Andrew's travel day

The only ferry photo I captured.  This was departing from Mwanza on the trip to Kome Island.

(Yes, this is Andrew writing, as shocking as that may be.)
Last week I spent a few days in the Zinza language area for a workshop.  A group of us from the Mara Cluster office traveled down to the southern edge of Lake Victoria to Kome Island for the purpose of looking at how to write the Zinza language and discussing uses of mother tongue Scripture.  Since there were seven of us, I didn't need to stay for the entire time and opted to travel back to Musoma alone.  Here's an explanation of what that travel day was like...

It had been a rough night.  The guesthouse where we were staying, which was also where we hosted the workshop, had a bar.  And the bar was located directly outside of my room's window.  Being Friday night, the music was loud, the people were plenty, and it didn't quiet down until well after midnight.

I got up at 4:30am, which allowed me plenty of time to be out the door by 5:00 with clean teeth, my backpack, and a small suitcase.  I opted not to bucket bathe in the dark with cold water.

Standing alongside the dark road, waiting for the pikipiki (motorcycle) driver who had been contacted the previous evening, I enjoyed looking up at the amazing expanse of stars.  But the enjoyment faded as the minutes quickly ticked by and there was no sign of any pikipiki looking for a passenger.  It was really quiet, and my anxiety about missing the 5:30 ferry was rapidly growing.  It only leaves the island once every three hours, and that kind of delay would keep me from making it home at a reasonable hour.
 
At 5:30, two of the guesthouse workers arrived to begin their morning of making chapatis and chai for the day.  One of the ladies said, "Waryoba, umewahi!"  I agreed that I was up early, but expressed my frustration that my driver hadn't come and that I was going to miss the ferry.  She replied by saying that I had plenty of time.  I replied with, "But the ferry departure is only two minutes away!"  She replied, "But the ferry doesn't leave until 6:30, not 5:30."  Ai yai yai! Apparently there had been some miscommunication in my planning.  I could have slept (or at least tried to sleep) for another hour.

The pikipiki arrived at 6am and we headed down the dark, sandy road towards the ferry station.  During those fifteen minutes, the sun started to come up and I had a few moments to marvel at the beauty of the area and remind myself that I really do live in a pretty amazing, equatorial part of the planet and get to do adventurous things that many others only dream about (or fear).

At the ferry station, I bought my ticket and went to board the ferry.  As is quite common, a guy came up and wanted to carry my bag for me.  I declined, but then he wanted to help me board the ferry.  You see, the ramp onto the ferry wasn't long enough to actually reach dry ground, so someone was going to have to get wet.  If I wanted to stay dry, then I would need to climb on this guy's back and cross the twenty feet (about a foot deep) to the ramp.  Being the stubborn, "I can do it myself" kind of guy that I am, I opted to fend for myself.  I figured my Keen sandals would hold up just fine and I was willing to take the risk of getting bilharzia from the contaminated lake water.

Once on the ferry, I walked up to the front of the deck (only about 5 car-lengths) and found a daladala (small passenger van) which was headed to Sengerema, the town I needed to get to.  There was space for me, so I climbed in a back corner seat and later paid my fare.  As we approached our destination, I was informed that I had to get out.  The daladala must be empty when it departs from the ferry.  So I abandoned my seat and prepared for another wade as I departed from the fairy towards dry ground.

The one-hour trip to Sengerema was pretty much like any other daladala trip.  I found myself dreaming of being shorter as my knees were smashed against the seat in front of me and brought up to chest level.  Luggage, which had already been stowed, was occupying the place where I wished my feet could be.  Dust and exhaust fumes filled the limited breathing space for the 24 of us stuffed inside.

I was blessed to only have to wait about thirty minutes in Sengerema before boarding a bus and departing.  I had a middle seat, but didn't mind.  However, after about a thirty-minute ride we were at the next ferry station.  I didn't understand the proper procedure for traveling by both ferry and bus at the same time.  I just followed the crowd.  We all got off, bought foot passenger tickets for the ferry and headed to a pre-boarding area.  During my few minutes there, I took advantage of a choo (toilet) for the fee of 200 shillings (about 13 cents).

On the ferry, I climbed up to a seating area and found a seat.  Two young guys eagerly joined me there and tried to start a conversation in English.  I responded in Swahili, and they were pleasantly surprised with my ability to communicate in Swahili (which, of course, made me feel good).  We chatted pretty much the entire thirty-minute trip.  They had recently finished school, were working in the gold industry, were Catholic, and spoke strongly about the importance of God in our countries.

I got my same seat back after boarding the bus again on the other side, and we headed toward the large Tanzanian city of Mwanza.

At a busy bus station in Mwanza, about half of the passengers left, and it became clear that we'd be sitting there a while before filling back up and continuing towards Musoma.  I switched seats so that I could be by a window.  When someone started to tap my shoulder through the window, I at first tried to ignore them.  But they persisted, so I turned to them.  The guy standing there told me that I should move to the bus that was parked behind us.  I had seen it when we pulled in, knowing that it was with the same company, but I wasn't really comfortable switching buses without knowing what the consequences could be.  I finally broke down and made the move.  Sure enough, my new bus was full and soon ready for departure.  But we didn't depart for Musoma!  We departed for the tire shop across the street and spent the next half hour there dealing with the air pressure in one of the tires.  Ai yai yai.

A few hours later, after skirting the edge of the Serengeti and seeing herds of wildebeest and zebra, we arrived at the bus station in Musoma.  From there, all I had to do was get a pikipiki driver to take me the 25-minute trip home.  I was home by 4:30 pm and quite ready for a shower and a great meal prepared by my lovely wife.  And the smiles that Zarya gave when I walked in the door were priceless.