On the run

While many of you were still sleeping in the western hemisphere, I was barreling down a narrow two-lane Tanzanian highway choked with overloaded vehicles belching black smoke, bicycles carrying anything from piles of bananas or couches (yeah, that was crazy) and an endless stream of people going about their daily existence.

Erin, my fellow traveler, and I were headed toward Dar es Salaam, on our way to hopefully catch the last ferry of the day bound for the exotic-sounding island of Zanzibar. The way our Dar Express driver was speeding, I had a good feeling we might just be able to pull it off. He dodged and weaved into ongoing traffic, playing chicken with other vehicles coming our direction. It was easier not to watch.

By lunchtime, the driver caught up with the bus that left 30 minutes earlier than ours. He gave us 15 minutes to squat over a hole in the ground and pay for overpriced food. Apparently it was not enough time for two muzungas (the term people here use to describe white people) from Cleveland. The bus started taking off from the rest area before we were able to get back on, so I started running
to catch him and the cheap plastic bag holding my snacks burst, spilling onto the fine red sand. Erin stopped to retrieve them, while I ran ahead. Luckily, someone saw and the driver stopped so we could get on.

We arrived safely somehow then had to get through the throngs of taxi drivers. One wanted $20USD for an five-mile journey, when it shouldn’t have been more than 10,000 shillings ($8). The haggling began and another driver said he’d take us for the price we asked. He took us for much more than that when we were already in the car. All of a sudden, the price jumped because he was using side streets to dodge a traffic jam. When we got to the port, he wouldn’t give us our bags until we got our ferry tickets from his “friend,” but by that time the last ferry had left, so there was no pressure to buy from the wrong place. After some yelling on my part, and blank stares by the driver, we had no choice but to walk
with all our bags on us — two turtles waddling down the coast to our Plan B destination.

I had made a reservation at a hostel near the port in the event we would miss the ferry. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy to find and the guards at a hotel sent us the wrong direction.

We ended up in the lobby of the office of the president of Tanzania, where we met Juliet, who took pity on us. We explained our whole situation to her and she gave us detailed information on how to find our way. Then, she arranged for a driver to meet us when we got to Zanzibar.

There’s nothing like being able to take your complaints straight to the top!

Note: We made it safely to the island (along with 80 cartons of cheeping baby chickens) and can’t wait to kick back for five days in a row.