Nardus
Pack Dog
Tanzania
For everybody's sake, I wish that Tanzania was a bit closer to South Africa. Miles of hidden gravel tracks, tropical coastline, sparsely populated central area, Lake Tanganyika, Ngorongoro crater, Serengeti planes, part of Lake Victoria, Mount Kilimanjaro, really only one tar road - getting the picture - a bikers paradise !!
So, the dhow dropped us off at Mtwara. To our surprise, there was a little hut about 30 meters from the beach - an immigration office. I think we arrived there during lunchtime, because it was closed. As we waited, one or two local fellows came closer to have a look at these whities with their big scooters. As always, the first thing they would ask is where we were from. And we always replied: South Africa/Afrique du Sud. Unlike before, we received a rather unwelcome glare. The one guy in particular was rather difficult. Both Johan and me kept our cool, remained friendly and answered all their questions. He kept calling us (in a derogative manner) Maburu. After some time he could not keep it in any longer and asked us directly: Why do you hate black people? and Why are you killing them?
I grew up in a house where my parents hated the previous government and I think Johans parents too. So we calmly explained that there were, and still are, some white folk, but not all, that have no respect for other people, but that we belong with people who were not like them ...blah, blah, blah ...
By then the immigration office opened so we went over rather nervously, also because we had no visas for Tanzania. The official was extremely friendly and helpful and issued us with visas, stamped the passports and booked our motorbikes in legally, with the Carne's and all.
We were walking back to our scooters when the difficult fellow came over to us and explained that he is looking after a developer's land about 10 km up the beach. We are welcome to visit him, look at the place and sleep over if we want to. Holy smacker, how is that for a quick change of heart. Johan and I looked at each other, evaluated the pristine coastline with its long white beach, crystal clear water, sunshine, palm trees, we nodded to each other, climbed on the scooters and drove up the beach until we saw his palm-leaved hut.
This was the spot !!!! Is this idyllic or what ?? Damn, should have stayed for a week.
As you know, Tanzania was one of African countries that were sympathetic towards the ANC and very hostile towards the old government. No SA whities were allowed into Tanzania for quite some time. We were most probably the first ones to fart around in this part of Tanzania. He explained to us that Maburu is a Swahili word that was invented for white South Africans and it literally means that you hate and kill black people and are un-rehabilitate-able (his words). We assumed it derived from
Boer, but these people had never heard of boere before. We spent the whole evening around a fire explaining the SA politics to him and his girlfriends. As you can imagine, they also did not get the whole story from their sources. (Remember that we were there in about February 1994).
Well, we were treated like kings. Rice fried in a pan and then cooked in coconut milk and a variety of fish. Went snorkeling with him the next morning - stunning !! He wrote us a long list of Swahili words that we would need to know for our journey. I wish we had stayed there for a couple of days more.
We slept one night at Lindi, again what a spot !! Back in those days nobody catered for tourists that far south along the Tanzanian coast, so one could pretty much do what you want. This was also the last night that I slept in my tent - sad, sad, sad.
Taking a quick crap before arriving at Lindi
A local restaurant
Wow, look at the track running up the coast !! This was unreal, but I would hate to be here when it rains !!
Lush bush all the way
I assume that this road would be tarmac by now - hope not!
I bought my bike with a Kenda K270 rear tyre - obviously with a couple of miles on it. I must have done at least 6000 kilometers prior to this trip. This trip was now standing on about 13 000 kms. The tyre, therefore, had done at least 20 000km. Not bad. But now was the time to change it.
We got to our first coastal T-junction after about 300 kms - a turnoff heading to three different places, each starting with Kilwa. We choose Kilwa Kuvinje.
Wow !! What a beautiful spot.
Not sure how they get such a big dhow back to the water. Repair work being done, replacing one plank at a time, like a puzzle.
Johan showed signs of Malaria, so he popped his Fansidar pills and we decided to only pitch his tent so that he can sleep. With some bad luck, it was the month of Ramadan, so no food was available until very late at night. I grabbed my camera and Johan slept in the tent. The ruins in town are apparently from old slave trade buildings - a really stunning place.
That night at about 01h00, we both woke up from somebody falling over the tent line. Johan stuck his head out of the window and shouted :JOU FOKKEN BLIKSEM KOM HIER!!! AS EK JOU VANG DONNER EK VIR JOU !!! (Sorry, this cannot really be translated, but it relates to something like this. Your dirty rascal come here. If I catch you, I will beat you up!) And with that he leaped out of the tent with only his underpants on. I was stunned, but also maneuvered myself out of the tent. I saw Johan chasing a couple of kids down the road, he turned around eventually and picked up his bike and pushed it back to the tent. I still said: Damn, Johan that was a close shave and thinking to myself that I am glad it was not my bike. I walked around the tent only to realize that my bike is GONE - YES, GONE, NOT THERE - MISSING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Let me cut this short. Eventually we found the bike the next morning at about 05h30 on a secluded beach, but all my belongings were gone. This experience was bad - worst than the mud, sand, or the leather jacket with my passport in the ocean experience. I then had to decide if and how to carry on.
Fortunately, I had the bike - most important item - that was close very, very close. Because Johan was sick and in the tent, I threw my jacket with passport, money and Carne into the tent that previous afternoon. All my other belongings were on the bike. My tent, raincoat, boots, bike spares, a shirt, my only jeans, my 10 empty slide films (and one full one), and all other pieces of crap were all gone. The decision was easy - carry on !! Since then, we slept a bit more lightly and more aware of what went on outside and where our bikes were. (MAYBE NO SHOES, BUT THE BIKE AND THE REST OF AFRICA ....!!)
The crime scene. After finding the bike, we packed up and left with a very bitter taste in the mouths.
We headed north, crossing the mighty Rufiji River, past Dar Es Salam and stopped for a day or so at Bagamoyo - another interesting little town with a lot of history and character. Burton and Speak, the famous explorers, started some of their expeditions from here. Those of you that have watched the movie Mountains of the Moon will know how they got fucked up here at Bagamoyo. But what a beautiful town.
The Rufiji River
On the way out of Bagamoya, Johan and I took our daily crap in the bush together. As always we would examine the remains. I think we thought that any signs of health problems could well manifest first in the crap. Generally we were of exceptional good health, but that morning we discovered that Johan had worms !
Johan cleaning the carburetor and points - the coastal air did from time to time cause the XT500 to struggle to start.
We turned west (again) at Tanga, towards Mochi. We are now close to the Kenya border and exactly below Mount Kilimanjaro. It was very nice at the time to get out of the tropical coastal area. Around Mochi it is dry with only grass and thorn trees - lovely. It was great that all our scratches, cuts and bruzes (that turned septic at the coast) were able to heal - wounds that we had carried for over a month got better within two days. Betadine, acts like a growing medium for germs generally, but at the coast it is even worse.
The savannah veld, around the Moshi area
Camping in the dry air was a nice change
We found a track running past the foot of Mt Kilimanjaro via Sanya Yuu. Another thunderstorm was approaching and Mt Kilimanjaro was covered with clouds, so we pulled into the bush and started to pitch our tent. A local fellow came up to us and promptly invited us to rather stay at his house. On arrival we actually felt a bit awkward as he kicked his wife out to sleep outside and offered Johan and I the bed. We did not want to get involved in a family brawl, so we accepted the offer. He told us that we will only see the mountain between 05h00 and 06h00 in the morning, the rest of the time it will be covered with clouds.
The friendly man that was willing to kick his wife out of bed to make space for Johan and me
Again, the local knowledge was spot on and we managed to capture a couple of shots before 06h00 the next morning. It was really a special moment to see this mountain - there is something majestic about her.
With that, we were off to Arusha via a little gravel track.
An interesting story that we were told by one of the locals was that Tanzania is rather unique in Africa in that it has around 140 different ethnic groups, which have had no internal conflicts between these groups for over 30 years. This was due to some forced removals that took place in the 1960 (I think), when the government mixed all the tribes forcefully to prevent any infighting in future. It was very traumatic at the time, but the end result was successful.
It was really awesome riding in this savannah veld where your mind struggles to absorb the beauty of everything that you see. And then, as we thought it can't get any better, there it is - an exact picture of the dream I had had on Marion Island and subsequent recollections of that same image !!!! I stopped the bike, got off, watched the scene in front of me and started to cry (Moffie, I know), but this was just too much for me. By the time Johan caught up with me the tears were flowing vigorously. Johan is not really the emotional type. I think he struggled a bit with how to deal with the situation, so he did what Johan did best. He walked off for about 50 meters, sat down on a rock and watched the scene of these African planes for about an hour. With no words spoken, we got back on the bikes and drove off to Arusha.
Not such a nice picture, but this was the emotional highlight for me
Down in the valley, Johan feeling pity for the Masai boy who is slightly thinner than him (must say, not much)
We spent a day or two at Arusha - a rather nice little buzzing town with a couple of government departments and a lot of tourists, restaurants, lodges, etc., catering for all the people going to the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro National Parks.
With our money getting rather low and Johan's lust for staying and working in Africa, we parted our ways here. Johan stayed in Arusha to see if he cannot find a job in one of the National Parks. In addition, we had now spent over 4 months together - riding together, every time we stop we really only could share things with each other whether good or bad, and since my tent was stolen we now also had to sleep together. If the partner was a pretty immoral woman with nice boobs, it might have been different, but neither one of us fitted the above criteria. So yes, it was becoming more and more difficult to tolerate each other. Poor Johan, I have to admit, struggled here a bit more than me. (My current wife will also have sympathy with Johan's situation - and she has nice boobs !) It was, therefore, not too difficult to agree, or to concoct some scheme to part for a while.
From all the staring at the map over the past few months, I developed an urge to ride around Lake Victoria. We agreed that we will meet up in Nairobi in two to three weeks time - that is if I do not get stuck somewhere and if Johan had no luck finding a job.
I drove to the entrance gate of the Ngorongoro National Park, knowing that I will not be allowed in, but this is the only road through to Lake Victoria. It is a stunning ride to the Park, passing Lake Manyara.
Climbing up to Ngorongoro with Lake Manyara in the background
After spending a couple of hours at the gate, a truck carrying maize flour arrived and were en route towards Lake Victoria. I convinced the driver to load my bike in the truck and with that I was off for a drive past the Ngorongoro crater and through the Serengeti planes - hiii haaa !!! Smackers - it is really amazing to see the crater with its tropical forests at the top and savannah down below, and all the animals in the Serengeti (thousands of wildebeest and zebra). I must admit, apart from the wildebeest and zebra, the white tourist combi's were the second most sited attraction in the park - it does depreciate the experience to a large extent.
The Ngorongoro Crater
The Serengeti planes
A rock showing signs of wear from years of drumming
Close to the exit of the park
The journey through the park was long, the road was badly corrugated, and the driver had only one tape - Lucky Dube. Now of all men, I can appreciate Lucky Dube (the saviour), but that was tough. On arrival at Bumda, at least half of the cargo of flour had accumulated and penetrated every possible part of the bike - it was bad.
Offloading the bike at Bumda
Although Mwanza was the next destination, something drew me to see what Nansio look like. On the way I stopped in a small village, somewhere around Kibara, at a building with the words -Rafiki Hotel- written on it. It was in fact no Hotel, but a little shop that sold nothing more than tea and a bread roll type thing. It was getting rather late so I asked the shop keeper if I could crash in a little room at the back of the hotel. He felt very uncomfortable with the idea, but agreed eventually.
Growing Kasawa in between the rocks
Marabou Stork at Lake Victoria
Visiting a local family - had to taste fresh milk and blood from cow
Well, six days later I left the Rafiki Hotel. It felt like a couple of hours. I had made such good friends with a crowd of people in this village. You must have heard (even if it was from a movie scene) those real African drums playing until late at night, coming from the bush. Well, I was even taken to see where that comes from. They showed me everything that Kibara had to offer - it was a very sad moment to leave my friends behind. Rafiki in Swahili means friend - now how is that.
Due to my unplanned delay at Kibara, I opted to take the ferry across the southern part of Lake Victoria to Bukoba close to the Uganda border. I also heard that there was sone turmoil in Rwanda and Burundi and did not want to venture too close to the action. The ferry departed late from Mwanza harbour and I had the opportunity to watch the African Cup football match between Bafana Bafana and Zambia in a local pub. Wow, that was a great match. The journey on the ferry was mainly at night, but one thing I can recall was the bad engineering (or ergonomics) that was applied in the men's toilet. It was a standard stainless steel almost 3 meter long urinal -piskrip-. As a typical African ferry, it was overcrowded and cigarette butts (for example) were also thrown into the urinal. Within an hour the urinal was filled with piss and that together with the rocking of the ferry caused the piss to run from one side to the next. Each time it hits the far end, it explodes, and so on !!
Boarding the Ferry to cross a part of Lake Victoria at Mwanza
Uganda
To follow soon .....
For everybody's sake, I wish that Tanzania was a bit closer to South Africa. Miles of hidden gravel tracks, tropical coastline, sparsely populated central area, Lake Tanganyika, Ngorongoro crater, Serengeti planes, part of Lake Victoria, Mount Kilimanjaro, really only one tar road - getting the picture - a bikers paradise !!
So, the dhow dropped us off at Mtwara. To our surprise, there was a little hut about 30 meters from the beach - an immigration office. I think we arrived there during lunchtime, because it was closed. As we waited, one or two local fellows came closer to have a look at these whities with their big scooters. As always, the first thing they would ask is where we were from. And we always replied: South Africa/Afrique du Sud. Unlike before, we received a rather unwelcome glare. The one guy in particular was rather difficult. Both Johan and me kept our cool, remained friendly and answered all their questions. He kept calling us (in a derogative manner) Maburu. After some time he could not keep it in any longer and asked us directly: Why do you hate black people? and Why are you killing them?
I grew up in a house where my parents hated the previous government and I think Johans parents too. So we calmly explained that there were, and still are, some white folk, but not all, that have no respect for other people, but that we belong with people who were not like them ...blah, blah, blah ...
By then the immigration office opened so we went over rather nervously, also because we had no visas for Tanzania. The official was extremely friendly and helpful and issued us with visas, stamped the passports and booked our motorbikes in legally, with the Carne's and all.
We were walking back to our scooters when the difficult fellow came over to us and explained that he is looking after a developer's land about 10 km up the beach. We are welcome to visit him, look at the place and sleep over if we want to. Holy smacker, how is that for a quick change of heart. Johan and I looked at each other, evaluated the pristine coastline with its long white beach, crystal clear water, sunshine, palm trees, we nodded to each other, climbed on the scooters and drove up the beach until we saw his palm-leaved hut.
This was the spot !!!! Is this idyllic or what ?? Damn, should have stayed for a week.
As you know, Tanzania was one of African countries that were sympathetic towards the ANC and very hostile towards the old government. No SA whities were allowed into Tanzania for quite some time. We were most probably the first ones to fart around in this part of Tanzania. He explained to us that Maburu is a Swahili word that was invented for white South Africans and it literally means that you hate and kill black people and are un-rehabilitate-able (his words). We assumed it derived from
Boer, but these people had never heard of boere before. We spent the whole evening around a fire explaining the SA politics to him and his girlfriends. As you can imagine, they also did not get the whole story from their sources. (Remember that we were there in about February 1994).
Well, we were treated like kings. Rice fried in a pan and then cooked in coconut milk and a variety of fish. Went snorkeling with him the next morning - stunning !! He wrote us a long list of Swahili words that we would need to know for our journey. I wish we had stayed there for a couple of days more.
We slept one night at Lindi, again what a spot !! Back in those days nobody catered for tourists that far south along the Tanzanian coast, so one could pretty much do what you want. This was also the last night that I slept in my tent - sad, sad, sad.
Taking a quick crap before arriving at Lindi
A local restaurant
Wow, look at the track running up the coast !! This was unreal, but I would hate to be here when it rains !!
Lush bush all the way
I assume that this road would be tarmac by now - hope not!
I bought my bike with a Kenda K270 rear tyre - obviously with a couple of miles on it. I must have done at least 6000 kilometers prior to this trip. This trip was now standing on about 13 000 kms. The tyre, therefore, had done at least 20 000km. Not bad. But now was the time to change it.
We got to our first coastal T-junction after about 300 kms - a turnoff heading to three different places, each starting with Kilwa. We choose Kilwa Kuvinje.
Wow !! What a beautiful spot.
Not sure how they get such a big dhow back to the water. Repair work being done, replacing one plank at a time, like a puzzle.
Johan showed signs of Malaria, so he popped his Fansidar pills and we decided to only pitch his tent so that he can sleep. With some bad luck, it was the month of Ramadan, so no food was available until very late at night. I grabbed my camera and Johan slept in the tent. The ruins in town are apparently from old slave trade buildings - a really stunning place.
That night at about 01h00, we both woke up from somebody falling over the tent line. Johan stuck his head out of the window and shouted :JOU FOKKEN BLIKSEM KOM HIER!!! AS EK JOU VANG DONNER EK VIR JOU !!! (Sorry, this cannot really be translated, but it relates to something like this. Your dirty rascal come here. If I catch you, I will beat you up!) And with that he leaped out of the tent with only his underpants on. I was stunned, but also maneuvered myself out of the tent. I saw Johan chasing a couple of kids down the road, he turned around eventually and picked up his bike and pushed it back to the tent. I still said: Damn, Johan that was a close shave and thinking to myself that I am glad it was not my bike. I walked around the tent only to realize that my bike is GONE - YES, GONE, NOT THERE - MISSING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Let me cut this short. Eventually we found the bike the next morning at about 05h30 on a secluded beach, but all my belongings were gone. This experience was bad - worst than the mud, sand, or the leather jacket with my passport in the ocean experience. I then had to decide if and how to carry on.
Fortunately, I had the bike - most important item - that was close very, very close. Because Johan was sick and in the tent, I threw my jacket with passport, money and Carne into the tent that previous afternoon. All my other belongings were on the bike. My tent, raincoat, boots, bike spares, a shirt, my only jeans, my 10 empty slide films (and one full one), and all other pieces of crap were all gone. The decision was easy - carry on !! Since then, we slept a bit more lightly and more aware of what went on outside and where our bikes were. (MAYBE NO SHOES, BUT THE BIKE AND THE REST OF AFRICA ....!!)
The crime scene. After finding the bike, we packed up and left with a very bitter taste in the mouths.
We headed north, crossing the mighty Rufiji River, past Dar Es Salam and stopped for a day or so at Bagamoyo - another interesting little town with a lot of history and character. Burton and Speak, the famous explorers, started some of their expeditions from here. Those of you that have watched the movie Mountains of the Moon will know how they got fucked up here at Bagamoyo. But what a beautiful town.
The Rufiji River
On the way out of Bagamoya, Johan and I took our daily crap in the bush together. As always we would examine the remains. I think we thought that any signs of health problems could well manifest first in the crap. Generally we were of exceptional good health, but that morning we discovered that Johan had worms !
Johan cleaning the carburetor and points - the coastal air did from time to time cause the XT500 to struggle to start.
We turned west (again) at Tanga, towards Mochi. We are now close to the Kenya border and exactly below Mount Kilimanjaro. It was very nice at the time to get out of the tropical coastal area. Around Mochi it is dry with only grass and thorn trees - lovely. It was great that all our scratches, cuts and bruzes (that turned septic at the coast) were able to heal - wounds that we had carried for over a month got better within two days. Betadine, acts like a growing medium for germs generally, but at the coast it is even worse.
The savannah veld, around the Moshi area
Camping in the dry air was a nice change
We found a track running past the foot of Mt Kilimanjaro via Sanya Yuu. Another thunderstorm was approaching and Mt Kilimanjaro was covered with clouds, so we pulled into the bush and started to pitch our tent. A local fellow came up to us and promptly invited us to rather stay at his house. On arrival we actually felt a bit awkward as he kicked his wife out to sleep outside and offered Johan and I the bed. We did not want to get involved in a family brawl, so we accepted the offer. He told us that we will only see the mountain between 05h00 and 06h00 in the morning, the rest of the time it will be covered with clouds.
The friendly man that was willing to kick his wife out of bed to make space for Johan and me
Again, the local knowledge was spot on and we managed to capture a couple of shots before 06h00 the next morning. It was really a special moment to see this mountain - there is something majestic about her.
With that, we were off to Arusha via a little gravel track.
An interesting story that we were told by one of the locals was that Tanzania is rather unique in Africa in that it has around 140 different ethnic groups, which have had no internal conflicts between these groups for over 30 years. This was due to some forced removals that took place in the 1960 (I think), when the government mixed all the tribes forcefully to prevent any infighting in future. It was very traumatic at the time, but the end result was successful.
It was really awesome riding in this savannah veld where your mind struggles to absorb the beauty of everything that you see. And then, as we thought it can't get any better, there it is - an exact picture of the dream I had had on Marion Island and subsequent recollections of that same image !!!! I stopped the bike, got off, watched the scene in front of me and started to cry (Moffie, I know), but this was just too much for me. By the time Johan caught up with me the tears were flowing vigorously. Johan is not really the emotional type. I think he struggled a bit with how to deal with the situation, so he did what Johan did best. He walked off for about 50 meters, sat down on a rock and watched the scene of these African planes for about an hour. With no words spoken, we got back on the bikes and drove off to Arusha.
Not such a nice picture, but this was the emotional highlight for me
Down in the valley, Johan feeling pity for the Masai boy who is slightly thinner than him (must say, not much)
We spent a day or two at Arusha - a rather nice little buzzing town with a couple of government departments and a lot of tourists, restaurants, lodges, etc., catering for all the people going to the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro National Parks.
With our money getting rather low and Johan's lust for staying and working in Africa, we parted our ways here. Johan stayed in Arusha to see if he cannot find a job in one of the National Parks. In addition, we had now spent over 4 months together - riding together, every time we stop we really only could share things with each other whether good or bad, and since my tent was stolen we now also had to sleep together. If the partner was a pretty immoral woman with nice boobs, it might have been different, but neither one of us fitted the above criteria. So yes, it was becoming more and more difficult to tolerate each other. Poor Johan, I have to admit, struggled here a bit more than me. (My current wife will also have sympathy with Johan's situation - and she has nice boobs !) It was, therefore, not too difficult to agree, or to concoct some scheme to part for a while.
From all the staring at the map over the past few months, I developed an urge to ride around Lake Victoria. We agreed that we will meet up in Nairobi in two to three weeks time - that is if I do not get stuck somewhere and if Johan had no luck finding a job.
I drove to the entrance gate of the Ngorongoro National Park, knowing that I will not be allowed in, but this is the only road through to Lake Victoria. It is a stunning ride to the Park, passing Lake Manyara.
Climbing up to Ngorongoro with Lake Manyara in the background
After spending a couple of hours at the gate, a truck carrying maize flour arrived and were en route towards Lake Victoria. I convinced the driver to load my bike in the truck and with that I was off for a drive past the Ngorongoro crater and through the Serengeti planes - hiii haaa !!! Smackers - it is really amazing to see the crater with its tropical forests at the top and savannah down below, and all the animals in the Serengeti (thousands of wildebeest and zebra). I must admit, apart from the wildebeest and zebra, the white tourist combi's were the second most sited attraction in the park - it does depreciate the experience to a large extent.
The Ngorongoro Crater
The Serengeti planes
A rock showing signs of wear from years of drumming
Close to the exit of the park
The journey through the park was long, the road was badly corrugated, and the driver had only one tape - Lucky Dube. Now of all men, I can appreciate Lucky Dube (the saviour), but that was tough. On arrival at Bumda, at least half of the cargo of flour had accumulated and penetrated every possible part of the bike - it was bad.
Offloading the bike at Bumda
Although Mwanza was the next destination, something drew me to see what Nansio look like. On the way I stopped in a small village, somewhere around Kibara, at a building with the words -Rafiki Hotel- written on it. It was in fact no Hotel, but a little shop that sold nothing more than tea and a bread roll type thing. It was getting rather late so I asked the shop keeper if I could crash in a little room at the back of the hotel. He felt very uncomfortable with the idea, but agreed eventually.
Growing Kasawa in between the rocks
Marabou Stork at Lake Victoria
Visiting a local family - had to taste fresh milk and blood from cow
Well, six days later I left the Rafiki Hotel. It felt like a couple of hours. I had made such good friends with a crowd of people in this village. You must have heard (even if it was from a movie scene) those real African drums playing until late at night, coming from the bush. Well, I was even taken to see where that comes from. They showed me everything that Kibara had to offer - it was a very sad moment to leave my friends behind. Rafiki in Swahili means friend - now how is that.
Due to my unplanned delay at Kibara, I opted to take the ferry across the southern part of Lake Victoria to Bukoba close to the Uganda border. I also heard that there was sone turmoil in Rwanda and Burundi and did not want to venture too close to the action. The ferry departed late from Mwanza harbour and I had the opportunity to watch the African Cup football match between Bafana Bafana and Zambia in a local pub. Wow, that was a great match. The journey on the ferry was mainly at night, but one thing I can recall was the bad engineering (or ergonomics) that was applied in the men's toilet. It was a standard stainless steel almost 3 meter long urinal -piskrip-. As a typical African ferry, it was overcrowded and cigarette butts (for example) were also thrown into the urinal. Within an hour the urinal was filled with piss and that together with the rocking of the ferry caused the piss to run from one side to the next. Each time it hits the far end, it explodes, and so on !!
Boarding the Ferry to cross a part of Lake Victoria at Mwanza
Uganda
To follow soon .....
