Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Road trip to Iringa
Iringa is 300 miles inland, connected to Dar es Salaam by a long stretch of tarmac road called the Tanzanian-Zambian Highway, or the TanZam Highway for short. It stretches from Dar, through Iringa, then on to Zambia via Mbeya.
Iringa is one of a handful of towns along the highway that is Zambia's only overland connection to the coast. And when I say highway, I mean a narrow road with one lane going each way. This is The Route to get people and import goods from the coast to Zambia, and every place in between. So semi-trucks, giant buses, gasoline tankers, and trucks crammed with tomatoes, potatoes, onions, or cattle rattle along this road, competing with private cars, local mini-buses, military convoys, and the ubiquitous NGO-owned, donor-funded Toyota Landcruiser SUVs going 80 miles per hour.
No one wants to drive this road after dark--there are no street lights at all, and the road sometimes curves through mountain passes with steep drop offs, and other times directly through villages with everything from bicycles to goats to three-year-olds crossing the street at any time. Buses are determined to get their passengers to their far-flung destinations in one day, too, so they drive insanely fast, rumbling over villages' speed bumps and potholes as if they were nothing. The semi-trucks have their deadlines to get their goods to Zambia, but this often takes several days, and truck stop restaurants and cheap guesthouses dot the highway. The remains of trucks and buses that have rolled off the road in deadly accidents also dot the highway.
Speed limits are enforced in only two ways: speed bumps (called speed humps here, lol) and police stops. The police don't have cars to catch speeders, no. Police just get dropped off at random places on the highway, and they flag you down as you drive by. Even if you aren't speeding or passing illegally (absolutely everyone passes illegally, on blind curves and narrow bridges, up hills in mountains; they just try not to do it if they can see a police stop in the distance), the police almost always find an excuse to ask for a "fine." Either you were one kilometer over the limit, or one of your many registration/insurance/fire safety inspection/who-knows-what stickers are out of date, or you don't have the proper stamp on your registration. One policeman even claimed that we needed to paint our address on the body of the vehicle (it wasn't even our car).
The police, you see, are bored, or hungry, or greedy for a, ahem, "fine." We've found that speaking in very rapid English--it doesn't matter about what--does the trick to get us a clean pass. Once, Justin went off about Juma's school in Baltimore and what subjects he learns there. What matters is that the cop sees how many other cars are driving by without being stopped, and realizes he's wasting his time on the fast-talking mzungu, and waves you along. As one of our expat friends explained, they'll never ask for a "fine" in English, they don't really know how, so if you reveal your Swahili abilities, they've got you.
Last summer, we decided being stopped by the cops is inevitable. But on this most recent trip down to Iringa, we weren't stopped even one time. We felt very proud of this accomplishment, though I think it had everything to do with the fact that we were driving a rental car, with the company's well-known logo on the driver's side door, and nothing to do with us.
Before, we were renting a car from some friends, a monster of a car we had a love-hate relationship with. We called it The Green Machine; the owners called it the Avocadomobile.
We spent more money on repairs for it than we did in rent, and we got three flat tires within the first week. Once, we got two flat tires at the same time, high in the mountain pass where the road was the narrowest, the drop offs the steepest, and there was no cell phone reception. Thankfully, we had two spares. Another time, it broke down completely on the side of the road in town and Justin and Juma had to wait for two hours for help. That car scared me so much I never once drove it, all last summer. Justin, awesome husband that he is, did all the driving. As much as that car helped us build character, well, we're happy to be driving a more reliable car now. And, yes, I do drive this one, though re-learning how to drive a manual, and on the left side of the road no less, scared me. (And every time I drive it, it scares Justin.)
Despite all that crap, the drive through Tanzania is actually quite scenic. We pass through rolling hills with banana, coconut, and mango trees; a national park where you can see giraffes, elephants, baboons, zebras, and water buffalo while driving by; a huge forest of baobab trees; tiny villages; plantations of sisal; and beautiful mountains that remind me of Utah. There's one place about half-way through that serves Swiss food, oddly enough, and right next door is a snake park with pythons, cobras, vipers, and green mambas in cages. And as we get closer to Iringa, the air gets noticeably cooler, the road climbing up into the Southern Highlands, Tanzania's coldest regions, and our home.
Iringa is one of a handful of towns along the highway that is Zambia's only overland connection to the coast. And when I say highway, I mean a narrow road with one lane going each way. This is The Route to get people and import goods from the coast to Zambia, and every place in between. So semi-trucks, giant buses, gasoline tankers, and trucks crammed with tomatoes, potatoes, onions, or cattle rattle along this road, competing with private cars, local mini-buses, military convoys, and the ubiquitous NGO-owned, donor-funded Toyota Landcruiser SUVs going 80 miles per hour.
No one wants to drive this road after dark--there are no street lights at all, and the road sometimes curves through mountain passes with steep drop offs, and other times directly through villages with everything from bicycles to goats to three-year-olds crossing the street at any time. Buses are determined to get their passengers to their far-flung destinations in one day, too, so they drive insanely fast, rumbling over villages' speed bumps and potholes as if they were nothing. The semi-trucks have their deadlines to get their goods to Zambia, but this often takes several days, and truck stop restaurants and cheap guesthouses dot the highway. The remains of trucks and buses that have rolled off the road in deadly accidents also dot the highway.
Speed limits are enforced in only two ways: speed bumps (called speed humps here, lol) and police stops. The police don't have cars to catch speeders, no. Police just get dropped off at random places on the highway, and they flag you down as you drive by. Even if you aren't speeding or passing illegally (absolutely everyone passes illegally, on blind curves and narrow bridges, up hills in mountains; they just try not to do it if they can see a police stop in the distance), the police almost always find an excuse to ask for a "fine." Either you were one kilometer over the limit, or one of your many registration/insurance/fire safety inspection/who-knows-what stickers are out of date, or you don't have the proper stamp on your registration. One policeman even claimed that we needed to paint our address on the body of the vehicle (it wasn't even our car).
The police, you see, are bored, or hungry, or greedy for a, ahem, "fine." We've found that speaking in very rapid English--it doesn't matter about what--does the trick to get us a clean pass. Once, Justin went off about Juma's school in Baltimore and what subjects he learns there. What matters is that the cop sees how many other cars are driving by without being stopped, and realizes he's wasting his time on the fast-talking mzungu, and waves you along. As one of our expat friends explained, they'll never ask for a "fine" in English, they don't really know how, so if you reveal your Swahili abilities, they've got you.
Last summer, we decided being stopped by the cops is inevitable. But on this most recent trip down to Iringa, we weren't stopped even one time. We felt very proud of this accomplishment, though I think it had everything to do with the fact that we were driving a rental car, with the company's well-known logo on the driver's side door, and nothing to do with us.
Before, we were renting a car from some friends, a monster of a car we had a love-hate relationship with. We called it The Green Machine; the owners called it the Avocadomobile.
We spent more money on repairs for it than we did in rent, and we got three flat tires within the first week. Once, we got two flat tires at the same time, high in the mountain pass where the road was the narrowest, the drop offs the steepest, and there was no cell phone reception. Thankfully, we had two spares. Another time, it broke down completely on the side of the road in town and Justin and Juma had to wait for two hours for help. That car scared me so much I never once drove it, all last summer. Justin, awesome husband that he is, did all the driving. As much as that car helped us build character, well, we're happy to be driving a more reliable car now. And, yes, I do drive this one, though re-learning how to drive a manual, and on the left side of the road no less, scared me. (And every time I drive it, it scares Justin.)
Despite all that crap, the drive through Tanzania is actually quite scenic. We pass through rolling hills with banana, coconut, and mango trees; a national park where you can see giraffes, elephants, baboons, zebras, and water buffalo while driving by; a huge forest of baobab trees; tiny villages; plantations of sisal; and beautiful mountains that remind me of Utah. There's one place about half-way through that serves Swiss food, oddly enough, and right next door is a snake park with pythons, cobras, vipers, and green mambas in cages. And as we get closer to Iringa, the air gets noticeably cooler, the road climbing up into the Southern Highlands, Tanzania's coldest regions, and our home.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
the journey to Tanzania
One month ago today we arrived in Tanzania, exhausted and disheveled after 36 hours of travel. Although we have endured that trip many times--Justin has made the round-trip 10 times, I have 8 times, and Juma 6--this trip was different. First of all, Justin and I had spent the night and day before the departure sick as dogs. We had caught a ferocious stomach bug during the holiday festivities, and did nothing but lie in our hotel bed in Springville, Utah, wishing it would end and texting everyone I could think of to please come pick up Juma and feed him. Thankfully, it was only a 24 hour bug, and by the morning we were well enough to finish packing our 12 bags and drive the hour to the airport.
Which brings me to the second reason this trip was different--we were moving to Tanzania. Not just staying for 3 months or even 8 months like previous trips. That's why we had the 12 bags, 6 checked and 6 carry-on, the airline's limit for international flights. After all, we need a lot of stuff: sun block, mosquito repellant, tampons, decent socks, Legos, all our electronics--cameras, digital recorders, laptops, hard drives, a scanner--the kind of stuff we cannot get in-country.
The flights and layovers themselves were uneventful, as they almost always are. The most memorable thing about all the flights was the fact that there were no individual TV screens on the flight from Portland, Oregon to Amsterdam. What kind of airline doesn't provide individual screens an a 9-hour flight?!? Nevertheless, we survived Salt Lake City to Portland to Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro to Dar es Salaam.
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania's biggest city and commercial capital is hot, noisy, dirty, and cram-packed with cars. I never knew the Swahili word for traffic until we spent time in Dar last year. Fuleni. We're talking it takes 2 hours to get 2 miles sometimes. The city has 4 million people and there is not a single freeway. Cars are constantly competing with buses, pedestrians, bicycles, bajaj, donkey carts, you name it. Tourists have one reason to come to Dar: to get somewhere else--Zanzibar, safari, Mt. Kilimanjaro. While Dar has its advantages--good hotels, supermarkets with imported goods, a movie theater, a variety of restaurants, even a mall--the fuleni is impossible. I don't comprehend how people live there. Lucky for us, Dar is not where we need to be based for our projects; we only have to pass through from time to time. I don't even have any pictures from any of our trips in Dar; I haven't bothered to take pictures of anything there.
So within 2 days of arrival, just long enough for us to buy some rabies vaccines and get a rental car, we made the 300 mile overland journey to our new home: Iringa.
Which brings me to the second reason this trip was different--we were moving to Tanzania. Not just staying for 3 months or even 8 months like previous trips. That's why we had the 12 bags, 6 checked and 6 carry-on, the airline's limit for international flights. After all, we need a lot of stuff: sun block, mosquito repellant, tampons, decent socks, Legos, all our electronics--cameras, digital recorders, laptops, hard drives, a scanner--the kind of stuff we cannot get in-country.
The flights and layovers themselves were uneventful, as they almost always are. The most memorable thing about all the flights was the fact that there were no individual TV screens on the flight from Portland, Oregon to Amsterdam. What kind of airline doesn't provide individual screens an a 9-hour flight?!? Nevertheless, we survived Salt Lake City to Portland to Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro to Dar es Salaam.
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania's biggest city and commercial capital is hot, noisy, dirty, and cram-packed with cars. I never knew the Swahili word for traffic until we spent time in Dar last year. Fuleni. We're talking it takes 2 hours to get 2 miles sometimes. The city has 4 million people and there is not a single freeway. Cars are constantly competing with buses, pedestrians, bicycles, bajaj, donkey carts, you name it. Tourists have one reason to come to Dar: to get somewhere else--Zanzibar, safari, Mt. Kilimanjaro. While Dar has its advantages--good hotels, supermarkets with imported goods, a movie theater, a variety of restaurants, even a mall--the fuleni is impossible. I don't comprehend how people live there. Lucky for us, Dar is not where we need to be based for our projects; we only have to pass through from time to time. I don't even have any pictures from any of our trips in Dar; I haven't bothered to take pictures of anything there.
So within 2 days of arrival, just long enough for us to buy some rabies vaccines and get a rental car, we made the 300 mile overland journey to our new home: Iringa.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Weekend on a farm
Monday, January 23, 2012
safari
Here is a little taste of the safari we went on last weekend to Ruaha National Park. If you want to see more, I put 87 of the 400 pictures on facebook.
This elephant really was that close. This is not using the zoom.
This lion wasn't really that close. I was using the zoom.
This elephant really was that close. This is not using the zoom.
This lion wasn't really that close. I was using the zoom.
Monday, December 05, 2011
it's official: we're moving to Tanzania!
Justin and I will both be working on a HIV prevention project through the university. He'll be full-time, I'll be part-time while I finish my PhD. The project is slated to last 4 years, though it will likely go longer.
It's very exciting for both of us, though not so much for Juma. He's very sad to leave his great friends and wonderful school, naturally. But we have found a great English-speaking international school for him, which I am sure is filled with wonderful friends for him.
We will be in Iringa, which is the same city we lived in last summer. We'll be in the very same house, in fact, and have the same address:
PO Box 1441
Iringa, Tanzania
So we are packing up the house, and will spend about 10 days in Utah for the holidays before we go. 2012 in Tanzania!
It's very exciting for both of us, though not so much for Juma. He's very sad to leave his great friends and wonderful school, naturally. But we have found a great English-speaking international school for him, which I am sure is filled with wonderful friends for him.
We will be in Iringa, which is the same city we lived in last summer. We'll be in the very same house, in fact, and have the same address:
PO Box 1441
Iringa, Tanzania
So we are packing up the house, and will spend about 10 days in Utah for the holidays before we go. 2012 in Tanzania!
Friday, December 02, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
love
Juma: Mom, I love you. So much. I don't know why, I just do.
Sarah: Well, it is hard-wired in your DNA to love your mother. You have to.
Juma: I know, but that's not it. I really just love you.
Sarah: Well, it is hard-wired in your DNA to love your mother. You have to.
Juma: I know, but that's not it. I really just love you.
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