Our experience of getting up to Amani was rather intense. The experience getting home was even moreso.
Benita left the day before, and caught a truck heading out of the mountains at around 6:00 am, with a seat in the back of the of the cab. The next morning it was our turn. We were ready at 6:00 am, but there was no truck. When one finally did come through, there was no chance of possibly adding yet another person. We waited until close to 8:00 when another truck came through. It also looked completely packed, and I thought we were going to have to wait further, when they said we should jump on the back.
The truck was very high up, the bed had a tarp over the front 5-6 feet, and the rest was open with people standing up hanging on to overhead bars, sitting on the sides, hanging off the back, and sitting on the roof of the cab (around 40+ people as far as I could see and count). There was a rope hanging from from one of the overhead bars and we were instructed to haul ourselves up and over the back gate, the top of which was taller than me. I went first, pulling my body up and over the top, when everyone on the truck yelled out "ndizi, ndizi" and pointing at this large basket of bananas right at the back of the truck where I was about to land. I managed to find a way between legs and feet and bodies to get over the basket and find a couple footholds. One, in a small available space atop underlying bundles of sugar cane, the other in a different direction and much higher up on a big bag of potatoes (or possibly manioc root), while finding a place that was unoccupied by hands on the overhead bars to hang on and steady myself. Sher-Ping followed, but unfortunately did partly land on the ndizi to loud shouts, then realized what was happening and shifted over to the top of the next basket, which produced more shouts - it was a basket of greens. She managed to find another place to squeeze in on the sugar cane bundles.
I quickly realized two things. First, most of my weight was on the foot on the sugar cane, but there was essentially nowhere else to go. Second, my arms and hands were going to quickly get sore from hanging the rest of my body weight. Occasionally, it seemd that maybe the truck was not going to bounce around too much and I would let go with one hand, bring it down from overhead and quickly shake it out before just as quickly grabbing the bar again. After 20 minutes I was sore. The sun was up and hot. And we were packed in, sweaty body to sweaty body. I quickly gave up on the thought of not getting mud on my clothes from the shoes of people sitting at my head height on the walls of the truck bed.
It took two hours to get out of the mountains and to the town of Muheza, where we were to catch a bus to Dar es Salaam. It occurred to me along the way that I was just experiencing this once. It was hard, sometimes painful, and really hot, but for me it was an experience. For the people who lived there, this was a regular part of transportation. Something that is a daily part of their lives. I was amazed at elderly people who seemed capable of being there without it seeming to be a problem. In odd positions, hanging on, being buffeted around as the truck traveled down the potholed road, and exhibiting incredible strength. There was also a lively banter, some of it at our expense - the mzungu on board. It was clear it was in jest, and people wanted to interact and make some fun of the experience. Yet another experience of wishing I could speak better Kiswahili. One man suggested that I might like to buy a plot of land from him in Amani, to laughter, and I said sure!
When we got to Muheza, we found that unbeknownst to to us, the woman overseeing the rest house had asked one of the men to help us out. We walked the final mile to the bus staging area (a lively, crazy place, pictured, surrounded on 3 sides by shops and ticket offices, many people coming and going from a constant stream of busses and daladalas) and he helped us get tickets, ensure we had seats on a bus back to Dar, and took us to a cafe out of the hot sun where we got something to eat. His family lives in Amani where his wife teaches school, and he works in Dar, getting back to see his wife and two children one weekend a month. We waited another 2.5 hours until our bus arrived (one of many, many busses from many different companies - it is very confusing to navigate), steeling ourselves for 5.5 hours packed onto it, but at least with an assigned seat.
This is transportation in Tanzania. You don't necessarily know for sure what form it is going to take. It might be a bus, the back of a truck (possibly hanging on), catching a ride on the back of a motorcycle, or atop a load on a dump truck going your way. For a few shillings you will get there. Eventually.
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