…continued
March 28, 2010
This is my last morning in Moshi. For the last time, I breakfast on the hotel terrace looking at Mt Kilimanjaro feeling nothing but emptiness. I remember Lucas. I want to see him again. I want to say I am sorry. I don’t want to leave Moshi wondering what Lucas would be thinking of me. Would he put me down as a heartless mzungu who ruined his future? I don’t feel at all proud of my successful summit. I try not to remember last night. In my mind, the incident didn’t take place. It is the only way I can deal with the present and the remainder of days in Tanzania.
I check out as soon as Siraji arrives. He hugs me in a familiar way. I am beginning to like the way he does that, ending with a small kiss on the top of my head. Today, he is not my guide or lover. He is a friend. We laugh as we walk towards the daladala stand. People are staring at us meaningfully. I see mzungus hanging about with local men on their arms and ask Siraji about it.
“Black man very popular with mzungu women. They are like boyfriends. Sometimes for one week or one month. It is always like that. It is temporary.”
I wonder if people think Siraji is my male consort paid for his services. Is that why they are giving us these meaningful stares? Is this how they perceive every mzungu with black man here?
Siraji says yes. But he doesn’t seem to care. I have learnt a lot about Tanzania through Siraji and I now have a wider view of Africa and its people. The good god has blessed and created the most handsome and raw men in Africa. David was an exception to this or as Siraji claims, “he is Kenyan” which somehow excludes him from the purview of god’s generosity.
Despite the abundance of these attractive men around, the ones that share the daladala with us are of the different kind. Fortunately, none of them are carrying any livestock this morning.
I am glad to leave Moshi behind.
Siraji and I hold hands all the way to Arusha, driving past the rich and vibrant Tanzanian landscape. Occasionally I rest my head on his shoulder. I have found my familiar spot somewhere under his ear. With my eyes closed I picture myself somewhere out there, under the open blue skies…
We arrive in Arusha to bright sunlight. Arusha is a large city alive with a different kind of energy. People are walking about with a purpose and order. I am glad for the change.
We check in to Hotel Meru on the edge of town facing a mosque. We have most of the day left and decide to explore the city. Siraji’s familiarity with this city makes exploring it easier. The city has a lot going for it. It is at higher altitude than Moshi, is closer to Mt Meru, a dormant volcano, has pleasant weather year-round and is the gateway to all national parks in the northern circuit. In short, it is one rummy town that demands attention. Siraji tells me how most people see Arusha as nothing more than Tanzania’s safari capital or a stopover for hiking the snow-capped Mt Kilimanjaro.
I discover that Arusha is located exactly halfway between Cairo and Cape Town and represents the middle of the Old British Empire marked by a monumental clock tower.
Arusha is a city of a million people, parts appearing prosperous and modern, but others left behind and struggling to survive. There are motorcycles, trucks and daladalas everywhere and plenty of personal cars.
We walk towards Shoptrite Complex, which houses the well-known Msumbi Coffee house. I pay 4000 shillings for a long black – Americano in our lingo, that is simply one of the best coffees I have drank in Tanzania till now.
Arusha, it seems, has a better coffee culture than Moshi.
Siraji agrees to stay the night. This is our last night together; tomorrow I will head out into the Tanzanian wild.
I think of lions as I fall asleep.
