Tazara - The Long Way Across

It's not necessarily something I can say I was dreaming of doing, but sliding down the tracks, head out the window, giant grin on my face, I felt as if I was fulfilling a lifelong dream. Travel between Zambia and its northern neighbor, Tanzania, has one additional option not too commonly found on the continent; rail. The mismanaged, underfunded, and aged Tazara line that runs twice weekly between Kapiri Mposhi and Dar es Salaam is known as being a classic travel experience on the continent. It was not only the obvious option for me, but one I felt I needed to get under my belt at least once. Turns out, once is probably not enough.

Built between 1970 and 1975, the line's primary purpose was to allow landlocked Zambia to move its precious copper to the coast without transiting white-ruled countries. The project was essentially a Chinese undertaking, with all the materials and equipment coming from China itself; the reason for China's commitment is obvious. Over the course of almost 1,200 miles the line crosses 320 bridges and passes through 22 tunnels while traversing savanna, scrub forest, dense highland forest, and tropical lowlands. It took about 50,000 Chinese and 60,000 Africans to complete the line while claiming the lives of over 160 workers. No doubt a major undertaking through a very inhospitable region of the world.

For the most part, I hadn't heard too many good things about traveling the line. Once an enchanting journey through Africa, I had read and heard that the train was no longer standing up to its former glory and was now a horrendous journey plagued by break downs, derailments, unsanitary conditions, and lack of food and water. Of course these rumors were not going to stop me. My expectations were low as I entered the Kapiri Mposhi train station and weren't heightened at all after I found my reservation didn't exist. The booking agent made a bit of fuss and said she would do me a favor and get me the last bed in first class. I found this odd since I had arrived at the station 8 hours prior to departure and the "reservation list" was certainly far shorter than available beds. As I later found out, there were plenty of spots available and first class never even fully booked. Thanks for the favor.

I received varying information on how long it would take the train to cover the 1,200 miles to Dar es Salaam. The official "on time" was 40 to 60 hours. The 20-hour "on time" window may seem cockamamie, but I applaud the train company for actually relying on what is known as "African time". By western standards, being on time is a rarity in Africa, but Tazara nailed their on time prediction. After 52 hours on the train, I stumbled into the humid Dar es Salaam train station, dusty, grimy, and looking forward to not having to spend another night in a heaving bed.

The journey itself turned out to be an outstanding experience. No break downs, no derailments, and by stuffing myself with bananas, I effectively stalled my intestines and didn't have to brave the stinky toilet too often. The food was good from the dining car and the beer was always cold from the bar car. There was a fun and easygoing vibe amongst the passengers; we were all in it together and come what may. Two full days were easily killed hanging out the door watching Africa slowly pass, waving at dirty children, and hopping off and on as the train stopped at different villages and towns. Maybe I got lucky, but I reckon with low expectations, the Tazara line is equally as enchanting as it ever was.

Departure point from the Zambian side.

Once the sun set, the bar car would become a bit more lively. I was amazed at how well a particular drunken Zambian could bust moves in a swaying car without falling over. By the final and 3rd night of the journey, this car was packed with travelers jonesing to get off.

Somewhere in Tanzania traversing idyllic African landscapes.

Life is good when enjoying a Safari while on a safari.

The train made a number of stops along the way and it was obvious that the train's passing was a major event for the smaller, isolated towns and villages.

Not surprisingly, each stop had its fair share of curious children waiting to goad the westerners, regardless of what side of the fence they were on.

The train passes through the Selous Game Reserve in Tanzania which provides the opportunity for wildlife viewing.

Outside the town of Mbeya, Tananzia, the train slows down substantially as it begins to wind its way through the mountains.

Life on the tracks.

Livingstone - The Smoke that Thunders

Livingstone was only meant to be a quick stop on my journey further north. But, with a convenient night bus connection from Namibia and a couple days to kill, I figured I would spend the days in Zambia's premier tourist destination. My travels have brought me through here before but I never really lingered too long. It is a bustling little town with quite the party scene and enough loud Americans to keep even the most determined baboons and elephants at bay. 

The draw of Livingstone is primarily the impressive Victoria Falls and all the activities that go along with it. There is also all sorts of safaris in all shapes and sizes; walking with rhinos, petting lions, feeding the crocodiles, wrapping a snake around your neck, yada yada yada. All for a pretty penny. Lvingstone for me has been for the most part unexciting. I re-familiarized my intestines with greasy street food and enormous dinners at local back-alley restaurants. Of course I visited the falls as well. Those will never cease to amaze.

It is here in Livingstone that I can now report that I have officially been molested and robbed in Africa. Livingstone is considered a safe town but I unfortunately let my guard down, lost my wits, and paid the price. 

While visiting the falls I sat down on what seemed to be decent place to sit and enjoy my apple (despite the bench not having a back rest). In addition to having shade there was a band of baboons swinging in the trees, acting like monkeys which I figured would provide good entertainment while I ate my apple. As I took my first bite into the delicious fruit I caught a quick flash out the corner of my eye. I may have screamed like a little girl as a big mama baboon with a youngster on her back charged me full bore. I had no time to weigh my options and as a last resort before being pummeled I thrust my arm out, apple in hand. The baboon quickly grasped the apple with her leathery hand and retreated to the edge of the bench where she enjoyed the apple. I am not going to be all Indiana Jones about it; it freaked me out. After saying some profanities under my breath, I went on my way, keeping my orange out of site. In hindsight, I feel I should have stood my ground but my stubbornness is probably no match to the sharp teeth of a baboon.

Livingstone has also been a place of a strange coincidence and unlikely meeting. The first night at my accommodation, a man (who appeared to be local) started asking questions about me. I told him I was from Montana and he preceded to tell me that he had visited Whitefish, Helena, and Bozeman. I figured he was yanking my chain but when he said he went to school in Minnesota and was from Zimbabwe, I only had to throw out one name that sent him flying out of his seat. Turns out, he was the college roommate of a good friend of mine, and although having never met, we knew about each other. Small world.

 Happy to be back in the land of maize porridge, greasy curries, boiled greens, and respectable portions.

Victoria Falls and perhaps 10% of its glory. The falls are massive and this image only captures a slice of the entire spread. They are a site to be seen.

 Peering over the abyss.

 In the belly of the beast.

The bridge spanning the precipitous gorge and linking Zambia to Zimbabwe. Last time I visited here, it was from the Zim side; despite my reluctance to pay 20 bucks for the park entrance, I am glad I did just to get another perspective on the impressive falls.

The moment preceding my molestation and robbery. I must of been distracted because I found it odd that a baboon would be drinking from a water bottle.

Enguwantale - Home Again

It is like a dream now. As quickly as I was whisked into the village on Sunday evening, I reluctantly left on Friday. Going in, I didn't know what to expect; what would I do with myself for a whole week, how would I be received, and would there be an awkward readjustment to be being there? My doubts were of course groundless and it was apparent the moment that I stepped back into the old homestead that one week would not be enough, that I would be warmly received back into the community, and no readjustment would be necessary - it was as if I had never left.

I was greeted by the warm embraces of my former host mother and brothers and sisters. For the most part, the same faces were still around at the old homestead, which was comforting, as they were the ones I missed the most. The sounds, tastes, and smells of being back were evocative, bringing back my fondest memories. There were so many things that I didn't even know I missed.

With the exception of a few new shops in the village and a few upgrades at the school, things were pretty much as I left them. I returned to school to find that many of my students had moved on but many were still around and those that I were closest with were eager to catch up. In the community, I felt as if I was more warmly received than when I was actually there and active. The village headman didn't hesitate for even a second before coming to me in his drunken stupor and shouting to me in untranslatable drivel. I have to wonder if he even knows I had ever left.

It was a bit unnerving to be repeatably asked about my projects that never stuck; what about the garden? And the biogas digester? These were projects I put my heart into, and although I had known that they didn't stick, it was still difficult to field questions about why they failed. The remarks were not of a spiteful nature, but were simple inquiries and a grasping of what went wrong. I am at peace with it; I went in there and tried my best to improve the community. In hindsight, I personally took a lot more out of those projects than the people they were meant to help. I have learned that what may be a good idea to me, doesn't necessarily mean that it is a good idea in that particular context. The ideas need not come from me, but from the community; they know better than me, or anyone else for that matter, what their most pressing needs are.

My mark has been left on that community and after revisiting, I now know that none of those marks were tangible. By simply being there, I left my mark. That hasn't been made more apparent than simply revisiting and making myself present.

 Brother and sister reunited. Magano, whose name in Oshiwambo means "gift", is indeed a gift to this world. With a fresh English vocabulary since I last left her, our fondness for each other was only strengthened.

 What a treat to drink again from the fly infested clay pots holding the slightly fermented Owambo traditional drink called oshikundu.

 My idyllic image from Enguwantale; open grassland sparsely populated with the makalani palm and millet fields.

 The voluminous setting African sun is such a staple to the Enguwantale evenings.

Back to my old ways; driving the goats and cows to bed for the evening.

 During my 2-year absence, Shehamanje hadn't changed a bit and was as entertained by his rolling toy as ever.

Another Enguwantale staple, song and dance.

Swakopmund - More German than African

Swakopmund is a place I never lingered too long when traveling Namibia in the past. In fact, I had only had fleeting glimpses of Namibia's premier beach destination in passing. It's a hot tourist destination, the type of destination that is not exactly my modus operandi. Frankly, there were always more intriguing places for me to spend my time. But, it was compulsory for me to swing in here this trip to pay a visit to my old colleague and good friend Gift Ngulwa. During my first year at Enguwantale, Gift (from the Silozi tribe in Namibia's Caprivi strip) and I were the outsiders in the village. As a result, we hit it off and developed a strong friendship.

This is the part where I should give a little history about Swakopmund that I assume lends to its uniqueness on the continent. Unfortunately, I don't know too much about it. What I know is that it is an old colonial town dating way back. This is evident in the town center's very German architecture, German-speaking locals, and general un-African like feel. It is set in one of the most inhospitable places on this planet with next to no annual rainfall; the few plants and animals survive on the mist produced by the coast's frequent fogs. The Namib desert encroaches on the fringes of town, contrasted with a frigid Atlantic Ocean. Not really sure how a place becomes so well-established against these odds, but its here and thriving.

Like many other African towns in the region, there are two contrasting sides. Amongst the clean paved streets and colonial buildings, you will find a predominately white community. But, on the outskirts you find what is called the "location" where the streets are dirt, houses more ramshackle and squeezed, and an entirely black and coloured (mixed race) community. When making plans with Gift for meeting up, there was a bit of a reluctance for him to come to town and a bit of a reluctance for me to go to the location. These conflicting worlds are something I was never really exposed to in the north of the country, where essentially everywhere is already the location. There is a clear division, not just in Swakop, but in many of the towns across the southern parts of Namibia, and I assume South Africa. I knew it existed, but as a foreigner it is too difficult to immerse in both. Travelers just don't visit the locations. In the end, we hung out in the location.

Gift and I spent the evening hitting a few of the local shebeens (bars), eating street meat, and people watching. The vibrancy and energy in the location far exceeded what could be found in town. It was a neat experience to rub shoulders with people from all of the country's tribal groups; Damara, Hereo, Owambo, Solozi, and coloureds. Despite being the only white guy, I never felt unwelcomed or out of place and surprisingly didn't attract much attention.

Later that evening, on my way back to my accommodation in town, I swung into a pub to meet up with some other travelers. Needless to say, I didn't stick around too long. Lacking the same energy of the location, I quickly lost interest; it felt like any other bar back in the States. After finishing a beer, I called it a night.

 Looking towards town from the jetty dating back to the early 1900's.

 The dunes of the Namib desert encroaching on the edge of town.

Sunset over the frigid Atlantic.

When walking the streets of Swakop, it's hard to believe one is in Africa.

Windhoek - A Nostalgic Revisit

Wow, Windhoek is a phenomenal city which I am now realizing I may have under appreciated during my previous Namibian life. From Cape Town I made a straight line north to Namibia's capitol Windhoek; about 20 hours by bus. Spending that much time on any bus usually falls short of being enjoyable, but if it has to be done, there is probably no better way than with South Africa's Intercape bus service. The buses are nice, driving sane, and only one person per seat.

My excitement of crossing the border back into Namibia was quickly squashed after finishing up at the South Africa side of the border. Thinking I had followed the proper procedures of checking out of South Africa, I realized that as the bus attendant was handing back passports to passengers as the bus rolled towards Namibia, I had obviously missed a step; my passport was still in my pocket. Turns out, not only is immigration supposed to stamp you out, but also the police. After a few tense minutes waiting for the Namibian immigration officer to approve my entry, he luckily failed to notice my illegal exit and I joyously boarded the bus with a fresh stamp in the passport.

Stepping off the bus into the cool Windhoek air in the early morning hours, I had the sense that I had never really left. It was as familiar to me as the day I had last left almost 2 years ago. During my Peace Corps service, Windhoek was our place of business, checking in, and attending conferences. Never was it really for leisure, and never did I make the trip without reluctance to leave the village. Being here in a different capacity has totally changed my perspective. Windhoek is a special city with a unique vibrancy that really sets it apart from all other cities. Maybe its the sun, maybe its the desert, maybe its the mix of cultures and traditions; most likely a combination of all that and much more.

My couple days in Windhoek were spent strolling the streets, catching up with a friend and former PC volunteer, and visiting museums. Out of character for me, I even closed down a pub one evening. The Warehouse is so representative of this city; a harmonious mix of black and white, ex-pats, travelers, and everyone else in between. It was a fun and unique experience that is likely hard to find anywhere else on the continent.

A revisit to Windhoek has made me truly appreciate all its beautiful aspects. It was a nostalgic couple of days and has only strengthened my love for this country.

 Windhoek center and the main drag, Independence Avenue, seen from the roof of the very swanky Hilton rooftop bar (don't worry, I didn't stay there).

 Since I will not have the time to visit the Kunene region this trip, it was compulsory for me to visit the market and support my Himba friends.

 The old German-built Christuskirche and the dazzling new Chinese-built Independence museum.

 A nice new addition to one of my favorite drinks.

Sunny and beautiful Windhoek.

Cape Town - No Introduction Needed

Long flights have always been enjoyable for me: the anticipation of arriving in an exotic place, good food, an excuse to catch up on movies (by catching up I mean watching some tall Smurf flick called Avatar). After nearly 30 hours in the air though, I was ecstatic to finally set foot back on the continent, despite being in more of a zombie than human state. My flight over with Emirates was once again an experience in and of itself. With a long layover in Dubai, I was surprised to find that my complimentary hotel and meal far exceeded my expectations. In fact, I would have been happy to sleep in a cubicle room at the airport with a boxed lunch on my way out the door. However, for no other reason than having a long layover (no fault of my own), they put me up in a nice hotel near the city and fed me an exquisite buffet dinner. Let that be a lesson in customer service. My only complaint, the bed was awfully slidy on the marble floors. 

During the 9-hour flight over the length of the continent, I couldn’t help myself from occasionally popping up the blind and sneaking a peek at what lay below. My anxiety built as I looked over the continent, knowing that I might very well be traversing those exact spots in the coming weeks. With beautiful clear skies most of the way, I reckoned I was in for a treat upon landing in Cape Town. But, about 2 minutes from landing, the plane was sucked into the densest, gloomiest clouds one ever did see. Looks like Cape Town is unlike the rest of the continent in more ways than one.

And what can I say about Cape Town? Well, it’s a big city and it is indeed beautiful. It’s where the mountains meet the ocean and although I think the area would be better served without a bustling city smack dab in the middle of the mountain’s bowl, it is an agreeable place. It’s winter here which means the weather is chilly, windy, and shrouding the mountains in mist. My two measly days are hardly enough to experience and appreciate what this city and its surrounds have to offer, but I am ready to go back to "Africa".

My Serbian roommate and I planned our hike to the top of Lion's Head perfectly and were able to catch the only break in the gloomy weather.

 Looking south down the rugged coastline

 The occasional breaks in the clouds sent mesmerizing sun rays dancing across the Atlantic.

 Cape Town city with the famed Table Mountain as its backdrop.

 The requisite cheesy sit on a rock in front of a mountain photo - obviously not my first time.

The Cape Town spread seen from Lion's head.

All in all, Cape Town is one heck of a place to start a journey across the continent.