4 July, Day 21: gettin' durdee

4^th of July and we’ve need travelling for three weeks now. Sure doesn’t feel like it, Annelie reckons time has gone by way faster than she can get to grips with. I suspect being ill has a lot to do with it, and my benefit is that I keep this journal.

Disclaimer and fair warning, this post is a LOOOOONG one....

We’re all ready by 09:00 but the driver, Regate, only arrives closer to 10:00 (or 09 o’ clock, Africa Time). We hop into his green Toyota land cruiser (the dominant 4x4 in these parts. Some Nissans here and there, almost NO Jeeps. They’re pretty crap, according to the locals, and even a brand new one will spill it’s guts by the first month, oil everywhere. Sorry to have to bear the bad news, Nick... maybe you want to get a real 4x4 instead??)

Anyways, it’s about an hour or more to Moshi and then hang a left to the Merirani mountains (also called Blue Mountains), to the mines. We chat quite a bit along the way, he’s just had a daughter yesterday (what the hell you doing here???), he’s been driving for a few years now, he shows us his house on the way out of Arusha. We talk soccer, politics, crazy driving behaviour in Arusha and about Cape Town and London. He stops to pick up hitchhikers, I mention that when he’s down in Cape Town for the 2010 World Cup, NEVER pick up hitch hikers. South Africa is unfortunately not as open, trusting and friendly as the rest of Africa.

We turn off onto a little dirt road, come across a few settlements and pass Kilimanjaro airport. NO sign of Kilimanjaro, as it’s very overcast. How a mountain that big can hide in plain view is an act of pure wizardry. As we approach the mountain range we see a huge white monolithic structure. This, is TanzaniteOne, a South African based company and they’re the biggest dog in the yard, and it shows. They have a massive chunk of the hill, all razor wire fence, big gates and guards. Looks like a very slick operation and {our driver} fills us in a little bit more. Basically, a few smaller Tanzanian companies (including Roika Mining) struck it lucky in a few patches. The South African conglomerate came in with lots of money and powerful friends in government (who are now board members, of course) and secured the lion’s share of the mining rights, basically pushing the others off to less favourable strips. As you can imagine, there is a LOT of tension between big brother and the little mines (about 15 or so). Every so often we are halted to allow these huge yellow mining trucks to pass, loaded with soil and rock which they are transporting to a processing facility on the other side. Police escort every single load, and we get a warning look. Also hear tales of other mines attempted to grab some of the rock excavated from TanzaniteOne’s site... and getting shot on site. Of course, nothing happens to the perpetrators... since it’s a government venture too. Everybody wins, except the common Tanzanian. I won’t be surprised if even half what we heard was true. I pondered what my perspective would have been had I met someone from TanzaniteOne instead, and THEY gave us the tour? It’s easy to judge isn’t it?

We pass the pillboxes and fenced in structures to enter a much more desolate area: little mining companies boxed in by corrugated plating, little hand written signs declaring each name. It’s all dust, and soot and garbage, rickety wooden structures and grim looking (but smiling none the less!) miners. The place and people looks like something from Mad Max, motorbikes and all.

We arrive at our first stop, a mine shaft in block “B”. I don’t recall how the blocks are divided, but I do know that the best tanzanite so far had been discovered in block D. Roika has 4 mines, 2 in block D and one in B and C each.

The “gates” open and here we are. Rickety wooden living quarters, a rancid smelling latrine and a hole in the ground (one for the latrine, the other is the mine shaft, I correctly assume) with little wooden planks disappearing into nothingness. Next to it is a broken compressor, another compressor and various pipes for air and power snaking into the pit. Hey, at least it’s all covered by a roof. The miners themselves are quite friendly. I inspect some of the equipment they use, manage to snap off a few pics. It’s basically a flashlight (LED flash, no less!) glued or attached to a rubber band, that goes around their head. No masks to speak off.

We wait around a bit for the manager to arrive. Once he gets there we introduce ourselves, get some helmets (shame, they even cleaned them for us, and clearly there the very best 2 helmets they have!) and we’re all set. I lock all my stuff in the car, grab my flash and we’re off into the hole!

I don’t know what I was expecting for this part of our adventure. But it was slow going down the shaft, one guy with torch strapped to noggin leading the way, showing me where to grab and step (don’t touch the power cables!). Another guy after me, and then Annelie and Regate. My hands are quickly covered in a black oily substance. I don’t wanna know...

Easy does it. I snap a few pics on the way. Not too long before we’re on a landing, maybe 10 meters down. It’s way slippery, and right next to you is another hole that goes down another 50m or so. We’re heading straight, on our hands and knees. We go for another 10 meters, crawling and staying low. The air is filled with a fine dust, and it’s hot! Very hot and clammy; darkness wherever a torch doesn’t shine and me with the damn big canon and flash... eish.

We arrive in a spot where we can all file in and sit quite comfortably (still hot, sweating like a moose) and we chat a bit about mining life. Regate translates for us, we ask about work conditions, hours, how do they dig for tanzanite, how do they clear the rock, who does the blasting, accidents, how far the current 2 passages go.

In order:

Work conditions very very hard (duh!). Regate mentions on the way out that mostly all the miners smoke ganja. This is to relax them while they spend most of their days under ground. The guys tend to go a little loopy from time to time. No counselling in this part of town...

They generally work 8 to 10 hours a day, seldom coming back up. Air is pumped down the shafts by compressors. They do come up for bathroom breaks, sometimes.

They drill into the rock, make room for Nitro charges, then they have to get another company in to place the charges and do the blasting.

They pile the loose rock and soil into these big canvas bags, then form a conga line and pass it over to the next guy up the chain. HARD, hard labour.

Accidents are often. The worst is, we find out later, is that because you have so many small companies mining on top of each other, it’s entirely possible that your neighbour is mining towards your tunnel and happens to be blasting that day. A lot of miners get killed this way.

The passages in the current mine extend 300 and 700 meters in opposite directions.

We call it quits after this 10 meter crawl and head back out.

Thoroughly dirty and chuffed to be out of there! They bring us little packets of washing powder (I’ve noticed before, at the Roika tented lodge, when Moses was helping me clean the Bullet, that when I asked for soap, I got washing detergent. Heh.) and water to wash our hands. The manager also hands Annelie a handful of tanzanite and quartz! Ok, none of this stuff is worth much, but still cool! Load up the Landcruiser and off we go to a D block shaft. Some of the miners hop on the back. The D block operation looks to be a little more sophisticated and looks like they at least have some form of mechanisation. And what I mean by that is that it looks like they raided and pillaged an old truck’s diff lock and jerry rigged it to attach to a 4x4 or vehicle to operate a winch, which lowers and raises a huge iron bucket. Also, the shaft is covered by an iron slider on rails. And they have chicken coops here. So fresh eggs everyday!

We move over to another covered building where the other shaft is located. This one goes straight down, at about a 75% decline. “How deep?” we ask. 100 Meters, the reply. Can’t back out now, let’s do this! Our miner escorts very thoughtfully brought the helmets we wore at the previous site along, and we don them again. (quick note here: good thing we had helmets. I must have banged my head at least 20 times in that last excursion)

Treacherous descent. I feel like an extra for a Cirque de Soleil act! Walter (one of our miner escorts) goes first and pats on spaces where I should put my foot. My (very heavy) camera with flash is hanging from my neck and acting as a human shield for the shower of little rocks and debris now falling down my neck and shirt, arms, and into my socks, courtesy of Annelie and Evans (the other miner escort) and Regate above me. There are hessian bags littered on the wooden slats, which Walter keeps pushing further down. PolePole (pronounced “polly polly”, or Slow Slow, in Swahili Haraka is fast. Hatari is danger). Annelie and I keep calling to each other to make sure the other is ok, meanwhile I’m shitting myself. Often I get a “baby, hoe ver nog?” (baby, how far to go still?). I reply not far, but she wants to go back. I say no man, it’s we’re almost there. Then a few minutes later I’m asking her if we should go back and she either doesn’t hear me or says she’s ok! And so we go, dweedle-dee and dweedle-dum (or dumb and dumber, for a more modern approximation).

PolePole.

Eventually, for what feels like an eternity we reach the bottom, hessian bags littering the bottom of the shaft, so it’s a soft, squishy landing. A bit of crouching and shuffling and we reach an antechamber. Off the one end is another iron door that I’m told leads down another 700 or so meters and then another kilometre a horizontal direction. The air is much cooler down here though, not at all the sauna we were in at site B. Annelie makes it down and the miners give us a fist bump and a smile. We ask a bit about the site, when was the last time they’ve struck a vein. 2006, comes the reply (site B was 2004). So these guys have been mining these holes for a good 3-5 years, and found zip. They switch off all the lights and the only smidge of illumination is the phosphor on my watch. Hey, at least I know what time it is! We politely ask to be taken back up, but not before I snap a few pics of these guys. It occurs to me that they’ve never had a pic down here “in the office” so to speak.

We ascend the rickety looking (but surprisingly sturdy and solid) zigzag scaffolding to the top, asking them to pause so I can take more shots (and pause long enough for the dust to clear a bit).

We reach the top panting from exhaustion. That is hard work. My camera at this stage is absolutely filthy and covered in dust and specks of graphite. Our hands also shimmer in the light as the sun reflects off the graphite flecks. I don’t even bother to wash my hands this time.

Quite eager to show off the other site, we pile into and onto the Landcruiser and we’re off the third and final stop. This one is in block C. Same kinda deal, corrugated zinc plate fencing, with a main gate of some sort, slightly larger site than the other two, crew living quarters consisting of wooden structure banged together from scraps of wood, a roof and chicken wire for windows (and a fire pit in this one. Classy!), chicken coop in the corner, chickens cruising the yard, big compressor (switched off) and a structure that probably covers the mine shaft. Helmets on, here we go again.

Decline is much friendlier, at about a 45 degree angle. I do my best crab impersonation down the stairs. PolePole. Walter leads the way again, Annelie next, another nameless miner, me, Evans and Regate. Not as deep as the last one, and also quite cool. We also sit in an antechamber and it’s here where we get the biggest insights into miner life (which I summarised previously). These guys are just average Joes, trying to make a living. They don’t have much of an education, this is what they do, and they do it well. They have families to support, food to put on the table and risk their lives every day for a glimmer of a chance to strike it rich. They DO actually share in any finds they make, and Luca gives them Tanzanite to sell or use as they see fit. So they do have motivation and purpose. And to see a big company like TanzaniteOne, with all the toys and right equipment is very disheartening for them. But what can they do? The whole experience, in the short 2 or so hours we spent out there was very humbling. All of this is translated by Regate, since their English is non existent

I ask the golden question: so how many woman have you had down your mines? I don’t need a translator to tell me the answer. They shake their heads vigorously, adamant that no woman has ever come down here, or would ever want to. Big smiles and laughter as they congratulate Annelie, fist bumps all round saying “she STRONG woman!”, making muscles and sharing a boisterous laugh. We call it a day and ascend for the last time. More fist bumps.

PS: did I mention I was happy for the helmets? Well, on this particular ascent, I was in such deep thought, I didn’t concentrate where I was sticking my noggin and 5 meters from the top I banged my head on a particularly sharp piece of rock so hard my teeth rattled! I almost knocked myself the hell out. A bit dazed, I stood still for a sec, thanked goodness I was ok and continued. I’m very confident in saying without the helmet I would have cracked my skull, no doubt.

I promise Walter, Evans and the gang that I’ll send Mr Roika the pics from today, so that he can print it out and bring it to them. They’re very very happy to hear that. One the way out we drop everyone off, saying our goodbyes and we head back to Arusha. Regate (Ree-gaa-tea) picks up a few more hitch hikers (shame, it’s an awesome thing to do for people here) and we have to stop and wait again for 2 more HUGE mining trucks with ore and police escort before we can exit the main security gates.

By the time we get back to Roika’s, it’s late afternoon. We hop through the showers, clothes and all. I was my hair and beard separately. I have grit and sand EVERYWHERE. My camera is trashed, and I spend the next hour gently blowing it clean with air before attacking it with a fist full of wet wipes, lens cleaner, soft lens tissue and kisses. “There there, all better”, I coo.

The others arrive back from their Serengeti adventure, and we swop out stories.

But I’ll save that for another post :)

Highlights: seeing a tanzanite mine, chatting to the locals

Pics here: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/view?uname=Gerhard.nel.za&cuname=Gerhard.nel.za&tags=Mining

[G & A], out

Hapana Santi = no thanks

3 July, Day 20: So, what was that all about??

Woke up feeling much better, still a little weird stomach but on the up and up. Not sure what the heck was up with me yesterday. We’ve organised a massage therapist to come to the hotel. In the morning we repack all our gear and get everything ready for checkout. At 12:45 we have a 45 min massage each and both feel much better by high noon. Chill by the pool a bit before we head out. We arrive at the Roika compound at around 15:00 but the others are nowhere to be seen. Turns out they’ve stayed an extra night. No problem, we setup tent and make some dinner (tuna melts, with avo and tons of cheese). Quick and dirty.

Luca arrives home at around 21:20 and we offer him a Savannah (yes, we really like Savannahs. And turns out, so does he). We chat for a long time about how he got his start, about the economy and the tourism industry etc etc. Most of which I won’t divulge, since it was giving in good faith as “friends”. We organise that we can go see his mines tomorrow. He can’t show us himself but he will organise his driver to take us. All arranged for tomorrow morning, 09:00. We bid Luca good night.

Spend the rest of the evening updating my journal and chatting. Looking forward to a real gritty mining experience!

Highlights: I feel fine. More than fine. Annelie too :)

[G & A], out

Haraka haraka hakuna baraka = do things quickly, no good come of it.

2 July, Day 19: The "M" word

Nothing too exciting to report. Woke up, made coffee again, setup for brunch, made eggs, fried banana, baconi and toast on the coals. Had more coffee, stole some cookies from a conference that was hosted in the building next door (tee hee hee).

Cleanup, back to room, manage a few pictures, burn them off the DVD, make backups, write a few journal entries. Lay by the pool till sun obscured by clouds, head to room, afternoon nap. Feel pretty crap, fever, crap taste in my mouth, stomach running. Decide to go to hospital at 18:00. Go through the motions, Annelie gets tested also. Much slower getting results today, but I DONT have Malaria, even though everything points to the contrary. Do have some form of infection, which explains the fever. Doc gives us re-hydration sachets (salty taste, disgusting). I buy passion fruit mix-a-drink, which takes the edge off.

Lay in bed, pop 2 aspirin, fever coming down, order room service. Can’t eat any of it. Watch 2 movies on laptop, Bucket List and Marley and Me. Bawl my eyes out (hey, leave me alone, I’m sick!). During movies, appetite returns and I polish off the chow. Pass out by 02:00 ish, have freaky dreams about space. Bacon may have been involved.

Highlights: I DONT HAVE MALARIA

Bummer: Still feel shit.

[G & A], out

won’t you bring back all those colours to my dreams

1 July, Day 18: Just chilling

Sleep in, as planned. Wake up, fire up the little gas stove for coffee. We’re basically camping in our room, very redneck. Even have a washing line up! Have some rusks with the finely brewed Kilimanjaro Espresso I bought a few days ago. Lekker.

Plans for the day is to stroll through town, take some pics and take Annelie to a physio (number we got from Darrel). Finish up and have a shower and head out. We park close to the centre of town and just take a walk. Not long before we have hawkers and local interest, but we handle these guys better now. Annelie goes into every shop and looks at necklaces and bracelets while I hang around and take pictures and chat soccer 2010 with our escorts (who insists we come see their shops. It’s not far, Hakuna Matata.)

Anecdote: mention that you’re from Cape Town. That way you get a bit closer to local prices for things, and not the tourist price. Also, knowing something about soccer helps.

Annelie eventually buys 3 bracelets and 3 necklaces at a steal.

In the afternoon I drop her off at physio and settle in at a nice little cafe nearby, where I update my journal, have a coffee. Annelie gets back an hour later and we have more Savannahs! Decide to head back to the lodge and laze by the pool. We’re also having dinner in the restaurant tonight. More Savannahs.

Dinner was all Swahili dishes, a beef stew with rice and a rich fish dish (diced cubes in a savoury sauce, almost a curry) with chips. Also had beef Carpaccio and a avo salad as a started. Lots of food again! All washed down with a delicious Culemborg Chardonnay. 32 000 TZs, an absolute bargain.

Well fed, and lazy, we meander back to the room. I’m out like a light when my head hits the pillow.

Highlights: Quality Swahili dishes

[G & A], out

Asante = Thanks

30 June, Day 17: Getting to know Arusha

Slept at the Roika’s fruit garden, dogs barking all night, goats, chickens and other sounds from the surrounding houses and hovels, snoring from Fanie and Mattie. I’m beginning to think I won’t get any sleep in London anymore without these nocturnal aural delights!

Wake up and make sure we have all the supplies we need to fly solo for a few days. Plates, cups, braai kit and so forth. By 07:45 or so the tour is off and we say our goodbyes. Luca once again extends his welcome that we remain here, where he can guarantee our safety and all will be provided, we can stay for free and so forth. He again asked if I wanted to use the internet and I take him up on the offer, fire off a few mails (and post some blog action). Also check out some banking and Annelie ties up a few loose ends from London.

I hop in the shower. Oh. My. God. Best shower, ever! The room is the same wet room, Arabic affair, with a little porcelain squat where a real toilet should be, a basin and a shower. All the water runs down the same hole. But that shower head was magnificent! Perfect size, high pressure, steaming hot water. I was in heaven, it’s the best shower I’ve had this trip, and must be the best in recent memory, I shit you not.

In the back of my mind I’ve been pondering these wet rooms and I had a few thoughts:

Pros: elegant, in that every time you take a shower, you wash the toilet and the entire room. So it stays clean

No damn toilet seats to leave down, or lift up! So no issues from the missus.

Cons: No real dry place to leave your clothes. (I do eventually manage to find a dry corner under the basin, and of course the railing you can use to hang some things)

DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT drop the soap. It too will go down the same hole. You don’t want to drop it down the same hole. It’s hard to distinguish which squishy bit is your soap.

I spend the next 10 minutes sanitising my hand.

Mamma Edna is in the kitchen and has made us some coffee. The same Edna that helped us out yesterday, all power and control is now barefoot in the kitchen doing chores. The Roikas have an amazing hospitality about them, and I tell them so. We finish up the coffee, stop them before they make us breakfast (we already had some in the tent) and say our goodbyes. Luca gives me his number and makes me promise that I will call him if I run into ANY trouble. By 11:30 we’re out of the iron gates (with the conspicuous “L” and “R” lettering) and head back to Masai camp.

Once at Masai, the place seems more at peace than when we where there on Sunday and the commons area has returned to a more loungy affair. We run into Darrel again and chat a bit.

Darrel’s story: From NY, NY. Has a drama degree, lost his job post 9/11. Looked for work, did a teaching stint in the South Bronx, teaching heavily pissed off youth. Using acting techniques to fantastic success (go figure) to engage with them. Got tired of NY, very depressing environment, looked abroad for work and found a restaurant manager job based in Nairobi. Goes through the usual “should I / shouldn’t I / fuckit” thought process, packs up everything, sells what he can’t pack and flies out. Makes a huge success of running the 4 bars and restaurants, stays 2 years, but pay is crap. Back to South of France at a friend’s place for regroup, looks for work again, finds another club management job in Dar es Salaam, does that for a while before ending up in Arusha, Masai camp (Masai camp is owned by the same holding company as the restaurant in Dar es Salaam). Masai camp basically a hippy hovel, more of a “playground” for the manager (damn hippies). Of the 4 businesses in the holding company, including the restaurant, 2 tour operations and Masai, Masai has NEVER even broken even. “It’s not about the money, maaan”, when Darrel’s asks what gives after a few weeks. Right. Music is full psychedelic trance, with a following of about 50 locals. Masai camp is quite big, 50 people aint much.

Hippies (manager and girlfriend) go on world “finding ourselves” trip for 3 months, leaves Darrel in charge. Only condition: he can’t change the music.

Two weeks in and the so called loyal following of 50 friends begs him to change the music! “You’re managing it now maaaan, you can change the music!”. He does, and it’s a huge hit. 50 becomes a 100, becomes 200 and so on. And Masai camp actually starts showing signs of break even. Hippies return, upset (as much as a hippie can be) that he changed the music. He says he’s only played what was already on the playlist, but that nobodies played before. And clearly it works.

Hippies bail on Masai camp later on (or, maybe the holding company decided enough was enough?) and Darrel now part owns it. Cleans out the place, upgrades the menus and facilities somewhat, locals come pouring in. He’s idea was never to run the camp site as an excuse to hang out with tourists, but to create a space for LOCALS. One that was open and inviting, and not covered in burglar bars and railings like every other bar in town (this is true, every bar feels like going to prison).

Popularity sky rockets, and with it, pick pockets. Until then, it was free admission. He sets up a ring fence around the bar / commons area, puts security in place and charges admission. And Masai camp becomes even MORE popular, actually making profit! He’s been here 3 years now.

The rest is history. Arusha’s got talent was his idea, shamelessly taken from TV. He thought, well, lots of folks like performing. So let’s give them a stage to do so, and prizes worth winning: 500 000 1^st, 300 000 2^nd, 100 000 each for 3^rd and 4^th. And I did mention before we could hear cheering all the way in the Ilboro camp? Yeah, big success.

He’s dream is to do a reality TV show of the eccentric and interesting Tanzanians, starting in Arusha. He tells us a story of this guy that catches Moles close to his apartment, every morning, like clockwork. And the weird contraptions he uses, and how the little guy looks EXACTLY like a mole. And in the end, his Tribe actually eats moles, so he does a service and as a reward gets to take the moles. Quirky, always smiling, big waves hello. But also other successful people, doing good things. I agree that for Westerners we don’t get to see real African people. When people think Africa, they think people in loin cloth, animals and so forth. There is clearly a much more here.

We have a bite to eat, drink some more Savannahs and Darrel gives us a map of Arusha. It’s actually a small place, 2 “main” roads with everything sandwiched in between. Next we check out the Cultural Heritage Centre, basically an extremely large curio shop. Good stuff, very pretty, impossible to take everything in. Speak to the lady at the gems desk and look at their AAA Tanzanites. See the BIGGEST tanzanite I’ve ever seen! 50 Carats! In that same, deep blue-violet colour that flares red when you rotate it. Annelie melts. I tear us away from its allure. On our visit we see loads of beautiful furniture, warehouses full of unique pieces all coded. A salesman explains that should we require it, he can explain each piece for each, origin, significance and of course price. One day, when I’m big, I’m gonna shop here. I ask about exports and he mentions that they have a DHL office on site (which I actually noticed when we parked). How convenient!

All done, head to Shoprite, eat ice cream and head to Ilboro lodge again. We ask to check out the rooms ($105 per night) and they’re not bad. As luck would have it, while at the counter this Dutch fellow is there asking about his new chefs uniform and when they should go pick it up. Big smiles and welcomes us to Ilboro. We say we’ve been here before, we’re just camping tonight, maybe we’ll stay for one night in a room. Turns out, he’s the manager. Name’s Aht, Dutch born, been living in Tanzania for about 4 years now, running Ilboro for 3. He says it’s more of a hassle for him to fire up the boilers and so forth, why don’t we stay in the rooms for all three nights, for $25? (that’s only $5 per night more than what we would have paid camping). We eagerly accept!

Get our room key and dump our gear. Take the Bullet around to the camp site and setup the braai. Our first night alone in Africa! Make some boerewors, chops and braai broodtjies, dink wine and chat all night. Annelie feeling way better, though the pills must have some ephedrine or something in them because they make her heart beat way fast. But tonight it’s all good, and we don’t have to break camp tomorrow. Looking forward to sleeping in a bit.

Highlights: Spending quality time with the wife

Securing a room at the fabulous Ilboro for a steal!

[G & A], out

Taking my time

29 June, Day 16: King Roika

Eish. Long day. And here, with the headlines is G:

Wake up, pack up, head to town, much better traffic this early (07:30).

Get to Roika tour’s offices. Still haven’t tracked payments. Wait. Phone, wait (incompetence is not a virtue)

Wait some more, establish that over above the deposits, they have no credit card facility, so no card payments.

We can’t pay it all in dollars. Now what? Wait some more. 09:00, no traction, only frustration.

More calls to Barclays Tanzania, FINALLY manage to track payments in another Roika account (the one on the invoice, you ninny! Did I mention incompetence is NOT a virtue??). And if somebody says Hakuna Matata one more time I do believe I will need to kill him.

Phone the bosses wife, who handles the finances, wait for her to arrive, very nice lady. Her name is Edna. We discuss some options about payment and why they don’t have the facilities (they where fraudulated a few months ago). We explain the concept of chip and pin, or even POS solutions, not the old school, wide open to fraud manual credit card sliders. She’ll look into it. In the meantime, we need to get our hands on a mere 3 million Tanzanian Shillings each.

Test drive Mattie’s card, ATM’s only allow 400 000 per day, or until you hit your card limit, whichever comes first.

We try the only foreign exchange in town (on a hot tip from the Barclays bank manager) that will accept credit cards, at the Impala Hotel. The Impala Hotel wants to rape and pillage us with their rate. We say “hapana santi” (no thanks). More arguing, I get pepperoni pizza. I eat the pepperoni pizza on the way back to offices, give Annelie a few slices.

More talking.

I buy 2 oil paintings from a hawker. Big mistake. Other hawkers smell money and swarm me. Word gets round, I can’t step onto the street without being hounded. This must be what celebrities feel like.

I spot 6 ninjas on my way to a gem store to look at Tanzanite. Must remember to warn others.

I think about bacon. Or baconi, in Swahili. This trip needs more bacon.

I haggle for a English to Swahili phrase book, 5000 down from 12 000 TZh. Getting good at this, can’t wait to try it at Harrods.

Looking for stationary store for a tube for my new paintings. Nada. One of my cult following (as I call them now, since they all offer sage advice and shower me with compliments. More join) offers to find me one.

13:00, escape into the Roika office. Still nothing. Edna in the meantime tried to work out something with the Bank manager at NBC bank (local bank here). Nada. We propose a SWIFT transfer from South Africa. That will take days, at least 4. Nada.

To the car to fetch more TP, cult follower offers tube. I send him away, tube too small. BEGONE!

Annelie still feeling shit, cramps, to bathroom often, drained. My patience exhausted, since I’ve had to do 2 peoples work and driving for 4 days plus. I call it a day, and declare us out. I hand my deposit to Mattie, effectively paying for his trip.

Turns out, you CAN draw more that 400 000 TZs a day from an ATM. Dirk arrives with a bucket full of money (10 000 is the biggest note you can get)

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN WHAT 12 000 000 TZs looks like, in 10 000 note denominations!

More time... to actually count all this paper. Annelie and I retire to the Bureau de change on the 1^st floor (also owned by Roika. No, they don’t accept credit cards, but their rates are pretty decent). We’ve been taking water from their water cooler all day for Annelie, and it’s nice and cool and less frustrating and busy down here.

We decide it’s best actually. I don’t think in the end it’s worth the $1800 or whatever to see a bunch of animals we can probably seen again later on the trip. Ok, fine, it’s the Serengeti. But Annelie still feels shit and I’m tired of being jerked around. It is now 14:30 ish.

14:40 ish we’re finally out of the offices. Cult follower offers another tube. I am pleased. Wants 8000 TZs for it. I am displeased. 2000 Shillings, no more, and begone from my sight before I smite you! He scuttles away, I have a tube for my one of a kind original paintings (it's from a street hawker, of course he was telling the truth, right??)

We leave for the Roika residence, where we will be camping for the evening, before they all head off for the Serengeti. We go shopping at Shoprite, and I buy a kilo of beans from a coffee shop around the corner. They have coffee plantations all over Tanzania. Day beginning to look better, Annelie feeling better, ish.

Setup shop, big house! Same deal, drive up narrow dirt road, get to a gate and voila! Paradise. We setup in his huge fruit garden with bananas, apples, mangos, papayas, Palma granites and more. I grab a rivet gun and pop rivet the roof racks in place (HA! Let’s see you move NOW!) and replace the roof coil with new bolts so the Bullet had that streamlined sexy Ima-gonna-getcha look again.

Very helpful staff helps us hook the 4x4’s fridges up to mains and asks if there is anything else he can do for us. I still complain about some things, say “I need more power” (not in Scotty Star Trek voice, even though it sounded like Scotty in my head). He humbly obeys. I think he should join my cult. He brings me an extension cord and goes out of his way to check if it’s ok and if it’s working etc etc etc.

He phaffs over everyone and makes sure all is good. I think this guy is more like it.

I get knocked on my ass when I realise THIS is Luca Roika. The owner of the house (and many like it, I find out later), the Tented Lodge, the Tour Company, the Bureau de Change (no small feat, you need a banking licence for that!) and... a Tanzanite mine!!! 4 Mines, in fact.

Fuck.

How can it be, that this laid back, humble, hospitable, totally cool dude owns all this shit? Where I’m from, no way in hell would the big boss be doing what he is doing. You could argue business is slow, or make some other BS excuse. But what I was sensing was nothing like that at all. This guy was just... a guy. A down to earth person. He proceeds to make me feel even worse by offering his house, to use the internet for free, just to “be free”, my home is yours. How dare he be so fucking awesome!? That’s MY job!

I must tell him about the ninjas!

We chat more, mostly about Tanzanite, I show him Annelie’s ring, he practically hugs her off her feet, saying what an honour it is that we choose Tanzanite for the ring etc. Clearly his passion is this. I ask him politely if we could perhaps, his time permitting and since we weren’t going on the tour, if we could, you know, visit his mine. He looks at me with a quizzical “well of course we can, what kind of dumb question is that” look and replies “no problem, no problem, be free, you my guest” (broken English et al).

We say goodnight before he offers to do us any more favours. Curry tonight, with chutney (Mrs Balls, of course), bananas and yoghurt. I have my appetite back and finish off all the left overs. Just in time for slicing scalpels running through my gut. Oh shit.

I double up on some remedies and meds and Annelie and I crawl into bed.

Long day, long day. But on balance, I think we came out ahead.

Highlights: King Roika!

Spotting those 6 ninjas

Lowlights: I may need to see a doctor too...

[G & A], out

It’s as simple as something that nobody knows

28 June, Day 15: "A" is for "Amoeba"

We’re up and going by 09:30, Mattie and Johan are off and the other folks are at the park. We have a bite to eat and then get going with the chores. Annelie parks in reception with all our clothes and food containers to reorganise while I brave the fridge. Our waiter and minder from last night, Moses is around to help me out. While I clean out the fridge we chat a bit about life in Tanzania, where he’s from, what he wants to be etc. He asks me about South African life, politics, London and a few other topics. He’s keen on getting more involved with tourism, only 18, but motivated to change his situation. I suggested that if he wants to work with tourists or in any western country he should study English. He was taken aback a little by this, but I explained that while he could kind of understand what I was saying to him, I was forced to speak slowly and use simple terms and words. If he can read, write and speak English fluently, he will elevate himself and stand out amongst his peers. Of course, I didn’t use the exact words, but with some gesturing he understood. Read English books, never stop reading and if you find a word you don’t know, go look it up! It was good chatting to him, again made me realise exactly how good we have it.

That fridge was pretty rancid, btw.

By the afternoon I’ve cleaned out and restocked the fridge, washed out the back somewhat of dust and oil stains and repacked everything to it makes more sense and is easier to access. By 13:00 we’re joined by the rest of the gang back from the park, and apparently I missed out a huge photo op: a huge male Simba making sweet sweet loving a few meters away from the car. This is quite a rare event to witness to close by, so I’m feeling a bit pissed that I missed it. Ok, fair enough, it was over in under a minute. The big guy apparently gets a 24 hour pass twice a year to do his thing, and he does so with gusto, around 30 times or more. Bummer.

Soon enough we’re off to Arusha. It’s not too far, about 45 minutes, but I have to make quite a few bio-stops for Annelie’s sake, which is getting harder to do since there seems to be people around everywhere all the time. There was this rattling sound coming from the roof at one point, thought maybe the spare wheel was coming loose. Turns out that the spoiler cover in the front of the roof was almost falling off. The bolts that uses to secure it where nowhere to be found, must have rattled loose and disappeared during the 3 or 4 days of consistent bumpy roads. I remove it and chuck it in the back, and re-adjust the rear roof rail that was also loose and moving freely, not to good if I intend to keep the spare wheel on the roof! Tighten that sucker down, and we’re off again (and stop again, for Annelie. Fooi tog!)

And there it is! Kilimanjaro! Damn, that’s a huge hill! (edit: not Kilimanjaro. It’s little cousin, Mount Meru. Dumbass... Still, it’s the biggest mountain we’ve ever seen in real life). Arusha is very very busy. Same as the other “big” cities in Tanzania, but somehow more lively. The people drive like absolute maniacs and Cape Town Taxis have NOTHING on these boys! They feel nothing to drive alongside you, against ON COMING traffic to form a kind of impromptu double lane. And it’s not just the taxis, everybody is on a free for all. But somehow, it all works. The town itself is very, very green! It looks exactly like Kirstenbosch, or any part of the southern suburbs of Cape Town (minus the quadrillion Rand houses, of course).

We arrive at our destination, Masai camp at high noon and Mattie gives us a bow as we enter. Guess what: he DID have parasites. Doctors reckon their fly larvae having a gay ol time in his epidermis. He got these pill that he needs to crush into a fine powder and rub it on the wounds. Like throwing salt on a snail. Also got some antibiotics. So sorted, let’s see what else breaks!

Anyways, Masai camp. Very nice place, it has an interesting commons area, with a huge bar, 2 pool tables, lots of couches... and a stage. Mmmmm. We stand around and before long we’re joined by a very tall, lanky American, Darrel. Darrel informs us that tonight they’re hosting “Arusha’s got talent”. And, it’s the final. So, expect loud music, hundreds of people and noise till at least 02:00 in the morning. From the sound tests emanating from the bar area, I believe it’s gonna be a kick ass party. The rest of the group decide that this is not for them (Annelie and I are super keen to stay!) and at $5 a night, it’s a steal. Darrel refers us to another lodge should we not wish to stay. Off we go, through the mad traffic and crazy mix of pedestrian, taxis, 4x4’s, chickens, dogs (no, really), wooden carts bearing everything from plastic wares to machine parts (I later discover this method of transport is very popular in the city, between workshops and the like). The GPS gets way confused with these little side streets and has us stuck in an impossibly small dirt road, where we are forced to make a u-turn. This totally pisses off the locals, who drive right up to our vehicles and climbs on the hooters. We try to explain that we’re making a u-turn, they kindly tell us to fuck off. Swell.

Anyway, do a 20-point-Uturn, head out of that manic situation, turn left down the CORRECT impossibly narrow dirt road lined with shops, people, foul and pet and ta-da! arrive at the Ilboro Safari Lodge (Ilboro means “the place”). Wow. Really nice hotel, well manicured lawns and trees, deep blue swimming pool and a seemingly endless estate! Paradise (for a weary traveller). We’re not staying in the lodge (starting at $105 a night, by the way. Breakfast included) but camping instead. Yes, they have an entire section on the other end of the estate dedicated for that, at $10 a night per person. We get sorted with the site, unload and so forth. Annelie is leaning against the bullet (still in pain). Time to go to hospital. I dumb the tent and stretchers and saddle up with a GPS unit. Apparently the hospital Mattie used this morning was fantastic, so that’s where we’re going. After triple guessing the GPS (hey, it’s not the most reliable thing in these African towns) we arrive at Saliene Lutheran Hospital and Clinic, around 17:00.

We book her in and before long she’s in to see a doctor. Place is empty, so that’s a good thing. Few minutes later she’s out and needs to wait 20 minutes for the lab tests to get back (all the goodies, blood, urine, stool). Like clockwork, 20 minutes later, we have a winner: Annelie has dysentery. That thing no person in the 21^st century should really have, i.e. you have a major vitamin or nutrition deficiency. That explains her total lack of energy. But she eats very well, and we are defiantly getting our vitamins, so what gives?

Drum roll please

An Amoeba

This charming little fellow (or lots and lots of charming little fellows) have their own little buffet feast every time she eats anything. Which is why she cramps so badly after meals. So their getting all the good stuff, minerals and vitamins from her lower intestine before her body can absorb it, leaving her all fucked up and miserable, not to mention in constant pain and agony.

But take a moment to reflect on this: a hospital, in Arusha, Tanzania, took all of 30 minutes, including the time it took to register and pay for admission, lab tests, analysis and to actually GETTING antibiotics and the drugs required. I mean... gosh. That’s... that’s amazing! And, let this top it off even more: the doctors where friendly, polite, concise and to the point (some translation was required, but come on!). Eat that, NHS!

(in the NHS’s defence, this was a private clinic, and not the broken, underfunded, underappreciated, badly managed public health care for the masses) (and I guess the hospitals here probably know what kind if tropical nasty’s pasty white people pick up while on safari) (and no, they still can’t fix stupidity, or bad dress sense. Sorry, all of America)

Happy. Very happy. After dinner, she pops some pills (once every 12 hours) and no we wait and see. The other drama while we where away was with the tour company about where our deposit payments went. They haven’t received them yet, apparently. Good thing I keep my receipts. Tomorrow, we need an extra early start to track down the payments and figure out what's what with this 4 day trip into the Serengeti.

Highlights: all your parasites are belong to us! (it’s an internet meme, don’t stress if you don’t get it)

Seeing how a real hospital gets shit done

[G & soon to be Amoeba free A], out

They set us up the bomb!