The “get-away”
Tanzania, June 1984
The landrover destined for Arusha had not arrived but a white VW van was parked at the entrance so I asked the driver where he was going.
“Ngorongoro Crater,” he said: “but the landrover to Arusha is on the way!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes” he said.
Still — I hesitated. After the fraccas in the tourism office I could not possibly spend another night in the hostel. If that landrover did not arrive, I might have to sneak into the bush and throw myself at the mercy of the lions. I was really worried.
But the landrover did arrive a few minutes later — packed to the rafters with passengers. If they were all on their way to Arusha…
“Are you going today?” I asked timidly.
“Not likely. We have to get fuel. If there isn’t any we could be here for days,” one of the passengers replied.
I cursed inwardly. Had I learnt nothing from travelling for six months? Or did I have an uncanny talent for burning bridges?
I saw the manager standing at reception and rushed towards him.
“Don’t worry,” he said: “it will leave today!”
In the end I was lucky. Ten minutes later, the landrover pulled up with a full tank and empty of passengers. It had delivered workers to the lodge. Now however I saw that the people waiting in reception had also been intent on this lift. One by one they came outside. I desperately counted the heads, then the suitcases, boxes and bags that were heaped onto the vehicle. The last person to squeeze into the over-full landrover was the manager. I could have killed him.
I grabbed my backpack and stormed into the bush in a blind rage which meant I had to walk a considerable de-tour to get back to the road. Eventually, I sat down on a rock by a fork in the road. The wind was making waves in the grass. A few topis and Thomson gazelles were browsing nearby. It was almost peaceful.
I thought that the VW bus would be half-way to the crater by now and cried at my stupidity. Eventually I got up and walked to another spot where every vehicle going in the general direction of Arusha had to come through. I hardly believed it when a blue lorry approached from a cloud of dust with loudly tooting horn. Should I?
“Yes!” an inner voice shouted: “Stick out your thumb!” — but it had already passed.
Before I could fathom what had gotten into me to hesitate, another vehicle turned into the road. I ran towards it, jumping and hollering, arms waving and fluttered around the driver’s cabin like a crazed chicken, trying to explain myself for two whole minutes in stammering Swahili before the driver said in English he was sorry but he had no room. Not that I could blame him. By the time I crept back towards Seronera it was dusk.
There, on the village square, stood a lorry. It was the first lorry I had ever seen in Seronera. It was going to Arusha. But there was no space. Even an offer of money did not get me any further. But, the driver winked, if I would sleep with him…
I told him to go to hell, promising a painful death to anybody who dared to touch me. Then I walked into the restaurant and had a cup of tea. The few sorry shillings I had remaining did not stretch to food.
I sat on the steps to watch the sunset. The sky, criss-crossed by narrow bands of clouds, took on blue-violet hues changing into red-orange as the giant sun dipped below the horizon. As I sat watching, a few people walked up and invited me to dinner.
I eventually managed to leave Seronera after spending the entire morning in the dusty heat by the road, hoping that I remained out of sight of officials. I was picked up by a convoi of three jeeps; Danish volunteers and a German geologist couple who were working in Dodoma and were taking the kids on safari. It promised to be a nice day. Ten miles out of Seronera we spotted elephants — my first elephants in the Serengeti. There were jackals and large numbers of ostriches. Close to the park boundary where the savannah changed into rocky shrubland, we saw a giant eland gallopping with wide strides across the plain. After seeing them in the zoo it was unimaginable that such a heavy animal could move with such speed and grace.
Thus we left the Serengeti.
Denni