Tantalising Tanzania

July 23, 2023 Posted in Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries / Videos

If you had to ask me, “What is the most frustrating part of your journey?” Without hesitation, I’d say, “Waiting.” Waiting for a diagnosis, parts, or a time slot.

Yesterday, while filling our water tanks, something untoward happened. Water pressure, fatigue, or wear and tear on our pipes caused a wet room to flood and overflow into our living quarters. Today, I’m using the wait to catch up on my admin and blogging backlog. A mindset shift is in order, and I need a distraction from the arduous boredom of cooling my heels.

Workers are crawling about everywhere. When someone in the know tackles a job, things happen quickly. A cupboard has been stripped, and a diagnosis has been made. An inlet water pipe has come loose from its connection in the bathroom cupboard.

I’ll return to my story while the professionals fix our water woes.

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On a blisteringly hot, cloudless day, we entered Tanzania. We slipped through the Malawi border patrol without a hitch, with just a quick stamp in the passport, and headed to the imposing new border control building on the Tanzanian side.

Once again, Butch used the runner he’d been advised to use. Thank goodness. Our command of Swahili was limited to “Habari”, “Karibu”, and “Asante sana.” I have added “akuna matata” to my vocabulary since.

We all trooped into the immigration hall, armed with files, forms, and passports. We prepared to wait. Our runner left me propped against a wall and disappeared up a flight of stairs with my passport. I started panicking after twenty minutes. Ten minutes later, we received a three-month visitor’s visa. Phew.

That was the easy part. Getting the truck through, with all its paperwork, road taxes and insurance, took at least two hours. If memory serves, the whole process took an incredible three hours in the midday sun. Not suitable for the Englishman.

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Soon, nothing mattered, and our tribulations were forgotten as soon as we were back on the road. Tanzania immediately had us spellbound. The roads were good, the scenery glorious, and we drove along the edge of the Rift Valley.

The East African Rift System, also known as the Afro-Arabian Rift Valley, is one of the most extensive rifts on Earth’s surface, extending from Jordan in south-western Asia southward through eastern Africa to Mozambique. The system is about 4,000 miles (6,400 km) long and averages 30–40 miles (48–64 km) wide.

It offers a prime setting for understanding the evolution of humankind, with critical paleoanthropological discoveries in Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, and Zaire. The African rift valleys are widely regarded as the “cradle of humankind”.

The two major rift valley systems of the East African Rift are the Gregory Rift and the Western Rift. Volcanoes dot these rift valleys, including Ol Doinyo Lengai and Mount Kilimanjaro (a dormant stratovolcano). Lake Tanganyika is the world’s second-deepest and second-largest (by volume of freshwater).

At long last, I could put my limited school geography knowledge to the test.

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Colourful villages dotted the way, and markets bustled with shoppers from across the districts. We stopped to withdraw cash from the ATM, filling our purses and wallets with the new currency, Tanzanian Shillings.

1000 TZS = R7.36 or $0.35. We were as confused as you are. Here, amounts can reach the millions quickly.

Our journey continued onto the plateau, and soon we encountered roadworks, potholes, dongas, and gravel, mud, or clay. The going was painstakingly slow. We only arrived at our destination well after dark. Nothing could persuade the guys with the Jackhammer to take a break; they were adamant about getting the job done. Who could blame them?

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“Utengule Coffee Lodge offers guests an oasis of calm on the slopes of the mighty Mbeya range in Southern Tanzania, with spectacular views across the East African Rift Valley.” That was what the advertisement said. We had to cool our heels until the next day to witness the spectacle as promised. We were exhausted.

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I could hear Butch think, “This is more like it! At heart, I’m colonial; you know, I was born in Northern Rhodesia.” (Surely he is the only person alive today who thinks of Zambia as Northern Rhodesia?) He’d been excited to capture the colonial era once we set foot in Tanzania, and here it was.

He parked the Honey Badger on what looked like a polo field beside the tennis courts, and without further ado, we made our way up the sweeping garden staircase to the lodge, with its deep, dark, cool wrap-around veranda beneath a tin roof.

Candles flickered on tables set for dinner, and antique silver on mantelpieces reflected a rich heritage. Paraffin lanterns lit the way to the large set of heavy, engraved, ancient Arabic wooden front doors. Inside, the lazy blades of the ceiling fans stirred the air ever so slightly.

Freshly roasted coffee beans tantalise the taste buds before floor polish, wood oil, and candle wax permeate the air, inviting guests to gather at the long bar counter for pre-prandial gin and tonics (or Sherry) to ease the mind before dinner.

I could envision ladies in crimplene beaded evening gowns, gloves and beehives, sipping sherry while puffing on a Kent, and gentlemen taking drags of their Camels. Smoke and chatter filled the air.

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Before we reached the bar, our friends John and Lana scraped back their chairs, and we were happily reunited after their journey from Cape Town. At last, we could catch up and hear about their travel tales. We couldn't wait to tuck into our big, fat, juicy steaks.

The following morning, we all slept in. Later that day, we met up and went for a walk, exploring the coffee plantations. We stocked our store cupboards with fresh coffee beans, produced and roasted on the farm. I'd missed the cattle with the longest horns; I was adamant I'd not miss Lana and the Maasai herdsman.

An effort is rewarded, we say, so we joined the crowd on the veranda after our walk. Stepping onto the stoep felt like walking into a café in Cape Town. There was a table of young girls speaking Italian. Butch picked up a man speaking Russian (Russians are still welcome in Cape Town, too, especially in Simon’s Town), and the company of overlanders from Kuwait were poring over maps at another table. Wherever we go, German and Dutch voices are always around. They travel the world, are adventurous, and love Africa.

With the Rift Valley before us, Butch and I spent the afternoon under our awning, escaping the heat, enjoying the views, and occasionally dipping into our books until the sun set the skies alight.

At dinner that evening, we met our friends from the Netherlands, Minke and Joost, whom we’d briefly met in Tete. All the seats at our table were taken, and our hearts were happy. We all dipped into our first curries. The national dish for tourists, I do believe.

Although we’d never thought we’d miss familiar faces, we found ourselves quite emotional upon seeing and getting together with our friends, especially since we were all paddling similar canoes and had and would experience many of the same pitfalls. Butch, Lana and Joost suffered life-threatening illnesses (all would recover completely), but these events drew us nearer.

Trusted guidelines, recommendations and contacts to use in the future are a comfort, knowing they’re dependable.

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We aimed to head to the east coast, then make our way up the coast to Dar es Salaam, where we’d spend a few days before heading to Zanzibar.

Driving through towns offers little more than a glimpse of the outer limits. The thoroughfare often doesn't reflect the progress being made, but what we saw did indicate development: modern buildings were mushrooming among smaller, older structures, giving us the impression that the economy was showing signs of progress.

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The next morning, we all set off in different directions. Butch and I were on our own again and decided to spend a night or two at The Olde Farmhouse – Kisolanza Farm. The landscape was rural farmland.

Farmers were on the roads with a most peculiar vehicle we'd never seen before. Still, it reminded us of the strange, self-made multifunctional contraptions farmers used in India: the Dugar. We'd gingerly negotiate around and behind these tractor-bikes. A farmer makes a plan, they say. This demonstrated an innovative, creative society we'd not seen before.

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Once again, I soaked in the landscape, enjoying the passing parade and catching a brief glimpse of rural life. To pass the time, I picked up my crochet hook again.

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Set in the crisp, temperate climate of Tanzania’s scenic Southern Highlands, Kisolanza has been home to the Ghaui family, who settled in East Africa more than a century ago. Originally planted with tobacco, it remains a fully working farm with cattle, sheep, and a variety of crops.

The Cape to Cairo road, which weaves the length of Africa, “passes directly through our home”, says Nicky, the youngest of the Ghaui siblings, who set up “The Old Farm House” to make the most of this ideal stopover spot for travellers - a perfect pause between Zanzibar and Malawi.

The Old Farmhouse has grown to include a range of accommodations, from luxurious cottages to bush camping, as well as an exceptional restaurant and bar, a farm shop, and a spa, providing a haven that caters for all the creature comforts a guest could desire, such as hot showers, delicious food, a warm, clean bed, and the welcoming feeling of a “home away from home.”

Soon after we arrived at our campsite, we heard another truck roar by. Lana and John had decided to join us for another two nights. We couldn’t be more delighted; a celebration was in order.

That evening, we joined the Chaui family at the restaurant, where we enjoyed a first-class, home-cooked three-course meal. Although the meal was scrumptious and the company grand, we still had much to discuss. The restaurant had me enthralled. It was set up in an ancient ruin—a muurasie.

Left with only minor alterations and minimal restorations, the crumbling clay walls are bare and stripped of paint or paper. The only signs of windows or doors are the weathered, rough wooden lintels. A new tin roof sits above plain, golden trusses. This building oozes personality, history and warmth, evident in all its signs of decay. The walls echo the large family chatting up a storm in the front room, where they’ve gathered for supper since Covid-19 started—a new family tradition born of isolation.

Candlelight danced playfully across the golden walls as we tucked into our desserts. We were ready for bed.

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The next day, Butch and I, still in exercise mode, unhitched our bikes and set out on an exploratory ride around the farm. At the same time, Lana did her housekeeping, while John accompanied Nicky to oversee the dipping of her cattle herd.

Quite exhausted, we ended our cycle with a downhill ride to the Farm stall, where I delved into the freshly picked vegetables and fruit baskets.

We rewarded ourselves with a large pot of coffee and a delicious chocolate brownie for our cycling efforts. Crispy yet sticky and smooth, it was served with a generous helping of clotted cream. It hit all the right spots. The freshly made samosas went home for a snack later. They were perfect—crispy, spicy and generously filled.

Our larders and fridges were filled to the brim with farm-fresh produce. Butch went ferreting through the farm’s fresh meat supply, and soon the deep freezer was stocked with a small shoulder of lamb, a rack of ribs, two portions of mince and four small loin chops for later. Little did we know that would be the only lamb we’d have for many months… or years.

The local brew is Kilimanjaro. Irresistible, thanks to its cheerful label. The glass is recycled here; all soda and beer bottles are refunded and reused. In Tanzania, single-use plastic is rarely used.

All packaging is either paper-based or in a recycled bag. That is something to be proud of and an example for South Africa. Forrest Gump's Mum said, "Life is like a box of chocolates". Tanzania is as colourful as a basket of fresh farm fruit and vegetables.

Unfortunately, I had to decline Nicky’s invitation to stay for the annual Kisolanza Touch Rugby Derby, which was to be held over the weekend. This event brings together farmers, rugby players and families from all over Tanzania for a party of note!

The chef kindly let me have the last loaf of his freshly baked bread before we set off on the next leg of our expedition. This token of selfless kindness and generosity was just one of the many we’ve encountered since.

On our final evening, Lana offered to prepare a hors d'oeuvre. She was very secretive about her dish, and no matter how much we badgered her, she'd shake her blonde head. We were flummoxed and couldn't imagine what it could be. Tensions were mounting, and Butch and I skipped lunch to heighten the shock to our taste buds as we ravenously anticipated supper.

When we were all seated around the fire, Lana trotted out of her camper, bearing four bamboo boats steaming in the dusk. I could only see a lemon’s yellow rind peeping over the bowl’s edge.

Butch and I gasped when we saw the creamy-coloured AbaGold spooned seductively over a portion of rice and creamed Abalone from Hermanus. In my wildest dreams, I’d never have guessed. I think I cried. With my eyes closed, I savoured every morsel. I could’ve licked my bowl.

John and Lana, we were bowled over. Thank you for sharing your precious Perlemoen with us. A hundred points for brilliant originality heightened our journey and raised the bar three notches.

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With our noses set east, we set off the following day. John and Lana would take the Tanzam Highway. The road through mountainous areas starts in Dar es Salaam and passes through coastal regions and the towns of Morogoro, Iringa, Njombe, Mbeya and Songwe.

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After a long day on the road, we arrived in Songea in south-western Tanzania. The city is home to the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Songea. Between 1905 and 1907, Songea was a centre of African resistance during the Maji Maji Rebellion in German East Africa.

Songea was a great Ngoni warrior who was hanged in 1906 during German repression of the Maji Maji Rebellion. Songea surrendered and was spared the death sentence. However, he demanded to be hanged alongside the other Ngoni leaders. The Germans complied.

After WW2, the area was earmarked for agricultural development, which failed and was linked to a disastrous groundnut scheme. During Mozambique’s war of liberation, the Songea area was a restricted zone and was occasionally bombed by Portuguese forces.

Songea's remoteness left it vulnerable to ivory poaching, and communications remained unreliable until 1985, when a new British-funded road opened, linking it to the road and rail hub of Makambako to the north.

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We trundled into Songea to find somewhere to camp. Stall owners and street-food vendors were setting up their stalls along the tree-lined boulevards. The only camping spot we could find, a hotel next to a closed-off stretch of road being set up for a night market, was unsuitable for our big rig. Once the gate was opened, it could accommodate only a small Land Cruiser. It was getting late, and we had to scoot and find alternative accommodation.

Sadly, the only suitable spot was a filling station, where the guard let us stop for the night, nestled beside two twenty-wheelers. Although we felt as safe as houses, we were disappointed to miss out on incredible street food, music, and a party. Hakuna Matata. Manyana Manyana.

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Cassava, millet, sorghum and maize, which have only recently become popular, are all essential food crops, but the most important cash crop in the area is cashew nuts. Groundnuts and sesame are two minor crops.

Tanzanian cashew nut production is primarily for export. Domestically, only a tiny portion of the yield is consumed. The Mtwara Region is recognised as the country’s leading cashew nut producer. We always keep a stock of cashews in the drawer, our staple snack, with peanuts sold all along the roads.

On either side of the road, extensive natural forests and plantations corduroyed the hills and valleys. Distances were great, and we would not make it to a town for the night. We decided to take a secondary road and camp out.

Soon after our stop, word spread that we’d set up camp. The local chief and his sidekicks visited us. They were delighted to have us stay and would ensure our safety.

While I prepared our supper, Spaghetti Bolognaise, Butch couldn’t resist offering them the grand tour of the truck, which they thoroughly enjoyed and which we had sure set them up for a fireside meeting later that evening.

Our heads turned when we reached the coast. After only one night at a neglected, run-down campsite and resort, we headed north along the coast towards Dar es Salaam.

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My first impressions of Tanzanians were:

Vibrant, welcoming, generous, enquiring, proud, considerate, affable, accommodating, and supportive. Community-conscious societies live an integrated life with nature, family and friends. Every home has a garden (floral or vegetable), with jewel-coloured flowers in abundance, and nurseries line the streets. There are a gazillion Toyotas.