Romantic Tanzania

Kigali (Rwanda) to Dodoma (Tanzania) 2518km to 3545km

Greetings from Dodoma, the official capital city of Tanzania. Although it is the official capital, Dodoma is just a large dusty town. Could everyone who has donated money please read at least the first section titled “A worthy cause”. This is a short summary of our visit to one of our chosen charities, and it is important to us that you know where your donated money is going.
Again, we would like to extend our thanks to everyone who has so generously donated money, and to all the warm and encouraging emails we have received.
Read on about our continued adventures as we left crowded Rwanda to venture in to an unknown Tanzania.

A worthy cause

To be perfectly honest, we were extremely nervous about our visit to the Tumaini Vocational Training Centre in Arusha, Tanzania. We have seen the damage irresponsible aid can do firsthand, and we would have morally objected to supporting an organisation that we thought was doing more harm than good. Throughout our time so far in Africa we have become the harshest critics of foreign aid that creates a culture of expectation and is neither sustainable nor educational. Ethiopia was a classic example of the people having become reliant on aid, and therefore not willing to help themselves and move forward on their own. Well, we can now breathe a huge sigh of relief, and reassure everyone who has donated that at least half your money is going to a thoughtful and professionally run organisation. We will update you on your other half when we reach BEN Namibia, but we are confident that it will be the same story.
It was not easy to get to Arusha; 2 days and 2 long bus rides saw us arrive in the tourist capital of Tanzania, and arguably East Africa. Boniface is the intelligent and educated Tanzanian man who manages Tumaini, and he met us in town to take us to the school. He was polite and humble, and very informative as we caught a local bus to the school which lies about 6km from the centre of Arusha. We arrived after negotiating our way down a maze of dirt tracks and entered the small yet neat compound. We spent the next few hours looking around, meeting staff and students, watching some classes (one of which we somehow ended up in front of the class teaching) and learning about the place.

We were invited to introduce ourselves in front of this small English language class.

We were so impressed by the professionalism and organisation, but most importantly we were excited by the aims and vision of the school. The crucial ingredient, we believe, to successful aid is to have a vision of sustainability and self-reliance. At present, Global Alliance for Africa (GAA), a Chicago based organisation, supports Tumaini financially, but Tumaini is run and managed by Tanzanians and is slowly moving towards being totally self-reliant. We got the feeling that the community of staff and students really appreciated the support from abroad, but they too were determined to work towards being totally independent and not have to rely on outside aid. There is exciting developments in the pipeline which will assist this concept such as an internet café, bike shop and hotel, all of which new graduates will be able to harness their new skills. The school takes in students between the age of 14 and 24, and they must sit an interview to determine if they are appropriate applicants. It attracts students who can’t afford mainstream school or who are disadvantaged in other ways ie. orphans. At present, many students are turned away as Tumaini is still young and quite small. The 100 or so students were all very polite and respectful towards us, and they seemed to be proud at being a part of Tumaini. There was a mixture of good learning going on, including bike repair and maintenance, computer skills, English and Maths classes and other life skills training. The students were so keen to learn and the value they placed on a good education was clear in their eager response to their teachers. All the students here are given an invaluable opportunity to gain a quality education, and they looked as though they were making the most of the opportunity and working hard to succeed.

Students in class at Tumaini.




















We had lunch with the small team of staff.

I could go on about all the positive aspects of the program that we saw and how the people are moving forward in a positive and sustainable way, but the main reason for this short article is to reassure all the donators that your money is going to a quality and worthy cause. This is coming from some of Africa’s most ruthless critics when it comes to foreign aid. We definitely walked away with big smiles on our faces and a warm feeling inside knowing that we are helping a smart and worthwhile program. To show the quality of the man and the program which he manages, Boniface negotiated a “local” taxi fare and payed for it himself to have us dropped back in town.
You can email us if you’d like to know more about our Tumaini visit, or alternatively you can look at the Our Chosen Charities page on our website or visit GAA’s website.

The bicycle workshop where the students learn to repair and maintain bicycles.
















Romantic Tanzania

If Uganda and Rwanda didn’t, Tanzania has certainly restored our romantic image of Africa. It has been the Africa that we dreamt of, and we have loved our time here so far. Honest, friendly, respectful and happy people; dusty, old, sleepy, slow paced towns lined with food stalls selling an assortment of eats like grilled corn cobs or fresh chapatti cooked in pans on small mounds of hot coals; polite kids who show respect to their elders; cheap, healthy, basic and tasty meals that always leave you with a swelling midriff – perfect for non-fussy and hungry cyclists; and wild open and endless plains dotted with banana and corn plantations, or often simply nothingness. Hopefully as we continue south towards Malawi the Tanzania that we have come to know will continue. Before we entered Tanzania though, we had some interesting experiences on our way out of Rwanda.

A young Tanzanian boy on the side of the road.






















Riding along a wetland area in Tanzania.

















Leaving Rwanda

We had 3 nice rest days in Kigali. This was one more than we planned and needed because in true African style the Memorial Centre was closed for no apparent reason on the day we ventured out to it. We visited the next day, and we were left moved and shocked by the details of the genocide that happened here in 1994. I’m not going to talk about it here, simply because words can’t do justice to the horrible and evil atrocities that took place, and the distressing way in which they are presented in the Memorial Centre. I will say that it was very sad and we walked away with heads full of thoughts and the rest of that day we were pretty quiet, obviously still reflecting about what had happened to this country not so long ago. The visit definitely put things into perspective, and to say we are lucky to live in Australia was all of a sudden a massive understatement. The fact that the people of Rwanda can even smile at all is amazing, and they have every right to be angry with life. But they didn’t seem to be, and smiles and friendly greetings were what we observed. Maybe this was a disguise for many, but even so, Kigali is now a forward moving city for this part of the world, and the people were very friendly and honest. The many people getting around with missing limbs however, was a disturbing reminder that the wounds of 1994 will never fully heal and that many people are still deeply affected by the events that took place.
We enjoyed our stay in Kigali, mainly because it was an organised city and the food was great. The streets were clean as there were bins along the sides, and we saw many women driving; two rarities in our African experience so far. The people of Rwanda have elegant features and are easily the most beautiful of the countries we have visited so far. It was a nice change to be saying “bonjour”, and we discovered that for the past week we had been an hour out with our watches proving that time has little meaning while bike touring. While in Kigali we also had time to think about and research our next stretch. We visited the Burundi embassy to try and get some information, but they were closed (also for no apparent reason). Burundi had some question marks concerning safety in the north, and only the week before all flights were cancelled, but it was difficult to find out the current situation. After much discussion and scurrying around the city in search of reliable information, we decided that Burundi was too risky and that we would instead head inland to Tanzania. It was a decision that made sense, and would also make our visit to one of our chosen charities much easier. The mysteries of Burundi and the wild west of Tanzania will remain.
We rode out of Kigali early one morning to beat the city traffic. We rolled along through the green hills, every pocket of land seemingly cultivated and farmed no matter how steep the hill. The use of terracing dominated the landscape, and typically Rwandan there was a steady stream of people all along the road. Riding along before school started provided an interesting sight. The kids in Rwanda are required to work in the school grounds - digging, raking and gardening - before school starts. We often saw little kids walking to school with their books and lunch in one hand, and a pick or rake slung over their other shoulder. Before school started, the school grounds were brightly lit up by busy and noisy kids working away; an idea I think Australian schools should adopt! We would sing out bonjour in our best French-Rwandan accents as we cycled past giving the kids a momentary break from their chores.
We cycled for 1½ days to the Tanzanian border, which meant that our stay in tiny Rwanda was short, but it was no less memorable. We are glad we visited Rwanda as it differed greatly to the other East African nations, and it was also interesting to see how a country attempts to move on after a genocide. We were however, looking forward to some more space and, well, less people. Our route through Tanzania was sure to provide both of these ingredients.

Rwanda to Tanzania … What a day!

We woke at 6:30am after quite a restless night. Our bed for the night had a large dip in the middle, so we spent much of the night kneeing and kicking each other as we attempted to roll over. We set off and it was straight into the hills. The legs were heavy from yesterday, and felt more like tree trunks than light and nimble legs. There were people everywhere along the road all pretending to be on their way to somewhere, but nobody was in a hurry. The roads were lined with people carrying water, boys on bikes, women carrying babies and a random assortment of other characters. Being a Saturday there was no school. No school in Rwanda means kids everywhere with not much to do, a kind of Mzungu bike tourers dreaded combination. The vehicle traffic was pleasantly light, but the human traffic was heavy. Everyone was friendly, and we must have averaged one “bonjour” per minute. Even those who were lazily hanging around found the energy to spring up and jump on their bike to chase us and see if they could keep up with the Mzungus. In typical African young male fashion, they would often speed past us to show off, and although they were shouting out to their mates in French, we could guess the calls went something like “look at me, I’m faster than the Mzungus”. To see me cycle past often created minimal fuss, but Christine was a different story. Women don’t ride bikes in Rwanda, so to see Christine ride past stirred up the mainly male roadside crowd, often motivating them to jump on their bikes to ride with her. Today we weren’t in the mood for any cycling battles, as our legs weren’t feeling up to it, so we had to settle for an easy defeat and friendly laughter from the roadside audience.
We agreed that we would cycle until 8am, and then look for a spot on the side of the road for breakfast. We spotted a stall with half a dozen juicy looking pineapples on the side of the road, and decided that this would complement our weetbix perfectly for breakfast. After pulling over in search of the person who owned the pineapples, people came from nowhere to observe and “help” me buy the pineapple. All of a sudden I had a decent congregation of locals all interested in my purchase. After agreeing on a price, I strapped it to my front pannier and we headed off to the friendly smiles and waves of the now rather largish crowd.

Sticky beaks watching me buy a pineapple.

It was 8am; we were hungry and ready for a rest. Finding a breakfast spot has become a bit of an art form this trip. We have become quite picky, and always search for the perfect combination of peacefulness, nice sitting spot and ideally with fantastic views. The views and sitting spots were aplenty, but peacefulness was going to be near impossible to find. There was an endless stream of people, and unlike the Ugandans, the Rwandans stop and gather – we refer to people with this behaviour as “gatherers”. Our hunger and impatience got the better of us, and we had to stop amongst the human traffic. We had a lovely spot with a nice view over the fields, but sure enough a small crowd was gathering. We got out our weetbix and pineapple, and the crowd, who were keeping a safe distance, peered with curiosity.

Onlookers initially keep a safe distance as they watch with interest.

There was some commentary and discussion, but it was kept to a whisper, just in case we could understand French. Over the course of our breakfast we had quite a high turnover of onlookers as people came and went, but we also had a loyal audience who stayed for the entire time, about an hour, we took to relax and enjoy our breakfast. A crowd definitely attracts a crowd, and people were coming from everywhere to see what everyone else was gawking at. A few of them settled in and found a comfy front row spot to sit with a good viewing angle. If you see something different, for example a nice car, you stop and have a look for a bit. But after say, 5 minutes, there isn’t much more to see. We assumed the same theory for our breakfast eating, but no, the crowd were waiting and watching with anticipation, as though they were hoping, or almost expecting some entertainment. I tried to provide this by joining them across the road, and then pointing and laughing at Christine calling her a Mzungu. They might have thought we were strange before this, but they certainly did after this episode.

I joined the crowd and was pointing and laughing at Christine, but they just thought I was even weirder.

We finished our breakfast and packed up as the crowd’s confidence was growing and their safe distance was now an intrusive swarming. We would have to save our teeth cleaning performance for further down the road.
We rode off, and as usual many of the crowd rode and ran with us for some time. I needed to stop to relieve myself, but again it was difficult to find anywhere without people watching. I normally pull over to the side of the road, and go to toilet while still straddling my bike. This is a bit of a skill I have mastered over my many days of bike touring. The ability to do this makes Christine very envious, as her obvious constraints make toileting a little more challenging for her. Anyway, every time I pulled over suspecting a quiet spot, kids would come from everywhere shouting “Mzungu” attracting much attention. When I finally did find somewhere and begin, I had a small audience of kids watch, totally undeterred by the fact that I was going to the toilet.
The next two villages were like ghost towns. We wondered where everyone was as we rested our voices from saying “bonjour”. After a steady stream of people all morning, it was quite strange that two villages in a row were empty, and quiet. As we rounded the corner to begin a long climb, the human traffic once again picked up, all of them also walking up the hill. As we slogged our way up, the kids who were walking slowly and peacefully on the side of the road, were now running with us, laughing and shouting as they went. As we progressed up the hill, we picked up more kids like we were some kind of kid-magnet, and the noise and excitement could be heard through the valley. As we neared the top, I turned around and there must have been 100 kids running alongside Christine, all of them shouting, laughing and basically going nuts with excitement. We then found out where everyone was as a sea of bright colour stood out from the green surrounds to our right. We’re not sure what was going on, whether it was a market or some kind of community working bee, but it was loud and chaotic. People were working, there was lots of noise and boys were carting rocks and water to where the mass of people had congregated. This combined with the 100 ecstatic kids running with us made for a pretty crazy 20 minutes or so. It was the kind of experience where you definitely know you’re in Africa. The gang of kids having a great time running with us came to an abrupt end. At the top of the hill there was a police roadblock, and an officer shouted, actually he ordered, that the kids halt their chase. Although it wasn’t bothering us, in fact we found it to be quite enjoyable as the kids were very friendly and happy, we responded with a polite “merci” (thankyou) to the serious looking officer carrying a big gun. He took this thankyou seriously, and as more villages were ahead, and the hill actually kept going, meaning we couldn’t speed away from the kids, he ordered another officer to escort us up the remainder of the hill and through the next village. So here we were now cycling along, with a policeman on a motorbike purring along in front of us with his light flashing as an escort to deter chasing kids. As if we didn’t attract enough attention already, now we had a police escort. Thankfully we were spared too much embarrassment, as the next village was empty. They too were at the crazy happenings in the last village, and although we did feel silly as we called out “bonjour” to the few remaining people wandering around, it was quite a nice novelty and we thanked the officer as he left us at the real top of the hill.
We cycled on and eventually came to the border with Tanzania after 60km. The border lies at an impressive waterfall, with a narrow bridge separating Rwanda and Tanzania. We crossed easily and quietly, moved back to the left hand side of the road (Rwanda was the right) and searched for some food and drink on the Tanzanian side. All that we could find was a 1.5ltr bottle of mango juice. As we sat and rested after a challenging morning, we sculled the mango juice until we were bloated and felt sick. We had made a few friends in this time. A group of 4 young kids were busy chasing chooks and playing with old tyres, but one of the young girls took quite a liking to Christine and I. She didn’t say anything, nor did she smile. But she liked to touch our white skin, and took particular pleasure in playing with my leg hairs. She was only about 4 years old, had a snotty nose and grotty clothes, but she was beautiful. I saved her no more than a mouthful of juice, and as we got ready to leave we observed her taking the smallest of sips. By the look on her face she had never tasted mango juice before, but she liked it and she was going to make this mouthful last as long as possible.
We pedalled off not really knowing what to expect on the Tanzanian side, and also not really knowing where the next town would be. The hills kept going, and they were steep. We crawled up, and flew down. On one descent I hit a top speed of 75km/hr - a bit scary on a loaded bike with a trailer. The black clouds that were closing in above us finally opened up, and started to pelt us with large drops and hail stones. It wasn’t cold though, so we were happy to resist our waterproof jacket and simply get wet. Thunder and lightning roared and flashed above us, and we welcomed the coolness of the water on our backs in the humid climate. We also welcomed the lack of people on the Tanzanian side. There was bush everywhere, and people nowhere. Getting excited by this, we decided that we would look for a nice place to camp, and enjoy a night in nature without people and noise. Before we found somewhere though, we crawled into a small junction town looking very soggy. We found a lovely little guesthouse for $3.50 and the lady owner was lovely. We decided that we would keep dry for the night and take a room. We are so glad we did because the lady and the other workers were very kind and welcoming. But we were also glad after our conversation with the lady who had excellent English and a million stories to tell. Hiding in the bush for 100km on this side of the Rwandan border are some “left over” Rwandan and Burundi refugees. They are causing trouble in the area as they are heavily armed and have taken to a banditry lifestyle. Hijackings have occurred, and only 2 months ago a car was stopped and the driver and passenger were robbed and then shot dead. The police went into the bush in search, and found and killed a group of “suspects”, but some escaped and are still hiding in the bush. Apparently it is safe during the day, but the lady said that wild camping would be fraught with danger. We breathed a sigh of relief at our decision to not camp tonight.
We listened to more of her fascinating stories and realised how much we learn about the people and country when we can communicate with locals. Language is a barrier that makes really getting to know a country and the people difficult, so we milked the lady for all sorts of stories and information. We enjoyed a plate of beans and rice and reflected on an adventurous and eventful day.
To be continued …

Police Protection

The next day we headed off early in the morning and rode for 30km non-stop. We didn’t pass through any villages or towns and hardly saw anybody. The traffic was very light, only the odd truck passing every 20 minutes or so. It was such a relaxing change after Rwanda, and we were enjoying the peacefulness of cycling through the green and hilly landscape in silence. We found a nice breakfast spot and pulled over for some weetbix. An hour or so passed by as we relaxed, went to the toilet, read our guidebook and enjoyed some breakfast. Only a handful of trucks went past, but other than that we had the place to ourselves. As I was cleaning my teeth we noticed a ute with something large in the back emerge from over the hill. As it drew nearer, we realised it wasn’t the usual ute full of young African men crammed in and boisterous at the sight of a couple of Mzungus on bikes. It pulled up at our breakfast spot and immediately grabbed our interest and attention. The large object in the back was a huge machine gun mounted on a swivel, and under it were about 4 uniformed police officers that emerged from under a tarp. Out of the front passenger seat stepped an impressively uniformed police officer who had a definite air of authority about him. His boots were well-polished and uniform neat and crisp, and he had a well-maintained military style moustache. He greeted us with a smile and “good morning”, and then moved on to some more important business. “You must continue your journey, it is not safe to rest here” was his gentle but firm instructions delivered with a smile. He explained that police were patrolling the road as bandits were posing some danger to motorists, including Mzungus on bikes. He reassured us that riding along was fine, but resting in the middle of nowhere was not a good idea. He asked where we were heading, presumably so he could check that we arrived incident free later in the day. Christine bravely asked if she could take a picture of the huge gun in the back, but predictably the response was a convincing “no photos allowed”. If anyone was to get shot by this gun, which looked like it would need all 4 men to control, I doubt there would be much left of them. It looked big enough to bring down a helicopter or small plane. Knowing that they were patrolling the road though, made us feel safe. I finished my teeth and we headed off, only stopping once later in a small town for some beans for lunch. Throughout the rest of the day the ute passed us another 3 times, and on each occasion we waved to them and gave them the thumbs up. Even though they were there to protect everyone, we secretly considered them our personal security. We arrived in a small town in the early afternoon without any further dramas. We were pretty tired as we only had two rests throughout the hilly 90km. We again enjoyed beans for dinner (this seems to be the only option here for vegetarians) and wondered what adventures tomorrow would bring in this eventful stretch of Africa.

Maasai

The Maasai people of Kenya and Tanzania are well celebrated, and their existence in conflicting touristy areas provides much exposure. Their culture and beauty is well documented around the world, and the recent release of The White Maasai book and film will even further publicise their fascinating lifestyle. For us, the remote tribes in the south-west of Ethiopia were more intriguing purely because it felt as though there was less known, or at least less documented, about their culture. They definitely receive less exposure, as their existence does not clash with some of Africa’s most popular tourist attractions, as does the Maasai. Still, experiences with the Maasai were no less fascinating, and our first encounter was quite memorable.
We pulled into a dusty town and immediately attracted the attention of the sleepy community busy doing not much at all. We needed some food and supplies for our next few days which looked like they would be through an area that would only have small towns. Small towns in Tanzania means that you can’t get much more than rice, beans and bananas. We were after some bread, long life milk and some snacks. We parked the bikes and I sat on a bench while Christine went searching. Tanzanians aren’t gatherers like Ethiopians and Rwandans and usually keep going when passing by. In this town though, a small crowd gathered around me and our bikes. They were all friendly and didn’t invade my personal space. The crowd was mainly teenage males (surprise surprise), but as I scanned across the rugged crowd someone caught my eye. A striking figure of beauty stood out, and the unmistakable presence of a young Maasai man was among the onlookers. I had only ever seen pictures of Maasai people and their beauty and striking features is obvious, but it was amazing how this young man stood out from the crowd. He had beautiful skin and colourful jewellery, a shaved head except for a well-groomed tuft on the crown of his head and was draped in a toga like red blanket. He was imposing yet graceful looking as he stood with his wooden stick which all Maasai men carry. Christine returned with a bag of goodies, and it was good timing as the crowd was growing. We mounted our bikes and left to the cheers and support of the young males.
We got about 2km out of the town and stopped to eat some of the surprises that Christine had managed to buy. We rested and enjoyed some old chocolate, which had surely melted and solidified a dozen times, and washed it down with some refreshing juice. As we pedalled off we noticed that the young Maasai man we had encountered earlier was on his bike and riding on the other side of the road. We rode along silently for quite a few kilometres with him on one side and us on the other, both glancing over at each other without staring or saying anything. He was probably equally interested in us as we were fascinated by him. He rode at our pace for some time with his stick in one hand while still clutching the handlebars. We’ve had many an interesting character ride along with us in Africa, but never a striking and commanding Maasai warrior.
For the rest of that afternoon we cycled through an area inhibited by the Maasai and had several more encounters, but none as surreal or curious as the first.

Tanzanian kids

There seems to be lots of kids in Africa, and they are a big part of our day-to-day adventures. So far, we like the Tanzanian kids the best … by a long way. They are respectful in every sense of the word, and are how we imagined all African kids to be. As we cycle past the brightly uniformed kids on their way to and from school, they greet us with all sorts of pleasantries. We now take anything better than being sworn at, chased or targeted with rocks to be an absolute complement, so to be shown such respect by the Tanzanian kids was very humbling, but also very enjoyable. We were greeted with “good morning teacher” or “shikamu” (a respectful greeting reserved for elders), and this was always accompanied with a smile and a wave. Some even bowed when we passed and mumbled “shikamu” with a deep respect written all over their faces. Being bowed to is a bit much for us, but we will certainly enjoy it while it lasts. Not all the kids were happy to see us. One young girl, clearly petrified by the sight of probably the first white person she had ever seen, pierced the silence of a sleepy village and started crying and screaming while running away from us. Her older sister thought it was very amusing as she consoled the scared little girl. Even on the very rare occasions we have been asked for money it has been very polite, and often begins with “good evening sir and madam, I am very poor …”. It has just been such a nice feeling to be respected. We have now experienced the two extremes of ‘kid treatment’ in Africa!

Young boys collecting.

















Taking his brother to school. The bike was much too big so he couldn’t sit on the seat and pedal at the same time. Still, he managed to keep up with us for a while.















Unfortunately these kids don’t get to go to school for whatever reason, so they have joined the workforce at a young age.















Transporting food and water.


















To the centre of Tanzania

We have spent 12 days getting from Kigali to Dodoma, including only 1 rest day. We have enjoyed this stretch very much. Every day has been filled with adventures, and it has never been boring. It has been very cheap, which was a nice change after the more expensive Rwanda. Some days in Tanzania it has been impossible to spend more than $20. With the most expensive guesthouse in any given town charging $5 for a room and huge meals for about $1 each, there isn’t much else to spend our money on. It all works out though as when we find a town with nice food and decent accommodation we make the most of it. The following are some random events that have occurred over the last few weeks:

• One day while riding along we saw a bright sea of orange clearly glowing in the distance. As we drew near we discovered about 20 men all wearing bright orange suits shovelling gravel into a truck. Sitting under the shade of a big tree was the watchful eyes of about 6 heavily armed uniformed officers. The rough looking prisoners were very social as we slowed down to pass them, and the guards were translating that the prisoners wanted us to be their friends!


• We arrived in a small truck stop town after a solid day and found a cleanish (I use that word generously) looking guesthouse (which we later discovered was a brothel serving the truckers). When we went in search for some dinner after we had a bucket wash, we discovered nobody was serving food. We finally found someone who spoke English and he said that the minister of health had banned all cooking as there was a disease outbreak in the area. People still sneakily cooked, but out of obvious sight. It would be tough for us to find food. As we were starving, we used the “kitchen” of our guesthouse to prepare a packet soup which we had. The kitchen was a small mud room with a series of coal fires and a pile of blackened pots. The lady was very friendly and found it very amusing.

Christine preparing soup in the guesthouse kitchen

• Tanzanian people can't understand why we don’t have kids. As it was explained to us, when a Tanzania man marries he must immediately start producing babies. This is how his worthiness and manhood is displayed and viewed. Whether he has a job and steady income is irrelevant and producing babies is a priority. So we have had many broken English discussions as to why we don’t have any kids, often to the absolute shock and disbelief of the locals.


• Bananas, beans and rice. This is what we ate for lunch and dinner almost every day. It was always filling, and great energy, but became a bit monotonous after a while. We were lucky we could usually get long life milk, and we had stocked up on cereal so our breakfasts were a little bit more interesting and the meal we most looked forward to.
  

Life on the bike

While most of you get up in the morning and prepare yourself for work or school, we do the same, only we prepare for a day on the road and the unpredictable nature of cycling in Africa. We have developed a routine now. We always get up at 6am for a 6:30am departure. It is best to leave early as it often gets hot, and riding in the peacefulness of the morning as the sun comes up is a lovely part of the day. We always try and ride 30km before we stop for some breakfast (ideally purchased the night before) on the side of the road. We have a good rest for breakfast, about an hour or so, where we can have a lie down, read a book and perform our teeth cleaning routine, before we keep going until we stumble across a town at about lunchtime. We can then hopefully pick up some food for lunch, which has usually been in the form of beans and bananas in Tanzania. We are then able to ride some more in the early afternoon before reaching a town that has a decent enough guesthouse. Often we have the dilemma of arriving at a town in the early afternoon and deciding whether or not to stay or push on to the next town. We often remember the stresses of report writing, preparing lessons and meeting deadlines that existed when we were teaching last year, and now our daily stress is if we should ride to the next town or not. Slightly different stresses, but both relative.
Another aspect of life on the bike that we love is the simplicity. Possession wise, we have everything on our bikes. We don’t have a house full of stuff, we don’t have bills to pay, we don’t have to be anywhere on time, weekdays are the same as weekends and we don’t have a boss to answer to. Our simplicity and independence makes us feel truly free, and freedom is an amazing feeling.
We do however, have small daily challenges. As well as the obvious physical challenges, communicating with locals, deciding on where to stay, deciding on which road to take, wondering where our next plate of beans and rice will come from and trying to take a photo of a colourful local with their permission are all minor obstacles that occupy our days. We don’t feel pressure though, and we feel as though we are always in a win-win situation. Every decision we make brings about an adventurous outcome. In Africa, adventure is around every corner.
So life on the bike in Africa is a life of simplicity, freedom and adventure. There is nothing like that feeling.

A quiet and peaceful road in rural Tanzania.

















Relaxing and pleasant riding along a remote stretch in Tanzania.












Only in Africa

1. An ex colleague of mine would always tell me how women were so great at multi tasking, and here is further proof to Mrs Jane Hall’s claim. We cycled past a woman in the country side who was wandering the bush with a baby on her back, while balancing a huge bucket on her head, her hands were occupied with the delicate skill of weaving a basket and to top things off she was also herding about 20 lively goats.


2. When a bus stops in a town or at a police point, swarms of vendors gather at the bus windows holding up their goods to sell to the passengers. It is comical to watch, and the frenzy often continues as the bus slowly drives off and the vendors are completing their deal while running along side the bus. Common things to be sold are grilled corn cobs, meat skewers, nuts, fruit, boiled eggs, biscuits, drinks, newspapers, and well, almost anything really. We once saw one group of vendors holding up bits of a freshly slaughtered goat. In their gloveless hands in the hot open air, they were holding up bloodied legs, ribs, and other fleshy goat bits. After the bus drives off, there is a steady stream of rubbish getting flung out the window, as this is the only method of rubbish disposal. It is an obvious reminder that we are in Africa when we compare how strict we are on litter and recycling in Australia, and here in Tanzania every single wrapper, plastic bag or bottle and food scrap is tossed out the windows of all the buses.


3. Our favourite African sign so far: