Once again we are on the move. An early rise and breakfast at our friend’s in Arusha before loading up and heading off to catch a bus. At the main road, Old Moshi highway, the traffic is at a standstill so our driver pulls around and takes us on a dirt track between houses that snakes around, bumps us up and down, back and forth emerging onto another artery that brings us through a roundabout and to the bus. Elke had reserved the front seats in the bus so I climbed aboard and placed our backpacks on the seats.
People arrived in various conveyances, the ticket touts running alongside to sell them tickets, and grabbing their bags to be thrown or lifted, depending on the weight, onto the roofrack.
Once the luggage was up, tarped and tied down we said our goodbyes, not knowing if or when we will see these folks again. The challenge of living and working as a Mzungo in Tanzania has become difficult and when the rules change without notice, the official message seems to be
"not welcome".
On the road again, the landscape stark, dry and dusty, the ever present herders watching as we pass by, Maasai in shukas and tire sandals carrying their long sticks, trudging single file along well worn tracks toward some destination in the distance. Every bridge over a dry riverbed, the earth eroded deeply showing the layers of deposit, back who knows how many years?
We drove west out of Arusha, then north and east with the sun directly in our faces, hot already at 9 am. The hills and Mt Meru to the right clothed in green bush, no sign of any habitation, the herders preferring the open plains to the left, grey and brown interspersed with an occasional acacia.
Our driver seemed to know almost every second truck or matato, waving as they flashed their lights.
Occasional tiny settlements with the mandatory speed bumps, folks standing around; goats and cattle crossing and commerce of some description occurring.
In between the tree cover well off the road I could see bomas, the small round mud shelters of the Maasai with thatched roofs and adjacent corrals of sticks and thorn bush to secure the animals at night. Three zebra, a large curly horned antelope, various birds and a long tailed rodent racing across the road were the sum and total of my wildlife sightings.
At the Kenyan border we lined up all our luggage outside the facility and they brought out a sniffer dog. Then Elke filled out a survey for the two governments and we were processed through. This time the wait was more reasonable although the Maasai women were even more persistent standing beside my window showing me every item and ignoring my insistence that I didn’t need or want what they offered. I remarked on one woman’s ear adornments, but they were not for sale.
People arrived in various conveyances, the ticket touts running alongside to sell them tickets, and grabbing their bags to be thrown or lifted, depending on the weight, onto the roofrack.
Once the luggage was up, tarped and tied down we said our goodbyes, not knowing if or when we will see these folks again. The challenge of living and working as a Mzungo in Tanzania has become difficult and when the rules change without notice, the official message seems to be
"not welcome".
On the road again, the landscape stark, dry and dusty, the ever present herders watching as we pass by, Maasai in shukas and tire sandals carrying their long sticks, trudging single file along well worn tracks toward some destination in the distance. Every bridge over a dry riverbed, the earth eroded deeply showing the layers of deposit, back who knows how many years?
We drove west out of Arusha, then north and east with the sun directly in our faces, hot already at 9 am. The hills and Mt Meru to the right clothed in green bush, no sign of any habitation, the herders preferring the open plains to the left, grey and brown interspersed with an occasional acacia.
Our driver seemed to know almost every second truck or matato, waving as they flashed their lights.
Occasional tiny settlements with the mandatory speed bumps, folks standing around; goats and cattle crossing and commerce of some description occurring.
In between the tree cover well off the road I could see bomas, the small round mud shelters of the Maasai with thatched roofs and adjacent corrals of sticks and thorn bush to secure the animals at night. Three zebra, a large curly horned antelope, various birds and a long tailed rodent racing across the road were the sum and total of my wildlife sightings.
At the Kenyan border we lined up all our luggage outside the facility and they brought out a sniffer dog. Then Elke filled out a survey for the two governments and we were processed through. This time the wait was more reasonable although the Maasai women were even more persistent standing beside my window showing me every item and ignoring my insistence that I didn’t need or want what they offered. I remarked on one woman’s ear adornments, but they were not for sale.
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