In Maasai Territory: From Hell Highway to the Longest Day
Arusha is the largest town in Northern Tanzania, best known for its close vicinity to Mount Kilimanajaro and many famous national parks including the Serengeti. If you arrived here from Nairobi in one of the numerous customised safari vehicles or coaches that travel this, approximately 275km, route daily, you might find the touts a bit aggravating after a relaxing journey. On the other hand, if like me you arrive by bicycle, after 3days travelling from Nairobi to Kajiado, then to the border town of Namanga and finally to Arusha with its patisseries, cheap lodging with hot showers and comparatively friendly hustlers , you might well think you've found a small piece of heaven.
Nairobi-Kajiado: Hell Highway and a Cycle Tourist Called Jesus
[Distance: 52.5miles]
So i left her. After 3weeks of traipsing around Kenya, and only one week left on my visa (though as a South African you can renew it for free) i finally decided to leave Nairobi and begin heading due south. It was a long, painful, foul-tastingly suffocating kiss goodbye from Kenya's capital city as i cycled out on the Uhuru (Freedom) Highway to Mombasa which connects to the Arusha road. If i had thought getting out of Mombasa was tough, Nairobi was in a completely different league.
The weather was, still, dark and overcast, trapping the smoggy fumes of a chain-smoking city below. With trucks thundering back to Mombasa port, matatus ferrying people to work and school, buses taking them further afield, and all belching clouds of dark fumes it was more like a fireless hell. Towards the outskirts of the city sat the devil's own sentinels; huge Marabou storks, their ugly bald heads and huge beaks tucked into their feathers making them look like headless watchers, waiting for carrion on which to feed.
That was the good part. From there the two wide lanes that had previously been separated now joined into two more narrow ones and the road quality deteriorated. Imagine the Kenyan equivalent in traffic volumes of the N1 or N3 in South Africa, add a narrower road, more potholes, clouds of exhaust fumes (sorry to harp on, but they really were excessive) and homicidally reckless drivers and you get close. Although i was pleased to survive it, the fact that i held my nerve was more due to a fatalistic stubborness than bravery or determination; the latter don't do much for you when you are cycling straight at a twenty-ton truck heading in the opposite direction hoping that it will be able to pull-in in time. Other than one other who tucked in behind me for about 5km's - and thereby provided a welcome early warning for trucks and buses coming from behind - i was the sole cyclist. I smelt the two dead dogs before i got to them, and it was only after the Athi River turn-off that i believed i wouldn't be joining them.
From there it was a much more pleasant cycle to Kajiado, during which i was escorted by a local cyclist for about 20km's to the small town of Isidyu. We exchanged postal addresses and i politely declined an offer to meet his chief because i was keen to get into Kajiado in good time. It was there that i realised i was now entering Maasai country.
The Maasai are a conspicuous group; often tall (especially the men) and wiry, wearing reddish cloaks; the men carrying traditional weapons and the women with elongated earlobes and wearing many bronze bracelets and other bits of jewellery. I did however notice a distinct coldness from some of the non-Maasai locals in Kajiado and wondered whether this was at all related to the fact that i was mistaken - walking around town later in my khaki clothes - for a missionary (to add to the irony of my being mistaken for an American basketball player in Nairobi, a US marine in Lamu and an Israeli in Mombasa). The guesthouse i stayed in had a bar in its centre and i was persuaded by the manager - a young Maasai who's father owned the place - to join the locals for a beer, which i did. However, being stared at intensely by staggeringly- drunk Maasai warriors is a little disconcerting at the best of times and when a bar fight almost broke out i decided to finish my beer and make a subtle exit.
Other than that, i discovered that Nairobi had kept some souvenirs from my visit: two screws had come-out of my rear luggage rack making it dangerously unstable and i had lost one my hiking sandals that had been inadequately secured to the top of one of the panniers. Fortunately i managed to find an adequate replacement for the screws, but i am going to have to get another set of footwear. It was also in Kajiado, chatting to the local ginger seller whilst waiting for some sugarcane to be chopped-up for me (chewing sugarcane is a favourite past-time when i can find some) that i realised most people i had discussed South Africa with had mostly mentioned old news. The ginger seller on the other hand was interested in Jacob Zuma; "Yes, that Zuma man is corrupt. He must go". "Well, he hasn't been found guilty yet you know", i protested lamely. "Yes, him and that Shaik", he continued, ignoring me. I have actually found that most of the time, once they realise i'm South African and not going to buy anything, i get on quite well with most of the street-sellers and touts.
Oh, i almost forgot to mention that at Nairobi Backpackers i met my first cycle tourist. His name was Jesus. No, really, i haven't found god (sorry to dissapoint my religious friends), he' s Spanish and they do have names like Jesus Raquel Fernandez. He was a very pleasant character and a much more experienced cycle tourist, and it was good to compare bikes, discuss cycling technicalities and just generally speak to someone who could relate. As it happens he seems to live up to his name because he and his partner had apparently got as many as 8 thorn-punctures each on some days!
Kajiado-Namanga: To the Border
[Distance: 56.5miles]
"In Kenya we have good people and we have bad people. We have Christians, and we have bad people"; so said a hustler to me on my very first day in Nairobi. Well, the first line ran through my head as i cycled from Kajiado to the Namanga border. There were the genuinely friendly locals who wave, shout and greet to the ones who shout and beg with dumb hand-to-mouth gestures; Kenya has good and bad people. Not to say that begging is not understandable but as a cycle tourist - with very much richer people whizzing by - it can get very frustrating. [More on this in another email]. The key thing to remember is of course that except for on the worst stretches the good vastly outnumber the bad - to use this simplistic terminology. I will always remember the little children at one village who did come running out to wave me goodbye from Kenya with big grins covering their little faces.
Namanga is an unremarkable place, other than the fact that it straddles the Kenya-Tanzania border and therefore has all the typical characteristics of so many border towns - hustlers, touts, grime, truckers...you get the picture. Cashing twenty US dollars into Tanzanian shillings i avoided the street hustlers and went to a forex bureau, which is always preferable if available. I didn't allow myself to be disconcerted by the box of condoms in my room (no doubt just a progressive manager), what appeared to be bloodstains on the mosquito net and wall (!), or the necessity of taking a cold bucket-shower for the second day running, and managed to get some sleep before waking up early to complete my morning stretching and preparations by candlelight (they turned the generator off).
Namanga-Arusha: The Longest Day
[Distance: 75miles]
Having got through both sides of the border in good time, stopping for a quick chai ya maziwa (tea with milk) and a large 'donut', I pedalled downhill out of Namanga just after 7:30am. The black road stretched into the mountains in distance, flanked by acacia thorntrees and dusty red earth. "You won't make it to South Africa", said one hanger-on who heard me talking to a shopkeeper at the borderpost where i disposed of some Kenyan currency. Well, maybe not but i was damn well going to try and getting through this day would a larger step than most.
The road was much rougher at first, slowing the bike by at least a few miles an hour, but the occasional stretches of smoothness gradually became more frequent until they thankfully predominated. Despite, or rather because of, the arid surroundings there were many birds of various sorts to keep my interested and i managed to add a few new species to my list. Although the rough road and a fairly stiff south-easterly breeze slowed me down somewhat the first 35-40miles went to plan; occasionally stopping to take a photo of a lone Masaai walking in the distance along the road, or to have a snack and drink, or just to stretch my back.
After around 35miles and 3hours cycling through some fairly hilly terrain that allowed me to whizz down some hills and get out of the saddle to climb some others, i came across a woman dressed in yellow running in the direction of Namanga who i greeted, but i didn't think much of it since this is after all a country that produces marathon runners in large numbers. It turned out however that she was part of a larger group, parked at the side of the road a few kilometres further, who were running in relay fashion (5km at a time) from Dar es Salaam to Nairobi to commemorate the victims of the terrorist bombings of 1998. I was flagged down by a man who turned out to be the organiser, one Father Da Silva (yes, he was a priest). They of course wanted to know what i was doing, and when they found out their next question was 'Why?"
Despite all my previous rationalisations, all i could say was, "I don't know". After much friendly discussion and having our photos taken together, i was sent off in good spirits with two oranges and a free t-shirt printed for their trip. It wasn't to last.
Soon thereafter the road dropped down into a huge, dusty plain, the road roughened again and the wind picked-up slowing me to a crawl. But then something strange happened. Even as i left the plain, ascending a smallish hill, and the wind dropped, i didn't move any faster. Even when i hit a smooth, flat stretch with a weak wind i was still going at around 8mph rather than my more usual 11 or 12. Even though my legs seemed to be moving as before, the speedometer kept dropping, and it felt like i was pedalling through treacle. I stopped a number of times to check the bike for punctures, for things sticking in the wheels, for any possibl explanantion but i couldn't find any problem. I was forced to conclude that it was neither the bike, nor the road, but me. To be honest, that scared me, and i had to draw very deep to keep myself moving. Eventually i crawled into Oldonyo Sambu, 38km's from Arusha, at 6mph doubting whether i could go any further. After a Sprite, some food and 10minutes on a bench - Oldonyo Sambu is just a collection of wooden structures by the roadside - i decided to see if i could carry-on since there didn't seem anywhere to stay.
After a few kilometres the speedometer began to move-up again for no apparent reason and i almost regained the speeds to which i had become accustomed. After many more stops - including a chat with a chai-room owner who waved me down 15km's out - i got to the top of what turned out to be a long downhill run (onehill aside) into Arusha, for which i was incredibly grateful. Finally, eight hours after i started out, i had arrived.
Of course, it took another hour to find somewhere with accomodation - since it's getting into high-season now - where i could finally collapse after carrying all my gear in three loads up four flights of stairs.
It was perhaps the most physically difficult thing i've ever done, but it's great to be in Tanzania. One border crossed, three to go.
[If you read this far well done; convert that to physical stamina and you could probably make it from Namanga to Arusha. Just make sure to take lots of peanut butter sanwiches and water!]
Labels: TRIP
posted by Mfundza @ 12:51 pm
