Tanzania

14th July 2007
After buying car insurance for three months ($20), we enquire about the roads south – there’s warnings of ‘Shifta’ in the forest. Shifta is a Somali word, now used throughout Africa as a term for bandits. The police here have been fighting them for 6 months now – apparently being quite successful in their campaign. There have been no incidents for 3 months, but the previous attacks on vehicles have been vicious, they kill, and take what they wish.

We’re looking into getting a police escort, and leaving in the morning. For the rest of the day – we’re relaxing on the shores of Lake Victoria, playing volleyball, guitar, cooking, chilling and getting to know our new passenger better.

Sunday 15th July 2007
We wake before dawn, aiming to follow the bus on the dangerous road south – they have a police escort, and aren’t normally a target for the shifta. We find the bus station at ten to six, but are told that the bus south doesn’t leave until 2pm that afternoon… We’ll have to arrange for a police escort just for us.

We stop at the police checkpoint just outside of town and after I wake the three officers, who are sleeping in their car they try to phone to arrange an escort for us. After 10 minutes of trying however, they’ve not been able to reach anybody – on the radio or phone. This doesn’t really instil me with much confidence!

After totally failing to contact the relevant superiors, they tell us that it’s safe to travel south for at least the first 80km; the trouble spots are in the 40km before Biharamulo.
The Chinese are here – building a new road, I’ve seen them throughout my travels laying tarmac all over east Africa and Ethiopia, their thirst for African resources is relentless – the only way to increase the flow of goods is to build better roads. For now, we’re on the old bad road, the new one looks to be just a few months off completion.

Just a few kilometres into the drive, I hear a familiar sound. The screeching from the gearbox, the lack of any power and we’ve worn through another drivemember.
It’s the first time this has happened since Nairobi – and it was always going to happen at some point as I refitted the worn, old one at CMC after finding out their ridiculous prices.

It takes under an hour to replace, this time I know exactly what I’m doing, make no mistakes and we’re away, leaving behind the crowd of onlookers which had arrived from the nearby village.

Arriving at the roadblock 40km before Biharamulo, the sleepy officer (it’s around 11am now) tells us there’s no escort, but it ‘should be safe’. There’s no real choice for us here – we have to continue without an escort.

Kaplan is used to this tension – he’s been in the Israeli military for three years, patrols through hostile territory are nothing new for him. The road is OK, bad in parts, but each corner we turn we’re expecting to see some boulders across the road (the shifta’s favourite tactic for stopping vehicles). Seeing an army jeep with a rear mounted machine gun and an officer reading a map of the area gives me a mixed feeling of increased apprehension and comfort.
The only other vehicles we see are those doing road-side repairs. All advice says “don’t stop”, so we pass by at speed – hoping that if we have a problem others won’t heed that advice!

The end of the road finally arrives, I’ve been pushing M quite hard through the last section and she’s done well.

Taking an easterly course, heading through small villages towards Shinyanga we’re relieved we have no Bandit stories to tell.

The roads are wide but heavily corrugated, presumably due to the huge trucks bringing building materials to the road project north of us. Progress is steady, and by late afternoon I’m looking for a place for us to sleep.
The density of people is starting to increase as we leave the more baron north eastern part of Tanzania, stopping to buy a chicken for dinner (Dolors has offered to kill it this time) we take a sharp right, off the road and into the forest. Driving a few hundred metres away from the road we find a nice little clearing with a perfect, natural fire pit.

First things first, we light a fire and kill the chicken. In hindsight, it would have been better to do those things in reverse – our chicken (which I’ve named ‘Snack’) is a little frightened firstly by us Muzungu’s and secondly by the sight of a roaring fire.

Dolors is extremely reluctant to do the deed, and after a few minutes of coercion the head’s off and the chicken’s spraying blood all over my trousers and shoes. I must say, I’d rather kill it than hold the body as it kicks and struggles in your hands… The killing doesn’t take that long, but the final kicks and spasms take quite a while to end.

There’s no moon tonight – the third day I’ve not seen any moon. After dinner (or should I say Snack?), I sit back and marvel at the stars above. The sky here is alien to me – I look hard, but find no familiar stars. There’s almost no light pollution here, our cigarettes and head torches are probably some of the worst offenders for a few hundred kilometres.