“arrivals”

Baggage claim

Today, we officially left “civilization” behind us. My colleague Heroen remarked that nothing has changed in the landscape in 6 years, except for the mobile network antennas (as a shortcut to modern times – there never was a fixed telephone line). But let me start from the beginning. The flight towards Mtwara was on time according to Tanzanian norms (i.e., delayed by 45 minutes). The towering thunder clouds somewhat worried me, but the coastline was cloud-free and the view on the thunderstorm few kilometres inland was spectacular. The view on the deep-blue sea and brightly coloured coral islands also provided sufficient entertainment. I thought the landing was exceptionally rough, but while taxiing the runway back to the “terminal”, it became clear why: the tarmac looked decades old, and fixed with concrete a thousand times over. And about this “terminal”: it was nothing more than a wooden structure measuring 20m by 5m with a corrugated iron roof. The 40 passengers entered a tiny 5 by 5 room with an “arrivals” label above the doorway. Someone was sitting at a kitchen table, slowly scribbling names and addresses from everyone’s passport on a notepad. Right next to the “arrivals” doorway, there was an open window with a similar kitchen table in front, and a “baggage claim” label above. Shortly after, a noisy tractor came pulling the baggage train right in front of the window, and someone handed all the bags through the window onto the table, and that was it. We negotiated for a cab to take us to Mtwara city (featuring many huts, as opposed to a village), to buy old newspapers to dry the collected seaweeds. Ethanol, formalin, aftersun lotion and three more items we desperately needed were nowhere available. The driver then filled his tank, bought some engine oil and a second-hand spare tire to head off on the long dirt road to Msimbati.

The dirt road from Mtwara airport to Ruvula

You couldn’t think of a more African road. Winding through densely vegetated areas with acacias, mango trees, palm trees, baobabs, banana trees and mangrove forests, with little villages dispersed between the trees, and brightly clothed women and children along the road, carrying water buckets on their heads. Scenes that are very familiar from TV, but strange to see in real life. Twice, we had to demand the driver to drive more carefully along the narrow dirt roads through the densely populated villages, the second time threatening we wouldn’t pay if he didn’t slow down from 100 to 50 in the villages (we’d actually read the speed from our GPS, his excuse being the broken speed indicator). He once had to stop to tie his door to he rear one and the broken windscreen using a couple of ropes, as his door kept falling open and threatened to break off. I kid you not!

Our “lodge” at the beach, not unlike the surrounding villages in the wider area, consists of huts made from loam with straw roofs, without electricity or running water. We can shower and have a toilet in a separate, public hut, using seawater. But our sleeping hut does feature beds equipped with insect nets (not only against mosquitoes – there are a lot of other bugs you don’t want crawling around in your bed), and it looks idyllic in the light of the kerosene lamps at night. So does the whole setting under palm trees right at the beach. For those of you who like Google Earth, our hut is at S10.3054, E40.39515. We were welcomed very friendly by our hostess, the Congolese wife of the Belgian owner (who currently is back in Belgium to avoid the hottest season) and their daughter, and were immediately served one of their infamously delicious fish dishes (which we were told would be the only food for the next 5 days, albeit in different forms) on the beach. I won’t be able to post every day, because I only have my mobile phone to type messages (fortunately we do have coverage!), and besides the fact that it’s a little awkward, I need to save some battery because we cannot load our batteries here. But hakuna matata as you all know and see you later!