Today was our second day in Africa. Originally, we wanted to be sleeping in Busi tonight, but I think I was over ambitious. We made it to Babati much later than we anticipated and chose to sleep here. I didn’t want to enter into the village at 9-10 at night. I wanted to greet everyone in the daylight.
Almost all anxiety that I felt about this trip is gone. Once we made it to Raha Leo, our guest house, I was set at ease.
It is a 45 minute drive from the airport to the guest house. The plan was to save money by taking local transport the whole time. We would take a motorcycle to the main road and then take dala dalas (very cheap mini-buses) into Arusha. I told Eric that as long as we get to the main road by dark (6 km away) we’d be fine, because the dalas stop at dark. As the captain announced the beginning of our descent, I slid the airplane window open. It was pitch black outside! Eric busted out laughing, “Well, as long as we reach the main road by dark, we’ll be fine!” We both continued to laugh. Inside my stomach turned a somersault as I stared at the black glass.
Once in the airport all went smoothly. Really long lines, but no immigration scares. I knew exiting would be the moment of truth, how would tonight go? Outside stood about 15 taxi drivers trying to make several days wages from one unsuspecting tourist. I asked the middle of the group, “How much for taxi to Arusha?” “100,000 shillings,” came a reply. I clicked my mouth in typical Swahili disappointment, and balked, “Hapana!” Which, in this context, meant, “Yeah right. Are you kidding! I’m not a sucker.” They all laughed and negotiations began. The price came down to 80,000/=, but that wasn’t good enough for me, I wanted the African price and I wasn’t going to compromise. After I told them that, my soon-to-be driver retorted, “What’s your price?” “I can’t tell you.” I smiled. “Why not?” he replied. “Because you’ll laugh!” I said. “Name it,” he said. So, lowballed him, “30,000/=.” Of course, they laughed in amazement. “50,000/=,” he countered. “Twendeni!” (Let’s go!) I said immediately. $25 was even lower of a price than AIM got us with their taxi friends. I was excited the journey was off on a good foot.
Chatting the whole way to Arusha was great and my language came flooding back. The more the driver spoke, the more words I remembered. The smells, sights and sounds were intensely satisfying to my soul. I can’t begin to describe the feelings of joy I had as we passed semi trucks head-on doing 80mph in our lane as we slid to the shoulder blinded by their brights. Public transportation in Africa. Yikes. I tipped the driver for getting us to our guest house alive.
Bahati the greeter, concierges, security guard, etc… greeted me by running down the hall yelling, “Mateyo, Mateyo, Mateyo!” That’s my name in Swahili. Then he gave a long hug. I was surprised he even remembered my name. Although I shouldn’t be, I spent more time with him than anyone in Busi other than my immediate neighbors and house helpers. It was a real joy to be back in my comfort zone catching up with an old friend. The Raha Leo was my second home in Africa.
The next day we walked around Arusha a little bit doing some errands and headed to the bus station. The buildings of Arusha are built in typical Middle Eastern fashion, so Eric was on the constant lookout for snipers. The added benefits of traveling with a Marine, constant surveillance and less laundry.
Our bus ride to Babati was uneventful for an African. But for an American, African public transport is always an adventure. Eric was asked to marry the girl seated behind him. In case you’re wondering, he refused. I was asked to adopt the two children in front me, as much as I would in a heartbeat, I refused based on the fact that it’s child trafficking.
Babati was a nice traveling break. We ate some good local African food and bought some souvenirs. Our guest house left much to be desired. But it was a bed and a blanket. My language continued to come back and it was enjoyable to be negotiating for deals and being among the people again. While buying a SIM card for my phone, I asked the price to make sure it wasn’t getting ripped of. Another young man sitting there said in Swahili, “You should have charged him double.” The worker replied, “I can’t. He knows Swahili!” I laughed.
I love traveling. I love Africa. I feel whole out here. I feel like I belong, as much as an outsider who barely knows the language can. Relationship lines are blurred. Everyone is a big family. Strangers lean on each other’s shoulders and get in each other’s space. I feel comfortable here. I’m comfortable holding another man’s hand strolling through the village. There’s a sense of welcomeness.
Tomorrow we enter Busi. I’m excited and nervous, but mostly filled with anticipation.
