Tanzania, Part I
Before I go . . .
Tanzania, Part I
Tanzania, East Africa, my first time out of the country. I took the summer off,
a leave of absence from the company I was working for, rented my house out
to a friend of mine and hit the road.
My plan was to spend about 5 weeks traveling through Tanzania visiting the
game parks and climb Kilimanjaro. Then a couple weeks in the Seychelles,
and finally a week in the Everglades in Florida.
Man plans and God laughs . . .
On my way to the airport, filling my car up with gas at the local Stop and Rob
convenience store, who do I run into but the cop that arrested me, threw me
in jail a few months before on a concealed weapon charge that I took to trial,
where I successfully defended myself, was acquitted of the charge, but that
is a story for another time . . . remind me.
I arrived at the airport with enough time to get a gamma globulin shot at the
medical clinic. At one point in time, this injection was used to boost a persons
immune system, albeit temporarily, against various contagious illness. I was
not expecting a sanitary environment on my travels. When I told the nurse what
I wanted, she said “okay . . . bend over this table and drop your shorts.” She jam-
med the large bore (square?) needle in my butt so hard and deep that I tightened
the muscles in buttocks to the extent that she screamed at me to "relax . . .
I can't get the medicine in," gamma globulin having the consistency of mayo
on a cold day. Every shot since then has been a piece of cake.
Along the way, the plane had to stop in Cyprus, which currently had a coup d'état
under way, so we could not get off the plane, were stuck there for I forget how
many hours until we were allowed to depart for Dar es Salaam, the capital of
Tanzania, my final destination.
I had planned on arriving, meeting the group of people I would be traveling with,
a few days early so I could get “adjusted”. Well . . . nothing could have prepared
me for the adjustment I was about to experience. Deplaning, walking down the
metal stairs onto the hot tarmac towards the concrete block building that housed
the customs office, I would have given anything to have been able to turn right
around, get back on that airplane, and fly home. I was scared shitless. And it showed.
I was fortunate to line up behind a man who was there on business, had been there
before, and he sensed my anxiety, and told me to stick with him . . . sure. But I did,
and he effortlessly guided me through customs without having to lose half my
belongs, or bribe the officials. Nice.
There was nobody to meet me at the airport as I was arriving early and the local
Cabbies were all over me like yellow jackets at a summer barbeque . . . “need a ride
into town” . . . “where are you going” . . . “I take you . . . .” I was so exhausted that
I just sat down on my bags and waited for the dust to settle. After some time waiting
and wondering what and the hell am I doing here, I exchanged some currency and
ventured forth into the madness and eventually, I don’t know how, found a person I
could trust enough to drive me up north to Kunduchi Beach.
He dropped me on the beach alright, on a beach that I was told later, that was a known
for its robberies and murders. He pointed with his finger up the beach, that was my final
destination, a hotel that was run by the local university, about a mile or so up the beach.
So I slung my bag over my shoulder and started off walking in the deep, hot white sand.
Many times along the way, the locals came running out the jungle with their arms full
of ebony carvings, probably all fake, grabbing at my clothes and bags, wanting me to
buy their figurines. I would have no part of it, and doing my best to stay focused, I finally
managed to make it to the hotel.
Naturally, I had no reservations when I finally arrived, but I somehow managed to get
a room. Literally, just a room in a concrete building; a bed I was afraid to sleep in (if I
could sleep), no lock on the door, a window with no glass or screen . . . that was about
it. After dinner there that night which was not bad, ox tail soup, and enough beer (Safari
Lager) to almost guarantee a few hours’ sleep, I made my way back to the room, crashed
fully clothed, only to be awaken shortly thereafter, by a woman I was supposed to meet
the next day, who had arrived early.
To say that she was highly agitated would have been the understatement of the century.
It seems that they had rented out her room to me (at the time, she did not know who I
was), and when she found out, in anger, she slapped the man who had done so. Now
just imagine for a second, imagine a white foreign woman slapping a local black man
in Africa over 25 years ago. I guessing it did not sit well with him because he proceeded
to call the police and when they arrived, I was awakened, needed to help sort this out.
To be continued . . . sorting out the mess . . . thieves in the night . . . a true genetic freak
. . . the game parks of Tanzania . . . charged by rhino . . . a lion kill . . . Kilimanjaro . . .
Masaai . . . run out of town . . . Seychelles with a gun to my head . . . and much more . . .
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