Swahili Time

With our PC service winding down, we took advantage of our inter-trimester break to take our last big trip and burn our remaining days of vacation. Our goal this time was Mozambique's neighbor to the north, Tanzania, and meeting up with Luc's dad in the capital, Dar es Salaam. The obstacles were the great distances and lack of roads or reliable travel information in Mozambique's untamed northern province, Cabo Delgado. Our volunteer buddies up there tried unsuccessfully to dissuade us, focusing on the discomforts of the overland journey. Nonetheless, we flew to Pemba, Moz's northernmost city, spending a dreamy afternoon swimming at Wimbe Beach, eating seafood and watching a postcard-perfect sunset. The next morning was a very early and very crowded bus, followed by an equally crowded afternoon Land Rover, which covered the extremely bumpy final roadless-stretch to the border. Our sore backs and butts confirmed the discomfort we'd been warned about. The actual border is the river Rovuma, which we hired an over-priced wooden skiff to help us cross just at sunset. The rest of the travelers, all Muslim, started scooping water and eating dates, which they shared with us, to break their Ramadan fast. Unfortunately, the late crossing meant we arrived in Tanzania to find the immigration post closed. The locals assured us that a small bribe would convince the border officer to return, but we were unable to stomach this way of doing business so we spent the night right there in no-man's land with no electricity in a surprisingly comfortable bed in a small rest house next door. It's a good thing Janet was able to salvage enough Swahili vocabulary from the back of her brain because no one spoke English and we had already had enough adventure for that day. The next morning the inefficient border post took over two hours to issue our visas, even though we were the only travelers there. Luckily, an old woman's breakfast stand had spiced milk tea, rice cakes and chapati to nurse our frustration. From there it was one more crowded open-back pick-up ride over a rough sand road through palm groves and ocean views to get back to electricity, paved roads and civilization in Mtwara. We broke up the 14 hour bus trip from there to Dar es Salaam with a 2-night stop in Kilwa. The ancient Swahili coastal town where sultans controlled the lucrative gold, ivory, spice and slave trade routes from Mozambique to Oman during the Middle Ages. You still have to take a traditional sail boat to get to and from the island where the now-ruined palaces and mosques attest to the former greatness of this place, now a sleepy fishing village, with meager guest houses and tourist amenities that even we considered dirty and run-down. The town had a great post-sunset Ramadan fast-breaking atmosphere and we gorged ourselves on fried 'sambusas', potato omelets and exotic-tasting hot drinks with the locals. Our next bus broke down but eventually made it to Dar, leaving in a crazy bus station surrounded by blocks of even more frenetic market stalls and aggressive taxi drivers vying to grab vulnerable tourists. We just secured our valuables and pushed our way through until we found some fresh air. We calmly boarded the 30 cent local bus which took us straight to city center hostel where Luc's dad was waiting and we were joyously reunited.