A Detour by Way of the Beehive: The Wild West (Part I)

"'Piga' was a fine word. It sounded exactly as the command to fire should sound or the announcement of a hit. 'M'uzuri,' meaning good, well, better, had sounded too much like the name of a state for a long time and walking I used to make up sentences in Swahili with Arkansas and M'uzuri in them, but now it seemed natural, no longer to be italicized, just as all the words came to seem the proper and natural words..."

- The Green Hills of Africa, Ernest Hemingway

Reading the The Green Hills of Africa and True at First Light I am made aware of the many things in East Africa that have changed since the days of Hemingway; Tanzania has gained its independence, rhino hunting is no longer a legal practice, 'piga' is most frequently heard concerning the sending of a text message and not in reference to hunting... At the same time, some things are still the same; tribal heritage and language are still important, the roads are still made only of dirt, and much of the country remains wild and rural. And then, of course, there are also the trains...

It was on the Central Line a few weeks ago that I found myself journeying again, but this time further west into Tanzania intent to to build local style hives and to visit the bush for a honey harvest. Both tasks were accomplished (specific posts to come), but not in the ways or places I had imagined.

After spending multiple weeks in Tabora, my longest time spent in one place since leaving home last July, I decided it was time to move on. I had acquired the contact information of a very good beekeeper from Urambo named Henry Udoya and was told that he would teach me how to make a horizontal log hive. An especially convenient part of it all was that he could speak English... so I thought. For my last few days in Tabora I tried calling him multiple times and sometimes got through but the signal was never good. He would call back soon after and after a few greetings in Swahili and switching to English the signal would cut out again. I even sent a few text messages, but I received no replies. Nonetheless, excited to be moving again and figuring everything would work itself out I caught the morning bus to Urambo (two hours west of Tabora town).

I had read that roads were bad and bus rides in Tanzania were scary, but after so many people had told me it would be better to take the bus from Dar to Tabora instead of the train I decided the bus couldn't be too terrible, especially since I had enjoyed the rail journey so much. Well, I figured wrong. Early in the morning I found a seat (they go six across in a normal sized coach) and folded my knees into my chest ready for the ride, which I later found to be a necessarily convenient position for kissing my tail end goodbye. The bus was held together with prayers for safe journeys written across the sides and was obviously in mechanical disrepair, yet our driver was cruising down the pot-holed road and taking corners like he was steering a seventy passenger Ferrari with no problems leaning beyond forty five degrees. I have come to accept many of the differences between travel in Tanzania and home, like riding as a passenger on the back of a bicycle or packing twenty-five people into mini-van-sized dala dala, gaining confidence and an understanding of normalcy from the relaxed demeanor of the local people, but on this journey I am certain I saw fear in the eyes of more than one passenger. Nonetheless, we eventually arrived safely in Urambo and, after dislodging myself and my backpack, jumped to the ground, happy to have survived my first experience with Tanzanian bus travel.

I found a comfortable guest house in Urambo near a school and proceeded to contact Mr. Udoya - figuring that being in the same town would solve our mobile reception issues. Indeed, the connection between our phones was much better, however when I asked him, "Unasema Kiingereza," and he replied "None" in Swahili and the fact that he said he was in Ussoke (about an hour back to the east from Urambo), I knew the exciting bus trip was only the beginning. I found a teacher to help translate, Udoya travelled by motorcycle to visit me, and we made arrangements for me to return to Ussoke in two weeks time to build some beehives.

That handled, I decided to continue on to Kigoma for a few days of rest and to explore the shores of Lake Tanganyika... but this time I resumed via the train and I traveled in economy (third) class. I arrived at the Urambo station at 11pm to wait for the midnight train to the western border. The journey was set to take eight to ten hours putting me in Kigoma by mid-morning. This turned out to be extremely wishful thinking.

As midnight came and went I sat with the hundred or so people in front of the station waiting for the train to come. The night wore on, a heavy rain forced us to seek shelter under trees and awnings, and we all inevitably fell asleep. I awoke every few hours and re-applied mosquito repellant but had an altogether pleasant evening sleeping outside. It is rare occasion that I am outside at night, so it was quite a treat.

Dawn breaks at the Urambo train station.

By 8am the train arrived and we all rushed to board our respective passenger cars as the train blew its whistle and began its departure. Like all forms of communal transport in Tanzania each car was packed far beyond the intended capacity with people, sacks of provisions, and poultry. Even so, I found the experience to be incredibly rewarding. I probably doubled my Swahili vocabulary by talking with the people around me and certainly gained a lot of confidence in using my new language. We had to watch out for thieves in a few stretches where we could hear them crawling on the roof of the train car and even spotted a few trying to grab bags through the windows, but it was cool to watch how everyone banded together to protect our possessions. Best, I was a part of it all. Having acquired a high level of solidarity from the mutual suffering of crowdedness and regular stops to repair the train I felt I was viewed only as one Tanzanian views another Tanzanian and not so much as a foreigner, though I was certainly the only white person among thousands of passengers. We eventually made it to Uvinza, the salt capital of Tanzania apparently, for a late lunch (already eight hours into the journey) where we broke down and were stranded until about 3am the next morning.

I took my bag out of the train to sleep under the stars for a second consecutive night. I found myself considering Hemingway's recurring claims of "complete happiness" during his various experiences in Africa. Each time I came across this phrase I had written it off as hyperbole, but in those moments as I looked down the glowing length of the train (which was much longer than I had realized - probably 50 cars in total) and alternated my views between the scores of lanterns paralleling the tracks and the infinite sky above I realized his description was probably as appropriate as any. The only thing keeping me from believing I was in 1930's East Africa were the constant beeps and pings of so many mobile phones - which are also used extensively as flashlights ('torches' for the European readers out there).

We eventually reached Kigoma and I finished my sleep in a guesthouse in the center of the city. Kigoma was altogether different from Tabora.Climatically it was obvious that the large city along Lake Tanganyika had received its fair share of the short rains. Their also seemed to be many more people on the streets at night - many I suspected were refugees from Burundi and the DRC. Finally, there was a huge missionary community! Every day in Kigoma I met a new group of Europeans and Americans who had been volunteering in Tanzania for years and the Christian influence was evident as my facial hair - which seemed to be more often perceived as Islamic in the interior - had people asking me if I was from Jerusalem.

Nonetheless, I took things pretty easy in Kigoma - spending some time walking along the lake and snorkelling and even going to Gombe National Park to trek with chimpanzees. But, no matter my intent, I am never far from the honey trail and while stocking up on food to take to the beach I came across Mzinga Honey from the Kasulu Beekeeper's Cooperative Society of northern Kigoma region. It seemed to have the finest packaging I have found on honey in the country and the honey itself was of excellent quality! I was reminded by a fellow passenger on the lake taxi from Kigoma to Gombe that "Life is not a straight path," which proved very relevant as the next leg of my journey did not take me back east to Ussoke, but rather north to Kasulu and the best honey harvest of my life!

Aboard the lake taxi from Kibirizi to Gombe NP. A chartered boat costs a couple hundred dollars, but the lake taxi will only set you back 8,000TZS (US$5) for a round-trip journey of four hours. Notice the long pole...

One of the stops on the lake taxi - a small fishing village. Notice the many fish drying racks.

It was like entering the Lost World. I kept waiting for a pterodactyl to swoop down to be fought of by the long pole carried at the front of the boat.