The Great Safari: Part 2

We chose the only day of the week to continue our safari where there was no direct transport to the next destination. So at 6am we were on a bus to Bwanga hoping to intercept a cross-country bus. Bwanga is a dusty settlement in the middle of nowhere with a cluster of dilapidated buildings that seem to exist purely due to the presence of the road junction. Skirting the children selling honey in gin bottles, I handed over more money for the second bus ticket of the day. No-one knew for sure when the buses from Mwanza would pass by so I was surprised when after only 90 minutes of villager-watching the Adveture Connection (sic) bus bounced over a hill into view. The inside of the bus was covered in a film of orange dust and there were many empty seats which was unexpected and foreboding. The few passengers on-board looked to be in a state of mild shock. Fifty metres out of Bwanga the paved road ended. For 11 more hours we bounced along a dusty red road on a bone-jarring 555km ride past countless villages with a booming onion industry, judging by the buckets paraded at the windows. In front, a man had 3 big fish tied to the luggage rack that kept hitting his neighbour in the face; combined with the pervasive dust and the Bongo Flava tunes, the assault on the senses was merciless. Just when the lights of Kigoma could be seen in the distance, the bus gave up; everyone disembarked and the driver disappeared underneath with a hammer for an hour. Darkness adding to the excitement of the journey, the bus continued to break down every 15 minutes followed by a period of frantic undercarriage hammering which I fancied was a ploy to make us targets of the armed bandits that prowl the region.

Eventually we passed NGO offices and UN refugee camps signalling our arrival in Kigoma. Kigoma is Lake Tanganyika's busiest port, handling most of Burundi's foreign trade and serving as the main arrival point for refugees fleeing Central Africa's conflicts, so French is widely spoken.  It is also the end of the cross-country railway line from Dar Es Salaam and is a few kilometres from the village of Ujiji where Stanley's famous line, "Dr Livingstone, I presume?" can be quoted by all.

Kigoma is the also the gateway to Gombe Stream, the smallest and most expensive of Tanzania's National Parks. The only way to reach the park is by boat on Lake Tanganyika; either the Park boat for $350 or an "overcrowded, potentially dangerous" (Rough Guide 2012) lake taxi for $2.50. As I quote the Rough Guide it probably indicates I'm a lake taxi candidate. Six days a week, 2 lake taxis depart from the fishing village of Kibirizi. As soon as you step on the beach, one of the captains pulls you in the direction of their vessel, which at 11am when we boarded was almost empty. Two hours later 300 passengers had filled every conceivable space so we set off at a slow tempo and a dangerous lilt northwards on Lake Tanganyika. After 3 more hours in the burning sun having chatted to many a fellow traveller interested in my life story, we arrived at Gombe National Park. Shopping and backpacks were passed hand to hand until they reached the jetty before me as I struggled to climb over bodies, under beams and past the crates of soda, tractor tyres, chickens and solar panels.

Before we had started a guided walk the next day, 15 chimpanzees passed by the accommodation block on a search for breakfast. We set off after them with our guide Halfani abiding by the park rules: Do not look directly into a chimp's eyes and if one charges, hug the nearest tree. Titan a young male chimp led us to the rest of his family including Sparrow the oldest chimp in the park at 55. The animals didn't seemed fazed by our presence at all, often breaking the 10 metre distance restriction and walking right past us. They ate, played, groomed and fornicated whilst we took photos.

Sparrow, the matriarch of the Kasekela Chimpanzee community

The park rangers and field researchers live in a small village within the Park with their families. Since alpha male Frodo killed and ate part of a 14-month old (human) baby in 2002, the staff housing is surrounded by metal cages and children are always kept inside, much to the amusement of my travelling buddy Paul, who believes children should always be kept in cages regardless of whether they're in a National Park. The chimps may be occasionally dangerous but the resident baboons are the greater pest, taking food from the kitchen, ripping through mosquito netting to get into the bedrooms or stealing clothes from the washing lines. Reminds me of University life. 

The Great Safari: Part 1

After 10 months in Tanzania and having rarely left the south-eastern corner it was time for a trip, or as the Tanzanian's would say, a safari , to visit some far off places. A 9 hour bus trip from Nyangao to Dar Es Salaam started the adventure which after a bad egg the day before turned into a challenge in itself. Next stop Mwanza on the southern shore of Lake Victoria in the north-west of Tanzania.

                    

For £6 Salum a piki-piki driver, took me on a 2-hour tour of the city. Because I was clinging to Salum's back wearing an over-sized helmet with restricted vision whilst carrying a rucksack there was no opportunity for photos so you will have to take my word for it that Mwanza seemed like a nice place. It is Tanzania's second-largest metropolis, one of Africa's fastest-growing cities and the country's busiest inland port, handling most of Tanzania's trade with Uganda. That said, 70-80% of its' inhabitants live in slums built into the rocks and hills surrounding the centre.

Courtesy of Google images   

These slums are my lasting memory of Mwanza along with their huge avian pest, the Marabou Stork. About 1m high, these dirty birds feast on all the rubbish at the dumps, the markets or down on the shore of Lake Victoria. I won't be complaining about pigeons again.

In the evening, I headed to Mwanza port and joined the throngs of waiting passengers catching the overnight MV Victoria ferry to Bukoba. As we waited in the dark surrounded by tatty suitcases, sacks of flour and dozing children, the gangs of entrepreneurial young men sold juice, biscuits and loaves of bread for the journey. Built in Glasgow in 1960 the MV Victoria was promptly knocked down and exported to Mombasa in 1500 crates where she was commissioned by Elizabeth II and granted Royal Mail Ship designation in 1961. By the time I bought my ticket there were no first class or second class sleeping bunks available which meant a bench for the 10 hour overnight trip. As I was directed down old ladders and past lockable metal gates into the hull of the ship I felt like an Irish passenger on the Titanic. The air was hot, smelt of urine, and there were hundreds of people crammed in to every possible space including in the overhead luggage racks where at least they could stretch out. Everyone seemed surprised to see a mzungu in that part of the boat and I felt like a deserter when I gave one of the restaurant waiters £4 to find me an empty bed on higher deck. I spent the night with others who had bought their way out of the hull-hell, in a room meant for staff with 18 bunk beds, more sleeping on the floor and a few cockroaches.

At dawn I headed up to the lifeboat deck where Muslim passengers were performing the Fajr prayer before sunrise. The MV Victoria arrived at Bukoba at 7am, surprisingly on schedule. Even before the boat had properly docked passengers were jumping from the sides. No such thing as health and safety rules here.

Kagera region borders Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi. Cooler, wetter and more lush than the south, the climate is perfect for growing coffee and making cheese; two important staples to the expat diet. The Haya people of Kagera number around 2 million and in the villages and towns their local tribal language Kihaya is spoken over Kiswahili.  Having grown comfortable in the presence of nuns since arriving in Tanzania, I found myself at the Catholic Mater Misericordiae Cathedral in Bukoba where the rooms were spotless and came with ice cold showers and a glow-in-the-dark Jesus as any well-equipped nuns' quarters should.

I spent a week travelling in Kagera region visiting other VSO volunteers; Kagondo is a small village with only a few dukas to buy food and supplies but has a well equipped 162 bed hospital managed by the Catholic Diocese. St Joseph Hospital has the only orthopaedic technician in the region. Jackson makes prosthetic legs out of plastic piping and attaches heavy rubber feet that come in a variety of sizes. Whilst the limbs are not aesthetically pleasing, they make a huge difference to the children and adults who have lost legs as a result of accidents or tumours, as long as they can afford the $150 price tag. His personal story is hugely inspiring - his sister, who is albino, was taken from her bed in the middle of the night by strangers and had her arms completely severed in a malicious attack whilst she was heavily pregnant. Jackson was on duty at the hospital when his sister was brought in for emergency treatment. Miraculously she survived and even more amazing somebody donated money for her to travel to the United States to be fitted with modern prosthetic arms. Having completed only 1 year of basic training, Jackson really wants to go back to study prosthetics further but as is often the case is limited by lack of funds.

 

Jackson with one of his legs

Last stop before the safari continued was in Ndolage, an even smaller village on the edge of a huge plateau complete with waterfall and Jurassic Park-esque scenery. The specialty dish of the area is matoke, mashed cooking bananas served if you're lucky with beans, cabbage and meat. It seems the locals here don't like to go more than a day without their serving of bananas. 

To be continued.....