Northern Ethiopia Part 1: History, mystery, myth and faith.

Filling in the afternoon before leaving Addis, we visit St. George Cathedral. Looking around we bumped into two young jokers, both strategists with the British Conservative Party. Matt, an Englishman, and James, Aussie who has lived in London five and a half years,. Nice guys. We went for a beer and a graze. "So where in Oz are you from, James?" "Queensland." "Me too, where abouts?" "You probably won't know it, a small place on the Sunshine Coast." "Try me!" "Bli Bli." "Get out of here, the family beach house was in Mudjimba." "We owned a cane farm on the Maroochy River, below Dunethin Rock." "Crikey. We used to go swimming there." We talk fishing at North Shore, crabbing and water skiing the Maroochy River, Nambour, etc. This will all mean a lot more to my family. Small world.

Apparently, a British TV programme, 'Off the Beaten Track' is one driver behind tourists visiting Northern Ethiopia. Does anyone else see the irony - watch a show about off the beaten track and get your pointers for heading off on mass? Another driver for visitors, it seems, are the readers of 'The Da Vinci Code' of on their search for the Ark. For us: it was was the next place on the map north. Pleased we've 'found' it. Our reading along the way has made us want to visit.

Traveling the 'northern loop' has been a bit of a thrash, but not too bad. Roads have improved heaps under the new government (and foreign aid - a lot from China, and now some from Japan). This district was previously known for its 'The Devil's Roads'. The 'Off the beaten track' should be renamed 'off the beaten Flight Path'. Nearly all the Europeans/Brit visitors seem to fly the route, centre to centre, on the Ethiopian Airines hopper. We haven't seen other ferang on the buses.

Roads are very windy, many switch backs. Unnervingly, there are many trucks and buses wrecks a-plenty on the corners. They overtake like crazy. Many tank and armoured personnel carriers litter the highway-side as well. The top end of the 'loop' is Tigray, and it was the TPLF - Tigray People's Liberation Front that spear headed the rebel ousting of Mengistu and The Derg, so remnants of the war are not so surprising. Did you know that when the rebels stormed Addis they did so with an enlarged photocopy of the map of Addis Ababa, from the Lonely Plant Africa: On a shoestring travel guide? I know this having read Aidan Hartley's The Zanzibar Chest (Harper Perennial). Hartley was a journalist and rode in with the rebels on one of the first tanks to storm the Palace. He supplied the Lonely Planet. From my experience with the Lonely Braincell, it was lucky they arrived at the right place.

First leg of our travel (Addis to Bahia Dar) and the public transport was 4WD Landcruiser. A good thing: flooding, washouts, bogs. This was a private enterprise, yet there were USAID stickers on the side doors, and across the dashboard. Don't ask me!

A converstaion with one 'off the beaten track-er' was interesting. She was saying that after the 'northern loop' she had another week and a half in Ethiopia, but unsure of what to do. "Harar," I suggested. "But that's an Islamic city, isn't it?" "Yes, but ... " "God (which one?), I wouldn't go there! So, a 'little bit off the beaten track' is it?

In Bahir Dar, we hired a boat to take us around Lake Tana, visiting Christian Orthodox monastries. The full-wall murals of colourfully painted biblical stories are just fantastic. We shared the boat with a couple, she Irish, he German - rather unusual (almost as odd as Australian and New Zealander perhaps?), who are both PhDs, both atomic physicists. How is it that all trip, intelligent and educated people have sought our company?

Walking to the bus station (at 8:00am for once!), a wild-eyed, crazed, wreck of a human being dressed solely in rags of a pair of shorts leapt in front of me and grabbed at my pack. I wanted to yell something like "Please go away", but it came out as just two words! I took a wild swing at him, missed, and he shot of like a robber's dog. Kind of unnerving. Locals looked equally surprised - probably at my performance.

In Gondor (Amarhic to English translation means you get Gonder, Gondor, Gondar all in equal representation), a really nice town - by Ethiopian standards (!), I got a haircut for one dollar fifty kiwi. That's capitalist greed. Shocking.

But checking into our budget hotel in Gonder, we were surprised to discover a TV in the room. Switch on to see what was available. Stone the crows! Highlights of Tour de France, on Super Sports from South Africa. Just finishes of all the stages, and updates on all the doping scandals. But, hey, if that's all I've seen ... I could have stayed a long time in Gondar (There! see I've used all three versions myself now).

Picked up a Tourist Map of Gondor. You know the type, we have them in Oz and NZ as well - map with a couple of pictures of highlight sites and around the border advertisements for restaurants, bars, the like. But I just have to share with you some of the 'better' ads. This is all verbatim, fair dinkum:

Habesha Kitho Cafe.
Habesha Kitho Cafe has atypical Ethiopian traditional style in the interior
decoration. It also serves Ethiopian traditional cuisine. However, prices are
double for foreigners. (appealing)

Childa Bar.
This bar has good atmosphere with its interior. A variety of alcohol is available here. Staff are usually friendly and speak English very good.

Terara Hotel.
Terara Hotel is difficult to find because it is in a forrest. The hotel has a good open air cafeteria with a beautiful garden. Draft beer is available. Meat and fish dishes are available during fasting. You can also play table tennis. (nice)

Seleam Restaurant
Seleam Restaurant is located near to Castle and Ethiopian Airlines Office. If you are tired, enjoy Draft Beer here. (Reads well, don't you think?)

and this beauty...
Tajjo Bet Restaurant.
Tajjo is a local honey wine. It is sweet and a good taste. However, it is hard to find the Tajjo Bet. If you have Gondar mania (don't ask me!), try to find it. Foods are not available here. (At a restaurant! Just like a pub with no beer, I guess.)

A hotel with satellite sports TV, restaurants like these, you might never see me again.

Gondor, though, was Ethiopia's capital for 250 years, founded 1635 (Ethiopian). Hence the Fasil Ghebr Royal enclosure containing six castles (fascinating) and the lovely Debre Birham Selassie church.

As we came to Ethiopia, we read and were told that it is the worst for being harassed. But like all countries, the people that latch onto you can be fun, charming, at the same time as crafty, beguiling. Some are horrible, some nasty, some obnoxious. An interesting question we are often asked is "Are you government or charity?" Our response, tourist on the bus, sets many aback. But it told us something, an insight. But there are constant calls of "ferang! ferang! ferang" "you! you! you!" "give me birr! give me pen!" (they are leaning through the internet cafe door trying it now!). It's got a little worse here in the north. But it's a little like water off a duck's back, that or we have become hard bastards.


It's the rain season in Ethiopia. You probably can't do a six month trip bottom to top of the continent and hope to avoid it. We had maybe 4-5 days of the end of the Tanzanian season, which didn't amount to much. But here, it's mostly been thunderstorms at late afternoon or night. And heavy. But with some beaut days. The dust of the south has now turned to mud, and makes for some interesting roads.


Axum calls.


Mad
a.k.a Max.

Ethiopia: in a time all of its own

Ethiopia: Has a calendar of 13 months: 12 of 30 days and 1 of five days.

Ethiopia: While the rest of the world celebrated the turn of the millennium seven years ago, Ethiopia will mark the year 2000 on September 12. Ethiopia is the only country in the world that has preserved the ancient Ethiopian Orthodox faith-based Julian calendar, which is seven years behind the Gregorian calendar that is commonly used by the rest of the world. We entered, and had passports stamped 17-07-2007, but all the entries in the immigration joker's books were 09-11-1999. Our bus tickets were written up the same way.

Ethiopia: Where clocks are six hours different than ours. But it's pretty easy to work out. Just have to confirm 'European or Ethiopian time?' when making bookings.

Ethiopia: From bullets to ballots only in the last 14-15 years. Tank wrecks on roadside hint at past troubles.

Ethiopia: Named after Ethiopic: grand son of Noah.

Ethiopia: a.k.a. Abyssinia, but haven't yet got to the bottom of the who, when, how, why of that one yet.

Ethiopia: we are no longer muzungu, but now ferang.

Ethiopia. The naivety of Westerners associates the country with famine and drought. Wrong. It does suffer major drought every 10 years, there about. It does have deserts that experience erratic rain. But these are thinly populated, and reading Martin Meredith you learn even this is politically based: send politically dissenting tribes to these areas. Then experience the one particularly big famine (1984), and the world thinks 'that's Ethiopia'. What's more, when the famine/drought kicks in, Mengistu and his Derg government keeps it real quiet as it was preparing its big celebrations and world press releases on how wonderful they have done in the 10 years since the 'revolution'.

Foreign governments, NGOs, the big name charities, and churches are in Ethiopia in force. People get dependant upon the aid and won't budge from the drought prone areas. Yet there are aid organisations established in fertile areas, probably because when the world found out Mengistu just picked up a lot from the famine area and dumped them in the south (also helps lessen the numbers of resistance in the area). We saw them on our trip from the border to Addis Ababa, through what is the most extensive area of fertile land in East Africa. The fertile areas cover more than half of the country's area, and are where the vast majority lives. Interesting trying to find out the real picture.

All through Africa I have seen things I thought 'odd' about aid agencies. (Got to say MSF - medicines sans frontiers does great stuff). I actually had a rant written, but spared you. I mention Graham Hancock in my reading list later, but a book of his I will chase when finished this trip is Lords of Poverty: the power, prestige, and corruption of the international aid business (The Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989). I've also spotted a more academic book, Post War Thinking on Developmental Studies (or similiar). Then again, Vic. Uni. Wellington offers a Masters in Development Studies. Hmmmmm. Nah.

I've already been stunned by the majestic landscape and farming abundance, which commenced as soon as we crossed the border. Way different to my expectations. Every night we have had a cracker thunderstorm - wicked lightning, massive thunder, and torrential downpours. A conversation with a joker on the bus: "Ethiopia has a good rain season, almost too good." Now there's an irony for you. I'm sure my good friend, Feetay, has a theory.

But the country, even from what we have seen so far and there's still the magical north, is culturally, historically, and socially a wonderland. Its history is back to the first century AD stuff. Orthodox Christianity everywhere.

We are in a different Africa.

I've spoken of flexible honesty before, but Ethiopia is a kalaedescope of information, misinformation, and outright fantasy.

The trip from the border northwards was spent feeling battered and bruised from the Kenya truck trip. The Moyale-Addis bus stopped overnight in Awassa, and we found probably the nicest hotel room of the whole trip. By the time we reached Addis the bus floor was awash with the stems of qat (pronounced chat) leaves. Might have been a bus, but our fellow passengers were all flying high.

Addis Ababa: Third highest altitude capital city in the world: we've been to all top three.

Addis Ababa: prononced locally as one word: Adisaba.

Addis Ababa: Oh boy.

What an only-just-organised state of chaos. Grubby as all hell. Lepers, the blind, the amputated, and every known affliction - you name it, beg in rows on the streets. Homeless sleep on traffic islands, footpaths, everywhere. This is where the charities are needed. Some truely desperate scenes. The closet thing to India you can get.

Everything is in a state of dishevelment. Nice restaurants have a street front you wouldn't ordinarily dream of entering. Good shops have little street appeal. Rain turns the bitumen streets into a quagmire. But there is a growing middle class as well, living quite nicely, thank you.

But it feels very safe. Though the many pick-pocket attempts focus your attention.

It captures you some how, not in nice way, not in a bad way. I don't know. But, we crack it.

Addis is home to the Ethiopian National Museum, highlight of which has got to be 'Lucy'. Known as Dinknesh (wonderful) to the Ethiopians, she is the 3.3 million year old fossilised skeleton of Australopithecus afarensis , an upright walking hominoid found in 1974. She is a contemporary of the 'folk' that left the footprints behind at Laetoli, Serengeti. The oldest hominid fossil found at the time.

She is called Lucy because the Beatles song Lucy in the sky with diamonds was popular amongst the team at the time of discovery.

Since 2004 (European!) an Australopithecus afarensis child fossil, 'Selam' - 150,000 years older than Lucy, has carefully been uncovered in Ethiopia, and is now being prepared for showing at the museum.

Since Lucy's discovery, two older species have been found, both in 1995. Australopithecus aramensis (4 million years old), in Kenya, and Ardipithecus ramidus (4.5 mill year old), again in Ethiopia.

During our stay in Addis, news broke of a find of a fossilised jaw bone that may provide a link between aramensis (4.2 to 3.9 mil years ago) and Lucy's afarensis 'tribe' (3.0 to 3.6 million years ago).

Yep, cradle of civilisation stuff.

Ethiopia: What an unbelievable number of beer brands. One beer, Dashen (named after Ethiopia's highest mountain, 4th in Africa) has a label which highlights a missed opportunity by our brewer's marketers at home. Not in fine print, but scrolled across the label is 'Dashen: ISO14000 Certified Brewery'. I don't think you can imagine how re-assuring it is drinking your beer in the knowledge it is ISO certified.

Ethiopia: Coffee. Hasn't Ethiopia and Starbucks recently engaged in a branding wrangle? But, whacko, can you ever get a good coffee. It's an art form. And the lingering Italian presence means good espresso machines (and pasta, pizza, and pastries. The local spicy stews and Wetex-sponge bread, injera, wears thin. ) Have even found out the bean types: Siadamo, Limu, Kaffa, Gimbi, Harar, and Yerga-Cheffe. Specialty cafes (small, crowded, nothing flash establishments) allow you to choose your type.

English language newspapers are hard to come by, and not much chop. But a couple of articles from The Reporter, 21 July 2007:

A feature article 'Of tour guides and tourists' (p.25) tells of the ploys and traps, and money made by tourist guides, touts and cons in tales of crass gullibility. Crooks? Or entrepreneurs exploiting a business opportunity in a market of stupidity?

Different country, same African problem. Editorial (p.3) 'Fighting corruption with corruption': 'Presently, corruption figures among the topical subject of discussion in Ethiopia. Sadly, not everyone is seen doing what he can to combat it. ...'

And on a better note, The Daily Monitor, (Friday, July 20) Sports (p.9) 'Kenya's Sammy Wanjiru has had his time of 58 mns 33 secs set on March 7 in The Hague confirmed as a new world record for the Half Marathon, by IAAF.'

Ethiopian and Kenyan athletes, those that can be bothered or not chasing money at European events, are doing head to head battle at the All African Games in Algiers.

Sorting out visas has required staying in Addis a few days. But we have done some side excursions. We celebrated our wedding anniversary with a 'weekend away'. Hang the expense, we booked the suite, with bath, DSTV, at a 'resort' at the hot pools town, Ambo. Transport, accommodation, meals, drinks, cost an outrageous 70 bucks Kiwi! What a treat. TV consisted of Aljazeera news, Dubai One movie channel, and ETV - Ethiopian TV, 'nuff said. Aljazeera broadcast news: All Blacks 26 Wallabies 12. Not such a surprise, but the stranglehold grip the All Blacks looked like they had on the World Cup six months ago, doesn't look so strong now. But a hold is a hold, it's enough.

We've also traveled the 520km east, ten and a half hour (if you're lucky) bus trip to Harar. Across arid, camel-scatterd, plains and then up and along fertile, oxen-ploughed, (peasant landholds; subsistence farming) mountains. 320km to Djibouti, 120km to Somalia border: We are now in the Horn of Africa. Harar, built 13th-16th century, is the fourth holiest city of Islam (Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem), has 82 mosques - three date from the 10th century, and sits inside a three and a half kilometer-long wall. It's a criss-crossed maze of, they say, 362 alleys. It's a time warp. An 'attraction' is a nutter called the 'Hyena Man', he feeds them, somtimes with food held in his mouth. The country is 30% moslem, and I reckon most live out in these parts. But it also has Christian churches inside. The town prides itself on it's tolerence, understanding, and living together of all peoples. It's a laid back moslem feel.

We visted a fantastic 'museum'. An original house, that Haile Sallase once owned, being renovated by one Abdallah Ali Shariff and his family to house their personal collection of artifacts. Deb and I were actually allowed to touch (we felt obliged to do so very carefully) 500 year old copies of the Koran. He showed us the trick of how they hand wrote the Koran with ink quills, dead straight, with no lines on the page. Not telling.

Over a Harar Beer, one night I met an Ethiopian soldier, Captain Zerihun Tessema Haila. Interesting. Had spent seven months on duty in Somalia, an experience I think that left him lierally 'shell shocked'. He just couldn't fathom the Somalians - crazy! always fighting! Don't know what peace is, don't want peace. Shakes his head, looks into his beer deeply. "Just crazy." He was convinced the Eritrians are supplying weapons to 'the terrorists' in Somalia. Later, a story in The Reporter, 28 July says the UN confirms Zerihun's belief.

The return trip to Addis was another of those African wonders. Have to be on bus at 5:00am, for 6:00am departure (don't ask me!), travel 20 minutes, bus breaks down, sit on side of road for four hours (chat to an Addis local who has done his MBA in the Netherlands. He was interested in the book I was reading, conversation followed. Neat.), replacement bus found, head off, briefest of lunch stop (bus stop retaurants and their dunnies - you don't want to know), dark falls, bus only has very dim low beam, drive very slowly, arrive Addis 10:30 pm, Addis closes at dark and there's few lights, thankfully find a taxi quickly, get to hotel, has given away our room booking, full, phone others - full, now 11:00pm, tired, hungry, and just a tad pissed. Hey! it's been 18 hours. Lovely lady at hotel kitchen cooks a meal, we grab our sleeping bags, a couch on the verandah and go to sleep. About 3:00am hugh thunderstorm, we are under cover. At 6:00 awoken for an emptied room, sleep to 9:00am. Feel a million dollars. Truely. TIA - this is Africa.

For visas, we need a 'letter of introduction', and wanted to get in touch with the British Embassy. A woman from our hotel, trying to help, says "why you not use Australian and New Zealand Embassy?", "There isn't one." "Yes, I ring for you." "Hello, Austrian Embassy" "Good Morning, Embassy of the Netherlands" Arggggggh.

I find out that as an Australian I am not supposed to use the British Embassy. Apparently the Canadians are Aussies' contact overseas in lieu of their own embassy. Poms must really be taking the Ashes loss to heart. But, for a payment, the Poms will do it.

I thought I might have a crack at forging a letter - it's only passport details after all. But I'd have never been up to this job:

Her Britannic Majesty's Embassy present their compliments to the Embassy of
the Republic of the Sudan and have the honour to state that the British
authorities have no objections to the following person traveling to Sudan.

[Name] [Date of Birth] [A lot less detail than I would have provided]

Her Britannic Majesty's Embassy avail themselves of the opportunity to
renew to the Embassy of the Republic of the Sudan the assurance of their highest
consideration.

[signed] [stamped] [all on embossed, headed paper]

Wow! So there.

Yep. Another change of plan. With an Egyptian visa as well, we are heading north up through the Sudan. It's OK, honestly. Our goal looks good. Travel bottom to top of Africa overland, under our own steam. That will be something. The visa application was straight forward enough, considering all the tribulations we had been told, but the hoop jumping was a bit of a thrash. Just keep your cool.

I've made a misjudgment. I thought I was stocked up on books, but have had to buy, and read a few more to keep up supply. Have read: Paul Stewart's Trek (Jonathan Cape, 1991), a story of a bumbling attempt to drive across the Sahara. Then Joseph Conrad's 1902 classic Heart of Darkness (Penguin Popular Classics, 1994). I wanted to read this one as Paul Theroux reckons he read it twelve times on his Cairo to Cape Town trip. Intense, philosophical. It's only a short read, but once will do me - for now. Then getting into the Ethiopian mood, I read Phillip Marsden's The Chains of Heaven: an Ethiopian romance. (Harper Perennial, 2005). A travelogue with heaps of info. He walked Lalibela to Axum with pack mules. Nice read. Now, at last, I'm into John Reader's Africa: a biography of the continent (Penguin, 1998). I've looked forward to this one. Deb has told me about it. I also spotted a photo of John Reader, one of the team uncovering the Laetoli footprints, at the Oldavai Museum, Serengeti. Remember Alan Paton's Cry, the beloved country? Well, Reader won the Alan Paton Award 1998 for Africa. As a back up, there's also Graham Hancock's The Sign and The Seal: A quest for the Ark of the Covenant (Arrow Books, 1992), in waiting.

We have the north of Ethiopia to do next: A land of history, magic, mystery, legend, mysticism, faith to do first. Blue Nile source; Gondor: site of five 17th century castles; Lalibela: rock-hewn churches from medieval times; thousands of years old monasteries:, still used, dotted all over; Axum centre of the 1st-7th century AD empire, and where I might just have to do a Harrison Ford/Indianna Jones and try to get a look at the Ark of the Covenant, supposedly housed there. Well, millions belive it!

Caught up with news that Tour de France has turned into a mess, again. Shame. Thank god for BBC on the shortwave. But no AFL news, bugger.

Ethiopia: were there are power outages at least once a day, no matter where you are - usually internet cafes.

Ethiopia: Country of the worst internet response possible. At least you can have a coffee while you wait, and wait ...

'When you drink a cup of coffee,
ideas come in, marching like an army.' Balzac.

Max
aka Mad

Nairobi to the border: Last attack was elephants, this time ...

I previously wrote that getting there would be half the fun ...

Hmmmmm.

But before the jouney unfolds, let me tidy up a couple of items from Nairobi.

Somewhere, I have tucked away a photo from my first trip to England in the seventies of a grave headstone in the cemetry of Salisbury Cathederal. I'd need to refind the photo for the name of the interned, but the message was clear: 'died of drinking warm beer'. If you don't specify with your order of Tusker in Nairobi, more often than not, you will be asked "cold or warm?". Strewth, are they trying to kill me or something?

Deb continues to receive lovely backhanders. A joker at the Post Office reads her name and informs her that "it sounds like a wrestler's name" !! Don't ask me!

And another in the you-won't-read-this-at-home series: (Daily Nation, 13 July 2007, p.9) 'The government will soon pay higher rates of compensations to families whose members are killed by wild animals.'

Anyway, we're headed for Ethiopia.

Directions for finding the bus are vague. The first warning being why does this bus not leave from the major bus depot in the city where buses to just about everywhere else in Kenya leave? Instead we taxi to a suburb in the northern outskirts, Eastleigh. Its streets are mud and stone; mosques abound, mostley moslem people, some Ethiopians, lots of Somalians. We learn Eastleigh is nicknamed 'Little Mogadishu'. Charming. It's the end of the tourist trail.

We're off. Transport in Kenya has been good on one account. Buses, and matatus, are licensed to carry a certain number. That's it. No jamming to the max. A couple of times when catching a matatu, but not at the route start, we had to wait until one came with two vacant seats. Then, of course, it would have stacks free.

The first leg is Nairobi to Isiolo. And what's more it's a good road - in Kenya! This is through the 'white highlands' - some of Kenya's prime farmland, that blacks were chased from and whites farmed. Big horticulture enterprises still operate.

Whenever Deb and I travel, we always seem to hear on bus stereos or radios that old Toto number Africa. It's become our travel anthem. Heard it two or three times already this trip. In fact, on returning home after one trip we bought the CD for fun. Some of the lyrics make it particularly appropriate for this trip.

I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

The song is kind of our good omen.


By the time the tape of six or so other crap songs has played four or five times, Toto is wearing thin. Somebody has realised this, and starts the on-board video of Bollywood produced song-and-dance numbers. Our lucky day. How long was this trip?


We rip through to Isiolo. With no fanfare, or photo stop, we cross the Equator yet again. We arrive about 5:30 pm. At journey's end, there's a crowd of wheeler-dealers, all wanting tips to take your bag out of the luggage compartment, to show you to the restaurant just across the road, or to where the next bus leaves from - 25 meters away. They all chew qat, the herbal narcotic. Basically, they are all stoned. Anyway, time to get a beef stew (probably goat) and rice across the street. The bus for Marsabit leaves at seven. We're humming.


But not till 7:45 did the bus start . Revs his engine a few times, proceeds very slowly for a short distance, stops and loads more people. Starts again, revs again. Crawls down the road, to the petrol filling station. Fills ups, starts up, revs up again. This time , crawls across the road to a vacant lot. No lights. We are all off and sit around. Nice stars to look at, the Maggelenic Cloud.

She's coming in twelve-thirty flight
Her moonlight wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation

Lots of clanking and banging underneath. Eventually a joker crawls out with the alternator in hand, and walks off. It's about 11:00 now, Deb and I, like most others get back on the bus, and try for sleep. They are fairly narrow seats, and leg room is tight. To move in sleep requires a wake up, and untangle each other. You can imagine how it was. Cuddling up into the unrolled sleeping bag helped.

I hear the drums echoing tonight
But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation

At six next morning, just on daylight, the bus starts up. The decision has been made, daytime trip - won't need lights.


The lovey bitumen road ended there in Isiolo. Immediately the corrugations begin. And the dust. But no big potholes, so the bus scoots along at a fair clip. Just shaking the daylights out of us. And the rattle! Mi dios!


Twenty minutes in - KABOOM! Puncture. All off. 45 minutes and we're back on the road. It's becoming very arid. We fang past the famous Archer's Post - it marks desert start/end, depending upon your direction.


After a couple of hours, out of nowhere appears Serevidu. A nothing village.


We stop, again. The driver and on-board mechanic want to repar the puncture. We are there for about four hours! One story was : 'don't drive middle of day - too hot', but another, and supported by the heavy banging underneat, was: 'had to straighten springs'. Don't ask me.


But what a stop. Deb and I had a good old chat, some chaptis and chai with a small roadside stall owner. A nice chap. But we also experienced our first Semburu people here. Colourful beads over the men's heads,bare chested, togas, bucket loads of necklaces around the women's necks all across their shoulders. The 'Nairobi Kenyans' on board treat them with some distain. The men all carry menacing looking , sharp, steel, blade-like, tiped spears. They have macheetes (pangas) in scabbards on the hip, and a couple carry what looks like old 303s strapped across their shoulders.

Our stall owner tells us that there has been rain, but no rainy season for three years.

I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

We're off, again. After some time we stop at a town that is not on either of our maps. No, no - not two, it's just that we have reached the cross over of our two maps and this is the overlap strip. Apparently, it's Laisamis.

Despite the earlier stop, this is the designated meal stop. Hey, it's the rules. But we have just arrived in a National Geogaphic photo shoot. This is full on Semburu country. Bare-breasted women covered in colourful necklaces. More older jokers, rifles over shoulders. Moran, young men who have just completed initiation rituals wear distinctive mauve togas. This is no tourist trick. This is for real. These people steadfastedly, pig-headedly, refuse to accept modern ways. Just picture their dwellings. They will have lived this ways for ... yonks. But tradition doesn't preclude some using the bus, complete with old rifles.

The murmed concern now is that we might not reach Marsabit by dark. And we have no lights. Ah well. The landscape is turning magnificantly, stunningly, harsh and brutal.

Good-bye the game animals of the south, this is camel country.

We arrive in Marsabit at dusk. A football game is finishing up in a paddock. The Jeyjey guesthouse has written across the front: 'Good Food. Accommodation with showers'. Beauty. We're covered in dust, little do we know. There's more.

Showers? Sorry, no showers - water restriction. But two big tubs of lovely warm water are produced for a good old, Asian style, dip-dip. We're happy.

It's predominently a Moslem town, but we find the Mountain Bar, complete with pool table. Shithole is the expression, I believe. We order two, COLD, Tuskers and take a seat, off to the side. Apart from having to say 'hello' to each new entrant, we are pretty much left alone. After one beer, it's eight o'clock and we're ready for bed. Catch BBC World: AllBlacks have beaten the Srinkboks. Good show. Jeyjey's beds are comfy ...

The wild dogs cry out in the night
As they grow restless longing for some solitary company

Morning Marsabit. An end of the world, desolate place. Dust squalls blow down the empty space used as main strret, the highway. Plastic bags, rubbish, tumbleweed along. Crows peck at a pile of trash off to the side. Woman with decrepit wheelburrows with water containers trundle past on their way to the well pump (lucky! Most we've seen sling them across their foreheads or strap to back - in remote areas away from wells, they use donkey trains.) Herds of cattle and goats use the street as route to grazing - on what?

And guess what? There's no bus to Moyale. It's cattle trucks or the off chance of hitching a ride with a 4WD. We found out that even the Isiolo-Marsabit Hawad Bus Service has only been running a week. And already has broken down before.

We begin the wait. The lorry convoy will come '10 to 11 o'clock', 'two o'clock', 'early afternoon', 'late afternoon', 'this evening from Nairobi', 'not today is Sunday'. Who knows. The consensus is that the 'convoy' will leave at 4:00pm.

I flag down a couple of 4WDs, they all stop but they are just local driving. A Catholic priest and a nun drive up in a large 4WD, but strangly find some invisible object out in the paddock, that passed as a football pitch, to stare at and therefore able to ignore me. They drive on through and out of town.

We speak with a quietly spoken, gorgeously accented Scots men ( didn't think there was such a speciman) named Andrew - of course, in the same situation, but going the other way. We tell him of the bus we came up on. We exchange tales, experiences.

To either: have a cup of tea; have lunch, seek shade, or all of these, we seek the shelter of Mum's Kitchen. Which involves many 'converstaions'. One joker shared our table and proceeded to read a newspaper. I'm not sure if he actually read or put on a performannce for our benefit. Always keen for a bit of news I glanced at the date, expecting it to be one from the day we left Nairobi. Brace yourself: November 10, 2005!!!!! I kid you not. He didn't quite understand my decline when he offered it to me. He he.

Four o'clock arrives. The convoy gathers. Trucks had been arriving the past hour. These are cattle trucks, but used for all purpose transport. One I saw being cleaned out earlier had undoubtedly been used to carry cattle. Are you with me? But some are loaded to the tops , and then passengers sit on top. The one we were 'loaded' into had only a bit of a load, guys up top riding the rails, and about a doazen 'downstairs' in the back of the truck, where we were directed, taking up positions comfortably sitting on our packs.

One thousand shillings (NZ$20) each, asks the man. You're joking, bucko. I haven't spent all day in Marsabit without learning a thing or two. Here's 400 shillings each - keep the change.

And then on hopped the two armed soldiers. They sat opposite us. I can't tell you how nervous I was when one of the machine guns lay on the truck tray, with forthcoming corrugations, pointed directly up my crotch.

From our position we could only see through some narrow slats, up towards the cabin. Our section was tarpaulined over. But all there appeared to be was sand, dirt, and rocks. The occasional stunted flat-topped acacia, thorn trees. And camels.

And talk about rough. My jawbone socket ached with the shaking, shuddering of corrugations and monster bumps.

Lucky we were prepared: hats pulled own to ears, sunglasses on (even when it turned dark), bandanna up over mouth and nose, long sleeved shirt rolled down. The colour of our clothing quickly became indistinguishable. I don't think I've seen dust like it.

We ploughed our way across the Chulbie Desert, arriving an hour and a half after dark at Turbic, our night stop. I had been mistaken: Marsabit had looked like Las Vegas.

We climbed down from the truck (an operation that first takes climbing up and over the high rails. And there's your pack.) and walked straight into our hotel room. Hard to notice the differance: acroos the sand into our sand floor room, mud walls, unlined corrugated iron roof, and a whole punched into the back wall for a window. That's what you get for 200 shillings (NZ$4) double. Ain't no other choice.

A cup of chai over a candle in the 'restaurant', talking with a male district nurse who was called away for a childbirth. Then to a young guy who told us all the gorie details of the Borena (over from Ethiopia) massacre of the local Gebras. It was the second (yes!) anniversary only three days earlier. 80 people were killed, mostly the elderly and children. Some pregnant women were cut open. Our man, maybe 17, had been woken by screaming and fled into the bush. Oh boy.

No chance of a wash here. It was a three-wet-wipes clean of the forehead - the only exposed bit.

Morning. 5:00 am. Time for a change. We want to see some of the landscape. We grab positions up on the rails, above and behind the cabin. There's a change of guard as well, we only have one soldier this time, sitting up top near us, riding 'shotgun' position. I think last night's two were transport to the army camp - literally, half a dozen tents - at Turbic.

The convoy, five trucks, awaits clearance at the army gate. When cleared, our boy whizzes to the front - best position, no dust from front trucks. We still get covered. Off we head across the Kaisut Desert, all part of the greater Dila Galgula. Chai stop at Sololo - god knows what makes people live in places like this, 10 mud huts in the desert. When we restart, our soldier decides to ride with his mate on another truck.

Our driver takes up front running. As we come across a rise, and onto the downhill slope, our driver hits the brakes. I cannot begin to describe the sinking feeling in my stomach.

There in the next dip, lined across the road were six men. 100 meters up the road, on the next crest, were five more.

Everything became still framed.

The other men riding up top all ducked down. A commotion broke out. The people down, in the back, who couldn't see all went into panic. There was just one word Deb and I could understand.

Shifta! Shifta! Shifta!

A shifta is a nototious Somalian bandit, with a history of raiding this route. But not recently.

I grasped Deb's hand.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

In what seemed like a split second, our truck was doing a multi-point reverse turn, high tailing it out of there. Rear ambush was all I could think.Where was our soldier now?

Back at the top of the rise, the next truck arrived. It stopped alongside. The two soldiers (one was ours!) checked things out through binoculars. Next thing, the other truck gunned it, all passengers down, soldiers up with guns at the ready. They sped straight at the men who lept from the road.

Turning, we followed. As we passed, I caught sight of men waving spears and machetes. A couple had rifles, but none raised. We sped through. Nobody on the truck could explain who they were, and we obviously did not stop to inquire. Sometimes the English as a second language only goes so far, not easy at times like this.

Got to tell you, Deb and I were rather reflective for the last hour or so. We travel with valuables well hidden, but... As an ice breaker, everybody was pretty quiet, one joker says to Deb in jilted English: "I understand (no he doesn't, can't, probably never will) is your tradition this man get you for free. No dowry." "No dowry?", splutters the joker next to him. "For free?!!" chokes I.

Passing through large herds of camels, we arrived at the surpringly large, sprawling twin town - Moyale, both sides of the Kenyan-Ethiopian border. In a billowing cloud of dust we stomp into immigration.

We had expected three days to complete this leg. But it took four. 749 kilometers. Only four days: and hell, I've gone and made it sound like an adventure. Funny that.

Truth is, I feel like I've only scratched the surface. What an experience. The intensity of the interactions, the Orthodox Christian with the wierdest hat I've seen who climbed on the truck at a village, the conversations in Mum's Kitchen, the toughness of the travel, the uncertainties on so many fronts. A bit of a shakedown after the comforts of Nairobi.

I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies
He turned to me as if to say: "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you"

We now continue to Addis Ababa ... in a bus, on smooth bitumen highway, all the way.

I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've become

Max
aka Mad

PS: you've got the technology. The band is Toto, the song Africa. Download.

Ngorogoro Crater: chased from our tent by elephants

Pictures & Story

Sometimes an event happens in front of your very eyes. You have no control over happenings. You just watched transfixed, always in the back of your mind a little voice asks 'how is this going to turn out?'.

Arriving at Simba Camp from the Serengeti, on the Ngorogoro Crater rim, we were still excited to see two elephants at the edge of camp, perhaps 250-300 meters away.

We chose a nice piece of grassy, flat land, under a very large, spreading tree, to pitch our tent. Simba had hot showers and we were quickly into them.

As we returned to tent, Deb and I both acknowledged that it looked as if the two elephants were making their way towards our tent, very slowly.

But next thing, they picked up the pace and were definitely making a bee line towards us. To be precise, to the tree under which we were camped. We felt we had no option but to stay in the tent, as they were now not five meters away.

There we stayed while these two delinquents stretched for, and pulled down, branches laden with leaves they strip and feast on. Intermittently they tossled with each other as they jealously eyed the other's rewards.

This was now happening three meters from us, with branches crashing to the ground in front of our tent as the ripping and pulling continued. We hoped like hell they didn't stumble back on top of us.

We had front row seats. The camera ... it just go klazy.

The agility was amazing. Such dexterity in big beasts. Trunks outstretched, every sinew stretched to the limit, lifting a leg off the ground to aid the effort. And it seemed, a steely eye never ceased staring at us. The rest of the campers had all gathered in a semi-circle , a safe distance behind our tent.

We were really only concerned by one thing. The juiciest looking, lowest hanging branch was dead smack above our tent. But the presence of our tent seemed to keep them at bay.

Were we shitting ourselves? Just a little.

When they decided to move and reach for some branches on the far side of the tree, we saw our opportunity. We sprung from the tent, and scampered back to the safety of the other campers. The elephants got a slight start, stepped towards us, swung their trunks about menacingly, giving a quick trumpet blast.

The Ngorogoro Crater rim is at 2,400 meters altitude. It had clouded over, and was getting qite cool, with a breeze. (I think we are in the middle of East Africa's two week winter.) Having just got back from the showers we weren't dressed for the cooling down. We only had thongs/jandals on - no warm shoes or socks. We were getting cold. It was getting dark. People reckoned rangers would turn up and chase them off, yeah right. The elephants continued feeding, and in a case of bad manners, depositing rather large poohs outside our tent. There was nothing much else for us to do either, so we went to the dinning tent and had dinner also.

After what must have been two hours at least, the elephants moved off. We could return to our tent and get warm clothes on.

Never a dull day.

Max
aka Mad.

Masai Mara and Serengeti: Rarking around in the Rift Valley

Masai Mara, Kenya and the Serengeti, Tanzania: a colonially drawn border runs straight through. And divides a Maasai nation.Travel would be so much easier if you could pass from one to the other.

Instead travellers must go the long way. Back to Nairobi, then through the Namaga border crossing (we've been here before) to Arusha.

Tanazania insists on this arrangement: They don't want Kenyan travel guides taking people through to Serengeti on the impression they are still in Kenya; They want to charge for visas; They want people using the tourism infrastructure of Arusha. They charge like wounded buffalo for park admittance fees - and they have a double header: Ngorogoro and the Serengeti.

The cross border nigling has interesting sides. In the Masai Mara we spotted grass fires. If he can be believed, our guide reckons the Tanzanian park people light fires to create smoke to hold the wilderbeast as long as possible before the migration.

I have a little difficulty with Ngorogoro. I want to say Orongorongo, as in the hills east of Wellington.

Masi Mara and Serengeti are all about big, open, sun-baked, African spaces (like Australia, it makes you realise how confining NZ geography is) ... and animals. Most well known af all being the wilderbeast migration. At the last river crossing for the wilderbeast, the Mara, crocodles were gathering in 'crowds' at the crossing point in expectation.

One for the books. We witnessed at close quarters, two hippos mating in the river. The male had a big smile on his face ... and there were stacks of crocs nearby! I thought he was supposed to never ...

Like clockwork the 6:00pm thunderstorm rolls in across the Masai Mara. Firstly, the sky goes dark over the yellow grasslands lending a wonderfull light. Animals make a delightfull contrast against this darkening setting. Then down it pours. Again like clockwork - for an hour. It clears to allow the witnessing of a magnificent full-moon rise. Stars burst out a-twinkle in the dark west.

The rain adds a bit of interest to the four-wheel driving next day.

During that night we heard drums and chanting coming from the nearby village as the Maasi dance to the full moon.

The road from Nairobi to Masi Mara is truely a shocker. Nicknamed locally as the 'Masai Massage'. But when we again enter Tanzania the roads are good. Roads in Kenya really are crap. Admittedly there are lots of roadworks in progress, which will be good in the long run - operative word being 'long'.

I have written earlier about the tourist trail Dar to Nairobi. Back in Arusha again, 5-6 weeks later, and now peak northern hemisphere holiday time, it's a three-ringed circus. And as of 1 July, all prices and park fees go up. The tooth ended costing more than just the dentist.

On both safaris, as fate would have it, we are again landed with some intersting people to share the 4WDs with. In Masai Mara, it's two young English people, Fi and Jim; Yahtzee novices - but now hooked. And in the Serengeti, a Norweigan couple Aslaug (an occupational psychologist completing her PhD with a thesis on Change Management) and Bjorn, a civil engineer. Both Yahtzee devils.

Animals. Animals. Animals. Big Five. In Masai, a large lion pride devoured a wilderbeast. In the 'geti, lion cubs bounce after their mum. Fabulous leopard and cheetah experiences. Still, after some time, just fantastic.

There's lots of great potential mountain bike tracks. So long as you back yourself to out ride big cats, dodge buffalo, rhino, and elephants etc.

But an interesting side visit which fitted in perfectly with some of our reading. Serengeti features the Olduvai gorge and not far away Laetoli. At Laetoli were found fossilised footprints (3.6 million years old) of Australopithecus afarensis, the earliest-known incontrovertible evidence of humanity's existence. We're talking the craddle of civilisation. No hominid fossils exist from this period (yet found anyway), but these footprints have almost concluded argument on which came first in human development: the upright and striding bipedal gait or the large brain. The brain appears to have lost. We walked first, then our brain developed, then we invented tools. But Olduvai does have fossilised skulls, from a later period, of earliest hominids, and findings of some of man's earliest tools. Way cool. What an interesting place.

Back to Arusha, with a cool and lucky spotting of a leopard at Lake Manyara on the way. We make a visit, just to complete the full picture, to the UN Rwanda Genocide Trials to sit in on a court hearing for a brief time. Not to hear gorrie details or anything, but just to observe the process. Interesting.

Picked up a couple of interesting news snippets:

The June figures for the Kenyan police clampdown on the Mungiki sect reached 112 dead (including 11 policemen). It continues in July.

A Mexican, Carlos Slim - who looks anything but - has overtaken Bill Gates as the world's richest man, making his fortune primarily in cell phones. Not surprising. Third world/developing nations can leapfrog generations of technological advancements. There never would have been copper to the shacks, roundels, huts, bandas here in Africa, but cellphones are everywhere. Makes you wonder about pricing models at home. There's plenty of broadband about (internet cafes in remote places have wi/fi, broadband satellite.

And, after not hearing a sausage about it, the NZ team missed winning back the America's Cup. I'd like to think they are now over that folly and just let it go.

I've (often) written about corruption and nepotism in Africa. Well I never, I read George W. has commuted a two and a half year prison sentence for a former vice-presidential aide buddy. Ah, you gotta luv it.

Back to Nairobi, for the fifth time. We have now 'done' East Africa. A couple of days to sort out some business and then the push north. Next stop Ethiopia for some culture and history.Getting there will be half the fun. Until very recently the only way was to climb aboard an armed cattle truck convoy, risking attack by shifta - Somalian bandits. There's now a bus, safer - though apparently still armed, to get us across the Dida Galgula desert to Moyale, the border post. From there to Addis Ababa is a piece of ...

Pinch me, I'm dreaming.

Max
aka Mad

Uganda and beyond: Gorillas not to be missed.

Way back, or so it now seems, in Cape Town, we decided to visit gorillas on our way. The brochure, of the Nomad Overland Co., looked good. The trip would be from Nairobi to Uganda, which should be interesting.

We had to work out a date well into the future. We pencilled out a very sketchy timetable, added contingency (as project managers do), and blow me ... it worked out just fine. Our only commitment on the whole trip.

As departure date drew close, Deb and I became quite apprehensive. We weren't sure if we were ready for a group tour. We had become quite used to doing what we wanted, how we wanted, when we wanted. We had come across a half dozen overland trips in camps, and what we witnessed made us slightly nervous.When in Lilongwe, Malawi we read a story in the local paper by a traveller who had jumped off an overland truck trip. Too many people, partying kids, and not meeting any Africans.

But, don't panic, Mad.

The 21 seater cabin truck only has eight of us aboard. Yep, us and another six, so we had stacks of room. And thankfully, they were pretty like minded people. And no 'kids'. Patrick and Beatrice (a Swiss and a Mexican, they met in Canada at French classes! Patrick then had to learn Spanish as well, and Beatrice German and Swiss German. Some people.), Aaron (New Yorker, with a Harvard MBA), Simon and Rachael (Australian/English - who had just completed a six month stint at a school in Tanzania, and a German - Volker ( who I had to not call Homer Simpson - well he was a mechanical engineer at a Nuclear Power Station). Nice people to spend 12 days with. And we had some fun times. Apparently there were to be two more. But they had been overlanding with Nomad from Joberg to Nairobi but got off in Dar Es Salaam - they had had enough.

Just one other thing. Our confirming email advised that if permits were not available in Uganda (numbers visiting are strictly controlled) then Nomad would be applying for Rwanda. And, you've guessed it, Rwanda it was to be. Well that would be interesting. Kiwis are very aware of previous visits by Kiwis to Rwanda.

Taking the organised route was differant. Being on a 'mzungu chariot' you are forever waving to people - but with little local interaction. You are also subjected to all means of imploring eyes, pleading tones, and persistent selling. Some is sad, some is bad, but some is real fun. We hadn't experienced this when travelling on local transport - just people selling food for local travellers to feed on, not expecting mzungu. We also woke very early, and traveled late on some days. You are constantly marched along. But to see gorilla you need permits, and the sure way to do that is to go with a tour.

But the chance for some differant company was also a good thing for Deb and I. Just a breather from the intensity of just the two of us in sometimes trying situations.

The trip took us from Nairobi up the East Rift Valley of Kenya, over the equator, into Uganda (waited three hours while a customs guy tried to scam our truck driver), across the Nile River at source on Lake Victoria, Kampala, back over the Equator heading south, Lake Bunyunoni, across the Rwanda border to Ruhengiri. On roads that would best be described as testing. Except, oddly, Rwanda - they were perfect. Being a French territory for a while, it's Left Hand Drive. But except for the white NGO Landcruisers all the minivan transports are Jap imports so right hand drive. Kinda weird.

Each evening the team sampled from the range of Ugandan delights: Nile Special, Club Lager, or Bell Lager.

But coming out of the Kenyan Rift Valley and up over the Escarpment at over 2,200 meters, we passed through Elravine, and there they were! Kenyan athletes in packs training on winding hilly roads or forrest tracks. Beautiful. Poetry in motion. A few wore tracksuit tops with Kenya emblazened across the shoulders. This is the heartland, were it all happens.

The volcanic soil, rich Rift Valley is farming intense. Once down the escarpment and until climbing out the otherside, still in Kenya, are productive farms. The Rift Valley is split around Lake Victoria, and the wesetrn Rift, particulary down the south of Uganda and into Rwanda is some of the most fertile in Africa.

By the way, a correction. Rift Valley Railways is more than just a marketing venture. It was actually renamed after a buy out by a South African crowd.

And, then there is the gorillas.

A truely fantastic experience. A mountain trek for a couple of hours to find them, then you are permitted one hour with the gorillas. At one point, when just meeting them our group split and a younger male hoped out onto the track between us, stood up, looked me right in the eye, then just shoulder bumped me right out of the way, pushed past deb and Volker and went on his merry way. Cool. Then they settle down to eat, and we settle down to watch them eat. Youngsters tumble and wrestle, the grand old silver back hops up, grunts, gives his 'settle down you kids' look, and sits back down and returns to his munching on a kind of wild celery.

Did you know gorillas are identified by 'nose prints'? Fair dinkum. Each one has a unique pattern just above their nostrils. As reliable as, and much more visible than, our fingerprints. Gorillas have 95% of human DNA (chimps 99%).

Both Uganda and Rwanda have nasty recent histories. In Kampala, the parliament building is riddled with bullet scars. Idi Amin's downfall came as a result of Tanzania giving Kampala a real dust up as a payback for his invasion of north west Tanzania. Idi scarpered to Saudi, and when Obeto who Idi kicked out returned to power, Uganda erupted in civil war for 6-7 years. I'm not sure when, but parliament got shot up sometime through all this.

Rwanda's Hutu - Tutsi battle was one of histores most grusome. I've recently read the gory details - it was just brutality, butchery. A lot of signs line the roadside, in French and the local lingo, but the one word painted in red that leaps out of the print is JENOCIDE or GENOCIDE. Our guide provided a translation, and they are about orphan assistance; going forward getting over the past; reminders of a future.

My current read, Aidan Hartley's The Zanzibar Chest (2003, Harper Perrenial) covers the Rwandan genocide in depth, in his role as a journalist. Deb has already read and tells me he comes out of it a near psychological wreck. When we came through Arusha, Tanzania, probably the biggest, flashest building we saw was the UN Rwandan Genocide Trials courts.

But despite these horrible histories , and not long ago, both countres have since headed off, as if they hadn't had enough, and beat up on the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Unbelievable. Same old Hutu-Tutsi pretense, but the truth was it was a diamonds grab.

The gorilla trek had machine-gun armed soldiers front and rear. Our camp also had armed guards. Our trip guides weren't comfortable at all during our time in Rwanda. But I can't report anything unusual. In fact, the resilience of human beings is somewhat amazing. I went for a walk down-town with Volker, exchanged some money at the pharmacist, as you do, and then bought some Primus beer for the crew from one hard core seedy bar. While its the Rwandan 'local', it's actually a DRC drop.

BBC shortwave told us the All Blacks had scrapped through a late win over the South Africans.

The trip had some good game drives along the way. In Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda, we made use of the metal framed, wooden-lined box on top of the truck that would ordinarily store luggage when carrying 20-odd people. We lined the box with sleeping mats, stocked up on Bell Lager, and took an afternoon game test-drive of the GDVU - game drive viewing unit prototype.

A game dive at Lake Nakuru, Kenya, also provided the opportunity to tick off another critter: the rarish black rhino. While at Nakuru, we bumped into the film/support crew of Ewan McGregor and Charley Borrman making their next production 'Long Way Down'. Their African journey (apart from across the top of Africa) is near identical to ours . That is, if some of our plans for 'up North' come off, but their trip south is the same as ours. They asked us how we were travelling. 'Apart from side trips like this; independant, by public transport from the bottom to top.' "Crikey! Holy shit!" or something similiar was pretty much their reaction.

Writing about our trip is just becoming more difficult. The experiences are vast. There are learning experiences, visual experiences, cultural experiences, 'spiritual' experiences, wildlife experiences, the list goes on.

I believe I sent a postcard to my Mum and Dad with something trite like 'We are having a good time', or something. Sorry about that M&D, but at least the near 35 year tradition of a postcard from every country continues.

We arrive back to the now familiar Nairobi. An Opinion article in the Saturday Nation (30 June, p11) by J.H. Oswago caught my eye. He wrote that Vincente Fox (Mexico), Olusegun Obasanjo (Nigeria) and Mwai Kibaki (Kenya) all came to power on anti-corruption platforms. He suggests none has improved things much, and perhaps have got worse. He proposes five reasons for the failure. One, graft is institutional. Two, anti-graft institutions are politicised. Three, graft fighting institutions are poorly designed. Four, eventually the civil service co-opts the incoming administration despite the initial drum beating. But it is the fifth proposal that tells the tale:

'The political leadership either fail to master the necessary political will needed to combat graft, or, become inconsistent and ineffectual in exercing the will.

Political will is the capacity to punish, promptly, the closest kin or political confederates, of the leader, for the remotest appearance of graft. Such punishment may include sackings, thorough investigations and prosecutions, jail or immediate and public restitution.'

Anyway, the first task at hand upon arrival in Nairobi: internet. You beauty!! The Wallabies 20-15 over the All Blacks. Sweet. That deserves a Tusker.

But the real celebrating we wanted to do that night was have a nice meal and toast the wedding that day of our dear friends, Tanya and Mick. Congratulations guys.

Next: The Masai Mara, then back to Tanzania and pick up from were we left off for the tooth episode - Kili, Serengeti, and Ngorogoro Crater. The wilderbeast migration is ready to kick off.

You don't know how lucky you are, boy. You don't know how lucky you are.

Max
aka Mad

Kenya: Land of the sensational athletes.

Kenya, well known for its athletes, has been quite a show case for our visit.

2007 is the year for the PAN African Champs, world youth champs, and the IAAF World champs in Osaka. And during our visit, Kenya has held its national championships doubling as trials for all these events.

These have included National school champs. I don't think there would be a handful of Australian or Kiwi athletes that could have placed in any of the results.

The National Champs, held over three days, ended on the Sunday as we came back from Mombassa. Entering Nairobi, we passed the National stadium, and a big crowd was leaving. The 10,000 meters was run over two heats, with 56 entrants! A swag ran under 28 minutes. I would have enjoyed having seen the 3,000 meters steeplechase - probably the world's toughest race.

Another big event to be held is the Safaricom Lewa Sanctuary Wildlife Marathon but while we are in Uganda - a shame as there is also a half marathon. The Daily Nation calls this one of the world's toughest marathons, run over tough terrain in a wildlife park. Helicopters act as spotters for wild animals.

Entrants include three times Boston winner, Robert Cheruiyot, 2007 London winner Martin Lel, 2007 Rotterdam champ, Joshua Chelanga, and Paul Terget, current world marathon record holder. A tidy little field.

The event was won by Kuala Lumper marathon record holder, Cyprian Kiogora, in an event record. He is part of the Paul Terget training camp, and considered a real up-and-comer.

Much billboard advertising in Kenya plays on their athletic prowess. But in Nairobi, there is one very large photo billboard taking up the whole side of a building, advertising nothing per se, except the athletic glory. It is a photo of Paul Terget, at 2003 Berlin Marathon, where he set the world record. Each morning when running in Nairobi, as I pass it nearly back at our hotel, I give a wee salute. Just an acknowledgement. Just respect.

When running here, I am sure I can read the expressions on the faces of passer-by pedestrians. I know that they are thinking 'why waste your time little, slow, fat, white boy'. But they are way too polite, and just smile.

All the ability here puts anything I have done well into its place. But I realise its probably just people without a future that dwell upon their past achievements.

So, I look forward. What's next, What else?

Max
aka Mad.

Mombassa and Lamu: And too much time to think!

Friday night, and after a surprisingly enjoyable stopover in Nairobi, we take the train to Mombasa. No ordinary train but the Mombasa Express. This is the line that opened up East Africa. We are not train spotters, but did, fair dinkum, visit the Railway Museum. Sure there were engines and stuff out in the yard but the museum was really the story of the railway's part in East Africa's history. A funny old thing, but an interesting thing to do.

For about NZ$75 you can travel First Class, a two-person sleeper compartment, for the 550km, 15 hour journey. And it's just so cool. Of course the compartment was past its best but what an experience. The restaurant car was a blast from the past. You are served by jokers wearing their (well-worn) white jackets and bow ties. Genuine (mis-matched) silverware is provided all embossed: EAR&H (East African Railways and Harbours), KUR (Kenya Uganda Railways), KR (Kenya Railways) - all in themselves a lesson from the museum. The current acronym is RVR (Rift Valley Railways) but that's a fairly recent marketing ploy for the passenger services, and the budget doesn't stretch to ordering new silver cutlery.

Over dinner, we met an English woman, Anne, who is on her way to taking up a job as a Tour Guide on safaris in Tanzania. The four course dinner can be washed down with a few of Kenya's favourites: Tusker Lager. Then, sleep like a babe.

What more could you possibly want?

Mombasa: And we are not wearing a Mambo T-shirt.

Mombasa:

- where our biscuits, fig, and date, bars are from Saudi Arabia.
- where our mixed fruit jam is from Yemen.
- where we watch Aljazeera news, in English.
- where we drink spiced tea.
- and where, despite a sea breeze, it's 32 degrees and with little relief at night.

Mombasa is Kenya's second city. But very differant to Nairobi. It's a harbour/port town with the usual sleaze attached. There are nice areas, of course, but the centre is way more crowded than Nairobi, and no signs of Nairobi affluence. There's just so many more beggars than we have experienced elsewhere in Africa, so far. It's edgy. There's a large presence of Somalian refugees. We witnessed a guy below us, when looking down and across the harbour, pull 7 or 8 wallets from his clothing and rifle through them.

Deb and I spend the afternoon on a follow-your-nose, free roaming, wander through the jumble of steets in old town. We stop for a tasty chicken briyani, mango juice, and chai before discovering a very local beer garden. I've never said "no" to one on a hot day, and a couple of cold Tuskers helps get over the heat. The local lads appear to be settling in for a Saturday arvo session and watching sports on TV. Their moslem mates have got to be envious.

This is not another case of 'flexible honesty' but an ouright fib. We are shown a flash bus when booking to Lamu, 350km north of Mombasa heading towards the Somalia border, along the Swahili Coast. Oh no, no, no. That's actually the bus to Nairobi and our vehicle is a pure bred rattler. The first section on pot-holed highway is bad enough, but then comes the dirt roads. We have plenty of room this time, but the rattling is endurance testing.

Six and a half hours of bone shaking later, we board a dhow equipped with diesel engine and chug to Lamu (a UNESCO World Heritage site, I might add). We take another dhow along the waterfront to the beach village of Shella. It's an easy enough walk, but later. We're not walking the 40 minutes in the heat with our packs.

I don't quite know how we do it, but we have done it again. We've scored a four bedroom, three bathrooms, lounge areas, kitchen, verandah, and a shaded rooftop garden, - but wait, there's more - complete with a 'house boy' who washes up and occasionally makes our bed. And we are paying less than NZ$25 a night. We stay six nights!

We are at the halfway point, time wise, of our trip, so the break will be good. Having to go to Nairobi for tooth repairs made us have to re-jink plans slightly. The beach at Zanzibar was to be our break. It rained, so this will do just nicely.

Shella wouldn't be a half kilometre square. But it's a maze of narrow sandy streets. Little donkeys roam. It takes a couple of times to find the same way back to our house. And a couple of little windows-to-the street shops we found are tricky to locate again. No maps. No street names. A wonderful experience. After a day or two you are recognised by locals.

News filters through of a bomb exploding in Nairobi. Just up the way, three Kenyan soldiers are captured by Somalian militiamen. We catch up with Anne again a couple of times. After a few days we are joined in the house by a nice Irish couple, Pat and Sarah. And we meet a delightful couple of Dutch girls, both Maaike, who are near finished mid-wife studies and have spent time in Kenya on practical experience. They have some interesting, and alarming, stories to tell.

There's a flotilla of exotically named dhow plying the waters of Lamu and Shella. Names like AL HAMID, TAWAQAL, SHAHIDA, MBUZI, HADI HADI, SWALHITI, TAUFIQ and more. But my choice had to go to the exquistely named vessel, the FURQAN.

I start to plan on how we could stay for three months. But risk becoming like Jimmy Buffet: wasting away in Margaritaville. But we do find a more comfortable bus back to Mombasa. A group of five young men, unarmed, have a road block set up in an attempt to beg from the bus. The driver lines one up and guns it! Straight at him. He jumps pretty quick.

It's Saturday afternoon, I give consideration to finding the beer garden again. We bus it back to Nairobi very comfortably, it's quicker, and daylight. It's Kenya after all, and we don't tire of seeing animals. Between Lamu and Nairobi we see giraffe, zebra, waterbuck, monkeys, baboons and red elephants. Yep, because of the red dirt and dust the elephants take on an odd colour. Two bright red whirly-whirlies winds of rising dust also. Get back to find the Yapies have beaten the Wallabies by kicking two field goals at the death.

The Kenyan Daily Nation got to the point with one story: 'A mentally retarded man, James Olgatha, drowned when he plunged into Lake Victoria. A fisherman was too late to save him.' That's it. Total story. Finished. And a couple of stories of 'prompt justice'. A husband and wife couple are lynched by a Nyagenke village mob accused of being 'notorious witches'. And my bro, Whaleboy and I don't know how lucky we were. Villagers machete hack to death some lads who steal mangoes from their trees. In our early twenties we used make mango raids on trees in central Brisbane. But hey, this is Africa.

Hanging out at the beach for a few days gave me time to think.

Oh no. That's dangerous.

I noticed an interesting couple of press releases. When covering the G8 conference, the Saturday Nation (9 June) quoted rock star Bono commenting on G8's Africa aid pledge.: "They have taken language hostage. We wanted numbers but this is burobabble." Hmmm, and what language is that. Same day, Aljazeera shows fellow rock star campaigner, Bob Geldorf, as saying: "Africa could, or should, be the richest country." Ah, Bob, it's a continent of something like 54 countries.

But Bob did get me thinking. In fact I could rant on this one for ages. But relax.

But the fact that Africa is 54 countries is in itself the issue. There's no 'Africa' generalisations possible. Countries apart, there's northern Arab Africa, and Sub-Saharan Africa. There's West Africa, East Africa, and Southern Africa. Even from what I have seen there's different education, health and food levels even in neighbouring countries, and even in the same country.

But if I understand what Geldorf is getting at, doesn't Africa being self reliant also mean being less reliant on foreign aid?

At the time of independence, let's say early 1960s, just about all African countries were self supporting for food. Then came twenty years of dictators looking after themselves. By the 80s, Africa needed food from outside and was going broke. In steps the IMF and World Bank and starts providing funds on the premise that countries will privatise the nationalised companies to encourage enterprise. But they put few checks and balances in place, and wouldn't you know it the leaders sell nationalised companies to family and cohorts at rock bottom prices. These new owners in turn then turn to IMF/World Bank for funding to get the companies going. The funds disappear. Loans are not repaid.By the 90s African countries can't feed themselves, are broke, and owe stacks.

But don't get me started.

And, don't get me wrong. There has been real needs for humanitarian aid in Africa. I have witnessed abject poverty in this continent. I'm not so naive to not know that poverty in Africa also means child labour, selling children, trading your daughters and death by easily and absolutely curable disases. But real problems and blocks to remedies should be looked at. But I suggest G8 leftie protestors should be turning their attention to asking just where money donated by G8 has gone. And unfortunately, much of the well intentioned work by well meaning volunteers (largely) of NGOs and charities has been the same stuff for years and is but a scratch on the surface.

Time and time again the problems have lain with leadership, and its corruption. The political leadership has been a shocker. From Saturday Nation, 9 June, a letter to the editor from a Mr. Oulu:

Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe is accused of all forms of oppression in his country and considered Africa's shame. When he attended the recent COMESA talks in Nairobi, many people did not find it honourable that he should be elected vice-chairman of the reputed trading bloc, let alone be given the chance to move a vote of thanks.

Many people think that Mugabe should get out of power to set Zimbabweans free. But all these are shallow conclusions and condemnations. We must be bold enough to face the facts.

There is a dictator in every African country. Some are found in political parties, while others are in economic or social sectors. Thus Mugabe's exit, just like Amin's, Charles Taylor's or Mobutu's, will not end dictatorship on the continent, or the world. ...(cont'd)

And this, I believe, is Africa's problem. There appears something wrong at the top. Though my dentist reckons the current Kenyan President is just OK, but better still there is an active opposition. Single party politics has been the history of Africa since independence.

If you, too, should have the slightest interest in Africa's history since independence, and the tale of the same old, continuing story of the corruption of politics up until today; and of the continuing story of humanity where fights against oppression and racism are then followed by brutalities of people turning on themselves (Did you know that Band Aid and Live Aid relief food sat in rail wagons for two years not 250 meters from a refugee camp in which 250,000 people starved to death, all because of political gamesmanship?) - then have a read of Martin Meredith's The State of Africa: A history of fifty years of independence. (Jonathan Ball, 2005).

Its clear sighted, readable, straight forward story of cynical Western colonialists and then the post independence ruling elite hell bent on a pre-occupation of holding power for self enrichment is completely recommendable.

But you have been spared. I thought about heaps lying around, and reading the above mentioned book. So now it's time to get back on the road.

Tomorrow morning we head for Uganda. I'll attempt to try not trip over the Equator as we head to the border.

I'm always right. I once thought I could have been wrong, but it was an error.

Max
aka Mad.

Nairobi: Love it or hate it

Our overnight in Dar delivered another downpour. In fact, back at the beach on Kendwa, Zanzibar, the rain provided the chance for an International Yahtzee tournament, when Deb & I (New Zealand & Australia) took on an entertaining Dutch couple, Puck (preparing her thesis in micro-economics)and Martin, and an interesting Ethiopian, Shiferaw, who did his Masters in Environmental Studies at Dublin Uni.

We planned a stopover in Moshi en-route to Nairobi. We travelled the eight hours on the comfortable Scandinavian Coaches. At the bus terminal, before departure, I spotted a Newsweek magazine on the stand with a cover picture of Jacques Chirac and heading 'European Dinosaur' and wondered what he was doing making news again. Closer inspection revealed a May 2005 cover date!!!

Arrived Moshi feeling clean, still fresh and not physically crippled. We outdistanced the rain, arriving on a fine, and clear, afternoon with good views of Kilimanjaro for the last hour. We went for sundowners and sunset views of Kili on a rooftop bar of a nearby hotel.

Next day the rain caught up again. But we like the feel of Moshi and stayed another night - the tooth can wait. You can't begrudge Africa getting good rain. In fact, a self-invited guest (i.e. safari or Kili climb peddlar) during our morning coffee reckons "No one will be hungry this year." If true, that's fantastic. I expect he means in his local area.

I go for my third African haircut while in Moshi. Not much can go wrong with a no. two comb all over. But a slight apprehension when entering this 'very local' establishment when the sign outside states 'Barbing Shop'. They actually pride themselves doing mzungu haircuts.

Leaving Moshi, we pass through Arusha and Masai territory. These vibrant red/blue/purple checkered cloak wearing tribesman with bracelets, necklaces, anklets and large holes in enlarged earlobes make an impressive sight. The romantic travel guides will refer to them as warriors but really they are just ... jokers. In fact, cattle grazers, and the 'spears' they carry are no more than tools - sticks to poke their cattle. But the sight of one in full garb including his stick over his shoulder riding a bicycle is a delight.

The tooth has caused little interruption. My recommended dentist couldn't see me for a week and a half. A joker at our hotel recommends another. She's a local woman, Mary Ndueti, she's great, and she sees patients on 'first come - first served basis'. So Tuesday see her, get X-rays (she writes the charge on top of the referral form - "you can't trust anyone in Nairobi"), get post implant Thursday, temporary cap Friday. We'll catch the train to Mombasa and Lamu (recommended by our friends Rachel and Nick, back in Wellington) out on the Indian Ocean coast. Get back to Nairobi Sunday, 10 days later, get permanent cap on the Monday, and head to Uganda Tuesday. (We'll be back in Nairobi end of June, and head back for some unfinished business in Tanzania.)

Before coming to Nairobi everyone warned us to be careful - "it's not called Nai-robbery for nothing". Sure there's touts with all sorts of interesting introductions to their scams. But, hey. But we're Urban Creatures. We love a daily paper, cafes, bars, restaurants, book shops, cinemas etc. So Nairobi is turning out just fine. We're having a blast. We're staying fringe CBD, and the young professionals who politely greet us as we sit down at nearby tables at restaurants and bars are nothing but charming.

But things in parts of Nairobi and Kenya are sinister. Here's a selection of just three days' of Nairobi's Daily Nation newspaper.

(Sunday) Shocker. A matatu (minibuses)driver and conductor are beheaded by members of the outlawed Mungiki sect. The sect is causing no end of trouble. They are conducting stand over tactics for protection money from matatus. Seven drivers/conductors killed in past four days. Three hundred people have been arrested, the Internal Security Minister, John Michuki, said: "We will straighten them and wipe them out. I cannot tell you where these who have been arrested in conjunction with the recent killings are. What you will be hearing is there will be burials tomorrow (!!!)." This comment caused outrage in Nairobi over next few days.

(Monday) Police search for killers of a provincial police officer's aide

(Tuesday) A lone Mungiki sect member shot and killed three policemen, and injured another, and stole their guns. In hunting the lone gunman, police shoot 21 suspects in Mathare, a slum area of Nairobi.

(Wednesday) Despite 21 shot, only six bodies turn up at the mortuary. Questions are asked.

(Thursday) The Standard newspaper: Shocking Murder: Mungiki members behead a man and perform indescribable acts on his lifeless body as police retrieve missing officer's head, only a day after a bloodbath that claimed 34 lives. (More sect members were shot.)

I'll spare describing the photos for you. Editorials of all papers are along the lines 'stop this Mungiki madness now'. MPs are being questioned on their connections with the sect - apparently they do favours for the sect in return for standover tactics at election time.

More stories:

Man kills his wife after quarrel over kitchen utensils. He pleads guilty to manslaughter - 'he was provoked'. Judge orders he serve a sentence 'from now until the court rises'. He was sentenced at 10:00, the court rose at 12:45pm that day. Two-and-three-quarter hours in jail. He vows to continue using utensils even though threatened by a curse from his villagers.

Yet a man, Samuel Lekai, has been sentenced to death for stealing mobile phones from two women!!!

A woman has been detained for hacking her husband to death, after he sold a family goat for 1000 Kenyan shillings (US $1 = 66Ksh) and spent the proceeds on beer and cigarettes. God knows what sentence she will receive.

A primary school pupil shot dead by cattle rustlers. He was trying to track down 30 cattle missing from his village. The rustlers are being pursued across the Kenya-Uganda border.

A man's 'eyes popped and he collapsed' after coming third in a food eating contest. He choked on bread and was rushed to hospital. He was resuscitated and returned to collect his prize.

The presiding judge of the Constitutional Court in Nairobi has wiped out the Ksh 200 million court costs bill slapped on Kwale District villagers. They had won Ksh 7 million compensation for land worth Ksh 9 million, confiscated by the state to establish a titanium mining project expected to yield Ksh 12 billion. Work that one out!

There's pages more on fraud, forgery, and corruption. And a warning on highway robbers. There's elections at the end of 2007, and a candidate has fled the country seeking asylum in Canada??

I also see the lefties are protesting at G8 and demanding more aid for Africa. Meanwhile editorials here in Africa are saying provide us with ways to look after ourselves - stop making us dependent on handouts. Besides, the lefties should be asking where all the aid has been going. The past Ugandan health minister faces trial for scarpering with US$5 million of AIDS support funds. A Kenyan policeman has been given a verbal warning for his standover tactics trying to obtain his cut of a village's famine relief food supplies.

We're finding Africa just a fantastic place to visit, but I'd hate to be a local living here.

Max
aka Mad

Africa: Who's looking at who?

Zanzibar: the dream realised

The MV Mandeleo plys its way onto the Indian Ocean, across the sparkling, deep blue Zanzibar Channel. A blast from the ship's horn warns an errant dhow to change course. The decks bake under a tropical sun ...

Enough. The real story. The Mandeleo, which I believe probably fits the description 'tramp steamer', has a ship's plate 'Tsuenishi Shipping Co., Japan, 1980 - which surprised me, I would have guessed 1950 at least. A very tired old ship. More flexible honesty: it leaves 11:30, takes two and a half hours. We watch while it loaded all manner of produce until 2:00 and then 'sailed' for a little over 4 hours. Deb and I spent sometime on deck, up at the bow, until the inevitable. You just cannot be left alone. "Ha-lo mizduh. Whyb youb trabel dis berry? Ees bery slowb." But that was the point. Yes it was slow, yes the sea was glorious, and yes dhow sailed all around.

Locals pay a third of what mzungu pay. It's all open and clearly stated on noticeboards. Let's just call it 'skin tax'. But I was surprised, once again, when we arrived at the port of Stone Town and we had to pass through an immigration process, passport stamped and all. Zanzibar has its own government. In fact the whole Tanzania Union of Tanganyika and Zanzibar is still a bit strained here. But the major thing, the immigration process didn't include any charges. That's remarkable. Oh yeah. The large sign at immigration pronounced: 'No public displays of affection allowed'. Suits me.

Also, on arrival at port, woke up to an attempted scam that had the look of robbery written all over it. Luckily, we survive yet again. But you just can't drop your guard.

First up, I thought I might have been visiting my first place which included two Zs in the name. Silly boy. Of course, I was brought up in Brizzie, and I've been to Tazzie. And I've been to the odd Pizzeria.

While working northward we've now travelled east coast Africa, to the west and back to the east: Indian-Atlantic-Indian Oceans. Basically though our zigzag path is a northern corridor on the eastern side of the continent. And it's one big continent. Did you know that the total area combined of China, USA, India, Europe, Argentina and, oh alright then - let's chuck in New Zealand, is 30,244,721 sq kms. Africa's area is 30,342,551 sq kms. Fact.

I have this sneaky suspicion that a local Moslem was a naughty boy the night we arrived. No sooner did the 5:00am call to prayer commence next morning when their god decided to pay the offender back by dumping a deluge when the faithful were making their way to the mosque. By the time we got up later and had breakfast, a wonderful sun shone.

The world is going mad. I'm already getting over the fact one of my earlier books read on this trip was about westerners stressing over their prestige and levels of wealth. A real nonsense here. But over breakfast, a TV played SKY news from London. The major stories included a fuss over a Nepali, 92 years of age, who won a VC saving Brit soldiers against the Japs, being allowed a visa to enter the UK for some medical treatment - this is a country where it rains hot and cold benefits; and believe this one - the Poms bleating that it's Germans who always get the best recliners on the beaches in southern Europe!!; morning traffic blocks on the M5; and don't worry about your car being stolen or house broken into, 33 police have been assigned to watch Big Brother for racist and sexist infringements.

Anyway. Back to Zanzibar.

It's the birthplace of Freddie Mercury, well Farookh Bulsara actually. He didn't stay long before his family moved to India. He wasn't quite 18 when he landed in England. But funnily enough in this mainly conservative Moslem place they still capitalise on the Queen of camp. There's a bar and restaurant featuring him. A neat place to have a sundowner and watch lads play soccer and do gymnastics on the beach. Zanzibar is on the tourist trail. There's plenty of upmarket hotels and the rest of the trappings.

Zanzibar really is a collision of cultures. It really does feel like we've stepped off Africa. I'll do it again and compare. Stone Town feels like we've landed in a merge of Havana, Cuba and Fez, Morocco. How's that? But there's a sort of Malecon along the beachfront and buildings have the worn, crumbling look. And we are staying in the inner/old town which is a maze of metre and a half wide streets with hole in the wall shops and mosques. And the lush tropical growth, especially after the morning downpours, is also reminiscent of South East Asia.There is still plenty of bantu people, but also arabs, and a good number of Indians. The food is grouse.Stown Town is a great place for wandering. The smell of spices surround you. And there are sobering reminders of the slave trade days.

At stalls in the night food market you can get kebabs of marlin, tuna, snapper, barracuda, shark, red and white lobster, crab, calamari, octopus, shrimp, prawn and chicken. Whilst the temptation was there to sample one of each, I did hold back. Mind you it's as cheap as chips. No, not chips, but you could also have japati, roti, or falafel and wash it down with spice tea.

While we ate we were, of course, joined by yet another wanting to practice his interesting version of English. But he did confirm something I have always suspected. When he ascertained Deb came from New Zealand he explained he found her accent hard to understand. "You sound like you talk like a computer." (!!!) You gotta laugh.

Sunsets in Stone Town are over water and the distant African mainland. They take on a beautiful effect similiar to those glorious South Island views experienced from Raumati South.

I completed Thabo Mbeki's Africa: define yourself, which is basically a collection of some of his speeches. I was left with an underlying impression that he is an optimist, which is a good thing. However, there's a few underlying points to think about: He has a dangerous head in the sand attitude to AIDS; He correctly states poverty is a major issue, but he bangs on using cliched old ANC propoganda rather than proposed solutions; He is outrightly evasive on the Zimbabwe issue; And, he is a politician after all, I think harbours an ego and aspirations to being a grander- scale African statesman (not the first post-independance leader either) - and that just might be partly because he has a bit of a thorn in his side coming out from under the shadow of Nelson Mendela.

In Stone Town there is just the most wonderful bookstore: the Gallery Bookshop. Its Africa section is simply fantastic, and the rest is just quality reading. Reminiscent of Wellington's Unity Books. I have now stacked up on three 'big reads'. I have commenced Martin Meredith's The State of Africa: a history of fifty years of independence (Jonathan Ball), bought in Swakopmund, Namibia. And to follow, Aidan Hartley's The Zanzibar Chest (Harper Perennial), found in Lusaka - recommended when in Tsumeb, by Eric and Sandykaye who have done a 4x4 trip down the West Coast of Africa (www.border-crossings.com), and now from Zanzibar Africa: A biography of the Continent, by John Reader. That will be enough reading for a while - I can stop buying.

We traveled the 40-50km to the northern tip of the Zanzibar island to stay on Kendwa Beach. Greeted by a tropical downpour, that continued off and on for two days - at the beach!!! Not part of the plan. We wondered where we were - could be anywhere: Bali, Thailand, or even Pacific Islands. White sand beaches, beautiful sea, palm trees, lush growth. Beach sellers peddled T-shirts, massage, henna feet or hands prints, snorkel trips. We are now on the tourist trail: Nairobi to Dar and Zanzibar. Perfect for the three week holiday taking in Ngorogoro Crater, Serengeti, and Kilimanjaro. There's droves of groups of Spanish, Dutch and Italians. Tourists and back-packers. Good luck to them, I say. It must be great having so many travel options without having to travel half way round the world. Oh, and there's a fair share of wholesomely nice US college kids performing their Christian duties.

It's back to Dar Es Salaam, this time on the fast ferry - a catamaran, which left and stayed on schedule. We had planned our continued trek through Tanzania, but a changed is required. I've gone and broken a tooth. Nairobi will be the best bet. When we were at Cape of Good Hope, South Africa, we met a nice German woman, Julia, who is a lecturer at The Kenyatta Uni. We've e-mailed her and she has recommended a dentist. We'll come back to Tanz. No problems, hakuma matata, its the benefit of travel with time on your side.

'It's not the things you do in life that you should regret, but the things you don't.' Anon.

Max
aka Mad