Tanzanian scenes

Yard work

 Secondary school classroom

 Jacarandas in  school grounds

 Primary school pupils

 Assortment of footwear

Coffee growing under the banana trees

Flora in her kitchen

 Women on their way to Friday prayers

 Hosana

 Pomegranates

Mt Meru, near Arusha, N. Tanzania

In the shadow of Mt Kilimanjaro

Hindu shrine in Moshi, Kilimanjaro region, Tanzania

Mt Kilimanjaro, rising in the distance above Moshi

 Summit of Mt Kilimanjaro - just under 20,000 feet

Boy selling roasted corn in Moshi, Tanzania

Street scene, Moshi, Kilimanjaro region

Carrying pain

Bertha came up to me as I walked along the track. I didn't recognise her at first, in her ill-fitting pink outfit. Then I recalled meeting her on a previous visit, a woman looking about 40 with sincere beliefs and a shattered life. She introduced me to her young teenage daughter and two smaller sons. They trailed around with their mother but did not seem especially excited to meet a mzungu (Swahili for white man).

Bertha's father had abused his children - quite in what way, I never knew. But Bertha's younger sister, when she was older, got her revenge, in a gruesome manner.

Many Africans live in shared facilities, perhaps taking a room in a compound. Most African toilets consist of a pit dug into the ground and some kind of arrangement above.  A woman living in the same property as Bertha's sister went to the toilet one day and smelt something sickening. Looking down the hole in the ground she saw fresh earth had been put down into the pit. But she also saw what looked like a hand. She got a stick and pushed it down into the pit - and realised there were other things in the pit unconnected with normal human waste.

The evidence of the hand was enough to make her report the matter to the police. After what must have been a horrible recovery exercise, the chopped-up body of Bertha's father was found. Her sister had got her revenge.

More than that. The liver of her father had been removed - and later it came to light that she had cooked it and given to Bertha's daughter to eat. 

Such an experience is unimaginable. Bertha’s sister is now in prison. But Bertha and her children bear the scars of their experience – and for Bertha, a double blow, since she endured abuse from her father as a child and now has to live with the awful consequences of her sister’s revenge.

Life is so tough for many people. All we can do is show them some love. I was glad when Bertha came up to me again and murmured something I didn’t even understand. I was glad that she sat at the back of a crowded room and watched me. I was glad if she felt she gained some strength from my interest in her. 

When we left, I went up to her and shook her hand. I wanted to hug her, to hold her very close. But I just shook her hand and smiled. I wanted at least to assure her that I understood something of her pain. That if I could have done more for her, I would have - and that she could have my love to take away, if nothing else.

You get what you pay for

The bus journey from Ifakara to Dar es Salaam takes 9.5 hours.  Thankfully, the 6.30 a.m. bus was a big long Skandia with two axles at the rear.  It rode the bumps of the first part of the journey well and once across the crude bridge over the Great River Ruaha, the sealed road provided a smooth ride.  It's still a very long time to be on a bus with rather a hard seat.

Fortunately, the woman who sat next to me spoke some English and proved singularly helpful.  She even shared her head of freshly cooked sweetcorn with me, which kept me going until I managed to buy a couple of boiled eggs off a street boy when the bus made a brief stop.

I asked for her help when finally we approached the Ubungu bus station in Dar.  As a rather conspicuous white man, I normally get pounced on by taxi drivers and porters.  I asked her if she could help me find a reasonable taxi driver who could take me to a cheap hotel near the airport.  Obligingly, she phoned one she knew and he was waiting for us on arrival. 

My bag emerged from the hold of the bus, coated in red dust, and was slung in the back of the taxi. Fragrance - my new friend - gave me her phone number so that I could inform her that the driver had delivered me safely.  Although he claimed to know some modest hotels near the airport, it became clear he did not.  The first he found, after enquiring, was way above my budget.  The next was cheaper but had no running water.  Finally we discovered the 'Airline Motel'. Its plant-filled courtyard looked pleasant enough and the rotund manager rushed to greet me and to assure me that all my fears were over.

Yes, there was a room and yes, there was running water.  The cost was about 8 dollars.  You get what you pay for.  The room was dirty, the lavatory had no seat, the water did run - in a cold trickle.  But I was too tired to search for another place.  It would do.

I showered, changed and drank a cold Seregeti beer and ordered something to eat.  The choice was not difficult as chicken and chips was the only food available.  When eventually it came, brought by a shuffling girl called 'Margarit', the pieces of chicken looked and felt as though they had been cooked a good few hours ago. But the chips were hot.

A nice-looking dirty white pussy sat on the concrete floor by my plastic table, looking up longingly.  Typical, I thought, out to get something off a white man.  I chewed what flesh I could off the chicken bone and threw what was left to the cat.  She crunched away loudly and happily, then walked over and rubbed herself against me.

She was irresistible. I slipped to her a more fleshy bit of chicken. She ate it and looked up at me, miaowing for more. But there was no more. So she lost interest and walked away. No more pussy for me. You get what you pay for.

Janet

Manhatten in a Day

 
Downtown Manhattan is an experience and a half. We took a city tour, as the easiest way to see key sights in 2.5 hours... tho' much of the time was spent stationary because of the manic traffic jams. But then walking wasn't much easier, with  so many people bustling their way along the crowded walkways. The yellow taxis and stretch limos argued non-stop with big delivery trucks trying to force their way through.

Lower Manhattan is dominated by tall skyscrapers, so it's hard to see much besides buildings - places like Macey's department store, the Empire State building, which serves as a kind of compass point, the World Trade Centre, the UN and numerous towering blocks of varying architectural interest.
Our guide was a yelling woman, who shouted non-stop... and assumed that our main interest would be in where famous film stars lived, like De Caprio, or in her own family history. I would myself have liked more American history. We got it after we disembarked for the free ferry to Statten Island and came right back to board another bus with another guide.

The Statten Island ferry is an amazing way of seeing the Manhatten skyline from the water. As a bonus, it steams right past the iconic Statue of Liberty. I was amused by a group of French speaking Africans who were having a good time on board, photographing each other non-stop.

Back on the bus, we drove through the Lower East side, taking a look at the Brooklyn Bridge and passing Wall Street again. It was nice to know the Dutch originally built a wall here to keep the British out. Broadway, 5th Avenue took on a significance not fully appreciated until you are there. Greenwich Village, Little Italy, the Garment District, West Side - all came alive. We marvelled at the high security Waldorf Astoria hotel, where every American President has stayed, it seems, and where we are never likely to stay.

We got off the bus and walked up to Central Park past the Plaza Hotel. The horse-drawn carriages vieing for our custom. Yet another living Statue of Liberty beckoned with his finger to get us to take a photo and put some dollars in his collecting box. Central Park was an oasis in the heat and harrassment of the city - but then we learned how many murders had taken place in its leafy shade.

Walking back down 5th Avenue, we passed many classy shops like Tiffany's and did a bit of window shopping. But by now, we were feeling weary, and the sight of Pennsylvania Station and the subway to the Long Island Rail Road station was welcome.

We had 'done' Manhatten in a day. The fulness of its many possibilities would have to await another day.