Mbeya Rats
Trip Start
Sep 01, 2005
1
32
72
Trip End
Ongoing
Mbeya,
Tanzania
Monday, January 30, 2006
Just inside of the hotel's gate a slender young man in a long sleeve, button up shirt and slacks politely greeted us.
"Hello, I am Paul, what is your name?"
"Jaswa," I said in understandable phoenetics.
We chatted a little while walking out of the parking lot. He asked if we were going to Malawi and said that he worked for the bus line that ran busses there. We joined him in the lobby of a guesthouse and he showed us the brochure of destinations and prices. As Erin and I talked it over he went to find James, the ticket issuer.
For 23,000 shillings ($20 US) we could catch a mus in Mbeya which would carry us through the border, lunch in Karonga, then arrive in Nkhata Bay by mid to late afternoon. They could be at the hotel at 6:30 the next morning to pick us up, if we wished. We bought two of the remaining four tickets.
Waving goodbye we both muttered "I hope that we didn't just get ripped off." It smelled a little fishy. The ticket receipt didn't seem quite legit and it seemed way too easy. We walked into a local run guide service and told them that we thought that we had a problem and needed some advice.
"Are there busses from here to Nkhata Bay?"
"Malawi? Oh no. There is one bus but..." we finished his sentence, "it goes from Dar es Salaam to Lilongwe through the night."
"Yes, that is correct. What is your problem?"
We showed the two guys our tickets. They both grimaced and grabbed their chins. We told them that we had paid 23,000 shillings each for them. They shook their heads.
"Ah, you see, this can be a problem here. These are not tickets. Probably, they spoke very sweet to you and told you something like, 'we will pick you tomorrow.'"
"Yes,"
"Well, here is what you need to do. If you see these persons tonight, play cool with them. Maybe invite them for a beer or a soda. Be cool with them and say, 'see you tomorrow,' then for sure they will come because then they think that maybe you will give them even more tip. For sure then you can get your money back. Tomorrow, when they come to the hotel they will think that they will take you to a bus stop far out and leave you there waiting for no bus. Instead, you need to be strong with them. Tell them to give you your money back. Be very strong with them. Tell the hotel not to let them go. Do not go to the police now because the low officers will only fill a report, then get some money from these people later after you leave. What you must do is play cool with them tonight and tomorrow be very strong with them. Tell them 'don't waste my time with your stupidity and return my money now.' If you have to grab them, be strong and for sure you will get your money back and they will say something like 'I am very sorry.'"
So, we knew what we had to do. Being in the bush around friends had lowered our defenses. It was the first time that we had been taken advantage of and as we walked out we were thinking, "why did this have to happen in Tanzania?"
Lying in bed the next morning, my left eye was open before I was awake. The watch alarm sounded and I slowly recognized the scene. We were waiting in a deer blind hoping that the rat that had taken our money would show up. I told the receptionist that we were waiting for a person who had cheated us and that we were going to confront him there.
At six thirty five a sharply dresses James poked his head in the door. Erin said hello and asked him in. I focused the video camera on his face, waved hello and then put it away.
"Hi guys. Where are your bags?" It was about to begin.
Erin started "we have a problem."
I continued "we have a big problem. The tickets that you sold us are false. We want our money back now."
"Who have you been talking to?"
"That is not important. You said that one bus would pick us up here and take us to Nkhata Bay. There is no such bus. You lied to us and we want our money back now or we will go to the police."
"There is no problem here. But, if you want to go to the police because you think that I cheat you, then go. You should go and file a report."
"Don't waste our time with stupidity! You can return our money now or you and I are going to the police station right now." I repeated pointing at him, then myself, "you and I right now."
"OK, well, first let me call the bus to see if I can get your money back. If that is what you want, then let us do it."
He stepped out of the lobby with his cell phone in hand. Erin, the receptionist and I followed blocking the way to the hotel gate. The night guard came over and James started telling them in Swahili, "I don't know why these two are angry. I told them that I would take them to the border and now they want their money back!"
"No," interrupted Erin. She replayed the past days events in full, also in Swahili, to the other two. When they heard 23,000 they both choked. The guy looked in surprise at Erin.
The guard started getting abrupt. "You need to give them their money back right now. There are our customers. Give them their money right now."
James made a phone call as the owner of the hotel was walking in. The day before we had seen him conducting a meeting. The staff stood in attention around him in long sleeve white button ups and ties. He sat in the lounge recliner speaking slowly wearing a comfortable looking African print shirt. It was brown with a bright yellow embroidered pattern on front, similar to a Mexican guadivera. In one glance at that scene we indecisively knew who the Don was.
The owner had a deep, grumbling voice. He looked at us all and asked, "What is going on here?" James began in Swahili, "I sold them a ticket to get to the border and from there they will take a bus-"
"Liar!" Erin cut him off in mid sentence, again surprising the group with her Swahili. "you sold us a ticket for one bus that would pick us up here at 6:30, eat lunch in Karonga around 12:30 and leave us in Nkhata Bay before 5PM. One ticket for one bus. You are a liar and we want our money back!"
The owner, the guard, the receptionist, Erin and I were staring at the rat.
"How much did you pay?" the owner asked, still staring at the boy.
"We paid him 46,000 for two tickets."
The owner repeated with anger in his grumble, "46,000!"
The guard blasted, "they could take a taxi for that!"
The owner raised his voice, "The border is so close they could walk to it if they wanted! What do you think that you are doing?"
At that moment the accomplice walked in smiling. "Hi guys, what is the problem?" We told him to return the money. No excuses.
"OK, sure. Let me make one phone call. I will have to go and get it."
Erin translated for me what James was weakly clarifying to the staff. "Of course, they are the customer, and if they are not happy then we will give them their money back. That is how you do business."
Paul ran off to get the money. He was never to be seen again.
The rest of the group moved into the lobby where the owner began his attack on the hustler. "What do you think that you are doing? What you are doing is robbery! You lie and cheat! Now, they will return to America and make an announcement that they were robbed in Tanzania at my hotel!" His finger had pointed and risen over and over but with the last remark it pointed to the ground beneath him.
"If you don't return these peoples money then I will have to pay them for you. Then we will have a real problem." He left a wake of silence as he turned and walked into the lounge. It was 7:30. Erin and James sat on different couches. I stood at the door with my arms crossed.
James meekly cleared his through and looks at Erin. "So, um, you speak Swahili pretty good?" The day before his slick English had monopolized the conversation, telling us just what we wanted to hear.
An hour and a half later I was still standing, arms crossed. The owner had come out of the bar several times to make gruff statements to our captive which made all of the staff snicker. By that time, everyone knew what was happening.
"Come and sit down brother," the culprit said to me with a smile.
"I am angry right now. I don't want to sit with you because you took advantage of us. The only time that I won't be angry is when you return our money."
Around then a ratty looking kid in shorts and a tank top timidly walks in and asks to speak with us. The owner approaches as he gives James 30k and says that the bus company has already sent the money to Dar es Salaam.
Cutting him off with a quick, authoritative "Ahn," sound the owner tell him "stop wasting these peoples time! Get out of here and get their money!" He turned to us on the way back to the lounge and showed us a two handed "calming" gesture.
"Thank you very much Mzee" Erin told him, using the respectful term of an elder.
Around 10:30 the manager invited us into his office. The Mzee told the receptionist not to let James leave. I saw the receptionist smile a little then cast a stare at James. This was certainly the Don's house. If James tried to run he would have the receptionist, the manager, the bar tender, the gardener and the guard on him because the boss said to.
We had a nice conversation with Samuel the manager. We spoke about drought, irrigation, customs, geography, similarities and differences of our cultures. We told him that we had come from Ethiopia over land because we were fascinated by the land and people of Africa. We told him about our stay in Ipilimo and about Erin's volunteer experiences. I also told him that I was gathering all of these experiences because I planned on writing a book about it all. Everything went well. We burned up 40 minutes talking to him.
James was still sitting in the lobby when we exited the office. A younger boy walked in and asked to speak to him. He delivered two cigarettes then left. James took a couple of steps towards the door with the cigarettes and matches in hand. I cut him off.
"You're not leaving until you pay us."
He made a grimace and said, "I am only going outside to smoke. Where am I going?"
"You're not going any where."
He slid off his shoes. "Look, now you have my shoes. Where can I go?"
"I don't want your shoes. You probably run faster without them. You aren't going any where."
He stepped towards me. I stuck out three fingers poking his chest and said, "You're not leaving."
He retreated a couple of steps and scowled. "Man, why you want to touch a man? Why you want to touch me? Money is money. Don't touch a man."
"You're not going anywhere until we get our money back."
He winced, "If you want to bring this to a man, that is OK. I am very fit. Man, I have had so many scandals. I used to... I mean... always running. Marijuana, police. Oh man, so many scandals."
"Right. Well, now this is not between you and me. This is between you, my money and the police. You get the money or you go to jail. That is the only problem that we have."
The manager showed us to the dining room for some tea telling us not to worry. The boy wasn't going to leave. Before sitting down Erin went to the room to get her book and my journal. We waited through the afternoon. Erin read while I wrote, catching up on our time in Ipilimo. I was filling in the final pages of the 200 page sketch book that I use. All of the pages are hand written. The book is hard bound with a black cover. It looks official.
James came in rubbing his eyes. "Please, please. I am very sorry. I cheat you and I know that it is very wrong. I am sorry. Now it is between me and God. The police are here and they will make me return to Malawi. Please I have already been punished. I have not eaten since last night. I have a grandmother. This will accomplish nothing. Let me go and I will get your money. You can come with me. Please man."
"We are not going anywhere. I will never trust you again. If you can't trust your friends to bring you the money, how can I trust that they will give it to me? I can do nothing now. It is 2:00 and the police are here. You have had the opportunity to make this alright. Return the money. That is the only solution." I continued writing not looking at him.
The mzee walks in. He had been sitting at the bar with a man in a brown uniform for a couple of hours. They had been laughing and drinking beers. However, he certainly was not laughing when he looked at James. It was more like yelling. Erin had left for the duka so my translator was gone, but I understood enough of what he was saying. With both hands he pointed to the boy uttering some angry lines. Then he pointed in the air, then at me, then back at James and then back towards my journal. The guy stood up and approached him with his head down and his hands in the air. The mzee's language is so short and gruff it was like he was clearing his throat on the cowering boy as he listed his stupidities and what it meant for his country and that hotel.
Mzee closed the dining room door when he left. James slunk back to my table. I continued writing, ignoring him. After a few minutes he cleared his throat and politely asked, "So, you are an author?"
"Yes." At that point I wasn't so angry. The mzee had the boy contained. The cleaning ladies would have tackled him by then. Mzee had been sitting in his lounge drinking beers with his friend, a chief police inspector since around 11 that morning. In fact, it was turning out to be a good day.
I must have felt a little like my buddy Joe back home who one evening walked up to a broken window and a guy in the process of breaking his stereo out of the dash board in his car. He pummeled the guy who never had a chance to say a word and when the police came they congratulated him for being the guy who finally caught the rat in the act. He told me once, "Man, that was a great day. I would have paid someone to let me kick their ass half that bad. And then the cops were shaking my hand!" Of course, this situation was not that dramatic, and I'm not nearly as tough as Joe, but we did at least catch the rat.
The inspector came in and said in English to James "you have ten minutes." Then he approached me with his hands clasped, a big smile and lazy beer eyes.
"Hello sir. I am a police chief. We have a case against this man, and you will have your money returned. Tell me sir, what is your idea of Tanzania?"
"We both love Tanzania very much. My wife (it is easier to call Erin my wife than anything else around here) spent many years here as a volunteer and we have many friend here."
"So, when you return to America, what will you write of Tanzania?"
"I will write that it is a wonderful country with wonderful people. I will write that bad things happen everywhere; America, Canada, Europe, Egypt, Kenya and Tanzania- Everywhere. You can not judge a country by whether or not something bad can happen there. You can only judge a country by how bad things are taken care of."
This seemed to delight the chief. He smiled broadly and his eyelids rested a little bit more. "Yes. The owner has made you an offer to stay and eat here for free tonight. This boy," he said pointing to James, "we have a case against him. I have the tickets that he gave you, so that we can use them against him. This is..." He paused, looking slightly upwards trying to find a word.
"It is fraud." I said.
"Yes. Frowd!" He repeated loudly and glared sinisterly at James.
I reiterated, "Bad things happen everywhere. It is our fault for trusting him and we thank you very, very much for helping us. Tanzania is a beautiful country."
James' friends never showed up. The mzee bought us breakfast and dinner. We insisted on paying for the room. The chief took James. He was trying to cry saying, "Please, they will send me back to Malawi." The chief called him a liar and told us that he was from Tanzania. Mzee gave us the 46,000 and said that he was sure that he would get the money back. The next morning he met us at the door and had a taxi waiting.
It is impossible to avoid all of the rats. Dealing with them is the telling part.
