Adventures in East African Road Travel - Part 2

We did make it to Mwanza that day, but almost an hour after dark, and in the rain. It’s quite an experience rolling into a fairly large African town in the dark and rain having never been there before. We were planning to stay at a Catholic guest house, but I had left the name of it at home in Kigoma and didn’t know where it was. I called Nathan, another missionary from Kigoma whom I knew was travelling in or near Mwanza, to ask him for directions. He gave me the number of his brother Steve, who lives in Mwanza, and It turned out I had just passed the place! By God’s grace we finally found the correct entrance and got checked in around 8pm that night. They even had their own kitchen where we bought our dinner of cold fish and rice. That was our first real “meal” of the day (all of the others being PBJ sandwiches, banana bread, and potato crisps that we brought with us).

My plan was to get the car checked out and repaired the next day so that we could leave Mwanza early Monday morning and be into Nairobi before dark on Monday night. Remember what I said before about our plans and God laughing? Yeah… round two.

(Part of Mwanza as seen from a point accross the water)

Because Kigoma has a very high percentage of Muslims, I’m accustomed to many places being opened on Sundays and thought it would be no problem to get the car taken care of. Well, not only does Mwanza have a lot less Muslims than Kigoma, but I hit a triple whammy as far as timing goes. Being Sunday, all of the businesses that were Christian owned were closed. Being the second day of the end of Ramadan, most of the Muslim-owned businesses were closed for celebration. And to top it all off, that Sunday just happened to be the anniversary of the death of President Nyerere, the father of the nation, which is a national holiday! So… there was no getting the car fixed that day!

We decided to drive around and see a bit of Mwanza to get our bearings. We also tried to scout out a place to get the car worked on first thing Monday morning. We even took the kids swimming for a couple of hours in a pool at a local hotel. Later in the afternoon I sent a text to Nathan to see when he would be back into Mwanza. He said that he and his family were already there and they invited us over to Steve’s house for fellowship and popcorn that evening. Not only did we have a nice time meeting his brother’s family and fellowshipping, but Steve and Nathan helped me look at the car and we discovered some of the damage that would need to be repaired the next morning. They also told me of the best garage in town to get the work done at. So the day turned out to be fruitful and quite relaxing, and we all really needed it after our (mis)adventures the preceding day.

(Jon and Jada in the pool in Mwanza)

Monday morning I dropped off the family somewhere where they could eat breakfast while I dealt with the car. It turns out that I had blown a couple of shocks, and the two shocks that weren’t blown were actually the wrong ones for my car anyway (too weak). So I had the garage put on all new heavy duty shocks, balance the tires, and do an alignment. I was hoping that would fix all my problems, especially the wobbling wheel, but it didn’t. The previous night Nathan guessed that the wobbling was due to radial ply separation and suggested that I buy new tires because they were typically cheaper in Mwanza than in Nairobi. But I was hoping not to have to spend the money (that’s my Scottish blood speaking), so I decided to leave them be and see what would happen. Bad decision.

(Lake Victoria in Mwanza, Tanzania)

The road from Mwanza up to the border with Kenya was decent. There were some potholes to avoid for the first hour, but then it got better. We were driving with the windows down to stay cool and save fuel by not using the a/c. Every time we hit a small bump or went over one of the MANY speed bumps along the highway, I would here a hiss. I figured it was either an innate feature of the type of shock they used, or the shocks that I just paid nearly $400 for were no good. As I found out about 20 minutes later IT WAS NEITHER. What I was hearing was the sound of the sidewall slowly failing on the best of the five tires. Eventually it completely disintegrated and I was back into Dukes of Hazard mode. Oh… and you’ll never guess which tire it was! That’s right… the right rear.

There was no real shoulder to pull over onto and the best and most flat spot I could find within the 5 seconds that I had to decide was once again on the wrong side of the road (which is actually the right side here). On top of that it was on a blind corner! The fun just never ends. I had the family evacuate the vehicle for safety’s sake, then I got busy with the tire changing routine. We were honked at a few times by bus and taxi drivers who didn’t agree with our choice of real estate for changing the tire. At one point there was a pack of bicyclists coming around the corner towards us that needed to swerve out into the road around us but were blind to the bus coming the other way. That was a lot of fun… NOT! Thankfully they’re accustomed to the most insane of roadside situations on this continent and everybody made it by safely. Within 10 minutes we were done and one the road again headed for Kenya – only now without a spare tire.

Eventually we actually made it to the rainy border with Kenya, and began the tedious process of leaving Tanzania and entering Kenya. Whenever leaving or entering an East African country, it’s best to stop and check in with every single office and every single official in that office just to make them feel like they have a purpose for being there. There are really only two people that need to see, say, or do anything in regards to our crossing, but “when in Rome…”.
First stop was the police station. “Habari za leo?” I said. Blah blah blah… and then on to the next office. Second was the actual immigration office. First you stand in line and wait. Then you get to the counter and they tell you what form to fill out before getting back into the same line again to stand and wait. Filling out the same form six times for my family is always a blast too. So after making small talk in my limited Swahili, the officer stamped us all out and we were finished. Kind of.

I knew I was supposed to go to the TRA office (Tanzania Revenue Authority) to get my “Temporary Export of Vehicle” form stamped. This is a form I filled out and had signed at the TRA office in Kigoma where I left my Registration Card. When I return to Kigoma I give them the form back with all of the correct signatures and they give me back my registration card – in theory. Anyhow, I didn’t see the office and so I almost proceeding without visiting. A short, crippled man came to my open window and started telling me in broken English that I needed to visit such and such a place to get my car papers signed. Of course I thought that he must work for them and was doing me a kind favor so I thanked him and told him how I almost forgot. He took the paper from my hand and walked me over to the official who signs such forms. I sat down and the official started looking for the right log book (about 5 minutes or so) and then filled out the two lines and signed it (another 5 minutes). I noticed that he treated the man who had “helped” me to find the office with a bit of disdain. That’s when it hit me… this guy doesn’t work for the TRA office but “works” the border helping people for money or something similar. When I was done he once again grabbed the paper from me and said I had to show it to someone else when I officially crossed the border. I snatched it back and told him politely that I could handle it myself. I got in the car, backed out of the parking space, and proceeded towards the official border gate.

A couple of feet before I crossed, the crippled man reappeared in my window unnoticed, giving me quite a start. He said I needed to show the paper to another official and tried to take it from me. I refused until I saw the official sitting there under the shade of a tree by the gate. When I saw him I started to put the car in park so I could walk it over to him myself but the “worker” grabbed it and started to take it for me. The official just nodded and waved his hand at the guy so he’d give me the paper back. I was clear to cross.

I crossed quickly and began looking for the Kenyan version of everything I had just gone through so that I could reverse the whole process. You’ll never guess who popped up out of thin air next to my car with his face practically in my window! That’s right. Same guy, different country! This time when I was very adamant that I could handle it myself he finally “showed his hand” and asked if I wanted to buy Kenyan Auto Insurance for my visit. Aha! I finally figured out who this “helpful” guy was. He’s the reason I bought insurance in Kigoma for our trip. They charge triple or more at the border.

Between the car and the immigration office there must have been a half a dozen salespeople trying to “help” me and then asking if I needed insurance or to exchange for Kenyan Shillings. I managed to work my way through them and get into the immigration office so I could pay the exorbitant visa fees for my family to visit Kenya for a week or so. After that, I went next door to the KRA (you guessed it… the Kenyan Revenue Authority) so I could “temporarily import” my vehicle from Tanzania. The official there gave me the form and watched me fill it out, and then he told me I had to go to a different office to get it signed. This office was, of course, a hundred and fifty meters away, around a corner, and behind another building that is itself being hidden by the large trucks they are weighing. So another salesperson helped me find it while trying to sell me auto insurance for the twenty-seventh time.

I found the office, showed the official there the form I had filled out at the first office, and was told the exorbitant fee to “temporarily import” my vehicle for a week or so. He wrote down the price on my form, signed it, and gave me a copy. Then he told me to go back to the first office I was in where I had filled out the form (T.I.A. – this is Africa). I found my way back just before they closed the office for the day (thank you Lord) and showed him my form. He commented on the fact that I could have paid nothing if I was staying only a week, a fact that the other man failed to mention, and that this man attributed to the other man’s greed (TIA). I paid and got the change and a receipt (a speedy 15 minutes) and we were FINALLY on our way to Kisii, Kenya, our stop for the night. Part 3 to follow...

Adventures in East African Road Travel - Part 1

We left our home in Kigoma, Tanzania on Saturday, October 13th, at 6:30 am. Our plan was to drive about 12 hours to Mwanza, Tanzania, stay the night there, and then drive another 12 hours from Mwanza to Nairobi, Kenya the next day. We were taking Aaron, our friend and fellow-missionary, with us to Nairobi so he could catch his plane back to the States from there. We figured we could make it to Nairobi by Sunday night, and that way Aaron could spend a couple of days in Nairobi with us seeing some sights and having some last minute fellowship with us. Then we would have some meetings with some missionaries from Calvary Chapel Nairobi to glean some information and wisdom to apply to our efforts in Kigoma, before returning home. Well... that was the plan. At this point I have to mention a little refrigerator plaque that some friends of our in the States have. It says, "We plan, God laughs". That pretty much sums up our plans for our trip to Nairobi.

The same week we were supposed to leave I kept getting flat tires. I think I had two that week, plus the one the month before. For those of you who grew up watching "Dukes of Hazard" like I did, then you might remember how Bo and Luke were superfast at changing a flat tire. They prided themselves in it and even timed themselves. So by the time that we left for Nairobi, I felt like one of the Duke boys - a speedy, tire-changing machine.

So, back to the trip.

We left a half-hour later than planned (not bad considering the four kids from 9 years to 18 months), and started off for Nairobi. The first six hours is all unpaved. It's a combination of decently smooth dirt, small to medium washboard dirt, horrendously large washboard dirt that shakes the parts on your car loose, rocks, ruts, mud, holes, and blind corners. Are we there yet?! After only an hour on the road we got a flat on the right rear tire. I'll let you guess which tire had gone flat and required changing two times already that same week... that's right: the right rear! So I pulled over to the right (the wrong side of the road of course) and switched mental gears into "Duke" mode, and swapped out the flat tire for the spare. My family clearly didn't realize my new-found skill as a flat-tire-swapper because they all got out and began having a roadside picnic for breakfast! Within 15 minutes we were ready to go and I was hearding them all back into the vehicle. (The picture below is of Aaron and Jada watching me change the tire. I'm the white leg sticking our from underneadth the car.)

About a half hour later we reached Kasulu, where I pulled over at the first "tire fundi" that I saw ('fundi' is Swahili for expert or technician). If you've never lived in rural East Africa then you don't know what I mean by "tire fundi" and unfortunately I don't have a picture. So let me try to paint one. Imagine a couple or three guys covered in dirt and grease, standing by the side of the road with metallic implements that look like they were carved from the scrap metal left over from the car of the last fool who stopped to get help there. Oh yeah, and of course there's always the air hoses with various forms of electircal and duct tape covering the many holes so that the air can make it to the end, which of course has absolutely no fitting on it so that the guts of the tire's air valve must be "delicately" removed before shoving the end of the hose on for filling. The hose is attached to a 40-something-year old air compressor that barely works being run by a 50-something-year old hand-crank-started generator that coughs and chokes and vomits out great clouds of black smoke so that you have an aromatic ambiance by which to enjoy watching the fundi destroy... I mean work on your tire. So anyhow... ONE HOUR LATER the tire man is finished "fixing" the tire. What this really means is that he spent 30 minutes patching the hole in the existing tube before he looked closer and found a couple of others. And rather than watch him repeat the same painfully slow process multiple times, I avoided the cost of having to sleep in the car in Kasulu that night by providing him with a brand new tube that I had brought as a spare! So 6,000 Tanzanian Shillings later we were off (1,000 for the repair and 5,000 for a lug nut to replace the special locking one for the spare that Aaron torqued so hard it twisted in half).

Back on the road we made our way towards the next landmark/milepost: Kibondo. I was curious to see this place because I had heard such interesting things about it. Namely, that it was located in a physically beautiful location, but that you didn't want to be there past dark, or even to stray too far from the main road during the day. Apparently even the UN workers who are based there have a dusk curfew so they don't get into any trouble with the local thieves, robbers, murderers and other unfriendly elements. Sure enough... it really is set in a beautiful location and seems like a wonderful little town during the day. We paused only long enough to top off the tank for the long haul to Mwanza. So after pouring another bundle of cash down the fuel tank filling pipe, we were off again. (Fuel is about 1,600 Tshs per litre. That currently equates to about $5.30 per gallon or $112 for just over 20 gallons for those of you in the U.S.)

From Kibondo we continued on another hour and half or so until we FINALLY came to the tarmac at a town called Nyakanazi. This is where the tarmac (pavement or asphalt to those in the U.S.) begins and continues on east all the way to the capital of Dar es Salaam on the coast. There is also one leg up to Mwanza and on to the Kenyan border and later one leg up to Arusha and on to the Kenyan border. The route to and through Mwanza is the best and fastest and the one that we took. (By the way, any decent map of Tanzania or even East Africa will show most, if not all, of the names of towns I've mentioned so far. I bought one at Barnes and Noble for $10 or $12 last year).

In Nyakanazi we passed through or fourth or fifth "police check". By this time I've learned to just pull up and start greeting them in Swahili and telling them where you're from (Kigoma) and where you're headed (Mwanza) and ask them something like "how much further?" or "what's the road like ahead?" Using this method we have never been detained or delayed more than 20 seconds or so – though I’m regularly mistaken for some Afrikaans guy from South Africa that apparently knows every single policeman in Northwestern Tanzania! Once we got onto the tarmac I was finally able to speed up. I was actually going over 70 kilometers per hour (that's around 44 MPH!). It sounds funny, but it felt really fast to me at first. Slowly my confidence in the car and the road began to grow and our speed grew in concert with it. Other than the ridiculous amount of police stops along the way, we were able to maintain over 100 kph for quite some time.

That's when it happened. That's when the beautiful sound of BFGoodrich All-Terrain Tires singing for joy on the tarmac suddenly produced a sour note! I had been warned that the tarmac near the town of Kahama was bad, but because I've never driven across Tanzania I didn't really have a point of reference for what “bad” means. NOW I KNOW. Several kilometers before Kahama the tarmac began to get rough and broken up in places. It appeared somewhat patched, but by no means was it truly repaired. I tried my best to pay attention and swerve around potholes and large cracks and bad patches without losing too much time (since we had already gotten behind schedule by almost two hours). I was doing pretty well for a while, but then the fatigue of getting up early and doing so much driving got the best of me and my mind began to wander. I know you know what I mean. When your eyes are wide open and you don't really feel tired, but your mind has simply left the confines of your physical head and travelled half-way around the world thinking about things you can't even remember later. So my eyes were open and reporting danger ahead, but my mind wasn't open for receiving instructions. When it finally came around my conscious mind realized that just ahead was an enormous pothole that couldn't be swerved around and avoided. In shock and horror I immediately applied the brakes and told everyone to hold on. Keeping the brakes on through the pothole would destroy many parts on the car, so just before the hole I let off. I was also able to swerve a little bit so that only the right side (driver's side here) would go through it. And go through it we did. Unfortunately, this 8 foot wide, 3 foot across, 6 inch deep "pothole" wasn't really something you are supposed to go "through" at almost 90 kph (around 55 mph). The right side of the car took an enormous impact in both front and back, and my countenance turned from tired-but-content to adrenaline-filled-but-angry-and-depressed. I immediately sensed that something just wasn't right with the car now... go figure!

After that incident, the road actually got much better. It was practically brand new and well done. Unfortunately, the Tanzanian government decided to put a speed bump at the beginning and end (and sometimes in the middle) of any stretch of roadside land that has even a single building near it. So even though the roads were great, we had to watch for speed bumps EVERY FEW KILOMETERS. It really was ridiculous and ate up a lot of time. And often the sign to warn you about the bump was missing or misplaced, so the same car and suspension that had already impacted a huge crater in the ground earlier, was now being confronted with "out-of-the-blue" speed bumps the size of curbs. Let’s just say that the suspension didn't like that any better that the potholes.

After a few of these curb-sized speed bumps I noticed that the indicator light was on that represented the spare tire door was open. I pulled over to open and reclose it, figuring that it had been jarred loose by the impact. When I opened the door, the latch that held it shut fell to the ground. It was broken in half. So I drove slowly for several kilometers until we came to an area with a few shops along the side of the road and I bought some red string. Using the string I secured the spare tire to the car by tying it to the roof rack and we were off again, now over two hours behind schedule.

The rest of the drive to Mwanza was relatively uneventful. I drove very cautiously, yet trying to hurry as much as I could so we could make it there by dark. It was a balancing act between speed and sensibility because the car was now making noises and the steering wheel was wobbling side to side so much that I had to consciously focus to keep it straight.

Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon.