Chap 3
What makes eating breakfast so unique in in a
little roadside “café” in the middle of Tanzania. Well besides the ambiance,
then there are these 4 ft. tall crane like birds that have wingspan of 6 feet.
They are famous garbage eaters. They are in most towns and cities in East Africa
and provide a great public health service. They will eat and clean up most
anything. But they are really really ugly. I don’t know what they are called
but they are accepted to the point that no one seems to notice them and they
are not afraid of people. They just sort of mingle in with the crowd, not too
close, they always have an exit. They are like dogs, accepted, as long as they
behave. And because they will eat
anything, digestible or not, they are sorta like vacuum cleaners. This might be
something you saw on the Flintstones. Betty directing this 4 foot bird - vacuum by holding its tail feathers. I donna know.
 |
| civic minded public health worker |
We head west to Dodoma, the capital of
Tanzania. Dodoma is a bit like Brasilia, a capital made by political
compromise, in a non-threatening geographic location. I remember learning about
Brasilia in 7th grade, a modern brand new city built in the jungles of Brazil. So too Dodoma but I’m not so sure is quite as
striking as Brasilia. Anyway, there are
no superhighway loops around this new city, no superhighway at all. We drive
through the middle of town and keep moving. The middle of Tanzania is dry and
empty. Not jungle just open and dry. For
some reason out here, in the middle of nowhere, there are more police then in
Dar. We are stopped several times in small townships by roadblocks made of a
long wooden pole ( just the pole) and policemen in white uniforms. They have
radar guns! Dennis has been very speed conscientious so I assume he knows about
these speed traps. They are pretty much always the same. Except these cops
don’t have souped up police cruisers, they are on foot. The policeman comes out
from under the shade of a tree, saunters over, asks for papers, looks at the
windshield where in Tanzania you display your insurance sticker instead your inspection
sticker. Think about what that means. Then he or she walks around the truck,
never looks inside the back but ALWAYS
stops and looks at me. They usually start in Swahili. I can go about 2
sentences before they know that I DON’T know Swahili . Then they might try a
little English or just stare. I have never been asked for a passport or any ID.
Maybe this region, wherever we are, is trying to break the mystique of the
African truck driver.
We ride on, the day is endless. I suspect we
are in the middle of Tanzania, I don’t know of any large towns, much less
cities between us and Rulenge. I can’t
see the speedometer but Dennis says we are doing a 80 km/hr. at max( 48mph). then we have to slow to 50 km/hr
in townships. There are occasional giant trucks that pass us, busses of all shapes,
sizes and states of disrepair. The most
common vehicles ate pikipiki’s ( motor cycles) and bicycles, then dalidali ,
little mini vans that are just small buses that are never empty, always
overstuffed with people, animals and cargo inside and out. We pull into a cross roads with a cluster of
low buildings with corrugated tin roofs and home made brick walls or even just
canvas walls. I think we are all ready for a break. And so does my bladder. We
have been on the go since 6. Any town or village out here has 2 things, almost
requirements, to make it spot on some map. First there is the universal Coke a Cola
sign and then either Vodacom or Airtel (cellphones) signs. Lacking these signs
you are officially not an anything (Adrian’s 1st Law). Get these
signs in your village and your on the map……assuming there is a map.
By 10 pm we are all beat, I have bloodshot
eyes and I’m sure Dennis does too. We coming into in a good size town and I
hear Elami say “’lory semama” (Truck stop). Dennis and Elami never go 10
minutes with out some conversation in fast Swahili, which I can never
understand. But I get this: we are stopping for the night. It has been a 16
hour day and I feel run over….. by a truck.
It may be 10 and it’s a
Tuesday night and I don’t know where we are but this place is rocking. There is
music and lights (glaring in my weary eyes).
OK it’s not Vegas but there’s a lot of action here. Trucks are moving in
and out, there is a bar and restaurant. We head for the food. I order fried
rice and vegetables and a Castle light beer (my usual go to, safe meal when in
strange places). Dennis and Elami order food no alcohol. There is a 10 to 1
male to female ratio here and I’m trying not to be too obvious about my taking
in what’s going on. I have arrived! This is the real thing, a real African truck
stop in the middle of nowhere. A perfect
place to break laws, hang out and move the Black Economy. When I say Black Economy
I’m not talking color here but I am talking roots, as in underground, the
invisible, the black market, the under the table economy. I don’t know the size or significance of the
Black Economy in East Africa but it can’t be small. Economist estimate if the calculated
world GDP (about $80 trillion USD) included
the world Black Economy then the world GDP would be 15% higher then currently
measured (you can do the math). That is probably an underestimate if you
consider the Internet and the dark net.
Any open street market in East Africa is not reporting taxes. There is no sales tax here. And although I
don’t see it I know there are things for sale here, which are illegal, and
nobody is reporting these transactions to the Tanzanian IRS…if it even
exists. I wolf down my dinner knock off
the beer and am fading. As much as I would like to see what’s going on next
door I really just want to go back to sleep, even if it is in the truck. Dennis
and Elami are blood shot beat and weary. As I scope out the crowd everyone
looks the same. These drivers work long killer days on the road. I’m not sure
anybody is up for anything here except food and rest. I’m also realizing I’m the only white guy in
the room, sometimes I forget that. What that means is I often draw a crowd, at
least a lot of stares and nobody is going to do anything overt with me around. Actually
I don’t know what I was really expecting. Like maybe I would see Osama bin
Laden and Joseph Cony sitting in a corner having a beer?
We walk out and head toward the truck but
Dennis and Elami direct me towards a gate. They say (I think) that I need a
hotel( Unahitaji hoteli). I’m not sure what they mean. But I it sounds like
“meerikani hotel” We open a 6 foot high metal gate, cross a courtyard, go
around a building…. Now I’m getting nervous…… and come to another courtyard. It’s
now close to midnight and we are far from the road, far from the truck…..I do
trust these guys… “salamu sana” says Elami. We come to a door, Dennis opens it
up and we are at the Mocray Hotel.
What is this, is it safe? is
it a brothel? Dennis yells something and a big man comes up from behind the
desk, obviously just sleeping. They chat is Swahili, he looks at me and says: “
hello, welcome to the hotel” in perfect accent free English! Dennis points to the clerk and says”Meerikani
menaja”. The clerk looks at me and says ”hi, I’m Jackson, I’m not American but
I went to school at Murray State.
Your friends want you to get
a good night sleep”. I’m speechless. The
Mocray Hotel is clean, a little skankey but the thought of real bed is too
good, I must be dreaming. Dennis and Elami head back to the truck where, I am
finding, they always sleep. We agree to
meet at 6:00am. A night at the Mocray Hotel is 5,000 TzS, about $2.50 USD. Jackson leads me to my room, outside and to
the right. I’m still a little on guard and now I’m totally alone in some back street
of a town I don’t even know the name of. Jackson tells me his real name is
Milaki, he owns the hotel with his family. I have a million questions and its
such a joy to speak American. But I am also asleep on my feet. I warn myself to
be awake, be sharp but somehow I sense all is OK.
My room….. small, one twin bed, mosquito net,
no big holes, bathroom and “shower” are one and the same….best to use toilet(
eastern) first then take a shower. Always smart to wear sandals in the shower,
one small window, no view (who cares), sheets are clean! I take a quick shower; try to get the Tanzanian road dust off, hop into bed
after I put my extra t - shirt on over the pillow. I can take bedbug bites but will
not tolerate lice very well. Final
thought of the day as my head hits the pillow: what if Dennis and Elami left me
here? ……wherever I am.
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