Not wanting to face possibly another long wait in the hotel restaurant, we wandered around the just waking town, as the first shops opened and little groups of tiny uniformed children headed off to kindergarten. An enormous baobab tree grew in the middle of an intersection, and although there were street sweepers at work, and the rubbish lay in trails along the middle of the road, it looked as though the first vehicles would be bound to scatter it all again. There were no formal footpaths, and yet there was quite a lot of traffic – so we were constantly worried about Sebi’s safety. Children put their hands out for money as we passed. Many women wore traditional Muslim headscarves rather than the flamboyant head scarf arrangements that we were used to. Keith had been woken very early by the call to prayer, but as usual, I had slept on.
We bought our breakfast of chapattis and small rice cakes and my Swahili numbers, as drummed into me by Fidelisi, were very useful indeed. Freddy and Pius went outside to keep Sebi safe while Rosie and Ticha finished their breakfast.
Our early morning stroll took us to a shoe shop, where unfortunately they did not have some shoes just right for Pius. Keith made conversation with a couple of friendly passers-by who could speak English. It looked like a town that would have been interesting to visit for longer, but for us it was only a transit stop.
It was a very long day of driving, punctuated by Rosie telling us animated stories at appropriate places of how buses she had been on had fallen over, slipped into ditches or lost parts, and of the many problems similarly suffered by her and Ticha when they had their utility transport business. The roads had deep ditches beside them and alternated between sand, clay and fine dust surfaces which, in the wet season are slippery, soft and often under water. The precarious nature of travel in
The air became noticeably cooler as we climbed into the mountains, and different trees, many with leaves and some with autumn tonings, predominated. At Kola we stopped to pay the fee to visit the rock art site, and also collected Haje, a stand-in guide, who would take us there. There is a scale of payments for National Parks and such like, which in all cases is much less for Tanzanian nationals than for foreign visitors. The track up into the mountains set challenges for Derek’s driving and for Keith’s back. From a small plateau overlooking the plains, where once upon a time hunters looked out to see the animals, we started to climb up steep paths. We zigzagged between rocks, and climbed up roots that formed a ladder, with everyone being relieved to be out of the car and Sebi enjoying the challenges of the track.
We visited three sites, each of which was like a platform under a very large overhanging rock. Protection from the weather had made these spots perfect for the paintings to be preserved, and for their original uses as places to sleep and to hold ceremonies. Haje told us that the pictures, maybe as old as 5000 years, were not intended to go together as a story, but were more like a recording of memories, as in a photo album. There were animals and people in reds and whites, with some figures coloured in and others just left as outlines. The winding climb, the panoramic view and the tasting of some sweet and sour berries that Haje recommended, combined with the imprint of the long ago people to create a mysterious feeling for me. Looking down through the mix of prickly trees and those with russet and the brightest of green foliages, to the grasslands stretching to the mountains in the distance, I was very conscious of seeing the same view that the original painters had looked out on.
After more driving and lunch in a very efficient restaurant, we drove on until a puncture stopped us. It was a drag for Ticha and Derek, who changed the tyre, but a welcome break for the rest of us. We walked about, and found some weaver bird nests, with one fallen to the ground. Some nests sit amongst prickly branches and others hang in the air on a woven string. The birds make a tunnel up from the bottom that turns at the top and then leads back down into an enclosed chamber. Sometimes the nests built in groups, creating a ‘block of flats’ effect with many tunnel entrances.
We had been passing many palm trees and stalls selling mats and baskets made from their leaves. Rosie hoped to buy some at some stage, but there was never a time near the palms when another stop wouldn’t have disturbed a sleeping child. Ticha’s mobile phone was running hot since we were heading for the area that used to be his and Rosie’s stamping ground, and some of their friends were in the vicinity.
Makayuni is at a major crossroad, with
Our impression of the town consists only of the crossroad section, with an enormous dusty car park, edged with a few small shops, with steel bars in front of their counters, and the ‘cafeteria’. It is a large, outdoor eating space under shelter, where you can buy drinks and a range of meat and ugali dishes. We were still in the dusty car park when Ticha and Rosie saw some friends, and it was a real pleasure for them to be seeing them again. Once inside the cafeteria, there were more greetings with the staff. Rosie had been the manager of a safari camp in this area; the camp at which Ticha worked and where they met, and they had many fond memories of time spent at the cafeteria.
When we returned to our hotel, we could not move our luggage because the rooms were not ready, so we ordered dinner and sat outside in the velvet evening. It became a repeat of the exceptionally long wait for food that we had experienced in Kondoa, except that being outside was a little better for the children. Rosie was stressed by Sebi repeatedly running off and Keith told her of how Aboriginal people tell their children scary stories to keep them from running away into the dark. She said that he could feel free to frighten Sebi into safe behaviour. She also told us of a mother who had children with a Tanzanian man, but whose children were very fair. The woman had told Rosie that she was very vigilant with her children because she had heard that there are people who snatch white children and use their blood ceremonially in a voodoo cult. Sebi has honey coloured skin which is dark in
After many inquiries as to the progress of the meal and the rooms, we were finally served after three hours, when Jarvah was asleep and Sebi definitely past it. Rosie expressed her dissatisfaction when, along with the meal, the hotel sign-in book was presented, with its ten questions to answer for each guest.
The window of our bathroom had been left open, and the toilet was crowned with a bird’s nest that had fallen in and scattered dirt all over the room. The mosquito net arrangement was not very secure, but we were ready to sleep, so rickety net, bird’s nest, late meal and all were forgotten as we lowered our heads onto comfortable pillows.
This Maasai woman was selling beads and jewellery in Makayuni. She was incredibly persistent and did not take 'No' for an answer.
Below: A very common sight everywhere in rural Tanzania is the Maasai herdsman.
This amazing tip is at a major intersection near the centre of Kondoa. Recycling here seems to consist of feeding the livestock on the rubbish.
Although we have become accustomed to seeing gum trees in every country we visit, we were surprised to see silky oaks in flower in northern Tanzania. Apparently the timber is used for both firewood and for furniture making.
