African meanderings - Part 2
Feeling a bit let down, we presented our tickets to this driver. He was a very jovial, round-face and round-bodied man, sweating profusely already and greeted us warmly. Extraordinarily, he wore a very brightly coloured lady’s hat that we thought he must have found somewhere. It was white, but printed with large, bright coloured flowers. It was tied around with a pink ribbon that billowed out 30 cm behind him as a light breeze caught it.
” Jambo Bwana, habari ya siku ngingi.” (Hello Bwana, what news of many days “), he beamed. A customary greeting. I replied “Mzuri sana, habari yako?” (Very good, what’s your news?) His eyes twinkled, and smile broadened even more, when he realized that I spoke a little bit of Kiswahili. He carried on in English. “You have two first-class tickets, Bwana. You sit here, next to me.” He pointed to a bench seat just inside the door, and adjacent to his.
We climbed aboard. There was a veneer of upholstery on our seat that might have been quite comfortable when it was new, but, with time, and many bums sitting on it, the stuffing had long-gone. It felt like a plank, and it didn’t bode well!
Inside, lots of smiley faces looked towards us as we appeared, as not many “Wazungus” (Europeans) travel by cross-country buses. We were a source amusement, many conversations and ladies giggling behind cupped hands.
There was a cacophony of talking, laughing and general noise. More goods were stashed in every possible space, under seats, on the overhead racks, and on laps. Mothers in bright coloured kitengi dresses and headscarves, some with babies at their breasts; men in old suits, ties and trilby hats, some in clean but ragged, shirts and shorts. One Maasai lady had a long, thin gourd on her back which I presumed contained milk for her journey. She offered some to us, but I gently declined. I was told that some Maasai mix milk with cattle’s blood and urine, to make a sort of yogurt. Young children ran freely up and down the corridor, screeching with unsuppressed excitement.
Once everyone was on board, the driver climbed into his seat. However, he was really taken with his new hat. He spent a few moments leaning out of his window, looking into the wing mirror to admire himself. He adjusted it several times until he felt he looked quite rakish, then turned to us seeking approval. He shouted to the passengers “Kila mtu yuko tayari?” (Is everyone ready?). Everybody, including me, bellowed “Ndio, twende!” (Yes, let’s go!). He continued to glance at himself in the mirror for the whole journey to Dar.
But no, we didn’t “Twende!” (Go!). The driver turned the key to start the old engine. The starter motor struggled and whirred slowly, trying to turn the engine over. A smile still across his face, he tried again, this time pumping the accelerator furiously with his foot and jolting forwards, hard, as if that would encourage it to start. Nothing. After a few more failed attempts, the battery gave up the ghost and decided to sulk.
It was apparent that the generator had not been doing its job correctly, was faulty and the battery flat. So what could we do to help? In typical African style, he asked if we could give him a push to get it going. Without any fuss, and with raucous laughter, all the men piled off, including us snooty first-class passengers. We all got to the back of the bus and gave it a push. Smiles all round, and with a great sense of camaraderie, we managed to coax it into life, black smoke enveloping us all. The driver gunned the engine to make sure it didn’t stop, and as it screamed in pain, we piled back on. Now much happier, he yelled out, “Asante sana” (Thank you). With a bus full of excited chatter, we lurched off down the road. It was going to be an interesting trip.
Maasai lady milking cow straight into her gourd.
Tembo ! (Elephant) © Duncan Smith
The driver stopped anywhere that passengers wanted to get off, even in what seemed, to John and me, literally in the middle of nowhere. There may not have been any houses in sight, just rough, dry scrub or thick forest. We wondered where they were going and how safe it might be with wild animals roaming freely. We’d seen buffaloes, elephants, giraffe, many types of gazelles and even a lion on our journey so far.
The start of the trip from Nairobi was on tar-sealed roads with the odd pothole. Once we were out of the city, it disappeared, and we were on a rutted dirt road, potholed, sometimes dry, sometimes muddy, and even worse, corrugated. It was like this for most of the way to Dar, apart from the odd major town when we hit tar seal again for a few glorious moments.
Corrugations that rattle your brain!!
Corrugations are awful, they cunningly lift themselves up from the road and get amplified through the springs of whatever vehicle you are driving. The shock-waves go up through your seat, especially hard ones like ours, and into your spine. However, your spine doesn’t really like this sensation very much, so tries to seek solace by climbing into your head. To do this, it jackhammers its way slowly upwards, trying to drill into your skull to reach the safe confines of your soft, comfortable brain. Meanwhile, it is also being bounced around inside your skull, like a peripatetic tennis ball. Quite a lot of conflict going on really! I don’t like corrugated roads.
To be continued in Part 3. See you there! :)
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