15th of June, 2018.
Of the three CS requests I have sent, I have got two positive answers, plus an offer from my public trip. All of them are further South, so I would have to spend a few days on the road, just by myself, camping and finding food.
In the morning, everything works well: I wake up in time and take the bus around five o’clock. It is not full and I get a place in the back because I know I will stay until the last stop. From Micocheni to Mbagala it should be 600 Tanzanian Xelins, but the guy charges me 1000 thousand because of The Hulk. Unfair, in my opinion, because it was not taken anybody’s place. I arrive at Rangi 3 after six o’clock, so I am excited to get a good lift to Mtwara even knowing that I would need to walk for maybe more than two hours
The first lift comes from a nice old man who is going just about forty kilometres ahead and now I ask myself if I should have take it or not. Would everything be different if I had not accepted? I do not know. Lately, I have this different thoughts about keep thinking how everything would have been if I had made another move: it does not matter. In the moment that I do something, anything, the whole scenery changes and all the possibilities change. Like what they say in Mr. Nobody movie: “As long as you don’t choose, everything remains possible.” So once you do, everything changes. I guess
In that town, a car with two police officers stops. They tell me that the best thing to do would be drop me at a police control a little further from there, where they could find me a lift. Once in there, they decide that the best way to do it is to put me in a bus directly to Mtwara. Why in Loki’s name all the police officers, who most of the time never heard about hitchhiking before, and of course never did it before, think to know more about it than I do? It does not matter that I am in their country: hitchhiking might work a little different from country to country but still is hitchhiking. After one year and three months travelling, and doing this in more than 10 countries, I think I can say something about it. And it is not that I am stupid in following what they say, is jut because I know these people: If I start to argue with them, trying to make they understand, they will feel offended and disrespected. What I have to do is stop asking them for help.
Take this example: The bus comes around one o’clock in the afternoon, making me wait for three hours! At the beginning they all offer me some tea and something to eat but nothing ever came. I do not know why I was hesitating to make a sandwich with my bread and jam so I just had an orange to go with the two bananas I had early in the morning. When the bus finally come, I sit with other few people in front, on the floor, but they actually had pillows to sit on. I did not.
At least I could watch the movie on the television: Skull Island
The whole trip is OK. Uncomfortable but OK. I eat a three slices sandwich and that was all I had until we finally get in Mtwara, around ten at night. At that point, the nice driver assistant gives me two sambussas. And I have to confess they were with meat. And I have to confess that the sauce and spices are some very good Indian ones. Obviously, I ate then. I was starving and could not finish the rest of the bread because I had to save something for next morning
This same nice guy offers to walk with me until the police station. Once there, talking with a police officer, I get the following stupid note: I would not be safe in there because anyone could come in the middle of the night, trying to steal guns, so if I die there, how would they look like? Seriously? Yeah. I have to hear that. And to make it worse, a police woman came and started to make a lot of suspicious questions and asked to check my passport. I gave to her but not without saying that I would never come to a police station if there was something wrong with my documents. I have to say, until that point, I was thinking that Tanzanians could not shocked me anymore. Obviously I was wrong. The police officer even says that the young guy, who so gently walked me here, should pay me a guest house. What? You pay me a guest house since you are refusing to help me, you jerk! But honestly, the good heart guy had already offer himself to pay even before the stupid officer suggestion. To both of them I said no and I decide to try my chances in a church.
Walking together again, the boy and I arrive in a church and he explain the whole story. A young woman and a man are reluctant in let me put the tent somewhere. Yeah: welcome to Tanzania! And for the first time, a woman it is more in favor or helping me than the man. When the man say that could be “Danger, danger, danger…” I lost my patience and repeated the whole story for both, in English, and add that if they cannot help me I would just leave to anywhere. The girl finally answers, in English: “I just want to help” and take some keys. It is when I realize that the place is actually a hotel, which belongs to the church, but still a hotel. So she walks with me to one of the rooms. I say thank you to both of them and they leave.
I wash some clothes, wash myself, make another three slices sandwich, brush teeth and go to sleep.
Waking at seven in the morning, I realize something terrible: I had forgotten to exchange my Euros to Dollars for the Visa. Shit! I would have to look for a exchange house or a Bank which, with luck, would be open at eight o’clock. Waiting at what looked like a the first one, but actually it is a Insurance Company, a Muslim man, Fesha, all traditionally dressed, tells me that most of the shops do not open today because it is Friday, so a sacred day for the Muslins. What I am going to do now? There is a possibility of changing the money at the boarder but should I risk? Fesha then offer to help me. He ask me to wait for fifteen minutes until he finish his pray and he could exchange for me. Middle time, two guys and a girl approach me. One of the guys start to speak in Kiswahili and even after I tell him I only know a few words, he kept asking me questions in Kiswahili. Then, he starts to speak in English, just like that. Why? Why not to be honest since the beginning? Why to be a jerk when I was being nice at the beginning, showing I knew at least a few greeting in his language instead of being a completely ignorant about it? I guess is just the Tanzanian style again. At the end, that guy is the owner of the Insurance Company where I am waiting in front.
After almost one hour, Fesha come back with his family in the car and ask me for more half an hour of waiting because he does not have the Dollars and a friend would bring. I do not know how much time it takes him to come back but when he did, his “friend” is actually the same guy I have talked before, the owner of the Insurance Company. But both of them do not have the Dollars, so Fesha call a friend who could exchange the money for me at the boarder without trying to get advantage, like most everyone try to. For last, he ask to a tuck-tuck to drop me off in a better place in the way to Kilambo (the border) where I could hitchhike. It is the first time I take a tuck-tuck.
From that place, I do not walk too much until a good shade from where I can hitchhike. Unfortunately, there are not too many cars coming, and the few ones are not stopping. When one finally did, a nice man offered to drop me in a police control where, according to him, all the trucks would pass by to go to Kilambo. At the same time, another car is coming back (because had already passed) to also offer help. I ask to the first one to wait while I talk to the others. They are going to a small place about ten kilometres from Kilambo. I decide to try that and after say a lots of thanks to the first guy, I jump in.
10 Years Around the World 