Broadening The Search For The Zanzibar Coffee House

With much excitement, Jenni and I boarded what was to become a most valued and dependable friend. Ella – a monster of an adventure-truck fitted out for trips such as this - awaited us. At the helm, a man from Zimbabwe called Mike, took the controls. Strong in every sense of the word, Mike was one of the most interesting people to talk to. We immediately felt safe in his hands and with a lifetime of experiences driving up and down Africa, he engaged us in fascinating stories. One such story told of contending with rebel fighters in Kenya. Another told of when he encountered a skirmish in Sudan. 

Mike remained warm and friendly but when necessary, displayed strong, firm leadership skills. People respected him. After all, he was solely responsible for getting us from Nairobi down to Arusha, Tanzania, across to Dar-es-Salaam and finally to the island of Zanzibar. Tourists are notoriously known to be difficult at times, especially when they have little knowledge of Africa. After all, why on earth can they not go walking outside the vehicle when there is a lion kill a few feet away?

Ella came complete with a cook. Muza produced a delicious meal at the end of every long, exhausting day. He was a master at telling us what to add to the pot. He displayed remarkable chopping skills. Muza appreciated our help and had the ability to create an amazing social activity, whilst we washed dishes in basins - way too small for my hands. 

Other colourful characters on the truck were from Burundi, London and South Africa. ‘Barbie’ from who knows where, insisted on doing her make-up in the most unusual places, managing to irritate all who were there to enjoy nature. Fourteen of us set off that morning on board Ella to travel the Uhuru Highway south to Tanzania.

After two hours, we realised the robustness of Ella. The road to Arusha must surely be one of the most challenging. Most of the time, it was impossible to rest my head against the seat. Ella bounced violently as she negotiated the treacherous terrain. One had to sit forward, straight up and hold on for life. At the end of that first day, our kidneys felt bruised. But we were in the heart of Africa. Nothing else mattered. Those huge open spaces. The deep reds of African soil. Acacia trees, grass huts, children waving, herds of oxen being led by herders. The scents of Africa. These were my healing. I was made to feel intensely welcome on this continent. The continent I know and value as home. My gratitude for the journey filled every cell of my body. 

An exhausting 310km later, we arrived at the Messerani Oasis campsite in Arusha, Tanzania. A five-hour journey had taken almost ten hours due to the border crossing between Kenya and Tanzania. The campsite was lovely. Some poor souls had opted for camping. Jenni and I had been sensible and secured a room. Hot water and a good Western loo are both precious and much-needed commodities when driving around Africa.

Despite being close to the equator, Arusha’s elevation of 1400m on the southern slopes of Mount Meru, keeps the temperatures cool. The mornings were cold. The days warmed up to what can be described as heavenly. Grouped into two heavy-duty jeeps, we began our next adventure. A two-night trip to the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro crater awaited us. Our excitement was tangible. For most people, places like these are usually only read about or seen in documentaries. 

Our safari guide was a man by the name of Godlisten. A superb human being, with a huge love, understanding and knowledge of nature. We drove endless distances past the most exquisite coffee farms interspersed by flower farms. As it was cloudy, there was no chance of seeing Mount Kiliminjaro. I was devastated. My niece, Tarryn, had climbed ‘Kili’ as an adventurous sea scout whilst in high school and had told me of its astounding beauty. The mountain was so close. However, she remained shrouded in heavy cloud.

The terrain changed as the road climbed slowly up and up. We stopped at the top of the pass to enjoy the magnificent beauty of the Great Rift Valley. The splendid Manyara Lake lay peacefully below. What history had unfolded in that valley for centuries, I wondered. Looking across the vastness, it was almost impossible to grasp just how exquisite and how powerful the African continent really is. 

The journey, consisting of extremely narrow hairpin bends took us further into rainforests. We stopped at the top of the Ngorongoro Crater. The mists hung heavy. The splendour of the crater below, engulfed in white satin. Fortunately, we would travel the same route back, hoping the mists would have lifted. Such a spectacular sight had to be seen to be believed. Africa is without a doubt, God’s own home. 

To be continued ...