Winding up Business in Dar
Tanzania, July 1984
We landed directly on the beach at Bagamoyo. Perhaps the ship was operated by smugglers.
In the past Bagamoyo, roughly translated as “here I leave my heart behind”, was a harbour from where the Arabs shipped slaves to Zanzibar and Oman.Now it is a gloomy little town with nothing to see. Along with the rest of the passengers, I resolved to get back to Dar immediately. We managed to hire a small van. It wasn’t cheap, prices varied from 60-130 sh each, but I wasn’t left behind when I offered 50.
I reached the campsite in Kunduchi that evening and was overjoyed to see that many of my friends were still there. John and Ellen who were on a round-the-world trip travelling from Goa to Peru via Africa in no apparent hurry. Mohamed the Somali. Willy the landlord and Misha Feinsilber who again offered me a ride to town the next day, preceeded by a good breakfast if I came early.
There was no news from home at Poste Restante and no visa for me when I enquired at the Zambian High Commission. I had applied for a Zambian visa 2½ weeks previously and was told nonchalantly that it might take at least until Monday.
With nothing left to do but wait for the pesky paperwork, I waited for Misha at the New Africa Hotel. He had urged me to be punctual as he was very busy, but that did not prevent him from being an hour late himself. However I was mollified when he promised me a visit to the Vice President of Zanzibar who lived with six of his 18 children in a big villa surrounded by fruit plantations on the other side of the harbour.
As we strolled with the VP and his entourage through his large plantations, I noticed with a start that I was still wearing my Sudanese arm-knife. The VP’s bodyguard was walking straight behind me. If he noticed the bulge under my shirt, I might be shot. I turned around:
“Excuse me, Bwana,” I fumbled under my shirt while the bodyguard stared with a puzzled frown until I finally managed to grab hold of the handle. If I wanted to use this weapon for self-defense, I had to get at it somewhat quicker:
“Maybe it is better when I give this to you. I forgot all about it. Old habit. Sorry.”
I handed the thing, handle first, to the guard whose eyes had widened. He carried it for me for the rest of our walk and used it to cut fresh yellow coconuts from a low palm when we returned to the garden. The VP offered one to me:
“If you drink the juice of the coconut,” he smiled: “You will come back one day.”
On Monday there was still no visa at the Zambian High Commission. When he heard my nationality, a Zambian waiting at reception gloomily told me I might have to wait another week, probably two.
“Let me give you a letter,” he said finally: “with that you’ll get a visa at the border. Come back tomorrow.” That was probably my best shot; I might have to settle in Dar otherwise. I started to make plans for my onward journey not sure whether I should cross the border at Nakonde or travel through Malawi which I heard a lot of people rave about. However, the roads there were partly unpassable and there was so little traffic in the north of the country that I might have to repeat my 100km trek on foot. Plus I would not be able to cross into Zambia from Malawi with my letter from the High Commission in Tanzania and the whole visa hassle would have to be repeated in Lilongwe, the Malawi capital. I decided to head straight for Lusaka.
The TaZaRa station (Tanzanian Zambian Railways) looked like an airport: a huge white building at the outskirts of town still smelling of new paint. It seemed deserted. The large glass doors finally opened at noon and a crowd of passengers spilled into the magnificent hall, instantly forming queues at the ticket counters. I did not want a ticket yet, just information, but there was no enquiry counter. I descended the wide steps to the platforms and was stopped by a busy looking official who invited me into his office to listen to my enquiries. When I got round to ask the price for a third class ticket, he smiled. He gave me a chitty saying I should show it at the counter the next day to secure a seat.
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Denni