Sweet bus ride...

Conveniently……

Hello world. Jill and Bethany here bringing you the latest update! Beware, it is long, but entertaining.

So here we are, trying to make our way across Tanzania before our visas run out… but the going is very, very sloooow. Pole-POLE! A few days ago, we had a truly African bus ride experience. Where to begin…

Since our original plan of taking the train from Dodoma to Kigoma was foiled (tickets were all sold out until Feb. 9—waaay past our visa expiry date), we found ourselves stranded in Dodoma with only one possible way of getting to Kigoma. Taking ANOTHER bus up to Tabora and trying to catch the train from there. It seemed like a good plan. We were told by various people that the bus ride would be anywhere from 6-10 hours.

We arrived at the bus depot at 11:00 AM expecting the bus to pull in at around 11:30, but ended up standing in the blistering heat until 12:30 when the bus actually arrived. We quickly placed our luggage with the pile of bags to be loaded and climbed on the bus to discover that it had been badly overbooked. Will fought to find the seats on our tickets, conveniently at the very back of the bus, and Erik (our new Swedish friend), Bethany, and I were standing as the bus pulled away, conveniently positioned again to look out the window and discover that all of the bags had been loaded… except ours. We watched them sitting in the dirt while we tried to explain the situation to our fellow bus mates (none of which spoke English very well) and they responded with, “Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay!” Trusting their words of wisdom, we continued on our way to stop for a “break” about 10 minutes later. At which point our bags pulled up in a taxi. With no room left underneath the bus, our bags ended up strapped to the top, always a safe place to be.

We found our seats once again—Bethany sandwiched between two Tanzanians in front of Erik, Will, and I in the back. It’s funny traveling with Will because his legs are so long that they never seem to fit anywhere, especially on buses. Conveniently again, THIS particular bus was falling apart and the seats in front of us were too close to our seats for Will to sit normally. Throw Erik’s long legs into the equation and we have an even bigger problem. So we finally pull away, on our way to Tabora, and about 20 minutes down the road the bus comes to a halt. Police Check! You will remember from the beginning that the bus was badly over-packed and there were about seven people standing in the aisle. Two policeman walk on the bus and the aisle-standers duck and a lot of Swahili is spoken. Then after another 20 minutes… the bus turns around. Always a good sign. We were informed by the man next to us, the only one who could speak English on the whole bus, that, “We are going to the police station so they can charge us. And then we will drop some people off. And THEN we will go to Tabora. No problem!” So we pass the station where we initially loaded, now gaining negative mileage towards our destination. After a quick 20 minute stop at the police station, we finally continued on our way (about 2 hours later, with… the same amount of people in the bus). A little further down the road we get pulled over for a police check AGAIN and a woman dressed in a sailor outfit climbs on the bus and proceeds to yell at all the bus occupants for about 10 minutes straight. In Swahili. We have no idea what she said, but luckily we didn’t have to make another detour back to the police station.

We continued on our way and promptly the roads began to… deteriorate. As we hit dirt roads we see simultaneously, in the very near distance, a completely gray horizon of death, and we remember that all of our backpacks… are on top of the bus. The roads became steadily worse for the next 4 hours as it continued to rain and we continued to go through pothole after mud puddle after pothole. We were convinced that at ANY second we were going to get stuck in the absolute middle of nowhere. As the roads are steadily deteriorating, the seats are steadily inching backwards with each bump we hit forcing Will into the fetal position. At this point Jill has to go to the bathroom, which is a permanent condition which she lives with, and her hopes begin to rise as we pull into the first small town we’ve seen in hours. But, being behind schedule, the bus pulls straight on through the town, drives for another 10 minutes, and then stops in the bush. Bathroom break !!! About a minute after Jill gets off the bus ( which takes a while because we are at the back) the driver begins revving the engine and honking for everyone to get back on. She is one of the last people back on the bus and we can hear people complaining about “the mzungu” who is holding the bus up.

As the bus starts moving again, we decide it is time to try and create a little more leg room. Erik stands up in aisle, but is too tall, and now his head is hitting the roof every time we hit a bump, which is at least every 3.4 seconds. The locals behind are hysterical at this point, bursting out into laughter every time Erik’s head hits the ceiling. So Will gives it a shot. Same result. The only other option is Jill, who is conveniently shorter than the guys. She ends up standing in the aisle for two hours, and only sits back back down for a third police check!

It is at this point that we realize that this bus ride is going to be a lot longer than 6-10 hours. The bus starts moving again, and there is approximately six inches of leg room left, quickly disappearing. However, things start to look up as we hit a patch of smooth roads. We pull up to another town (around 11:00 pm) and stop outside a restaurant. Of course, I (Jill) have to go to the bathroom again, so I get off the bus and ask “ Choo iko wapi ?” and end up in this sleazy bar, with a bunch of half drunk Tanzanians yelling “Mzungu” as I walk into the bathroom, which didn’t lock. I was caught between two evils : not peeing at all, or peeing in the bathroom of a sleazy bar with drunk Tanzanians yelling “Mzungu!” outside the door. I chose to pee.

We get back on the bus and I (Bethany) ask the guy next to me, the only one on the bus who spoke English “ How far is Tabora ?” and he says “ About three hours, no problem”
What ?! Another three hours ?! It was another horrible road.

Long story short ( too late, I know) we pulled into Tabora at 2:45 AM groggy-eyed, with bruised knees from lack of knee room, hot and sweaty and wanting only to shower before going to bed. We found a hotel, and the last twist of irony is that the showers didn’t work! In fact, no water whatsoever trickled out of the tap. I don’t think that day could have gotten too much worse.

The next day we rode a train for 14 hours, overnight, 3rd class. To understand what that was like, take the above and multiply by 10. A few highlights were : 170 people in a car with 70 seats, Jill getting lactated on from across the aisle, and a permanent smell of body odour in the car.

Ask us some other time about our fantastic travel experience getting to Bujumbura where Jill learned to say for the first time, in Swedish, “My father is a Viking”

Peace and Love everyone, peace and love


Bethany and Jill ( different name same brain) AKA W’all