A day of travel. Tiny 10-seater prop-plane back to Dar. One last glimpse from the air of the atoll where we lunched during our snorkel cruise. Flawless landing. Two hour wait for our Precision Air Flight west across the country to Kigoma. Kristin and Bill’s friend, Sham, meets us at the airport and delivers luggage he had been keeping for them since a previous visit. We leave with him our duffle bag full of fabrics and spice. Treasures from Zanzibar. Four hours to Kigoma, Tanzania. VAST mountains. Seemly undisturbed. Then I notice all the clear cuts. They are everywhere. Spider web roads connect small villages. Red, red earth. Farm plots without the grid. Rounded peeks. Steep. Kigoma airstrip is red earth packed hard. ‘Karibu Kigoma’ the sign welcomes. We are really here. Chaos in the tiny room that serves as baggage claim. We begin stuffing our luggage (every piece accounted for) into a waiting cab. We quickly realize that we’ll need another as collectively, we still have a lot of luggage. Half a dozen children crowd us with hands out. Big smiles. “Money, money,” they implore. Their first (only?) English word? They seem satisfied with seeing their digital images on Will’s camera. Another stereotyped image jumps into my mind….white guy in neat clothes sporting the latest in groovy optics surrounded by the outstretched hands of children in ragged clothes. I am again embarrassed. It is difficult for me to contemplate their future for long. What is their life like? What will it be? We are ridiculously privileged with our middle-income American lives.
To the market we go. We are up against the clock to get all the provisions we need and get to Gombe by midday tomorrow. Vendors are already closing as we arrive but reopen when they see us. A ‘store’ the size of our kitchen (i.e. not big) offers almost every dry good on our list. Amazing. Eggs are packed in sawdust in a cardboard box. We’ll wash them later. Single offerings of most items make selection simple. Our list includes tea, catsup, powdered milk, baking powder, Red Bull (for Will), boxed juice, rice and vinegar. We leave our purchases to be tallied and boxed. I follow Kristin into the produce market. The boys are off on other errands. Mind-boggling narrow pathways between wooden tables stacked high with fresh fruits and vegetables. Some looking better than others. We select potatoes, garlic, shallots, carrots, and raw coffee beans. Ginger root in woven baskets. Gunnysacks of flour and dry beans. More spices. I am introduced to Kristin’s friend, a vendor they’ve frequented for years. He pulls out an enormous plastic bag of turmeric when I inquire. I buy more. I head to the vegetable tables. When I start looking at peppers, the woman selling them moves them aside and brings out perfect specimens from under her table. The same for everything I examine. I don’t have a way to tell her I’m just looking. Kristin joins me and relieves me of my awkwardness. We buy three large woven baskets to carry the abundance of produce we finally select. Thunder and rain comes quickly and with gusto. In no time, the red clay paths between the tables are flowing with runoff. The women invite us under their shelter. We are marginally protected by pieced together scraps of corrugated metal roofing and blue plastic tarps. I laugh at the rain pouring off in from of us. Sheeting off the metal like a curtain. A cascading waterfall at the corners of the tarps. The torrent in the walkway is forcing the water up into the stalls. At our feet, the water is rising into the sheltered space we have taken refuge in. The rain keeps coming down hard. Time to get out. Heavy baskets. We creep along a narrow stone path hugging the very edge of the building. We run, slip, slide, laugh. We are soaked in seconds. It feels great. The air temperature has cooled down nicely from the usual 80 something. Refuge again sought. This time under a wide porch with a concrete floor. Better protected. A dozen meters closer to the street. A local person had the same idea and is now leaning up against the wall watching us. I picture the boys waiting for us in the nice enclosed truck up on the street, their mission having been to go out to The Takare Project and check out a truck from the Jane Goodall Institute where Bill works. The rain matters less now since we are soaked. I scamper back to fetch our 3rd basket, left waiting on the produce tables. Back with Kristin we break into the bananas, consciously offering one to our fellow strandee. Tanzanian etiquette. Don’t eat in front of others without first offering some to share. We smile at each other and enjoy the moment. Discovered by Brian and Bill who come around the corner looking for us. Will is wisely waiting in the truck. All the shops are now closed. The rest of our shopping must wait until tomorrow.
We drive up the main street to a café. Soaked but not uncomfortable, we eat local fish served whole. Fine pointed noses and small wicked teeth. Grilled to perfection. Spiced spinach and fresh cooked beans. Coke in recycled glass bottles. Will digs in using his fingers to convey his food. All those fresh camp-cooked rainbow trout at home have prepared him well for this experience. Lodging that night is at Antoine’s house. He is another chimpanzee researcher who works with Bill and Kristin. He has flown home to England for the holidays. The well-kempt house is ours to use during our stay. We stay up late drinking South African red wine and talking about our day.
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