The Kili Loop

We treated ourselves to a night in the Masai campsite in Arusha, where we enjoyed warm showers and dinner from the restaurant, and then a second dinner from the restaurant- now fully aware of our continuous calorie deficit over the past 25 days.

The following morning we set off along the road towards Moshi, grinding into the headwind for another 50km to the town of Hai, where we enjoyed a second breakfast of chapatti, samosa and mandazi (sweet donut triangles). Only 30km down the road from Moshi we were within striking distance of our target destination since leaving Kampala on the first day of our trip. Instead of taking the easy road in, we planned to circumnavigate Kilimanjaro, so branched off the main road, and climbed steeply towards the plateau on the West side of the mountain.

Resting for lunch, we surveyed the route ahead, congratulating ourselves that the hardest part was now complete and we had 3 relatively easy days of cycling remaining. Cycling on after lunch we celebrated as my cycle-computer (courtesy of Ed Keen) ticked over the 2000km mark. Shortly after this, the tarmac ended and progress immediately slowed. Spirits were damped further (particularly mine) by the inaccuracies on the map (10km turned to 20km), corrugations on the road, and a slow puncture. Perking ourselves up with a chipsy mayai (chip omelet) and coke cola, we ground out the last 10km of the day and were rewarded with a stunning sunset as we pitched out tent.

Sunset on the plains below Kilimanjaro

The following day, with fresh legs, the dirt road seemed far more manageable. The increase in altitude made for cooler air and we made good progress until we stopped under a tree for a super noodle lunch (3 packs each), and to engage our brains for a routine game of chess. Passing military-looking personnel informed us they were patrolling for poachers, as the area is an ‘animal corridor’ from the plains of Amboseli National Park to the Plateau of West Kilimanjaro. Animals including elephant and giraffe make the daily excursion to escape the heat of the plains, returning to the lower altitude each evening. Unfortunately we didn’t have time to wait until their return and pressed on along the increasingly worsening road, where a suspension mountain bike would have been more suitable than my drop handled tourer. Pad tempted fate, commenting that my chain had lasted well having not broken since it first snapped in Uganda. Within 30 minutes, on the last shockingly steep section of the off road, my chain gratuitously split, leading to a forced break for soda and repairs, and the hugely anticipated return to tarmac roads.

Feeling rejuvenated, we raced along the road. For the first time in 100km we exceeded 30km/hour and relishing the cool evening air we raced along with spirits soaring. Sunlight hit the pine trees, and lit up the plains of the Amboseli National Park and Kenya below us, Colobus monkeys cheered from the tree tops and we knew that tomorrow, after a short 75km including a 1000m vertical decent we would have completed the first stage of our journey.

We stopped for a wash as the road passed over a small stream, enjoying the icy melt water running down from the glaciers above, and refilling our water bottles noted that this was the same water as the Kilimanjaro bottled water we had been buying for the past 2 weeks.

A refreshing wash in the glacial melt water from Kilimanjaro

We headed onwards to a perfect campsite that Pad had found on a previous trip, with views of the mountain to greet us in the morning and a bed of sawdust to make our last night in the wild particularly comfortable.

We woke up early, with plans for a large celebratory lunch when we reached Moshi. Camping at 2000m above sea level the air was cool, and we donned our jackets for the first hour before the baking sun rose once again.

Stopping for our morning chai and chapatti, Pad’s second stroke of foresight was to comment “Nothing but smooth tarmac from now on.” Within 100m of setting off again, the road returned to rubble as resurfacing works were underway for the next 10km, and our progress drastically slowed. There’s no such thing as an easy day on this trip, and we started to realise we’d counted our chickens a little too early.

We swept on down towards Moshi, and turned off the main road to another dirt track that would bring us out within a kilometre of our destination. We stopped to enjoy a swim at a waterfall as we passed, which was a refreshing break as the temperatures had rocketed as we descended from the mountain.

The view from our last campsite of Stage 1

By now it was midday, but we pressed on in the heat, with less than 15km to go until our glorious arrival. A short while later, we accepted directions from a local boy, and started our final descent down a rough track, only to realise half way down it was not the road we should have taken. We resented every bumpy mile, as we headed down for 10km in the wrong direction.

Reaching the road we informed it was 6km to Moshi, by this time sun burnt and dehydrated, we figured 20 more minutes of work would be worth it. Again, we had been misinformed and finding it was a further 25km we immediately retreated to a nearby restaurant for some lunch. We picked ourselves up with some cold beverages and a delicious Nyama Choma (roasted meat), and Pad’s cheering thought that at least we’d have a tail wind for this final section. Again Pad had cursed us, and returning to the road we found the wind had switched direction into a gruelling headwind. We ground out the last hour into town, physically and mentally exhausted.

It was not the glorious arrival we had been hoping for, but in-keeping with our journey so far it was slow, hot and tiring. But we had made it. 2,196km and 4 weeks since leaving Kampala we arrived at our destination. Stage 1 was complete. Paddy was to fly back to London for medical interviews in preparation for next years return to reality. I would continue the adventure with a two and a half week holiday in Kenya, with my beloved Emily, where we would enjoy hotels, safari, beaches and seafood- all the luxuries of a normal holiday in Africa.

Three weeks on we are finally catching up on our blogging responsibilities, on the eve of departure from Moshi and the commencement of Stage 2. Our route now will take us Southeast to the Tanzanian coast, before heading back inland across Tanzania to enter Malawi through it’s Northern border. Skirting Lake Malawi we will had South into Mozambique to follow the coastline to it’s capital city of Maputo- some 3500km and 9 weeks from our current location. 

Wish us luck in our next stage, and many thanks to the generous donations we have received so far! We have now reached 50% of our target, but plenty more donations needed!

Mt Hanang to Arusha: There is no such thing as an easy ride...

The climb up Mt Hanang was a welcome change but had left its mark. After our leisurely lunch, washed down by a cold beer, our thighs groaned as we headed out of town. The prospect of a few days more of the pristine, newly laid Chinese tarmac we were enjoying gave us hope. However, our lack of research dashed these hopes fairly early, as 20km out of town the tarmac gave way to a mixture of newly graded road awaiting its tarmac and a sandy, canyoned temporary road to the side. For the rest of that evening and the following morning we spent our time skipping between the two, trying to avoid roadblocks while picking the easiest path.

We had somewhere in the region of 130 kms to cover before the next rest day, planned on the shores of Lake Burungi on the edge of Tarangire National Park. The road from Katesh hid in the shadows of the Marbadow escarpment, the same fault line which gives rise to Ngorogoro another 100km down the line. The volvanic aetiology gives rise to rich soils on a rolling landscape, for us this meant a fairly populated ride passing through maize fields in their earlier states of growth. Not ideal for camping and it wasn’t until darkness has almost closed in that we found our spot for the night, a grassy field close by the road. Excitingly though it gave our closest encounter yet with a hyena who cackled away the night close by our tent.

Rick doing some herding on way to Lake Burungi

The next day was full of anticipation, we looked forward to a rest day and the prospect of seeing some animals… From days gone by on safari in Tarangire, I had an idea that Lake Burungi might be a good spot to camp; on the edge of the national park and with a source of water, but within comfortable striking distance of the road. The morning was much of the same, the new road petered out leaving slow progress on the temporary, cratered road and we spent most of our time slowly climbing and being dusted by passing lorries. Thankfully however we were rewarded for our efforts by cresting a hill to find a Chinese led workgang putting the finishing touches to a glass-smooth patch of new tarmac! Rick’s Engineer side particularly enjoyed the opportunity to ride through the middle of a construction zone, without a hardhat.

Site Safety: weave between the cones

The good road did us proud and as we approached Lake Burungi the word on the street was that there was a lakeside campsite, not far from the road. Chuffed (and chaffed) after an 85km morning, we broke for lunch in the baking heat at the Burungi turn-off. To cut a long, and slightly disappointing story short, the campsite turned out not be for us. Happy, smiling people that provided us with a cold juice on arrival though they were, unfortunately at $350 dollars per night, they weren’t for us. We had time on our hands after being driven from our lunch spot early by some heavy Tanzanian “Bongo Flavas” pumping out of the local hairdressers, we rethought our plans. It turns out there is only so much one can take of the same album, played at max volume (Tom Francis?).

The new option was a short hop up the road to the Tarangire River, a stones throw from the national park. Tarangire National Park is one of the larger national parks in Tanzania. The National Parks were the inspiration of Julius Nyerere, the first post-colonial President of Tanzania, affectionately referred to as “Mwalimu”, the Teacher. They cover in total over 1/6^th of Tanzania’s land mass. The largest and most well known is the Serengeti, home to the largest mammal migration known to man. Over one million zebra and wilderbeast, along with their predatory counterparts, make the annual journey from the Serengeti in Tanzania to the Masai Mara in Kenya. The scale of the migration is breath-taking, however to give some idea of the size of the park, one tourist who had just spent 5 days said in the Serengeti for the migration lamented that they had not seen the migration until the last day when they were the sole vehicle following the enormous herd. Despite her radio-linked driver’s best efforts “it was as if they had disappeared into thin air!”. Nyerere, to my mind, deserves much credit here. Not only does Tanzania now have the natural resources preserved which it can earn tourist dollars from, but it set the tone for other African countries and now for the world. Which other countries have learned to preserve their natural eco-systems so well?

The Tarangire ecosystem has recently however pushed out of balance, its separation from other parkland by a tarmac road (therefore not allowing any intermigration), the year round water supply, and the bush and tall grass landscape has promoted the growth of one animal – the elephant. Eating over 100kg per day and having the destructive qualities of a three ton baby, thousands of them roam the park. They mingle between equally impressive thousand year old baobabs to give the park a prehistoric, megalithic feel. The park still does retain other resident mammals, with its fair share of antelope, giraffe, lion and one the greatest densities of leopard.

After a short barter session we were welcomed in to our new home, the Roika Lodge. A series of stilted huts set amongst tall reeds, it was the perfect elephant viewing location as they commuted between night feeding grounds and day time by the river. Our spot was right next to the lodge swimming pool, I’m not entirely sure what our fellow guests felt as we set up our tent and stove and generally made ourselves at home… Being on the edge of the park we were free to travel as we pleased so the next morning we took full advantage of this and ditched our bikes in favour of a walking safari. 

Bit cat print...

As soon as we left the lodge we found tracks, two actually. One looked like an enormous thumbprint, the other a large cat. It wasn’t much longer until we came across one of these animals, the other we luckily avoided. As we turned the bend, having crossed the dry river bed, we came across three tusked beasts slowly munching on some grass about 40 metres away. It’s an incredible and humbling feeling being so much smaller and essentially insignificant in the face of another living animal. Had the elephant had the desire to, it could have tossed us away like a tasteless reed. A Landcruiser came towards us and stopped.

“You know there are elephants there!”

We nodded, smiling.

“They are very dangerous, it is not safe!”

More nodding, and bit of smirking. He drove on shaking his head. After a bit more tracking, we turned home, satisfied that our National Park journey had been worthwhile. 

Friendly Elephants

The other potentially dangerous animal in the park is on a slightly different scale. The Teste fly is much like the common horse fly, however has one nastly sting in the tail. It carries a potentially fatal disease – Sleeping Sickness or trypanosomiasis. One theory on the existence of the Serengeti is that human habitation was prevented by the teste fly and Sleeping Sickness. Luckily Tarangire is thought to be free from the disease, however that did not stop the pain of having tens of them dive bomb me during our afternoon “Cycle Safari”. I was a little confused, Rick cycling next to me was completely fly free! It wasn’t until I looked at my shirt – black and white cheques – that I realised: Tetse’s love black and they love colour change… Safari fashion is clearly not my strong point.

We set of from our rest day with the prospect of a comfortable days cycling, having gone slightly further than we expected two days previously, we had about 100k to cover into Arusha which we thought we may even be able to cover before lunch. Sadly, there is no such thing as an easy days cycling. After an early stop-off to herd some zebra across a road (that’s not a joke), the already brisk headwind stiffened and 100k was not going to be so easy. We had also, over the last couple of days descended another 750 metres or so towards the plains of Tanzania, so the heat had intensified. As we limped into lunch in the midst of a Masai market, we both had drunk well over 4 litres in a hard mornings work. And after a brief rest, in a bid to arrive in good time, we ground our way into Arusha through a heat and dust haze in the early afternoon. We had reached the largest and most developed town since leaving Kigale over two week earlier.

The two cities are tradgically linked by the Rwandan genocide, as Arusha holds the International Criminal Court that has tried many of the perpetrators of the genocide. The town has a rich diplomatic history beyond this, as the site of the Arusha Declaration in 1967, Tanzania’s statement of African Socialism and “Ujamaa” or Brotherhood. There is certainly no stopping Arusha for the moment, as it is the proposed crucial site for the Parliament of the East African Community. For us these crucial stepping stones in its history largely passed us by as we headed towards Masai Camp – a campsite/huge outdoor club at the weekends. Feeling dog-tired after a long month and a tough first of four days, we relaxed and prepared for relaxing and “easy” the trip around Kilimanjaro.

The journey so far, a video and some FAQ's...

This is a short video from our experiences so far, from Kampala to Moshi. We have also added 2 new blog posts, from our stay with nun's in Singida to the base of Mt Hanang and our adventurous climb of Mt Hanang itself.

Having been back in the UK for a couple of weeks, i thought i would also answer some "Frequently asked Questions":

Where do you camp? 

We normally wild camp, finding somewhere secluded, a couple of hundred metres away from the road. In general, we take the view that wild animals are safer than people. A couple of times we have been lucky enough to camp with local families, which has been a cracking experience. We have also stayed with friends and contacts along the way, or on the odd occasion one is available, a campsite. 

What do you eat? 

Anything and everything we can get our hands on. Getting enough calories in each day is a real challenge for us. Not because we can't get any food, but much of the food we can buy is very low is fat, and therefore not calorie rich. It really does make you realise how rich our food is the in west. Anyway, for interest's sake, here is an average day: 

Breakfast 

Mixture of cake, biscuit, porridge oats, banana (x2), dates/sultanas, spoonfuls of honey and peanut butter and milk power - just add water and you are away

Mid-morning snack

2-3 chapati's each and a couple of banana's, maybe a samosa or three, washed down with a cup of tea

Lunch

Big plate of rice/maize flour dough (Ugali/Posho) with beef/chicken/fish (chicken at points is difficult to identify) with beans and often some veg

Mid-afternoon snack

Pack of biscuits and some more banana's, might stop off for a coffee/tea

Dinner

Pre-dinner snack of some peanuts/more biscuits/fruit of the day - a pineapple or couple of mango's.

Dinner is ever increasing sized plates of rice/pasta with (usually) tomato based sauce with local veggies (okra/avocado/pepper). Rarely some tinned meat or fish. Corned beef was a particularly memorable evening. Pudding normally fruit-based

During the day we would normally get through about 6 litres of water/tea to go with all this. 

How far do you go each day? 

Average is about 120km's but very dependent on road quality/hills/headwinds(!). 

Do you get bored? 

No. 

How often do you wash? 

Good question. The longest we might have gone without a proper wish may have been up to 4 days. Otherwise we have got by with a mixture of streams/lakes/campsites or houses. 

Are you raising money?

Yes we are, and if you haven't yet donated please do support the very worthy cause of WaterAid, our just giving page is http://www.justgiving.com/Cycle-East-Africa/1

Mount Hanang

We woke up early after a thirsty and restless night, and crawling from the tent, licked the dew off the plastic bottles that had formed overnight. We were camping at 3000 metres on the summit ridge of Mount Hanang, ill-equipped and under-prepared.

We first saw the silhouette of the mountain two days previously, from around 60km away, and decided to make detour to hike to the summit of Tanzania’s fourth highest peak. The impressive mountain is a result of the ancient volcanic activity in the area, and rises 2000 vertical metres above the surrounding plains.

Due to the time frame of our trip, we couldn’t dedicate a full day to the climb. The obvious solution was to ride into town in the morning, hike to the summit that afternoon, camp on the summit ridge, hike down the following morning and cycle on that afternoon. All in all it seemed a pretty fool-proof plan.

The enticing silhouette of Mount Hanang

We arrived in Katesh, the nearest town to the mountain, and found a guest house that would let us leave our bikes and other kit in their courtyard overnight. Having ‘engineered’ a pannier bag each into a rucksack using old inner tubes as straps, we headed for a calorie rich lunch before setting off on our hike. Over lunch we got chatting to a local guide who offered to take us up the mountain, we declined his offer instead opting for the traditional, and more British, adventurous approach. Shortly after, another older gentleman arrived to inform us that we had to pay $30 each for a permit, but not inclined to forking out money to everyone who asks for it, we said we would pay at the park gate (knowing full well that there was no park gate).

So off we set, heading out of town and up the valley, aiming for one of the ridges that led to the main ridge and the summit. After two hours of pleasant hiking up various hunting tracks, the path started to become less distinct, before petering out completely.  We realised that we had taken the wrong approach, and the ridge we actually wanted was some 200 metres to the North on the other side of a small ravine. Not having time to retrace our steps back to town we took a direct approach, hacking our way through the dense bush. It took two hours of hard bushwhacking to cover the 200 metres to the other ridge, and we emerged scratched, splintered and dehydrated, reassessing our chances of reaching the summit at all.

Pad models the new pannier-rucksack conversion kit

We decided to press on, with another hour of daylight left we hoped to reach the summit ridge by nightfall, we could then hike along the ridge at dawn to the summit, before return back to town. All went well, but we started to realise we had under-estimated our water consumption, and the bushwhacking had further depleted our reserves. We tried to conserve as much water as possible, and as a result our 2-minute noodles were a little crunchier than usual.

The night passed uncomfortably, with dreams of flowing streams or cold soda when ever we did drift off. Every few hours one of us would wake up with a mouth like sawdust:

“Shall we have a sip of water?”

 “yeah just a small one”

Dawn finally arrived and we were pleased to find a slight dew had formed, and not wanting to waste a drop, licked this from the plastic bottles we’d left out the night before.



Dawn breaks on our high altitude campsite

Leaving out tent where it was we reached the summit in a little over an hour, and were rewarded by a spectacular sunrise along the way. Dwelling a moment to enjoy the view, we then turned and headed back to our tent to pack up and head down by a far easier route than we had come up.

We measured out our water and had about 1200ml between us, which was to last the further 4 hours it would take to get down. We were met on the way down by the same guide we had seen the previous day, who had been sent up by his boss to request we paid the permit fee.  With our only focus on getting some water ASAP we said we would go to the office in town once we had been for food and water.

The stunning sunrise above the plateau below

As we descended the heat began to return after the relatively cool temperatures of the higher altitude. We would walk with a mouthful of water for as long as possible to keep thirst at bay, but were both now suffering the effects of serious dehydration. As we returned to civilisation we located a local water font, where the locals were filling their canisters, and were glad of the opportunity for a much needed drink- each taking on 2 full litres for starters!

Immediately feeling better, a spring returned to our step and we looked forward to a hearty lunch and some celebratory cold beers. The guide, who had escorted us down, said we first had to visit the town office to pay the ‘village tax’ for climbing the mountain. At 5000 shillings (2 pounds) this seemed a preferable option to the $30 quoted previously, so we happily paid and headed on our way to the nearest restaurant, thinking ourselves lucky to get away so cheaply.

As we walked down to the road with the guide who had been won-over by Paddy’s charming Swahili, a police jeep and motorbike pulled up and said they’d take us into town. We politely declined the offer saying we were happy to walk, but the policeman replied “You must take a lift with us- you are now in custody.”

Sucess! The summit of Mount Hanang at 3417 metres

It transpired that the village tax we had paid was an additional charge to the permit, and the boss of the permit office had called the police for fear of loosing out on his $60. In the end it was a fairly jovial affair, and as soon as we agreed to pay (which was as soon as we were sat down in front of the Chief Constable) the mood relaxed. Hand shakes were made all round and we handed over our crispy American dollars.

Relieved to leave the Police Station with not so much as a fine, we quickly headed for lunch and to start the rehydration process, both of us swearing never to find ourselves so short of water again. It was a bit of an epic, and could have been avoided with a bit more time, more planning and the services of the local guides- but, as we reminded ourselves, mountains are supposed to be challenging and adventurous and buying your way to the summit just isn’t what it’s all about. Enjoy the journey, relish the challenges, but don’t forget to take enough water!

Singida to Mt Hanang: Mums and Nuns

It’s been a while since our last blog when we first rolled into the “wildwest” trading centre town of Singida, after hot-footing it across the plains and plateaus of central Tanzania. Apologies to those of you who have been waiting for the next adventure packed update, I hope it is worth waiting for; expect the thrills of walking with elephants, running out of water, brushes with the law and a headwinds in the midday heat…

We arrived in Singida after our longest stretch so far – 4 days covering over 450km. The carrot on the stick was a place to stay with some nuns who ran a mission hospital, friends of my family from many years ago. Having made Singida town in good time on the morning of the 4th day, we ate well (samosa count well into double figures) and relaxed at the thought of a quick 27 km jaunt out of town to the Nunnery. We should have know better.“There is no such thing as an easy cycle” is quickly becoming a trip moto, and that afternoon was no exception, as the road slowly rose out of town, what looked like a short hill turned into a steep half hour climb into a headwind. On a full stomach we were mainly glad to make the top and keep our samosas down.

Top of deceptive hill overlooking Singida

After a couple of hours of tired cycling we arrived in the town of Makiungo, the base of the mission hospital and our bed for the night. No sooner had we entered the gates of the hospital when a man stopped us and said he was calling the Sister. Two minutes later three bustling ladies appeared and excitedly introduced themselves as two Sisters and a nurse aneasthetist. From that point on and until we left 2 nights later we were looked after with the most incredible warmth, kindness and attention, and its difficult to thank them enough everything they did.

We were quickly shipped to the new guest house and given a room (with a bed!) and (warm!) shower each, and informed that dinner was on the table and we would be collected in 15 minutes or so. Eating is a big part of our rest, and to give some idea, by 1pm the next day we had polished off four meals. As we lolled about our rooms sweating samosa that afternoon we reflected that perhaps this was slightly gluttonous…

In the sphere of “development” its easy to an armchair (or saddle) sceptic and find holes in how aid is given or organised. In Singida we had cycled past the small government hospital and the part of me pondered the benefits of a well funded mission hospital only 27km out of town, add to this an even better Norwegian funded tertiary referral hospital at Heidom, 65k away on a dirt road. Surely it would be better to focus resources on the government hospital in the nearest big town with good transport links in all directions, and to Mwanza/Dodoma/Arusha?

The visit was a great chance to put some of these easy skeptical views into perspective. Although it is a “district hospital” there are only 1½ doctors and almost all of the clinical and surgical care is done by Assistant Medical Officers (5 years training pre and post graduate), clinical officers and nurses. The hospital provides a mixture of essential emergency care (especially obstetric) and basic primary care services, which in Tanzania includes HIV and TB services. What’s more, the dedication and thoroughness with which the nuns run the place is incredible. After we had dinner six out of the eight nuns carried on their work into the night; doing the accounts, writing discharge summaries and doing C-sections! I left feeling that a district hospital like this, serving the needs of the immediate community is part of the solution, rather than an aid mistake. That solution may of course include a well-placed, central referral hospital but the primary care provided so well here was an asset to be kept.

Our rest day was spent in Singida, and having been kindly given a lift by the nuns we found out that, contrary to what we had been told earlier in our trip by a couple overlanding in a big 4x4 (“you guys on bikes have it easy on the roads”), that particular hill is not easier on a bike than in a land cruiser… We were kindly given a tour of the town by two Irish nuns who had been in Tanzania since 1969 and 1973 respectively! Despite their advancing age, and some steep and rickety ladders they took it upon themselves to show us the view from the clock tower of a local mosque. The view of the Singida lake and dotted rocky outcrops was stunning, however equally as interesting was the beautifully renovated mechanical clock carefully balanced to keep to time for the town.

The mosque was the central point for the Ismaili Muslims of the town, and as we walked in there was a large board detailing the local Immam’s and keepers of the mosque since the early 1900’s. It was fascinating to read, up until the early 1980’s names changed yearly with tens of families taking the role, however from mid 1970’s onwards only 4 names had taken charge. Our guide, the son of the most recent keeper explained: “All of the families left under as businesses were nationalised, for a long time there were four but now there are only 3 left”. Wandering around the huge and ornate building you couldn’t help but feel that it must be a slightly lonely and hollow place, even when filled with all three families.

Road out of Singida, Mt Hanang in background

The board gives interesting insights into Tanzanian and the wider East African relationship with India. As early as the 19th Century Indian families lived on the Swahili coast and controlled much of the triangular sea trade routes between the Middle East, Africa and India. Later they moved inland, setting up homes in trading posts. The majority of migrants came later, during British colonial times Indian workers or “coolies”, were brought in for large building projects. For example, the classic story of the Mombasa-Nairobi railway during which hundreds of Indian workers were attacked and eaten by lions (the book Man Eaters of the Tsavo, later made into a film, tells the story). Legend has it that at first the army were sent in but were themselves attacked, then followed the European hunters who also were repelled by the fierce and wily lions. It was only when the Masai were asked to help that the problem came under control…

By the end of WWII, these waves of immigration had created a large and highly successful Indian population of approximately 320,000 in East Africa. They owned and ran many of the small and large businesses and control up to 80-90% of trade within Kenya and Uganda. Around the decades of independence, emerging national identity and, especially in Uganda and Tanzania, African Socialism these businesses came under threat and many were seized by the state and nationalised. In Uganda under the brutal dictaroship of Idi Amin 75,000 Indian Ugandans were given 90 days to leave the country, leaving their businesses to be shared amongst his loyal supporters. For many for whom East Africa was very much home this was a hard option, VS Naipaul’s A Bend in the River describes the affinity Salim feels for the undefined African country, all of which he has to give up to the sweeping nationalist tide and the wild leadership of an emerging dictator. Today things are thankfully more settled and, for example in Uganda, attempts are being made to welcome back Indian families and open these dormant business links, but, as the mosque board suggests, few of the numbers that were once spread throughout East Africa remain. For those that do however it is home. I talked with one Indian resident whose family has lived here for many generations, I asked if he would ever chose to move back in India: “Absolutely not, its far too busy and dirty, this is my home!”.

           

Still full from two days gluttony we left Makiungu and the nuns early on Thursday 26th January. We sped through Singida again, feeling oddly familiar with one place after three weeks on the road. These next 3 days were planned to be mainly off-road, something we only had intermittent experience of, and would take us toward the wild national parks of Northern Tanzania. Like much of the trip, our route was not yet defined and but we were happy to be on the road again cycling. Our route slowly climbed toward the 2000m Marbadow Escarpment, and we past sparkling soda lakes and huge volcanic boulders which Rick flashed and bolted in his minds eye. We had thought we may well end up either Lake Manyara or Ngorogoro crater in a few days time, but things started to take a different form. The lone outline of Mt Hanang had been in view for a couple of days and as we cycled alongside a particularly pretty lake after a particularly hot and dusty lunch, we had a look at each other:

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A rouge ascent of Mt Hanang?”

The deal was done. After asking a couple of boda-boda drivers we found we were to hang a right and we’d be there the next morning.

Rick looking longingly at Mt Hanang

The day had been long and hot one but had one last surprise to throw at us. Bathed in the streaks of a fiery red sunset we found a lovely campsite to watch the final throws of its descent over tea and biscuits. That is until a drunken and unruly Wamburu lad decided whoever owned the lad would have objected to us being there. Slightly gutted to have missed this opportunity we begrudgingly moved on. However, a few minutes up the road, an inquisitive middle aged lady sat by the road with her baby.

“Where are you going?”

“To Katesh”

“But where tonight?”

“I don’t know, wherever we can find to camp!”

“Eh! You must some and stay with us! There are wild animals out there!”

And so we were to experience extreme kindness for the second time in as many days, as we set up camp within the thorny confines of her Boma, sharing the space with cattle, goats, donkeys, chickens, cats and a happy dog. Her family included 3 young daughters and a quite elderly, bed-bound husband. After a hearty meal washed down with milk fresh from the cow, we slept soundly, safe from the now familiar sound of hyena’s laughing through the night.

As the first few rays of morning hit the thatched roof, the three cats waited and leapt for joy as the warmth hit. Feeling much the same and with the prospect of reaching Mt Hanang in a few short hours, we left our hospitable family and headed up the remainder of the slow climb up the escarpment. After almost four weeks on the road we were both starting to feel weary. The one day break which would normally have refreshed us fully hadn’t quite had the same effect, and after yesterdays 110k, largely off-road, cycle we felt tired. The arrival of Katesh, our set off point for climbing Mt Hanang, and the prospect of getting off the bikes for a short time was a welcome thought. As an old rowing training adage of mine says: A change is as good as a rest. 

Wamburu driving cattle home in the evening