The Mocray Hotel was in Kahama. Knowing that really didn’t bring me much piece of mind. But nothing really mattered because I passed out 1 minute after I hit the pillow. I did have to get up once around 4. That’s when I saw the 3 ( or 4 or more) cockroaches that run the night shift in my (their) bathroom. But at this point they were of no concern. Crawling back into bed I had another one tangled up, but outside, my mosquito net. Outside is good. Insensitivity rising, I fell back to sleep till my alarm woke me at 5:00. I was outside and back at the truck before six. Dennis, who doesn’t seem to sleep much, was up, the truck was running and Elami suddenly appeared from the bush. We were on the road at 6. These guys are on a mission and so am I. I think everybody was up because this was going to be our last day on the road. My new friends are going home and I am nearing the conclusion of now 17 month project which had almost failed. Now, knowing we were close to a successful conclusion I was starting to feel pretty good too. From Chapter 1 you know that we were pretty foolish to do this project. I have been to Rulenge several times now over the years. It is the end of the line. Go any farther west and you’re in Burundi. Which is not a great place to find yourself.
The point is Rulenge is very needy and about
as far a way as you can get and still be in Tanzania. So the idea was valid. Knowing the trouble we
had on the 1st container the transportation process was pretty
stupid. What is the definition of insanity?
Then our worst fears crystalized. The container got stuck in Dar es
Salaam for 16 months. One of our agents ( facilitators?) at Caritas probably
walked away with a few thousand dollars and then disappeared. Meanwhile I keep
calling and emailing Caritas and Rulenge (opposite ends of Tanzania) and was
getting stonewalled by passivity. It looked like that container would join the
thousands of other containers you see around Africa, trashed and looted. But all that, including trying to disprove
the definition of insanity made me all the more determined to get the stuff to
where it belonged. Besides what else am
I doing at this stage of my life? I had
a strong need for adventure and I had a responsibility to Rulenge. There was also this feeling I had about
making things better, you know the tag line for The Sandy Christman Foundation.
As president or CEO or what ever I am, it started to dawn on me that if anyone
was going to jump start this project it was me. We had already invested more
then $12,000 USD so what’s a few more thousand dollars if it gets us to
success…or had least completion. And besides I was coming to Tanzania anyway to
work in the hospital on Biharamulo. Finally, what was I going to tell all the people that had contributed to
the SCF if we just let the whole project fail? That wasn’t fair to them or the
SCF. I mean I was responsible for all that donated money.
When people donate money to an NGO for a good
cause they just assume everything will work. In America we bitch about
administrative costs, big salaries and lifestyles for CEO’s of non –
profits (think The American Red Cross).
That’s not even a daydream at SCF. Our challenge is getting stuff we promised
to its target. Not easy when your going to half way around the world to
Rulenge, Tanzania. I will go public before I close the deal on the Lear Jet.
No, I felt I was definitely doing the
right thing and now as we drove west into Kagera (the California of
Tanzania…mountains, most west…but no ocean), seeing the end in sight I thought
this just might work out.
It’s almost impossible to tell but as you
leave the hot middle of Tanzania and get closer to Kagera you are climbing up a
gentle flat slope. By the time you start to see the green hills and the thick vegetation
you are above a 1000M of elevation and still climbing. There is some kind of
continental divide up ahead where all the water heads east and north into Lake
Victoria and the Nile and eventually the Mediterean (hard to believe).
Everything else heads west and south to Lake Tanganyika. Kagera also reminds me of Vermont, verdant, cool
and rich (soil that is) to a fault. Kagera is higher then Vermont and that is
good thing because we are 2 degrees south of the equator and if we weren’t more
then 1500M high we would be roasting like in Dar es Salaam. But I quess that’s
where the similarity ends. There are no peaked mountains and no skiing and as
far as I can tell a snowflake has never touched the ground here.
Oops, another roadblock. We slow down to
a crawl, pull to the side right up to the big log across the road. Two police one man, one-woman come out of the
bush. They are dressed in white uniforms white hat and the man has a long white
trench coat. Isn’t he hot? They
approach the truck. I am lost in translation but I can tell Dennis is not happy.
He is arguing. The lady cop does the usual. Walks around back, comes to my
window and wants to speak to me. The
window is down; she wants me to come out. Dennis and Kami and arguing with the
other cop about mwendo (speed). I get down out of the truck. Unenda wapi? (Where are you going?) Unatoka
wapi? (Where are you from)? Wewe meerikani? (You are American?) Nice guess on her part but really, where else
could I be from with my ridiculous New York - Swahili accent? She just looks at
me, maybe a little scowl. I’m sensing, sans language, that she doesn’t like me. I think we are in a classic speed trap and
now that she knows I’m Meerikani the speeding ticket price just tripled. We are
marched across the road to a little wooden table behind a tree. On the table, a
radar gun. The male cop is being
dominant, posturing, almost threatening. Dennis is ready to shoot him. I’m
thinking we could almost get away with that here but now other trucks are stopped
because the log is across the road. The
lady cop goes out to drag the log back and get traffic moving. Then another cop
appears on bicycle. He has a radar gun and I think he must have gotten us on
radar maybe a kilometer or so back. Ok, so we are guilty (not) but lets just
pay up and roll on. Dennis is not giving up…maybe he's afraid he will gets points put on his
Tanzanian license? Nah, they wouldn’t be
able do that here. I’m not even sure these are cops. Bottom line, we pay 60,000TzS ($30) or we
stay here and argue and I miss dinner in Rulenge.
I pay. We get back in the truck Dennis is steaming (he has areal temper,
I’m starting to think he is not Tanzanian). But I’m the one who paid the 60,000
TzS. Fine!
We roll on. By noon we are back in familiar territory. The
road is deconstructing with each passing mile. The clouds are thickening as is
the vegetation and the hills are getting rounder and steeper and greener. We stop at Muzani ( google map that!). This is the end of the pavement. Its raining
and actually cool, maybe 65. Everyone here has a jacket or rain gear. Its rainy
season and that means mud everywhere. Elami is under the truck doing something and
then runs off into a bunch of low single story buildings, shacks really. He’s
back in a flash and heads back under the truck, in the mud. Fearless. I figure
out latter we had a fuel line leak that some how he fixed very quickly. I am feeling strung out and very near a
headache. Despite sleeping in a bed last night I have been getting less then 6
hrs of sleep in a horizontal or sitting
position for the last 2 nights and every time I don’t feel well I start
to get paranoid. Malaria, typhoid, cholera, food poisoning, hook worm,
schistosomiasis, the list is endless. But I’ve never had any of these maladies
and I’m prob just exhausted. My first go
to treatment is Coke a Cola. I know that sounds horrible in the US, so
processed, so sugar loaded with empty, teeth destroying calories. But here..it
works. The caffeine sugar rush does something in my brain and if nothing else,
it’s safe. Call it what you want but Coke is safe to drink, especially if you’re
paranoid. I must buy stock in that
company.
Back on the road, now dirt mud, sometimes
straight and smooth, sometimes serpentine and rutted. We pass villages of mud
and straw huts and I wonder what it’s like inside those on a day like today.
 |
| Kagera |
 |
| on the road to Rulenge |
There is no” Welcome to
Rulenge” signs as you enter the greater Rulenge metro area. The town has no
catchy title like “cutest town in Kagera” No Rotary Club or Knights of
Columbus. But you can tell there’s something different. There’s a lot more clearing, farming
(especially this time of the year) and development. Rulenge has real brick (
locally made by hand) and stucco buildings dating back to the 1960’s and
earlier. I don’t know what was here first but I do know some of the first white
people to come here in the late 60’s. When I first came to Tanzania in 2008 my
wife Barbara and I were greeted at the airport in Mwanza by Sr Margie Wolfe. It
was July 4th and as we walked off the plane Sr. Margie was there to
greet us waving an American flag. It was a welcoming site. Especially since we
didn’t expect anyone to meet us. We were sleep deprived and in deep culture
shock. To see a white women (the only one) and an American flag (the only one) was well….reassuring. I didn’t
know the word mzungu (white person) then but at that point there were 3 of
us….and that was it. I was about to learn the word mzungu in just a few minutes
as we attracted lots of attention in the airport and that’s how we were
addressed by local drivers and porters who tried to grab and carry our bags to
a cab or truck despite Sr. Margie’s firm use of Swahili negatives.
Only later did I learn Sr Margie was maybe
the 2nd white nun to come into Kagera and Rulenge and take up
permanent residence. She built schools, taught kids, noviate nuns and seminary
students. Just about every local African priest I meet here was taught English
by Sr Margie. So, as we enter Rulenge in our fancy (OK no A/C but still…) big
truck on relatively OK dirt roads I think of her and what it was like driving
(?) into Rulenge in 1970….my hero. I love her! My idea of a local Mother
Theresa. I’ve tried to get her to write a book. She will have nothing to do
with bringing attention to herself.
 |
| downtown Rulenge |
 |
| bus stop in R town....a little like the Alamo |
 |
| preparing dinner, you may have to zoom in |
We wind thru the village and head into the
hospital grounds. The “campus” also serves as a rectory for local priests, nuns
and others. The hospital is a rectangle of one story buildings connected by a concrete
covered walkway. The hospital is dirt poor and has capacity for maybe 40 patients.
The buildings are all 1960-70 vintage maybe earlier. There are 2 new things built
here since maybe 1975. A new water tower and solar panels. Both projects
directed by Fr. and Dr. Florence, the medical director. He is a real breath of fresh air, actually a
tornado. High energy, determination and battling all impossible obstacles so characteristic
of Africa. Father, Doctor Florence (love
that) was with us in Dar to help with the loading. He has taken a bus from Dar ( non stop) and has beaten us by a day.
We have arrived! The weather is drizzly and cool but we are psyched
to finally get here and be greeted by just about the whole hospital staff, maybe
15 people. After a few introductions,
the matron, Sr Monica, has several workers ready to unload. We have 25 beds, 2
generators, x-ray view box, a million pair of crutches, walkers, centrifuges,
lab equipment, bicycles, clothing, medical supplies, surgical instruments and
boxes of stuff that I never identified but Fr Florence did.
 |
| one of the dreaded bikes in background |
 |
| fast yes, delicate..no |
 |
| the hospital grounds with solar panels |
About the bicycles…… let me just say never
promise anyone something that creates a rift or animosity or feelings of
inequality amongst equals in Tanzania. Elami has had his eyes on one of the
bikes since we packed it away in the truck in Dar. He has reminded me several
times in the trip that he would like the bike. It’s a Rock Hopper mountain bike,
19990 vintage, no shocks but pretty cool for this part of the world, which is
loaded with Chinese, knock offs of the classic the English upright bikes. Now
the workers have brought the six or seven bikes out and Elami is all over me. I
am feeling very good about things now ( see Coke works!) and I say “ sure its
yours”. Sr. Monica is giving me the evil
eye but hell, he deserves it…..besides I feel at this point it’s mine to
give. Later, as time goes by, I am noticing bad
vibes from Dennis. I mean he can’t even look at me. He is off to the side,
looks pissed and he’s kinda scary when he looks pissed. Later as the workers finish the unloading and I’m eating strange crackers and tea with
Sr. Monica she tells me “you can’t reward Elami and not Dennis”. So that’s it!
I wasn’t rewarding anybody! He asked for it (a million times). Dennis
never asked, for all I know he has a bike.
Hmm…. Maybe not, maybe I’m up against some sort of culture thing here.
But he’s acting like a baby! He’s a fucking badass truck driver! (Ok, I didn’t say that to her). Why doesn’t
he come over and tell me?
Ugggh! Tanzania!! I keep forgetting I’m the
mzungu Meerikani. I try so hard to fit in. I keep thinking I’m black. But I’m
not ….never will be. Most of the time I’m half paranoid. Especially when we are
at a scary truck stop. But you (and I) know, that is just my inbreed, inculturated,
latent, insidious American Racism peeking through my veneer of politically
correct behavior. I really can’t deny it. I think I’m enlightened, liberal but let’s
face it: all white (Americans) are racist…..to different degrees, but its
there. We had slaves! We learn about it
in 4th grade. It is depicted as bad but there’s something that marks
your cortex when you learn that whites had black slaves. You are imprinted with
some sort of latent superiority. It is bad. And when I’m paranoid I’m
practicing profiling. And it’s even more basic than that. It’s in our DNA. Not
racism but differentiation. Unlike magnets and electrochemistry where like
repels and opposite charges attract. In the animal world like attracts. And
opposites or “different” is....well….just be careful out there, stay with the
herd and be wary of different. That is primal fear. That is survival. You don’t
see wilder beasts and lions hanging together here. I know this sounds like
Donald Trump but, unlike The Donald, I am weary of irrational fear and its dangerous reflex: fight and flight. I believe there is hope. I believe
dialogue overcomes DNA. Understanding leads to enlightenment and bilateral
acceptance. Want more on DNA? Read E.O. Wilson. Want more on fear? Read history or follow The Donald....not to get political
Back to Dennis and bicycles and feelings. I
have to remind myself in this case I’m in charge of this little adventure; I’m
paying for it. I’m not just mzungu, I’m
Meerikani mzungu! I’m also Bwana, now. I’m not
just the truck driver. So Dennis is taking it personally. I have to talk (
sentence fragments) to him. We figure it out.
I was going to give him a tip anyway.
He busted his ass and I’m still not sure if he sleeps. But tips here are
rare, maybe unknown. So I will make it right. But I need to do some research
first and I know just where to go to get some answers.
