ON THE RONG AND WINDING LOAD AGAIN

IN JULIA'S WORDS



21 December


Tanzania’s charms are many. Their towns often share a similar Swahili swagger, with “dukas” (shops) and their quaint stoeps squarely fronting the streets which weave themselves into pleasant cobwebs. 
The road to Biharamulo, our only stop (or so our plans went) before setting up shop in Mwanza, was good, but again we decided to push and not stop to eat as we drove the five-ish hours to cover the 300-oddkms.
Small wonder, then, that we arrived once again disgruntled and fucking famished. Research on the internet had recommended an old German fort called Old Boma as a charming and affordable place to stay. Garmonia knew it too and showed us the way.
Affordable it might have been, but what a decrepit tip! Think foul sheets, mouldy everything else and totally uninterested hosts. We looked around for an alternative in the nothing town and came up with nothing. So locking out our grunge surrounds, we slept and headed off again to the promised land of Mwanza less than 300kms away, again in the rain.

Not amused by our accommodation in Biharamulo

The town in our sights was Busisi, which where we would catch the ferry across Mwanza Bay to the town as a short cut (or so was our plan).
After making good progress for the first handful of kilometres, we arrived again at the mixed blessing of Chinese roadworks. 
The good news: one day the road is likely to be wonderful. Bad news: right now, we have a broken track of slippery, sodden clay to negotiate. 
It was a mucky and slippy business - as usual, there was a truck stuck in the mud along the way - but through it we got. 

Slip sliding for hours on the muddy mess

But the seriously out-of-this-world news is that the vista as we approached was of berserk and scandalous rock formations. 
Proud giant orange and yellowish sandstone-looking menhirs sprouted the terrain as we caught sight again of Lake Victoria's beckoning waters.

Busisi was nothing really other than a mini-port for the ferry, which was actually great - on time, clean, not too expensive. We sat in our car for the hour-and-a-half it took to cross the choppy green water.

Mwanza is impressively organised and clean – even the market with its medieval jostle and piles of cheap Chinese junk (plenty of them shoes) is a hassle-free meander.
Rehana and I have through the months on the road been lulled by the extraordinary unJoburg feeling of being safe, even though we’re constantly astray in the unknown. In Uganda, we paid the price. 
We’d carelessly left our car alone and unlocked on several occasions, and are now down a hat, two pairs of shoes and a 5l container of engine oil. 
In Mwanza's maze of shops I found myself an adequate hat replacement of spectacular synthetic material, Rehana a Made in China replacement pair of slops. 
We’re mighty tight for money right now – our budget depleted by a few unforeseens, like Rehana’s illness, a few too many car issues, a tardy debtor – so besides a couple of beautiful Nigerian and Congolese cloths, that’s it for our shopping.

Meandering in one of Mwanza's many markets

I’m still charmed by the “r” and “l” confusion so prevalent among our northern neighbours. Rehana (sorry, that would be Lehana) and I have spent the last week ranguidly perched on the edge of Rake Victolia (this time the far southern side, opposite from where we ranguidly perched on Uganda’s shores a few months ago).
On Thursday a throng of young Tanzanians poured through the gates of Tunza Lodge where we’re staying; it turns out it was the year end event of the local “Engrish Crub”, an earnest and welcoming bright spark informed me. 

Speaking Engrish to earnest youngsters

For a while I had a very intense version of the “Mzungu loose in Africa” feeling. The pale skins of foreigners are uncommon in many places we go, and it draws a lot of attention. There are the howls of “mzungu mzungu you you you” that echo about you, not that welcome since they’re essentially racist and implicitly ring with disrespect. 
There are a whole lot more gentle interactions, greetings, acknowledgements, inquiries; and, of course, attempts at activating the Mzungu ATM in transactions of all kinds (“This beautiful cow – you must buy her! Only 1 million Ugandan shillings, special for you" – a true bargain, actually, if I could have fitted the beast into the BRC).
In the case of the Engrish Crub on Lake Vic’s moody shores, they very politely swarmed around the car where I was attempting to prepare lunch, each and every member shaking my hand, posing with me for picha's (photos) and trying out their much-valued Engrish. It’s like you’re communal property – especially when you're an Mzungu who is camping. Then you're plain on display.
I’ve never much liked the public’s attention, and it’s even more disconcerting being small-town pavement glitterati. Even if I feel up to dealing with so much attention, I feel sheepish smiling and waving like some benign minor Bwitish Loyal.
At least the attention has seldom been poisonous – or painful stone-throwing – and, really, it’s a mild plice to pay for being a curiosity in a curious land.


IN REHANA'S WORDS

Saturday, 21 December

I’m not sure whether they have Big Days (what Capetonians call the Xmas break) in Tanzania. At 8.30am promptly the shipyard workers next door to our lodge strike hammers against steel and wake me up. 
When it’s raining, their hammers and angle grinders remain silent and I sleep in. If Cape Town still has shipyards, I’m sure they all went silent on December 13 and their employees are at home painting their houses for Christmas.

It is good to be back in a country with a working economy. Lake Victoria is bustling in Tanzania, unlike its shores that we visited in Kenya and Uganda. The busy shipyard builds and repairs ferries for Tanzania and its neighbours. There are all manner of vessels on the lake, ranging from small fishing boats rowed out by brawny men, slinky dhows under triangular sails to ships bearing containers.

Hadn't seen dhows on a horizon for a long while

It’s the rainy season, the time of the big rains. It was grey and wet when we drove into Mwanza last week and I had doubts about the wisdom of a beach holiday. But we were bound to experience a rainy season somewhere while on the road for a year. And our tent is a cosy cocoon when fat drops patter onto our flysheet. I had breakfast in bed and fell asleep afterwards.

While their parents are still hard at work, teenagers and younger children have been romping on the beach at Tunza Lodge, in just the right amounts to please us and not overrun our slice of tropical heaven. Few of them can swim and I haven’t spotted one in a costume all week, but they take to the water with relish.

The lodge’s waiters are kept busy bringing cooldrinks, slap chips and ice cream sundaes to the tables scattered on the sand and under the trees. Kids pose on the rocks or lean against the ski boat on the sand for smartphone photographs.

At play on the beach in Mwanza

We had the lodge to ourselves when we arrived but a handful of other mzungus have since pitched up. Still, the place is far from full. Most of the clientele are locals coming to play. Unlike Rwandans, the people are friendly and greet us, take photos with us (??) tell us their life stories and dreams and aspirations.

Tanzanians are very good looking, hardworking and an interesting mix. On the beach right now are young Maasai men draped in checked cloths, teenagers with their underpants sticking out and matrons with braided hair and puffed sleeves.

I like the way their mixed masalas stare at me, trying to work out what I am. I love the Arab nose and beard on very dark skinned men and wonder why Indian men in South Africa were so well behaved. I especially love the way people say “you are welcome” and “karibu tena” (you’ll be welcome again) after they find out where we’re from.

Mwanza’s a cute and bustling town filled with mosques and temples. We’re using combi taxis for the first time here. They’re overcrowded of course, but they stick to the speed limit, which is 40km/hour in most places, and only stop in designated areas.

Mwanza's CBD

We needed a rest after our torrid time in Kigali and we’re getting it. We’ve been staring at the lake, which changes constantly – from stormy grey with crashing waves to a placid ultramarine pond. 
In between staring at the waters we've been watching the test match between South Africa and India - until my bum got numb and I had to stand and watch.

Our Big Days so far have been close to perfect. All that’s missing is our people and boerewors rolls.

Still shrinking, looks like I'm wearing big sister's clothes. But look, there's Lake Victoria