I realize I never explained why traveling and transportation is incredibly cumbersome. Let me begin by explaining the bus ride from Dar es Salaam to Masasi on the coast in the South. In the dry season, it’s supposed to take 9 hours. In the rainy season, expect it to take as long as 12 hours. Since it’s rainy season from Dec. – March, it took us 15 hours, give or take a flat tire. Peace Corps took the liberty of booking us the entire back row of the bus. I don’t care if you’re on the newly paved roads of America, everyone knows the back row is ALWAYS the bumpiest. This bus was special. The 6 seats were separated into two groups of three by a huge crack that was somewhat uneven. My seat was really half a seat, and my fellow PCV’s seat wasn’t actually a seat at all. Every bump we’d go over her seat would detach from the seatback, she’d have to stand up and push it back on. The normal 9 hour ride is on half paved, half unpaved roads. I think we were somewhere in the middle of the unpaved road and our bus got stuck in the mud. People were made to exit the bus into about a half calf-full of mud. I chose to take the window route and jumped onto the grassy bank nearby. It only took an hour and a half to get the bus moving again. I pitied the men who had to literally dig the bus out of the mud. That did NOT look fun. We then had a flat tire, which was only a half hour wait, quite fast I might add.
Then came the weigh station. Mind you, there were four of us with luggage which consisted of everything we brought for our entire 2 years here. Along with the sacks of who knows what was packed onto the bus, we were extremely overweight. I happened to glance down and saw them unloading some of our luggage. They put a few pieces back in through the windows in the middle of the bus, I suppose to balance the weight. I noticed one of my pieces and a fellow PCV’s bag didn’t get put back on the bus, and we drove away to get weighed again. We passed that time, and then turned the opposite way of where we’d left our bags. Now, getting mad or freaking out doesn’t get you anywhere here. We stopped at a nearby gas station to pick up some of the people we dropped off before the weigh station, and waited there for a time. Luckily I glanced out the window and saw them loading our luggage back onto the bus. Sneaky.
After the weigh station, we had a little over two and a half hours to go. It was dark, and there were half-in-the-bag PCV’s waiting to greet us upon our arrival. We just wanted to get off that dang bus.
I’m not complaining, because it really was sort of funny how long it took us to travel to our sites as compared to other PCV’s in our class. And, it wasn’t all madness and frustrations; we eventually made the bus ride into a sort of twisted roller coaster ride. Anything to get a little laugh out of the situation. Since we’d get air on most the big bumps, we’d raise our hands up and pretend we were riding Raging Bull or good ole’ rickety Viper.
Daladala rides are a whole different kind of fun. The saying really is true that the bus (or in this case, glorified minibus) really doesn’t leave until it’s full. In which case it then travels 50 feet and picks up another 17 people which could have made the dala full in the first place if they’d gone the extra mile to walk to the standi. Let’s see, I’ve been here a little over three months now, and I don’t think I’ve had so many butts, boobs, armpits, faces, or chickens in my face as I have in my entire life. Personal space is lost on Tanzanians. Again, getting frustrated will get you nowhere. Looking out the window (if you’re lucky to get a seat, not to mention a window seat) has proven the best thing to do in these situations.
I’m sure I will become somewhat used to dalas and bus rides, it’s only a matter of time.
Nonetheless, if I have a choice (which is rare), I’m very careful about my seat selection.
1 comment:
Congratulation Jennifer,
and Jambo habari to you.
You might not know me, but I know your parents they visited us in Denmark ones, but as far as I remember it was before “your time” so only the two firstborne were here. But I worked as volunteer in Zambia 3 years as young (27 years old) as a teacher in a secondary school. It was just as remote as your place (Mwinilunga) but the Danish volunteers have better conditions than the American volunteers. (I had gas fridge and stove and most of the time electricity). But my congratulation because my wife always reminds me that my time as volunteer has meant so much for my development and personality that nothing else has been so influencing. And I can already hear from your promises to your future life that also you will be marked (branded, stamped, labeled I do not know the proper English word) for life.
Another interesting thing I will tell you is that last month I nearly could look over to your village. I have just 2 weeks ago come back from 5 months as senior volunteer in Malawi and I was stationed on a plateau and from my house I could look down to Lake malawi and just on the other side the border between Tanzania and Mozambique. But again my conditions were much better than yours. I had a prober brick house with fridge and stove and most of the time electricity. But that was also necessary because I was teaching computer skills at a teacher training college.
I am sure that in short time you will find out how to get food and other stuff although you have no garden. But it takes time before all the strange ways of delivery has found out what you need. So do not hesitate telling them what you need.
I wish you 2 very good years.
Erik Dam Denmark
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