The First 72 Hours in Arusha

After 32 hours of travel, I arrived in Arusha weary and sore, but really no worse for wear. The flights were uneventful save for one of my fellow passengers on the Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro flight who was decked out in full safari gear. I had joked about buying a cotton/linen khaki dress so I could be a proper mzungu* for the safari, but this woman actually did it. Along with the dress, she had on a green safari vest, saddle shoes with a faux crocodile skin leather (at least I hope if was faux), and a pith helmet.

A PITH HELMET! FOR THE PLANE RIDE!

It took all I had not to ask her what year she thought it was, and what were the British Army going to do about the damn Mau Mau rebels? Pip pip, tally-ho. I wish there had been a way to snap a photo without being incredibly obvious because this is one of those stories where I know people won’t believe me. And I can’t really blame them. I saw it and I’m still not convinced I believe me.

At least I had no complaints about the in-flight entertainment.

I was happy to discover that the Tanzania Immigration bureaucracy is just as alive and kicking as it was when I left in 2007. (For those who don’t know my 2007 story, a short synapsis: was told I could renew my visa at the office in Arusha, returned another day to renew and was told by the same person I had to leave the country to renew the visa, returned yet another day and was told “I can renew your visa” as the officer started at my chest.)

The immigration offices have gone high tech since I was last here, but don’t mistake high tech for better. Instead of one long line, I paid for my visa at one window, had my passport stamped with the visa and a picture taken at a second window, then had my visa signed, my finger prints scanned and another picture taken at a third window. Somewhere, Kafka is absolutely gleeful about the state of Tanzania immigration. He’s rubbing his hands together in delight and muttering something about a dung beetle stuck in lineups.

But pole pole. T.I.A.

Just over an hour later, I cleared customs – I wish I was joking – and met Paulo outside the arrivals door. I still had an hour drive to get to Arusha! The biggest change I noticed during the drive was how many more lights there were. Not street lights, of course, why would you install street lights when the cars have headlights? But floodlights on the side of buildings we passed and light-up signs for businesses. Where once there were Coca-Cola sponsored hand-painted business signs, now there were Coca-Cola sponsored lighted signs. Oh, Coca-Cola. Somethings don’t change.

The view from my window at 10pm.
How quiet and peaceful the town looks.

Arusha is as it always was: busy, noisy, crowded, hot, dusty, stinky, and absolutely lovely. Ask me about Arusha and I will do nothing but complain about the place. Speak ill of Arusha to me and I will end you. I love this stupid place. Except maybe the touts, I could do without them. When I headed out to lunch on my first day, I made the mistake of going to Via-Via. An hour doing odd jobs (if getting some local currency can be called an odd job) on Sokoine Rd and only 1 tout. Five minutes to walk up Boma Rd to Via Via and I got four different touts. The Swahili word for tout is papasi which means ‘tick’. They could not have used a more apt word.

It's tradition (I've done it twice) that I take a picture of my first beer.

The streets are full of all sort of traffic including pedestrians. With more potholes in the sidewalks than the street, it is easier to walk with the traffic. Note, I said easier, not safer. Safety in general is not a big concern in Tanzania. If you're silly enough to do something like fall off of a building roof that has no safety rails, then you probably deserved it. If you're silly enough to get hit by a car...

His buddy is holding the ladder. That makes this
incredibly safe by Tanzanian standards.

I had an email from Anande and Anne, and it looks like they might have a spot for me after all. They’re coming into town today so we’ve arranged to meet. I’m hopeful that I can get out to Ngongongare by the weekend. As much as I hate love Arusha, I love the countryside even more.

I am partial to this view, however.

Even if someone did block out half of Mt. Meru with apartment buildings.

*mzungu = white person; it evolved from the term for ‘one who can’t stay still’ to mean ‘traveller’. Seeing as most travellers are white, that’s the meaning it now has.