We're All Tanzanian - January 2008

I slept over most of Africa. Comfy in the plane eating hobby-kit meals and trying to read more than a page at once without passing into fitful sleep. Waking up, outside the tiny window the Sahara Desert is truly infinite and I dreamt of nomadic tribes who worship the sand. Believe as a primary tenet that the desert extends forever and whisper about the Ocean in hushed tones like they're guilty hope is that man will see some day see it.



After visas and walking across the darkened tarmac like drug-runners and tipping men in olive drab uniforms we drove in the dark across the dark continent. Such a strange way to see a new place. The semblance of farms. Little communities. Advertisements for cellular service vaulted up over the rotting husks of farming equipment. Tank-topped young toughs playing billiards under floursescent lights with disproportionate cigarettes in their mouths.



Beers and British holiday and asking the politest women you have ever met or ever will meet for favors. They shout at their co-workers in Swahili. They flash warm smiles at us. My body refuses to sleep for a dozen reasons that being awake does nothing to resolve. At 5am one morning I peer out the window listening to distant call-to-prayer and watch the upside down crescent hang there as the orange morning pushes its way onto the world. The sun rises and sets faster here, being near the equator the sun breaks the horizon at nearly a right angle. All of its fearsome velocity dedicated to moving up in that sky. A sentinel wielding a varnished wooden stick and wearing too many coats walks by on the esplanade. A few hours later I sit and write in the garden thinking about Burroughs eating supper from a tray in Mexico somewhere as he talks about Orgone with people who think he's insane. Outside of the sanctioned hotel, the real sounds of Africa in barking dogs and diesel trucks revving up hills. We do not see it until we're in the back of the Toyota headed for the gates.

The porters are mostly kids but they are tougher than you. They will carry their own pack of 20kgs, and your pack of 20kgs on their head, and a two-gallon vessel of water or kerosene in their hand. Sweating as we walk through the low, humid jungle. The most beautiful little girl I have ever seen in my life is toting a huge bundle of firewood and asking me for "somzing", anything. We make friends with two Dutch kids who wear blue jeans and would probably give them to you if you asked. I don't know what to say to their enthusiasm. You see, she never showed up. And despite what was said over Tuskers and delicious coffee, I feel that it is all my fault.

We walk through jungle. See monkeys and trees like you would imagine but moreso. At one point the thin stalks of some alien fauna rattle in the light breeze and as beautiful as they sound I can imagine lying there malarial and being driven insane by them. We literally walk under an awning at the first camp as torrential rain begins. Enormous hail. The metal roofs of the huts and mess hall rattling against the elements. Our hut less forgiving of personal space then a jail cell, the rain hitting our little patio so hard that the water bounces in under the door. We eat backpacker food out of little plastic packages that we pass back and forth. The groups next to us, not doing the "hard way" as our finances and egos required of us, are brought out freshly boiled potatoes, delicious smelling stews, real china, tablecloths, meals of several courses. They vaguely acknowledge their guides as their second thermos of tea or their extra loaf of bread is brought to them. I am, for perhaps the first time, dimly proud of my nationality.


The next morning. Over porridge and the chatter of half-a-dozen languages (you see there are many, many people climbing the mountain and staying in the little hut villages), a sunrise quite unlike any that I have ever seen, and would ever see until exactly 24 hours later. And then we begin to hike and every step is getting harder by midday. Porters say "jambo!" as they head in the other direction, well ahead of their group and finding the descent delightful. Our feet begin to ache. The environment is changing from jungle to heath and the plants are shorter. We stay at a high enough altitude that one many begin to feel sick. Everyone sleeps for a long time.