This trip stems from a promise that El (my better half) and I had made to ourselves - when her exams were over we would take off for a while, travel the world, have a little fun. The aim was to do a wide variety of stuff – some touristy things, some mountains, see some friends and family. Most of this journal dates from notes I took in the evening - I have allowed hindsight to creep in in some places though...

Speke Bay is a welcome respite from the dust and from sitting in a vehicle. In addition, the view over Lake Victoria is quite something, even when you know that millions of litres of raw sewage are poured into it every day and that it contains bilharzia.

In the morning we take local boats to the nearest Sukuma village. I never feel very comfortable with these quick visits of villages - I feel like some kind of pillaging Viking, raiding people's cultures without really taking the time to understand or appreciate. The local children form an excited welcoming committee and want to hold hands. This further reinforces my unease - I don't want to hold hands because it makes me feel like the Pied Piper of Hamlyn, and because I wouldn't like it if people came to where I live and started holding hands with the local kids. El considers that I'm taking a too western-centric point of view, which is quite possible.

We have a look round the lakeside fish market - a local lad takes the piss out of us and the waiter from the hotel that is showing us around, holding up a tiny fish to the crowd and saying in his best posh English accent 'and this... is a small fish'. The smell is a little pungent, particularly the really rank little dried fishes which are waiting to be mixed with shells and then used as chicken feed. We also see a fishing boat being built out of a reddish wood - a weeks work per boat, including tarring and caulking the seams.

The local homemade gin palace was doing briskish business, even at midday. The guide explained that on the Kenyan side of the border, several people had died recently after drinking this 'chagga' after it had been mixed with excrement...

In the afternoon we join three Dutch girls and one of the Dutch directors of the hotel on a mountain bike ride. Cycling has got to be one of the best ways to travel in developing countries - not too slow to be hassled, not too fast to say hello and take in what is happening around you. We go through a school with kids wearing uniform; see cotton, maize cassava and sweet potato growing in the fields. The maize has failed here - too hot - but the rest of the crops seem OK. We see cotton being collected by the bale and paid for in cash on the spot. The guide tells us that in the days of African socialism in Tanzania, they would be given vouchers to redeem for other goods, the only problem being that there were no other goods to redeem them for.

Our Dutch companions are typically blunt - the director thinks it's hilarious to call us Belgians and generally gets up El's nose. On the way down we plow through soft sand and across rutted paths generally having a whale of a time. We meet a few kids who throw stones, one after an ill advised photo from a Dutch girl and one at random from a very little kid, perhaps having a bad day? Dogs also chase us a bit, but all dogs chase bicycles, there's something about the machine that seems to irritate them. One Dutch girl falls of, but only collects a few scratches and grazes.

Of a common accord, the group is fed up with animals, dust and the safari thing. We ask our driver if he wouldn't mid zapping the night in the Serengeti that is foreseen, and take us right through. He's up for it, so we zoom through the Serengeti at warp speed, stopping only for an unfortunate half eaten zebra - I thought I had discovered a red headed species of vulture, which on closer inspection proved to be a white necked species that had dipped its entire upper body in zebra entrails.

We see some more lions and a cheetah drinking, but best of all, get right through to Karatu by nightfall. It's not an ecologically sound reflection, but I can't help thinking that game viewing is a lot more fun when you drive that bit quicker. For once gazelles spring out of our way and zebras trot, as we arrive just that bit quicker than they're used to.

We even get time to stop at a special Masai 'tourist village'. At 50$ per truck for about a 30 minute visit, someone is making some serious cash. We see Masai singing and dancing - a strange didgeridoo like noise, made, I would guess, at the back of the throat and a lot of bouncing up and down for the blokes. We're also led inside a Masai hut. Not many creature comforts, two benches round a fire and a pen for the baby goats. It's dark and with the fire going must be smoky, as the only way for the smoke to exit is through the small door.

Our guide in the village is Julius, one of the sons of the chief. (The chief has 24 wives and so presumably quite a few sons). He is again impressed with El (he more or less makes me an offer...) and we are impressed by his flawless English. Some of the tourist money would seem to have gone on his education. He tells us about Masai mores and mistresses. Apparently as well as several wives (depending on how rich you are, as expressed by the number of cattle you own) it's OK to have a few lovers. No-one needs to know he insists - we just creep into the hut at midnight...

In the morning we stop off at Mto wa Mba for a cultural tourism programme, being the cultured tourists that we are. Mto wa Mba, ominously, means mosquito river in Swahili. The abundance of water available since a big irrigation project in the sixties is both a blessing and a curse as good crop yields are counterbalanced by floods and hordes of mossies.

When the irrigation project was put in place, many of the Masai were moved off with the land being offered free to crop farmers. People came from all over Tanzania creating a mosaic of tribes (over 100, apparently) that now co-exist harmoniously. Our guide stressed this with a twinkle in his eye, having just explained that the Masai believe all cattle were given to them by god, and that this meant that other tribes who wished to own cattle, had to keep them in a barn or have them stolen. We didn't ask what they thought about this but it can't be terribly popular.

Amongst other agricultural activities, we see banana beer brewing and try the banana beer. It's yeasty, not very strong (about 2%) - an acquired taste. It's a social drink - you blow the kernels off the top, drink a bit, pass it on. It only lasts a few days so people brew, share it with the neighbours and then drink theirs when they brew.

A personal highlight for me is the purchase of a pair of 'Masai sandals'. These are made from old tyres - the tread on the bottom, with the walls being used to provide straps. Extremely ingenious and fairly cheap. 10$ for a tourist, so less than half that for a local I would guess.

The village has only had electricity for a year but they have been able to benefit from it to put some husking, threshing and winnowing machines into action in a village co-operative, saving a lot of very boring and hard work. Another advance has been the new Japanese built road to the Ngorongoro Crater, to save the monied tourists from having their backsides jolted on the dirt track. This hasn't been universally popular though, as villagers were required to demolish their houses in return for a promise of compensation which then never arrived. They were given free land but still have to pay to build their houses again. This in an area where house building takes some time - sell your crop one year, buy some bricks, second year, buy cement and so on until you eventually finish it.

We say goodbye to Hassan and Emmanuel, Kev and Janine. The Canadians are going diving and we're going climbing up Kilimanjaro, but only once El's chest is better.

Time Out in Africa Archive

sprout

19.02.04 Front Page

Back Issue Page