We left Arusha after picking up a couple from a nearby hotel.
I was excited to see what other areas of Tanzania looked like. Arusha had not matched my idea of what it would be, and I was excited to see what other surprises the country had in store for me.
I had imagined Arusha being a kind of rurally-idyllic town…what Arusha actually is is a bustling city of dilapidated-looking but generally well-constructed buildings. The air is always heavy with fumes or motorcycles, cars and vans —I’ve never been more thankful for state inspections in America — and sidewalks full of feet. (I didn’t get many pictures of the city itself since I didn’t like flashing my camera around.)
The town was a mix of paved roads and roads of dirt. The way to get around was on foot or matatus —15-seater small vans that seemed filled to the brim with people when I rode them in Tanzania, but which later, in Kenya, defied logic and physics with the number of people squeezed into them. Taxis were also a fair bet, but you had to know who to call and how much to pay, and I knew neither of those things.
The Arusha people I never really got to know, as I didn’t have a chance to interact much with them. Some wore what I have stereotyped as “traditional African dress” but more wore western cloths. Children always seemed to be wearing their school uniforms — something that would be true in every place I visited throughout the two countries. Produce markets on the side of the street sold everything from bananas to avocados to coconuts. Impressive to me was the vendors who wheeled tires, or jeans, or socks, or shoes in huge wheelbarrows up and down the city streets to their destination.
One thing that did meet my expectations was the women toting goods on their heads. I saw everything from dress shirts to shopping bags, to long sticks to buckets of produce balanced perfectly atop women’s heads. I was, and still am now, endlessly amazed at this ability.
From the city, there was a fantastic view of Mt. Meru, which sometimes allowed its summit to peak out over the tops of clouds (thought not in the image below). Many suggested the view from Mt. Meru was better than the one from Mt. Kilimanjaro.
So anyway, we traveled out of town the morning of October 4, after picking up a couple who Heidi and I came to really enjoy, despite their strangeness and their sometimes difficult behavior. They were near our age, the woman’s name being Sherri and the man’s one that I could never remember and felt too silly to ask for after days sitting in the car with him.
After a brief stop at a gas station to fill up — during which Heidi and I marveled at a group of 6 men sledgehammering the dirt-rock ground apart, one blow at a time, we left Arusha behind. Soon the world around us changed. Perhaps my love of goats and animals clouds my vision, but what I remember most of this time was the number of herds of goats and cows and donkeys being led along by what was generally a child, perhaps followed by a stray dog.
Every child I saw sparked a litany of questions that I still wonder about: was that child’s days filled with only herding goats, or was there a school they attended. Were they happy, or a version of happy? Did they want to leave their town, or were they happy there? Were they excited to become men and leave the goat herding to their children, or younger brothers? If every child is a blank canvas, these children always left me wondering what kind of lives they would paint — or that would be painted for them.
There were cars as we made our way to Tarangire National Park, and though their fumes were just as bad as they had been in Arusha, their numbers were fewer. I wrote in my journal as we traveled, marking down my impressions, noting the interesting things I saw — the shops on the side of the road that had been fashioned out of scrap pieces of corrugated aluminum, or the wooden structures that looked like one strong wind would blow them down.
Tarangire National Park was the first stop, and at the gates, I got a glimpse of the hugeness of the safari tourism industry. While we were one jeep on the road, at the Tarangire we were one of dozens — and we were going on a safari in the offseason. I could just imagine the overwhelming swell of cars that would pack the parks during peak times. After parking in the lot with the rest of the jeeps, all the drivers would go into the permitting area of the national park in question to pay and get permits to stay for however long they needed to, a process that generally took 15-30 minutes.
Once in the gates, I immediately saw my first giraffe, busily chomping at leaves while we drove by, standing up with our heads popped out of the sunroof and taking pictures. The day was filled with the fewest animals, and while some came close to the van — like the momma baboon with a baby holding onto its stomach, or the zebras crossing the road, and the momma and baby elephant chomping grasses together — many we saw from afar. It didn’t matter. Having never been on a safari before, having never seen any of these kinds of animals in anything resembling their natural habitat, I was smitten! At lunch, Heidi and I were thrilled to have our food stolen by a hungry, sneaky, fast and unbelievably adorable monkey, and then to see that monkey pop into jeep after jeep by way of the sunroof to search for food.
By the end of the day, I’d taken hundreds of pictures with my sometimes blurry camera and was as happy as can be.
That first night we slept at a place that had plastic/canvas tents that were attached to personal, though outdoor, showers (with hot water!) and a (flushing!) toilet and a sink with running water! It was basically the most luxurious scene to come ‘home’ to at the end of a very sweaty, very dusty day. Our cook, Noru, made a wonderful meal for us, which we ate in the large, outdoor ‘restaurant’ in which there was a television playing soccer and a bar serving Heidi and I beer. It was the first of three nights of the same evening meal for me — a vegetarian curry-type meal with green beans and sweet potato and perhaps plantains. It was preceded by a soup and (white) bread and followed by a fruit plate. In short, it was DELICIOUS.
In my food- and beer-induced stupor, I managed to send a message to my family and to Joe via the place’s wifi (!) and the SPOT messenger I’d taken with me, and fell asleep in Heidi and I’s shared tent (the couple had refused the opportunity to sleep in the same tent together) almost immediately.