Across the Serengeti in Tanzania from Arusha
ADRIAN MOLE GOES TO AFRICA
Introduction (from 30 years ago)
"I'm terribly afraid Mr Cole that the school now finds that I cannot re-employ you". Perhaps I was being a little hopeful calling the headmistress a corrupt old bitch and asking for my job back three months later. However this left me with 120 Tanzanian shillings and no chance of a job for another ten weeks.
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(Following next are some "tales" which illustrate the thinking among different groups in Tanzania at the time - and which serve as a reference point for the story which follows)
Travellers' tales from Africa
Always keep one hand on your wallet and the other on your private parts ‘cos Africans are not only a thieving but a randy lot as well. Don't touch African food, it will give you dysentery and anyway you won't like it. Any animal smaller than a domestic cat has a poisonous bite and anything larger is ferocious - especially buffalo.
White settlers' tales
As above but keep away from the Masai tribesmen because they are robbers and thieves etc and don't like whites. If you are chased by a herd of buffalo and run round a tree three times they will go away (amazing advice...with hindsight the game hunter who told us this might just have been taking the piss).
True conversation with a while settler:
Settler: Where are you working?
Teacher: Moshi, Tanzania
Settler: Not many people there are there?
Teacher: Only about 250,000
Settler: Oh, I don't mean them.
Africans' African tales
Keep away from the Masai etc. Whenever there are Masai about there is also wild game. Always go by car and stay in it.
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Obviously it was a terror-stricken group who found themselves having to walk right through buffalo country after only two weeks in Africa - there was certain death at every footstep. Obviously it was a stunned group who found that the buffalo ran away when we approached them. At the time I just put it down to my friends' BO but over a period of a year it happened a couple more times. I began to wonder, if buffalo weren't dangerous, what animals were? After all buffalo and elephants are meant to be herbivorous. Certainly a person could be attacked by one of these animals if one went chasing after it, periodically shooting lead up its arse. Even a Jersey cow would become vicious under such circumstances.
It struck me that maybe the hunters couldn't admit publicly to the harmlessness of big game. Bad for business. What would happen to their reputation once it was known that they were hunting big cows with guns like small bazookas (tourists sometimes paying £10,000 for the privilege)? I'm not recommending that one should try and stroke lions but it does seem that if you don't frighten big game they won't frighten you either.
The sheer normality of teaching in Tanzania disproved most of the other stories. The village pub we drank in was called "The Dog and Collar" in memory of the parish priest who owned it. The social set-up in the village was almost exactly the same as in the crofting villages of the Outer Hebrides (where I'd worked the previous year) - with the same obsessions - religion and drink. The only myths left intact concerned the Masai.
The locals around the school told me that the Masai used to come onto the mountain and steal their cattle and wives. At least this proved that the Masai weren't stupid because the local girls were amazingly beautiful. Yet the Masai I saw on the buses didn't look like killers, they looked a little quaint with their spears and swords dressed only in a red blanket. I tried to learn more about them and had to wade through another forest of stories (this is a bit of a mixed metaphor) - the Masai never wash, eat only meat and drink only blood and milk.
The Masai are a pastoral people who on the whole have decided not to join the scramble to become model Europeans (I really wanted them to be the original hippie generation). An American once told a Masai that they were going to land a man on the moon; "so what" was the Masai's reply. They seem content just to graze their cast herds of cattle (a poor Masai may have 20 cows) across the scrubland of Tanzania and Kenya (but even I could see that the control of rindipest, an illness that killed many cattle and restriction on their movement caused by ranching and the game parks, had resulted in the most terrible over grazing. The trouble was that no-one would reduce thair cattle stocks unilaterally).
Their houses are about 10 to 20-ft diameter, built of sticks like an upside down coracle and coated with cow dung. Inside each house is a room for the calves and a fireplace and one or two amazingly uncomfortable leather beds. A village, or boma, consists of 10-20 huts surrounded by a thorn fence to keep out leopards. The cattle are driven into the centre of the village just before dark and turned out to graze late in the morning. They have one god - L'Engai - whose existence like rockets to the moon they accept without any fuss (not speaking the language how the hell did I know this! Subsequent books I've read indicate it's not quite as simple or idyllic as I thought...). L'Engai is depicted in various talisman.
(The conventions of getting into a village - as far as we understood them - were interesting. You'd come up to the village in the evening, sit outside under a tree about 100 yards away and just wait to be invited in. What we also picked up was that you must never come up behind a Masai. This creates a tricky problem if you are wishing to overtake a Masai cattle herd on a narrow track. You have to scramble along the side of the track, the Masai herdsman ignoring you and you ignoring the Masai. Once ahead you'd sit down and both of you would express surprise at meeting.)
If you've got 120 shillings to last for 2-3 months one can either find a rich friend or go and live with some poor ones. As I knew one or two Masai (I seem to have been the sort of "friend" who you talk to for five minutes in a pub and six months later I turn up at your door asking to stay for a month) after a year in Tanzania and had never seen them spend any money they seemed the best people to visit. A landrover was out of the question so I had to walk - about 100 miles by the pleasantest route.
Packing didn't take long, I took:-
One rucksack
One sleeping bag
One saucepan
One tourist version of a Masai sword
One spoon
2 kilos of maize flour
One kilo of sugar
One bag of tea
No camera, too much like the mark of Cain (was I hoping that the Masai might not notice that I wasn't a local?)
One bag of sweets for bribing children
One tube of antiseptic cream
No map or watch but for some reason a compass
One clean pair of underpants
One worn out pair of basketball boots
One brand new pair of Masai sandals made from old car tyres (these were the best made from radials not cross-ply, offered fantastic cornering...)
A one-gallon water can.
Once I got among the Masai I met one saint, two sinners and a number of very ordinary people. I never got where I was going but it was interesting trying.
DAY 1
Bus to Oldonya Sambo, walked 15 miles across scrubland. Given a lift in a Landrover from the middle of nowhere to the end of nowhere! About 5 o'clock started to look for a masai boma (village), there must be one close but I cannot see it; went towards the sound of cattle bells, only a mtoto (child) but follow the cattle to his boma. The mzee (old man) quite surprised when he thought that I thought that he didn't want me to sleep in his boma. Still he got a lot of tea and a spoon off me. Got nasty the next morning, when the mzee and moran (young warriors) spent a long time sharpening their simi (swords).
DAY 2
Had an escort to the next boma; then put on the right road but got lost. Met two moran loaded with great wads of pesa (money), they wanted to buy my wallet because theirs was too small. Slept for two or three hours, my feet are killing me because of wearing rubber Masai sandals (made from car tyres) yesterday.
Must go home and marry Pol.
Saw a wild cat.
Almost at Kitimbani duika (shop) met a morani with cattle. "Duikani mbali sana!" (you've got an awful long way to go!"). Walked back up a hill with him for one hour to his boma. Still really friendly. Gave a mama some salt, pouring slowly; told to stop after giving a quarter of a cup, and given an enormous bowl of ugali (maize flour) in return.
So Masai waste time herding useless herds of cattle (what on earth was I thinking when I wrote this drivel?). I've seen wazungu (Europeans) doing more useless things. Except for when the women carry water on their backs nobody seems to work very hard; quite a pleasant life. Everybody seems very happy but lots of illness - one blind mzee, two girls with only one good eye, one mtoto with a goitre on his neck (even now I still remember it, it was so big the kid's head was forced up, the goitre as big as a half melon), many mtoto with too much sleep around their eyes (caused by the flies which drank from the fluid around their eyes). Learnt the Swahili for "to help" (Sidia).
DAY 3
Left my wallet (containing all my money and my plane ticket home) behind in the boma. Had an argument with the Masai lad ‘cos I thought he wanted oney until he got through to me what I had left behind!! Helped drag a pair of goats to the duikana (market), very ethnic.
Ended up staying in Kitumbani School where the teacher speaks English. I can start day dreaming at the drop of a hat when people speak and I can't understand. Could be useful at university. Apparently nearly 700 people live on this barrren-looking mountain.
Ate with the pastor; what a great bloke; compare him with the RC priests (I'd just spent six months teaching in a girls' mission school) who are so rich while the pastor has holes in his trousers and a little dilapidated church. Yet anybody who came in while we were eating was asked to join us.
DAY 4
Off early before breakfast, got lost immediately (did I say that I didn't have a map with me?); feet hurt, feelilng very unhappy (why do I never remember the discomfort of bush walking?).
Walked into thick thorns, hear a noise, rhino 20 feet away looking at me; pretend not to have seen it (on the anthropomorphic assumption that as it was a vegetarian it might pretend it's not seen me). JESUS CHRIST - it starts to charge - haversack half off - ten foot away the rhino changes direction and runs past me. Have to stop and rest; shaking like a leaf. I'll always remember its nostrils (all I can remember now is its little piggy eyes set in this slab of grey that thundered past me).
Later - have a good long sleep and start off again; feel (almost) stopped hurting (could be the sugar I put in the water). (Sometime around here I came across an elephants' graveyard. The skeletons of 4 or 5 elephants presumably shot by poachers. )
Went over a small rise overlooking the Rift Valley, an amazing view, giraffes browsing on the left, gazelles on the right, Oldonya L'Engai (East Africa's only active volcano) straight ahead with the Rift Valley wall behind.
Arrived about 6 pm at Gelai Bomba; drank one gallon of water. Ahmed (a vague friend of mine) had gone to Arusha, his shopekeeper apparently not happy to see me. Went to a local hotel (??? Must have been a bar) - food finished. I went and hammered on the garden gate of Ahmed's house. Long argument (I thought). They kept saying "Karibo" (come in) but wouldn't open the gate - very simple really - it wasn't the gate. In the end shown the gate and invited in. Given a fantastic nosh!! Chapatis, meat, noodles, tea, fanta, fruit, all rich and spicy.
While Ahmed's away the mice will eat his nosh, still very nice. Slep on Ahmed's bed. So many lies told about masailand (oh God, here I go again...). The Masai only take the things that would help them without changing their culture, things like wells, torches and cups. I'm sure they would eat Wazungu (European) food if offered, whatever the stories say. But they would never buy it as they would consider it a waste of money.
How do the Masai keep healthy? I've rarely seen them drink milk (except in tea) and never seen them eat meat. Perhaps if you eat meat once every week or so you get enough protein. I've only ever been to one boma where there have been any marks on the cow's necks to show that the Masai have taken blood for drinking. They really love children. When I eat the mzee and morani must wait until I am full but the mtoto (child) tucks in before me.
DAY 5
Slept and ate at Gelai.
DAY 6
To Oldonya L'Engai (the Mountain of God). Everybody says there is no water there.
COMFORT - that's the word to describe home: a nice round word. F....d well and truly. Gelai Mountain is like a golf course in parts, so green and rolling. But oh my! Oldony L'Engai has me beaten, all deep gullies and tall grass. Am having to bivouac out - only good spot is in a small gully and it looks like rain! (throughout the whole trip I never seemed to realise that unlike the UK it never rains here outwith the rainy season, but every night I panicked about the rain). If I don't get eaten I'll get drowned. Still the view's great, looking down to Lake Natron (a soda lake covered in flamingos). It's funny there are so many signs of water on this trip: gullies, green "caterpillars", dried mud flats but no bloody water.
Bivouacked just in time ‘cos it's quite dark now. Going to pack my bags in case it rains.
No rain, no animals, no water. Kept he fire in all night and slept quite well. Cup of tea last night and a packet of dates. A quarter cup of tea now - water finished, so I've got to find water today. Not as bad as it seems ‘cos I know for sure of fresh water about 15 miles (this seems to have been my favourite distance) away. First I'll have a look behind Oldonya L'Engai.
Millions of gullies to cross; found water in one but sodary (the volcano produces lots of soda, this wasn't soda water as in Scweppes, but soda as in washing soda). At last found a little gully with one or two puddles of brown water, soda-cum manure taste, still it made a beautiful cup of tea with a slight taste of ugali (porridge). Will take some with me ‘cos little firewood here.
Crossed a running stream of clear pure soda water - still hopeful. Arrived below Rift Valley Wall where a big gorge cuts into the wall. Was certaiin there must be water there and there was; arrived about 8-9 a.m. Water quite sodary and must contain natural soap as it bubbles when boiled. Had a great big brew - think I must have drunk too much too quickly ‘cos I feel very sick. Made some ugali (maize flour porridge) but can't face it.
Hope to stay here a couple of days until my feet get better, if I can stick the water. Going to kip now. S'funny once I got down onto the Rift Valley floor I didn't see a soul after all the Masai on Gelai. Still it's safe as wandering around London on your own (you're fooling nobody but yourself). You're just as likely to get mugged there. Here anyway mad people are probably sacred and untouchable - hopefully.
Once onto Oldonya L'Engai saw a long-eared owl and a black squirrel, amost no game tracks. The place I've stopped inis a 30-foot deep gully overhanging and streaked with soda. Really weird; no noise except the wind and a trickly of water; no animal tracks, no nufin'.
LATER. I must look really evil in this dead canyon eating brown porridge with an 18" long knife out of a blackened souffrie (pot), surrounded by grubby brown paper bags.
I couldn't eat much ugali, so I went to see if I could find any fresh water. Only soda water. Passed a number of brown puddles too nasty to try, until I noticed bird tracks by one of the brown puddles. It was really fine but dirty. I suppose the clear water comes out of the rocks and is full of soda and the brown water is stagnant rainwater puddles containing no soda.
Had a bad time getting back to my gear as my feet are ripped to pieces and at one stage I had to climb on steep grass in sandals, opening all the sores on my feet. Almost couldn't get back up the gully ‘cos I was so weak; took four goes at a 10-foot easy climb (which I assume I had climbed before with a rucksack on my back). Still feel better now with some ugali porridge inside me and stacks of water.
Tomorrow I may go to the crater between Oldonya L'Engai and Ngorongoro to get my feet seen to. I think I know where it is.
It's fun writing a diary, like a camera but cheaper. It's going to be nasty tonight, no cover and no easy way out of the gorge if it rains. I saw big cat droppings above the gorge too. I'm beginning to feel quite claustrophobic here; whatever I do echoes as if the gully is hollow.
Sundown
As usual I'm worried; it looks like rain again - I'm trying to work out who would win - me or the water; it would take me five minutes to get out of this place; would the gully fillup before I got out? Judging by the mud on the floor, it doesn't flash flood. There doesn't seem any alternative though; no shelter anywhere and the only firewood in the gully bottom. Any big cat walking down will have to step over me so I hope the fire trick works (I slept so close to the fire that night that my sleeping bag melted). Great, lots of bloody mosquitoes.
DAY 8 (what happened to day 7?)
Night OK. Clouds went (as they do every night). Moved the fire nearer to keep away fear and mosquitoes. It was a bit like sleeping in a slit trench.
Climbed up a superb knife edge ridge to the top of the Rift Valley Wall. I'm in a most beautiful spot, under a green acacia tree overlooking a wooded valley. Behind me is Oldonya L'Engai (which was smoking a little from the crater) with Lake Natron in the distance. It's great all this greenness and birds twittering (just like a Sheffield pub) after the completely silent emptiness of L'Engai. Just seen three wild dogs fighting.
Emagi, that's where I've arrived at. Almost like paradise, so green and fertile. With lots of Warush (wa=tribe, so wabenzini, the rich bastards that drive around in Mercedes Benzs) Shambas (smallholding). Nobody seems to know what to do with me. I'm about 5-10 miles below the tourist road to Empagi Crater. There may be a shop on the road somewhere but everyone tells me different. I must go there to get some plasters for my feet, so that I can wear my Masai sandals, ‘cos my shoes are finished.
The headman here seems to have 5 wives. The kids have all got ring work, some are covered in that red dust - perhaps some sort of medicine. Thre is a right mzungu (European) watching session on at the moment. Help I'm outnumbered! Stayed with the headman, not a very friendly bloke. I think my lak of Swahili exhasperated him (it probably didn't help me being an uninvited, unwanted freeloading visitor). The Warush huts are huge - about 8-foot high by 20-foot diameter, with little wicker cybbyholes round the sides where people sleep and/or food is stored. (The beds are like those of the Masai, they are a badly cured cow's hide on a bench. Like sleeping on a particularly battered piece of corrugated iron.) They are built like Masai huts - like upturned coracles - except they have a straw roof. They even keep a couple of cows inside the hut. The Masai (apparently) despise the Warush more than anybody because the Warush were Masai who gave up their cattle and developed shambas (smallholdings) - that is the greatest Masai sin.
They have decided to send me to "Campi ya Crater" where I understand there are many tourists, a school, shops and a dispensary.
DAY 9
Next day put on the right road by two morani. Startled a buffalo - it was about twenty yards away. Ten minutes later it was still running away - so much for buffalo (reputed to be Africa's most dangerous game animal).
Walked along a new (dirt) road round the top of Emagi Crater; many lion tracks. The crater is really beautiful, like a cross between Lake Manyara and Ngorongoro (two of East Africa's most famous game parks) and about 3000 feet deep. Asked the way a couple of times to Campi ya Wagani (stranger / tourist).
It didn't look the right area for a camp; just a bleak open road along an almost knife edge crater rim. Rounded a corner; there were two garden huts and a road graading machine. Started talking to a Masai, he pointed to one of the huts, sitting inside was a scruffy old mzungu (European) - just like a building site tea gaffer. Started a conversation. He owns the construction company that was building a road from Ngorongoro to Empagi.
No tourists here, no shopes, no nufin; this was the camp. I was told that it is intended to build a hotel in the crater. Crazy, nothing to do here really, few animal, just a nice view. Still the gaffer said the road opens up an area where there used to be many cattle thieves.
He was a cynical old man; married an African girl - had four kids and lived in Sami (I recall it was a condition of his marriage to his second wife that she be sterilised). He had lived in Tanzania 25 years; and when talking of Tanzania speaks of "us", yet he knew less Swahili than I did. He seemed a bit lonely. He advocated a sort of socialist self-help policy for Tanzania. Made me wonder what I'm doing here (enjoying myself on holiday would be a good start). He said to me "the time of Dr. Livingstone wandering over Africa is gone you know." I couldn't decide whether it was him or me that hadn't realised this - perhaps both of us. I must go back to England after this trip to earn some money to go back to university.
He told me that when some Masai wanted a water pipe laying he told them it would cost 67,000 shillings. Next time he went back there was the money. I suppose you can save money selling cattle if you live off ugali (porridge) only.
Spent the night in his shed.
DAY 10
Next morning he took me to the nearest dispensary in Nianokanoka. The dispenser did a grand job on my feet - an enormous bandage and a jab on my arse plus spare supplies. However the local bwana has taken away my passport. He thinks I'm a spy (Tanzania was at war with Uganda at the time), or perhaps he's just bored.
It's not often (warning, pretention alert) one has the chance to work out why one really does something. After meeting the old gaffer who is really doing something, why am I walking across Masailand? I don't know, am I learning anything? Perhaps what my limits are. Am I helping anybody? No! I hope it's one last fling before I settle down (I'm now a bureaucrat working for a government agency in Glasgow with two kids and a wife who works for the WRVS).
I think I'm here (apart from the beautiful views) so that I can say what Tanzania is like and be righter than most. At least I'm actually meeting Tanzanians. I keep remembering the well-intentioned Australian woman who gave me a lift through Amboseli Park. She had read all about Africa, knew President Nyerere's speeches by heart, and really wanted to see Africa. Yet she asked me what the average African ate, whilst sitting next to me was an English speaking Kikuyu driver.
DAY 11
Spent the night with the dispenser and his kid - very friendly man, a Chagga from Kirema. He asked me to stay a while which I will as my feet still hurt and I still haven't got my passport back (He was very keen on having my compass, which I didn't let him have, a piece of meanness on my part which still makes me feel guilty even after 30 years). Had a nosh of wali na nyama (rice and meat); I've got a fantastic appetite. The kids is quite hard working: five years aold and a fundi (expert) with a primus.
It's really good; most people seem to speak Swahili even in the remote bomas (their first language would be the tribal language, their second would have been Swahili and we taught in English, the pupils' third language). I must return to England after this: I'll make do with television for exercise the pub. The bwana had a great time searching my gear.
DAY 12
Did the washing; still haven't got my passport back - still my feet are getting better. In the afternoon (this is Sunday) went for a drink with Wensus, the dispenser. He drove me mad, he's either an idiot or drunk; he must have asked me the same question 100 times. Still the Masai beer is beautiful, very sweet.
Very sad, Wensus asked me to remove his address from my book ‘cos it was his Moshi address and according to the Government he lives in Nianokanoka. He was quite frightened; why did he change his mind so suddenly? Either he is worried, or he's heard something from the bwana or both.
DAY 13
Woken by the boss - am to go to the police station at Ngorongoro - work permit trouble? Wensus and his kid came with me for the ride. On the back of a tipper truck, it felt like a tumbrel!! Still drove through Ngorongoro Crater in the early morning; very green and beautiful now after the rains. Saw a hippo really close and some hyenas hunting.
What a trouble - first the police and then the Conservation Unit.
"You have been in the area 3 days - 80 shillings"
It did seem a little unfair taking away my passport and then charging me for not leaving the area. I told tham I was broke so they left it at that.
Had my gear searched again, by the most beautiful policewoman I've ever seen. Now with the police onto Arusha by bus. Still everybody very friendly. The police are to check whether I am a spy; apparently they cannot read my diary (my handwriting is / was appalling) and think it's in code. It's a bit like a Kafka trial, I'm being held but no-one will tell me what for (with hindsight it was probably a form of protective custody for me. Would a Masai caught walking down the central reservation of the M1 be treated with such kindness?).
Whilst in the police station a lad came in to pay a 400 shilling fine; he gave a copper 20 shillings and told me he reckoned everything would be OK, anyway he was very cheerful about his fine.
Went for a nosh with my guard. He got stroppy when we got back, he wanted to take all my stuff but I reminded him that I hadn't been arrested YET. Waited all afternoon for the bus that didn't come.
Had a look at a copy of the old colonial laws (Tanzania had only been independent for 10 years). The Government could print any libel it liked and not be prosecuted, a man was responsible for his wife's action, the Daily Worker and 50 other papers were banned. Picked up a copy of the new Tanzanian laws but not allowed to read them. So far the cops are different from the stories - a lot better. Stayed with one of the policemen and his wife; a nice clean house and a really jolly wife. Had a communal nosh of wali na marahagi (rice and something). The cop spoke good English and wanted my address in Britain, what a good bloke. He took the mattress of his bed so I could sleep on it.
Next morning met by Stroppy again - he demanded my passport and diary. So far everyone has tried to read it about four times each, Stroppy missed the bus but caught it again at Oldeani; sad - I was hoping he'd been run over by the bus. Had a chat with him - I suppose he's not too bad. He hinted that I needed a permit to be where I was because there is tanzanite (a gem) there. With any luck I may be able to go straight to Moshi after this. I must stop getting into trouble! (sadly I never did). It's amazing how little even the other Africans know of the Masai - one of the game wardens was really angry and called me a liar when I said that the Masai ate ugali (maize flour).
At Mtu wa Ambu (quite a big village on the edge of the Lake Manyara game park) just seen some tourists partaking in some deep meaningful experience; not a holiday at all (as compared to me who was having a wonderful time - not). Offered to buy Stroppy a meal as he only had 2 shillings with him - so he rushed off and bought 5 shillings' worth of meat and 2 shillings' worth of andizi (nope, no idea either). The bastard, I should have known.
I wonder if I'll be able to settle down in England, Christ I hope so. Stroppy is getting quite happy, his girl lives in Arusha. Once there we visit his home and have some umbagi (millet beer). To the police station - real action. Almost straight into a police car and driven around the town until we met the Chief CID officer for Northern Tanzania located in the officers' mess.
As per usual starts off really kali (nasty), then OK; says you must be one of these strange mzungu. "Invited" in for chakula (food) and beer.
A Gentle Inquisition takes place. I say about most tourists only seeing Africans as waiters or drivers. Bwana picks up passport, looks at the suspect last page (my last stamp in the passport was for leaving Tanzania a month ago, I'd crossed back but not at a border post). Then another officer says
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