The Long Road Continues

We undertook the 690km to Dar es Salaam. Trustworthy Ella displaying her grit. A journey of an exhausting twelve hours. The distance covered in wonderment at the scene playing out before us. Sisal plantations covered the earth’s surface in a blanket of green. Standing thick and stately. Along the west, tranquil plains lay in silence. To the east, for hundreds of kilometres, awe-inspiring mountains dominated the landscape with their sheer magnificence. Tanzania’s colossal fruit trees proudly presented themselves. Heavily laden with an abundance of earth’s nutrition. The gold in the food bowl. 

The value of any journey undertaken are the people one meets along the way. Their moods. Their energies. Their beautiful faces. Each one has a story. Local markets displayed vegetables. Colourful arrays of beans and pulses. Lone bicycles stood bashfully in the shade of age-old trees.

Mike brought Ella to a standstill. He spoke to the driver of a truck similar to ours. With nineteen tourists on board, the adventure truck had been travelling an hour ahead of us. The driver had noticed a plane flying at dangerously low levels. As it suddenly headed straight towards them, he swerved off the road to avert tragedy. One cannot possibly imagine the horror he endured as he saw the plane approaching. The tip of the wing smashed through the truck’s windscreen. Tourists sat in silence. Trying to grasp what could have been. Miraculously there were no injuries. Both pilots in the military plane were killed on impact. 

Dar es Salaam - the historical port city and one of the oldest cities in East Africa – left me with a profound feeling of unease. It was over-crowded. And sinister. A sombre aura shrouded one and all. Ironically, the city’s name means ‘Abode of Peace.’ The city lost its official status as the capital, to Dodoma. However, it remains the centre of the central government. 

We arrived after sunset. Darkness on many levels surrounded us. Lost souls crammed the streets. Seemingly high on drugs. Or other influences. I was extremely grateful to be in our cocoon behind glass onboard Ella. 

Our truck boarded the ferry to cross the river. Thousands of people shoved each other in an act of desperation to get on board. Others stood transfixed in the moment. Perhaps trying to make sense of the madness. Their expressions haunting and hollow. We felt on edge. Trucks, cars, motorbikes and humans piled onboard. Just how much could this ferry of age support? Fear trickled through my veins. A wrought iron cage stood in one corner. Protecting the life-jackets from being stolen. It remained bolted for the entire trip. A crossing of twenty minutes or a lifetime. That passage across the water portrayed the utter desperation of the masses.

We drove a short distance in the torrential rain. Our room at Kipepo Village was set high on stilts. The mangroves created an unreceptive shield below. Protecting the life existing within their strong undergrowth. Thatched refuges from the sun stood in clusters on a pristine beach. Awaiting the new dawn. Standing strong in preparation for the onslaught of the scorching sun.

The following day we retraced our steps - taking the ferry back to the mainland. In the morning light, the eeriness had waned. However, a deep intuit of anxiety remained.

Within the hour, we boarded the ferry to Zanzibar. Excitement filled the air for each one of us. The three extremely long hours on board were challenging. Chickens, people, supplies, bicycles and fishing nets. Crammed into small spaces.  Humidity and heat engulfed us. A tempestuous sea added to my misery. Humanity sat dazed. Each one in silence with their own thoughts. 

To be continued …