Roadies Are Road Tripping - From Tanzania To Zambia Part 1

To have a true adventure, one must travel from point A to point B. How you do this depends on your mode of transport. We’ve seen walkers, hawkers, hikers, cyclists, truckers, Overlanders, buses, automobiles big and small, and bakkies by the hundreds. We all share a vision to reach our desired destination in one piece.

Our trusty Honey Badger, a rugged and reliable 4x4 off-road vehicle, has clocked approximately 54,000 km on this trip. Named after the fearless and resilient animal, the Honey Badger has been our companion through thick and thin, navigating the challenging terrains of East Africa.

Within a day or two, we will exit Tanzania and enter Zambia for a final Hoorah. The thought of our impending arrival in Zambia fills us with excitement. Like cattle heading home, our heads have turned, and we prepare ourselves for the exodus and an unknown future.

But all that is in the future, and I have learned that being clairvoyant results in insomnia, panic attacks, anxiety and depression.  I remind myself that missing the woods for the trees is not an option, and I vow to enjoy every kilometre our big wheels take us.

---oOo---

After a breathtaking scenic cruise on Lake Victoria, the largest tropical lake in the world, we depart Mwanza and head South to our new destination, Zambia.

As we journey through the beginning of the rainy season, we are greeted by lush, verdant landscapes. The fields are a sea of peppermint green, transforming the earth into a breathtaking carpet of sage, lime, apple, avocado and dotted by sunlit yellow. This sight is not just a view; it's an inspiration that fills us with a deep sense of awe for the natural world.

Tilled acreages burst with new life, and ribbed rows of this season’s ground nuts, mealies, rice and broad beans eagerly push through the earth’s crust. Planted in warm, moist, and fertile chocolatey brown soil, one could hear the seedlings unfurl and pop up if you listened with a bit of imagination.

Despite the road's frenetic energy, the warmth of the locals' interactions is a constant. Their genuine welcome makes us feel like we belong, and their occasional waves and smiles are like stamps of approval we appreciate and almost crave. It's not just a feeling of being welcomed but of being included in this journey.

We are Africans, yet on the road, we are aliens and tourists who contribute very little to relieving the daily struggle. Therefore, every wave, smile, or friendly acknowledgement is appreciated, and we can’t contain our enthusiastic responses and calls of greeting as we trundle past.

Water is life, and where there’s a pool, good use will be made of it no matter the condition. We’ve spotted ladies and girls doing the laundry, petrol heads proud of their bikes, valet their vehicles after a muddy crossing, and animals lustily drinking the water, filling their bellies gluttonously. 

These main roads are the arteries and the lifeblood of villagers who build their homes and villages all along them. The roads are vital meeting places, the location for a stall or shop. In a world where the internet has infamously become a means of communication and information gathering, kiosks are set up to sell data and airtime and offer services like repairs and MPesa, the banking system commonly used in East Africa.

The ancient, proud Baobab has multiple functions; one day, it could be a classroom, another a meeting place for the elders, or just a bus stop for awaiting passengers. I have always likened an indigenous tree to our lungs; their primary function is to clear the air of pollution and keep us healthy while providing food, medication, and fruit, many have healing properties that combat malaria (500 000 children succumb to Malaria annually in Africa) and act as an excellent shelter from harsh African elements.

---oOo---

Our first stop for the night is at the Orion Tabora Hotel in Tabora, a vibrant, culturally rich city. With its distinct Arabic architecture and warm hospitality, the hotel offers a unique experience for weary travellers.

The manager warmly welcomed us and invited us to spend the night in the parking area, as there was no formal camping spot. He said an en-suite room was allocated where we could freshen up. He assured us that our reservation at the open-air restaurant was early before the mosquitoes came out to play.

This mid-20th century hotel is a reminder of the motels dotted along our highways and towns, single-storey buildings with two, spaced single beds neatly made up with hospital corners and a burnt orange cotton counterpane. There’s a small wardrobe with three wire hangers and a suitcase rack. Brown embossed carpets and glossy pastel wall tiles with a slight bevelled edge adorn the bathroom walls – floor to ceiling. An ancient electric shaver plug sits invitingly, patiently waiting to be of service. To phone reception, there’s an institutional, grey, dial-up phone. I’m tempted to plunge my itchy finger into the tiny hole and swivel the Perspex dial; I’m sure it must be 0 for reception and 9 for an outside line.

There’s a nostalgic, musty, old-worldly, yet non-offensive odour. It tells me that the room is seldom occupied, and business has recently quieted down. Shoes may be placed outside the door for a polish and buff at night.

The cool mint and white paint colours are refreshing, crisp and pleasing to the eye. There are vaulted ceilings and filigreed window adornments, which, I’m sure, serve as security. The corridors are long stretches of smooth, glossy concrete, and ornate lanterns add to the hotel's exotic charm. The gardens are well kept, albeit outdated; a diligent gardener with a rake keeps the borders swept and weed-free. 

---oOo---

Road trips and a little bit of history go hand in hand, allowing us to understand the landscape better.

In the early 1830s, coastal traders settled in the region to exploit the ivory and slave caravan trade. Swahili and Omani traders established Kazeh, near present-day Tabora, in the 1850s. By 1870, Tabora was home to tens of thousands living in fifty large square houses. These homes accommodated several hundred people each and had inner courtyards, adjacent garden plots, storerooms, servant quarters, and outbuildings for slaves. The historical context is not just a lesson; it's a way to understand and connect to the region's past.

The town was surrounded by Nyamwezi villages, whose people provided produce and caravan labour. Tabora was a trade centre for traders from as far North as the  Buganda Kingdom (Uganda). In August 1871, one-quarter of the town was gutted in a fire when the forces of the Nyamwezi ruler Mirambo ransacked it.

Although the German East Africa protectorate was proclaimed over the region in 1885, by 1891, it became a lawless town. The German colonial administration did not gain control until later that year. As a major station on the Central Line, it became the most important administrative centre of central German East Africa.

In 1916, the colonial garrison set up an emergency mint at Tabora, producing gold pieces and large numbers of crude copper and brass German East African rupees. The minted coins were marked with a "T."

During the Tabora Offensive in the East African Campaign of World War 1, colonial armed forces of the Belgian Congo (Force Publique) under the command of General Charles Tombeur captured the town on 19 September 1916 after 10 days and nights of heavy fighting.

---oOo---

The following day, we passed a public boarding school in Tabora. I was bowled over by the AEIOU and Ma Me Mi Mo Mu inscribed on the entrance pillars and couldn’t wait to learn more about the school, although I couldn’t make out the new name. This is what I’ve learned.

The British colonial rulers established the Tabora Girls' Secondary School in 1928. It is one of the oldest girls' only schools in Tanzania. The school was initially established to educate the daughters of local chiefs as prospective wives of other chiefs' sons who were educated at the Tabora Boys' Secondary School.

The school has produced students who were among the first women leaders in the country, such as Anna Abdallah, one of the first female district commissioners; Julie Manning, the first female to study law in Tanzania who later became a High Court judge before serving as Minister of Justice from 1975 to 1983; and Gertrude Mongella, the first President of the Pan-African Parliament.

Tabora Boys Secondary School was the first boys' public school, founded in 1922. It was established to educate the sons of African Chiefs and wealthy tribe members. The school followed a tribal structure, where students were assigned to dormitories based on their tribe and received education on their respective tribal customs. In its early days, the school was considered the 'Eton of Tanganyika'.

The first self-governing cabinet in 1961 had eight ministers, five of whom were all from Tabora Boys.

Among the famous people who studied at this school are Rashidi Kawawa and Mwalimu Julius Nyerere, the father of the Tanzanian nation.

---oOo---

We joined early morning commuters on our way out of Tabora the following day. We soon spotted farmers carrying loads of produce, wood, and livestock on their bicycles, bicycle taxis, mule—and cattle-drawn carts, and motorbikes.

Homesteads and commercial buildings in Tabora are mainly built using bricks and mortar or local stone. Still, traditional rural homesteads are built using clay bricks and have thatched roofs made from local grasses. The landscape gradually became grassier with large stretches of water, and even water lilies bloomed on ponds.

We all enjoyed the excellent, tarred road, straight and without potholes. We made good time for our next destination, Sitalike. It was good to be back in familiar territory. 

The owner of the Hippo Bridge campsite welcomed us back with open arms. During the weeks we were away, there had been heavy downpours, and the river burst its banks, seemingly driving the large pods of hippos further downstream to lie low. We spent a quiet evening catching up on the news from family and friends, and I caught up by posting some photos on my Polarsteps account, which I have since neglected.

Butch also took out his maps and plotted the next leg of our journey and, with the assistance of the owner, decided to use another route due to recent flooding. Getting local intel always helps us, especially after heavy rainfalls.

---oOo---

Forewarned is forearmed, and we decided to set off early the following day after a refreshing shower and an extra caffeine booster. We knew we would have a slow grind to Mbala, a frontier town before we crossed into Zambia at a small border post.

There is something alluring about a gravel road. It makes the trip a whole lot more adventurous, which I enjoy. I feel less like a tourist and more like an explorer.

Big trucks confirmed that the alternate route was not a good choice, and we happily negotiated the treacherous muddy tracks and waterlogged potholes as we slipped and slid along.

Five minutes later, at 8h30, all hell broke loose, and Butch would be ever sorry and had his misgivings about our route when we spotted a double trailered heavily laden big truck stuck in a raging “river” crossing our road. 

Not only was the articulated two-trailered truck stuck on the wrong side of the road, but, in the driver's defence, he probably thought he’d be safer on that side when he negotiated the torrent of water that almost covered his enormous wheels. We had no alternative but to pass him on the right; I'm unsure whether we were still on an actual road or the eroded rocky verge of the flooded riverbank.

Butch engaged our four-wheel drive, put the truck in the lowest gear and slowly made our way into the water, passing the stuck vehicle with only inches between us. We held our breath; I clung to my door handle with one hand, my knuckles white, and Butch gripped the steering wheel to feel grounded. The Honey Badger went into survival mode as the diesel engine kicked in and strained to negotiate the mud, sludge, and smooth river rocks crunching beneath the rubber along with the swirling waters.

Inching forward at a snail’s pace, we almost exhaled when our noses were level with our nemesis' back wheel. Then, one of us (we’re still not sure which vehicle it was) listed, both vehicles'  wheels sagging into the soft, waterlogged earth beneath us. The gargantuan 22-wheeler lurched sideways and struck our truck with an almighty blow, giving us a good whack while wrenching the awning off with excruciating force.

Six minutes later, we stopped on dry land to inspect the damage. Yes, our awning had ripped and torn right off, and all we had to show for it was the arm attachment. It took a lot of persuading to convince the traumatised truck's assistant in the other vehicle to discard the awning he’d salvaged in the muddy waters and was carrying on his shoulder, pelting through the water to return it to us. We had no use for it, we bellowed while waving our arms, indicating he need not pursue us. We noticed how his shoulders dropped forlornly in disappointment at being unable to help us.

---oOo---

The next stretch of road delivered similar conditions: dry, straight gravel roads or large pools of water, which gave us the shivers. Fortunately, we made a safe passage and sighed with relief when we stopped at the Katavi National Park board.

Witnessing wild animals sauntering along the road is always a joy, mainly because we do not have anything similar in South Africa, where national parks coexist with farmers and villagers in mutually beneficial ways.

The graceful, loping gait of a giraffe made us smile, and we idled for a while, just enjoying them grazing and marching in single file through the Mopani forest. Of course, a herd of gazelle can never be sniffed at, and while they gave us the once-over, we had an opportunity to marvel at their big doe eyes and swishing tails. These two species the hallmark of the African bush.

Katavi National Park, located in the western region of Tanzania, was initially designated as a game reserve before being officially established as a national park in 1974. the park was significantly expanded in 1997.

The area was originally home to the Rungwa, Manda, and Kimbu peoples, who were the first custodians of this land and contributed to its cultural heritage. It is a remote park that is less frequently visited than other Tanzanian national parks. The park encompasses the Katuma River and the seasonal Lake Katavi and Lake Chada floodplains. Subsistence farming thrives here where seasonal crops are produced, and cattle ranching is favoured too.

I suspect the flooding we experienced was due to the landscape. Wiki defines this as follows: “A floodplain, flood plain, or bottomlands is an area adjacent to a river. Floodplains stretch from the banks of a river channel to the base of the enclosing valley and experience flooding during periods of high discharge. The soils usually consist of clays, silts, sands, and gravels deposited during floods.”

After the horrendous river crossings, we enjoyed the wildlife, forests of indigenous trees, herders, and their Ankole-Watusi long-horn cattle. We waved to the hardworking charcoal producers, and I loved the fields of golden Kibaoni sunflowers in full bloom. It was cathartic.

Ankole-Watusi cattle, with their distinctive long horns and robust build, are among the most striking members of the bovine kingdom. Herds resemble slow-moving, multicoloured forests of bare trees as their horns sway rhythmically with every step.

All things considered, I think we’d made good time. It was only 10:45 in the morning, and we’d already had our fair share of excitement.

Our route took us through districts and villages with melodious names like Mtenga, Nkomolo, Chala, Nkandasi, Sumbawanga, Kasense, Matanga, Msanzi, and the bustling town of Matai.

After the small settlement of Sopa, the new road, once under construction, had been abandoned. For unknown reasons, the construction engineers downed tools on a day, never to return. We have encountered this phenomenon before: when work on roads under construction is called off, all the heavy equipment is dumped, and the road is left to its own devices and Mother Nature.

It was teatime, I told Butch, but he declined my offer of a cuppa in Katete at 16h00. No, he said we’d push on to Mbala, a border town south of the Tanzanian border into Zambia.

The grey, cloudy day reflected the mood in our truck, a sticky, humid atmosphere with only occasional blue skies, as we realised our journey and adventures in Tanzania were ending. Tanzania, with its layered, ancient history, colourful people, and gentle multi-ethnic tribes of all faiths and creeds coexisting peacefully, reflected precisely how I envision the world should be: colourful, spicy, gentle, empathetic, resilient, hardworking, principled, joyful, and thankful. I know the sun will shine, and the sunflowers will lift their heads and be enchanting, like sunny gold. As we bid farewell, we are uplifted by the joy and gratefulness this journey has brought us.

Mary Oliver.

Our border crossing was painless. Within a jiffy, our passports were stamped out of Tanzania, and we proceeded into Zambia.

"It being a Saturday afternoon and all", the Customs official informed us that our road tax could only be paid in Mbala at the revenue office on Monday morning. Their hands were tied, he said, holding his palms up in a show of capitulation, and this meant we’d have to spend an extra night in Mbala.

---oOo---

The new Musalale Royal Lodge was our destination, and I couldn’t be happier. It had been a long, sometimes stressful and taxing day, and I needed a hot shower and dinner. While pampering myself before dinner, Butch removed the dangly bits of aluminium hanging from the awning rails and disconnected the wiring. Where he found the energy after his gruelling day, I don’t know. I think he had to dig deep for inspiration. The man earned his preprandial Bell’s today.

After supper, we retired and vowed to get up only once we awoke—not a minute earlier! We would lie in and enjoy a leisurely Sunday before sightseeing Mbala.

---oOo---

I am determined to live a life of curiosity consistently; I remind myself when the going is tough, and we tackle the road less travelled.

 ---oOo---

On this International Women's Day, I dedicate this blog to the women of Africa. They are the backbone, heart, and soul of this continent— irrepressible warriors who carry their burdens with a grace and dignity that is truly inspiring.