Africa meanderings - Part 1

I opened the paper today, the headline read “Twelve-year-old girl shoots giraffe.” “What?? Why would anyone want to shoot a giraffe for heaven’s sake?” I yelled at the printed pages. I read on, “Americans, 12-year-old Aryanna Gourdin and her father were on a safari in South Africa to shoot various big game. They had already bagged a lion and a buffalo. However, this little girl’s heart was desperately set on shooting a giraffe. “I’ve always liked the look of them,” she said. “How sick is that,” I thought.

This immediately brought back memories of the time I went off to Africa for a six week holiday with my college friend John. We shared a grotty student flat in Wolverhampton, England and were both studying for the same degree. It was winter, raining and icy-cold outside, and we were both bored.

Sefu (L), Me and Salim my old friends in Lushoto, Tanzania. © Duncan Smith

Out of the blue, John said, “Do you know mate, I’ve always wanted to go on a safari in Africa and shoot some big game, like an elephant, lion or something, haven’t you?” It was 1972, and we were both twenty-six years of age and broke. He was bespectacled, strong as an ox and my best friend. His travels had never extended beyond English shores. I’d lived in Tanzania, in East Africa, with my nutty aunt Helen, and went back there many times after I’d returned to the UK to take up my studies. Helen had a small beach hotel called the “Inn by the Sea”, 35 km north of Dar es Salaam, and a beautiful 40-acre island, called Sinda, an hour’s boat ride off the coast of Dar. While there I’d never considered shooting any animal just for “fun”. So, in answer to John’s question, I replied “Not really mate. I’ve only ever shot an animal with my camera.” He snorted, “Not very macho Duncan.” I said nothing.

Walking around my aunt Helen’s island called “Sinda”, in Tanzania. © Duncan Smith

We often dreamt about going to stay with her one day once we’d finished our studies. Two years later we both got that chance and had managed to save enough money to buy tickets to fly down to Nairobi, then take a bus down to Dar es Salaam. We flew out of London a week after our finals, arriving in Nairobi 18 hours later. We caught up with a friend there that evening and stayed in his flat.

The bus to Dar was due to leave Nairobi at 6 o’clock the next morning. We had had little sleep during our long flight, but our friend insisted that we went with him to his local golf club where there was a party going on! We drank a lot and chatted a lot, but eventually asked him to take us back to his flat to get a few hours’ sleep at least. Finally crawling into bed around 3.00 am.

Our alarm clock went off 2 hours later. After a quick cup of tea and bite to eat for breakfast, we woke our very hung-over friend to take us to the bus station. We sped through empty Nairobi streets and arrived there without incident, he was still very drunk. After a quick “See ya!” he sped off back to his flat to sleep.

The bus trip to Dar was meant to take 16 hours to cover the 900 km, but, unsurprisingly, it didn’t quite work out like that.

Gathering our belongings, we headed into the station office to get our tickets. We opted to go, first-class, which sounded quite grand, but in the event, wasn’t! Papers in hand, we headed to the bus stands to the only one we could see. It looked as if it had come straight out of a showroom, with gleaming, cream paintwork and, even better, air-conditioning. John and I looked at each other and grinned as we approached the driver to check-in.

We presented our tickets, feeling very smug at our decision to go first class, and looking forward to a comfortable journey down to Dar. However, the driver told us that this wasn’t our bus. He said that our one was hidden behind his. “OK,” we smiled, and he smiled back, but in unnerving sort of way!?

We went around and what greeted us was beyond belief! There was a decrepit, rusting, heap of metal that had been a new bus before the war – the First World War! It was bright yellow with a green “go faster” stripe along the side. It was covered in masses of pitted rust and the dirt of many years of neglect. We were sure that David Livingstone must have put his bottom on one of the seats at some time, or even Julius Caesar!

Our bus from Nairobi to Dar es Salaam!

There was a roof rack, of sorts, filled with a happy mêlée of things. Two unhappy-looking black and white goats were tethered precariously to the frame itself. Scrawny, multi-coloured chickens were squashed into makeshift wooden cages. Large colourfully wrapped bags of unknown content, bulging at the seams. Three bicycles and an old car door. Crates made of woven coconut leaves containing fruits and vegetables. Various lengths of timber and corrugated iron. Cardboard boxes of every shape and size, all tied down securely. A huge motorbike was also perched on top, and we wondered how on earth it was manhandled up there.

To be continued in Part 2 of our adventure!!

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