains). We had headphones. Channel 0 had the original, channel 1 the engl. translation when necessary.
It's hard to believe the trials started shortly after the genocides, in Nov 1994!

Justice is slow, but eventually it will prevail. I found out yesterday that Roseville's (California) city council has approved removal of "Bikes prohibited" signs at a couple of underpasses. They were up there in violation of California traffic code.

Get up, stand up!
Get up for your right!
Get up, stand up, don't give up to fight!

"Hey, where is your bike?"

Ok, that was amazing. After having traveled for almost three weeks I came back to Moshi. I had returned the bicycle, with yet another flat tire added, to the shop owner before my trip. So I had to walk to KIDT (I had gotten up too late to take the KIDT bus...). Now that I moved to a different place (somewhat downtown) the walk takes less than 30 minutes, so no problem. I was already almost there when I heard someone yell out: "Hey, where is your bike?" I turned my head and saw a dude sitting in a wooden booth. I have noticed the booth before but never saw someone in there. I didn't recognize the man and certainly never spoke to him before. I was somewhat puzzled that he knew I was always riding the bicycle before. I just answered "it's in the shop..."

Even Hasimi (in the centre, with the black T-Shirt), a kid that I met Saturday on my way to KIDT, asked me about my bicycle. Apparently, riding through town at whirlwind speeds left more of an impression with people than I thought. Next time I'll come here I definitely will have to run a LAB Bike Safety Class!

I get my exercise again by running. I went for a nice jog Sunday morning (90 minutes), making it three runs in as many days.
Running is a bit harder, as in the city people make fun of me running around (like running in weird, exaggerated movements). Also, I had a hard time the first day. Maybe it was the lack of exercise in the two and a half weeks I was travelling or maybe it's all the dust I was swallowing in the last two months that is clogging my lungs. But today I went for 90 minutes, one of the longest runs I have done in a long time.

What is my name?

I do sometimes get funny questions, like "What is my name?" or "Where is my money?" There are easy answers to those ("Freddy" and "In the bank") People often don't seem to understand the replies, but don't seem to care much, either. "Money," "Give me money" or "Give me my money" is also often asked by kids. A few grown-ups have asked the question also – the poorer the region the more frequent the question.

I also get often greeted with a friendly "Good Morning, sir", no matter if it's breakfast time or a quarter till dusk...

Today I was walking around some in an area where I hadn't been before. Frankly, I was trying to find that shortcut to go to KIDT and got lost. I thought I could just kinda follow those railroad tracks, since I know I have to cross them at a certain point. However, I didn't realize there were a few different lines, going in all sorts of directions. I ended up choosing the wrong one and ended in a poor people's area, where curious kids yelled "Mzungu" and waved at every street corner. There was quite a bit of activity and some people loads of stuff on their bicycles. One kid kicked his self made football (made out of plastic bags) to me. I tried to imitate as best as I could some African football juggling move and passed it back.

Eventually I ran into an argument of two women. Of course I had no idea what the matter of the controversy was, but it was hilarious as they kept yelling at each other, with no one giving in. Eventually the one lady left (more or less dragged by another bystander), but they kept yelling at each other. Since one woman kept stepping away further and further they had to yell louder and louder. They were also still making hand gestures. Eventually, they must have been almost 100 metres apart, still yelling at each other. I think all the rest of the onlookers were as amused as I was.

Then I ran into Hasimi. He coordinated a picture (see next blog entry, "Hey, where is your bicycle?") with some kids that desperately wanted their photographs taken. I have no problem doing that and can show the result right away. But I can't give them a copy, which is a shame. It is easier for me that way. Photographing seems a touchy subject and the on time I took intensive pictures from Moshi was during the city walk. Even then, a guy got mad and me (and yelled at the guide) when I took a picture of a toilet. I read somewhere that East Africans believe that by taking picture the photographer gets power over their souls. However, no fear that a little money could overcome, which makes me question this a little bit. I did this only one time, but after that decided to just leave it at the fact that they don't want to be photographed. Period. It does mean I have a lot of boring pictures, but at least I have a lot of interesting memories.

The early bird...

...catches the fuckin' worm (*). I don't have a watch and most of the time this is fine while travelling in Africa. Appointments and meeting times are rather vague anyway, and people are seldom on time. But occasionally I do have to get up early to catch a bus. So I can rely on two things – my laptop or my camera. Both of course are not set for the right timezone. My computer runs on Eurotime, so is lagging two hours behind African time (two and half considering that I was told when a meeting is at 8 expect it to be at 8:30...). My camera is set to US Pacific time. Here things get a bit weird as it isn't adjusted for Daylight Savings. I never paid attention to it, but thought I had to add ten hours, when in reality it is eleven.

What's worse my already mediocre maths skills suffer even more at four in the morning. Needing to take the 6:30am bus back to Moshi I was hoping I would wake up in time. I had Plan B, which was the Aussie couple I met the evening before ( we had independently no luck at one hotel, which was full, then ended up in the same hotel; we then went out for dinner together). They agreed to knock at my door at 5:30. Well, as most often is the case with me when something important is to get up for I will wake up early and then can't go back to sleep. This time my internal alarm propelled me out of deep sleep at 4:00, or so I thought. I was lying awake for a while and got up at 5:15. Took my time to get ready wondering why the Aussies didn't knock and went downstairs at 5:45, right on time. I woke up the night receptionist, who had nodded off on his desk and asked him what time it was. He looked at me with tired eyes, apparently barely awake enough to notice that there was a person standing and that person had asked him a question. He eventually got his act together, looked at his cell phone (the standard watch in Tanzania) and said "4:45"

OUCH. I completely had miscalculated the time from the camera! And to top it off I could have made things much easier for myself, as right at 5:00 the dude was making it clear through the speakers that it's time to pray. When you get a hotel room in a muslim area make sure it's not next to a mosque, unless of course you have to get up early.

As for yesterday, not much was happening. I checked out of the Blue Oyster after another nice breakfast and walked to the street to wait for the bus. No watch required for that one, as it stops by when it pleases (well, when it's full...) After more than a half hour a bus came the other way, so I asked the driver when he'll be coming by for the return trip. The enlightening answer was "Later." I asked if that meant maybe 20 minutes, so he said "Yes." I am sure if I would have said half an hour or an hour he would have head the same answer...

So I went back to the hotel, knowing that they have a transport option. It is 10,000 instead of 2,000 shilling, but at least it is not as crowded. However, my hope it would be faster was dashed when they made several stops, going into the resorts and picking up more passengers. I saw my goal of reaching the noon ferry, for which I already had bought the ticket, vanishing. We finally got to the ferry terminal around 12:15, which I thought was still good as ferries also never leave quite on time. This one however, was already gone. Fortunately they told me my ticket was valid on the next ferry as well, which was leaving at 16:00. So I strolled through Stone Town's narrow alleyways one more time, had a mediocre lunch (never eat anywhere that Lonely Planet didn't mention...) and eventually made it back to the mainland.

The Australian couple are about halfway through a world tour, having visited places like France, Morocco (rock climbing!) and Zambia, with the rest of the journey still up in the open. Sounds nice!

After an uneventful bus ride I am now back in Moshi.

(*) Uh, of course another Springsteen reference, from "My best was never good enough"...

Lazy as a cow on the beach

I don't know if there is such an expression as "lazy as a cow on the beach," but I assume if there were I would have qualified yesterday. I enjoyed a nice breakfast on the balcony of the restaurant, then sat down and did nothing. Oh wait, I did read some!!! Just finished Bill Bryson's "Thunderbolt Kid" and I am now a few dozen pages into "Paula" from Isabel Allende. Both describe their upbringings and both put tears in your eyes. Bryson from laughter and Allende from pain (the autobiographical book describes the dying of her daughter Paula). At one point in her life Allende claims to have lived in Lebanon, but her description of the narrow alleyways, the markets, the spices, the haggling and even the ocean suggests she really was in Zanzibar!!! "Paula" is also nice to read knowing that one of my friends is reading the blog from Santiago de Chile, where Allende used to live. Hola!

Around lunchtime I went for...lunch, before spending the afternoon doing more or less the same as in the morning (nada!). I did go for a short walk to buy some water, though.

Both the first and second evening I did what I couldn't the last two weeks: Going for a run. Due to weight savings restrictions to get me up Mt. Meru as well as space concerns in my backpack I left my running shoes in Moshi. I figured I didn't need to go running while climbing up Meru for exercise and I could get some beach running in at Lake Victoria and Zanzibar. Well, the sand beaches near Mwanza were rather short (as in a few metres), so part one of the plan didn't work.

The planned triathlon training on Zanzibar also failed. I never got around to rent a bicycle (yesterday, as I said I was just plain lazy and today I went for a snorkelling trip, before following the same routine as on "lazy day"). Swimming also proved difficult as the low tide was in the morning and evening. High tide is around 3:00 and 15:00. But even at high tide it seems you can walk to Madagascar, if not to Indonesia w/o getting your head wet. For the snorkelling trip we went to some reef, maybe a couple of kilometres from the shore and at places it was so shallow you could bruise your belly gliding through the water. Running was also not the best barefoot. As mentioned the sand was not only as white but also as dense as a healthy tooth in the commercials. If that alone didn't kill the feet the rocks and shells surely could. I fought through it, sometimes running gingerly. All the while the locals ran barefoot through the sand full blast or were playing football.

The snorkelling was indescribably beautiful, with fish in all kinds of bright colours – except for those of course who didn't want to be seen. There was an eel-like fish that was hard to spot and some white ones that were hanging out over the white sand on the bottom and you had to really open your eyes. The best covered one was a very flat fish (paper-thin...) that was also white like the ground. When I saw the first one only the fin gave it away, as initially it wasn't moving at all. That kind of fish was so well-covered that at some point I accidentally stepped on one. I had gotten water in my goggles (arrgh, I mis-spelled this initially as "googles" – what has the world come to???) and needed to stand up quickly. I then noticed that flat fish being disturbed and move on.

The boat, btw, was a very simple catamaran, entirely made out of wood. Except for the sail and the ropes, of course. Fortunately the Indian Ocean is very calm, we didn't go very far and my cousin wasn't around (every time I go on a boat with my cousin I get sea sick; this has been true on the ferry between Oostende and Dover, on a harbour cruise in Hamburg and going to one of the islands off Santa Barbara).

Yesterday evening I had the fish platter for dinner. It was by far the most expensive meal I had in my two months here, but I reckon that in the US or Europe I would have paid twice the amount of the 25,000 (some 22 or 23 dollars) that it cost, with all kinds of seafoods on the plate. Yumm!

Oh, when I returned from my run yesterday evening I saw a cow grazing in the sand. I have seen cows in weird places before, but usually there was some kind of green patch nearby. Not just shells and salt water. The cow didn't even snorkel, swim or read a book. It was truly lazy as a cow on the beach.

Double O Seven

Damn, that Zanzibar labyrinth is quite amazing. I went there on X-day (by now I have forgotten which day of the week it is/was – I am truly on vacation mode...) before breakfast. The narrow pathways which barely allow three people to walk past each other wind there ways around in ever unexpected ways. Only when you see the sign "Green Garden restaurant" for the second or third time do you know you had been here before.

If it wouldn't have been for the yawning morning emptiness and instead filled with the afternoon/evening excitement of countless tourists, locals and shop owners trying to entice the prior two to do some business with them I would have felt right like in a James Bond movie. Or maybe the one I saw with my nephew on his birthday. It was so bad I have already forgotten the title, but it played out in some similar setting. However, no chance in hell of wild chases and dudes falling 20 metres down with only as much as a trickle of blood as a consequence. Zanzibar is, as everyone had told me, very safe. Even using those narrow paths back at night posed no problems.

After a nice breakfast at the Riverman Hotel I wandered off again, aimlessly walking around and accidentally ending up at the fish market. I hadn't seen it mentioned in the LP guide and I didn't see any other white people (which is really hard to do anywhere in Zanzibar, I think). The scene was amazing. There were tons of bicycles parked with big baskets strapped across the racks, waiting for something to deliver. People were cutting up fish everywhere, trying to get me to buy the local catch of the day. What would I do with it? Eat 3,000 rolls of sushi? I stumbled on, past the shipyard, where intense hammering took place relentlessly.

I listened in to some of the auctions. That was a lot of fun. One guy yelled out the prices and the bidders chimed in when they were ready to offer more. "Nane. Nane na mia tano. Tisa. Tisa. Tisa. Tisa. Tisa na tano. Tisa na tano. Tisa na tano. Tisa na tano. Kumi. Kumi. Kumi." Aha, fish sold for ten thousand. They didn't say the thousand parts, so the literal translation is "Eight. Eight five hundred. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine and five hundred. Nine and five hundred. Nine and five hundred. Ten. Ten. Ten."

Even my undeveloped mzungu ears could clearly hear the prices announced, so it came to a surprise that some tried to pay 500 less, claiming they didn't hear the "mia tano" part. But since this was usually resolved under much laughter and all the guys seemed to know each other it may have well been just put on show for me...Thanks guys!

I went on towards the shoreline, where I saw some fishermen on their boats, dealing with maintenance etc. One guy was wading in the low waters. I couldn't tell if he was looking for fish or maybe just doing a "Kneipp-Bad." Strolling off into some less populated area, I saw some of the boats that hadn't survived the last storm or maybe just died a slow death of old age. The sand was pretty black and dirty here. I left the beach, declined one offer to go for a spice tour ("or anything else you need") and came by a local market, where men and women were busy frying up all kinds of things for a little (unhealthy) breakfast. The diets of Tanzanians aren't actually too healthy, in my opinion. They put a lot of sugar and salt into everything (well, not at the same time, of course) and also drink an unprecedented amount of soft drinks, sold in 300ml bottles. They are all from the Coca-Cola company. Coke, Sprite, Mirinda, Bitter Lemon and a battery of other flavours.

Stone Town had a gigantic power outage that morning and it was nice to see all the shops in the dark. Given the already narrow, dark pathways, the power outage gave the whole scenery an even more dramatic darkness to it, which was a lot of fun. After stocking up on some food for the rest of the day in the extremely narrow and busy Darajani market I got my bags out of the hotel and headed to the bus stop, waiting for #309 to take me to the East Coast.

I made my first real encounter (when I first arrived I had a brief one, but easily outran the dude...) with a tick. That is how they are apparently known in Zanzibar (Papasi in Swahili, according to LP). I had asked a bus driver (more reputable to ask employed people rather than random street dudes) where the bus would leave. After getting there (no bus yet) a dude approached me and started talking to me. I quickly realized what he was up to. But it's really hard to get rid of them (hence the term papasi, I guess...) He started asking silly questions (like where I would like to sit in the bus - front or center, left or right). I had walked away to get rid of him for a while, but when I checked back the bus had arrived and I tried to get my luggage on top. The dude (actually now three of them) were there and asking about the fare turned out to be difficult. One said 5,000, one a said 4,000 and one would settle for 3,500. However, I asked a French guy with the same destination and he only paid 1,500. The ticks claimed this was due to the luggage. I mistakenly thought the one for 3,500 was actually the conductor and didn't realize he also was just a pest. Anyway, the whole situation was easily resolved as the bus (really a truck with simple benches on its platform) was deemed broken and we had to switch to a more comfortable looking model. I walked over, found the conductor, who told me it was 2,000 (and it was confirmed later that is the real price for that kind of bus). I was about to fetch my bag when magically the two ticks appeared with it. They had already gotten it off the roof of the other bus. It was put to the front seat and the conductor told me to get in the bus. But as one of the ticks was in the way I told him if he gets off I can get in. He didn't want to listen as he was still hoping to get some money out of the whole thing. After a few discussions I finally got in and sat down on the front seat. The tick sat down behind me and started talking about how I had to pay 3,000 to him now. Since I didn't react he started talking faster, hectically, really, and louder. The other tick had come up to the window and hammered with his fist against the window, to get my attention.

I ignored them both and told the driver to make the one behind me shut up. So after a little war of words in Swahili the papasi (notice the closeness to paparazzi!!!) finally left, pretty disgusted. I don't feel bad for not having paid them, even though they carried my heavy bag over. As LP indicates, they are usually dudes from the local drug scene, and I am not about to support that. Additionally, I had told them a few times to buzz off so it's there waste of time, not mine.

The bus ride over was extremely pretty. First, an endless street (well, maybe two to three kilometres) that was the longest market I had seen so far. I have never encountered so many shoes, mangos and all kinds of other useful (and many useless) things in one spot. After that miles of palm trees before the vegetation became more bush-like.

OH MY GOSH

Eventually I arrived at the Blue Oyster hotel. OH MY GOSH. I had never been to a hotel that scenic. Walking through the white sand (and I mean white like teeth in a tooth paste commercial) towards the gate was stunning. The hotel with palm leave-thatched roofs looked like in a postcard (a few lucky ones will receive one :)

There were places to lie down, each with a similar cocos leave-thatched "umbrella" style shade tree. The beach was equally white as the driveway and ocean had all kinds of blue, green and turquoise shades of colours. Another 007 moment and I expected some Bond girls at the bar (but only encountered the same clientèle as on Mt. Meru - mostly German and Austrians). After getting to my room, which was extremely nice and even the shared bathroom was spotless I could finally relax and forget about two months of dust. All for $35 a night.

The only disappointment was that cooling down proved to be harder than expected. With the air temp at around 30C it is always a disappointment if you hop into the ocean and the water temp is like 32. Even the shower did only provide some "non-hot" water, but you certainly couldn't call it cold. You guys in the Northern Hemisphere don't know how lucky you are :)

Soak up the sun

Alright, the last three days were fun. Again, more details will follow; but as I am waiting for the ferry to bring me back to mainland Africa i may as well post a quick note.

my main activity on the beach was reading and snoozing. Not too much swimming, due to the tides. But did go for a very nice snorkel trip. Unfortunately my spF40 sun screen wasn't waterproof, so the parts that weren't covered (lower leg, feet), are red now. I thought swimming with long, heavy pants would be an invitation to drowning, but even a couple of km off the coast the water was only maybe 3m deep at the deepest.

hotel and food were great and I feel rejuvenated. I would have stayed another day if there would have been availability, but need to get back to wrap up the thesis anyway.

Anyway, I'll be in Dar this evening and back in Moshi tomorrow evening.

Zanzibar or the best reason

After the really cool train ride (I will write about it some other time) I made it all the way to Zanzibar. It is a very impressive place. Its narrow streets, the mix of Indian, African and Arab influences. The food, the beaches, the water.
I went to a cool museum today about the history of Z. Especially got tickled by the painting that was done in 1888 and presented to the Sultan of Z. (from Austria) in... 1887! It must have been dull-looking the first year.Also enjoyed the sunset over the Indian ocean from the top floor of the museum (as always I was cutting it close and I was the last visitor to enter and leave the museum - They basically asked me to shut out the lights when I was done...)

Then had a nice dinner on the beach. There is a place where they sell all kinds of foods - fish and shrimp on sticks, Zanzibarian pizza, chapati etc. Pick and choose. Unlike the sugar cane to chew on as it is sold in many places, here they squeeze the juice out and serve it as a drink. And unlike the chewing version, which is way to sweet and complicated to eat, I actually like the juice. I had two glasses (55 cents total...)

Well, concerning the train ride real quick: It left at 11pm instead of 6pm due to engine problems.; I wasn't too thrilled to sit at the train station with moskitos , but fortunately most were at the lake. And I had my repellent on - actually for three nights running as there was no way to put up my moskito net in the sleeper compartment. So I slept in my clothes, too - I just wasn't gonna risk it. Of course I will only know ina few days if I didn't get bitten by an infected moskito...

The train ride was incredibly scenic and never once dull. I enjoyed the sunsets, sunrises and the stop at the villages. Each seemed to have their speciality. In one they sold tons of onions. In the next coconut. In one everybody was keen to collect water bottles. A train wreck meant the ride ended in Morongoro and after waiting for a few hours the buses arrived that brought us the final three bus hours to Dar. The boarding process was comical and at some point I will write more details about the whole trip.

Tomorrow I will head to the east coast for some real vacation. After months of trickle, bucket or now showers I will enjoy it!! Next post may only come from Moshi. I should be back there around the 10th of January.

PS: The title refers to the book by Alfred Andersch, which is called "Zanzibar or the last reason" in German. The engl version is just called Zanzibar (BORING!). We read it in school and I don't remember much about it. I think there wasn't much talk about the food and the beaches, though...(it's actually a serious book about the Nazi times)

Milk and Honey

were missing, but I had all the rest for a nice New Year's Eve party. I had bought two mangos, some cookies, put on some Springsteen music and enjoyed the evening. Later I read the Thunderbolt Kid (Bill Bryson). I meant to stay up until midnight to see what happens (I had heard some firecracker-like noise earlier and was curious) but fell asleep around 23:00. I woke up at 00:40 to some chanting. I am staying at a catholic compound and there was a choir chanting. It was very nice. I also heard them this morning. Much better than the overly loud Pop music that is often heard around here.

Ok, There are still no first class seats available, so I will be sharing a compartment with 5 others for two days (the schedule has the train arrive in Dar after 40 hours, but I hear it's often late and may have breakdowns)...