Journey to Lake
Natron and
Back
by John Fuhring Arrival in East Africa As my loyal readers know, this is my second trip to Africa. As before, I flew from Los Angeles to Amsterdam and from there to Nairobi, Kenya. I then took the Davanu Shuttle bus from Nairobi to the Uto Farm in North Central Tanzania. This time I arranged to fly into Nairobi early in the morning so I wouldn't have to spend the night in Nairobi and so I could catch the morning bus to Tanzania. Now that I was an "old hand" at getting around in Africa, everything was so much easier and less stressful than on my first visit. On my first trip I landed late at night, didn't have hotel reservations, didn't know how to get into Nairobi and didn't know what to expect on that long, long ride down to the Farm in Tanzania. I had never seen an African city or a village before and all those sights were so very exotic and, yes, scary. In a way though, my first confused adventure landing in that strange city and experiencing those strange sights was greatly exciting, interesting and, yes, fun. At this, my second arrival, I felt very little of that old excitement. That initial drama was replaced with that ennui we all get when we've "Been There - Done That." As ironic as it sounds, one of the things that took the mystery out of this second trip was E-mail. The internet and E-mail are certainly the greatest information revolutions since the invention of movable type. Even little companies in far off Africa have web pages and E-mail addresses. Before the trip I checked out the Davanu Shuttle's site and then E-mailed the date and time I'd be arriving. I knew they were expecting me, but even so, I was blown away when I saw a native guy holding a big sign with my name (spelled correctly) on it as I cleared customs. I went over to him and expressed my amazement and gratitude for this rather nice welcome, whereupon he conducted me to the little office of the Davanu Shuttle Service there in the airport building. I was introduced to the young guys in the little office and we shook hands all around. We talked a bit and they were all eager to have me find out about visas for them so they could visit the U.S. I asked them why they wanted to go there just now. "Oh, everything is just wonderful in the States. Everybody is so kind and friendly and there's lots of things to see and do." I asked them how that knew that and they told me that they had seen it all on American TV shows. I told them that those shows aren't real or an accurate expression of life in the U.S., but I might as well have been talking to stones. Anyway, they made me promise them that I'd E-mail them all the information and use my "influence as a man of importance" to get them visas. They were very careful to ask me to use only their personal E-mail addresses - not to, by any means, contact them via the Davanu site (they didn't want to loose their jobs).
While we were talking,
they brewed up some of that great East African coffee and we drank
some.
Actually, I drank lots and lots of coffee. Matter of fact, I
drank
too much coffee. Indeed, I was to bitterly and painfully
regret drinking
so much coffee, but I'll get to that later. I settled down to
read
the Daily Nation - actually an excellent newspaper and full of really
interesting
and well written articles. In time, 8:30 rolled around and I
was
escorted from the office to the front of Jomo Kenyatta Airport where I
and my gear loaded onto the morning Shuttle.
The first time I had made that trip was a year and a half earlier it was on a beautiful sunny day (and I had a much gladder bladder). That first time everything was so new and wonderful. There were exotic wild animals, exotic villages, exotic natives and exotic scenery along the way and I had a nice time talking with fellow passengers. This time the trip was rather boring with nobody to talk to, nothing to see and everything looking very familiar - not to mention that I had to pee - badly - very badly. This went on like this for four hours until finally I was in a state of intense and growing agony - that damned coffee, what a fool I was to drink so much of it.
As we bumped along, the
scenery and landmarks looked quite familiar to me (this was my third
trip
over this same road). After some hours I started getting most
anxious
and was hoping to see the tourist stop around every corner.
Every
time we'd pass a curve I'd be in for another disappointment.
After
five hours had gone by I was in a wild state of agony.
Although I
knew we were close, I just had to know exactly when we'd be
stopping.
I made my way to the front of the bus and asked the driver how far were
from the stop. I had decided that if we were more than 10
minutes
from the stop, I would demand, absolutely demand that the driver stop
the
bus and let me off. On the other hand, if the driver said it
would
be less than 10 minutes, then somehow I'd have to find the endurance to
hold out. To my great relief the driver said it would only be
another
five minutes or so. Actually by accurate count,
it was only three minutes to the stop - I counted every agonizing
second
one by one by one. I stood in the doorway of the bus while
waiting
for it to pull in to the stop and it took all my self control not to
hop
up and down. Believe me, by this time I was beyond all shame
and
burst out the door even before the bus came to a complete
stop. Everybody
on the bus must have known why I was so eager and I could hear laughter
as I quickstepped (I couldn't even run by this time) to where I knew
the
toilets were (thank God they hadn't moved them). Matter of
fact,
I was laughing out loud at myself knowing how ridiculous I looked and
how
funny the situation was. Have you ever heard of the theory of
the
homunculus? Well, my homunculus was there looking out from
its metaphysical
perch and was highly amused at our sufferings. How's that for
a heavy
thought? Toilets in the rear.
Back on the bus we crossed
into Tanzania and motored past the imposing ramparts of Mt. Longo and
through
the village of Longito. Things along the route looked very
much as
before, but I was a little surprised to note that there was new
development
and construction that wasn't there before. The weather was
still
very overcast and the day was somewhat gloomy and I was wondering if we
would be riding in the rain once the trip started. Finally,
around
1:30 PM, we arrived at Oldoinyo Sambu, but this time there weren't the
colorful crowds out and about and this time I knew that I wasn't to be
dropped off in the village and besides, I knew just where to go if they
did drop me off in the village. When we got about two miles
south
of town, there was the Land Rover and the folks waiting for me as
expected
- nice, but oh so boring. It was all pretty much a ho-hum
routine
and I must admit that it wasn't the intense emotional experience I had
the first time I arrived there (see Kilimanjaro Ride story).
I guess
it's the first time you do something that's always the best and that
must
be what they mean when they say "you can never go home again." |
