Road Trip

Robyn and I decided that I would meet her up in Moshi following her week of work up in Mwanza. She was going to fly to Moshi, I was going to take the bus. I am detailing this trip to give you a sense of how travel via public transport works over here. To any Tanzanian, my journey would be totally unremarkable. However to me, it was an immense pain in the ass (literally).

The buses for Moshi/Arusha typically leave from Dar between 7 and 10 AM each day. So I started my trip with a two hour dalla ride from Bagamoyo to Dar. I paid 1500 tsh ($1.30) for the 60 km trip. I definitely got what I paid for--I was cramped into the back seat, packed into a space over the left rear tire well, with my large backpack on my lap (and partly on the lap of guy next to me). It was an typical trip, down in just under two hours. I got to Dar, decompressed out of the dalla, and started my mile hike through mud and water holes that engulfed major portions of the side “road” that would bring me to the front steps of Chris and Cathyrn’s place. All of this was done in the dark.

I rolled into the haven of peace that is C and C’s house, unwound, and went to bed early since my day would start at 6 AM (which is very early for me). I awoke the next morning excited to get up to Moshi and see a new part of Tanzania. I walked out the door at 7 AM the next morning, and retraced my steps through the water obstacle course I conquered the previous night. As always, I got plenty of stares from locals, amazed as that a mzungu was actually walking and not taking a taxi or driving an SUV. I arrived at the dala dala hub of Mwenge and jumped on a dala for a short 20 minute trip to Ubungo to get a bus to Moshi.

So the dala stops about 100 meters outside of the bus station. Before my feet hit the ground, I was absolutely swarmed by people determined to help me find a bus. I knew this was coming, but it is still a bit overwhelming. Not really dangerous, just crazy. I just ignored them and plowed my way towards the station. As I got close, a woman in a uniform grabbed my left wrist. I told her twice to let go of me, but she obviously was trained in the ways of the Force to thwart attempts of getting her to release her vise-like grip. So she literally dragged my into a ticket office all the while fended off other people who wanted my business. So she succeeded in capturing her prey. However, she gave me a reasonable price (for a mzungu) of 17,000 tsh to get to Moshi, wrote me out a receipt, then sent me off with a runner who walked me to the bus. The bus supposedly left around 9:00, it was 8:30, so everything seemed to be on track.

Now, the bus station at Ubungo is complete chaos; buses, taxi, vendors, and travelers everywhere. The buses sit idling for hours, spewing noxious exhaust, as the operators try coerce anybody who drifts by to fill the seats so their bus can take off towards their various destinations. Here, you actually see bus line operators chasing other operators away from potential customers. It is a big, smelly, noisy chicken fight.

After sitting on the bus for 90 minutes waiting for it to fill up (apparently the departure time was just a guess), our bus finally took off. In 7 to 8 hours, I would be in Moshi. This is assuming no blowouts, breakdowns and/or accidents which are almost as frequent as mosquito bites.

As you have read previously, Tanzanians don’t exactly follow any rules while driving. Well, except for the “bigger car/truck/bus always wins” rule. So buses are one of the big boys on the TZ highways, and the drivers drive like it. Driving as fast as they can, potholes and speed limits be damned. They pass slower moving cars at will, often just squeaking back into the proper lane before careening headfirst into oncoming traffic. I find it best to never, never stare out the front window of the bus, it is simply too terrifying for your own good.

So I settled into my window seat and plugged into my I-pod. Over the next eight hours, the Tanzanian man seated next to me and I proceeded to get to know each in a very physically intimate way (at least to me). This middle-aged man decided to press his left shoulder, mid-section, hip, leg, and foot into my right shoulder, mid-section, hip, leg, and foot. If I shifted to put some air between us and regain my dignity, he would immediately shift to occupy said space. I don’t even hug Robyn this hard. I got annoyed and pressed back, but he never seemed to get the hint (btw, Tanzanians have a completely different idea of personal space than Americans). After the trip ended, I wondered if it was Tanzanian custom for him to ask my hand in marriage.

Anyway, over the first four hours we only stopped quickly for patrons to board the bus. At these stops, hoards of venders swarm the bus selling water, cashews, oranges, grilled ears of corn (presented on the end of coat hangers stuck into the end of a stick), gum, candy, bread, wooden spoons, newspapers, etc, etc, etc. It is crazy. This is how you mainly feed yourself over the course of the trip. To feel like a true local, just toss your trash out the window when you are done—you get extra points if you hit a chicken or a goat. Also, you must realize that there are very few opportunities to use the choo. We only stopped twice for bathroom breaks: once at a road-side food-stand area and another time when the bus just pulled over and people got off and ran off into the bushes (if you were a woman) or just pissed on the side of the road (if you were a man). Ahhhh..the joys of public transportation.

That about sums up a typical bus trip in Tanzania. I got to Moshi in one piece and feeling only slightly violated. We need to get a car!!!