My first visit to Dodoma (Tanzania's capital, in name if not in deed) was peaceful and pleasant. I enjoyed beer, mzungu food (fajitas, with chapati instead of tortillas), and my first hot shower in ages (which was welcome, considering how cold it gets in the mornings in Dodoma—yes, lower twenties feels cold to me now).
Saturday morning's car ride was another wonderful journey. The four-wheel-drive car managed to break down partially along the way; but it, too, was able to limp to its destination. One hour of paved road and two hours of bumpy dirt road passed quickly. At one point we crossed a couple of broken-down lorries. We carried one of the many stranded travellers to the next village. He said they had been broken down since the day previous. We gave him some bread. I was proud that, between the four of us wazungu, we could understand and speak all the Swahili we needed.
Kibaya is a village in the middle of nowhere, and it is inexplicably large. My first impression is that a paved road would make it a wonderful trading hub in Northeastern Tanzania. When Ernest Hemmingway visited Kibaya, he reportedly ate lunch at what was the only place to eat, and left before needing to sleep at what was the only place to stay. Maybe he agreed with my conclusion. We ate lunch at the Taj Mahal restaurant (which serves only Tanzanian food and has no relation to India whatsoever).
In the afternoon, we visited a Maasai market. The Maasai are world-renowned: nomadic cattle herders, they wear jewellery around their limbs, around their necks, and through big holes in their ears. They closely guard their culture: their shoes may be made from recycled lorry tires (a tradition which cannot be more than fifty years old), but they will defend to the death their age-old rights to practice FGM. Alas, I digress. The market supplies cows, clothes, and crafts.
In the night, we walked up to a hill which overlooks Kibaya. There we put up our tents in what is undoubtedly the most beautiful place I have ever camped. Miraculously, I had a weak stomach: I got to use the bathroom stall many times, staring out its open door to the magnificent view below. I woke ridiculously early for the return journey.
The bus home was, naturally, another adventure. It was full of Maasai. The two older Maasai women sitting with me had stolen the window seat I had booked; I let them have it, knowing they have enough problems. In my aisle seat, I was struck by hands, feet, legs, buttocks, elbows, shoulders, heads, chickens, and a bag which jumped out of the luggage rack. The bus was grossly overfull: at every checkpoint, the conductors would herd away many of the passengers, who would walk across the checkpoint in case the legally-stipulated head count was performed. Twenty metres later, they would jump back onto the bus and we would continue our trek.
At long last, I found myself back in Dar es Salaam.
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The road leading to Kibaya is long, straight, and dusty
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Kibaya. Hemmingway ate somewhere around here when he passed through.
<%= image_tag 'blog/tz10.jpg' %>I love you .this is alune
. Chris got this text message; he thinks he might even remember who Alune is.
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Maasai market
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Children in Tanzania often have many tasks, such as carrying buckets of dirty water home
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Outhouse at our camping spot
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This is what I saw while crouched in the outhouse
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Sunset over Kibaya from our camping spot