And now to work...

The return to Dodoma is as challenging as the week that follows. After waiting for an hour and a half under the sun, the late bus arrives already full. I get on and find my seat already taken. I try to claim it as it is a window seat and I want to get some shots of the animals this time. The man however doesn’t budge. When I see the man sitting next to him wearing handcuffs I quickly resign and go right to the back where there’s still a free middle seat. The bumpy and hot journey is made easier by Elvis, Billy Joel, Fado, Cold Play, Soda Estereo and the Doors. Good old alkaline batteries... No chance of spotting any animals this time though. Arriving in Dodoma I find Amy is still sick though on her way to recovery. She’s taking this week off and so is the most senior colleague, Justin, as his elderly father has died over the weekend. On Monday I go with my other two colleagues to withdraw money from the bank to pay for the coffin and buy him (plastic!) flowers. We go to his village to give him our condolences and greet all his family. I can now introduce myself and pick up a few words of the conversation here and there. As the eldest son, Justin is now head of his family, but also of the families of his father’s other two wives. And so I learn that polygamy is still widely practiced here.

Riverside Campsite & Iringa

Two hours later I arrive at Riverside. It is an idyllic place. There’s fresh green grass and Godwin, the care taker, leads me to my stone banda. I have a four-pole double bed, a bunk bed and a single bed to choose from! Besides having to scoop out the frogs before using the toilet, this place is so relaxing!! I spend the week learning Swahili with Ishmael. He is a great teacher, apparently with the “purest of Swahili accents” as he comes from Zanzibar. Fortunately a lovely Kiwi-Australian lady, Ruth, is also starting from scratch so we can study together. Ruth is an amazing woman. She’s left her life in Brisbane behind to come to Tanzania to work on a voluntary basis at SIL. During the week other interesting passers-by join us for meals. People driving, walking and cycling all the way across Africa, many from Europe to Cape Town. Four Americans raising awareness about the social benefits of sport in the build-up to the World Cup; a Scotsman and a South African, both recently retired, with marvellous stories from the rough roads and how incredibly unequipped young travellers are; and families from other parts of the world. Dad sends me cliff-hanger text message updates on the post-election scene back home. Ruth and I stay away from the TV room as what could have been a black mamba has recently been spotted there...! Instead we go on lovely walks by the riverside with gorgeous black Labrador, Polly, crossing coffee plantations, and fields of Echinacea and African tulip trees. We go to Iringa with other students for dinner a couple of times. It is a welcoming town, cooler and cleaner than Dodoma. I buy a beautiful lamp from Neema Crafts, a crafts centre run by deaf and disabled people. What a lovely place!

A Paradise Lost

The following day I head out to Iringa to take a one week intensive course in Swahili. A colourful Sumry High Class bus, this is the top notch bus company which besides taking you in neon-colourful surroundings gives you soda and sweeties at the start of the nine hour trip. In exchange for this you put up with a screen showing violent soap operas and MTV amplifying Celine Dion and rap all the way. This time I’m not as lucky with my side companion. Besides leaning on me to the point of crushing me onto the window, he unapologetically uses half my lap to spread out his papers and begin marking. I think he wants to make it obvious he is a teacher and speaks English, as he soon starts conversing non-stop. Unfortunately this time I sense he is keener to talk than I am, as I have been told that the bus will be crossing a national park and I’ll get the chance to see wild animals. Philip jabs away and despite hardly saying a word myself he stresses how happy he is to meet me and asks for my contact details so that “we can keep in touch for ever”. At this point, I give him my email address, close my eyes and plug in my MP3 player. After a while I wake up to the sight of ELEPHANTS! But it’s too late to take a photo... Then I see a herd of zebras, eating lazily a bit further away from the road. I keep looking with my camera on hold and only after the best part of an hour do I see a herd of gazelles. Wow. What a sight! Had we been there at a darker time of day or the weather been less hot, other marvels like giraffes and hyenas might have crossed our way. Maybe next time...

I’m woken up suddenly by Philip who assures me we’ve reached the point on the motorway where I should get off. I was instructed to get off before reaching Iringa where there was a big sign for Riverside Campsite, and I have asked the driver and Philip also to point it out. I see there’s a big sign, so I get off and get my luggage from the boot. The bus drives away and I feel in the middle of nowhere: a semi-deserted area with few bushes and one long road cutting through it. I take out my camera to take pictures of such isolation. I follow Amy’s instructions to walk about one kilometre into the bush, where the sign is pointing. I notice the sign does say “riverside” but in smaller font than I’d been told. I feel lucky to have been woken up in time, “good old Philip” I think to myself.

Now, I had been warned that this is low season and there would only be a handful of students at most. But as I reach the resort-looking open banda with sofas, a few tables and an open bar I soon realize there is nobody to be seen. I try calling Steve, the camp manager who I’m meant to introduce myself to, but there is no phone signal. I sit on a sofa and then see a boy mowing a tiny bit of lawn nearby. I greet him and ask for Steve. He smiles, nods and says he’ll call Martin. He returns after a while and asks me to wait. A yellow jeep then arrives and an English middle-aged man gets off. I hurry towards him. “Steve?” I ask. He nods with a blank look on his face and says “Hi”. I tell him I’m Sophia. After trying to explain who I am and getting no welcoming response, he says, “I don’t think I’m your Steve. I’m just passing by with my family; we’re on our way to Kigali”. I apologize and go back to the sofa where I doze off for a while.

I wake to the sound of English conversation. An Aussie trio are chatting to Steve and his wife, while two little blonde boys play around me and ask me if I want to see a trick. I nod and listen up to what the adults are saying. The Aussies then ask me what I’m doing here. When I tell them I ‘m here to study Swahili they look perplexed. “I thought that was something you can only do at Riverside...”. So I say, “Is this not Riverside?!!!”. Apparently not. Riverside is still 145 km away. Oh sugar. They all laugh and offer me a beer. Fortunately Steve and Helena are driving via Iringa and say they can give me a lift. I can’t believe my luck. There’s no seatbelt on the front passenger seat so Helena was going to sit at the back with Toby and Oli anyway. We chat about different development projects in the region, they even offer me my first “Tuskers” beer and I learn lots about their life in Arusha and Tanzania in general. Steve has lived here for thirteen years and was born in Kenya before being sent to boarding school in England, so he is bilingual and dexterous in handling the road, including talking his way out of corrupt police fines.

First Impressions

The office is based in the same compound as the Regional Administration and is only a ten minute bike ride away from home. The team is welcoming and I go on a couple village visits in the first week. I notice people in Tanzania are very polite, something we have in common! I learn a lot about the details of STT’s work and about the impact it has on village communities. Lots of new words to learn in Swahili and other local languages and exotic fruit to taste, but especially new social graces to acquire. For instance, in the villages not finishing your soda is close to being rude for it’s a waste and a clear sign of indulgence.

I end my first week in Dodoma in style. We are invited by some friends of Amy’s to Fiorenzo’s vineyard. He is a wealthy Italian entrepreneur who is developing the Tanzanian wine industry and currently has a factory with a capacity of 900,000 litres. A night of mingling with interesting and extroverted foreigners and tasting (I’d like to say great but maybe I’ll think differently in a few months...) wine. We stay over at his villa and have delicious espresso the next morning before work on Saturday.

Home Sweet Home?

I arrive in dusty Dodoma and Amy, whom I’ll soon be replacing, picks me up in STT’s Toyota Land Cruiser. She has mastered the old beast and knows the roads well. If I don’t learn to drive here, where I’ll most need to, I don’t know when I will! We arrive at the house. It is a sweet three bedroom bungalow with a basic (repeat basic) bathroom and a kitchen. As I’ll be living on my own here, I’m staying in the master bedroom which has a wardrobe and a bigger bathroom with hand sink and a squat – but flush – toilet. There are locks galore everywhere and at night I feel exposed as the curtains don’t actually cover the windows! However Tumaini is a trusted night guard and there’s no way the furless cat (who I suspect also has rabies) can get in.


Unfortunately my toilet is currently an aquarium of tadpoles and unknown swimming organisms. Three plumbers come the next day to fix the pipes. As days go by I feel more secure and realize that concerns of danger I might have had are easily tamed as you grow familiar with the area. Sadly, Amy is sick with Malaria and though she makes some effort to show me around and introduce me to a few people, her condition deteriorates and has to stay in bed. I am thus left to my own devices to find things out. After bartering at the market and buying fresh naan bread from the Indian shop, I cook her a bean meal. When I rinse the beans and leave them to soak I notice some of them move...yes beans and beetles come in the same bag! The avocados taste AMAZING!!! And this is no small statement coming from someone who grew up with “agaucates colombianos”.

Journey to Dodoma

The next morning I’m taken to the coach station by Bariki, a trusted taxi driver. It is now that I start regretting not having started to learn Swahili before coming. My ability to communicate is thus confined to the size of a pocket: my Lonely Planet phrasebook. But even to use that effectively, requires quick memory of page numbers and contents...so I sit back and decide to enjoy the last few minutes of luxury: air conditioning.

There is no way an unaided Muzungu can get on the right coach at that station. Luckily Bariki knows this too well and helps me find my bus. A battered bus but well organized, with seat numbers and not overcrowded. I smile at the discovery of my window seat. After a few hours I start conversation with a beautiful girl sitting next to me. An Economics student at the University of Dodoma, she is only a bit younger than me and her English is fluent. Jackie soon reveals her wise, friendly and intellectual personality. What luck! The road to Dodoma is not particularly scenic so we are both happy to chat most of the way there. She tells me about the vast influence China has on the development of Dodoma and the rapid growth of her university, a public institution, as the general elections approach later in the year.

Stop-over in Dar es Salaam

I land safely in Dar Es Salaam, and pick up my luggage. Dar is doing its best to be hospitable and squeeze the chaos to one side for the World Economic Forum pilgrims. They flow past me in the immigration queue and I later learn they will have no sense of the traffic marmalade that normally spreads through the city. While the general public is stuck in stagnant traffic on the lateral roads, the main roads are reserved for the exclusive use of officials. Public transport management will probably not be on their meeting agenda then...

I exit the airport and scan through the crowd for a fragile but respectable man, Mr Embema. The retired Deputy High Commissioner for Tanzania and patron of STT, the organization I’ll be working for, is nowhere to be seen. Where is he?? I find instead a young looking couple with a sign saying "Sofia Sunseed". "Im Mzilasi, Mr Embema's daughter, this Aaron my husband. Unfortunately Mr Embema has been taken ill and is in hospital". I offer my sympathy and change money and am led to a healthy looking vehicle. I wonder how serious Mr Embema’s illness in. They say they think it’s a bout of Malaria. They promptly drop me off at the hotel and continue onto the hospital.