A bumpy journey to Mbeya
Trip Start
Feb 20, 2007
1
24
38
Trip End
Jun 2007
Mbeya,
Tanzania
Saturday, April 21, 2007
I have learned not to become frustrated with the slowness of African travel, so I laughed at this inconvenience and accepted that my journey to Malawi would be prolonged by a day. Fortunately I was offered a seat in the front, next to the driver, and I gladly accepted it, as it saved me the fate of bouncing around on the metal bars on top of the truck that all the other passengers would have to endure
Scene on road to Sumbawanga
. Once we were fully loaded up to bursting point with people, furniture, sacks of grain, planks of wood and God knows what else, we slowly rumbled off up the dirt track that led to Sumbawanga.The road was the worst I have seen yet, beating even that in northern Kenya. It was a dirt track, with deep hardened ruts and bumps, forcing us to never go much faster than a pace I feel I could have marched briskly at. There had been rains the night before; so much of the way was muddy, with large puddles. The mud made the road almost impassable at points, and it is only thanks to the skill of our driver that we made it through these difficulties. Once or twice we all had to bundle out, some of the men clearing rocks from a particularly precarious stretch ahead, before the driver revved the engine and powered through, all of us praying he would not get stuck.
The scenery on the way was spectacular, and marked a distinct change from that of northern Tanzania. Gone were the hills, covered in fields, cultivated to their full potential, in their place there were wide open plains, coloured a wonderful mix of gold, green and brown. Elephant grass grew high, and there were occasional low, dark green trees dotting the land. The landscape reminded me somewhat of that which one sees on nature documentaries about African wildlife, and I half expected to see a lion or cheetah bounding past
Women carrying firewood, near Kasanga
. Unfortunately, I saw little other than a few birds here and there.We stopped for tea when we were about half way to Sumbawanga, in a little dusty one-street town. I went to a little shop across the road to buy myself a coke, and was invited to drink it with a few friendly men who were sitting outside. They asked me with great interest about my journey, and about Ireland. One of them asked me then a question that I was to be asked by almost everyone I met in south-western Tanzania: "How do you compare your country to ours?"
It is a difficult question to answer, and I took some time to reflect before giving them an answer. There are so many differences that Tanzania, and indeed, Africa, often seems like another planet to me. How to begin to explain this to these men, and in a way that was not boastful of the west's riches, and (in some ways) easier life? I decided, instead, to tell them that although Ireland and Europe has more money than Africa, that we have lost many things that Africans still have. For example, I said, in Europe we have become so obsessed with money that many people live to work, and only make themselves "happy" by spending their money on materials, and as a result have little time to spend with their families and friends. I said that in Europe we have nearly completely lost all sense of community, it surprised the men when I told them that I know hardly anyone on my street in Cork. In Africa, if a man has troubles feeding his family one week his neighbours will invite him (and his family) to their home and feed them. If, in turn, his neighbours have troubles with money the following week, he will help them just as they helped him. I said this to the men, and asked if it was true; they answered that it was. Finally, I said to them that it was my belief that the most important thing in life was to be happy - it is not to be rich, as many believe. I said that if you have your health, enough to feed yourself and your family, and, most importantly, if you are happy, then what more could you want? Perhaps I was being a little patronizing in saying all this to them, but it is a truth which I believe from the bottom of my heart, all the more so since visiting this wonderful continent.
On the way I had noticed that little of the land was cultivated in comparison with Rwanda, Burundi, or Uganda, where every available patch was covered with fields. Here there were occasional fields of maize, sunflowers, sorghum, sweet potatoes, peanuts and beans. The men told me that most of the farmers here were subsistence farmers, growing only enough to feed themselves and their families, selling what little surplus they had at the local markets. I had noticed that the crops looked rather poorly and dried out. There are supposed to have been rains in East Africa over the past two months, and although there has been the occasional downpour, there has hardly been enough to merit a rainy season. I had often wondered if all this was affecting the farmers, and these men told me that it had, to the extent that they were gravely worried about the next harvest. They said that many locals would probably go hungry in the next year.
The effects of global warming are said to have the most dramatic effects in equatorial regions, and sub-Saharan Africa, as the world's poorest region, has been badly hit by its effects. It is all well and good for us in Europe to joke about global warming maybe not being all that bad, as we enjoy warmer summers and milder winters, but for these people it is a matter of life and death. The overpopulation of much of the region means that there is a huge strain on the environment, and everywhere I have been there is a frighteningly rapid rate of deforestation, which only adds to the problem.
I dozed for the last few hours of the journey to Sumbawanga, succumbing to the heat and my tiredness. When we finally arrived there it was already late in the afternoon, and we had taken nine hours to cover the 90km. I found a great hotel with a big double bed, TV, bathroom and shower for only $5, and checked in. The rest of the afternoon was spent sending some emails, and enjoying the luxury of a television (with international news!!), before I finally caved and went to bed at the embarrassingly early hour of 8pm.
The next day I had to rise before dawn, and made my way to the bus station, where I had booked a seat on board a bus to Mbeya. We pulled off, and drove for eight long hours, half of which I spent sitting next to a mother with a very sick little baby, who kicked (me) and screamed most of the way. Thankfully they left after a while and I was able to stretch my legs out a little.
Mbeya is a strange town, a major crossing point of routes, connecting southern Tanzania to Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique. Upon climbing down off the bus I was immediately surrounded by touts, trying to grab my bag, sell me bus tickets, or bring me to a hotel. I managed to shake them all off, bar one, a would-be tour guide, who tried to lead me to a hotel. He was friendly in a sickly-sweet sycophantic way that greatly irritated me, and made me very suspicious of his intentions. The one time I don't put up with any nonsense whatsoever is when I have my bags on my back - it is when I am most vulnerable to robbery, and when I look most like a tourist, facts of which I am very aware. So I was quite rude to this man, in trying to get rid of him, but yet he insisted on following me to the hotel, "helping" me check in, and always trying to talk to me. By then I was quite sure that no-one would try to befriend someone with such dedication (particularly a newcomer to a town, straight off the bus), so after leaving my bags in my room I told him to get lost and headed into town.
I spent much of the afternoon online, and reading in a little restaurant. Several more times I had unusual experiences with locals, being shouted at on the street - "Who are you?! What do you want?! Why are you here?!" Once, I got the fright of my life when someone violently grabbed my hand as I walked down a little alley. I turned around, expecting the worst from the man who was gripping my wrist and shouting at me, but he turned out to be a madman, speaking nonsense. I just shook hands with him, smiled, and walked away.
I returned to the hotel before nightfall, getting the feeling that this was not the sort of town that one would want to wander around after dark. I purchased my bus ticket to the border from the station, across the road from the hotel. The ticket seller tried to charge me double the price, but a little haggling and the age-old "walk-away" trick brought him down to the right price.
Again I found myself getting tired and went to bed early. I had been traveling for four straight days at this stage, and was getting sick of buses and early nights. The following day another long bus trip lay ahead of me, but I was getting nearer to my first stop in Malawi, a country I have looked forward to visiting for a long time.
